Robotech: Sidesteps

[Doofus87]

Robotech: Sidesteps
Robotech and all related characters are property of Harmony Gold productions.
Any original characters are either my own creations, or used with permission by the creators. Said chapters with such characters will be noted.
Dedicated to the memory of Dreadnought. You were a good friend, a good man, and taken from us too soon. See you again on the other side.

Chapter 1: Forcible Summons
​

Jeremy Daniels stalks through his home, irritation clear in the sound his boots made on the old wooden floors. Though Jeremy was now the only inhabitant of his family home, he speaks his frustration aloud while going through the motions of packing for a trip.

"Dadgum, blasted, air-headed buffoons," Jeremy gripes while grabbing the first two pairs of trousers he could reach, roughly shoving them into his rucksack. "First they tell me that I'm not qualified for the position because, 'You don't have the requisite experience in the field.'" He complains, "Then they add insult to injury with, 'You should have done an unpaid internship.' Yeah, like my tuition and bills were just gonna be magically taken care of. Naturally my time in the Marines ain't worth a damn to them." While Daniels rants on, he shoves the other necessary clothing into his ruck before loading up on toiletries, "And if not that then, 'We're sorry, you are overqualified for this position.' Damned if I do, damned if I don't I reckon." The small man shivers as the fine hair on his arms stand on end. Huffing to himself he mutters, "Gonna need to get the HVAC looked at. Just what I need, another bill."

"Well, a few days of some riding up in the mountains ought to make me feel less ornery." Jeremy thinks to himself before mentally adding with a laugh, "And it's gonna be a bit more productive than chasing after jobs with over inflated requirements."
His laughter stops abruptly as his hand reaches for a simple oak box, pausing to uncertainly tap the lid with his fingers. After a few moments he lifts it up and places it into his bag with far greater care than he'd shown with the rest of his belongings. He murmurs to himself, "A promise is a promise."

Jeremy slings the rucksack over his shoulder before he reaches up for one last item. Taking a hold of the grip, he pulls down his father's old 1911 pistol. Shaking his head Jeremy corrects himself mentally, It's his now, not his father's. Taking the firearm, Jeremy checks the magazine before seating it back in place. Jeremy racks the slide back and looks to ensure the 1911 was free of any debris. Satisfied, he lets go, the slide slams back into battery with a sharp clack, a fresh cartridge loaded. A quick flick of his thumb engages the safety, and Jeremy slides the sidearm into its resting place at his side in a holster underneath his jacket.

Walking out of his bedroom towards the front of the house, Daniels pauses and squints at a painting on the wall. The image flows and shifts from a simple landscape to a still life. Jeremy rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. As he inspects the painting further the same familiar landscape greets him. He heads on to the front door as he grumbles, "Dammit, I have got to see about getting more sleep. I'm losing it." Jeremy checks once more to make sure he had his wallet and keys, before locking the front door. With a deep breath he says out loud, "Well, enough dicking around. Might as well get rolling." before heading out the back.

Pulling the back door closed sharply Jeremy locks it. He tries to relax while he strides off the deck over to a small tree, where his well-loved motorcycle rests, out of reach of the cold sun. Taking a few deep breaths to finally calm himself Jeremy tugs his leather jacket close over his t-shirt against the brisk February morning. Plucking his helmet off the sissy bar Jeremy dons it and fastens it snugly. Checking yet again that his rucksack is secure over his shoulders. Clicking his boot heels together in a silly pre-ride dance, Jeremy throws his leg over the Harley-Davidson sportster, another inheritance from his late father. Settling onto the small seat, Jeremy prepares to start the bike.

Jeremy feels the air charge with static, the hairs on his neck and arms all bristling in response. Jeremy thinks to himself, "What the devil? It's clear as a bell, and I can't remember the last time we had a thunderstorm in the wint-" the thought is cut off as the world turns psychedelic colors. Daniels screams in agony as pain racks his body, as if he was being shredded from the inside. The scream is cut short as he falls unconscious.

- - - - -
​

Jeremy comes to, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat, he thinks, "What the devil was that?". As he regains his sense every part of his body protests feeling aflame and numb at the same time. He notes in the back of his mind it feels much like the taser he had been shot with during training. After several moments Daniels' brain started to pay attention to what his ears were passing along and he stiffened as several different voices flowed in.

"Ugh, can we not do that again?" Said one woman's voice

"Captain Gloval, there's someone over here." Came another.

"I wonder who he is." came a third, this one sounding more naive and innocent.

Then a rough bass voice intones, "That's what I want to know Lt. Porter. Claudia, Lisa, you have any idea?"

A pair of women, Jeremy assumes the ones the Captain addressed, responded with a negatory.

Jeremy groans again as he tried to push himself into a fully seated position, the slump he was in playing havoc on his neck, "Uh, what's going on? Where am I?" he says. His jacket falling open from his motion.

Jeremy opened his eyes, as he shifts into a more comfortable position one of the women - the one with dark hair, he notes - catches a flash of metal under his jacket. Swiftly recognizing the pistol, she barks out, "He's got a gun!"

Claudia reacts first, snatching a sidearm from her thigh holster and leveling it at Jeremy, who throws his hands up. He says, "Non-hostile, non-hostile. I am not a threat." His eyes are fixed on muzzle of the pistol. Though Jeremy knows logically that it had to be 9mm or smaller, at present it looks like a tank cannon. Placatively, Daniels offers, "Hey, look, I'll gladly disarm if that means not getting shot."

The female officer looks to Gloval, who nods in assent. Jeremy with an exaggerated slowness carefully draws his 1911. Careful to keep the muzzle pointed to the deck, and finger well clear of the trigger, he releases the magazine allowing it to drop to the deck. Racking the slide open the cartridge dances across the floor. Leaning forward Jeremy placed the sidearm on the deck and used the heel of his boot to slide the pistol and magazine over towards the Captain while keeping his hands to the 'surrender' pose he was assuming. "See? Everything's all nice and ducky. Right?"

Kim quickly collected the firearm which allowed Jeremy to let out a quiet sigh as Claudia lowered the pistol she was aiming at his chest. Captain Gloval spoke in his thick Russian accent, "So, mister stowaway. Would you mind showing us your face?"

Jeremy considers making a funny comment for a moment, but after feeling the tension rolling through the air, he opts for modicum of restraint. "Of course, Cap'n... uh, Gloval. Right?" he says slowly pulling the helmet off to reveal his scruffy beard and short crop of black hair. Trying to offer a disarming grin the the small man said "The name's Daniels. Jeremy Samuel Daniels, uh, at yer service I reckon."

"What is your ID code Mister Daniels?"

Jeremy screwed up his face in confusion, "My what now?"

The captain sighed, "Your personal identification code. I would like to confirm that you are who you claim to be."

Jeremy shrugged, "Uh, I don't rightly got one sir."

Sammy scoffed, incredulous, "You don't have one? That's impossible."

Gloval shoots over a quieting glance, "Mister Daniels, I find that hard to believe. Surely you have some means of allowing us to confirm your identity in our systems. Otherwise, I am afraid that we will have to presume that you are a AUL saboteur."

"Whoa, whoa. Captain, I ain't no saboteur, 'specially not one aligned with whomever the AUL is. I promise you that on my honor as a Marine."

Gloval cocks his head to one side, "Marine?" Jeremy nodded in the affirmative which prompted Gloval to continue, "Well, what's your serial number?"

Jeremy made a quiet, "Huh" before rattling off his serial number from memory. Gloval nodded at Lisa who entered the provided number into her terminal and waited for the record search to bear fruit. When the computer finally displays the record associated with Daniels' serial number, Commander Hayes blanches, "Captain, that ID number does belong to a Daniels, Jeremy Samuel."

Gloval harrumphs, "So, this stowaway is who he claims to be."

Lisa takes a sharp breath before continuing, "But sir, according to our records. Jeremy Samuel Daniels is dead. And has been for nearly 3 years."

Silence weighs heavily over the bridge after Lisa's statement. Jeremy's mind races as he tries to make sense of the impossibility of the situation he found himself in.

Gloval scowls at the man, "Enough with the funny business, who are you really?"

Jeremy holds his hand out to the side, concern etched on his face, "Whoa, Captain, hold on a minute. I ain't doing no sorta funny business here. I am Jeremy S. Daniels, son of Lucas and Valarie Daniels, brother of Michael Daniels and Caroline Avery. Born, raised, and living in South Carolina. And I am not any happier to hear that I am listed as deceased, than you are to have found me as an unwitting stowaway on your vessel."

Gloval narrows his eyes at Jeremy, who, to his credit, was holding up under the withering glare. After a long pause, Gloval looks over to Lisa. Commander Hayes answers to the implied question, "That all matches what we have on file sir. There are several photos as well."

Gloval nods before ordering, "Stand up." Jeremy offers a short nod before pulling his arms free from his rucksack. Grasping the edge of a console, the small man levers himself up so he can get his feet under him. Taking a moment to be sure he is steady, Jeremy turns to face Commander Hayes for her appraisal.

"Hmm, right height, hair color matches, as does the eyes. Looks a bit heavier than the listed weight." Jeremy bites back a snide retort at the comment. Lisa continues, "And the pictures looks to be close enough, even if the alleged Mr. Daniels looks far scruffier than what we have on file."

Jeremy grumbles quietly, "'Scruffy looking' she says, oi. Can't catch a break." Eliciting a snicker from Kim and Vanessa, and another stern look from Gloval. Jeremy's brain finally catches up to reality and he grapes at the view from the conning tower, "Dear heavens... We're in space."

Gloval softens his glare slightly, "Yes, we are. Vanessa, get some security personnel sent up here to escort out guest to the brig while we sort things out."

Vanessa nods and offers a curt "Aye aye." before she makes the call. Sammy speaks up, "But Captain, the brig hasn't been built yet."

Jeremy chuckles and remarks, "Heh, all you need for a brig is a door that locks from the outside, and a guard to post beside it."

Gloval's glare hardens again, "Very astute Mr. Daniels, that is exactly what is going to happen. I'd appreciate it if you cooperated with us." Jeremy nods and reflexively says "Aye aye Cap'n."

The ship rocks with an explosion. Lisa calls out, "Sir, there are still aliens in the city." Jeremy's eyes bug out as the bridge crew moves to action, guiding the ship's forces in defense of the vessel. Edging back into the corner where he awoke, Jeremy roughly drops onto his haunches and sits down tucking his hands under his thighs. Gloval nods appreciatively before focusing on the crisis at hand.

- - - - -
​

Jeremy stands when a pair of Marines arrive to take him into custody. Grabbing his rucksack, he offers it to the nearest Marine. Jeremy, noting the man's name tag and rank, attempts a cheery smile, and says, "Here ya go Corporal Gruber." Once the man takes the ruck Jeremy scoops up his helmet "Well, lead on gents."

The Marine that took the rucksack ducks through the door as the other man holds his rifle at low-ready, Jeremy catches the Sgt stripes and nametape of the senior Marine, thinking to himself, "Corinth? Oddball name that."

The Sergeant motions for Daniels to move. Jeremy complies with smooth deliberate motions. Not wanting to startle the armed men. He exits the bridge as directed. Out in the hall, he backs against the wall, and holds his arms out and wrists together towards his captors. The Marines look at Daniels in confusion and Corinth asks, "What are you doing?"

Jeremy says, "You're not going to cuff me?" drawing out the first word.

Gruber says, "Be kinda hard since all the cuffs are in storage at the MP posts, out there in the ice."

"Even the cable cuffs?"

"The what?" Corinth asks.

"You know, cable cuffs. Like zip ties, but made to be used as disposable cuffs you only have to cut off?"

Gruber shakes his head "I've never seen those before."

Corinth narrows his eyes at Jeremy "Why would you even know about something like that?"

Daniels shrugs "Eh, prior service. We used them on any detainees, kinda infrequently to be honest. You know, you've secured a group of actual or suspected hostiles and you want to minimize the time that you have them held at gunpoint. So, you just zip-tie 'em with the cuffs. Right?"

The pair of Marines glance at one another before Corinth turns back to Jeremy "What are you talking about? You some sort of SpecFor asshole?"

Jeremy shakes his head "No. Ran into a few of 'em and picked up a couple of tricks here and there. Just the AO I was in, ya know? Good God, I'm giving y'all pointers on how to hogtie me. Uh, just lead on and I promise I'll behave."

Sgt. Corinth furrows his brow before nodding at Gruber who turns and leads the way. Jeremy falls in behind him, noting the familiar 'click' of a safety being flipped off as he turns his back.

The group make their way along the corridors, their trek only disturbed by the occasional tremor as the conn tower is fired upon. Daniels making it a point to not track what turns they make nor counting his steps. Even so habit triumphs with Daniels zeroing in on the compartment codes, and emergency phones.

The trio stumble as the deck bucks under their feet, the dull sound of an impact to the hull is followed by a low rumble from an explosion. Before they can steady themselves a secondary explosion cooks off, the wall bulges outward before throwing a chunk of plating free. The metal slams Corinth to the deck pinning him as a burst pipe gushes steam across the passageway. A high voltage line also thrashes out of the rent, whipping around furiously as if it were searching for a victim. Sparks light the corridor in a strobe when the exposed wire comes into contact with the deck or walls, as the light in that section of the passage die. The effect amplified by the steam clouding the area in a fine fog. Sergeant Corinth screams in pain as the electrical bleed off washes over him, the shocks strengthen as the wire creeps nearer.

Gruber staggers against the wall, reeling from the concussive force. Daniels ignores the ringing in his head from the blast to sprint towards the crash phone, barking as he passes, "Corporal, help the sergeant." Throwing himself shoulder first into the wall Daniels yanks the receiver off its cradle, "Alert DAMCON, we have a venting steam pipe and live wire in C-L9-185-8-Q. Potential casualty. Say again, live wire and steam venting at C-L9-185-8-Q with potential casualty."

Turning back after slamming the receiver back home, Daniels is appalled to see Gruber rooted in the same spot. Corinth's screaming ceases as the live wire moves closer feeding more electricity through him, as every muscle is forced taut by the current.
Moving back, Jeremy shakes the frozen Gruber "Corporal! Corporal! Oh goddammit. Outta my way Marine." Snatching the rucksack from his erstwhile captor, Jeremy tears the zipper open and grabs his leather gloves.

Tugging the gloves on, Jeremy pushes himself forward as the electricity in the air is already placing his hair on end. Grabbing the plating that has Corinth pinned, Daniels lifts the metal, hoping to lever it off the man. Only succeeding in lifting the plating a few inches. Enough for Corinth to pull himself free, if he wasn't incapacitated from being shocked. The wire whips closer as if it was angry to be denied its victim, sending another jolt through Corinth. The fresh wave of power also washes over Jeremy. He grunts as he defiantly holds on, refusing to abandon the sergeant just yet.

Jeremy heaves again, trying to shove the metal clear of Corinth, only succeeding in shifting the plating an inch or two back. Water falls from the ceiling as the steam condenses, wetting both Jeremy and Corinth. Daniels knows if he can't get the sergeant free soon, the water will soon rob him of the marginal protection his thick-soled combat boots and leather gloves afford.

Straining to keep the metal lifted Daniels yells, "Goddammit Corporal, you will get your ass over here or I swear, you'll be scrubbing shit stains out of every damned head on this God forsaken ship for the rest of your tour."

The angry tirade jolts Gruber out of his fugue, shaking him into action. Jeremy says, "Don't grab him, use his blouse. Use his blouse!" Causing Gruber to pull up short of latching onto the sergeant's hand and arm. The corporal nods as he grabs fistfuls of the blouse and tugs once, twice, to no avail. "It's no use sir, he's still stuck."

Daniels nods "OK corporal, on three. Three!" redoubling his effort, Jeremy steps into his lift, gritting his teeth at a wave of pain as electricity surges across his leg. His forearms already half numb from the static discharge. Gruber strains, pulling on the sergeants blouse for what feels like an eternity as the wire continues its slow approach. With a final heave, Gruber frees Corinth, pulling him clear of danger.

Jeremy's knee threatens to buckle for a moment from the electrical shock. Bounceing the metal up with a sharp push, Jeremy snatches his leg out and stumbles back, falling on his tailbone. He hurriedly scrabbles away in an awkward crab walk, only allowing himself to flop onto his back once he passes the DamCon phone he'd used earlier. The wire strikes at the metal flooring as the plating clatters to the deck trapping the high voltage line beneath it. Sparks fly across the walls as Jeremy and Gruber pant from exertion a safe distance away.

The pair remained collapsed on the deck, their breathing slowly evening out as they lay in the passageway, their hearts pounding in their ears while the ringing of tinnitus fades away.

Rolling over Daniels loosens Corinth's blouse, "Corporal, check for a pulse." Gruber tries to but as the adrenalin bleeds away his hands begin to shake uncontrollably.

"I- I'm s-sorry sir. My hands-"

Daniels offers a knowing smile, "Today your first time in combat?" Gruber nods as his whole body takes to trembling. Jeremy takes a moment to gently clap a hand on Gruber's shoulder and say in a paternal tone, "Lean up against the wall, deep even breaths. You'll feel like you could rack out, but I need you to stay awake for a little while yet ok? Again, take slow even breaths, it'll pass."

Turning his attention back to Corinth, Daniels is relieved to see the man's chest rise and fall. Though the breathing comes in ragged and uneven gasps. As Jeremy presses his fingers under the back of Corinth's jawline Gruber asks, "He, uh, is he alive?"
Jeremy nods, "He's breathing, so you know he has a heartbeat. Just checking the rate."

"Oh. Right. Will he be ok?"

Jeremy shrugs, "I ain't a corpsman. Don't know. We'll let the docs figure that one out."

As the pair sit and watch, Jeremy grimaces as the pain from his mild electrocution and the prior concussive blast asserts itself. His heart no longer pounding in his ears, Daniels shakes his head in a futile attempt to get rid of the tinnitus. He tugs his gloves off, looking forlornly towards his rucksack. It had been dropped far too close to the live wire to retrieve with any safety.

Letting his head fall back against the bulkhead with a bony thunk. Breaking the silence, Jeremy says, "Hey corporal,"

"Yessir?"

Jeremy chuckles before continuing, "What's with saying sir to me so much?"

Gruber open his mouth to reply before coming up short. "I uh, don't know."

"I said I was prior service, right? Well I was a combat officer, so don't feel to bad. Ok?"

A short while later, a repair team comes barreling up the passageway. The officer in charge directing the personnel in repairs. A pair of medics tend to Corinth, grilling Gruber for information on the sergeant's condition. Daniels fades back against the bulkhead, keeping clear of the chaos.

After securing the wire and steam pipe, the ranking officer walks over. "Corporal, good job on securing things here. And getting your sergeant out of harm."

Gruber stumbles over his words, "But- I, didn't-"

Daniels catches the corporal's attention, quickly sweeping his thumb across his throat. Mouthing 'Roll with it.'

Gruber drops his gaze to the deck, "Uh, thanks sir. Just did what I had to…"

The officer nods curtly, then bellows for the repair party to follow him. Rushing off to trend to the next crisis. The medics, satisfied that Corinth can be moved, load the stricken man onto a stretcher, and haul him off to the nearest medbay.
Jeremy shrugs at Gruber "So, how much further do we gotta go?"

The corporal blinks as he processes everything, before breaking out into a laugh. "Just around the corner. We'll be there in a moment, sir."

Jeremy holds up a finger and trots back to retrieve his rucksack. Returning he follows Gruber dutifully. On arriving at the supply closet, soon to be holding cell Daniels looks around "Not too bad, little bare and spartan, but a few drapes, some curtains, a throw pillow or two..."

Gruber stares and shakes his head "Why'd you do it?"

"Hmm? Do what?"

"Let me take the credit. You could've made yourself look better, and possibly gotten some points in with the old man. So, why?"

Jeremy browses the shelves for a few moments before answering, "Dunno, I'm probably a dumbass. Same reason I ran towards the gorram high-voltage line, not away from it. And you." Jeremy grins as he picks up a bag from the shelf, "Here we are, zip ties. Time for you to learn how to MacGyver some cable cuffs."

- - - - -
​

Jeremy leans back, the cool metal bulkhead sucking the heat through the thin insulation of his t-shirt. Looking around the room for the umpteenth time, he idly counts items on the shelves of the supply closet appropriated to act as his interim holding cell. Sighing, Jeremy attempts to adjust his zip-cuffed hands behind him into a more comfortable position. "Oh well, can't complain too much. Better than takin' a space walk I reckon. And still bigger than my berth on that LCS."

"Good to hear that you're finding out accommodations to your liking." Jeremy jumps at the unexpected address while Gloval walks in. Offering a wry grin Jeremy says, "What can I say Cap'n, I was infantry. Some o' the places I had to rack out in were little more'n a rat hole. So, since you're here, I'm guessing that the little green men have been run off, and either you wanna ask me some questions. Or you're about to toss me overboard. If it helps any, I am quite partial to having a nice chat, sir."

Gloval allows himself a brief throaty laugh, "Mister Daniels, I see that you have the traditional Marine bravado act mastered. If I didn't know better, I'd say you weren't even worried."

Jeremy shrugs, "Well sir, to be honest, if our positions were reversed I dunno that I'd have been near as gracious as you're being. You've not done anything unreasonable given the circumstances. And bitching at you isn't liable to help my case."

Gloval shakes his head, "Bozhe moi. Mister Daniels, we seem to be in a conundrum regarding you. All the documentation you had on you, and the material you were carrying all points to you being who you claim to be."

Daniels offers, "Who is listed as being dead."

Gloval nods, "Exactly. And given our present location out near Pluto's orbit verifying who you are with your family is not an option. We don't even have contact with the UEG."

Jeremy snorts, "You'll find that checking anything with my family is gonna be an exercise in futility. Only one alive is my sister, and if I was dead, I bet she'd not even have noticed."

Gloval picks up Jeremy's wallet from a table that had all of the smaller man's carried possessions laid out on it. Opening the wallet Gloval pulls out a card,"You said that your parents were Lucas and Valarie Daniels, da? They're listed as alive, living at the address on this permit of yours. Your siblings are also alive, and living in the same general area as your parents."

Leaning forward intently, eyes wide, Jeremy asks, "You're not messing with me here? They're really alive?"

"As far as we know, your family is alive, Mr. Daniels. You really thought them dead?"

Jeremy forces his way up awkwardly, shimmying his back along the wall until he could stand, "First off, you can call me Jeremy, or JD. Never liked going by mister anyway. Second, yeah I thought them dead. At least my brother and parents. Seeing as I not only attended their funerals, but I had to ID my brother or what was left of him." Daniels begins to tear up, "Look Cap'n, please, you gotta let me talk with my family. I'm begging you here."

Gloval sighs and shakes his head, "I can't do that I'm afraid."

"What?! Look I ain't asking you to trust me, or to buy my story. But, I've not talked with my brother in over 5 years. My parents in nearly a decade. Surely you..."

Gloval cuts off Jeremy, snapping, "It is not a case of my choosing not to allow it. This ship is cut off from Earth. Even if we were to send a transmission, there is no guarantee that it would be received. And worse yet, we have cause to believe that the aliens who attacked us are still out there, and likely to be trying to find us."

Jeremy, feeling thoroughly chastised, slumps back against the wall, "And thus any broadcast would also light us up if they are looking for us. My apologies sir. It'll not happen again."

Gloval, for his part, offered Jeremy a small smile, "It's understandable. Still I need you to come with me, I've explained your claims and situation to my chief engineer, Dr. Lang. He is keen on talking with you."

Jeremy pushes himself off the wall again, "Sure thing Cap'n, a nice bit of conversation will be a great way to cap off this day of mine, don't ya think?" falling in step behind the Russian man, as the Marine guards take up flanking positions to Jeremy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~​

Greetings everyone. Been lurking for a short while, and I do hope I'm not committing too much of a faux pas by just posting this without any other interaction. Casting my net ever wider, hoping to stumble across more Robotech fans (and fans of 'big stompy robots' in general) out in the 'net.

I already have this story live on FFN and Archive of Our Own, where it is posted under the same name as I am using here. So if any of this seems familiar to any degree, that might be the reason. If anyone desires, by all means, contact me at either site and I'll be glad to confirm that those accounts are also me.

Finally, if you notice any spelling or grammatical oddities, please do bring them to my attention. English may be my first language, but to err is human. (And I swear, gnomes must sneak in when I'm not looking to sprinkle yet more typos around when I'm not looking. You'd think I'd eventually run all the misspelling down. Oh well.)

Edit: And I appear to have dropped this into the wrong subforum because I'm a buffoon. So, if someone could assist me with the steps to get this sorted, I'd be appreciative. >.>

 

[Doofus87]

Chapter 2: Unfolding Discoveries
​

Jeremy struggled to make himself comfortable in the folding chair he sat in, across a table from Dr. Emil Lang, the chief engineer of the SDF-1. A task made all the more difficult by both his hands still being bound behind him, and the unnerving gaze of the doctors solid black eyes. Still Jeremy forced himself to not squirm under the scrutiny as eh says in a light tone, "So, what's up doc?"

Lang turned to Gloval and asked "So captain, this is the subject you informed me of?" Lang's accented English cluing Jeremy in to the mans German heritage.

Gloval nodded, "Yes, I wish to know why he is here, and if possible, how we can help Mr. Daniels to where he belongs."

Lang cleared his throat, "Of course, I presume that he is related to those other samples you had sent up?"

Jeremy's face screwed up in confusion, "Other samples? What, I ain't the only thing that cropped up out of the aether?

Lang gave Gloval a questioning look, and waited for a nod before replying to Jeremy, "Merely some soil and plant samples from a parcel of land that was found inside of the ships hold. I understand that the MPs will be sweeping the structures that were on the said land mass shortly."

Jeremy cocked his head to the side, "Parcel of land, structures?"

"Ja, approximately an acre by surface area. 2 buildings, 2 vehicles, Several trees, and a number of shrubberies."

Jeremy chuckles momentarily, "Stop me if I'm wrong here, but it's an old, beat up ford truck and a Harley motorcycle, a big-ass magnolia, a 40 foot tall oak, and 3 pecan trees, a two-story brickwork house and freestanding vinyl sided shed?"

Gloval responded this time, "Very astute, so our supposition that it is related to you is correct."

Jeremy sighs, "Well, that'll make my procuring a change of clothes that much simpler. Though a request if I may sir?" Gloval nods in assent, "Well, please ask the MPs to not make too much of a mess or to break anything. Y'all have all of my keys to get inside, and to unlock all of my safes save for one that requires a code, and that I'll gladly open for y'all while under supervision."

Gloval muses for a moment, "I'll consider your request." Jeremy sighs, but nods his head in acknowledgment.

Lang speaks up, "Well, Mister Daniels, if you'll come this way. We have many tests I wish to run."

Standing Jeremy follows along as he quips, "Will I at least get a lollipop outta this deal?"

- - - - -​

The smell of dust and cordite rose to meet Jeremy's nostrils, handset pressed to his ear, he growled into the receiver, "I say again, this is Sigma Six-One. We are pinned down by a company sized enemy force, suspect that heavy weapons are being moved to employ against our location. We request armor and air support soonest. Over. " before tossing the handset back into the HMMWV, at the radioman who continued to broadcast the distress call.
Another Marine moved up beside Daniels, who had already made to direct his platoon to repel the latest push by the insurgents, and said in a low tone, "Those burnt bridges are coming back to bite you pretty hard sir."
Daniels huffed as he replied, "Peters, I didn't burn nothing. I nuked the damned things from orbit. Gotta be sure ya know." even as the short man scanned his eyes along the shallow gully he'd directed his Marines to fortify after they'd been forced into it from the ambush that Daniels was using increasingly desperate measures to try to escape. His Marines were clearly running out of time as injuries added up even as ammunition dwindled. Jeremy grumbled, "Milk run my left nut."

Jeremy chewed his lip for a moment before issuing more orders, "OK, Peters, once we make it through this next push, I need the dozen healthiest men we got, I'm gonna pick a good spot, close in, punch through and see if we can't make a hole to squeeze out sorry asses out of here."

"You sure that's a good idea? We could still reach Battalion HQ and get them to send out a QRF."

Jeremy glanced over to the radioman still calling over the radio, who gave the green Lt. a brief shake of his head, "I'm sure it ain't but seems we're not gonna get help any time soon. And I don't feel like havin any more people die out here."

Peters sighed as he nodded, and with a quick "Aye aye" the Staff Sergeant moved back to the far end of the defensive position, and Jeremy settled into place to held repulse the incoming assault.

Over the next half hour, the Marine platoon fought hard, turning back push after push waiting and praying that the opening they'd need would show itself in time to allow them to withdraw from the killbox they found themselves in.

Hope finally arrived as the radioman frantically waved Jeremy down, crawling over Daniels pulled himself up beside the truck, "What is it Flint?"

"I just got off the horn with the Lt. Col. He said that alpha company of 1/6 is already en route to give us support. ETA is 10 to 15."

Daniels allowed himself a quick laugh, "That's some dang good news there. Tell 'em that we have received and ackno-... What the devil is that?" Daniels interrupts himself to look around as a sharp whistle raised itself over the din of battle, followed by a dull "Whump" as the first deadly shell slammed down nearby. Biting back a curse Jeremy screamed, "MORTARS! Get small! Get s-" his warning cut off as a successive mortar landed nearby, the explosion tearing through Daniels' battle rattle and hurling the man sharply into the side of the vehicle.

- - - - -
​

Jeremy bolts upright, panting heavily, as he scrambles against the wall his cot abutted. His hind brain insisting that he was in mortal danger, and easily drowning out the more rational parts which were trying to convince his instincts that what he was being sent into a fit over was, in fact, a dream.

Jeremy's sudden re-positioning sent the cot, and himself, clattering to the deck. The door to the closet unlocked as one of the Marines standing post outside opened it to see what the commotion was about. She was greeted with an almost comical sight of Jeremy's legs tangled with those of the rickety cot. All the while, he futilely pulled at the sheet wrapped around his arms and otherwise bare torso. Only the look of pure terror on his face kept the scene from being mistaken for a Three Stooges skit. Keeping her distance the woman says loudly, "Mr. Daniels. Mr. Daniels. Are you alright?"

Hearing his named called snaps Jeremy out of his nightmare-fueled panic, and allows him to regain some measure of lucidity. "Uh, y-yeah. I'm fine." he stammers out in a bald-faced lie. His face already reddening at his state of dress, silently thankful that he'd kept his jeans on at the least. Busying himself with extricating himself from his near bondage predicament he asks, "Sorry about the scare ma'am, I just, ah, lost my balance. What time is it?"

"No need to 'ma'am' me. If we're going to be formal, I'm Sergeant Quail. Otherwise, just call me Janet. And it's about 0330 hours." Quail replies, her face clearly indicating that she didn't buy his excuse.

"Ugh, great. Well, charmed ta meetcha Sergeant. And no need to call me 'mister' neither. Jeremy or JD'll both be fine in my book."

Janet offers a compassionate smile, "Jeremy it is. You sure you're OK there?"

Jeremy starts to dismiss the concern, but hesitates, "Nah, I ain't. Bad dream. Bad memories 'n all of that. I'll manage though." he offers having untangled himself and righted the cot back against the wall. "Uh Janet, since it seems I ain't gonna get more sleep anytime soon, I don't s'pose you could do me a solid of gettin some coffee. Please?"

"I'll see what I can do. Sit tight."

Jeremy nods, plopping back onto the cot as Quail walks outside before closing and locking the door. Less than a quarter hour later, the lock again turns and the door opens. The sight of Quail walking in holding a steaming mug of coffee and a handful of sugar and creamer packets provides a slim margin of normalcy to Jeremy. Still sitting on the cot, the thin sheet now carefully wrapped around his shoulders to offer him some modesty. "Ah, Much obliged ma'am. Ach, sorry, Sergeant."

Janet chuckles and offers the mug, "You sound like a guy I knew from Alabama. Anyway, didn't know how you took you coffee, so I just grabbed what there was in the mess."

Jeremy takes it with a appreciative nod, "Black is fine, and 'Bama is kinda close. But not quite on the mark for me."

Quail steps back, "So, you want to talk?"

Jeremy shakes his head before taking a sip of the brew, "Not really. No. Suffice to say, I was remembering the end of a severely trying fortnight."

The next few minutes passes in silence, only broken by Jeremy sipping at his drink. Finally he speaks up, "If you don't mind my sayin so, you're bein awfully nice given that I'm kinda being held here as a prisoner. Not that I'm complaining."

"Well, it helps that Joachim and Franks said you were nothing but cooperative when they brought you back from Dr. Lang's lab. And the scuttlebutt that is floating around is that you were found on the bridge by the command crew. But you didn't try anything between getting on board and getting to the bridge. Not to mention that you helped Gruber when Sgt. Corinth was incapacitated."

Jeremy cocks his head to the side, "There's already scuttlebutt goin on around me? Heh, what am I saying? Of course there is, Lance Corporals always know everything don't they?"

Quail laughs, "Oh? What do you know about that?"

Jeremy pulls the sheet up over his left shoulder to display a tattoo of the USMC emblem, "Semper Fi, Sergeant. Semper Fi. I didn't get this just because it looked cool."

"I suppose so. Are you also some sort of special force that went rogue?"

"Nah, just plain old infantry myself. And didn't go rogue, just exited service."

"So, these bad memories are from your time in?"

Jeremy nods, "Yeah, and nothing personal Miss Quail, but I really don't feel like talkin about it."

Janet is cut off from asking another question when the door flies open and a tall, lanky man barges through, the silver eagle on his collar marking his rank clearly. He narrows his eyes at Quail, "Sergeant, what are you doing in here?"

Janet pops to attention and snaps off a salute, "Checking up on the status of the detainee, Colonel Maistroff. I presume that Major Armstrong knows you're here."

Maistroff snaps back "That is above your paygrade Sergeant. Now back to your post." as he quickly returns the salute.

Quail nods and moved for the door. Jeremy called over, "Thanks again for the compassion Sergeant, maybe once I get cleared as not a bad guy, we can talk without a brass hole interrupting us." Quail offers a barely perceptible nod and steps outside.

Maistroff glowers, looming over Jeremy, "Coffee? I'll have to have a talk with Armstrong over how his people are treating prisoners."

Jeremy took a moment to look over the man trying to cow him, careful to keep his face as impassive as possible, "Oh really? Last I checked having Marines treat detainees with basic human dignity was not a bad thing. Now, can I help ya?"

Maistroff scowls again, "I was wanting to see if it was indeed you. Gloval should have thrown you out the airlock as soon as you were found on the bridge."

Jeremy couldn't help but to reply sardonically, "Yep. It's me all right. I'm as me as I am gonna get. Should I know who you are, and what reason you'd have to want to make sure I am who I say I am?"

Maistroff huffs, "That's none of your concern."

Jeremy returns the scowl with his own, "None of my concern? You're saying I should be thrown out into space just because I, what? Dared to be me? And it's not my concern for why you, having never met me, would advocate for my experiencing a painful death? Bull hockey."

A third voice adds in, "I must concur with Mister Daniels' statement." Jeremy and Maistroff both turn to look at Gloval, who'd entered while the two had been glowering at one another.

Maistroff rebuts, "Henry, I'm telling you, this man," emphasizing his statement by jabbing a finger at Jeremy, "Is a severe threat, and should be dealt with immediately. I'd not be surprised if he was somehow responsible for the loss of our fold engines!"

Jeremy scoffs, "Oh right. Sure, a severe threat. Let me guess, I'm going to destroy this vessel with only this ceramic mug. Oooh, scary."

Gloval squars his shoulders and set his jaw, "Colonel Maistroff, this is my ship. And I will not space a man based off of pure conjecture. Especially not for such a spurious reason as you provided."

Maistroff starts to object again, only to be cut off by Gloval, "Enough. Until Mister Daniels has been deemed a real and present threat to this ship, or the personnel aboard her, he will not be harmed or threatened with harm. Understood?"

Maistroff harrumphs and mumbles "Fine" Storming from the room.

Jeremy looks at Gloval, "Man, who pissed in his cherrios? Er, sorry that you had to drop in Captain. Bit early for you to be up and around, especially after yesterday."

Gloval gives a low, throaty laugh, "Early? Try late. I've not had a chance to get some sleep yet. Besides, it was fortuitous that Sergeant Quail ran into me on her way back from the mess hall."

Jeremy couldn't help but laugh himself, "Seems I still have my same sort of knack for making friends."

Frowning, Gloval said, "I must apologize, Dennis, Colonel Maistroff is normally level headed, if a bit set in his ways. I am surprised that he was so adamant over, well, you. Regardless, that is not the fortuitous part. What is, is that I finished reading the preliminary report from Lang. I believe that you should read it yourself." Gloval hands a folder to Daniels. Jeremy takes it and leafs through the pages, his brow furrows as he progresses through the report. At one point he turns the folder upside down in a bid of making sense of the jargon.

"Uh, I gotta admit, reading over this makes me feel like a real hayseed hick. I mean I'd like to think that I'm not a total dunce. But, egad. I can barely understand a quarter of the words. Hyperspace. Electro-magnetic fold interference. Five-dimensional cross-transpositioning. I dunno if I should hope that you do, or don't understand this any better than I do."

"I'll admit, I am not sure of the technical aspects myself. But Lang seems to be holding that you are not a fake posing as a dead man. Regardless, he is going to want to run more tests, to help confirm exactly what brought you here, and how we can get you back home."

Jeremy shrugs, "Eh, not much left behind for me anyway. But I do appreciate the sentiment sir. Although, what other tests can that mad scientist run? He took a sample of dang near everything the first time. And hit me with enough excited particles that I may sprout a third friggin arm here."

Gloval chuckles again, "I'm not sure, but your continued cooperation will be appreciated. Still, before Dr. Lang gets another session with you, I'll make sure that you are allowed to get breakfast from the mess hall, and after that, we can go by your domicile so you can assist the MPs with searching it."

Jeremy nods before saying, "да товарищ капитан."

 

[Doofus87]

Chapter 3: Duty of a Man
​

Daniels leans over the table he was seated at, comfortably sequestered in the corner of the mess hall, a bevy of books spread around as he crunches away at a bowl of dry, knock-off cheerios. He idly digests the events of the past two weeks while also skimming the fort of books around him, hoping to get a grasp of the current events of this new world he found himself in. His thoughts interrupted by a friendly tone, "Oh, hi there sweety. I've not seen you around before. You one of those poor souls off of the Daedalus?"

Jeremy finishes crunching through his current spoonful of cereal before responding to the matronly woman, taking the opportunity to give her a once over, "No ma'am. I wasn't." Before he can say more, she cuts him off.

"Oh, then you must be a new inductee from the civilians."

Jeremy shakes his head, "Naw, I'm prior service, and fully intent on maintaining the 'prior' status ma'am. Th' name's Daniels. Jeremy Daniels. Formerly of the Marines."

"Oh, I'm sorry honey. Where are my manners, I'm Petty Officer Martha Filgore. It's nice to meet you." Martha drawls out in a thick Alabama lilt.

Jeremy smiles amicably, saying, "Pleased ta meetcha Ms. Filgore."

Martha sits down across from Jeremy, "If ya don't mind me asking Jeremy. Why ain't ya lookin' to re-up? Goodness knows we need all the help we can get."

Jeremy shrugs while offering a wave to the approaching Sgt. Quail, "Look, I already did my time. Got jerked around, and I reckon I got a bit disillusioned with things. All I wanna worry about, is finding me a nice little place to carve out and hole up until we get back to Terra Firma. Nothing personal, but I did the rah-rah-ree serve your country bit, and I was drummed out because my being an acerbic, in-your-face sorta troop didn't sit well with my superiors. I have no desire to screw with that again, ya ken?"

Before Martha could respond Quail walks up and asked with a smile, "Good evening Jeremy... Why are you eating a bowl of dry cheerios?"

"Because they were out of pork chops, and the 'steak' is a crime against bovines the world over."

Janet blinks, "But, why no milk?"

Jeremy motions at the collected books, "Don't wanna mess up the literature. Also, the only options for milk were almond or soy. Blech."

Shaking her head, Quail asked, "Mind if I sit down?"

Jeremy motions at the open seats, "Plenty ta pick from Sergeant, though I am inclined to make some joking comment about you needing the captains permission to do anything since we're on a boat."

Filgore shoots Jeremy a look, "Come now honey, this is a ship, not a boat. I'd expect for a proper Marine to know the difference. Even if he's a lapsed one."

Jeremy grins wryly, "And I'd not be a proper, if lapsed, Marine if I didn't give y'all squiddes some grief over things. Now would I?"

Quail rolls her eyes and slides into a seat beside Jeremy, "Hope you don't mind me saying so, but I over heard your ... discussion about re-uping. If you don't mind my asking, what are you going to do in the meantime? You've been working with Lang for the past two weeks, surely you aren't intending to assist him all the way back to Earth."

"Nah, I think he's running out of trials to have me assist with. I have volunteered to be some extra dumb muscle with getting those two ships attached and all squared away. After that gets sorted? Eh, I'll find something to keep me occupied. Always have. Always will."

For the next hour, the trio chat with one another. Finally, Jeremy looked at his watch, "Well ladies. It was a nice chat, but I gotta get rolling. I'm slated to start helpin out on the Prometheus in 30 minutes. And I'll have to run to get these books stowed afore that. Y'all take care. Alright?"

At this, Jeremy gathers his books and dishes before plodding off, a friendly nod exchanged with the ladies farewell.

After Daniels was out of earshot, Filgore mentioned to Quail, "You need to be careful Janet."

"What do you mean Martha?"

"I saw how you looked at that boy. And I saw how oblivious he was acting. Also, the past week, every time he was in here, and you were off duty. You just happened to drop in as he was eating. You're sweet on him. Just be careful honey. OK?"

Quail laughed, "Martha, you're just seeing things. I'm a Marine, not some silly school girl. You're not seriously suggesting that I have a crush on him, are you?"

Martha sipped at her mug of coffee, "You said it, not me. I'm just observing. And advising you to be careful."

- - - - -
​

Jeremy walks through the bulkhead separating the Prometheus from the rest of the spaceship. Shaking his head and chuckling to himself Daniels marvels at the idea of an aircraft carrier that was both fully submersible, and that dwarfed the Nimitz class in comparison. Further astounding was how the personnel of the Promie and the SDF-1 were refitting and MacGyvering the naval vessel into her new purpose as a deployment platform for the larger space vessel.

Rolling out his shoulders, Jeremy rocks in his boots as he scanned the munitions deck for the officer in charge, Major Armstrong. Before he can spot the man, Daniels tenses as a rough hand clasp his shoulder. The grip tightens enough to let the strength of the owner be felt, but not so much as to be painful. "You lost son?"

Jeremy turns his head while fighting back his instinct to break out of the grip, he offers a slip of paper and an explanation, "No sir, I don't believe I am. T'name is Daniels, Jeremy Samuel. I'm one of the volunteers for helping to muscle this pile of ordy into something resembling organization." as Jeremy spots his accosters bronze oak rank he adds on a belated, "sir."

The major nods as he takes the offered papers and scanned them, "I see. We are short handed and can use all the help we can get. Have you worked with munitions before Mister Daniels?"

JD nods as he takes in the stout black-haired man, "Yes sir, spent some time on a Tarawa-class LHA. Not quite the same scale as this beast, but the job doesn't change much, Major."

"Roger that. I'm Lance Armstrong. Just so we're clear, all these Marines belong to me now. Keep things kosher we'll all get along fine. Place any of them in danger, and you won't live to regret it."

Jeremy nods as he smirks "Crystal clear Major. Wouldn't expect different from a fellow Jarhead. Sir."

Armstrong shakes his head, "Let me guess, you were finance."

"No sir, I was a mudheel office. Then I got stuck in logistics for a short bit. And after that back to civvies. So, who do I report to sir?"

Armstrong turns Daniels' shoulder loose and motioned across the way to a well built black man, "Lance Corporal Schmitt needs the extra hands. I trust that won't be an issue?" Jeremy shakes his head and Armstrong continues, "Good. We are moving those missiles to bay 13. Let Schmitt know after that I need him to take his team over to prep the LOX to be transferred to the SDF-1. Clear?"

Daniels nods as he salutes out of habit, "Aye aye sir. I'll pass it along." Catching his gaff, he laughs it off, "Er, sorry about that."

Armstrong just waved the man off and turned to continue organizing the chaos around him.

- - - - -
​

Gloval sits at his desk, glowering as he wades through the paperwork and reports that were building up from the struggles of the SDF-1 and her crew. Over the past 2 weeks the crew of the vessel had worked tirelessly in rescuing many of the personnel of the Daedalus and Prometheus, in addition to organizing and executing the retrieval of the civilians from the shelters across the transplanted Macross Island. To say nothing of collecting what resources they could from the frozen island and sea. Henry breathes a sigh of relief as he heard his door open, welcoming the respite it granted. At least until he sees Maistroff walk in, a scowl etched on his face. "What is the matter Dennis?"

"Henry, what is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning of what?"

"It's not bad enough that you're tolerating this Daniels character, but you're also granting him access to the Daedalus and Prometheus? Are you mad?"

Gloval sets his jaw as he pinches the bridge of his nose, "Dennis, we're short-handed as it is. And he was asking for something else to do rather than sit around in his ... quarters for hours on end when Lang isn't needing him to run tests. It's not like I can lock him up for however long it takes us to get back to Earth. And he has been nothing but cooperative."

"Henry, I'm telling you, he is a danger and a menace, and we need..."

Gloval snaps, cutting Maistroff off, "Colonel, I do not know what grudge you can possibly have against this man. But enough is enough. Lang assures me that he is not masquerading as the deceased Jeremy Daniels. And to be frank I have run out of patience for you to continue to harp on this matter. He has been completely cooperative, especially given that he is being held as a few shades shy of a prisoner, and we are keeping his private property under lock and key as we try to suss out how to proceed. For heavens sake, he even was willing to show us all of his stockpile of arms and ammo."

"That's what I'm talking about Captain, he has, and I quote the MPs that did the investigation, 'enough weaponry to arm a full platoon'. What if he decides to try to take over the ship?"

Gloval stands up, matching Maistroff in height, "With what personnel? He has no compatriots, he has no support, he is alone, and until he makes any motions to try to form some mutinous group, I will allow him to do what he can to help us, and to help himself feel useful. Now, Colonel, is that all?"

Maistroff scowls even harder, and opens his mouth to retort when the comm line crackles to life, "Captain, there's a situation on the Prometheus. We need you on the bridge now sir."

Gloval curses under his breath as he replies, "I'm on my way." before he leaves his office he levels a stern look at Maistroff, "No more Dennis, please. At least not until you have some proof of this Daniels doing anything you are accusing him of. Understood?" in a tone that made it clear this was the final word in the matter at present.

- - - - -​

Jeremy slowly returns to consciousness, his head pounding fiercely. "Ugh, I'm too young to be so familiar with this feeling." he groans out while heaving himself back upright. As the ringing in his ears subsides, he heard a cacophony of shouts and the chilling sound of a fire raging. As Jeremy looked around, he spied Armstrong waving everyone out of the bay, "Move it! Move it! We're venting atmo in here in 90 seconds. Clear out!"

Not needing to be told twice, Jeremy staggers as fast as he could for the pressure door. As he clears the threshold Armstrong motions for Daniels to help with dogging the door itself. Jeremy asked, "This everyone sir?"

"No, but I don't see anyone else coming. And if the munitions and fuel cook off. We're all dead anyway."

Jeremy throws his shoulder against the door and heaves alongside Armstrong. Once the door was closed and sealed, Armstrong moves to a control panel beside it, triggering the sequence to vent the bay. "Aw, hell."

Jeremy looks at the man, concerned, "What?"

"The venting system isn't working. Son of a... You, Corporal. Get in touch with the bridge, inform them of what's happening and let them know we need every firefighter available here now. Everyone else, help with evacuating. If it gets too bad, the Captain will have to ditch the Promie. If you're aboard, you're space debris."

Jeremy hangs back as his head continues to throb, "This sounds a bit sticky Major."

"That's putting it mildly son. If we can't get this handled and fast, we are looking at losing a lot of materiel not to mention the possibility for severe damage to the SDF-1."

"What are our options sir?"

Armstrong looks around before replying in a low tone, "Hope that the fire fighter crew responds fast enough. And clear out in case we do have to jettison the ship."

The corporal that had been dispatched returns, gasping for breath, "Sir, we'll have fire fighting crews here in 15. The rest of the Prometheus should be cleared in 30, 45 minutes tops."

Armstrong spits out a curse and rubs his temple. "Fine, just fine. OK, keep people moving as fast as they can. If possible, let's clear what gear we can out from any of the bays closer to the SDF-1."

Jeremy turns and starts down the corridor out of the Prometheus but he stops short next to a large fire supply case. "No, no, no. I need to bail. Now. This ain't my job. And there's no time to do anything... oh, hull nuts. I'll only live once." Grabbing the edge of the case, Jeremy yanks it open and grabs the fire-fighting equipment inside. Hustling back to the sealed door, Jeremy makes to open it, prompting Armstrong to grab him, "What in the hell are you doing?"

"Buying time sir. Doing something bloody frackin stupid."

"You go in there, I'm closing the door behind you. You read me?"

"Like crystal sir."

Armstrong hesitates for a moment before grunting out, "Fine, it's your funeral. Help me get this door open again."

"Aye aye."

Jeremy and Armstrong lever the door open, immediately staggering back as they are hit by the rolling heat pouring out of the bay. Quickly yanking on the fire suit hood and gloves, Jeremy steps into the broiling compartment, noting how the soles of his boots start sticking to the deck at once. Flashing a thumbs up to Armstrong, Jeremy grits his teeth as the door was closed and dogged behind him. "Why did I think this was a good idea again?" he says aloud.

Forging ahead, Jeremy moves in on the nearest pile of munitions threatened by the blaze. Silently cursing that the shipboard fire suppression system was still being refit for zero-G operation, Jeremy brought his foam sprayer to bear and covered the missile racks with a healthy layer of fire-retardant foam. For what seemed like an eternity, Daniels labors to hold the flames at bay, using the various extinguishers scattered across the section in a futile attempt to stem the tide, and to force the worst of the flames away from the munitions arrayed around the hangar.

After only a quarter hour, that had felt like an eternity, the door opens again. A full DamCon crew in proper fire suits storm in, and take to work at containing the blaze. The leader motions for a pair to come alongside Jeremy, guiding him out of the bay.

The small man didn't resist as he was guided out and sent with another runner to a rough med station erected just outside of the docking port for the Prometheus. His quarter hour of battle with the blaze had resulted in minor burns to his arms and legs, which after the Corpsman did a basic treatment, Daniels found himself sent on his way.

Jeremy shakes his head at his own stupidity, counting himself lucky that he got out of things so lightly.

- - - - -
​

Three days later, Jeremy gingerly pulls open the door to his temporary quarters, his arms still healing from the minor burns he'd sustained. As he starts to close the door behind him, his instincts kick into high gear, and he realizes that there are people waiting for him in the other room. His hand dips reflexively for his sidearm, only to find nothing there. Gritting his teeth in annoyance at still being disarmed, he gripped the shoulder straps of his rucksack tightly, "At least a bag of books'll still ruin someones day." he muses to himself as he rounds the corner.

He was unprepared for the sight of the company who was waiting for him. Captain Gloval, Colonel Maistroff, Major Armstrong, he recognized. Also with them was a 4th man, tall, lanky, and his marking identifying him as a Commander. Jeremy stutters out, "Uh, howdy gents. I wasn't expecting company today. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Gloval spoke first, "Mister Daniels. You already know Colonel Maistroff and I gather that you've met Major Armstrong." he said gesturing at each man in turn before gesturing at the last man, "Allow me to introduce Commander Fokker, CAG and leader of Skull Squadron."

Jeremy nodded in greeting to the blond haired man. "Nice ta meet ya Commander, good to see you two again Captain, Major. And good afternoon Mister Maistroff."

Maistroff bowed up, "That's colonel."

"Psh, last I checked I ain't your troop, or even in service. So, be glad I'm at least giving you some honorific. Still, again gentlemen, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Gloval leveled a stern look at Jeremy, "Mister Daniels, please a bit of cordiality."

Jeremy nodded, "Aye aye cap'n."

Fokker chuckled, "So, this is the fellow that was willing to go into a burning munitions bay. I think I just might like him."

Gloval shook his head, silently wishing for a shot of vodka, "Mister Daniels, the Major relayed your actions on the Prometheus a few days ago. While your actions were not strictly necessary. I feel you ought to be lauded for them." Maistroff sulked as Captain Gloval continued, "Which, actually brings me to our reason for being here. Mister Daniels, I would ask that you consider joining the RDF at least for the duration of our trip home."

Jeremy thought for a moment. "Yeah, no thanks. Not interested."

Maistroff guffawed, "Why am I not surprised. I told you that this was wasted effort Gloval."

Gloval turned his stern gaze onto Maistroff, "That's enough." he stated before addressing Daniels again, "That is your prerogative. However, for our second item to discuss. It is in regards to your ... special circumstances."

Jeremy leaned up against the wall, swinging the rucksack back and forth idly as he asked, "What about it?"

"You see Mister Daniels, I'm afraid that we must compel you to not reveal your true origins, nor anything about your life prior to your appearance on this ship."

Jeremy bowed his shoulders as he began to angrily retort, "Just wait one cotton pickin minute..."

Gloval held up a hand to silence him, "Please, hear me out."

Maistroff chimed in, "I'm telling you Gloval, he won't agree to this. We need to just lock him up, and let him stew."

Gloval snapped at Maistroff harshly, "I said enough Colonel. His reticence is not unreasonable. I do not need you antagonizing him."

The russian took a moment to calm himself, "Please, Mister Daniels, Jeremy. Understand, the people of Macross Island are already shaken and scared. They have been torn from their homes, have been attacked by unknown extra-terrestrials, and we are now stranded on the far reaches of our solar system. Introducing the fact that we also have a visitor from... what. A parallel reality? That may be the straw that breaks the camels back."

Jeremy glowered, "And what if I decide to tell y'all to go to hell? Will you kill me? Lock me up in some dark corner to be forgotten? Only to be dragged out when that mad scientist you call a chief engineer gets some hare-brained idea of how to better torture me. And dang it, he still owes me a bloody lollipop!"

"No, but we will not support your statements and that will at best lead to people thinking you are insane."

"And worst case?"

Maistroff smirked, "We contain any leaks."

Jeremy glared at the man, "Oh, cut the bull hockey. I see how this goes. I co-operate, or I get made into a non-entity. And I presume that I won't even be given the barest amount of my possessions."

Armstrong shoots Gloval a quick glance, and receives a nod in response. "Mister Daniels, I swear on my honor as a Marine that you will not be treated unfairly if you decide to not throw in with the RDF. But, I entreat you. I lost all but a dozen officers from the Prometheus, and a score from the Daedalus. We lost over three quarters of our complement on both ships. We are hurting for bodies. But also for leadership. You are an officer. And we need you. The SDF-1 needs you. the people of Macross Island need you."

Jeremy crossed his arms and huffed, "Darn it, you and your appealing to my sense of right... But, heck, what can I do? I was a grunt leader. And from what I see, these nasties we're gonna be facing aren't gonna do more than blink at someone like me."
Fokker grinned, "I think you may want to see what surprises we have in store."

Armstrong nodded, "If you have the technical aptitude, I think we can get you in as a mecha driver."

Jeremy perked up, "Wait, d-did you say 'mecha'?"

- - - - -​

A week later, Jeremy stands before the base in his jeans and t-shirt, his leather jacket draped over one shoulder, held in place by his thumb hooked in the collar. He had been making his way to the admin building that had recently been built on the SDF-1 before he had to stop in awe, gazing up at the titanic machine standing post by the hangers. As Daniels' mouth hung agape, a deep voice spoke, snapping him from his drooling stupor, "Impressive, aren't they?" JD turned to look at the man who looked to easily clear 6 feet in height, and had broad shoulders to match. Allowing him to veritably tower over Daniels far less imposing frame. The man continued, "It's one thing to see these from a distance, but being right by their feet just drives their scale home, doesn't it?"

The new acquaintance offered his hand, causing JD a moment of pause when he realizes that the meat hooks could easily palm his head like a softball, the large man said in a congenial tone, "Sergeant First Class Jason Lundsford. Can't say I've seen you around before Mister. What's your name?"

JD took the hand as best as he was able and gave it a good firm shake, "Well, fancy that. Just the man I'm supposed ta see. I'm 1st LT Jeremy Daniels, Marines."

Jason cocked his head quizzically, "Oh? I don't remember seeing you around sir. Were you stationed on the Prometheus?"

Jeremy shook his head, "Nah, I'd EAS'd before I came to Macross island. Just with things the way that they are, I can sit around like a lump and do bugger all, or I can get back in and try to do some good."

Jason nodded knowingly, "Good to hear sir, we lost a lot of good officers. But, why were you needing to see me specifically sir?"

JD smirked, as he motioned over his shoulder with his free thumb, " 'Cause I was told you're the one that's gonna get me cleared on these big stompy robots. I was infantry when I was last in, but that'll do a fart's worth of good against these aliens we're squarin off with, aye? Also, no need to be all formal with me. I ain't in uniform, and I ain't even officially back in yet. Though I've already met with Major Armstrong, and Colonel Maistroff, so it's all just gettin the formalities done."

Jason cracked a grin, "I read you, sir. Let's get you processed in, I suppose I'll get some good 1 on 1 time with you initially, the first selection of new recruits from the civilians are going to need a few weeks of basic before they get turned over to me."

JD chuckled before saying, "A few weeks? Damn, they're gettin it easy. What is this? Air force? Still, lead on Lundsford. Let's get the paperwork over so you can make a fool of this shrimp of a Marine." falling in easily behind his new acquaintance.

- - - - -​

A few days later, Jeremy stumbled out of a sim pod puking his lunch all across the floor for the sixth time. Jason exited his own, a look of exasperation on his face, "Ell-Tee, take five to get some water, an we'll get back in OK?" JD nodded as he finished retching, wiping his mouth on the back of his newly issued jump suit. Stumbling over to a nearby table, he grabbed a lukewarm bottle of water and swished a mouthful around to clear his tongue of the taste of vomit.
"Not exactly the best start, eh Sarge?" JD joked weakly.

"It takes a bit for the brain to get used to the movements of a 'roid. If you're still doing this after two weeks, then we may have issues."

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, as JD eased some water back into his system. The pair having gotten to start feeling one another out from the intensive training regimen Finally Jason spoke up, "So Ell-Tee, where are you from?"

"South Carolina, right smack dab from the middle of the state."

"Huh, got family there?"

JD hesitated for a moment before replying, "None that I've seen in over 5 years."

"Well, you got yourself a lady friend back home?"

"Nah, had one, it ended abruptly. Rough times all around."

Jason sipped at his own water, his lack of reaction telling JD that he'd need to be real careful playing poker with Lundsford. Rather than letting the conversation track into more dangerous territory, JD went on the offensive, "What about yourself, you got a little lady somewhere? ... Well, little in a relative sense."

Jason cut a look at JD, "Are you saying that I'm big or something sir?"

JD deadpanned back, "Yeah."

Jason kept up the glower for a few more moments before he started to laugh. Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a photo, "Yes, I have a 'little lady', her name is Lynn. Convinced her to marry me even, some years back." he said offering the picture to JD.

JD studied the woman in the photo for several long moments, while she wasn't supermodel material, JD could see the attractiveness about her strong features, and couldn't help but feel a mild pang of jealousy at the stupid grin that Jason had plastered on his face in the photo as well. Offering the photo back he said, "Hot dog Sarge, got yourself a real winner there. Any runtlings to speak of?"

"Two, a boy and a girl. Mark and Jessica, respectively. My pride and joy. Not to sound too sappy."

JD grinned at the earnestness of the reply, "Not in the least. Are they back on Earth?"

Jason shakes his head, "They're on ship, set us up in a temporary quarter hut. We're supposed to get assigned quarters soon. None too soon for my taste, the four of us in the one bedroom is grating. Personally I saw one house they dropped down last week that looks amazing, big, 2 story, brick. It has to have 3 bedrooms at least. Be great for us. But, I'm guessing some O5 is gonna snatch that up."

JD pauses for a moment, "Red brick, big tree out front? The works?"

"Yeah, you seen it?"

JD coughs, "You might say that. It's mine."

Jason sighs, "Real funny Lieutenant, no way they'll give you that if you aren't even married. Much less an O2."

"Not what I meant Lundsford, that's my house. They dropped it on base after I was effectively signed back up. Didn't make sense to have me stuck in a domicile halfway across the ship. And it also meant one less BOQ that needed to be made up."
Jason stares, bewildered, "Sonuvabitch. Really?"

JD nods, "Yeah, sorry. Better than some asshole field grade officer getting it. Right?"

"I don't know about that, an asshole junior officer might be more irksome."

Jeremy thinks for a moment before laughing, "Fair point. ... You're going to make me pay for it for the rest of the day, aren't you?"

"No, the rest of the week. Going to have to just to make sure you're approaching minimum standards anyway."

JD groans before finishing off his water. "Can't say I blame you Sarge. So back to it?"

Jason nods once, his own bottle emptied as well, before both the men climbed back into the pods to run Jeremy through the ringer once more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~​

Authors Note: The Character of Jason Lundsford was utilized with permission granted by the late Chris "Dreadnought" Dickerson, and is being used in his honor.

 

[Doofus87]

Chapter 4: Training and Education
​

Jeremy scowls as he felt his jumpsuit seep with sweat, pushing his discomfort to the back of his mind he focused on manipulating the controls of the Spartan to continue running the challenge course. Or at least doing so in the simulator. True to his word, Sgt. Lundsford was a brutal and unforgiving taskmaster, something that Jeremy appreciated and was grateful for. Both men knew full well the rigors of combat, and being soft in training was an unwarranted kindness.

Cranking the controls over, Daniels heaved his Spartan over into a duck while crossing under a low bridge. Hostile battlepods were hot on his heels, as they lay a fusillade along the corridor he'd just vacated. Rounding another corner, Jeremy had to throw his Spartan to one side, narrowly avoiding a crash with a hostile battlepod. Rebounding off the wall, he came in with a vicious shoulder check followed by several sharp blows to the near hip joint. A pulse of his flamer followed by a final shove toppled the mecha rendering it pacified for the moment at least. Not stopping to admire his handiwork Jeremy continued his flight, grumbling to himself, "Darn it. I know it's around here somewhere. Just gotta... Oop!"

Daniels has to again wrench the controls to dive into an open warehouse, managing to make it in before the approaching enemies could spot him. With the cat and mouse game he'd been embarking on for the past five minutes extended, he takes a moment to evaluate his options. Allowing himself to feel a flicker of pride in having disabled or severely damaging three separate hostile units despite being dry on ammo as he desperately searched for the warehouse that stored VF ready gunpods. A quick scan of his surroundings came up not with ordinance as he'd hoped, but rather crates and crates of plush animals and gaudily colored parasols. "Maybe if I chuck the toys at 'em, they'll be too busy playing with the teddy bears to notice me slipping away?" Jeremy muses.

He snaps out of his crazy fantasy as a quartet of hostile battlepods close in, a pair from each end of the road Daniels had dove off of. Sidling up to the wall off to one side of the door Jeremy weighed his options. "No ammo, flamer won't take down all four of 'em without needing to refresh from the reactor. And they don't seem to care one whit about fratricide. C'mon man, think. Think... Oh, there's an idea!"

Daniels reached the Spartans hands around the door frame and the nearest wall support beam, and he waited. Once the battlepods had moved in to flank the door on both sides, but before they entered and cleared the warehouse, Jeremy sprung to action. Clamping down hard on the door frame and the support beam, he snapped the metal soundly before quickly adjusting his grip down to the Spartans chest level. His mechas left hand on the support beam, he swung the wall around and planted in firmly to use it as an impromptu shield against the far pods while turning to the near pods and hosing them down with his flamer, the super heated plasma melting the alien mechs, and presumably whatever living being would have been inside, before the ammo stores cooked off. The surprise ruined, and the flamer reservoir emptied, Jeremy picked up the wall and charged. The thin metal provided little extra protection, but it afforded him enough time to close on the enemy units and smash the sad remains of the metal frame down onto the nearest mecha. Jeremy even managed to rip the rattled first pod apart. However his fellow machine, unperturbed by the insane tactic, calmly poured particle beam and autocannon fire into the human mecha. With a brief flash, the pod goes dark and the screens display a bevy of data that Daniels ignores, knowing full well he'll get all the information he needs once he has his boots back on a proper deck.

The program having finally runs its course shuts down the sim pod. Jeremy shakily exited, panting and already working the chinstrap of his helmet as he leaned heavily against the egg-shaped pod. Jason stood outside, a scowl on his face, "I can't believe it. I just cannot believe it. Do you have any idea what you've just done LT?"

Jeremy delayed answering in lieu of first sucking down a half-liter of water. His thirst slaked for the moment, Jeremy answers, "What? So I used some building material as additional ablative armor. Not like they were all that pretty looking beforehand."
"Not that, you dense mudheel. I mean the entire mission."

"Uh, I used unconventional tactics against a superior force, continuing to eliminate several hostile units despite being bereft of ammo, support, or sanity?"

Jason didn't respond other than to continue leveling a withering glare on the small man.

JD groaned, "Look, Sergeant, I dunno what it is I screwed up this time. So could ya throw me a bone and just tell me what the problem is?"

"The problem? You wanna know what the problem is? I'll tell you what the problem is. The problem is, you're going to be given a damn Spartan to drive."

Daniels tried, and failed, to mask his excitement, "Really?"

"Yes, really. God help us all."

Jeremy laughs as a hint of a smile cracks through Jason's stern look. "Amen to that Sergeant. Amen to that."

Jason sighs, "Just do me a favor sir, don't call it a 'big stompy robot' in front of... anyone."

Jeremy chuckles while he unzips his jumpsuit to his belt and folded the top half down, leaving his chest covered by a soaked undershirt, "Good lord Sergeant, you must've had the heat cranked up to a hundred and ten. You trying to broil me or something?"

"One-fifteen actually, not quite the same feeling as having the reactor run at combat levels, but that's as close as we can get without frying the pod's gear. Now LT, I'm going to need to finish my write-up for your progress. Grab some grub and I'll meet you at the hangar so we can start getting you familiarized with the Spartan."

Jeremy nods as he tried to sop up the worst of his perspiration, "You got it, Sergeant."

- - - - -​

The usual cacophony of meal time sounded throughout the mess hall, the clatter of flatware on plates droned out and mixing with the rumble of dozens of concurrent conversations as rumors were traded around the tables freely. As Captain Paul Frederich walks along, the blond, hawkish, narrow framed man picked up snippets of the conversations floating around him.

"Did you hear? They caught an AUL sympathizer on board, he was trying-"

"-heard from Jonsey that some black ops guy was found on board after we folded. Probably to make sure that Gloval was kept in-"

"You know about that guy that's training with Lundsford? I hear tell that he was grown in a test tube from samples they found on board. He's supposed to be-"

"-telling you, these aliens are just part of a conspiracy by the AUL. A whole group of them took off with experimental cloning gear and set up shop on the moons of Jupiter. These aliens we're facing are a farce to destabilize the UEG so the sleeper cells can-"

Frederich ignored the prattle around him as he strode purposefully along, only stopping as a nearby voice cut in over the din, "For fricks sake, last I checked Navy was supposed to have good chow, I dunno what this dreck is, but a marinara sauce it ain't."

Zeroing in on the source of the voice Paul tracked the object of his derision until he arrived at the nearby table. Glaring down his sharp featured nose, Frederich doesn't bother hiding his disdain as he quips, "Lieutenant Daniels, why am I not surprised to find you here stuffing your face. Maybe you're hoping that eating like Lundsford will add a few inches onto your height?" Tracking his gaze across the table it settles on Sgt. Quail, prompting Frederich to ad on, "And you also have such fine taste in company too. Getting an early start on fraternizing too."

Daniels groans inwardly as he rendered the appropriate greeting before retorting to Paul's jabs, "Come now Cap'n, we both know the only way I'm tryin to grow is around. Seems the docs are less than thrilled with my having a skinny butt. And the way that Jace is drilling me I'm surprised I haven't wasted away into a comical stick figure and blown away. As for the good Sergeant, she has been tasked with ensuring that I get back up to date on rules and regs that've changed or that I've gotten rusty on from my time out of service. In addition to assisting me with my other duties until I get a formal assignment and a proper XO. Sir." Daniels returns the glare that Frederich had again levied on him, "Now, sir, is there anything I can help ya with?"

"Why, yes there is something, Lieutenant. You can go find yourself some little rat hole, in a forgotten corner of this ship, and disappear." Paul spat out.

Jeremy idly listens as he tried to gnaw on something masquerading as garlic bread. After a few moments he replies with an all-too-sweet tone, "Sorry Cap'n, no can do-ski. I ran that idea past Major Armstrong and he vetoed it outta the gate. Same for me being the mascot for the Marines. I mean, I am small enough, but the consensus is that I ain't near cute enough for that billet." Looking over his lunch he continues, "So, sir, if there ain't some reasonable request I can do for ya. I'd kindly ask that you allow me to get back to... ugh, enjoying my meal. Some of us actually have been doing work to build up an appetite ya see, sir."

Frederich snorts "I know your type Daniels, sooner or later you'll mess up. And when that happens, I'll be glad to watch as you crash and burn." before he storms off towards the food lines.

Jeremy glanced at Quail, "Man, I wonder who pissed in his cheerios. But more important than that, where is the blighter responsible for this offense against beef? My carnivorous nature demands that it be properly avenged."

- - - - -​

Maistroff spares a glance up from his desk at the knock on his door, glad for the reprieve from the morass of paperwork he had been contending with Maistroff called out, "Come in."

The door opens and Jason's massive frame filled it for the moment he needs to enter the room. Snapping off a salute he said, "Sergeant First Class Jason Lundsford, reporting as ordered Colonel."

Maistroff smiled as he returned the salute, "Ah, excellent, I was needing a break from paperwork. At ease son. Please, sit."

Lundsford warily dropped his hand before carefully lowering himself into the chair opposite of Maistroff, "Thank you sir. Though I am confused as to why you wished to meet with me specifically sir."

Maistroff nodded, "I can sympathize with your confusion Sergeant, you needn't worry." Jason continued sitting stiffly listening as Maistroff asked in a paternal tone, "I wanted to ask about your plans for the future. What goals do you have son?"

Jason sat and considered his reply, "Well sir, to be frank, my goals first and foremost are to make sure that my family and I return back to Earth safely. Beyond that everything else is tertiary."

Maistroff pursed his lips, "That's it? No concern for your career or anything past making it home?"

Jason stifled a chuckle as he motioned with his hand, "To be fair sir, we're somewhere near the orbit of Neptune, with a course that is projected to have us swinging near Saturn in the next few months. Ensuring my children make it home and remain safe is weighing far more on my mind than picking up rank once we return to Terra Firma."

Maistroff allows himself a moment to wistfully smile, his eyes falling to a picture on his desk before returning to address Lundsford, "Of course Sergeant, I can appreciate your position. But, let's get down to brass tacks. While we did not suffer the same severity of losses as the Marine contingents officer corps, we are finding ourselves in a dearth for good leadership. And given the reports I've received about you, we have few more promising candidates to be brevetted to fill the gap. So long as your judgment remains sound."

Jason leans back at the question, "Permission to speak freely sir."

Maistroff nods, motioning for Jason to continue with his hand.

Clearing his throat Jason speaks frankly, "For the record sir, I much prefer for any requirements on my performance to be laid out clearly and directly. Implications are far too dangerous in our line of work. Sir."

Maistroff shifts to a congenial, if forced, smile, "Implications? Nothing of the sort First Sergeant. I was merely making an … observation about where the Army Destroid corps stands."

Jason nods, his face remaining impassive "I see sir. I am honored to be considered as officer material. And if I am tapped for a brevet position I will do my utmost to carry out my duties to the best of my abilities. Sir."

Maistroff drums on his desk for a few seconds, "That is all we could ask of you, son." he said before taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly, "I was curious though, Sergeant, you're training that Daniels fellow. Yes?" Jason nodded before Maistroff continued, "How is his training going? Any problems or issues of note? Any … concerns about his position?"

Jason narrowed his eyes before retorting, "I don't see what that has to do with anything, sir. I was asked to train him. And instructed quite clearly to report on his progress to Major Armstrong. I don't see why you'd need to be concerned about him at all. For that matter sir, it would be far better for you to ask the Major about Daniels' progress."

Maistroff's features briefly flashed icily before he composed himself, "If you must know Sergeant, I have heard some concerning bits of news about your student. It has been reported that he was reading a copy of the AULs manifesto a fortnight ago. And his position on the Prometheus when the accident occurred is, to a minor degree, suspicious. I believe that Major Armstrong is too focused on his potential as an officer to truly give the proper level of credence of the threat posed due to these factors. Now would you please answer the question, Sergeant."

Jason squared his shoulders and stared at a spot on the wall behind Maistroff as he replied, "Well Colonel, for a full report you will need to contact Major Armstrong for my formal notes on Lt. Daniels' instruction. But, from a mechanical standpoint, his skill with a Destroid is excellent. The lateral thinking he's employed is inspiring. His marksmanship is exemplary. And I have little cause to believe that he will have anything in mind but the safety of the ship, her crew, and it's civilian cargo. Any stumbling he suffered in the initial training is not out of the ordinary for new trainees. And I dare say that if we had Master Sergeant Grogan aboard, I could see Daniels being formed into a first class Destroid Driver."

Maistroff listens with a slight scowl, again motioning for Lundsford to continue with only his hand.

"If we're not talking about his mechanical aptitude. All I can report on is in how insular he acts. The few times I've tried to probe for any information about his experiences or past he always changes the subject and deflects the questions. Add on top of that his apparent reticence to form more than the barest of acquaintances. As such the only concern I have is in regards to his personal mental health."

Maistroff leaned forward, "You think he could pose a danger to others?"

Jason shook his head, "Not at all sir. He is attempting to keep everyone at arms reach. And that is only going to make his life untenable once we get into combat sir. I've seen it before; an obstinate, single minded, motivated officer. Once their unit takes losses, they fall into a cycle of blame, retrenchment, and distancing themselves. Bearing the whole weight of any failures, real and imagined, on their own. Once they reach their limit, they invariably lay down, give up, and die without as much as a whimper."

"So, your position is that he's only a threat to himself?"

Jason nodded, "That, and the enemy. I did take the liberty of pulling his psych eval along with his CV. The analysts have Daniels pegged as a classic type A personality. Goal and detail oriented, determined to a fault, a markedly high level of empathy and a note that he carries a strong belief in his own personal responsibility. However, the CV was damn near useless. What it did state was barely more than his vital statistics. No unit listings, no training post records, no COs named, no theaters of operations assigned to, et cetera. Aside from stating that he did most of a 4-year contract before being forcibly separated, it could have been used for any civilian off the street. Hell, we could have saved time and ink by printing it off on black construction paper. That being said; you, Captain Gloval, Commander Fokker, and Major Armstrong all signed off on his re-activation papers. Sir."

Maistroff furrowed his brow and crossly cut off Jason before he had a chance to go further, "I see Sergeant, thank you."

"If that is all sir, I have duties I need to attend to."

Maistroff nodded absentmindedly, and dismissed Lundsford with a wave of his hand, "Yes, yes. As you were Sergeant."

Jason stood and rigidly saluted, waiting for it to be returned before he spun on his heel and walked to the door. Maistroff called out as Lundsford's hand was on the door knob, "First Sergeant do be careful, Daniels is not what he appears to be. Do not let him manipulate you."

Jason didn't respond other than to open the door and leave Maistroff in his office.

Dennis grumbled to himself, massaging the sides of his head is frustration for several minutes before another series of knocks came from his door, "Enter."

Paul Frederich walked in and snapped off a crisp salute, asking "Good afternoon. Is... something the matter sir?"

Maistroff shot an annoyed look at the Captain, "Yes, it seems that either I pushed too hard, or we waited too long to reach out to Sergeant Lundsford. In either case, I am afraid that that avenue for neutralizing the threat Daniels poses is cut off."
Paul frowned, "I still don't understand why you don't press the issue and have that scrawny prick shoved off in a dusty corner, sir."

Maistroff leveled a stern look at Frederich, "You had best watch your tongue Captain, saying that outside of this office will land both you and I in more trouble than we need to deal with, especially with the problems we already have to tackle." Paul shrunk back like a chastised dog before Maistroff continued, "Without having a valid reason for why Lieutenant Daniels is a threat, or some other evidence of misconduct, my hands are tied. So keep you mouth shut. Am I clear."

Paul nodded quickly, before he broke into a smile, "Other evidence of misconduct sir? I have some potentially good news then."

Maistroff leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, "What do you have for me Captain?"

Paul continued his hawkish smile as he clasped his hands, "We're going to want to keep a close eye on Daniels and Sergeant Quail. I have a feeling that will give us all we need, sir."

- - - - -​

Jeremy groaned as he stumbled into the hangar bleary-eyed and mindlessly clutching at his mug of black gold in one hand, a duffle bag in his other. One of the techs shook his head bemusedly as he walked over, "Morning El-Tee, what can I do for you?"
Jeremy responded by holding up a finger before taking a sip of the brew in his mug and dropping the duffle bag off to the side of the bay, "Too dog gone early for civilized people to be awake, I tell ya h-what. The name's Daniels, and I'm supposed to meet Sgt Lundsford here. Something about being allowed to borrow some poor crew chief's Spartan."

"Daniels you say? Then that's gonna be your ride over there sir. Guess I'm the unlucky chief, Petty Officer Second Class Randall. Leroy J. Randall."

Daniels nods as he sips at his coffee, "Well then, can we dispense with he malarkey? It's your ride, I'm borrowing it. I bring in back all beat up you'll tan my hide yada yada yada?"

Randall laughs, "Sounds about right. Nice to have someone around that knows the drill. You drive one of these babies before?"

"Nah, but this ain't my first rodeo." Jeremy slurs out, looking over the mecha he asked, "So, she got a name yet?"

"Nah, freshly assembled from the factory kit so only a serial number, SP-34985. We were about to do a run up of the systems to work out the kinks." Randall cast an appraising look over Jeremy, "Nerves get to you last night or something sir?"

Jeremy shakes his head, "Not nerves. Just a buncha tossing and turning is all chief. And if you don't mind my butting in, I'd be glad to help out."

Leroy nods, "Sure thing. Everything checked out individually before we put all the pieces together. But you know how these things are."

Jeremy chuckles, "Not really, but I can imagine. Just point me where I need to go and tell me what I have to do."

Randall nods and begins to direct Daniels on how to best help with the work up of what was to be his mecha.

- - - - -​

Two and a half hours later, Jeremy is stuck up to his waist in the right leg assembly when he feels a hand grab his belt. The small Marine is lifted out like he was little more than a rag doll and Daniels finds himself grease streaked face to flat-faced visage of Lundsford.

The larger man states without a hint of humor, "You looked to be having fun there half-pint."

Jeremy shrugs as he idly swings the breaker bar he had just been using back and forth. Commenting with a lopsided smirk, "Just keeping busy Sarge. Surely you have an inkling as to how dangerous a bored Marine can be. To say nothing of a bored officer."

Jason shakes his head as he drops Jeremy to the floor without ceremony. "Chief, I hope that the butterbar here wasn't too much trouble."

Jeremy clambers to his feet, "Oh come on First Sarge, I did at least make 1st LT."

"Uh huh, any other accomplishments you want to offer up."

Jeremy nods as he states solemnly, "I'll have you all know I was voted second most likely to be treated like a sack of potatoes. And fourth most likely to succeed at my high school."

Randall hid his grin behind a fist as he asked, "Just how big was this school of yours sir?"

Daniels doesn't even miss a beat with his reply. "It was just me. I was home-schooled."

The entire bay comes to a halt to laugh as Jason sighes and rubbing at his forehead. Randall prods between his chuckle, "Oh? And who was most likely to succeed then?"

Jeremy shrugs, "The sack of potatoes."

Jason groans before he gesturing at the far side of the bay, saying, "Anyway Lt. If I may have a moment of your time."

JD nods and ambles over to the secluded area, wiping his face with a towel that Randall tossed his way. After they were a fair distance away from the techs Jeremy asks, "So Sarge, what's up?"

Jason regards the smaller man carefully for several long moments. "You and Maistroff have some sour history."

JD shrugs, "Not really."

Jason cocks an eyebrow, "Not really? So this is something that you don't care to talk about."

Jeremy laughs, "Not at Jason. I swear, I never met the man before I showed up on ship here. Honest. I have no damn clue why he has such a hate-on for me. What convinced you that there's some sordid past there?"

Jason kept quiet as he mulls over his words. When he does speak, he keeps his tone quiet,"I came here from a meeting with the Colonel. He was fishing for anything to disqualify you. And while he didn't say it directly, I gathered that he was willing to toss favors my way if I were to undercut your passing muster."

Jeremy shakes his head, "Can't say it surprises me. My first meeting with the man lead off with his calling for me to be spaced. Really set the tone of things. Gotta love politics aye?"

Jason nodded slightly, keeping his face impassive. With no further response Jeremy added, "Just do me a favor Sarge. Don't get yourself into hot water over me. I ain't worth it."

Jason scrunched his face in a quizzical look, "Care to say that again sir."

"Maistroff is your big cheese. If you have to play politik, do what you gotta do. You have a wife and kids to worry about. Me, I'm a crayon munching Jarhead."

Jason suppresses a chuckle, though he did allow himself the barest of smirks, "I'm not one to play politics sir. And to be frank, we can't be picky with who we get in as drivers right now. The only way I'm not signing off on you being a driver is if you somehow screw things up in the real deal. That's the best way I can worry after my family. Sir."

Jeremy grins slyly, "Fair enough First Sarge. Oh, that reminds me."

Trotting over to his duffle across the bay, Jeremy hauls it back over to Jason, "I dunno when they'll get proper facilities up for it, so until they get schools running, I figure that you and the little lady can make use of these."

Jason takes the bag and opens it, "Textbooks?"

JD nods, "I said I was home-schooled didn't I? May as well try to keep up the kiddos education."

Jason cracks a small, but warm, smile, "I'll make sure we put these to use. Though speaking of education. It's about time we get you some real stick time."

Jeremy nods, "Fine, fine, I think the techies were about fed up with my 'assistance' anyway."

- - - - -​

Jeremy, now clad in his jumpsuit and helmet, triple-checks that his harness was secured and snug around his torso. " Trainee Daniels here, ready for start up checklist."

Referencing the page on his kneeboard, he toggles a switch, "Priming coolant pumps, cycling electronic systems, prepping for ammo feed, flashing heatsinks. Reading all green across the board."

Randall toggles in, "APU is hooked in, ready to jump start the reactor."

"Aff, fusion pile open, mag-clamps are a go. Ready for jump-start."

Jeremy bites his lip as the APU feeds power into the mecha's fusion heart, he knows that there is practically no chance for a catastrophic chain reaction. But it was still a fusion reaction being kick-started on a scant few meters from his seat. Making sure to mute his mic he muses, "Plenty of egg heads that'd love to see this thing work. And who gets lost here? Muckle-old me."

As the fusion pile heated, the hum from the reactor increased from a thin whine to a low rumble as the reaction reached self-sustainability. The temperature jumps a few degrees as the mecha awakes. Randall calls over the radio, "Reactor running within spec. APU disconnected. You're live LT."

Jeremy looked at the lightboard again as he unmuted his mic, "Copy that chief, coolant is cycling. Power feeds green. Sensors are up, still got all green. She's alive. Instructor, Trainee Daniels requesting permission for a walk."

Jason's cool tone came through the radio, "Instructor copies Trainee, hold tight."

Jeremy tucked his hands under his thighs as he grinned like an idiot, absentmindedly tapping his feet. The Marine jumps as Jason snaps across the radio, "Trainee, I said hold tight! We do not need you tap dancing in place."

Jeremy drew his legs up from the foot pedals, "Apologies Instructor. Holding tight."

A few of the tech chuckled and chatted among themselves as Spartan 34985 stopped drumming her feet on the deck. The obligatory jokes at the nervous officer being bandied about.

Daniels knew that the enlisted rates were probably having a good laugh at his expense, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He focused on tapping out a rhythm with his thumbs on his thighs as he awaited clearance to drive the Spartan. The sim pod was good for familiarization, but actually sitting in the mecha was a whole other feeling entirely.

Jason comes back on the radio after what seems like an eternity, "SP 34985, prepare to follow lane 2 out of the bay. Ground crew attend, lane 2 is marked for Spartan Departure, Lane 4 for 'Hawk departure. Signal when clear."

Careful to not actuate anything, Jeremy gingerly took the controls as he awaited final clearance. Base traffic control cut in, "Judge, Sierra Papa 34985 you are both cleared for departure on indicated lanes. Judge, make sure the rookie doesn't crash into a building as he pops his cherry. I've seen recordings of his sim runs."

Jason chuckled as he replied, "Copy that BTC, I'll try to keep him from causing collateral. OK half-pint, let's get out of here."

Jeremy called over the radio, "Rodger that Judge, exiting bay via doors not via walls." Manipulating the controls, Daniels guided his Spartan out of the bay following the indicated path, slowly and deliberately. "Sierra Papa 34985 has exited, awaiting further instructions."

"Took you long enough, we've wasted enough time. Fall in, first stop is the mobility course."

- - - - -​

The bridge of the SDF-1 was a showcase of controlled chaos, a preemptive long range barrage that was now being followed up by a surprise attack. Gloval growled to himself before barking, "Report!"

Vanessa responded first, "Sir, RADAR and LIDAR tracking the enemy force. 4 frigate class 2 destroyer class and 1 cruiser class vessels are on an intercept course from our aft port quarter. There is a battleship and super battleship vessel prosecuting the bombardment off our starboard beam. We do not have a firm number on the enemy small craft as of yet sir, but it is estimated to be between 1,000 and 1,500. Approaching from multiple vectors off our aft."

Kim followed up, "Damage reports are coming in, minor injuries from all over the ship, but the particle beams are doing minimal damage to our hull plating."

Sammie chimes in, "Minor injuries reported from all quadrants captain, but civilians are proceeding to designated blast shelters, and DamCon teams are showing prepared for action."

Gloval growls a curse under his breath, "Lisa, what's our status?"

"The VF squadrons are at 65% readiness sir. The destroid corps are at 75% readiness for the mecha but pilots are only up to 30%, if that. PDS are operable at 95%."

"Bozhe moi. I'd hoped that we would've had a bit more time to prepare. Lisa, Claudia scramble everything that is available."

- - - - -
​

Jeremy veritably collapses into the command seat of his destroid. "So Sarge, what's the word? Should I start practicing peeling taters?"

On the comm screen Jason shook his head, "You're not hopeless sir. World of difference between the sims and the real deal though."

Jeremy nodded as he sucked down a half liter of water, taking a breath as he finished he replied, "I knew that was the case Sarge. Same thing for the difference between training and actual combat 'n all of that."

Jason suppressed a snort of laughter, keeping his face impassive as he continued to scrutinize Daniels over the vid screen. Lundsford had tried to dismiss Maistroff's comments, especially with the way his actions smelt of a backroom deal. Even so, the doubts niggled at the back of his mind.

Weighing his words carefully, Jason spoke up, "LT."

Jeremy glanced at the screen, "What's up Sergeant?"

"There's something you're not telling me."

Jeremy cocked his head to the side in thought, "Yup, you're right. There's a few things I ain't volunteering."

"Well, mind filling me in?"

"Yes, I do mind Sergeant. Nothing that I am keeping close to my vest is germane or pertinent to anything. It's all quite personal."

"So, you mentioned that Maistroff wanted to space you. That's due to something with your personal life? What gives?"

Jeremy sighs, "Again, I had absolutely zero contact with Colonel Maistroff prior to me finding myself aboard the SDF-1. Though, needless to say, his animosity has been freely reciprocated by myself. But nothing in my own past has anything that I know of that could have lead to him wanting to have me executed."

"And these rumors of you being an AUL sympathizer?"

"That's a bit more complicated. But, hell, I'll be straight with you Jason. I do not like the idea of a one world government. So on that front I suppose I do at least share in that perspective. On the other hand, having read their non-nonsensical and outright insipid manifesto, on top of having read up on their 'revolutionary' activities. I can assure you I'd sooner shoot any member of the AUL than to assist them. Blighters making a habit of attacking civilians, of attacking children doesn't sit right with me none. Any opposition I'll have against any united Earth government will be purely to secede from them once we aren't having to face a frakking alien invasion."

"Then, why did you read their manifesto?"

"Easy, 'Know your enemy' and all of that. If we do make it back to Earth, I figure we'll likely have to deal with the AUL at some point. Best to know what sort of crazy we're fighting. Right?"

Jason nods slowly, not entirely convinced, "I do have to admit though, you haven't gone into any detail about your family back home. Or about what you were doing between your EAS date and Macross Island."

Jeremy cleared his throat as he drew his face into a frown, "That's real simple there, not a lot of pleasant memories. Life hasn't been all that fun for me, not since I was a wee little lad. Easier for me to shove all that into a dusty corner and ignore it."

Jason scowls, "If I may speak freely sir?" as Jeremy nods Lundsford presses on, "This is going to make it damn hard for anyone to serve under you. There are plenty of rumors flying around about you. Including that you are a disavowable asset here to keep Gloval in check. Or that you're a mad science experiment. Or that you're an extra crafty saboteur waiting to blow us all to kingdom come. And so far the best that you have done is to remove rumors without filling the information void with facts. That's going to play merry havoc with establishing any unit cohesion. Sir."

Jeremy shrugs, "I guess thems the breaks Sergeant. Anything that I could add in would be so hopelessly generic that it'd get dismissed as an obvious fabrication anyway. I reckon I'll just hope that my actions will speak loudly enough to satisfy people. And if that ain't enough, I'll have to deal with it. Now, is there anything else? Or could I get to the critiquing of my piloting ability, instructor?"

Lundsford eases out a sigh, "That's all for now sir. As for your performance, it was average at best. Your mobility course times tell me that you'll need to get used to the motion of the destroid itself, and your malfunction clearing will need work. On the marksmanship course, you performed slightly above average, but you will need to work on ammo conservation techniques. Still, good enough to continue on. I estimate you'll be up for a space walk qual within a week sir."

Jeremy nodded, "I'll take that to heart instructor. Back to the barn then."

The pair of mecha turn to head back to the hangar. Only to be caught off guard as the entire ship bucks beneath them. Alarm klaxons wailing in response. Jeremy exclaims, "What the devil?"

The radio crackles to life as Claudia's voice barks out, "Alert! Alert! All Destroid and Veritech operators to their craft. Emergency scramble, I say again, emergency scramble."

Jeremy and Jason look at one another on their comm screens before pushing their machines hard towards the mecha hangars.

- - - - -​

Jeremy and Jason bicker as they approached the hangar, "Sir, I cannot allow you to sortie in good conscience. We've only touched on the basics of destroid operation outside of sims, you have yet to take any of the intermediate courses. There is no way you are ready for the ZG cert, much less being dumped into combat. You are not ready." the big man heavily emphasizing the last 4 words.

Jeremy retorts, "Sergeant, you hear all that out there? Between the shots we're taking, and the klaxons going off I don't think I'm going to get the chance to get fully prepped first. We both heard the order for an emergency scramble. Like it or not, I ain't gonna get the time to cross my Is and dot my Ts because the defecation has well and truly hit the ventilation."

Before Jason and Jeremy can continue their verbal spat, their radios again crackle to life and the glowering face of Commander Hayes stares at the both of them. "Judge, SP-34985, this is Gunsight-01 what is your status?"

Lundsford responds, "This is Instructor Lundsford, we are returning from an initialization course for my trainee in SP-34985. We will put in. I will take on a hot-reload, and the trainee will debark and make for his assigned DamCon team if need be."

Lisa shook her head, "SP-34985, you are being sortied as part of the emergency scramble. Do you understand?"

Jeremy nodded and began to acknowledge when Jason cuts in, "Commander, with all due respect, I must protest pushing my trainee into combat at this juncture, his training is woefully incomplete. If we send him out we are wasting all of the time and resources we have spent on him at this time."

Jeremy looked between the two vidscreens showing Lundsford and Hayes before speaking, "Gunsight-01, this is SP-34985, Trainee Daniels commanding. I acknowledge the orders and I am willing to sortie being fully cognizant of the dangers and likelihood of my survival."

Jason furrowed his brow as his face turned a shade redder, "Trainee you stay out of this. Gun-"

Lisa cuts off the Sergeant, "First Sergeant Lundsford, your concerns and objections have been noted. But these are the Captains orders. All personnel who have moved from simulators to on-stick training are to be sortied. Now both of you get berthed and prepare to receive combat loads."

Jeremy speaks up again, "Gunsight-01, if I may. As far as I have been informed I have no unit, nor does Instructor Lundsford. If possible I would be willing to submit to him as my superior for the duration of this combat."

Hayes addresses Jason, "Judge, is that satisfactory?"

Jason nods his head, his face still twisted in a scowl, "Affirmative Gunsight-01. That is as satisfactory given the circumstances."

Lisa nods, unperturbed by Lundsford visage, "Judge, SP-34985, your designation is Misfit-01 and Misfit-02 respectively."

"Misfit-01 acknowledges. Also, SP-34985 is to be designated Half-pint."

"Misfit-02 acknowledges. Though don't I get a say in my designation?"

Jason retorts flatly, "No."

Lisa adds on, "No."

"Judge, Gunsight ... Half-pint acknowledges."

- - - - -​

Barely waiting for Randall and his techs to clear the gantries Jason pilots Judges out of the hangar while signaling for JD to follow. "Misfit is en route to airlock 14. We are armed for bear and ready for action."

As the pair made their way out of the hangar, Jason indicates for Jeremy to change to the comm frequencies. Daniels complies, "Judge this is Half-pint. How copy?"

"Judge copies 5 by 5."

"What do you need instructor?"

"I want you to be clear how this is going. I give you an order you follow it, I don't give you an order, you keep you head on a swivel and stay alert. Stay alive. Clear?"

"Crystal. You say jump, I ask how high."

"Wrong, if I tell you to jump. You just jump. None of that 'ask how high on the way up'. Either you jumped high enough, or it won't matter. Also, no theatrics, no heroics. Now, go ahead and cycle check your vernier thrusters. Maglocks too. And give me a report on your weapon status."

"Aff lead." Jeremy busies himself with checking his systems while also balancing his rapid trot to keep up with Jason in his Tomahawk. As they approached the airlock he spoke up, "Judge, Half-pint."

"Go ahead runt."

"Thrusters, vernier and main are green. Maglocks are operating at max. LASER turret is solid, missile launchers are ready to rock. Gun cluster has the autocannon, mortar, flamer and MG group green. The LASER cannon is flickering yellow but full readout has it in specs on the low end. GAU-11 is fully synced with my systems. How copy?"

"Solid copy, keep an eye on that cannon. If that goes bad it has a bad habit of cooking off your mortar rounds."

"Roger Judge. So, Judge, you don't trust me."

Jason hesitates as he waited for the airlock to finish cycling open, "Say again 02"

"Judge, you don't trust me. Do you?"

"What if I don't. Trainee?"

"Nothing. Probably prudent on your part to be honest." The pair of mecha enter the open airlock and wait to be cycled out to the hull of the SDF-1. "We've only met what? 4, 6 weeks ago? And as you have pointed out, and seemingly had pointed out, I am a bit of an unknown quantity."

Lundsford allows a hint of irritation into his voice, "You got a point to this Half-pint?"

"Sergeant, I am ensuring that we both know where we stand with each other, and with ourselves. Once we're under fire doubt or distraction is liable to be fatal for either, or both of us. So let me be clear. I will follow your orders Sergeant, no heroics, no theatrics. We go out, take our post, drive the enemy off, and survive. That was the intent of your orders, correct?"

Jason nods as the airlock finished its task, "Aptly put, if verbose. Sir. Now enough talking. It's time for a space walk."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Authors Note: The character of Jason Lundsford again belongs to Dreadnought and is being used in his honor and memory, with permission. The same for the mention of the character Grogan. Furthermore, I'm sure that I have inadvertently cribbed some ideas from "Attention On Deck" by Jason W. Smith, so preemptive apologies to Mr. Smith. Thanks to Grover, Xeros, Foamrule, Quinn and others who assisted with error checking and general editing for this and prior chapters. ​

 

[Alanek]

Oho, this doesn't look bad.
Watched.


...my only complaint is that it's not Macross

 

[Doofus87]

Oho, this doesn't look bad.
Watched.

Click to shrink...

Doesn't look too bad? Yeah. I'll take it.

...my only complaint is that it's not Macross

Click to shrink...

Not gonna lie, I do have some elements ported over from Macross, either to fill holes on the technical aspects, or as ideas or concepts that are not incompatible. Even so, Robotech was my first anime. So it'll always have a special place.

I hope my tale continues to entertain!

 

[Doofus87]

Chapter 5: Trial by Fire
​

Jeremy stares in awe at the limitless expanse as the airlock door slides back to allow the destroids passage onto the hull of the SDF-1. As he steps beyond the airlock threshold, the wonder swaps for Daniels' inner ear and stomach protesting over the sudden absence of 'down' while his body floats against his harness. The comm squawks, "Half-pint, Judge. Your cockpit is reading green, if you need to use your barf bag the time is now."

Jeremy fights off the waves of nausea to choke out, "Half-pint acknowledges."

Turning to the business at hand, Jason continues, "Our sector is Blue 18, keep tight and watch your sensor package."

Daniels nods and falls in behind the leading tomahawk. Each step jostles his body and eliciting another series of protests about his lack of equilibrium. By the time they reach their assigned sector, Jeremy had managed to compose himself. Jason calls over the Comms, "You're looking better there Half-pint. Bet you were wishing for that ZG training." Jeremy nods in assent as Lundsford asks, "Know where we are?"

"Aye, starboard dorsal side, fore of amidships. Plenty of point defenses around I see. Makes sense."

"It does? Well Trainee, why does this make sense?"

"Instructor, first there are only a pair of us, rather than the usual grouping of 3 or 4. Second, we aren't so much plugging a hole as we are helping to fill out a solid coverage bubble. And finally, even if we are sortieing Eff En Gees, ideally we would want to place said inexperienced personnel in areas that were less critical. Such as the bridge defense zone, or on the aft around the engine clusters."

"So you would valuate our position as non-critical?"

"No instructor. Less critical, not unimportant. With this position, if I flub up and we have to fall back, or I get pasted, this zone will only be weaker for the defensive bubble. As opposed to having a hole opened up, or having the bubble strained near one of the aforementioned high priority zones. Instructor."

Jason nods, "So you did listen when I went over that."

"Of course, I only struggled because your melodious delivery threatened to lull me to sleep."

"Funny. Now that's enough chatter, keep your eyes peeled and link your sensor suite to mine."

- - - - -
​

Over the next quarter hour, Jeremy and Jason stand post and watched as the battle rages far and away. The Veritech squadrons fighting like hellions to keep the alien machines pressed back from their mothership. As the Valkyries fight, Daniels floats on his command chair half listening to the comm chatter of the SPACY aviators locked in their life and death dance. The Marine distracted himself from the pit of anxiety lodged in his stomach with breathing exercises and re-checking his mechas status again. He is almost grateful for the release granted by the comms crackling to life with Commander Hayes' voice, "Misfit, Gunsight-01, be advised. Hostile forces have breached the perimeter and are vectoring in on your sector. How copy? Over."

Jason's replies in an easy and level tone, "Gunsight, Misfit-01. Solid copy. Preparing to receive hostiles. Break. Half-pint, slave your missile fire control to my computer and wait for my word to fire. Copy? Over."

Jeremy nods as he slaves his fire control computer to Judge. "Solid copy Judge. Awaiting fire order. Guess SPACY didn't want us to get bored. Over."

"Stow the chatter runt. Things are about to get dicey, and we're about to see how well you can dance."

Jeremy grimaces, the pit in his stomach now seemed to twist his insides around viciously. An all too familiar and thoroughly unwelcome sensation. Thankfully he didn't have long to wait before his RADAR grew contacts. First five, then a dozen, thirty, and finally seventy-eight boxes formed on his display. Jeremy toggles the comms, his voice ranging a half-octave higher from the adrenaline, "Judge, I am seeing seven eight tangos on my scope. Say again, seven eight tangos. Copy?"

"Half-pint, Judge copies. Confirmed seven eight hostiles. Designating your missile targets now. Pop your covers but continue to hold fire. Over."

Jeremy toggles the master arm switch for his shoulder launchers as he acknowledges the order. "Roger, prepped and awaiting fire order."

Setting his jaw, Jeremy spares a moment to toggle his MFD to look at the wider battlefield his brow furrowing as he appraised the situation. The SDF-1 sat surrounded by a swarm of angry red blips, broken only by all too few pockets of green icons. The CAP and defensive lines of Veritechs were fighting hard but, as outnumbered as they are, the pilots could only slow the approaching onslaught reaching for their home.

"Half-pint, Judge. Focus on our sector, the rest of the battle will take care of itself."

Jeremy signals his assent with a grunt as he switches his MFD display back to the local area, the nearly four score of hostiles bearing down on them shone brightly on the HUD. A pair of VFs scythes through the formation as eleven red lights wink out. The targeting computer already reallocating the missiles to new enemies.

Jason calmly intones, "Distance at three zero miles. Six seven tangos still on scope. Continue to hold fire, oh two."

Taking a deep breath, Jeremy replies, "Affirm oh one. Holding." the pit in his stomach now forgotten. Tensing on the controls Daniels subconsciously drops his mecha into a slight crouch, coiled and ready to spring. Glancing around nervously, Jeremy desperately wishes he had some level of cover to utilize.

"Two two miles. Get ready." Jason's call snaps JD back to the task at hand. With a final check, he confirms that his master arm switch is toggled to on. For good measure he also toggles the cover for his gun cluster, anticipating needing the firepower soon.

"Two zero miles, oh two fire!"

On command, Jeremy thumbs the fire control for his missile racks. And 54 missiles soar from the two mecha, racing and spiraling in on the alien forces. Lunging to his right, Daniels readies his head mounted laser turret as he closes the covers for his missile bays.

The incoming mecha formation breaks and scatters trying to jink the incoming warheads, the formation ruined and a few of the battlepods colliding with one another in their frenzied evasive maneuvers. The missiles swarm in and blossom the dark sky with short-lived red and orange fireballs. As the conflagration clears, Jeremy strains at his RADAR screen, counting the remaining targets. "Judge, I read two one, scratch that, two six active tangos left. Looks like eighteen 'pods and a brace of the fighters."

"Copy and confirmed. Looks like that group decided to bug out, the pint defense system should handle them. Make ready for new priority targets."

"Aff that lead. Waiting for... oh, grebanyy suka. Lead, incoming from our right flank!" Jeremy barks as he somersaults his mecha backwards clearing the line of attack of a group of six 'darts'. Judge pivots and using his thrusters to quickly hop to one side before loosing a volley from his particle cannons, nailing one of the fighters while Daniels pulses his LASER to tag a second one in the engine. The now asymmetric thrust throwing the alien craft into the armored deck of the SDF-1.

Jason grunts before noting wryly, "OK half-pint, now the fun starts. Head on a swivel and engage targets as they come to bear. Watch my back, and I'll watch yours How copy?"

"Solid copy Judge, time to Foxtrot with Charlie."

Levering his mecha upright, Daniels takes a bead on a trio of battlepods that had landed and were now running along the hull, aiming to punch a hold in the defense network. As the gunpod swings in line, a Jeremy squeezes off a short burst and watches in slow motion as the rounds slam into the lead mecha, shredding the pilot and reactor, his marksmanship being rewarded with a burst of flame and shrapnel. The remaining two pods break and dodge as Daniels continues to send fire in their direction. Before they can escape, 55mm rounds strike the pair of mecha, touching off their autocannon magazines. The alien machines shredding into little more than metal confetti.

Taking a moment to look over the larger tactical picture, Daniels grimaces. The SDF-1 and her defenders are embroiled in a miles wide furball. The CAP and defensive lines had fallen back within the umbrella of the defense net of the SDF-1 from the sheer weight of hostile forces. Far from giving up, the Veritechs were fighting with an almost reckless abandon, and Jeremy appreciated the fervor that the SPACY aviators were unleashing. Not that he'd ever admit that to their faces. Similarly, the point defenses were unleashing havoc on any alien that made the poor choice to range into their firing arc. The pepperbox style launchers bounce up and down as if they were a twisted style of jack-in-the-box.

"Judge, got another dozen pod at least moving in, might have a group of darts inbound too."

"I see them Half-pint, I'll take the ones off the bow, you focus on the ones aft."

Dropping his Spartan into a combat position, Jeremy levels his gunpod and looses one burst after another into the swirling maelstrom.

- - - - -​

As the battle wears on, the beleaguered forces of the SDF-1 struggle to stem the onslaught of the alien forces. In the midst of this, Lundsford and Daniels find themselves in close quarters with the alien mecha.

Jason dances his Tomahawk around the battlepods that had closed in on him, his energy cannons glowing cherry red at their muzzles from the sustained fusillade he continued to deliver. Sweeping in behind one of the mecha, he pulses his right arm cannon into it's rear armor even while leveling his left cannon on a second battlepod moving in on one of the SDF-1s CIWS LASER blisters.

Jeremy was having a rougher time, his movements coming off less fluidly. Lacking a heavy hitting energy weapon, the Marine was reduced to using his empty gunpod as a staff to buy time for his light LASERs to cool. Ducking inside of the firing arcs of the nearest pod, Daniels grabbed one of the lower autocannon mounts on the 'pod and wrenches the barrel sharply before slipping away. When the alien pilot tried to fire at him using the ruined weapon, the explosive round cooked off the remaining magazine, ripping the mecha apart.

"Oh-two, lead, status."

"Lead, oh-two, I'm reading mostly green on my armor, the right shoulder and left thigh are both in the yellow. Internals are green across the board. I am winchester on my GAU-11, my 32mm cannon, and fifty cal. I got 4 mortar shells left. LASER turret is still green, LASER cannon is intermittent. I think I may have busted a heat sink, my waste heat is dissipating slower than it should. Over."

"Lead copies. Break. Gunsight, Misfit is reporting winchester on munitions. Requesting relief status. Over."

Lt Leeds pops onto the MFD and answers "Misfit lead, Gunsight oh four. You are negative on relief. Continue to hold as best you can. Will vector a Victor Tango squad to assist soonest. Over."

"Wilco Gunsight. If possible, please send a spare gunpod with the Victor Tangos for oh-two. Break. Half-pint, we're still on the clock. You holding up? Over."

"Best as I can Judge. I gotta hand it to you, organizing a full on battle just to break me in for Zee Gee is a stroke of genius. Great way to really cut out the men from the cadavers."

"Half-pint, do you ever run out of bad jokes?"

"Judge, I'll let you know if that ever happens."

A flash of metal off to his left catches Jeremy's eye, and he turns to find a Gnerl screaming in just above deck level. Daniels grimaces while he braces his Spartan and chokes up on the gunpod like a baseball bat. He holds his position, ignoring the particle cannon blasts burrowing into his armor. He was never much of a baseball player, but it seemed a shame to pass up a pitch this good. Though trying to nail a pitch as some xenocidal aliens were shooting at him made the small voice in the back of his head scream in self-preservation.

The Gnerl guns its engines and darts in for the kill. With intense concentration Jeremy times his sidestep to pull his machine from the Gnerls line of approach as he swings the gunpod desperately. The mechanical muscles of a Spartan swing hard, and that force is only compounded by the Gnerls acceleration. The gunpod connects with the craft with the force of a semi truck, striking just above the cockpit, and crushing the machinery of the dorsal engine. The stricken fighter back flips into the black of space as Jeremy finds his gunpod torn from his mechas hands, along with most of the armor on the Spartans palms.

"Half-pint! Did you just lose your gunpod?"

"Negative lead, it was taken from me."

Jason sighs and mutters under his breath, "Damn crayon munchers."

Jeremy chuckles to himself as Gunsight calls over the Comms, "Attention all forces, prepare for transformation sequence. Repeat, all forces, prepare for transformation sequence."

"Lead, oh-two. What are they talking about?"

"Not a clue Half-pint. Let's just hold tight."

Jeremy turns his attention to the RADAR and spies a group of seven battlepods closing in from all directions, "Lead, looks like the sharks are circling."

"I see them Oh-Two. You're out of effective weapons, get clear."

"Negative lead. I got your back. I doubt they'll let me through anyway."

Jason pivots his machine and pulses its particle cannon at two of the pod, boring through the first, and scoring a glancing strike against the second. The survivor and his two compatriots rush in, autocannons and particle beams stabbing viciously towards the human war machine.

Meanwhile Jeremy pulses his LASER turret and cannon at the trio of 'pods closing in on him. Using his thrusters sparingly he hurls his mecha around to spoil the aim of the alien forces. The closest pod staggers under the energy pulses but continues moving in while unleashing a withering barrage. Daniels throws his Spartan from side to side answering the incoming fire with his own ruby spears while the other two pods add their own weight of fire to overwhelm the Marine. Daniels ducks a fraction too slowly, the turret atop his mecha is slagged and blasted off in a vibrant splash of sparks and molten metal.

"Oh hell. Lead, I just lost my turret."

Jeremy scowls as the other two pods around him turn and move on the Tomahawk. Turning his back to the pod still attacking him, he zeros in on the hip of one of the other pods and fires his cannon. Only for the LASER to sputter as the fault board lights up with another red glow.

As the Spartan is roughly buffeted by the cannon and particle fire at its back, Jeremy snarls and launches himself at the alien machine hell-bent on giving the Marine a real estate deal. Alarms wail as the focused autocannon and particle beam savage the already weakened armor. The hostile fire burrows into the missile bays and gun cluster, the fun-sized defender of the SDF-1 is spared death by virtue of his empty magazines.

The Spartans engine cluster lights up to rocket the human machine rudely into its foe. A harsh screech of rending metal pierces both machines as Jeremys right missile cover is torn asunder. The alien pilot is stunned by the combination of impact and sound causing the battlepod to stagger. Heedless of the damage to his one machine, Daniels plants his feet and curls the hand of his mecha into a fist, the actuators and hydraulics in the legs and arm of the titanic machine unleash their full power to drive the fist into and through the weakened armor of the 'pod. Jeremy having to suppress the urge to shout 'Shoryuken!' The body of the mecha crushes onto the pilot much like the egg it resembles, while also turning the hand of the Spartan into a gnarled lump.

Meanwhile, Jason was continuing his own desperate struggle. Having closed in with the initial group of pods attacking him, he used the alien machines to offer cover from the other enemies closing in from all sides. Baiting one 'pod into ram him, Jason deftly sidesteps and hooks the leg of the enemy machine as he pulses a shot from his other arm into a mecha that was trying to maneuver to a clear firing line. A quick pirouette brings a second enemy target into his crosshairs. The charged particle burst from his cannon lashes out with blue lightning, neatly coring the alien before it's reactor detonates from the breached containment field. Lundsford hops up before pulsing his dorsal thrusters to stomp on the mecha he'd tripped, bursting the body like an overripe watermelon.

Using his free hand, Jeremy grabs the dead pod and rips to free his mangled hand, snatching off a sizable portion of armor plating. Without hesitation, he pivoted and hurled the improvised discus at the nearer of the remaining pods. The impact dazes the alien pilot as the chunk of metal caroms off his machine.

Jason takes the opportunity to fire both of his rifles at the other battlepod, the twin lances of artificial lightning pulverizing their target, sending the remains slowly tumbling off into the black of space.

Lundsford watches as his trainee sprints forward stopping just short of the final alien target. The Spartan leans over bracing on one leg, the other reeled back. With a spray of sparks coming off the overstressed actuators, the titanic foot heaves into the hip of the battlepod. The furious strike spoils the balance of the already dazed pilot, sending the egg-shaped foe crashing to the hull with a dull thud reverberating through ship beneath their feet.

Not wasting time, Daniels' Spartan leaps onto the fallen machine, pinning it with a knee. Grasping the leg by the ruined hip, Daniels tears it free with a sharp jerk. Bellowing a war cry, Jeremy sets upon his foe beating the cockpit until it was little more than a mangled pile of scrap. The red blood from the pilot adorning the hull of the SDF-1, and the armor plating of the Spartan.

Jason calls out, "Two! Two! Stand down! It's dead."

Snapping to his senses, Daniels lurches to a stop mid-swing. "Two copies lead."

Before either can say anything more, the ship under their feet shudders and begins to move. As Claudia calls over the TacNet, "Transformation sequence is underway."

Both men are flabbergasted as the SDF-1 twists and shifts, as the boom they were standing on rotates, Jeremy finds himself fighting another wave of nausea as his eyes and ears again disagreed over which organ he should listen to.

After several long seconds of the SDF-1 contorting, Daniels is able to see the end result of the transition of the vessel. "Lead, Oh Two. Am I hallucinating, or did our space ship just turn into a giant freaking robot?"

"I'm not completely sure, but I think that it did indeed turn into a giant freaking robot."

"Why."

"Damned if I know."

Further snarky remarks are curtailed as the SDF-1 unleashes its reflex cannon. The hellish energy coalesces along the twin booms that once comprised the SDF-1's bow and erupts forth. The beam seared its way through the void of space to annihilate the oncoming attacking wave of enemy mecha. The beam washed over the ship leading the attack, armor peeling away like layers of an onion. Jeremy squeals in glee as he watches the unbridled destruction wrought from the fury of the protoculture fueled weapon.

"Lead."

"Yeah half-pint?"

"Our ship is the biggest, stompiest robot. And I want whatever gun it is that we just fired."

"... Goddammit Marine."

- - - - -
​

Misfit team patiently waited for their turn to pass through the assigned airlock to reenter the battlefortress, the other destroids around them varying wildly in battle damage. Thankfully only a relative handful of groups were missing units.

Jason grills his student, "Half-pint, what the devil happened to no theatrics?"

Jeremy deadpanned back, "Judge, what theatrics? That was survival and desperation."

"Don't you play games with me you runt,you ripped a piece of armor off and chucked it like a frisbee."

"Uh, instinct?"

"Instinct. Right... And you playing pinata with that other 'pod?"

"Again, survival and desperation. I really didn't want to make him mostly dead. Also, are the LASER cannons always so flaky?"

Lundsford sighs and shakes his head in exasperation as the airlock cycles open once again.

The duo stagger their damaged mecha inside the airlock, Jeremy again experiencing vertigo as gravity reasserts its hold on him. As the inner door cycles open both men gape at the destruction caused by the transformation of the SDF-1. Toppled buildings strewn about as if discarded by a careless child. Interspersed by piles of rubble and chunks of asphalt. A mangled car peeked out from under a concrete boulder, buses flipped on their roof or sides, a moped hanging from a light pole. The only comfort was that they couldn't see any bodies among the wreckage.

"Holy mother... Jason, where was your family at?"

The large man replied in a far too small voice, "Hopefully in one of the shelters near the base. Otherwise, in our house on base, I hope. Let's get back to the barn."

While Jason contacts BTC, Jeremy looks around at the rubble and carnage that now makes up the interior of their ship. The PA system announces the victory and asserts that there were only minimal civilian casualties, Jeremy can only murmur quietly, "Ain't no frickin way..."

The pair continue on in silence, both men taking in the carnage all around. Daniels keeps an eye on the comm panel still showing Jasons face. The big soldier was also scanning the rubble, each passing second adding a further furrow to his brow and tenseness to his shoulders. Jeremy finally breaks the somber mood, "Jason, isn't your wife part of Civil Defense?"

"Yeah. She is. What of it?"

Daniels forces himself to use a normal tone of voice. "Contact CivDef, see if you can get her CO, or someone that can get a hold of her."

"Lieutenant, that is against regs, and a complete breach of protocol."

"Gorram it Jason, look around. Hell, I can bloody well feel your worry from over here. Anyone with half a heart wouldn't hold it against you for trying to make sure your family is OK. Look if you don't call 'em, I will."

Lundsford began to protest before he closed his mouth, "BTC, Misfit lead. Be advised I am handing off our return walk to Misfit oh two. How copy?"

"BTC copies Misfit lead. Break. Misfit oh two, BTC, do you read? Over."

"Oh two reads BTC."

"Sending updated route, ETA to hangar four one three is three zero mikes."

Jeremy allowed a small smile as he took over on BTC for the walk back in one ear, and listened in on Jason with CivDefNet on the other. His smile was short-lived however.

"Sorry Sergeant, we don't have any record of your family making it to a shelter. And Lynn hasn't reported in, along with over half of CivDef. Comm lines are a mess, and we're scattered all over the ship. But we've only had a handful of casualties, and one fatality confirmed so far. We'll, uh, we'll let you know as soon as we know anything."

Jeremy inhaled sharply as Lundsford coiled like a over wound watch spring. Making sure to cut out the audio to Jason, Jeremy quietly keys the radio, "BTC, this is Misfit oh two. Requesting permission to expedite to hangar four one three. Over."

"Uh Misfit oh two, that is a negative. Remain on your assigned route. Over."

"BTC, we need to expedite. How copy? Over."

The traffic controller grumbles, "Oh two, that is a negative. We are coordinating emergency vehicles, DamCon, resupply, Destroids, and SAR. On top of having to deal with the new layout. It is a blasted mess. You will remain on your assigned route. Understood? Over."

Jeremy growls before he responds, "BTC, be advised. Misfit lead just had confirmed that his family was not, I say again, was not in any of the designated shelters. How copy? Over."

"Wait one Misfit." A pregnant pause fills the air, "Oh two, BTC, transmitting new route. ETA five mikes. And if we hear anything on Lundsfords family from emergency services we'll pass it along. How copy? Over."

"Solid copy BTC. Thanks."

Jeremy slowly exhales as he transfers back to Misfits local channel, "New walking orders lead. We'll be back in five."

"What? Last I heard off BTC was a half-hour."

"Had to update, they're trying to herd cats with a firehose. Getting two mecha off the road should make it easier on them, especially with one being a hair away from falling apart."

Jason shot Daniels a sharp look, the Sergeants face drawn tight and brow heavily furrowed. "I'll take what good fortune we can get."

"I'm sure we'll hear something before long Jase. Let's get to our berths. Randall is gonna have a field day with me, I'm sure. Gonna have to use a buttload of bondo on my girl here."

Lundsford breaks into a laugh, the tense lines of his shoulders and brow easing as a brief wave of mirth washes over the man. "I don't think we have enough on board half-pint."

- - - - -
​

After guiding their machines into their berths, Jeremy and Jason climb down the gantries. The strain of being in the mecha for nearly 10 straight hours atop of the combat fatigue hits them full force as they move with pained stiffness. Doffing his helmet, Jeremy hangs it on a convenient hook and unzips his jumpsuit so he can begin cooling off.

The mecha look little better than their pilots. Jeremys Spartan was savaged from head to toe. Armor plates across the machine were gouged and torn, when they weren't outright missing. Lundsfords Tomahawk was in better shape, even so the damaged armor plates would still be stripped off and sent for recycling.

Randall stares slack-jawed before he says, "LT, what did you do?"

"I got into a little bit of a scuffle out there Petty Officer. Nothing to write home about."

"Uh huh, and did you try to catch every shot warhead thrown your way?"

"Yeah, isn't that worth bonus points?"

Randall glares at Jeremy, saying, "You get a pass this time. But this better not become a regular thing."

Jeremy looks over his Spartan, "P.O. if this becomes a regular thing, I'll be looking for a different line of work, or be worm food."

The enlisted man groans as he heads to the hangar phone to call for the laundry list of parts to repair the battered Spartan.

Making his way over to the Judge, Jeremy waits for Lundsford to finish descending from his machine of war.

"Any news Sergeant?"

Jason shakes his head, saying, "Still nothing."

"You need to debrief me at all, instructor?"

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

Jeremy nods, "Good, good. Now, you need to go check up on your family. I'm sure the Petty Officer and I can take care of anything that has to be done now. You have a more important matter to look into."

Jason looks at the smaller man, shaking his head he asks, "You are going to keep harping on this, aren't you?"

"Yup. I am one hard-headed buffoon. And I know how to be most annoying. Now, get moving."

Jason gives Daniels a good natured thump with the back of his hand.

Randall walks up as Lundsford breaks into an easy jog, "I was wondering how long it'd take you to get him outta here LT."

"What do you mean Randall?"

"I heard your report to BTC, if I didn't know my wife was safe I'd be losing my mind until I found out."

Jeremy chuckles, "Then we'd better make good on my promise to take care of everything. Now, has the LASER cannon always given people fits? Or do we need to run down that problem... Er, that is once you've finished on the Spartan sized jigsaw I provided you with."

- - - - -
​

Jason stops short of the door of his house, letting out a sigh of relief on seeing his house intact. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, pausing tentatively. Opening the door, Jason steps inside and is greeted by silence. Toys lay strewn across the living room, and a pot sits on the stove alongside a half sliced tomato and a package of ground beef.

Raising his voice, Lundsford calls out, "Lynn? Mark? Jessica?" cringing as his voice echos back at him through the halls. He moves through the house, repeating his call becoming more insistent with each moment while checking each room in turn.
Having cleared the house, Jason moves into the back yard, now shouting "Mark! Jessica! Lynn!" as he scans the backyard, the toys and play set that had been sitting were now jumbled into a pile in the corner of the fence. As Jason was about to rush back into the house to search down the street, he stops as he gets a reply.

Lynn rounds the corner of their house with the children in tow, "Jason! Oh, thank God you're safe."

Jason rushes over to his wife, the tension melting away as he takes his family into his arms. "I was so worried. Everything was wrecked, CivDef said you hadn't reported in, none of the shelters had y'all as being inside..."

"We had to take shelter in the ordinance bunker. The shelters were too far away to reach once the battle started. And the comm lines are all cut from the transformation. I was worried when I heard that you were being sent out with your trainee."

"It was bad out there. But, we took light losses all things considered. Let's get inside, I think we all need to unwind."

 

[Doofus87]

Chapter 6
​

Jeremy walks through the city, marveling at the progress of the rebuilt city. With only a fortnight after the SDF-1s transformation, life was returning to what passed for normal. The man couldn't help but grin as he took in what the populace had accomplished. He was glad to have helped with the repairs, alongside many of the RDF personnel. The dogged resilience of the population in rebuilding their homes, businesses, their lives twice in as many months while stuck in the far reaches of the solar system was impressive. Filling Daniels with some hope that they might make it back to Earth, missing fold drives or no.

Spotting the cafe's sign, he makes for the door, in the park across the road he Spots a familiar pecan tree prompting a wry grin. So distracted, Daniels bumps into another patron, her hot coffee spilling down his arm. Jeremy yelps in pain "Yee-owch! Ach, sorry. Sorry." he offers in apology, shaking the scalding liquid off as best he can. The dark-skinned woman grabs napkins off a nearby table and says, "It's alright, are you OK?" Daniels nods as he dries off his arm, "I'll be fine, my own dang fault for not paying attention to where I was going."

Having dealt with the worst of the liquid, Jeremy turns his attention to his victim, his face lighting up in recognition, "Ah, Lt. Grant. Fancy running into you here."

Claudia looks over Jeremy warily, "You seem to have me at a disadvantage. We've met before?"

Daniels nods saying, "Yes ma'am. I seldom forget a person that's drawn a firearm on me. Don't fret, it wasn't unwarranted," while offering a friendly grin.

Claudia nods slowly as she recognizes Jeremy's face. "Ah, Mister Daniels. Looking slightly less scruffy, I see. Thinner too."

JD deflates as he laments, "Good night, can't a guy catch a break? I ain't that scruffy looking am I? Look uh, why don't you let me buy you a coffee to replace the one I used as a bath."

Claudia shakes her head, "That's alright. I'll go get another one."

"Hey, Lt. it's alright, I ain't trying to chat you up or anything. Er...not that you're not worth chatting up, that is. If I were trying to... I'm going to shut up before I make more of a fool of myself."

Claudia laughs, saying, "Oh? Do you normally chat up women after they pull a gun on you?"

"Eh, I'm at 3 out of 5 for that."

"What."

"Long story. Actually, more of a series of short and uninteresting stories. Whichever. Doesn't make any real difference." Jeremy clears his throat. "I'll...um...be going to get my coffee. You sure you don't want me to get you a..." Jeremy sniffs his arm, "caramel mocha latte?"

"Fine, if it'll get you to drop the matter. Yes. And...that's right, actually. Do you often have to identify drinks after they've been dumped on you?"

"Nah, I'm a bit of a coffee snob. And don't worry, I'll leave you alone as well. I'd wager you're gonna meet up with a certain blonde pilot." Jeremy says with a wry smile before he heads to the counter.

After a short wait, Daniels walks over to Lt Grants table and hands over the replacement drink. Saying nothing, but offering the same wry grin and a quick wave he walks off to a small table in the back of the room, tucking himself in a chair sitting in the corner.

Claudia tries to settle in herself, but curiosity wins out and she walks over to Jeremy's table. The man chuckles as he says, "You really don't have to keep me company ma'am. I'm accustomed to being on my lonesome."

"Perhaps, but you really did look oh so pitiful."

"Wasn't trying to look pitiful."

Claudia holds her hand out and shrugs, "I didn't say you were trying to. "

Jeremy places his hand to his chest in mock hurt, "Lt. you wound me, I was unaware I would be in a battle of wits today."

"Is that your excuse for being unarmed for one?"

Daniels laughs, "Alright, alright I give. I may as well quit before I get too buried. If you still care to grace me with your presence until Commander Fokker arrives I'd be a fool to turn good company away."

Claudia slides into one of the other chairs smirking, "4 for 5?"

Daniels purses his lips before slowly shaking his head, "Nah, still 3.", he shrugs at Claudia's confused look, "What? I said I wasn't trying to. I don't go gunning for taken ladies. And to be fair, I wouldn't stand a chance against your present beau."

"You're right that you wouldn't. Though why would you think that."

"Easy, I'm not half the man Fokker is. Literally. He's got 8 inches on me, and he's gotta be 100 kilos. Me, I weigh in under 60."

Claudia shakes her head, "I see why Roy said he had a good feeling about you."

"Really? I've run into him once, no make that twice since I met him. Didn't think I made that big of an impression."

"Another short joke?"

Jeremy holds his hands out to either side, saying, "Maybe, maybe not. I'll let you judge that."

Taking a moment to sip at his coffee, Daniels eases into asking, "Well Lt. I imagine that you didn't come over just to be let down by my lousy jokes and wonky sense of humor. What are you wanting to ask?"

"Who says I want to ask anything? Maybe I have a soft spot for charity cases."

"Sheesh, so what? I'm cheap entertainment?"

"Yes, and a negligible threat. Plus you might scare off the odd man on the prowl."

Jeremy huffs for a moment, "Cheap entertainment and bodyguard duty. Huh, just another day in the life of a jarhead. Well, glad I can be useful. "

The pair chat idly, talking about some of the shops that were opening for business in the upcoming weeks. The door jingles and a mop of blond hair sticks out above the crowd. Jeremy offers a knowing grin, "Well Ms Grant, it seems needy that I bid you adieu."

Claudia is interrupted before she can respond as Roy gently grabs her shoulders and leans over to kiss her on the cheek. "Come on Clau, I can understand a wandering eye. But a Marine? And a short one at that? I thought you had better taste than this."

"If I had better taste, you'd be out in the cold mister."

Roy laughs as he sits down "Touche. So what have you two been talking about?"

Jeremy says, "Mostly, how pitiful I look."

Roy nods "I can see that."

Daniels rolls his eyes. "Well, I'll let you two lovebirds get to your sickeningly sappy, smoochy-smooch time."

Fokker laughs, "As much as I'd love to run you off just for that. I have been trying to track you down for a bit."

Jeremy leans back and cocks an eyebrow, as if to invite an explanation. "OK, I'll bite. Why were you looking for me?"

Roy glances back and forth in an exaggerated show of subterfuge."Well, you've got to keep this on the down low."

"Uh huh."

"It's really hush hush, high level stuff. I probably shouldn't be mentioning it to you. But we are in a bind."

Daniels nods, motioning for him to get on with it.

Roy affects the most somber tone he can manage, "The fate of the ship, the galaxy, rests on it."

Jeremy groans and looks over to Claudia, "You mind making him get on with it before we all die of old age and hackneyed cliches?"

Roy fights down a chuckle and answers, "We need you to be a part of the SDF-1 softball league."

Jeremy blinks, "What. The. Devil are you smoking, and why aren't you sharing?"

Roy breaks into guffaws before calming down enough to respond. "Come on now, your little bit of batting practice in that last fight has to be the highlight of the destroid corps. You knocked that one," he pauses to laugh again before finishing, "out of the park!"

Jeremy slowly looks over at Claudia, "How mad will you be if I stabbed him?"

- - - - -
​

Meanwhile, on the other side of the cafe, a young boy gasped as he overheard Roy's joke. "Mom! Mom! It's him!" his mother exhales slowly while putting down the applications she'd been pouring over. "What is it Shaun?"

"Mom, it's him! The guy! That did the thing!"

"Shaun, calm down. What are you talking about?"

Shaun rolls his eyes, "I told you. There was a guy, that used his Spartan mecha to score a home run on one of the aliens in that big battle two weeks ago. You know, it was the coolest thing ever?"

Hannah sighs and tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh that I forgot. I'm sorry sweetie. Things have me a bit wound up. Who is it?"

Shaun nods, "It's alright mom. I think he's over there, with Commander Fokker."

"Who?"

"Moooo-om, commander Fokker. he's only the CAG. And the pilot of Skull-1, leader of the Skull Squadron. The blond guy."

Hannah nods, ruffling Shuan's blond hair as she smiles "OK, sure. I'll … have to take your word for it. So, the dark haired guy is the one you're talking about? What's his name?"

"Uh, I dunno. I just overheard Mister Fokker joking with him about it."Shaun looks at the table for a few moments," Could, um, I go over and meet him? Please?"

Hannah tenses and purses her lips, "Look, swe... Shaun, I know you'd really like to meet the guy that, what did you say? 'Did the coolest thing ever?' But see, they're probably here on their day off. And I'm sure they really need to rest up since they are defending the entire ship from the aliens. OK?"

Shaun slouches, "Yes mom."

- - - - -
​

Back on the other side of the cafe, Fokker looks intently across the room. Daniels asks, "Everything alright there flyboy?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Looks like we have a bit of attention." Fokker said, motioning with a nod of his head

Daniels looks over, "Hmm? Like what?"

"I think the kid recognized me. I get that sometimes. Famous aviator and all."

Jeremy rolls his eyes, "And oh so modest too."

Roy laughs and says, "Hey, it comes with the territory. I'm gonna wave 'em over."

Jeremy balks, "You sure that's a good idea?"

Claudia smiles, "It'll be fine. Roy doesn't like to admit it, but he loves showing off for the kids."

Roy ignores the ribbing at his expense as he waves Hannah and Shaun over. Shaun does a double take and taps Hannah on the shoulder. The two talk back and forth for a moment, then stand up and walk over.

Daniels smirks and shakes his head, hunkering down over his coffee mug while Roy offers his most welcoming grin to greet the pair and introduce everyone. Once introductions are out of the way, Roy asks, "So, what can I help you two with?"

Hannah clasps her hands in front of her, the fingers of her top hand tapping the back of the other. "My son was actually hoping to ask you a question Commander. Go ahead Shaun."

Roy held back a chuckle as Shaun peeked around his mothers side, "Don't worry, I won't bite. Go ahead sport."

Shaun shuffles around, hands clenched tightly by his sides, "I was just wondering, Commander Fokker sir."

Roy nods, "Yeah?"

Shaun clears his throat "Is he really the guy that clocked the enemy fighter with an empty gunpod?" emphasizing the question by pointing at Jeremy.

Jeremy coughs as his mouthful of coffee tried to force it's way into his lungs from his jolt of surprise. "I, gah, what. You saw that?"

Roy blinks a few times as his brain is forced to shift gears. "Uh, yeah. He is."

Shaun beamed as he turned to Jeremy, "Really?! Oh wow, you were so cool. Just woosh, smash!" he says, pantomiming swinging a bat, "And It was the coolest thing I've ever seen! How'd you plan that?"

Daniels looks back and forth as he forces a smile "Oh, well. It wasn't planned. I just let it happen. Good to hear that you liked it."

Shaun looks down at the floor and mumbles, "Could I have your autograph?"

Jeremy opens his mouth to reply, unable to find the words he closes it and taps his chin while he composes himself. "You want my what?"

"Your autograph. I'm sorry, I guess you don't wanna give that out."

Jeremy waves his hand as if to dismiss the notion "No, no it's not that I just," Daniels pauses to make a show of checking his pockets, "I don't really have anything to sign for you. And trust me, napkins don't work well."

As Shaun sulks, Roy grins devilishly, "oh, no need to worry about that LT. I got you covered." Pulling a small notepad out of his jacket and sliding it across the table.

Jeremy gives Roy a death glare. "Oh, gee, thanks Commander your magnanimity will be remembered. Sadly, I'm afraid I left my pen collection in my other trousers."

Hannah holds up the pencil she was using for working on her forms, "I don't suppose this would work?"

Claudia pulls a pen out of her purse and holds it out to Jeremy, "No need to worry about that. I've got you covered."

JD drops all pretense of courtesy, addressing both Roy and Claudia in a deadpan "I hate you both." as he takes the pen and pad.

Quickly scrawling his name down, Daniels looks at the notebook, shakes his head, tears the page out, crumples it and drops the wadded ball onto the table. He repeats the process twice before nodding in satisfaction. "Here you go kiddo. I'd say that that might be worth a pretty penny some day, but if I'm totally honest, that's a pipe dream on my part." Jeremy says as he hands the excited boy who blurts out a quick, "Thank you!" before he rushes back to his mother, stumbling as he trips over his own feet.

Jeremy smiles beside himself "Don't sweat it. Just tell your dad that he owes me a 6 pack of Coke or something."

Hannah winces as Shaun's exuberance immediately disappears. Pulling some cash out of her pocket, Hannah tells Shaun, "Here, go get yourself a Petite Cola. OK?"Shaun takes the money with a sullen nod, handing the autograph to his mother as an afterthought before shuffling off.

JD purses his lips as he mentally kicks himself for his gaff, while Roy and Claudia look at one another, unsure of what to say or do. Once Shaun is out of earshot Hannah speaks quietly, "It's alright Mister Daniels. You couldn't have known. Just, Shaun and David, his father, they were very close." she laughs, "This was the most animated I've seen him since..."

Jeremy takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, "I'm sorry ma'am. For the faux pas, and your loss. I know... I'm sure it can't be easy for either of y'all."

Claudia adds, "We're all sorry for you. If you don't mind my asking, when did he pass?"

Hannah folds one arm across her stomach, using the other to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. "He died during the initial attack. We'd come to Macross for the launch, and the expo. David had been an engineer on the Spartan project. So he was regaling Shaun with all the specifications and statistics, and Shaun loved every moment. When the assault started, David was trying to get us to the shelters. We were running down the road when he grabbed the both of us and threw us into a building. I didn't have a chance to say anything. There was an explosion, a flash of light, and he was- He was gone." Hannah takes a deep breath to compose herself. "Shaun took it real hard, I took it hard. One moment he was there, the next, not so much as a body to give us closure. Just not something that you'd think a seventh grader would have to deal with."

Jeremy picks up the notepad and writes on another page before tearing it out and handing it to Hannah, "Look, if you ever need anything, that's my contact number on base. Just give me a call and I'll see what I can dig up. Heck, I got plenty of old clothes kicking around that I've been packratting, if your son needs 'em, better than collecting dust in the attic. And if either of y'all just need someone to talk with. I'd be glad to listen if I'm not out on patrol."

Hannah shakes her head "It's alright, really. I don't want to you to feel guilty."

Roy motions for Jeremy to pass him the pad "It's not about feeling guilty miss. Do you have a place to stay or a job? You mentioned that you traveled in just for the launch ceremony." he says as he also wrote down his phone number to give to Hannah.
"We, uh, they have us put up in some prefab huts for now. And I'm trying to find something."

Roy nods, "Alright, give me a call tomorrow after 6, and I should be able to get you to someone who can help you out."

Hannah tucks the papers away into her purse and says, "Thank you all for the offers. I'll be in touch." as Shaun returns with his cola in hand. She then addresses Shaun, "Mister Daniels said that if you want, you can give him a call sometime. Though only if you behave. OK?"

Shaun's eyes light up as he nods furiously. "Oh wow, thank you sir."

Jeremy grins, "Hey, Better keep the sole member of my fan club happy, right? And no promises, but I'll see if I can swing you getting a close up look at my girl. If your mother says it's OK. So you better be listening to her and behaving alright?"

Shaun nods again as he and Hannah bid their farewells, leaving the trio alone again.

Claudia waits for the family to leave before she speaks up, "Well Lieutenant, I have to say when I first met you. I don't know that I'd have picked you out for being such a softie. You came across much fuzzier."

"Dammit, you just won't let me catch a break, will ya?"

- - - - -
​

Jason stands up from the floor, extricating himself from Mark and Jessica who were too busy laughing to stop him. Giving up on wrestling and pinning their father to the floor, the siblings dart outside to run off their energy.

Walking into the kitchen, Jason slides behind Lynn, wrapping her in a gentle hug. Sighing happily as she leans back into Jason's embrace Lynn asks, "Did the kids finish tiring you out already?"

"They tried their best but I have a little left in me. How's dinner looking?"

"It'll be ready in a half hour. Should be a nice treat, Jeremy dropped off two pounds of ground venison. Said it was about to get freezer burn and didn't want it to go to waste."

Jason scowls as he allows his mind to wander. Feeling her husband's body tense Lynn states, "Something is bothering you."

"Hm? Oh, it's nothing."

Lynn steps free and turns around to address Jason face to face, placing her hand on her hip she begins. "Un uh. You know better than to play those games with me. These last two weeks, any time Daniels is brought up you get that furtive look about you. Did he not turn out as promising as you had hoped? I thought you said he'd done well for being thrown into the deep end. 'Watched my back adequately' were your exact words if I remember. What changed?"

"He did fine, it's just…" Jason sets his jaw as he considers for a moment. Speaking in a hushed tone, he fills in Lynn on the meeting he had with Masitroff, the following talks with Daniels, and the rumors he'd gleaned. Finishing off with his observations from the battle.

Lynn listens attentively, as she continues to tend to their meal. When Jason had finished she says, "And?"

"No 'and'. That's all."

Lynn says nothing and fixes a stern look on Jason.

"Really that's- OK, fine. You win. This is what, the third or fourth time that he's brought over food? Not just meat, but he always has bread, cereal, other perishables. All of which are still strictly rationed. Add on the fact, I've yet to find anyone that knew, or knew of him before that first attack." Jason shakes his head. "He never talks about his old units. Things aren't adding up, and I don't like it."

Lynn steps away from the stove. Placing her hand on Jason's chest and looking him in the eyes, she says, "Jason you have a sharp mind, and a good heart. Use them, listen to them. Up until the battle, I hadn't heard you say one bad thing about Daniels' character. Does what Maistroff said change your thoughts on that?"

Jason makes to say something, Lynn cuts him off by placing a finger on his lips. "You don't have to justify anything to me. I trust you, trust that you'll make the right decision. Now, go set the table. I'll round up the kids, and we can eat."

- - - - -​

Daniels sets his book aside and stands up from the couch, pausing to stretch . He looked through the dining room to the kitchen, wondering aloud "It's been half a spell since I last did any baking." His contemplation is interrupted by the cuckoo clock on the wall announces its presence, "Seriously, midnight already? Read a lot longer than I thought. Shucks, not getting any baking done tonight. I don't think that Armstrong would be too happy with me if I showed up late, even with a plate of cookies. Oh well, there's always tomorrow."

Jeremy rolls his shoulders out, wincing as they audibly pop and crack. Making his way to the master bedroom Jeremy plops down on the edge of the mattress, stripping off his t-shirt and dropping it beside the bed. Reaching over Jeremy flicks the switch for his bedside lamp. The room filling with a dim red hue from the ancient digital alarm clock that sat on the dresser across the room. Flopping his head onto his pillow, Jeremy pulls the blanket close, hoping for at least a fitful patch of sleep for a change.

- - - - -
​

Daniels eases into wakefulness, a warm spring breeze drifts through the open bedroom window carrying with it soft bird calls. A welcome aroma of coffee and bacon wafts in through the open door. Rolling over, he feels the warm vacant spot beside him, the sheets tossed askance. Before he can clamber out of bed, his love comes around the door, her bedraggled, auburn hair catching the late morning light. Wearing an oversized t-shirt that hangs off her, a shoulder poking through the neck hole "About time you woke up. I thought that Marines were early risers."

"C'mon. Sain't like we have anywhere to be." Jeremy slurs out. Patting the bed beside him he beckons her to return. She giggles coyly "Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you? Too bad, you had your chance. You blew it."

Daniels sits up, his face twisted in concern. He shudders as a cold wind whips around him. Rushing down from the steep Afghani mountains. He stumbles backwards, finding himself standing his eyes darting back and forth as his breath quickens and he begins to sweat despite the chill. The coarse sand crunches under his boots as the smell of motor oil, blood, and death hang around him. Shadows dance as a flame crackles out of the hood of a ruined truck. Corpses in Air Force camouflage lay scattered as if thrown around haphazardly.

The woman, now also clad in Air Force fatigues, continues to regard Jeremy. Her now glassy and lifeless eyes fix on him, as an ugly bullet wound in her forehead seeps blood and viscera, flecks of bone just visible at the edges "Why don't you run now? It's what you've done before. What you're good at. Go on. Flee."

"What? No. Please, I didn't want this. I tried. There was-" Daniels is cut off as hands scrabble against his boots. Jumping back, he sees the bodies crawling towards him. Their broken figures struggling to move.

The woman laughs before talking in a sing-song tone "Go ahead! Run away. Hide! Cower! It's what you want, what you do best, isn't it?"

Jeremy staggers back, lamely babbling nonsense in response. Looking down he sees the bottoms of his camouflage trousers turing red as blood wicks up through the fabric. He gives up as fear takes hold, as he turns and begins to sprint away, the clammy, bony hands hounding him as he runs.

Jeremy pants heavily, his heart pounding in his ears. The thick rubber of his desert boots pound the hard packed ground. He claws at the ground whenever he trips, the rocks and thick scrub grass seeming to move into his path no matter what way he turns. Risking a glance over his shoulder, there is no sign of pursuit from his assailants. Still, the cloying dread consumes his mind, as he feels the hands of the dead just brushing against his blouse.

Turning back, he powers his destroid forward, the warning panel lit like a twisted Christmas tree. Alarms squawk as Jeremy pushes the wounded machine onward, desperately searching, hoping to find a safe harbor from the foes hunting him. His head jerks as he looks between the remaining functional screens, fearing an ambush behind every ruined building.

Muscling the Spartan into the leeward side of a fallen interstate sign, he cowers as the massive letters loom over him, the arrow still pointing the way to the ruins of the Pentagon.

The radio crackles to life, the multitude of calls all overlap, mixing with the sounds of weapons fire and screams of pain.

"-are pinned and surrounded, need help now dammit!"

"Keaton's hit! Corpsman! Cor-

"Where's Daniels? We need heavy weapons support now!"

"-needs medevac! Is anyone out there?"

Jeremy remains frozen, helpless at the onslaught of terror coursing through him. The radio calls become more desperate, more insistent, as the voices turn to curses. The weight of his damnation presses Daniels further into the command chair. The woman's voice whispers into his ear, "They rely on you, and you'll fail them. Always. Just like you failed the rest of us, failed me. Go ahead, run. Coward."

Jeremy fights to move his mouth, searching for a response. A burst of fire punches through the sign multiple rounds dig into the weakened rear armor and detonate, roughly tossing Daniels around the cockpit. Panic takes hold and he blindly bolts from his concealment. He sprints through the ruined city turning at random. No plan, no goal, Jeremy's only thought to flee the cold and bony hands he feels closing around his arms, his legs, his chest, his neck.

Rounding a corner, Jeremy skids to a stop, confronted with a trio of Tomahawks. Their particle cannons aimed squarely his way. The radio still carries calls for help, begging him to respond. As he stands mute, the woman's voice cackles at him, "Ah, just as all cowards deserve."

Throwing his arms in front of him in a futile effort to shield himself from the onslaught, Jeremy is thrown around for a moment as raw firepower shreds the armor. Turning the cockpit into a fiery tomb. The wreckage casting sharp shadows and a deep red hue across the ruined buildings.

Finding himself now floating over the battlefield, having been ripped from his very flesh by the explosions, Daniels can only watch the scene from afar unable to look away. His executioners pour fire from all their weapons into his mecha, pounding the titanic war machine time and again until the gyroscopes overloaded by the relentless assault, tear themselves apart in a fruitless effort to keep the Spartan upright. As the inert behemoth crashes to broken asphalt, flames lick out from rents in the armor, the nose art on the side of the torso remains recognizable, stylized playing cards. The aces of clubs and spades, and eights of the same suit. Underneath, Daniels is just able to read the script before flames char it beyond recognition. "Dead Man's Hand"

- - - - -
​

Jeremy bolts upright, his heart hammering in his ears. He scrabbles instinctively, though from what he doesn't know. The edge of his bed surprises him as he falls to the hardwood floor with a dull thump, righting himself quickly, Daniels presses himself against the wall wide-eyed and searching for that cackling, accusing voice he can still hear in the back of his mind. The dull red hue sending his thoughts into a spiral as he gasps for breath in ragged gulps.

As time passes, Daniels' breathing evens out and he returns to his senses. The memory that fed the nightmare lodges itself in his minds eye, replaying time and again. Jeremy breaks down, his shoulders shake and chest heaves as he weeps loudly. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he wraps his arms around his legs, rocking back and forth as tears stream down his face. His attempts to plead with the ghosts falling from his lips as senseless blubbering.

Jeremy's heart aches as memories and images rush in unbidden, even while he quiets from his blubbering to sobs and whimpers as he rolls limply onto his side. Eventually, the voices fade into the background of his mind, and images of burning city and broken bodies draw back to reveal the dull red tint of his bedroom under the alarm clocks glow. Picking up his discarded shirt, Jeremy wipes at the snot and tears that still cling to his face.

Jeremy looks over at the alarm and groans, "Really? Not even a quarter past 2? Screw it, I'm gonna go ahead and bake something."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
​

A/N: OK, that's the last chapter I have at the present juncture. Going forward, my output will far less impressive.

 

[Wolfsdragan]

Loving the storyline so far hope to read more soon!

 

[Doofus87]

Loving the storyline so far hope to read more soon!

Click to shrink...

Glad that it's proving entertaining. I have plenty more planned out for where to go from here, with the Daedalus attack showing up in the next chapter or two.

Also, I do welcome any comments and critiques. So if you (or others) have some, by all means lay 'em on me.

 

[Doofus87]

"So, let me get this straight, in our off time from piloting big stompy robots-"

Lundsford sighs "Really JD, you promised you'd stop calling them that in public."

Daniels pauses for a moment before revising his statement, "From piloting our giant mecha destroids. You're getting some guys together to play a tabletop game, wherein we pilot bi- more giant battlemechs. In a future where everything has gone to hell in a handbasket. Replete with obscenely powerful and further ridiculous weaponry all intent on savaging other enemy mecha."

"That about sums it up. Though there's plenty of backstory fluff that you're glossing over."

"Oh sure, because all the political machinations of the surviving human groups are going to be of interest to your average grunt. Pilot. Mechwarrior. Whatever."

"So, are you interested?"

Jeremy grins "Are you kidding Jason? When do we kick this off?"

- - - - -​

That following Saturday, Lundsford met with Daniels, Fokker, and a handful of other people just outside of one of the rec rooms on base. With surprisingly PO2 Randall sitting at the head of the table with the splat books and a typical game master screen set up. The NCO smiles wide "Hey everyone, glad you all could make it. Now the plan for what I'm running, given the wide range of skill with the game system, is for everyone to have their own battlemech. And all of you will be operating as a group, a lance for you newbies. If you take a look at the handouts, I detail what mechs are readily available. With some suggested loadouts. Though for who gets what roles, we'll settle that by drawing straws."

The men gather around, each pulling a rolled piece of paper from a plastic cup in turn. Daniels unfurls his while Fokker asks, "So, what does it mean that I'm the assault mech?"

Looking at his own slip of paper while Randall explains the types of battlemechs to those who needed it, Jeremy works to decide on which heavy mech he would have his pilot field. "So, I see that we have a bunch of clanner options."

Randall nods, "This is set just after Tukayyid, so the Inner Sphere has gotten some stuff due to salvage. I thought you said you hadn't played before?"

"I never played Battletech, but I did putz around with a few spinoffs though. And read a book or two as well. So, any objection to me getting the Timberwolf?"

- - - - -​

After going through the setup, and finally settling on a name for their merc company, the newly minted mechwarriors soon found themselves knee deep in trouble. They'd been out on a patrol when a 2 lances of 3 mechs blundered across the Macross Malcontents. Luck had not been on the side of the Malcontents and while they'd managed to knock out 3 of the hostile 'mechs, Travis in his Dervish had been knocked out, and Yeager had punched out of his Jenner when he took a pair of PPCs to his center torso, sending his reactor critical. Jason was putting his Warhammer to good use well to support Roy Fokker who was their heavy hitter in the Battlemaster. While Rodney was moving in the Hunchback to support Daniels in his Timberwolf from one of the enemy mediums.

"Jace! Look out, that Black Knight is pushing on your flank!"

Jeremy grunts as he pushes his mech to the limits turning to track the an enemy Catapult lining up for a missile salvo on Roy. The armor was still glowing from the last hits of Daniels' medium LASERs. He lines up the shot, breathes out and squeezes the trigger.

"You missed."

Jeremy looks at Randall, "What? Come on. He's only 150 meters away. I know I can make that shot!"

Leeroy gestures at the dice, "Sorry boss. You made a called shot, as you were maneuvering severely, on a running target. And you didn't roll high enough."

The entire table groans before returning to playing out the battle.

 

[Doofus87]

Chapter 7: Recuperation and Recovery​

The early morning air of Macross city still carries a chill as the titanic air handlers across the SDF-1 work to emulate a natural temperature cycle. The lighting of the ship's interior slowly shifts to a simulacrum of twilight, though the roof of the hold spoils the illusion of normalcy.

Sgt. Janet Quail jogs through the base housing district, mentally grumbling to herself. "You know you shouldn't have had that third cupcake, but no. It looked too good to pass up. Ugh, why'd I let Martha drag me to that bakery again? She knows I have my PFT coming up in a month."

Janet trots to a stop when she smells something burning. Quickly surveying the area she notices the two-story brick house she was passing has the front door and all of the windows facing the street wide open. The lights from inside illuminating the thin wisps of smoke drifting out from the openings.

Walking over to check, she knocks on the door frame, calling, "Is everything alright?"

Not hearing any response, Quail ventures into the living room, pausing as her foot bumps into a book. Leaning over, she picks it up, running her thumb along the spine, reading the title aloud, "Out of the Silent Planet? Never heard of it." The cuckoo clock on the wall chimes to announce the half-hour, startling Janet from her reverie as she bumps into the end table beside the couch.

From the kitchen farther down a man calls, "Is someone out there?"

"Hi, I was passing by and I smelt smoke. Is everything alright?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. C'mon back I reckon."

Quail sits the book onto the end table beside the couch as she tries to place a name with the voice. Moving back towards the kitchen, she takes in the dining room, the faded blue paint chipped at the corners, the paper border curling at the edges next to the ceiling. The hardwood floor was in little better condition, having been scuffed and worn down to bare wood.

As Janet walks into the kitchen she is struck by the heady aroma of peanut butter, sugar and butter, cooked eggs and ham, apple tinged with cinnamon, and the sharp tang of lemon. The menagerie of scents only temporarily distracts her from the man standing by the stovetop on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Lieutenant Daniels stands there, tying the strings of the apron covering his lean frame. Janet notes the cluster of small scars on his right side just under his ribs. A larger pockmark of a scar, an old bullet wound she guesses, standing out just below his left collar bone.

"Oh, uh, howdy Sarge. What's got you out and about at this late hour?"

Quail stands, flabbergasted for a moment before she says, "Late? It's Oh five-thirty. Ah, sir."

Daniels looks at the clock on the oven, the light giving Quail a good look at the dark bags on his face. Jeremy sighs "Damn. Got too caught up it seems. Guess it's another two pot day for me then." Daniels wipes his hand on a dishtowel. "So, do you normally enter people's homes in the wee hours of the morning? Certainly, an interesting hobby that."

"I smelled smoke, and you had the door and windows open. And you didn't respond when I knocked." Quail gestured at the kitchen asking, "Ell-tee, what are you doing?"

"Nothing much, a little bit of baking. I know most guys get the reputation that they can't cook to sa-"

"A little bit of baking? You've got pies, and cookies, and ... is that bacon?"

"What? I wanted a snack."

Sighing Quail continues, "And what's with ... that?" motioning at Daniels' attire, or lack thereof.

"Well, when I was cooking the bacon, the oil popped and tagged me right on the damned nipple. I tell you what. That junk hurts. I mean you ever get hit on the ni- Eh, nevermind." clearing his throat, Jeremy says, "So, I went and grabbed an apron."

Janet shakes her head as she works to make sense of that. "Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

"Because I went to bed in my shorts? Be glad it was a little chilly, else this would be awkward... Well, more awkward." Daniels turns to face Quail more straight on as he speaks, while still keeping an eye on the oven.
That maneuver gives Janet a better look at his face, and she's taken aback at how disheveled Jeremy looks. The bloodshot sclera stands out in stark contrast to the rest of his face while the skin around his nose is red and swollen. Thin tracks of dried tears shine mutely across his cheeks.

Janet takes another step into the kitchen, "Sir, are you OK?"

Jeremy looks at Quail, puzzled. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, no. I'm fine. Yep. Totally fine. No problems here. Doing totally OK. All is good. Nothing to report. No screaming and wailing at all. Only cooking here. Lemon torte?"

"What was that?"

"Lemon torte. It's a baked good made with lemo-"

"I know that. Before that part."

"Only cooking here?"

"Before that."

"Nothing to report?"

Quail glares, "And what did you say after that?"

"Only cooking."

"And between the two?"

"There is no war in Ba Sing Se."

"What?"

Jeremy shakes his head "Nevermind. Don't worry about it. So say we all."

"You are making less sense than usual, sir."

"Oh, that's just not right. I'll have to make sure you get to experience the wonder of BSG. Even if the shaky cam is annoying." Jeremy says with a shrug.

"You're being infuriating on purpose."

"No, I am aiming to be obtuse. There's a difference." After a moment of silence, Jeremy asks, "What were you doing out and about at this hour?"

"I was out running, sir."

"Why?"

Janet looks longingly at a tray of muffins "... too many baked goods."

---

Daniels strides through the HQ building, the heady aroma of baked goods left in his wake cause heads to poke out of doors as he passes. Careful to not upset the platter, Jeremy opens the door to the command offices and enters. "Morning Sally."

A familiar and unexpected voice answers, "My my, Lt. here I thought that you were observant. 'Less you're telling me that you think I look pregnant."

Jeremy smiles. "P.O. Filgore, what'd you do to get roped in here?"

"Filling in for Lance Corporal Tavers. She went into labor yesterday. And last I heard, she's still in it."

Daniels winces as he thinks back on how grouchy his sister was when she had his nephew. "More'n a day? I'm so glad I'm a guy." He says, shifting the platter to his other hand, "But I thought that Wilkins was going to take over for Tavers."

"He was, but last week a recruit knocked him off the rappelling tower when he was up as the tower master. Broke his leg, so he'll be laid up for a month at least."

"Aw shit, he was supposed to slot in for 'roid training. That's gonna put us in a pinch."

Filgore nods, "That it will. The Major was getting worked up over it. And speaking of, you are late. You'd better get in there, I'll let him know you've arrived."

Daniels grimaces and makes for the office door.

---

Armstrong sits at his desk surrounded by personnel files. The rotational roster is half-filled in, and the last three drafts lie crumpled in the trash can. The intercom chirps to provide a welcome. "Major, Lt Daniels is here."

Armstrong looks at the clock and scowls before replying, "Thank you Filgore, send him in."

Folding his hands together, Armstrong turns his attention to the door. Fixing his gaze on the man that walks in. Daniels walks through the door and salutes while balancing a full plate in his other hand. "Lieutenant Daniels reporting as ordered sir."

"You're late. Have a seat Lieu- What's on that plate?" Armstrong's glare falters for a second as the aroma of vanilla, peanut butter, and citrus wafts into the room.

Daniels sits down, looking back and forth for a moment before shrugging and adjusting the platter he was holding to better stabilize it. "Eh, it's a platter sir. Not so much a plate per se. And-"

With an exasperated growl Major Armstrong cuts off Daniels "I asked what was on the platter. Lieutenant."

"Cookies, sir. Got some sugar ones here, peanut butter ones in the middle, and on the other side are snickerdoodles. Want one?"

"No. Just- why do you have a platter of cookies?" Armstrong asks, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Well, I didn't get much sleep last night. So, I decided to bake."

Armstrong blinks "Why?" His eyes track themselves down to the platter still balanced in Daniels' hand, the alluring scent worming its way into his nose.

Daniels shrugs again "Baking is a perfectly valid hobby sir. One that I enjoy immensely."

"I, that's not what I meant. Forget it. How did your baking make you late?"

"Well, you see sir, I might have gone a bit overboard and baked so much that I'll never eat everything before it goes bad. So, I thought, I'd bring the excess to the HQ to share and share-alike. Help with morale and all that."

"You're trying to tell me, you were late because you were giving out cookies?"

"Well, only due to taking some to the far side of the HQ building."

"What were you doing on the far side of the HQ building?" Armstrong again closes his eyes, wishing desperately that some semblance of normalcy would return when he opened them.

Daniels grins devilishly."I was delivering a special plate of cookies, sir. A very special plate of cookies."

---

On the far side of the HQ building, Maistroff sits in his office. Glaring at the item sat in the middle of his desk. His temporary secretary stands in the door, loudly popping and smacking her gum. "So, yeah Colonel. A nice young man came by a bit ago. Dropped thems cookies off. He was ad- uh, amadan- uh, insistent that you know those were made for you specifically."

Maistroff continues to stare at the offending plate of confections. "A nice young man, Miss Wiggins? Did you ask him his name?"

Janice scrunches up her face, pausing her incessant gum popping for an all too brief moment, "Um, Flannels? Spaniels?"

Maistroff grinds his teeth, shifting his glare from the cookies to his infuriating, and thankfully temporary, secretary. "Daniels?" he says, as he continues to be disappointed that he still has yet to develop pyrokinesis.

Janice bobs her head, causing her hair to jump around. Smiling vapidly she continues popping and smacking her gum. "Yeah! That's it. He was so nice and cute. He kept on telling me that I needed to make sure that you and no ones else touched those cookies. D'ya think he's single?"

---

Armstrong massages the sides of his head, the headache growing in intensity. "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. I even made sure they were the Colonel's favorites: peanut M&M oatmeal cookies."

"You made his favorite cookies. Made sure that he knew that you baked them specifically for him. And you did nothing to them?"

Jeremy nods. "That's the gist of it."

"You're an evil asshole."

"Why, thank you, sir!" Jeremy says, with a far too pleased looking grin.

Armstrong reaches over without looking and grabs a bottle of aspirin. He shakes the bottle over his hand, when nothing comes out, he tilts the bottle to peer inside. With a defeated sigh, he pitches the bottle into the already overflowing trash can. "Let me be clear, Lieutenant. We all have far too much work ahead of us right now for anyone to be sowing discord."

"Crystal, sir. I have no intention of starting anything." Jeremy sets the platter of cookies down on the now cleared corner of the desk.

Armstrong glances at the cookies for a second before returning his attention to Daniels. "Now, on to the actual purpose of this meeting. If you could please not derail the conversation, between your tardiness and our distraction over your… confections, the rest of my day is starting to look like it's shot."

"Ah, right sir. Sorry sir. I'll behave."

"Good." Armstrong relaxes and looks down, only to see that his hand had moved of its own accord towards the snickerdoodles. Pulling his errant hand back, Armstrong busies it with collecting a sheaf of files. "To brass tacks then. These are the files of the personnel you'll be assigned as part of your squad."

Daniels takes the CVs of the personnel from Armstrong and quickly rifles through them. "Is this a joke sir?"

"What do you mean?"

"These five guys you're sticking with me, all of 'em are near to a foot taller than me."

Armstrong motions for Daniels to hand the folders back and skims the documents. Not a man under six-four...the major can't help but smile. "No, this isn't a joke. And to be fair, you are a tiny prick. If I were to restrict myself to only troops that are your size, I'd have a hell of a time finding anyone to assign to you."

Daniels shrugs. "Fair enough, sir. Not everyone is so blessed as to be able to take cover behind a thimble."

Armstrong shakes his head and allows himself a wry grin as he looks over the rotational roster again. After the pair converse for a while on other sundry topics, Armstrong leans back in his chair and stretches out his neck, his spine audibly popping from the movement. He takes the pause in business to ask, "So, why did you do it?"

Daniels cocks his head, "I'm… not sure what you mean sir."

"Right, not psychic." Armstrong looks at Daniels, again folding his hands together. "Gruber already spilled the beans. Why else would I let a damned civvie help move sensitive ordinance?"

"Because I'm a trustworthy sort, that exudes helpfulness, and you were heavily short-handed as it was… and is."

"I'll cop to that last one. Still doesn't answer my question. Why did you do it?"

"I mean, the sergeant was in trouble. And being electrocuted is a shitty way to go. Just did what anyone else woulda."

"I would hope as much, but that's still not what I meant. Why didn't you let Gruber say that you'd led him in not only calling in the damage but saving Corinth?"

"I, uh, didn't wanna rock the boat. You already know about my circumstances, sir. I figured that flying under the radar would be wisest." Daniels sits, his face impassive as Armstrong drills him with his glare. After a moment Daniels adds, "and I didn't want to see that young lot get in trouble. With everything that happened, he... well all of us were out of our element. And freezing like that on your first time in combat isn't abnormal."

"You were worried…" Armstrong smiles and laughs for a few seconds. "I think you'll do alright Daniels. Provided that you can restrain yourself from conducting PsyOps on our allies."

"But sir, where's the fun in that?"

Armstrong glares at Daniels again. "Don't test me."

"Yes sir, of course sir."

"Good, one last thing." Armstrong takes a deep breath and is assailed by the sweet succulent scent emanating from the cookies, "We had some complaints last night about a howling noise on base, mostly coming from your general area. People are claiming that a coyote somehow snuck on board. I don't suppose you heard or know anything about that, do you?"

Daniels shakes his head, "No, can't say I have. You aren't thinking that I had one in my home when I … arrived, are you?"

"I wasn't ruling it out."

"Well, I can attest that I never had a coyote as a pet. So I have no... " Daniels hesitates for an instant, "no idea as to what animal people might have heard."

"In that case, that is everything I needed you in here to go over." Armstrong nods. "You're dismissed, Lieutenant."

Daniels nods, standing up and snapping off a salute. He picks up the platter of cookies and starts to turn to leave.

Armstrong clears his throat, "Actually, one last thing, son." the Major leans across his desk and plucks a pair of each type of cookie from the platter. "Now you may leave."

Daniels smiles, "Enjoy sir. I do take requests."

---

Jeremy steps back into the hall, closing the door behind him. He turns as the sound of rapid footsteps echo from up the hall. He thinks to himself, "Oh, I couldn't have planned this better," as he sees Maistroff walking towards him, in the middle of taking a big bite from a familiar-looking cookie.

Offering his best saccharine smile, Jeremy salutes sharply. "Good morning sir! Fine day isn't it? Getting off to a nice start with a healthy breakfast I see." Maistroff narrows his eyes, unable to respond otherwise as his mouth was still full. Jeremy was getting the distinct impression that the Colonel was trying to set him on fire with his mind.

Maistroff resumes his chewing even as he maintains his glare towards Daniels. After he clears his mouth, Maistroff returns the salute, while keeping the other half of the cookie in his left hand. "As you were, Lieutenant."

"Thank ye, sir. Y'all have a nice day now, y'hear." Jeremy maintains his overly chipper grin even while dropping his salute.

Maistroff's scowl deepens as he glances from Daniels to the cookie in his own hand, and back to Daniels again. Bringing the cookie up to his mouth, he bites into it while maintaining eye contact. With a final huff, Maistroff continues on his way down the hall.

Jeremy turns as he hears the door open behind him and Armstrong sticks his head out, asking, "Lieutenant, what is going on?"

Jeremy points down the hall. "It's Colonel Maistroff sir, he likes the cookies."

Armstrong stares at Jeremy, completely nonplussed. He reaches out and gives a firm swat to the back of Daniels' head. "Get going before I drag you upstairs so I can defenestrate you properly."

---

The hangar rings with the sound of metal on metal as the technicians scramble across the mecha. The technicians are split between bolting armor on, checking weapons, welding support struts together, and trying to get the mechs back in fighting shape. Daniels ducks under the scaffolding wrapped around his Spartan, the top half of the torso covered in a sheet. "Randall! What's the word?"

The crew chief for Daniels' mecha pops his head out of the access panel on the lower torso of the metal behemoth. "Morning Elle-tee! The guys have been raving about those pies you dropped off. You sure know how to make friends."

"Those… those were quiche… You know, nevermind. Glad y'all liked 'em." Daniels leans back against the scaffolding as Randall squeezes his way out of the mecha body to clamber down to the deck.

"Well, we just about got your girl ready to go. Only had to replace every actuator in the hands, and half of the ones in the elbows. How did you screw those up again?"

"Batting practice. Word is Fokker is starting a softball league between the destroids and Valks. Gotta be ready to show up those NAVY pukes."

Randall stares in complete befuddlement before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Goddammit Lieutenant." With a shake of his head, Randall continues, "As I was saying, sir. Your girl is nearly back up to spec. We're chasing down that intermittent problem with the chest LASER, and the head LASER turret sticks a little when you first start turning it."

"Good to know, hopefully, we can get that sorted before the aliens come at us again."

"That's the goal. Anyway, we also gave her a fresh coat of paint, don't know why considering you did a smash-up job ruining the first coat. But as we did that, we added on something special to make sure everyone knows that this is your girl."

Daniels freezes as he recognizes the too-familiar sensation of panic creeping up his spine. "You did what now?"

"It's a tradition with the destroids to adorn them like tanker and bomber crews would do for their machines. And with how you acted in that last battle, we thought of only one fitting way to set you up, sir."

Daniels stands rooted in place, his heart rate quickening and pounding in his ears. Randall pulls the sheet covering the Spartan's nose, the sheet flutters down and time slows to a crawl, the instant stretches into infinity. Daniels' eyes go wide as a vision of the end of his nightmare flashes through his mind, and he steels himself against the nose art being unveiled.

The hunter green paint contrasts against the decoration. Not a set of playing cards, but a stylized gray tin can, the top lid half cut open and pried up by the combat knife still stuck in it. Whoop-ass is printed in block script on the can, and a baseball sits partially occluded by the body of the can. Bright yellow letters underneath the picture read "Half-pint"

The scaffolding keeps Daniels from falling to the ground as the adrenaline high fades. "Well, damn. Thanks, chief, but why the tin can and the baseball?"

"We've all heard about your call sign. And it only seemed fitting to name your girl similarly. And if you play dumb about the ball, I'll repaint the whole think pastel pink." Randall pauses for a few seconds. "You OK sir? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Daniels smiles weakly and nods, even as beads of sweat dampen his hair. "Didn't get a whole heap of sleep last night, but I'll be alright. Let's get my girl checked out. Don't wanna be caught with my pants around my ankles."

---

Jason breathes deeply as the pungent aroma of the gym surrounds him. The mix of cheap lacquer, old leather, and vinyl intermingle with the lingering bite of stale sweat to form a welcoming familiar stench. Jason focuses on controlling his breathing as he checks to make sure that his hand wraps are in place before tugging on his padded gloves. Squaring up to the heavy bag he starts working it over, going through well-practiced motions. He starts off simply, with basic combinations of jabs, hooks, and crosses. Once Jason feels sufficiently warmed up, he starts adding in palm and elbow strikes, with the occasional kick for variety's sake.

After Jason finds his rhythm again, he allows his mind to wander while his limbs go through the motions that he had drilled into them through incessant practice. Jason had done some digging around, but nothing surfaced to explain Maistroff's animosity towards Jeremy. Jason didn't buy that Jeremy could have no idea as to why someone would hate him. Jason surmises, to his dismay, that political games are afoot. He acknowledges that politics will always be in play, as annoying as they are.

Jason grimaces as he misses with his knee strike, the blow glancing off the bag and throwing him off balance. Setting up into proper form, he starts his next set of strikes. Upon finding a good rhythm his thoughts wander back to his contemplation. Try as he might, Jason couldn't find anyone that knew Jeremy before the fold jump. He was further confounded by Jeremy's friendly and amenable act as compared to how and his interactions were geared to keep everyone around at arm's length. And he was so damned cryptic about his past! Jason was torn from his mulling over the dichotomy by a dull throb as he landed his elbow strike square on his funny bone.

Jason narrows his eyes at the heavy bag and lets loose on it, his strikes smashing it faster and harder than he had been at first. He throws his frustration into a right hook. "Why did Jeremy have all that hidden food?" he thinks. Turning to whip his arm out in a spinning back fist, Jason scowls. "Why won't Jeremy talk about his old units or where he served?" Jason leans back and powers through a front kick that has the bag come close to jumping off its hook. "Why won't that runt come clean about his past? None of this adds up!"

Jason drives his fist forwards in a straight jab. His knuckles catch on the bag just enough to roll his fist inwards sharply as his arm tries to drive through the strike. As the joint overextends, the jolt of pain that shoots up his arm sends him swearing as he shakes out the pain.

"You alright there?"

Jason turns to see who addressed him and finds a short, muscular woman wiping the sweat off her brow. "I'm fine. Let my mind wander too much. Wasn't paying attention to the drill, so I missed that strike." He says while rubbing his aching wrist.

"Must be something real heavy there. You've been bungling your hits for a good five minutes."

"Don't recall asking you for a critique, miss…"

"Janet Quail. Sergeant. Marines."

Jason nods as the pieces fall together. "Thought I recognized you. You've been helping Jeremy out, right?"

Quail narrows her eyes and takes half a step back. "I have been assisting Lieutenant Daniels with getting reacclimated, yes. You have me at a disadvantage."

"First Sergeant Lundsford. Army. Or Jason since we're not on duty."

"Oh, you're the first shirt that was training him on the big-"

Jason cuts Quail off by holding his hand up. "Please, I already owe Half-Pint a few beatings for that, don't add to his tab. But yes, I did train him on destroid operation."

"He's spoken highly of you. At least what little I've heard him say. 'Tough but fair' was the general gist of things. Not to pry too much, but what's on your mind first sergeant?"

Jason considers for a moment as he shakes out the stiffness in his legs. "Well, Jeremy as a matter of fact."

"What about the Lieutenant has you up in arms?"

"Who said anything about being up in arms? He's just got me annoyed at his tendency for being enigmatic."

"He's been making obscure references around you too?"

"Oh God, yes. But not just that." Jason quietly reveals to Quail his personal observations, though he leaves out mention of his meeting with Maistroff. "So, I'm trying to suss out what his deal is, and coming up infuriatingly blank."

"And his being a stowaway is not making things seem good for him either."

"Wait, what? That's a new one on me. The last popular one I'd stumbled on was Jeremy being placed here as an asset to observe the goings-on. When did this stowaway rumor come around?"

"It's no rumor, First Sergeant. The first night after we folded I was standing post outside of the bri... a storage closet with Daniels locked inside. And from talking with the Corporal Gruber when I relieved him, he told me that Daniels was cooperative to the point of teaching him how to make some disposable restraints out of zip ties."

"Jeremy taught someone how to better tie him up? That's..." Jason trails off and begins laughing.

"You alright there Top?"

"I'm fine Sergeant, just fine. That helps out plenty. I think that Daniels is going to work out OK."

 

[ecs05norway]

A distinct pleasure to see this story return! Thanks for sharing!

 

[werman4]

good story so far keep up the great work

 

[Doofus87]

A distinct pleasure to see this story return! Thanks for sharing!

Click to shrink...

Thanks for checking in. I'm committed to seeing this thing through (which isn't the only reason I ought to be committed, but I digress.) I plan to have one of the bigger moments show up in the next chapter or two.

good story so far keep up the great work

Click to shrink...

Thank you for the vote of confidence. I am sticking with it, and I have the rough idea sketched out. But, as always, the devil is in the details. Now, back into the word minds to delve for forbidden lexicon.