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

September 10, 2060
Regimental HQ, YZ-18 Eastern Front

1st Lieutenant Violet Hawthorne-Smythe

Congratulations on your selection for promotion to Captain. This is a reflection of your continued excellence in service to the Global Defense Initiative, including your dedication to the completion of your assigned mission objectives and the preservation of your personnel. Your promotion has been recommended by your peers, subordinates and superior officers alike.

This selection will bring increased responsibilities and challenges, but by making it, GDI Ground Force Command has placed their implicit trust that you are willing and able to meet these with competence and enthusiasm.

Best wishes for your continued success.

Sincerely,
Brigadier General Yusuf Escoffier

---

You stare at the e-mail on your G-Pad, wondering if it's some elaborate joke. Maybe it'd feel more realistic if they used paper. But no, the days of paper letters are long gone - bytes are cheap, while trees are... not so cheap. You had figured it was coming, given that you'd basically pulled Captain duties for the two months and hadn't screwed it up completely. You still find it hard to believe that someone would trust you with the lives of hundreds of people, though when there are other options. Truth be told, you've lost count of the number of people who've died under your command. But you're pretty sure it's enough to form a couple of platoons at least.

The e-mail is followed up by several others, giving the exact effective dates of your promotion and all the relevant ceremonies. When asked for your opinion, you spend a few days writing a glowing letter recommending Lt. Richter be promoted to 1st Lieutenant; you figure she's basically carried you the last two operations you were assigned, and the army had better acknowledge her contributions.

Before you depart for Seattle, the two of you have one last conversation.

"I hear you're up for the double bars, ma'am." she begins, standing at ease in your office - a small room with a metal desk in a command post somewhere in the regimental HQ. "Congratulations." she says with a genuine smile.

"And I hear you're up for a color change on your single bar, Lieutenant." you reply with a smirk. "I don't think we could have done it without you and your platoon, Mal."

She rolls her eyes. "More like my air force squadron by the end, there." she comments.

You chuckle. "Yeah, it's a little weird how much metal you actually wind up commanding compared to what you're expected to command. Still pisses me off that Nod has a whole company of Avatars somewhere out there, and they just vanished." you add with a frown.

Malorie shrugs. "Cloaking field probably? Hope it fried that saboteur they had with them when it went up. Or underground tunnels I suppose. We can always hope their diggers ran into a liquid-T deposit and went kablooie."

You nod slowly in agreement. "I suppose so. Well, it's water under the bridge now. You get your new assignment yet?" you ask.

She shakes her head. "Nah, not yet. I wonder if they'll keep us here or not."

You shrug. "I don't know. This is basically the only remaining active war zone - from what I'm reading, offensive operations in other yellow zones have basically ceased. We've pushed as far as we can go." you look up. "You can see it, bases spaced way too far apart to be able to support one another, getting cut off by Nod forces. Still, did you hear about that big naval battle in the Sea of Japan?"

Malorie's eyes light up. "Yeah, apparently the noddies fired some nukes? I'm surprised we didn't retaliate with strategic weaponry of our own."

"I think they had ion disruptors on their big ships, and nobody's authorized the actual deployment of a nuclear weapon from the GDI arsenal since... ever?" you raise your hands, palms up, and shrug your shoulders.

Malorie nods. "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for throwing me in the deep end. I've learned a lot working with you, and uh ... " she pauses, trailing off, blinking and rubbing her eyes. You get up and move around your desk, putting your left hand on the side of her shoulder and extending your right hand, which she reaches out and shakes firmly. You smile a little as you have to noticeably look up to talk to her when you're standing that close.

"It's been a pleasure. I hope we get the chance to work together again, I'd hate to have command split up our team, but... " you pause, pointing up, "... up there in the sky, they have their own mysterious opinions on personnel assignments. Keep in touch, Mal." you tell her. "I'm not that much further ahead, but I think you've got a bright career ahead of you."

---

D: Murray says congratulations on your promotion, Vi
[attachment:dog_picture_10415.cif]
V: Thanks dad. How're you? How's Maggie?
D: Doing fine, thank you. She's doing well too. Just published a paper on some subject matter that I can't wrap my head around
V: Nice. What's she see in you anyway?
D: Must be my charming personality and roguish good looks
V: Sure, if one fancies decaying corpses.
D: Ouch, you've grown some teeth, Vi
V: You guys going to get married, or what?
D: lol no, I don't think either of us are ready for that

---

September 18, 2060

You like Seattle well enough. The core of the city is no different from most other north american blue zone cities - you've got your arcology, your high-density blue zone apartment complexes built over bulldozed horizontal sprawl housing. Factories here and there. The docks are pretty busy. The main thing that strikes you in contrast to New England (and northern Russia) is how not everyone is a surly drunk asshole. The space needle is pretty cool too, and you can even see mountains from the city, which you're itching to hike to.

The city itself was mostly untouched by the Tiberium Wars, despite being a naval shipping hub. The Brotherhood never considered it important enough to attack, while the Scrin focused their tower construction and diversion activities in red zones and more easily accessible blue zones. As a result, there's still a lot of older construction in the area.

Once you get over the jet-lag, you shut down your G-Date notifications (what the hell is wrong with these people around here?) and catch a ride for an hour or so along the old I-90 highway up to Snoqualmie Pass. Apparently, back in the day, that highway ran all the way across the continent, through Chicago and towards Boston, a major artery for passenger and cargo truck traffic. Nowadays, it simply runs into a wall of Tiberium some distance to the east. And the GDI doesn't have much use for long-range bulk road transport, preferring to do that by sea or rail. So the once-glorious route sits, mostly unused and slowly cracking.

You tie your bootlaces tight (double knot, of course), adjust the straps on your backpack, making sure you've got plenty of water and ration bars. Change of clothes (including thermal clothing), first aid kit, breath mask, tib-scanner, personal G-Phone (set to silent except for emergency alerts). Just in case. And your sidearm, of course. Not to mention that knife you took from the Nod survival kit. With a 90% population reduction, there's also approximately a 90% mountain hiker reduction - so you don't expect much company, which is just as well as far as you're concerned. For just a couple of weeks, you want to not be responsible for the lives of tens, hundreds of people. And given the way your G-Date profile lit up while you were in town, you're not really in the mood for people hitting on you.

It's beautiful as you climb up. The fall is just beginning, so there's only a little bit of yellow and orange. There are a lot more evergreens here than you're used to in other places you've gone hiking (other than northern Norway, where it was all evergreens; you hear the Russian Taiga was a lot of evergreens too, but the Tiberium took care of most of that). And even here, the vegetation is pretty sparse compared to the pre-Tiberium era. The green crystal, combined with mass global warfare really did a number on the planet's ecology. Still, the air is fresh and cool, and you hike for a few hours towards a nearby peak, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other, not thinking about anything in particular.

Eventually, you reach the alpine zone, where the trees start to get shorter, and the air gets colder. On goes the thermal shirt and pants, thin gloves and hat. You decide to leave your hair untied for once, down slightly past your shoulders now. Which causes you to contemplate getting a haircut - it keeps getting in front of your face. Still, you decide to take a picture of yourself on top of a particularly large boulder with a lake in the background. Although it takes you a few shots to get to the point where your smile doesn't look like a corpse grinning. You stare at the picture for a few minutes, making sure that it doesn't show any of your scar-covered skin, eventually convincing yourself that you're being a little paranoid - the plasma burn scars are on your back anyway, and you took the picture from the front. And the thermal shirt covers your chest, so nobody's in any danger of seeing your laser burn. So much for cleavage shirts and tank-tops, you think to yourself, absently rubbing the smaller scar on your left temple.

You sigh, getting up from your perch, pocketing the ration bar wrapper and continuing toward the peak, hopping across the more and more frequent boulders, carried here ages ago by a long-forgotten and melted glacier. You'll take another break there, hang out for a little bit and enjoy the view (your favorite - snowy peaks in the distance, tree-covered valleys closer, jagged boulders up close), then head back down. It's a good, tiring hike - that'll let you sleep tonight for sure. It probably won't keep the nightmares away, but, as you see it, any rapid-eye-movement sleep is good sleep.

---

Another trail joins the trail you're following about halfway to the base of the mountain, below the alpine zone. To your surprise, you see a fellow hiker, who waves to you. As he gets closer, you frown and raise an eyebrow.

"Captain Jones." you say coldly.

"Please, I'm off-duty." he replies. "Just call me TJ."

"Quite the coincidence, meeting you here." you state, continuing to walk. Unfortunately, he appears to be going the same way as you. "TJ." you add.

"A coincidence indeed." TJ states, keeping pace alongside you. He's wearing light brown shorts and a blue t-shirt with some kind of logo on the front, which either indicates that he hasn't been up high or some kind of abnormal temperature tolerance. Or maybe he changed once he came down.

"What brings you all the way back here?" you ask, keeping your eyes carefully forward. "InOps keeping tabs on me? Just can't let me have a couple of weeks off, huh?"

He chuckles. "Nothing of the sort, Violet." he pauses for a second. "You know we can do that without using people anyway." he adds.

You sigh. "I suppose. So you didn't answer my question."

TJ pauses for a second. "Well, I do enjoy a good hike. I actually grew up around here, you know. What about you, where'd you come from?" he asks. "I'm guessing not eastern YZ-18, you neither look nor sound Russian." he adds with a grin.

You roll your eyes. "Can't you just look that up in my file or whatever?"

TJ smirks. "Depends on if I want to avoid losing my clearance and going to prison."

"Ok, so if you didn't violate whatever regulations your organization has, then how the hell did you find me out here?" you ask.

He looks at you. "Your phone posted your recent picture, uh... pictures, to your social media account. With geo-location tags."

You grind your teeth, resolving to go through the phone's settings and lock it down going forward. And also go through and delete the crappy pictures. Although you could swear you'd already done the former. "Great, so instead of being stalked by a global espionage organization, I'm just getting stalked by you, personally."

TJ looks down at the ground. "Sorry, I just thought... "

"You thought what?" you ask, getting a little pissed off at this point. "Look, I appreciate you giving me the vague and barely helpful heads up about the impending Nod Avatar attack. But I don't see how that gives you the right to follow me around without being asked, even if I unintentionally post my location on social media."

"Sorry I couldn't do more to help back there." TJ says quietly, looking down at the ground. "We've got all these rules about info source concealment and compartmentalization and independent establishment of information chains. If I told you explicitly, I'd have probably gotten court martial-ed and executed."

You pause for a second.

"Sorry. I'll leave you alone. This whole thing was kind of stupid anyway." he adds, continuing to look at the ground, rubbing his short, black hair with his hand.

[] "Look, whatever. I could use some company on the way back."
- a little creepy and sad, but kinda cute
[] Finger your sidearm. "Nah, we better walk back to the trailhead together so I can keep an eye on you. In front, please."
- a little creepy and sad, and you don't trust him
[] "Fine. Bye."
- a little creepy and sad, but probably harmless

September 18, 2060

You huff, a mixture of mockery and indignation. You may have doubts about your ability to lead a company of soldiers to victory while ensuring their survival; you may have doubts about your ability to land anything other than a quick shag (and at this point, even that, as you picture someone getting your shirt off then getting a wide-eyed expression before running for the hills, leaving behind a smoke cloud like a cartoon character). But this is seriously the creepiest attempt to hit on you that you've ever encountered, beating out even that time the harvester guy offered you the "opportunity" to come with him to an isolated island on a boat and consume "tea" brewed from experimental substances that he "got from a friend".

"Fine. Bye." is all you say before resuming your hike down the slope. You surreptitously check behind you a few times, but TJ is apparently true to his word. Or is really good at following people without being detected.

"Unbelievable." You mutter quietly to yourself, laughing a little bit. "What the hell is wrong with you people?"

In some way, you hope that this will be a good learning experience for him and that the next time he hits on someone, it'll involve a little bit less stalking them in the woods. Just a little. As far as you go, you spend the rest of the bus ride back to town going through your G-Phone's privacy settings and making sure to turn all the "automatic upload and tagging" type features off. Looking back through the pictures that did get posted, you decide they look just fine after all.

---

Over the next couple of days, you decide that you want to take up a hobby. Hiking up mountain trails is pretty relaxing, but, on a subsequent hike, you watch a couple of guys scrambling up a rocky cliffside with ropes, pitons and carabiners and all that stuff. And then rappelling down. Your climbing experience is limited to climbing up trees and the occasional building, but you know what, that looks like it'll really occupy your attention and wear you out, which is what you've decided you need right now. And it'll be harder for creepy dudes to follow you up a cliff.

Alternately, as you troll around GDI Online for something to do, apparently there's a number of people in the area playing amateur football. The one with the round ball and the nets and scoring system that makes sense. You're not exactly going to be able to join a long term league here, since your re-deployment is in less than two weeks (you still haven't gotten your orders as to exactly where), but dammit, you spent upwards of six days in a row jogging and jumping around through a yellow zone in a command suit. You've got the endurance for it. You're not exactly a sprinter, though. As far as technical ball-handling skills, you're no professional, but nobody has been for over a decade - still, you played the game a little bit here and there while you were in school. More while living in England than in New England - the residents of BZ-3 seemed to prefer sports involving the occasional sprint, slide or tackle, separated by a lot of standing around, spitting and scratching their crotches. Which you can understand the desire to do on occasion, but you prefer to avoid doing it in public.

Skiing is something you want to revisit too, but it's a little bit out of season at the moment. And also where the hell would you keep the skis? You have absolutely zero desire to ship them from barracks to barracks on your deployments. Same with biking.

Violet's new hobby:
[] Rock-climbing
[] Football

---

September 28, 2060

You report as ordered to the local ground force base, where you are assigned temporary quarters and a temporary office while your permanent assignment is listed as "pending". You take a brief moment to brush some lint off your double silver bars, then walk into your office, at which point you get a sneaky suspicion as to why your next duty assignment is still "pending".

Captain Leila Amir is sitting on your desk, tapping away on her G-Pad (heavily modified, no doubt). Well, she's a Major now, given her rank patches.

"Violet." she states, looking up at you.

"Leila." you respond.

The two of you look at each other appraisingly for what seems like minutes. You decide to break the silence first.

"What, no inappropriate comments about my personal life?" you ask.

She smirks. "No. Why, you finally find that elusive Tiberium dong?"

You shake your head, chuckling, remembering the porn-collecting, railgun-toting hermit. "No. I came close, though." You look at her suspiciously. "I assume this isn't a purely social visit?"

She pouts, spreading her arms innocently. "What, your self-proclaimed big sister can't come see how you're doing?"

You sigh. "Come on, you must have known my blue zone rotation was ending today."

She shakes her head. Without knowing her, you'd say that either she's got a good poker face, or she's telling the truth. But you know her. At least the version of her that you've interacted with. And there's no way that she'd walk into this room without knowing everything you've done since your last meeting, especially if she's here on business. Which she must be on, now that you think about it - you had to unlock the room by swiping your G-Pad in front of the card reader out front, and she was already in there. Not to mention the fact that she was assigned to the west-central African theatre last time you talked to her, so to fly all the way across an ocean and over or around a red zone is a non-trivial undertaking.

Leila breaks out into a grin. "You should know me and my job well enough by now, Violet, that you won't like the answer to that question."

You nod. Sometimes, it's better to maintain a polite fiction even if both parties know it's false. "Congratulations on your promotion, by the way." you say, looking obviously at Leila's shoulder patch. You resist the urge to suggest that she either murdered or slept with someone.

"You too." she replies. "Which brings us to business." she says, all trace of humor disappearing from her face as she makes a couple of swipes on her G-Pad. Yours vibrates with incoming data notifications. "I've got a job for you if you want it." She pauses.

You close your eyes, breathing in and out, then open them back up, waving your free hand in a circular motion, trying to get her to continue.

"I can't really tell you any real details until you agree, since you'll have to go into info isolation with whichever crew you pick." she spears you with a meaningful look. "We can't have even a hint of this getting out, or the whole thing is blown."

You spread your arms, palms upward, in a sign of frustration. "Not even any hints?"

She smirks. "You'll either love it or hate it. Duration is... " she pauses. "... either unknown or classified depending on how useful you want the info to be. The assignment is... " she sighs and shakes her head. "... well, it won't be anything you haven't done before in one way or another." what looks like a genuinely apologetic expression crosses her face. "I really am sorry I can't tell you anything until you go into info-iso."

You sigh. "Can I have some time to think about it?"

Leila nods. "Yes. You've got twenty four hours. You also may want to check your email, I think you've got a couple of important meetings later today."

You roll your eyes. "Goddammit, Leila. Can you stay out of my business for at least five seconds?"

She laughs for what seems like minutes, doubling over and slapping her hand on her knee and your desk that she's sitting on. As if you'd told a really funny joke. Which you suppose you did, now that you think about it. "No. AI-backed global surveillance state, remember?" she grins. "You're just lucky you're good at your job, not too criminal or seditious, and we're not actively malicious."

---

Your next meeting, you're not really sure what to make of. The office belongs to one Colonel Karl Pierson, an average-height, dark-haired man in his late 30s. You enter the room and salute, informing him that you're reporting as ordered.

"At ease, Captain." he says. It still feels weird to have people address you with that rank. "Pull up a chair, have a seat. Kudzu tea?" he asks, motioning to a mug on his desk and a small metal box. You wonder briefly if there's some unspoken rule about accepting or declining the offer. None of your commanding officers ever offered you drinks of any kind, so you have no idea how to navigate this situation. You decide to go for it.

"Thank you sir, and yes, please." you decide to answer. Dammit, too awkward, you think to yourself as the aroma of brewed Wadmalaw Kudzu fills the room. You take the mug, deciding to wait a few minutes for it to cool off - the only thing more awkward at this point would be to burn your tongue and either have to spit it back out (or burn your throat and esophagus choking boiling hot water down).

The Colonel swipes through what looks like several pages on his G-Pad, which strikes you as familiar - when you do that, it's usually to generate conversational space, as if you're looking something up. In reality, there's no way you'd go into a meeting like this without already having the relevant info up and ready.

"I understand you've undertaken some considerable zone armor operation training and have made several combat excursions with it." he begins.

"Yes sir." you decide to respond neutrally.

He nods. "Good, good. I assume you're familiar with the Orbital Strike Regimental Combat Teams?" he asks.

"Yes sir." you ask, your heart jumping a little. You look around in a panic for a coaster or something to put your mug down on before your hands start shaking and you spill the goddamn tea everywhere. Why'd he have to fill it up so much, anyway?

He nods again, looking at you. "We in the OSRCT are expanding to a second orbital station, and expect to have the necessary equipment and personnel by the end of the year. What we're looking for is someone to take a company command slot who has the combat, command and relevant equipment experience to hit the ground running." he smirks. "So to speak."

He looks down, his eyes looking at you from beneath his eyebrows, and points a finger at you. "You're one of the candidates, assuming you pass screening."

"Screening, sir?" you ask, gingerly picking your mug up from the coaster and moving to take a very small sip. fuck fuck fuck it's hot

He smirks. "Yeah, various tests to make sure you don't pop a blood vessel when we take you up to microgravity or pass out during a drop... " he lifts fingers on one hand then another as he starts listing things. "... you can't be pregnant, no active Tiberium infections, 20/20 natural or correctable vision, can't have Weiler-Kratz syndrome, have to pass a full background check... " he trails off. "... can't have the Brotherhood sneaking militants up there, you understand."

You've spent his entire listing surreptitiously blowing air on your burning tongue in a vain effort to cool it off. "Uh, Weiler-Kratz syndrome?" you ask, in an effort to conceal what you're doing.

He shakes his head. "You don't want to know. Anyway, you'd be leading a company on some initial drops, simulated and real, to help shake down the new command." he looks at you. "From what I understand, ground force wants to send you back into the fight. It's winding down, but not over yet." he shrugs. "I've got all the respect in the world for the ground pounders, so if you want to stay with your unit, I can understand and respect that. But these offers don't happen too often, Captain."

You nod, taking a sip of your kudzu tea, which has finally cooled down. Too late for your poor tongue, but lesson learned. It tastes a little bitter, but perks you up. "How much time do I have to make a decision, sir?"

He looks at his G-Pad. "I'm shuttling out to the training site tomorrow at 1300 local. Send me a note confirming one way or the other before then so I can make the transfer arrangements." he motions with his chin towards the tea. "How's the tea, Captain?"

You smile, the smile of someone who just had their tongue burned but won't ever admit it. "Nice and hot, thank you sir."

He smiles a little. "Good." he pauses, swiping decisively to the right on his G-Pad. "Now, based on your combat reports, I understand you've got some thoughts about zone armor utilization doctrine in various terrains..."

---

You spend most of the rest of the day thinking about this unexpected set of choices, sitting at the coast, looking out at Puget Sound, watching the waves crash against the the rocky beach and the massive cargo ships move to and from the nearby port facilities. Leila's assignments are always a rush; you can't help but wonder if you'll see Victor in the process - for some reason you can't reconcile, you find it hard to stop thinking about the possibility. Probably not, there's a world of InOps undertakings out there - but in your experience, Leila doesn't do anything for shits and giggles. If she wants you for something, there's a reason. It might not be to your benefit, but she must think your involvement will improve the chances of success.

OSRCT selection is... something you've been dreaming about ever since joining the GDI armed forces. A chance to follow in your dad's footsteps, to really make him proud. A chance to see the stars, really see them. Even if you'll be coming right back down to rain justice on the heads of crazed Tiberium cultists around the world. Although it'd be pretty horribly disappointing if you wound up not passing their screening requirements.

Finally, there's your ground force unit. Without you, they'll be dispersed or put under someone else's command. You can't say you've done the most bang-up job, but you honestly tried your best to keep them alive while still getting the job done. You can't say that the next person in charge will do the same. As the sun approaches the horizon, forming a bright orange trail across the water toward you, you sigh, knowing you will soon have to decide one way or the other.

Pick deployment option:
[] Major Leila Amir's top-secret mission
[] OSRCT selection, training and deployment
[] Ground Force company-level deployment to active conflict zone

[AN: bonus points to whoever can figure out where the titles and track names for Violet's latest two albums came from]