A Familiar Path (24 AUG 2016)

SFC Leigh Fahey paced quietly down the corridor. She was looking for SGT Glynn, whom she'd been asked to find by CPT Lindemann. When she'd checked his bunk area and found him gone, SGT Parsons had said he'd seen Glynn and Zhu headed toward Mission Command. Her steps took her into the armory, and she felt her pace quicken as the familiar path played on her memory, reminding her of the many times she'd pounded in here, scrambling to get her gear on for a mission. She paused a moment, glancing around at the orderly rows of rifles, the crates filled with neatly packaged grenades and other devices.

She drifted to the ready rack, where the precious few laser weapons and sets of phalanx armor were laid out; she traced a finger lovingly along the bulky shape of the scatter laser that she'd carried several times already, then spent a few moments looking at the various sets of phalanx, seeing the slight irregularities where the engineers had repaired plasma burns; Each set of armor told a different story, but in amalgam, it was a story of pain, injury and triumph. With a sigh laden with meaning that is only comprehensible to those who have felt the exhilaration and terror of being in combat, she turned away from the racks of equipment, and left the armory behind.

Mission Control was a very different place. Where the armory was all orderly gleaming gunmetal and stillness, the nerve center of XCOM was chaos barely held in check, with a low hum of constant talk as the many technicians communicated with outlying stations, reconnaissance elements, and the various Council Nations. Dominating the room physically was the hologlobe, showing near-real-time intel from all over the globe, integrating the multiple flows of information from the workstations all around into a single cohesive picture which the Commander and Bradford used to coordinate XCOM's efforts.

As if thinking of him summoned him, she saw Bradford move out of the shadows on the catwalk overlooking Mission Control. He appeared to be coming from the Situation Room; The Commander probably had a tele-meeting with the shadowy Council head. Bradford leaned on the railing, looking down at the hologlobe and the busy technicians below. Leigh, in turn, looked up at him. She'd only spoken to him a few times, during debriefs, but his demeanor never wavered. Stiff, formal, professional. It sometimes seemed that XCOM ran on his willpower alone. Bradford's eyes shifted, and she realized he was looking directly back at her, and she jumped slightly. She raised her right hand toward her brow in a casual half salute, and Bradford acknowledged it with a nod before turning his eyes back to the hologlobe.

Leigh stepped off again, letting her feet carry her along the well-known route to the Hangar, as she still hadn't seen Glynn. She had a hunch that he might be in there; Many of the troopers liked to hang out in the Hangar when they were doing maintenance on the bay doors, as it was the only time other than missions that any of them saw sky. Sure enough, she could smell the distinct aroma of fresh air, so different from the machine smells of oil and smoke, and the ever-present scent of moist granite. As she entered the Hangar, Leigh turned her gaze upward involuntarily, to where she could see a few stars winking through the lowering twilight, barely silhouetting the tiny shapes of mechanics working on the door mechanism.

"Sergeant Fahey," she heard, and dropped her eyes to find SSG Zhu raising a hand in greeting, with Glynn sitting next to him, with the single S.C.O.P.E. held to his eye as he gazed upward. She walked the short distance to the stack of crates they were seated on, and waited a moment until Glynn turned his attention to her.

"SGT Glynn," she began, "CPT Lindemann would like you to drop by his room this evening, when you've some time. He wanted to get your take on something from the bridge."

"No problem," Glynn said. "I'll swing by there in a few." He passed the S.C.O.P.E. over to Zhu who also put it to his eye and turned it upward. "What do you think?" he asked after a few moments.

"What are you doing?" Leigh asked, looking upward to try to discern what they were looking at.

"We're checking out some new tweaks to the S.C.O.P.E." Glynn explained. "Engineering's working on some new features, and they asked us to give our input."

Zhu dropped the device to his lap, and nodded. "I agree," he said shortly. "the calibration is a little off. Also, did you notice that the overlay tried to give him a third arm? It was actually a wrench on his belt."

Glynn burst out laughing. "I guess the computer is trying to extrapolate for new breeds of X-Ray?" he speculated. He glanced at SFC Fahey, then reached out and grabbed the S.C.O.P.E. and offered it to her. "Take a look."

Leigh took the device, and held it to her eye, raising it up. The auto-focus hesitated for a moment, then suddenly the lip of the bay doors came into sharp focus, and she could see the workers moving around. As she watched, the light level raised gradually. "Place the center reticle over one of the workers," she heard Zhu prompt, so she did so. Within a couple seconds, the man was overlaid with an outline, and data appeared on the edge of her view, designating him as human and giving his distance; There was also appeared two dots, one over his head, another over his heart. She let out a slow, appreciative whistle.

"That's pretty impressive," she said. Wouldn't be much help for a shotgunner like me, but I can see how that'd help you make some deadly shots."

Yeah, they're working on integrating features to help line up on more critical zones on our targets. They've been making some big improvements in the Foundry." Glynn grinned wolfishly, and Leigh returned it with one of her own.

"I'll write up our observations, then send it to you for review," Zhu said as he accepted the S.C.O.P.E. back from Fahey. "I think our time here is done anyway." As he spoke, muted klaxons sounded, and the bay doors began to swing closed.

"I guess so," Glynn agreed, sliding off of the crate. "I think I'll go see what the Captain wants," he said. "You coming back to the barracks, Sergeant, or are you going to stay here?"

"I'll come," she replied with a last glance at the sky, just as the bay doors cut it off. "I'll walk with you. I wanted to talk to CPT Lindemann again anyway."

What's in a Name? (29 JUN 2016)

The chow hall was crowded, as it usually was on "sectoid fingers" night. Private First Class Jermaine Glynn hated the nickname, since it reminded him of Ox, but he never missed it. He loved spaghetti. He grinned at the cook and gave him the "keep it coming" gesture until his plate was nearly overflowing, then slid down a bit, snagged a couple slices of garlic bread, and picked up his tray.

Turning, he looked out over the packed room, looking for a spot to sit down. He saw a seat come open and hurried over, sliding into it and dropping his tray hard enough to make the silverware clatter. Across the table, the Chinese Corporal looked up, met his eyes and nodded. Glynn recognized him, and nodded back.

"I know you, I think," he said as he picked up his fork, twirling some spaghetti around it. "Corporal Zhu, right?" The Corporal glanced down at his name tape, raised an eyebrow, and swallowed the food in his mouth.

"What gave me away?" he said, the accent thick, but understandable. Glynn flushed a little bit and shoved the bite of spaghetti into his mouth instead of retorting. No matter what rank he'd held before joining XCOM, here he was just a Private, and Privates didn't mouth off to Corporals.

"I've seen you around the Bs," he replied once he was done chewing. "De Abreu said you were on his last mission." The Corporal nodded.

"I remember him," he said. "Good engineer, opened a wall so we could get eyes on the fight inside a building."

"You're a sniper too, yeah?" Glynn wasted no time on his spaghetti, taking large bites between speaking. Corporal Zhu was nearly done, but did not seem to feel the same urgency.

"Shi De," Zhu said with a nod. "Yes, I should say."

"You mind if I ask you a personal question?" Glynn inquired, setting his fork down for a moment. When the Chinese trooper nodded again, he continued. "Why do they call you Tu-Tu?"

"Oh. That." Zhu lowered his face for a second, then looked back up, a slight color coming to his cheeks. "It is a bit of a story."

"I don't mind, if you don't," replied Glynn. Honestly, the question had been on his mind ever since de Abreu had told him.

"Well, it was after Operation Lone Line, a week or two ago. We were talking about where we'd been, what we'd done before joining the military." Zhu took a moment to drain the glass of juice before continuing. Glynn polished off the second piece of garlic bread, and listened. "Prior to joining the People's Republic Army, I'd been trained as a dancer. My mother and father were very proud, as I'd been accepted into the best academy in China."

"You went to dance school?" Glynn sputtered. When the Corporal gave him a look, he subsided.

"Yes, and no," the Chinese man answered. "I trained at a studio through school, but when I received the acceptance letter from the Academy, I announced to my parents that I was enlisting in the People's Republic Army."

"You didn't like dancing, then?" Glynn interjected, finishing his meal with the tall glass of milk, then leaning on one elbow as the Corporal answered.

"I loved it," he said. "I was talented at it, and I would have been great, I think."

"So why did you join the Army?"

"Because I'd lived my whole life for my parents' dream for me," Zhu explained. "I wanted to make a choice for myself. Joining the Army wasn't my dream, but it was the only choice I could make that would not dishonor my family."

"I can understand that," Glynn said, nodding. "I grew up in a rough neighborhood, had a lot of run-ins with the cops. I joined the Navy to get away from that life, but all of my friends thought I was a chump. I just didn't want to keep going down the path I saw ahead of me." Zhu nodded in return, and started to gather his tray. "So, they call you Tu-Tu 'cause you're a dancer?"

"Yes," the Corporal replied. It was Fahey's idea, apparently she thought it funny." The Corporal chuckled lightly as he started to rise. At Glynn's raised eyebrow, he explained. "She did not think it quite so funny when Lieutenant Bowden, then just a Corporal, pointed out that Fahey's laugh would draw Thin Men like a beacon."

Glynn laughed and shook his head as he gathered up his own tray and stood. He was sure he'd garner a nickname as well, since it appeared to be the way the troopers of XCOM operated. He just hoped his story would be nearly as interesting.

Lashing Out (06 MAY 2016)

"Ox, you're too exposed out there," Glynn called over the squad net. Oksenov didn't answer, but took a shot at one of the Sectoids exposed on the side of the train. Glynn cursed when he reported the miss, and scanned for anything that might take a shot at his comrade. "Ox, damnit, get out of there."

"He's right," SPC Faber said. "I'm taking the shot." There was a moment's silence, then the loud crack of her rifle was followed by the meld canister exploding, and the Sectoid behind it splattering across the rails. She cursed loudly enough, in German, to be heard without the squadnet.

PFC Glynn stood staring at the memorial wall, which now showed three portraits. It had been less than a week ago that CPL Huisman had died in Tennessee, and now Oksenov had joined him. That asshole had always been too confident, too sure of himself. Now he'd never brag about his combat prowess again.

The Sectoids were moving, and Glynn furiously scanned, his cheek pressed to the stock of his weapon, looking for anything to take a shot at, but nothing came into view.

"They-!" Ox yelled, staggering hard against the bench he was hiding behind. "There's something... something in my head!" Glynn lowered the weapon to look at him, saw him shake his head and raise his weapon, then reach up to key the squadnet. "There was a voice, flashes of images," he said. "I think-"
What he thought was never revealed as Glynn heard the slight hum that always preceded the firing of one of their plasma weapons, and a bolt of green light flashed out from the train and took him right above the chest plate of his tactical vest. He fell back, making choking noises.

Oksenov had been arrogant, but Glynn had liked him. He was reminded of his time back in the 82nd, the trash talk, the machismo and the fighting. It never came to anything, anymore than his rivalry with Ox would have. It was just a way to kill the time between missions, which had gotten slower and slower as the Coalition Forces role in Afghanistan had reduced. Damned if that crazy Russian hadn't managed to beat him on kills anyway, even though...

"No!" Glynn had shouted, then stood rooted, staring at Oksenov, now lying still, praying for him to move. He heard shouting and gunshots, as his comrades charged out and killed the Sectoids. He watched as Lehmann approached Oksenov's still body and leaned over it.

"He is dead," came Lehmann's voice over the squadnet, oddly emotionless, though he was still breathing hard from his charge on the Sectoid. Glynn shook his head, slowly at first, and then harder, trying to shake the cobwebs.

"Acknowledged," replied SPC Faber, her accent thick, but otherwise cool as ice. "We need to keep moving."
Glynn heard soft steps approaching, then felt a presence beside him. He looked over to see SPC Faber, staring up at the wall. He didn't need to follow her gaze to know that she too was looking at Ox's picture. He turned away from her, looking back at the memorial.

"Three casualties," she said, no inflection in her voice. "It has been over two months. By numbers, we are doing well." Glynn said nothing, only nodded woodenly. "This has been the most one-sided conflict I have ever read about," she continued. We've killed dozens and dozens of them." Glynn didn't know what she was getting at, and just wished she'd go away. After several moments of silence, he finally replied, hoping it'd be enough that she'd leave.

"Yes," was all he said. She glanced at him, then turned away, dropping her head.

"It does not feel like victory," she said, her voice muffled. Glynn turned then, and saw that her shoulders were trembling. She hadn't been his friend, but she had been in charge. Glynn hadn't really considered what that must feel like. The fact that she'd not been promoted along with the rest of the squad probably felt like indictment by the command, too.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said, stepping awkwardly up behind her. She whipped around and glared at him. Her eyes were red, but they were dry.

"A man died!" she snarled, "he died under my command. I should have made sure he wasn't so exposed." Glynn backed up, whatever reassuring instinct he'd had withering under her glare.

"Of course, Specialist," he replied, coldly. "Maybe next time, you'll do better." He turned around smartly, though not before he saw the shock on her face, and strode away, every muscle tensed for her reply, but none came.

Relief and anger warred in him as he moved quickly, his footsteps coming down with unnecessary force, echoing down the corridors. Maybe it wasn't her fault, but it felt good to blame someone, to lash out. He almost wanted her to come after him, so he'd have some excuse to yell, but she didn't, and he was left fuming in solitude. Others he barely saw stepped out of his way, until he found himself in the gym.

With a growl, he went to the nearest treadmill, and setting it to a punishing pace, he began to run. Try as he might though, he could not seem to leave behind that frozen instant of seeing Ox fall to the ground.