Survivors

Central Officer John Bradford dropped his head into his hands as the door closed behind him. These interviews were exhausting, emotionally, and the hours weren't helping. He didn't think he'd managed to sleep more than a few hours since they'd managed to wipe out the attackers, and reclaim the HQ.

The worst part, the part the Commander had confided was also keeping him up nights, was the implications of the whole thing. The X-Rays knew where XCOM HQ was; maybe they'd always known. With the seemingly inexhaustible forces they were able to put on the ground, they'd launched a token offensive that had still managed to take them off guard and result in multiple casualties. The X-Rays could probably wipe out XCOM any time, but hadn't. That was the thought that woke him multiple times a night drenched in cold sweat. Why? What was their purpose in holding back?

There came a knock at the door, and Bradford took several moments to compose himself before he spoke.

"Enter," he said, raising his voice to be heard through the door. The analyst who came through the door was one of the ones he'd been dreading; He knew that today, the last day of interviews, had been stacked with painful interviewees. The man had a bruise on his face, and refused to meet Bradford's eyes. The last time Bradford had seen him, he'd noted the manic, violet glow, and had put the man down hard.

"Intelligence Officer Pidgeon, reporting as directed, Sir," the man said, standing stiffly before the table, until Bradford gestured at the seat.

"Sit down, David," he said. "This won't take too long."

"Sir," replied the analyst, sitting down, still as stiff as ever, and looking everywhere but Bradford's face.

"I want you to tell me everything you remember about the attack," he said, lifting a recording device to indicate that the interview was being recorded. "Start at the beginning, go slow."

"Sir," the analyst said again, stalling a moment while his gaze turned inward, remembering. His face scrunched in pain, but then he took a deep, slow breath, and began speaking. "I remember my screen flickering, several times. I leaned over to... Anderson, I think? To look at their terminal, see if they were having problems too. Then the hologlobe got all flickery, and..." The man trailed off, his eyes flickering up to the bruising on Bradford's temple for a second.

"Go on," Bradford replied, knowing full well what Pidgeon was remembering.

"Then... things got weird." The Australian swallowed heavily. "I heard a voice telling me to grab the fire extinguisher. It seemed important, so I did. I knew what I had to do. You-" another swallow, followed by a nearly inaudible gasp, "you needed to be stopped. So, I hit you, and you went down, but you weren't out. I came in again, but you were quick enough to stop me." The man let out a sudden, barely human sound, and squeezed his eyes shut, until tears leaked from the corners.

"It's alright, David. It happened, and it's over, but I need you to continue." Bradford didn't feel the calm he heard in his own voice. He felt the adrenaline spiking, and his jaw ached from the effort of not clenching it.

"Sir, I'm sorry," Pidgeon replied, wiping at his face, and visibly taking control of himself again. "You pushed me away, and got the gun. I was trying to get up, to stop you, but you put the gun to my head. You... said something? I don't know what you said. It was like gibberish. It- it scared me."

"You couldn't understand what I said?" Bradford nodded as he asked, as it confirmed the stories of others who'd been controlled.

"No sir," it was just garbled noise," he grinned suddenly, mirthlessly. "I recall thinking that the accent was American, though." The smile faded, replaced by the same thousand-yard stare he'd been wearing the whole time. "Then you hit me with the gun, and that's all I remember until I woke up later, in the brig."

"That's all?" Bradford waited, and when the analyst nodded, he nodded in return. "Thank you, Intelligence Officer. That's all I need from you, for now." When the man got up and moved toward the door, Bradford spoke up suddenly, surprising himself. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "I don't blame you. It was them, not you, who attacked me."

"Yes, Sir," replied the other man listlessly. His tone gave no doubts that he didn't believe the reassurances. "Thank you, Sir." Then the door closed, leaving Bradford with his thoughts again.

He suddenly remembered that IO Pidgeon had been a friend of SSG Parsons; They'd been countrymen, and had become friends shortly after the project started. He thought it likely that IO Pidgeon was carrying the guilt of that, as well. He made a note on the tablet before him to pass that on to medical.

Another knock on the door signaled another interviewee. He indicated that they should enter, and SFC Leigh Fahey walked in. He looked at her for a moment, studying her features. She looked tired, but did not allow any sign of what she was feeling show on her face. When he indicated she should sit, she slumped into the chair.

"Sergeant First Class Fahey," he said, "I'd first like to offer my thanks, and those of the Commander, for the excellent service you rendered during the attack." She nodded, her body language showing discomfort at the praise, the first emotional response she'd shown. When she didn't speak, he continued. "I'd like you to tell me what you remember from the attack."

She delivered a crisp, accurate narrative, from her arrival in Delta section with some of the base defense personnel until they'd finally declared the All-Clear. Only briefly when she described de Matos' death did her voice break for even a moment.

"Staff Sergeant de Matos was a friend of yours, wasn't she?" Bradford asked quietly.

"Yes, Sir." The brief flash of emotion from earlier was well hidden this time. This time, he was the one to sit quietly, and she was the one to finally break silence. "She was a friend, and a damned good medic, Sir. Didn't know the others that well, though, the Lieutenant, and Parsons. The security personnel who came in with me, Liles and Walters seemed like good troops. Obeyed orders." Her litany finally stopped, and she looked around the room, her posture speaking frustration. "Do you need anything else, Sir?"

"Unless you've remembered anything else to add to your report, that will be all, Sergeant." Immediately, Fahey got up and moved to the door. When she opened the door she suddenly stopped and he heard a sharply indrawn breath. Bradford jerked his head over his shoulder, his instincts keyed, but he only saw the next interviewee waiting, and it was she that had made Fahey stop in her tracks. Sergeant First Class Lieselotte Faber barely looked like the confident young woman Bradford had frequently seen around HQ. She stepped aside wordlessly and let SFC Fahey exit, then glanced in at him. Bradford stifled a sigh and nodded to her unspoken question, gesturing her to sit immediately.

"Sergeant Faber," he began as soon as she sat down listlessly. He was ready to launch into the now rote interview, but instead, he clicked the recording device off, and asked a different question. "How are you doing?"

"Sir?" she blinked and her eyes focused on his. He could see that they were red, and he had no doubt she'd been crying recently. "I am fit for combat, Sir." There was an edge to her answer, challenging him to disagree with her.

"That's not what I'm asking," he replied gently. "How are you doing? I know that Sergeant de Matos was important to you."

"Monica."

"Sorry, that Monica was important to you," he corrected.

"I will survive," she replied, her tone studiously devoid of emotion. "I will keep fighting, keep killing those bastards." The German woman looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time. "For her." her voice broke on those last words, and she dropped her eyes again, but not before he could see the sheen of fresh tears.

Bradford made a decision then, one he hoped he would not regret. He scribbled a note on the tablet "SFC Faber - Recommend immediate return to duty status." He looked up at her, and nodded, once. "I'll see to it you get your chance to do that."

"Thank you, Sir," she replied, real gratitude warring with the grief and anger in her voice. Bradford nodded again, and clicked the recording device back on. "Sergeant First Class Faber, I'd like you to tell me everything you remember about the attack. Start at the beginning, go slowly, try to remember it all."

It was a rough interview, but they got through it, even though she was shaking by the end. When the door opened, he saw SFC Fahey and SFC Colman standing outside, and they immediately took the German sniper into their arms as the door closed.

Was it all worth it? Bradford wondered. With the X-Rays launching such an attack, there was no way of knowing if they could even be beaten. Was the loss of loved ones, friends, teammates worth it? He sighed and rubbed his temples as the ever-present headache of the last several days began to throb in earnest; not even half-way through the interviews for the day. The only way to know the value of what they did would be to finish it, one way or the other. It would be the worst sort of insult to the many men and women who'd given their lives before now to do anything less.

The knock on the door signaled another interview, and Bradford squared his shoulders. There was work to be done, and there was no one else to do it.

Passing Time (22 AUG 2016)

The barracks were nearly empty. Most of the troopers were down in the common room, or the gym, but here and there someone laid on their bunk reading a book, or with a laptop propped up, casting pale light onto their faces. While there weren't many people, that didn't mean the barracks were quiet. Laughter and conversation rang out from the back corner, where the overhead lights were still on, illuminating four women. On one bunk, SSG Monica de Matos sat, leaning back against the wall with another woman's head in her lap. The reclining woman, Lieselotte Faber, was writing a letter and not taking part in the conversation, though she smiled occasionally at the banter that was going on.

Another woman sat backward in a chair that had been pulled up to the bunk, her legs straddling the seat, and her forearms crossed on the back. Recently promoted SFC Leigh Fahey was a boisterous, loud woman who had a joke and a smile for nearly everyone. On a nearby table, SFC Jade Colman had a cloth spread out, with several rocks and tools laid out on top. At the moment she was examining a promising specimen, looking for the best place to strike to break it open with her rock hammer.

"Heard your last mission was an interesting one," Jade said, never taking her eyes off the stone in her hand, turning it left and right slowly.

"Oh man," Leigh said with an exaggerated eye-roll. "this Van Doorn character." de Matos chuckled as well, absently stroking Liesel's hair.

"Get down here!" she said, affecting a deeper voice, which sounded oddly charming with her Brazilian accent. "Can't let me have all the fun!" Colman glanced at her and laughed.

"Rumor says he's going to be joining us, along with his attache," she said.

"Yeah," Fahey replied. "I checked the roster this morning, after hearing about that. Must be weird for 'The General' to not be in a command position, but they are giving him a field 'promotion' to Staff Sergeant." Her wry expression and air-quotes made it clear how she felt about that decision.

"It was a strange mission overall," Monica added. "The Council intel made it sound like we'd be stepping into an absolute warzone, and the devastation on the bridge was pretty bad, but the resistance wasn't anything, really." She patted her hip, where she normally carried her medpak. "I never even had to open my kit."

"Seriously," Leigh agreed. "We had to chase that last Thin Mint clear to the end of the bridge. It was like they weren't even trying to put up a fight. Why bother blowing the bridge if they weren't going to commit?"

"Who knows why the X-Rays do anything?" Jade asked rhetorically. "Still, I wish we could have been there with you girls." Liesel looked up from her letter briefly, nodding in agreement. "But I get with the Captain just getting his RTD Orders from medical, Command was eager to get him back in the field." Monica nodded; She'd served with him for half of her missions, and she held a great deal of respect for CPT Lindemann. Leigh shrugged; She'd rather have had Jade along, but it was Command's call, not hers.

The conversation lapsed for a few minutes, the quiet broken only by the nearly silent scratching of Faber's pen on the notepad, until Colman took up her hammer, and struck the stone firmly, resulting in a sharp crack as the stone broke cleanly in half. Leigh half-rose to get a look.

"Whatcha get?" she asked, leaning to catch a glimpse around the other woman's shoulder. Jade turned around, presenting her prize with a satisfied grin.

"Amethyst geode," she declared. "A good find." When Fahey held out her hand, Colman passed the stone over, smiling as the American woman held it up to the light, the crystals casting back tiny sparkles that played across the other woman's dark skin.

"Nice," Leigh agreed, reaching out to pass it back. "Amethyst is my birth stone."

"Keep it, then," Jade offered. "I've still got the other half."

"Really?" Fahey's brows lifted in surprise.

"Absolutely," the British woman smiled, suppressing a pang as she remembered the last time she'd given away one of her stones. She wasn't going to let sad memories stop her from sharing her love of stones, though. Leigh's eyes widened further as she saw the play of emotion across Jade's face. Her friend seemed oblivious to her scrutiny, so she said nothing, merely folding her hands around the stone.

"Thank you," she added after a moment, which earned a smile from Colman.

Monica, who had been there when CPL Huismann died, knew a little of what Jade was feeling. She looked down at Liesel who was so focused on her letter that she was actually biting the tip of her tongue absently. She didn't know what she'd do if anything were to happen to Liesel. She looked up then, at Leigh, Colman, and to where she saw someone across the barracks, faintly illuminated by a laptop screen, she thought it might have been SGT Parsons.

"Where would you be," she began, then paused to formulate her thoughts. "Where would we all be if not for this war?" Colman and Fahey looked at her, but didn't say anything, realizing that she wasn't quite done speaking, despite the question. "I would probably be in Manaus, doing some training Op for some cadets or something." She looked at each of them again in turn, meeting their eyes. "I wouldn't know any of you."

"You saying this war was a good thing?" Leigh asked, a certain mischief sparkling in her dark eyes.

"Not at all," Monica answered seriously, not catching the joking nature of the question. "But good ha come of it, I think. Look at the technological advancements we're making, that one day we'll be able to share with the world. Look at us, close friends from different countries, different parts of the world." Liesel looked up at her with a soft smile that was mostly in the eyes, and Monica stopped talking, meeting her gaze.

"I agree," Jade added. "I think that the human race will come out of this stronger and more unified than we ever were."

"I certainly hope so," Leigh said with a sigh. "We've got a lot to make up for. I certainly hope that this is a start." After several moments of silence, she shook herself. "Aren't we a bunch of Serious Susans? Hey, Liesel, you almost done with that letter? Let's go hit the common room and play some pool, first round of near-beer is on me."

The others quickly agreed. The gravity of the moment was seemingly forgotten as the four women made their way out of the barracks, chatting and laughing once more.

Visiting Hours (20 MAY 2016)

The medical bay was quiet, but there were a few visitors still, despite the late hour. It had been determined a month ago that, unless there were actual life-saving procedures going on, there wasn't any particular reason to limit visitors to the medbay. Lieselotte Faber sat in a chair near de Matos' bed, while Ana Lucia Mardones leaned against an empty bed nearby.

"You're kidding me," Monica said, her brows lifted in disbelief. "A whale?"

"I wish I was kidding," Liesel replied. "I didn't get a clean look at it myself, but Mardones," she paused, jerking her head toward the other woman, "got an eyeful."

"Si," Ana Lucia confirmed. " It was covered in pods, you could barely see the whale, and the bugs just kept ripping their way out of it."

"Jesus Cristo," de Matos whispered. "How many do you think there were?"

"Armarnis said we killed at least thirty, maybe thirty five," Liesel said with a shrug, referring to her countryman by his nickname. "Who can say how many would have kept coming, if they hadn't blown the whole village to scheiße." 

"It was pretty terrifying," Ana Lucia interjected. "Those monsters, up close, they just..." she trailed off, unable to adequately express it.

"Especially after seeing what they did to the people of the village," Liesel agreed. "Mardones here was fearless, though. She killed three of them in under five seconds. Probably would have been more, but she ran out of ammo!" Liesel laughed a bit when Ana Lucia blushed and scowled at her.

"La mierda," she growled back. "I was scared out of my mind. Just couldn't let it get to me."

Monica took Liesel's hand, and reached out to Ana Lucia. After a moment, Ana Lucia shoved herself off the bed, and stepped over to take the offered hand.

"I'm glad you're both okay," Monica said. "It kills me whenever I hear that we've got wounded coming in, and I'd hate to lose another sister or brother." Ana Lucia smiled and squeezed Monica's hand before letting go and dropping back to lean against the other bed again. Liesel continued to hold her hand, while the two of them shared a long look. Just as Ana Lucia began to think she should leave them alone, Liesel turned to her and smiled.

"Who would ever have thought?" she asked. "A German, a Brazilian and an Ecuadorian serving together?"

"Sounds like the start to a bad joke," Ana Lucia agreed. "Stop me if you've heard this one..." The women laughed at that for a moment, before the conversation turned serious again.

"What do you think is next?" Monica asked. "The médicos say I'm going to be in this bed for another few weeks, but I'm dying to get back out there."

"I don't know," Liesel replied pensively. "We keep seeing more out of the X-rays. This new armor is excellent, and I hear they're working on actual laser weapons, but I can't imagine that things will continue to go as well as they have been." As she spoke, Monica and Ana Lucia caught the shadow that crossed her features. Both of them knew that Oksenov's death still bothered her, though she normally hid it well. They also knew the stoic German would open up about it when she was ready, and not a moment before. There was a long silence, each of the women finding herself momentarily lost in her thoughts. It was Ana Lucia that broke it first.

"I think I'm going to head to the gym," she said, "let you two have some time alone." She glanced around, seeing only the newly promoted SSG "Armarnis" Lindemann, taking his leave after visiting Hassan and Daiwa. De Matos smiled at her in farewell before reaching over to take Faber's other hand, holding them both as she looked up from the bed. Mardones left them in silence, nodding to Lindemann when she caught up with him at the entrance, where Makhandule stood waiting for him.

She glanced back once before she left, and smiled a little whens she saw de Matos pulling Faber down for a kiss. They'd be alright. With luck, they'd all be alright.

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.

OPERATION RED HERO - AFTER ACTION REPORT (05 MAY 2016 @ 1320)

OPERATION RED HERO - AFTER ACTION REPORT

PREPARED BY: SPC Lieselotte Faber


SITUATION

o Enemy Forces:
 - 5x Sectoids, 3x Seekers armed with plasma weapons

o Friendly Forces
 - SPC Lieselotte Faber (Germany)
 - SPC Lara Jordan (Australia)
 - PVT Viktor Lehmann (Germany)
 - PVT Sivert Harstad (Norway)
 - PVT Caio de Abreu (Brazil)
 - PVT Jermaine Glynn (United States)
 - PVT Vladimir Oksenov (Russia) - KIA


MISSION

o Strike Team deploys to Osaka, Japan, 05 MAY 2016 @ 1320 hrs, IOT disrupt Alien Abduction Operations.

EXECUTION NARRATIVE

The mission alert came in at 1130 hrs, and the squad was assembled and ready by 1143, when we took off. We landed in Osaka at the train station at 1320, and immediately moved to cover. Oksenov, acting as designated scout, spotted a pair of Sectoids upon, but our initial fires were ineffective. One of the Sectoids moved to cover inside the train car, and shot PVT Harstad, who panicked and hunkered in place. The squad advanced in cover, and Lehmann returned fire, killing one of the X-Rays. The rest of the squad focused on the Sectoid inside the train but were only able to wound it and force it to flee. Once Harstad recovered his bearing, Jordan moved to provide aid, and get him back into the fight.

Oksenov moved after the fleeing Sectoid, and spotted it hiding behind a canister of Meld. I directed everyone to hold their fire, and wait to see if it moved, as I did not want to risk damage to the resource. That was when a pod of three more sectoids advanced. Oksenov snapped a shot off, causing them to scatter back into the shadows. The squad advanced, and Harstad managed to wound one of the new Sectoids, but the original one stayed well covered by the Meld. PVT Oksenov advanced toward the Meld, firing at an exposed Sectoid, but did not score a hit. As he was now danger close to the enemy, I took a risk, and fired on the Sectoid behind the meld, but only managed the kill by blowing the canister.

Oksenov started to yell that they were doing something, that there was a voice in his head. Before he could finish his sentence, one of the Sectoids moved up and shot him in the throat. The rookies went crazy, De Abreu, Lehmann and Harstad charging into the open to kill all three of the Sectoids. Lehmann went to check Oksenov before we continued, but it wasn't a surprise when he reported him dead. 

Once everyone had calmed themselves, we moved method ically along the train, toward the sound of movement. Harstad was the first to get eyes on a second Meld canister. He did not approach it until the rest of the squad had advanced to cover him, at which point he carefully went forward and deactivated the self-sealing mechanism. It was only after everyone had repositioned that the remaining X-Rays, a pod of three Seekers, came into view.

They managed to squirm out of the way of our initial salvo, with only a few rounds spanging off of their armor. Then Harstand and Lehman re-engaged, destroying two of the hostiles. The last one went into stealth as we fired, though I think it was damaged before it vanished from sight. It was only gone for a few heartbeats before reappearing, nearly in the same spot, and combined fire put it down.

We swept the remainder of the train station, and encountered no further resistance. PVT Oksenov was collected and brought back to the Skyranger for evac.

I believe it possible that PVT Oksenov had discovered something about the X-Rays when he was killed. 


LESSONS LEARNED

o Sustain:
 - Ensure proper coverage before advancing into an uncleared area
 - Proper ammo discipline

o Improve:
 - Explosives can shape the battlefield to our advantage
 - Don't leave yourself exposed

In Memory (01 MAY 2016)

"It was the dodgiest squiddie I'd ever seen," de Matos said. She was lying in bed, her upper chest a mass of bandages, while Faber leaned against the side, listening. "It took three shots from point blank range, and still it kept coming. It was Hassan that finally put the caralho down. We were all so focused on it, we never even saw the bastardo Thin Man until he was almost on top of us. Daiwa was the first to react, but not fast enough. Huisman didn't make a sound. He just.. he.."

"Shh," Faber turned and caught de Matos' hand, lacing her fingers through it and squeezing tightly. "Monica, you don't have to talk about it right now." De Matos reached across and covered Faber's hand with her other hand, but she didn't stop talking.

"There was nothing I could do. I heard the shots and Daiwa called that it was down, but before I could even get Houston out of my way, I knew. The hole went straight through, Kevlar, alloy vest, everything. His eyes were still open. They were green. I never realized they were green." Her voice started to choke up and she finally stopped talking, as Faber leaned in to stroke her hair with her other hand, making soft soothing noises.

"But you made it count, Schätzchen," she murmured into Monica's ear. "You went on, and you put the rest of those fickeren into body bags, and you brought him home. More importantly, you brought the rest of them home alive." Faber glanced down the line, where most of the rest of the squad rested. She saw SGT Lindemann visiting with Houston and Maillet, the most severely injured of the survivors.

"Thank you, Liesel," de Matos said, pulling Faber's attention back. "Gata, could you get me some water? My throat is dry." Faber nodded, reaching out to stroke de Matos' cheek before moving away to grab the pitcher and a cup.

-

"How are they?" Constance asked. She was chafing at being stuck in medbay after her collapse, but the medics said she'd be out in a few more days, at most. Oskar came to visit her regularly, though today he'd spent most of his time visiting the member of the squad he'd just brought back from Oklahoma.

"They're very out of sorts. The pain medicine is very strong," he replied. "Still, they remember what happened."

"It was a good mission," Constance replied. When Oskar's face clouded, she said it again. "It was a good mission, Oskar. Your squad faced the biggest threat we've had, and you brought back enough materiel that the research and engineering teams are going to be busy for months."

"It was not worth the loss of a man," he replied, bitterness thickening his accent.

"It never is," she agreed. "It never is, but you're a soldier, as was Hidde. He knew what was at stake, and he made us all proud." She waited a moment, gauging the expression on his face. "So did you, Oskar. You wouldn't be wearing those stripes on your shoulders if the Commander didn't agree." She reached out for his hand, and after a moment, he extended it, letting her wrap her calloused, slender fingers around his larger hand. The contrast between her nearly black skin and his pale skin never ceased to intrigue him. She squeezed, hard, and he looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time since he'd sat down by her bed.

"It is harder, somehow," he admitted. "When I was KSK, it was human enemies. Even with the terrible things they did in Afghanistan, it wasn't so bad." Oskar clenched his fist, his jaw tightening as well, until he heard Mak make a small sound of discomfort. He relaxed his hands, and gave her an apologetic look, to which she smiled slightly. After a deep breath, he continued. "When I saw Huisman fall, I was scared," he said quietly. He glanced around to see who was near, but no one appeared to be listening in. "It was so much, I wanted to order everyone back to the LZ. We'd barely moved twenty meters, we were still outside the craft. I didn't know what else awaited within, and I didn't want anymore blood on my hands." Constance made a sound of protest, but he overrode her. "Hidde..." he paused, seeking the words. "He was quiet. Barely spoke to anyone, but always willing to help out, if needed. But on the battlefield, he was a monster. He charged in where brave men would hesitate, and he was a virtuoso with that shotgun."

"Oskar, you forget who was with you on that last mission," Constance interrupted. "I knew him, too." Lindemann nodded as she continued. "You couldn't give up, because you knew he wouldn't, in your shoes." Oskar just nodded again. He couldn't dishonor the man's sacrifice by giving up. "You know, he'd be proud of what you accomplished. This is a solid win, and Hidde's contribution helped bring it home, but it was your leadership that saw it through to completion."

Oskar just nodded again, no more words to be said. Mak seemed to know this too, and she just held his hand and closed her eyes with a small, sad smile.

-

The day room was quiet, but it wasn't empty at all. Most of the troopers were there, those not on duty or in medbay, but even the inevitable hum of packed bodies wasn't enough to cover the occasional cough. The small table by the memorial was lined with empty shot glasses, and all of the tables and chairs were occupied with small groups sitting quietly, some drinking, others talking in hushed tones, others still just sitting in silent contemplation.

Most of the troopers didn't know CPL Huisman well, but he was the first casualty since they got here. Some remembered Jensen, but they'd all been so new that his death hadn't made the same impact. Since then, there'd been injuries, even serious ones, but it had begun to seem like XCOM was invincible, that the war was inevitably theirs. Now, the reality of what they did was pinpointed by the photo on the memorial wall, and no one felt like celebrating the strategic victory that the mission represented.

Jade Colman didn't sit with any of the groups clustered around the room. She stood alone at the memorial wall, a full shot of whatever whisky had been going around clutched forgotten in her hand. She hadn't really known Hidde all that well either, but she'd been starting to. After he'd approached her the other day, she'd asked around, and learned that he didn't talk much. Most of those who'd been on mission with him expressed surprise that he'd managed to string so many words together as to actually hold a conversation, let alone the several they'd had before he'd gone on mission. She'd prattled on about rocks and geologic pressures and he'd listened without ever giving any impression that he wasn't really interested. When she'd prodded, he'd revealed small details about his life in Rotterdam, and had told her a couple stories about his brothers in Amsterdam that had her roaring with laughter. He had been a friend, and she'd thought maybe there was more.

But there was no more. Not now, not ever. No more quiet conversations. They'd never go digging around in the tunnels like they'd discussed. This was war, and war tore friends away and ended possibilities. This was the greatest enemy humanity had ever faced, and she'd be damned if Hidde died for nothing. Those bastards wouldn't win this, no matter how many others fell. With that thought ringing defiantly in her mind, Jade lifted the shot glass of whisky, raised it slightly in salute as she stared at the photograph, and drank it down in a single swallow. She placed the glass on the end of the row, then opened her other hand, looking down at what it contained. She blinked several times, then set it down on the shelf, below his picture. It was a geode, broken open so the purple and green crystalls within caught the light, casting tiny ovals of color against the wall. Jade turned away then, approaching the nearest group, who made room for her without a word. Tomorrow was another day, another battle. Tonight, however, she planned on forgetting everything.