GDI Platoon Commander: A "GDI Edition" side-quest (non-canon)

Raw Resolution:

You hesitate for just a second - what if the Venoms drive the Orcas off? What if the Orcas' operators think you're some kind of Nod infiltrator? But a brief flash in your mind of your nearly empty canteen hardens your resolve, and you crack the orange flare, running out of your hiding spot and waving them back and forth. The thick, acrid smoke makes you cough as you get a little too enthusiastic and wave it in front of yourself. But the orange plume coming from your location is enough - the Orcas slow as they approach your position - but then accelerate again. You look around to see why - the two Venoms have moved to engage.

The Orcas seem to have things well in hand though, unloading a salvo of missiles. While the Venoms are incredibly nimble and avoid the worst of it, one does get caught near an airburst as one of the missiles detonates and you see a little chunk of something come off of it.

As they pass each other, the two pairs of aircraft peel off, a Venom tailing one of the Orcas, while the other, damaged one, is in turn tailed. The tailed Orca is pelted with machine gun rounds, causing you to cringe, but the damage appears superficial. The other Venom, meanwhile, is now leaking black smoke after another missile goes off near its tail.

You hear the damaged Venom's engines "whine" up to maximum as it pulls a nearly instantaneous 180-degree turn and rapidly disengages to the northeast, disappearing out of your field of view rapidly. The two Orcas team up on the remaining Venom, and you watch the graceful display as the Venom tries to tail one, but the wingman keeps forcing it to disengage. Eventually, the two Orcas drive the Nod aircraft off, and one gently hovers downward, coming to a clear enough space while its wingman hovers above, weapons pods pointing at you.

You sprint forward as the cockpit canopy on the landed aircraft pops open, the co-pilot in the back levering himself up and pointing a sub-machinegun in your direction. You skid to a stop immediately, the flare still burning in your hand, having absolutely no desire to get shot just as you're about to get rescued. The pilot briefly looks at you, then back at the front of the aircraft, then you hear the two exchange some indistinct chatter.

"Climb in, Lieutenant. You're riding with me." the co-pilot yells out.

You do so without hesitation, grabbing on to the side of the cockpit and levering yourself up, the co-pilot grabbing on to your hands and helping you lift up then plop down on his lap. "Good thing you're so small." he comments before tapping the pilot on the shoulder and hitting a button on a side control panel, which causes the canopy to come down.

The Orca's lift fans whoosh as it lifts up, and the aircraft rises. First, slowly, to avoid contacting the surrounding jagged boulders, then quickly, before jetting off to the south-south-west.

"Check it out, Firehawk at eight o'clock super high." the co-pilot tells you. Indeed, there's a Firehawk, shooting off a salvo of anti-air missiles.

Your co-pilot chuckles. "Get bent, Phi-One, you seem to have it handled." he replies to a transmission you can't hear.

"What'd he say?" you ask.

"You're welcome, more or less." the co-pilot responds, adding another chuckle at the end.

"Thanks for the pickup, uh... " you pause.

"Leonard. Meyer, Lieutenant, but you can call me Lenny." he replies. "Pilot's Cyril. Stead, Lieutenant. But you can call him Faceplant." you're pretty sure Lenny is grinning behind you.

"Bite me, Lenny." Faceplant replies.

"Thanks again. I'm Violet." you answer, with a palpable sense of relief, both at the fact that you're no longer trudging through a rocky wasteland with an empty water bottle and that the Orca doesn't appear to be pulling any evasive maneuvers.

"Yeah, we know." Lenny says. "We were attached to your force when you were building that airfield down south. Can't believe you survived out here that long, it's been what, two weeks since you got captured?"

You shrug. "I don't know. I've only been walking around for the last week or so. Before that... " you pause, a coughing fit overtaking you.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant." Lenny says. "You can tell me and the boys and girls over a couple of beers after we get you back to civilization and patched up. Just relax, we'll have you back to base in no time."

"Yeah." you acknowledge, somewhat detached, spending the rest of the flight staring out the window to the side, watching the terrain go by. It gradually gets less rocky and a little more flat, then you even start seeing some colors other than gray and black. The pilots keep up chatter as the aircraft makes its way south - the bits you catch are mostly dirty jokes about somebody's mom (you're pretty sure it's just a generic "your mom"), ratings on which female popular music star is more attractive, and discussion on the various ways one could prepare the ration bars from a survival pack. After your experience with CSTRCH, you're pretty sure you could handle the GDI bars without any modification.

Eventually, you arrive at the airfield whose construction you oversaw what feels like half a lifetime ago (although in reality it was just a few months). The rest of the day is, to be honest, kind of a blur - you're unloaded, taken through decontamination, are relieved of your salvaged Nod equipment and fed some proper food (you eagerly let the CSTRCH go, but blearily try to insist on keeping the knife and the water canteen), and are taken through multiple poking and prodding medical exams. Eventually, they finally let you sleep, passing out on the comparatively incredibly comfortable medical bay bed.

---

September 3, 2059
Conakry Arcology Medical Center

"... all right, doctor. So what's the damage?" you ask the individual who's just pulled up a chair to your bedside, tapping his fingers on his G-Pad. He's wearing the standard white "coat" over a suit and tie and has a nametag that you have trouble reading as it's mostly obscured at the moment. He even introduced himself, but it kind of flew in one ear and out the other.

"Good news first, or bad news?" he asks.

You shrug.

"The grazing bullet wound on your side was treated properly, and should heal up in a week or two. Tore some smaller blood vessels, but nothing your body can't rebuild."

You nod. "What's the bad news?"

"Your right lung had some heat damage." the doctor states. "Those Nod people that captured you were probably only intending for that patch in your chest to be a temporary solution, but I understand you weren't interested in staying under their care any further?" he adds with a wink.

You smirk. "No, I suppose not."

"So anyway, we're going to have to do some extensive reconstructive surgery with an extended recovery time. We're looking at approximately eighteen weeks recovery, four on restricted movement, the rest in outpatient care with daily check-ins."

You frown. "Will I be able to return to active duty?"

The doctor rolls his eyes. "You kids, always eager to get back to getting shot." he sighs. "Yes. After you've fully completed recovery, and not a moment before. But... " he adds. "... consider that it's a severe enough injury that you can probably terminate your service with an honorable discharge."

You shake your head. "... and do what?"

He smiles. "That'll be up to you, young lady." he pauses. "Just understand that you do have that option. You'll have plenty of time to think about it."

---

September 10, 2059

"Violet?" a familiar voice calls into the room. You're still a little groggy from all the painkillers they have you on after your reconstructive surgery, but the sight of your dad walking through the door is enough to get you to try to get up so you can hug him. You don't quite make it - between all the IV lines and your general weakness, you can barely lift yourself up off the hospital bed. You settle for using the bed control to adjust the bed's angle so you're effectively sitting up, which at least lets your dad in to give *you* a hug instead, carefully reaching around the multiple IV lines to avoid disturbing them (and having that insufferable "line obscured" beeping begin).

He pulls up a chair, then you frown. "Are you even allowed to fly? This is a long way from England." you ask.

He shrugs. "When your only daughter goes missing in action then gets recovered, you go to see her." He tilts his head towards the door. "Don't worry, I'll be back there in time for my next sonic zapping, what they don't know won't hurt them." he smirks. "Or me. Much." He looks at you. "So I hear you've had quite the adventure."

You nod, then tell him all about it. Beating the crap out of the air force guy (and why that happened in the first place); Captain Amir's offer; your repeated and mostly successful jousting with the Nod opposition; getting captured; Victor unlocking your cuffs and slipping you the transponder; your escape from the Carryall, and subsequent desert journey. You leave out the part where you were seriously considering joining the Brotherhood, though. Nobody needs to know about that.

Your dad smiles, patting you on the shoulder. "Quite impressive, Violet. I suppose all that hiking paid off, then."

You chuckle. "Yeah. I didn't appreciate it enough at the time, but..."

"I know, Violet." your dad cuts in. "I was the same way when I was growing up." He grins. "So, that's what you call 'Open Hand', huh? Too bad I never ran into any attractive Nod officers back in the day."

"Dad." you protest, weakly.

He smirks. "Fine, fine. So hey, I heard a rumor that your favorite band is going to be going on tour, and doing a live show around here in a few months."

You perk up. "The Tiberium Exiles?! But I thought they broke up before the Third War, how are they doing a tour? And how do you know anything about them, anyway? I didn't realize you liked their music."

Your dad chuckles. "I didn't. Too loud. But I served with them back in the '20s and '30s." his eyes wander to the ceiling. "They chose to muster out after Firestorm; I stayed in." he looks back at you.

"You ever find out why they broke up?" You ask.

Your dad shrugs, rolling his eyes. "I'm pretty sure somebody was banging somebody else's wife? You know how it goes."

You frown, raising an eyebrow. "Not... really."

"Well, you can ask them yourself. If you decide to go see them, I bet I could get them to hook you up with some backstage passes."

You can barely contain your excitement. "... if I decide to go see them." you state, with a healthy dose of flat-sounding irony. "Honestly, I don't even care if I have to take this IV stand with me. I'd still go."

Your dad smiles, ruffling your hair. "Maybe hold off until you can use both lungs, Violet. And try not to beat up any more air force pilots to within an inch of their life, they're not all dicks."

---

A few weeks later, you've regained your ability to walk around on your own - your side has a long, prominent scar below your rib-cage, and the right side of your chest has a spider-like pattern on it. The doctors tell you that you'll make a full recovery, but the replacement tissue still needs to "grow in" - which means avoiding "excess trauma" to the area and "excess use of full lung capacity" (in other words, no screaming at the top of your lungs or running marathons, or you'll probably rip something). Followed by several months of physical therapy. A few of your friends and co-workers come visit and you swap stories. Based on Lt. Richter's and Sgt. Shaw's accounts (supplemented by Roux' tales of braving ion storms and Nod interceptors to fly search patterns), she was able to rally your forces afterwards, gather up the remaining InOps survivors, dismantle the base and retreat to friendly territory with no additional losses. A miserable failure for whatever InOps was doing, but you feel that your troops put in an excellent performance, all things considered.

Before being discharged to outpatient care, you get one more visitor. You recognize the name, so you approve him to visit, but you've never seen him - Lenny turns out to be an average-height (but still taller than you), curly-brown-haired guy, with a healthy (permanent?) five o'clock shadow. You feel somewhat embarrassed about the whole thing, since you're dressed in a hospital moo-moo, while he's dressed to impress - slacks, t-shirt. Well, it's no formal tux, you think to yourself with a defensive smirk.

He presents you with the knife and water bottle from the Nod survival kit ("you seemed pretty attached to them, so I thought you might like them back.") You flash a smile ("thanks - and for the rescue too, sorry I wasn't too talkative, I was pretty beat up and had only had this disgusting CSTRCH stuff for food."). You're a little doe-eyed over the air show the two Orcas put on against the Venoms back in the yellow zone, remarking that it was "pretty metal". Which leads to the two of you bonding over your love of the Tiberium Exiles, and he winds up inviting you to go see their local show in a few weeks ("I uh, may have a spare ticket - it'll be a pretty packed show, but hey, you've already sat on my lap in a tight space once, so I think we're over that particular icebreaker.", he says with a playful grin, which you return, replying with "Maybe - hope I'll be conscious this time.")

[] Hell yeah
It's your favorite band, he's cute and funny, you can keep your "lung plug" safe by staying quiet, you can probably score backstage passes with the band, and you need to get over a certain Nod officer
[] Better not
All things considered, you're still kind of a mess, physically and emotionally, so it wouldn't be fair to potentially lead him on, and it's irresponsible - you might just scream your "lung plug" out and add to your recovery time. Also, air force? ew.

---

From: BZ-13 Regional Command
To: 1Lt. Violet Hawthorne-Smythe
Subj: Re-activation

Pursuant to the completion of your medically-mandated recovery period, you are hereby re-assigned to active duty, as of January 6, 2060. You and the troops under your command are ordered to report to assigned transport (details attached), to be deployed to the

[] YZ-18 Operating Theatre
Location: Northern (former) Russia
Opposition: Krukov. Mechs, Heavy Tanks, Gana, Artillery, Aircraft. Massed direct-fire engagements.
Difficulty: Hard (but meat-grinder)

[] YZ-12 Operating Theatre
Location: South America (formerly Argentina and Chile)
Opposition: Stahl. Mechs, Fast/High-Tech Tanks, Gana, Artillery, High-Tech Aircraft, Cruise Missiles. Maneuver and information warfare.
Difficulty: Very Hard

[] YZ-10 Operating Theatre
Location: North America (former eastern and central United States)
Opposition: Gideon. High-tech Tanks, Tiberium Weaponry, Gana, Artillery, Aircraft. Fanaticism.
Difficulty: Moderate (but very high-risk)

[] YZ-13 Operating Theatre
Location: West Africa
Opposition: Mehretu. Fast Units. Stealth Units. Harassment, information warfare.
Difficutly: Very Hard


AN:

[X] Hell yeah

I'm torn on the operating theater. I mean, we could definitely use a break from YZ-13... And being only a year out from Regency War, YZ-12 is right fucking out. The question of YZ-10 or 18... Time to go reread some GDI Quest right quick.


...You know, I'm not really sure which I'd go for. I'll just vote both. Gideon would be largely winning ( ), but Krukov provides a wonderful lack of tiberium shard munitions.

[X] YZ-18 Operating Theatre
[X] YZ-10 Operating Theatre

--

As an aside, given the orbital stations start showing up for OSRCT in Q4 2059, is there a chance in the future for Violet to transfer from GF to OSRCT, given that she wanted to follow in her dad's footsteps?

October 14, 2059
Regimental Base, BZ-13, Officer's Quarters (16th Combined Arms Company)

"So, that turned into a shit-show, wouldn't you say?" Captain Leila Amir's voice pipes up behind you. You start, turning around. One of these days, you think to yourself, I'll figure out how she keeps getting in my quarters without a key and sneaking up behind me..

"Dammit, Leila, can't you just knock?" you ask.

"No." she says, plopping herself down on your bed, her elbows on her knees and her fingers steepled underneath her chin. "Now, let's hear the story from you. Keeping in mind I've already read the reports." she pauses. "All of them. Several times."

You sigh, then re-tell it again, just about everything. Except the parts where you considered trying to figure out what Johnson and his people were doing, and the part where you considered joining the Brotherhood of Nod.

"Loosened your cuffs, did he?" Leila asks with a grin. "Not the only thing he loosened, I'll wager."

You frown. "None of you business, Leila."

The grin doesn't leave her face. "Sure it is. Both as self-proclaimed yenta and as intelligence gathering operative." she scoffs. "Or did you forget my primary role is to gather information?"

"Yeah, but I have the right to the privacy of my own thoughts." you respond, somewhat indignantly.

"If you say so." Leila replies, making your skin crawl a little, then shrugs. "It's not like I can't infer that data via means other than your direct response." she pauses, briefly looking up at the ceiling. "In fact, I'd say that, from a purely information gathering standpoint, personal testimony is usually fairly unreliable. People mis-remember things, or engage in wishful thinking, or are embarrassed and don't want to tell the whole truth..." she stares at you, pointedly.

You shift uncomfortably, this conversation decidedly not going where you want it to go. "You ever going to tell me what Johnson's crew was up to out there, with the blue Tiberium and the Visceroids, and whatever the hell was in that Elephant?"

"Ah, redirection of conversation topic." Leila says, sitting back up and raising a finger. "Good one. Very well." she says, putting her hand back down. "I can't tell you what he was working on, unfortunately. It's classified. But, near as I can tell, the Visceroids coming out of the woodwork was pure bad luck - that ion storm had less than a 2% chance of hitting the facility by our projections." she smirks. "... and after the Brotherhood went to all that trouble and took all those casualties getting that infiltrator into the Elephant." she adds, shaking her head in mock sadness.

"What?" you stare at her.

Leila nods. "I couldn't make this shit up. Best as we can reconstruct from available data, they had personnel camped out in that Forgotten town near the staging base, waited until Malorie had all her forces committed to taking that base down, then ran a guy out to the Elephant, on which he caught a ride. Possibly a Forgotten Nod sympathizer. Or he was just carrying a Tiberium 'device', it's tough to tell with just Tiberium sensor data." she chuckles, making air quotes. "So after going through all that trouble, losing a bunch of tanks and artillery and people... boom, ion storm." she shakes her head. "I would have loved to see what they were planning. From a uh, purely professional standpoint." she adds, before shrugging. "Well, I suppose better for us that we didn't find out."

You nod, not disagreeing with the last sentiment.

"Anyway, you did your part, and I've done mine - as I'm sure you're already aware, the disciplinary action against you has been withdrawn."

You nod, with a smirk. "Lack of supporting evidence, I believe."

Leila grins. "Now, back to where we were before getting side-tracked." her grin fades briefly. "Let me ask you a question. What do you look for in a romantic partner?"

"Uh..." you stumble, the question catching you completely off-guard. You honestly haven't thought about it in any depth up until fairly recently - it's been mostly school-girl crushes and celebrities and classmates, without much depth to them. You could tell her - it might grant you some clarity on your own thought processes to say this out loud. And, truth be told and as she says, Leila probably has enough data on you that she could figure it out without your input anyway. Which, as an aside, is a disturbingly similar thing to what Victor told you during your conversation with him. But, on the other hand, you can never tell whether she's asking as an InOps agent or a friend. If it's partly or fully the former, maybe make her work for her data? At least a little?

[] Tell the truth - you like to be challenged, you admire self-sufficiency, you need compatible humor, bedroom compatibility...
[] Tell the truth - you don't know, you're still figuring it out ("give me a break, I'm only 24")
[] Deflect - say something about Tiberium dongs or whatever

---

Over the few months, you transition from in-patient care at the hospital, having to dress in their stupid moo-moos and constantly being cold (you swear they keep the temperature at just above freezing, probably to prevent corpse de-composition). Instead, you get back into your quarters and start up physical therapy. You're also re-assigned to light administrative duty, and, true to Leila's word, your disciplinary action disappears ("You're playing with fire, Lieutenant." your Captain warns you). The amount of paperwork that your company is behind on is actually pretty staggering - but you get a pretty good handle on it within a few weeks and have everything running like clockwork. Boring, mind-numbing clockwork.

You break the monotony up with "academic" training exercises, by brushing up on on-going developments and technological advancements being rolled out - it seems that the Tiberium refining process will become a little more efficient, as will the processes for requisition of maintenance of your vehicles. Additionally, it's likely you will be able to requisition upgraded Orcas on your next deployment. You also read with great excitement about the re-instatement of orbital drop capability - you and your dad spend a few days texting each other, giddy with excitement.

The other way to break up the monotony is by "sneaking out" to go see the Tiberium Exiles with Lenny out in a nearby yellow zone fortress town. You get the feeling like the medical people would prefer you not attend a heavy metal concert in a yellow zone, but there's no way you're passing this up - cute guy aside, you've been listening to these guys non-stop since you were a teenager. Like it or not, they're part of your musical identity. That, and your dad comes through with the backstage passes.

You spend almost a quarter of a day trying to figure out what to wear (it's tough to choose between "generic GDI outfit #2" and "generic GDI outfit #3"), and wind up calling Roux over for advice. The two of you get side-tracked talking about random crap ranging from pre-war aircraft history to the people she's seeing (she doesn't seem to have any trouble in this department). You're feeling pretty self-conscious about the giant spider scar on your chest ("another few centimeters down and to the right, and it would have been a free breast reduction surgery I didn't really need"). The best piece of insight she gives you is "ma cherie, he asked you on a date while you were wearing a hospital gown, with crazy hospital hair and no cosmetics. I think you've got this locked up."

The show itself is pretty damn awesome. They go through all their classics, and even do a couple of brand new sets with DJ Forgotten History putting his finger on the records, so to speak (you don't know what a record is). The venue being an indoor gymnasium, he wasn't kidding about it being a packed show - you and Lenny accidentally whack each other and your neighbors several times while moshing around, sneak beer in, it's generally a pretty metal time. You even manage to avoid screaming your lung plug out.

Mikko, the lead guitarist, and Petri, the drummer (they also have a guy on keyboard/occasional vocals and a guy on second guitar) did, indeed serve with your dad. You spend a good chunk of time swapping stories, first about your dad, then your respective times in the service. Apparently, the band does a lot of yellow zone outreach, and are pretty appreciative of the work you've put in helping out Forgotten settlements ("glad to see that GDI is finally willing to do anything other than the bare minimum"). You avoid asking them about the reason for their original breakup - the way your dad made it sound makes it seem like it's none of your business. You're sure Leila would be disappointed in you, but, in this particular case, you don't mind.

You head home and wind up sitting on Lenny's lap several times, in more ways than one. It's nervous and awkward at first, but the two of you laugh it off and figure it out eventually. You see him again a couple of times before his leave ends and he's re-deployed to air support duties - turns out he's a couple of years older than you, his family left Israel before it was mostly eaten by Tiberium, and has been living in BZ-2 since then. He didn't really like Tibby the Tib (boo), but does enjoy a good hike (although you're unable to really go all out due to your physical therapy restrictions - and also the part of BZ-13 you're in is kind of a dirty, unpleasant mess). He blows pretty hard at the board and video games you enjoy, but is a good sport about it.

The last day before he leaves, you snuggle up against him while sitting on your bed, watching "Galactic Defenders" (basically a soap opera centered around people piloting giant, mostly-bipedal, combat walkers on various worlds across the galaxy - fairly optimistic, all things considered) on your G-Pad propped up on your table.

"What happens now?" you ask, looking up.

"Uh... I think the main character is about to discover that the Tiberium was inside him all along." Lenny answers.

You laugh. "No, dummy. With you and me."

"Isn't it you and I?" he asks with a smirk. You return it, but also quirk an eyebrow. "Sorry, grammar nerd deflection. Is it time for this conversation already?" he asks, his profile pensive in the dim lighting provided by the flickering G-Pad.

You draw back a little, apprehensive.

He sighs. "I'd like to see you again when we've both got leave and are in the same place, if that's what you're asking." He looks at you, a faint smile on his face, tinged with a little regret. "I don't know if our current situation lends itself to anything more involved or long-term, though." he sighs, looking back up at the G-Pad, his gaze going right through it. "Logistics is laying in ammo, fuel and parts stores, we've got more and more aircraft filling capacity at the base. Nod is buzzing us with Barghests non-stop. And I hear they basically suspended production allocations to the civilian economic sector." he shakes his head. "War is coming. We'll probably get reassigned halfway across the world from each other. And I don't know if we'll make it through. Maybe we should keep our distance a little? What do you think?"

Tears well up in your eyes as you recall the last time you had a conversation like this. But at least this time, he's left the decision up to you.

[] Agree.
Better keep your distance, if he gets killed, it'll hurt a lot worse. Somewhat ironic, given that last time.
[] Disagree.
As they say in that show you're watching - no guts, no galaxy. You want to know that you've got something to come home to if and when you come home. Wherever that may be.

---

January 30, 2059
187th Combined Arms Company Staging Area, YZ-1

In true GDI fashion, your actual deployment is delayed almost a month as your transport arrangements keep getting delayed. It's just as well, since your physical therapy doesn't officially wrap up until the middle of the month - although it's more or less a formality by that point, as you can run your kilometers with full combat load, pass (barely) your basic marksmanship test and re-qualify during command exercises.

"First Lieutenant Hawthorne-Smythe reporting for duty, sir." you state, walking in to your new captain's office and saluting, bringing your best ramrod-straight "at attention" position. A brief glance through the window to the outside causes you to shiver and be thankful that the building is temperature controlled. You've only been here for a few hours, and you already miss the endless dry heat of west Africa. Northern Siberia during the winter is basically as cold as it gets on Earth, with the exception of Antarctica (where you're pretty sure nobody is conducting combat operations at the moment? You hope?)

"At ease, Lieutenant." the captain responds, speaking with a thick Russian accent. "As you may be aware, I am Captain Filip Sergeevich Kovalchuk." he briefly looks up at you, then goes back to looking at his G-Pad, scrolling through something fairly rapidly. Probably for show, you reflect, since there's no way anyone would be able to read anything swiping through that fast. You relax to an "at ease" position, hands behind your back, feet spread to shoulder width, and examine the man. He's of average height and weight, the top of his head bald while the sides are nearly shaved off. An immaculate goatee and eyebrows, both dark brown. A beret lies on his desk.

He finishes scrolling. "Welcome to the one hundred eighty seventh combined arms company, Lieutenant. I want you to get started right away, as there is no room for layabouts in my company. However, I want to make a few things clear." he states, getting up and spearing you with a look that makes you shiver a little.

"I expect top performance and discipline from all soldiers and officers under my command. You come highly recommended for the former, but, the results of court proceedings aside, I will not tolerate any deviation from acceptable behaviors. Do you understand?"

You nod. "Yes, sir." is your only possible response here.

He begins pacing back and forth behind his desk, sliding his chair in. "If an officer under my command has a problem with the behavior of individuals in another service branch, I expect it to be resolved through the chain of command." he looks at you from under his eyebrows. "Not by locating said individual in an off-duty bar and knocking his teeth out." He continues pacing. "Additionally, there is to be no moonlighting. If InOps wants one or more of my platoons detached for special duties, that request will also come through the chain of command. Am I understood?"

You nod again, pretty intimidated at this point - the man's voice is quiet and measured, without any hint of anger, and he's obviously done a lot of research on your background. "Yes, sir."

He stops, nodding as well. "Good. Now, that being said, I have no intention of discouraging battlefield initiative; and if something or someone is preventing you from doing your job, and you are unable to resolve the situation yourself, let me know, and I will take care of it one way or the other."

He looks out at the window at the bay, being constantly trawled by icebreaker ships to keep the shipping lanes open. "As part of operation Steel Vanguard, we will be pushing further inland, along the Ob river. I assume you've studied the local terrain?"

"Yes sir." you reply. "Mostly flat terrain until the mountain range to the west. Very little forestation until we get further inland. Terrain around bodies of water is generally marshy during the summer months, but that won't be a concern for several months. Tiberium concentration ranges from light to moderate. Minimal pre-existing infrastructure." you recite.

"Good enough." Kovalchuk replies. "Expect temperatures of -30C on average during designated operating hours. The joke around here is that you do not need a refrigerator - simply place your food outside." he chuckles. You do too, more out of politeness than anything else - you're far too intimidated to find it actually funny. "Get your vehicles adjusted as appropriate and issue cold-weather gear to any of your troops that do not already have it. I do not intend for our advance to be impaired by improperly conducted logistics." he reaches down to his G-Pad with a finger and swipes something. "Details are with your EVA, and operational details will follow shortly. Any questions?"

"Not at the moment, sir." you respond, failing to think of anything other than preventing your teeth from chattering.

"Very well. But if there are, do not hesitate to ask - this will be real warfare, Lieutenant, not sniping back and forth with small units across neutral zones, and I need clear, unambiguous communication with my officers. Dismissed."

"Yes sir." You straighten up to "attention", salute, spin around and walk out of the office at what you hope is a dignified pace. Holy shit, what did I just walk into? you think to yourself.

At least you're not entirely by yourself in a completely unfamiliar country with a hard-ass commanding officer. You brought along your platoon, as well one of the 2nd Lieutenants you had previously worked with and their platoon.

[] 2Lt. Malorie Richter
Lucky. Aggressive. Specialized in faster units and recon.
[] 2Lt. Mahmut Katirci
Dependable. Specialized in armored units. Has never been north of the 40 degree parallel?

AN: