September 12th, 1983

Eastern Delos

Rizo Bridge

310th Armored Battalion

Golf Company

"Bulwark of the East"

"Contact right ten degrees! Four hundred meters!" Connor barked and took position behind the fifty.

The turret traversed loudly to the right, jerking to a stop. "Don't see em!"

Connor thumbed the triggers of the roof-mounted machine gun, "follow my tracers!"

Spent brass spilled from the bottom of the weapon as he fired a long burst, every fifth round a tracer.

Sparks erupted in the distance as the bullets slammed into something metal.

"Eyes on!" Wade barked, elevating the gun though slewing abruptly to the left at the last moment, "Foot mobile front!"

Connor whipped the fifty around, his biceps screaming nearly as loudly as his side.

A lone silhouette started materializing, running across the bridge at full sprint. Connor lined up the piper on the front of the weapon's receiver and started to apply pressure to the trigger…

The figure drew closer and closer, seemingly shouting something with cupped hands. Suddenly their arms were raised above their head, swinging wildly.

Connor's thumbs pulled back from the paddles just as the man's uniform became more visible- a KDNA Infantryman.

"Hold fire, hold fire!" Connor spat, unholstering his Colt 45 from its hip holster.

'What the hell,' the thought crossed his mind as the soldier sprinted onwards with no weapon in hand.

"Same side! Same side!" Connor heard a voice echo across the bridge.

Soon enough, the man reached the front of the vehicle, well out of breath.

Connor stepped out of his hatch with his 45 hung low at his hip. "Who the fuck are you!?"

The winded soldier hunched over his knees, gasping for breath.

"Private Nicolas- Green, 56th- Infantry- Baker Company-," he managed to say between gasps.

Green glanced up; his too-large Kevlar helmet drooped to one side.

"Sorry about that; we weren't expecting anyone else to be left behind this close to the deadline."

Connor tensed up. "What deadline?"

Green straightened up, "Uh- Follow me if you could; best if someone higher in rank briefs you."

"Fucking hell, it's the regular army," Connor groaned, plopping himself down atop the turret roof.

"Can you say that again?" Grinston sighed, rubbing his temples.

Connor watched as Green started his jog back across, waving them to follow.

"The Regular Army…."

*

Connor stared silently at the soldiers manning the sandbagged position at the mouth of the bridge as the tank passed. Their expressions were wracked with both awe and fatigue.

"What are you looking at shitheads!?" Wade shook her fist angrily; Connor almost forgot that she had popped out of his hatch.

Much of the infantrymen scoffed and returned to their duties.

Abruptly, the road bent sharply not too far after behind a large clearing that ran to the river line. The fog lifted just enough for him to see the distinct outlines of hull-down KDNA tanks resting amongst the trees beyond the road.

Anger welled up in Connor's heart when he witnessed the motionless tanks.

"Grinston, stop here," he muttered, taking a moment to poke his head into the turret. Sarah clutched her stuffed whale close to her, cowering in Brooke's arms.

Grinston, who had his head out of his hull hatch. "Aw fuck, you need help?"

Connor stared coldly at the M48 with the infared spotlight sitting in the center of the four other M48s. The Patton ground to a halt, though Connor had hopped down before it had even begun to slow. Wet grass and foliage crunched loudly under his boots as he made his way towards the motionless tank, his 45 clutched tightly in his grip.

Wade followed closely with a fire in her eye, cracking her gloved knuckles loudly.

As the two approached, Connor noticed the orange-painted band at the rear of the turret.

"A fucking training tank…" he muttered through gritted teeth just before he clambered up the side of its turret, using the turret bustle as a foothold.

With the butt of his handgun, he slammed on the commander's cupola. The loud clang echoed into the foggy morning. After a moment, the hatch swung open, and a clean-shaven tank commander poked his head out. The man looked barely eighteen at best; a look of fear was ever so present in his eyes.

"Listen, I'm sor-" the tanker didn't have time to say before the butt of the Colt 45 connected with the side of his helmet, slamming his head into the cupola ring.

Without hesitation, Connor grabbed a fistful of the stunned man's collar and hoisted him out of the hatch with one arm, dumping him onto the tank's engine deck.

He placed his Colt back into his hip holster and jumped down atop the man, then straddling his waist. Blow after blow reverberated through his fists as he started to slug the man's exposed face and chest. The tank commander attempted to shield himself to no avail as his attacker started to swing wide towards the sides of his head.

"Hey! Stop that!" Connor heard a voice behind him scream. The tank's gunner started to clamber out of the commander's hatch; Connor halted his assault to turn around.

The woman drew her sidearm and leveled it at him.

"It was an accident, ok?!" she screamed just before Wade head-butted her in the stomach, her flak jacket taking the brunt of the impact, knocking her to the grass. Wade followed the woman into the dirt below.

"Bitch!" Connor heard the M48's gunner holler as she rolled with Wade, exchanging blows. A sharp jab into his ribs from below caused Connor to refocus on the man he had pinned.

"Lemme go!" the man shouted as Connor grabbed him by his flak jacket's straps- and swiftly slammed him down against the engine deck. Another quick jab made contact with the pinned man's jaw, followed by another towards his eyes. A satisfying crack rewarded the swing as blood started to spill from the young man's broken nose, the bright red liquid oozing down the sides of his face and down into the engine below.

A gunshot rang out through the misty air from the direction of Wade. Connor delivered another hook to his quarry's head, causing his neck to whip hard to the right from the impact and then relax- he was out cold.

Connor whipped around to see Wade with her hands around the gunner's neck; blood seeped down from her cheek where the 45 nicked. The pinned woman could only emit a low gargle as Wade pressed her body weight onto her windpipe.

With a less than gentle grab, Connor yanked on the back of Wade's flak jacket, pulling the woman off of her opponent.

"Fuck!" she spat before slamming onto her back.

"That's enough," Connor glanced back at the unconscious man atop the M48's engine deck. "Let's go."

*

Connor watched from his cupola as they pulled away; a small crowd had gathered around the rear of the M48, tending to the two tankers.

"So, where to?" Connor leaned down into his hatch after toggling his helmet microphone.

The Patton's engine rumbled as Grinston tapped the gas. "Green told me to follow the road for a mile-ish; we'll run into the base along the route."

Connor plopped himself down into his seat. Wade yelped loudly after pouring a bottle of rubbing alcohol across the two-inch-long gash that decorated her right cheek "Fuck!"

"You good?" Connor chuckled, leaning back in his seat.

Wade scoffed and set to tearing through the small med-pack that was draped across her lap. "You coulda warned me before you chucking me, ya know?"

"Don't get shot in the face next time, yah?"

"That bitch was lucky I didn't choke her the fuck out," Wade tore open a plastic wrapper containing a pressure bandage.

Grinston spoke up, "One, it seems like you were in the process of doing that; two, keep your weird fixation in the bedroom, kay?"

"Oh, eat a dick, old man."

"I'm five years older than you; how is that old?"

"Well, you act like a geezer," Wade stuck out her tongue after applying the adhesive bandage. Grinston shook his head, "Not my fault that you act like a fuckin kid..."

*

"We got a guy up ahead!" Grinston hollered; gravity shifted forward as the Patton began to decelerate.

Connor stood up and threw open his hatch. The sight of a waving infantryman sitting on the hood of a humvee greeted him as he clambered through his cupola, resting his arms over the brim.

"Hey!" The infantryman shouted.

Connor cupped his hands over his mouth and drew a deep breath. "What!?"

"Are you going to base camp?!"

"Yeah?!" Connor barked; the gentle breeze gusted through felt good on his skin.

"It's up around the bend ahead; you can't miss it!" the soldier pointed.

"Thanks!"

The man reclined back on the windshield of the humvee, "No problem!"

Connor flashed a wave as he rumbled past and hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of his cupola. Brooke soon joined him with Sarah sitting atop her shoulders.

"Drive slow; we got foot infantry passing up ahead," Connor keyed in his headset.

The Patton again slowed to a crawl. "Yeah, yeah, I see em," Grinston sighed and threw open his hatch.

KDNA Infantry moved around the vehicle in two columns towards the front. Some brandished large rucksacks and heavy weapons. Connor watched silently as they marched past, some talking amongst themselves and occasionally laughing.

"Awww, she's so cute!" Connor heard one of the female infantrymen remark loudly, pointing at Sarah. An onslaught of "Aww" filled the air with some of the soldiers slowing their pace and waving.

"Hey!" one of the men called out from below; Connor glanced down to see him holding out a ration chocolate bar.

Soon enough, more soldiers started to offer up their rations of chocolates to the passing tank. Connor struggled to collect all of the confections as some began to toss them up onto the roof. Sarah managed to laugh and waved back to many of the soldiers, some of whom put on funny faces or smiled. A couple of them moved up and down the lines collecting offerings.

"2nd Platoon! Don't spoil her too much; keep up!" Yelled the platoon leader at the head of the columns. Sighs and sounds of disappointment swept the foot unit, and begrudgingly, the infantry pressed on, soon enough disappearing down the road- though not before stashing a small ammo can onto the engine deck.

"What the hell?" Connor muttered and stepped onto the back of the still moving tank. Crouching low, he snatched up the container with his gloved hands, cradling it close as he made his way back to his hatch. Upon opening it, the sights of paper-wrapped chocolate bars and butter cake rations greeted him.

Abruptly the road opened into an ample vast open space, a sea of tents within a prefab perimeter of sandbagged and timber fortifications greeted them.

"Is that the base?" Grinston remarked at the bustling FOB. A pair of dug-in M60s guarded its entrance along with a platoon-sized unit of infantry manning fifty cals. Trucks filtered in and out through the entryway at a near chaotic pace. Sandbagged entrenched positions made up the base's defensive perimeter, with camo netting covering much of them.

"Slow down around here, looks messy," Connor keyed in his microphone.

The Patton continued its crawl forward; an infantryman climbed out of his trench and jogged up to the vehicle.

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"Unit?!" he shouted over the roar of the nearby vehicles.

Connor cupped his hands to his mouth, "310th Armored! Golf Company! Second Platoon!"

The man looked confused for a moment before another one of his compatriots manning a radio manpack screamed out from behind, "Send 'em though! LT K wants to talk with em!"

"Come on then, the entrance to the complex is at the back of the camp!" waved the infantryman below.

The camp was a labyrinth of tents and prefab structures. Soldiers either lounged or moved about with their tasks. Humvees sat in neat rows amongst the chaos, being serviced by teams of mechanics, some using welders and other power tools.

"So this is what it's like to have actual logi, huh?" Wade chuckled over the intercom.

Connor was nearly speechless at the sight of all the fuel, supplies, and vehicles that lay at their flanks as they passed.

"Hey!" a voice called down from below.

"Hey, you!" they continued.

Connor glanced down to see a woman with an upside-down red triangle adorning her helmet, looking up at him. "Yeah?"

"We got a refugee area on the other side of camp; I'm going to have to take her," the medic gestured to Sarah while walking alongside the moving vehicle. Connor glanced at Sarah, who was looking elsewhere at the hustle and bustle of the outpost.

"Do we gotta?" Brooke frowned.

Connor sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Grinston halt here…."

The Patton soon lumbered to a halt; Connor turned to Sarah, "Can I see your backpack?"

Slowly enough, the girl produced her bright pink single strap bag from the bustle on the back of the turret. Connor carefully took it from her grasp and set to open it. Stuffed animals filled its insides; the man's heart twisted in his chest.

'Ok, you can do this,' Connor mentally composed himself while reaching for the ammo can full of treats from prior. Paper-wrapped chocolate bars and butter cakes spilled into the small backpack, Connor making sure to empty the ammo can before zipping up Sarah's bag.

Slowly he handed back the parcel, which the little girl clasped close to her chest.

Hesitantly Connor placed a gloved hand atop her head and ran it across her hair. "Stay safe, alright?" Sarah quietly nodded; her gaze of cluelessness penetrated straight into the man's soul. Connor grasped the girl under her armpits and lifted her up, then began to lower her over the side to the waiting medic.

"I got her," stated the woman below with outstretched hands.

Connor looked down towards the two, Wade, and Brooke, sat by his sides. Sarah clasped the medic's hand tightly. "Come on, little one," the medic gestured and turned to leave- though a tug in her grip stopped her.

Sarah placed her backpack down and set to go through its contents, producing four butter cake bars from it. A smile pursed Connor's face as the little girl held out the confections for him to take.

"You ain't too bad, kid," Wade grinned, leaning over the side of the turret, then passing one to Brooke and throwing another down the hatch nearby.

Sarah smiled, "Bye!" the girl grabbed the medic's hand again, flashing a wave.

Connor found himself returning it. "Stay safe little one!" Brooke called over the noise as the two continued their trek away, soon disappearing into the crowd.

After taking a deep breath, Connor smiled, "Grinston, let's move out…."

*

"Halt," Connor ordered and climbed up onto the turret roof. A gaping maw of a tunnel lay ahead of him, easily large enough to fit four M60s side to side in width.

Wade poked her head through the commander's cupola and hoisted herself up onto the turret. Lines of dim lights stretched overhead and down into the abyss.

"Headlights and slow, Grinston," Connor plopped himself down above the man, atop the gun mantlet. The Patton's forward-facing lights flashed to life. "Yeah, yeah, slow," grumbled Grinston.

Sounds of machinery and running engines echoed through the near pitch-black corridor. Connor listened quietly as the Patton's engine angrily rumbled like a bucket of bolts in a washing machine.

"You think they got new engines and parts? Pretty sure we're a couple of hundred miles overdue," Grinston pounded the side of his hatch. It felt like they were driving down for hours as the light behind the vehicle disappeared over the lip of the ramp. Soon enough, a new light emerged ahead.

Abruptly the corridor opened up into a massive warehouse-sized space; Mechanics milled about pushing carts laden with assorted components while others could be seen operating welding tools. Rows of armored vehicles adorned the far wall with maintenance personnel servicing them.

"Grinston, halt here," Connor keyed in his headset. The Patton rumbled to a stop shortly after.

A lone man in a pair of tan coveralls strode forward out of the chaotic scene carrying a clipboard, "Platoon?"

A well-out-of-regulation brown beard adorned his lower face, his pale gray eyes looking up.

"Goliath," Connor smirked while the mechanic scanned up and down his clipboard.

"Battalion?" the mechanic's brow furrowed.

"310th."

"Huh…Fuck it, park in stall five; we'll give you the once over."

Connor glanced towards the space between a pair of M60s with a piece of paper scotch-taped to a wall, the number five drawn in sharpie. "Alrighty."

*

"Nice place," Wade grunted as she hefted herself out of the turret. Overhead lighting painted the large room in a soft yellow hue. A crew of mechanics had already begun to gather in front of the now stationary vehicle. Grinston clambered out of his hatch and set to slide down the hull. Connor and the others followed soon after.

"So, what am I working with here?" The bearded mechanic gestured to the tank. Connor smirked. "A nearly stock Nat Guard M60A1, she's been through a bit but managed to get us this far."

"Oh, so you guys are guard? Did you guys come over the bridge recently?"

"Yeah."

"So that was the racket I heard a bit ago," the mechanic stroked his beard, then held out a hand.

"Corporal Wallace."

Connor took it and shook, "Corporal O'Neil."

Wallace smiled and placed his hands on his hips. "Welp this shouldn't be too hard of a job." Mechanics soon started to clamber aboard the vehicle with a myriad of tools.

"Excuse me," a voice spoke up from behind. Connor swiveled around to face a young grunt holding a clipboard "Yeah?"

"Major Wilkes is requesting your presence in the briefing room."

Connor glanced back to the rest of his crew. "Ouuuh, someone's in trouble," Wade snickered.

"If I remember correctly, you nearly choked a woman to death, soo…."

Wade's expression soured. "Don't be a fuckin snitch."

Connor smiled, "Get some rest or chow; I'll find you guys after this."

*

"This way," Connor's guide huffed as he had to bob and weave through the chaotic concrete passageways. Soldiers milled about carrying crates of weapons to clipboards.

Connor narrowly avoided eating the corner of a wooden box, "Seems awfully busy, huh?" His guide remained silent while he waded through the chaos.

Soon enough, the two arrived at the scene of a bustling command post, desks manned by clerks furiously typed away at computer screens while others tore large swathes of papers off printers to be decoded. The rumble of conversations and radio chatter filled the large two-floored room. Connor could see on the second floor there were rows upon rows of radio stations that one could guess were linked to units or other positions.

Stepping through the doorway, the tank commander was greeted by the sight of a large map that ran from the floor to nearly the eighteen-foot ceiling on the far wall. A pair of soldiers moved red and blue pins about the map with long sticks.

"Fuckin hell…" muttered Connor as he absentmindedly followed his guide, who was now gesturing him up a flight of stairs.

1 Hour Later…

"Aww, this feels great…" Wade groaned while stretching, finding a plot of grass to lay in the field adjacent to the camp. A soft breeze flowed through, wafting the woman while she lay in the sunlight like a cat. Her flak vest under her head with her helmet drooped over her face.

The crunch of grass alerted her to someone's presence though she didn't move. "Are you from that national guard tank that came in recently?" A woman's voice demanded. 'Hmm, sounds kinda familiar,' Wade mentally shrugged. "Whos asking?"

An audible huff followed before. "The PL for Charger platoon wants to know."

'Oh great, an officer.'

"Well, I just happen to be from that tank, that it?" Wade sighed at the half-assed interrogation.

"Did you know a tanker in the 310th by the name of Alyssa Wade?"

Wade's heart jumped in her chest at the mention of her name and the thought of how her fatigues didn't have her name tapes on them.

"Pretty sure she ate it at the battle of Doro," she lied. 'Why does some officer want to know about me-'Wade pondered before the woman out of sight spoke again.

"A-are you certain?" Her voice faltered slightly.

Wade didn't blink. "Yep, I saw her tank eat an RPG and blow up on a convoy."

'Where the fuck have I heard her voice before?' she pondered.

"Um, I-"the woman was about to say but was interrupted by a distant shout, "Hey, Lieutenant! Ma'am! LT Kinzer-"

Wade rolled onto her side and grabbed her helmet from her face in the same motion. The woman standing above her had her back turned. Wade's eyes narrowed before her arm swung forward, catapulting her kevlar helmet through the air. The headgear sailed gracefully and abruptly into the back of the officer's head, causing her to stumble- Wade was already upon her before she hit the ground.

Nearby…

"Hey, have you seen a woman, tanker, brown hair, little scar under her chin, bandaged cheek, about this tall?" Grinston held up his hand about mid-chest. The grunt he was talking to looked at him quizzically and silently shook his head before continuing his trudge down the road.

Grinston placed his hands on his hips as he scanned the surrounding area adjacent to the road from the camp. A few platoons of varying types made the sizeable grassy space their makeshift motor pool. A pair of M60s rested nearby while a column of Bradleys was nestled under some trees on the far side. Grinston pursed his lips in frustration. "Where the fuck is she?"

"Fucker!" A familiar voice barked nearby, causing the man to take off in a sprint. A peculiar sight greeted him in the grass after barreling past a line of tall bushes.

Wade had a woman in a chokehold from behind, a look of blind anger behind her light green eyes. Grinston's heart jumped for a moment before jumping into action, sprinting into the grassy clearing and grabbing one of the two squirming women by their flaks.

Another tanker had joined up in the scuffle and took one of the two by her armpits. "God damn it, LT, what the fuck?!" he spat.

Grinston wrested to keep ahold of the writhing tanker in his grip "Fucking shit Wade! Settle-"the man paused as he glanced over to the woman being restrained across from him; a familiar face greeted him with a small scar adorning her chin. Slowly he looked down at who he had grabbed; she was nearly identical to Wade, spare the blue eyes and stray locks of dirty blonde hair that peeked from under her helmet.

"Wade, explain this shit slow and not stupid like…." Grinston sighed, losing his grip slightly. The woman in his arms wiggled loose, grabbing the back of her helmet with one arm and hurling it. With a thunk, it made contact with Wade's stomach. "I'm not done with you yet-"Kinzler sneered for a mere moment before Wade wrenched one of her arms free, her gloved knuckles making contact with the officer's face.

Grinston grabbed the reeling woman from behind in a bear hug. "Start explaining before I fold both of you!"

A random infantryman joined in restraining Wade, who continued to thrash.

"So I guess the rumors that you joined the guard were true, huh?!" Spat Kinzler.

"I guess leaving with mom made you a stuck-up bitch, huh?!" Wade retorted; the situation began to dawn on Grinston as the near-identical twins went back and forth at each other. A small crowd had started to gather around the altercation.

"God damn Kinzler, didn't know you had something other than a pompous-" An NCO snickered, strolling up to the two; the rank on his flak's collars had him as a staff sergeant. The man paused mid-sentence to completely take in what he was seeing, going far enough as to remove the black mirrored Aviator Shades that adorned his face.

"Stay out of this, Walker!" Kinzler barked; the man who stood a head over her just chuckled.

"Geez, I've never seen so riled up- waaaait, are you two related? You never told me you had a sister."

Grinston stood silently, still grappling the young Lieutenant.

"Sargent, what're we going to do with em?" the infantryman holding Wade looked to the man between the pairs.

Walker sighed and rubbed his nose bridge, "Ok, we're going to take this slow, release them and if they start fighting again, get the duct tape, I guess."

Slowly Wade and her sister were unhanded, both staring daggers at the other. An uneasy silence followed before one of them spoke.

"Why'd you tell me that you were dead?" Kinzler's expression softened a bit; her shoulders lowered slightly.

"I had a feeling it was you askin," Wade grit her teeth.

Grinston began to feel uneasy as it became apparent that this was a family matter. The thought of leaving flashed across his mind before a gloved hand gripped his shoulder from behind- it was Walker.

"I think we want to let them catch up for a bit, yeah?" the man smiled, his height becoming very apparent as Grinston found himself looking at him at eye level.

"Yeah-" he muttered.

"Alright, everyone, this ain't a roadside boxing match, fuck off and standby," Walker waved off the crowd, which soon began to disperse. Grinston moved to walk off, but Walker again threw an arm over his shoulder.

"How about you tell me about your savant behind the line, huh?" the man smirked.

Grinston furrowed his brow, "Well..."

Meanwhile, in the maintenance bay…

"Ok, so what the fuck?" Wallace spat while reading one of the clipboards his mechanics had handed him. Brooke cowered like a beaten dog at the sound of his voice.

The mechanic pursed his lips, "Ok, so your suspension is barely holding together. You've been pouring random bullshit oil into your engine for god knows how long. The APU is on its last legs, don't even let me get started about the batteries. The transmission is one bad oversteer from blowing up," Wallace took a moment to breathe before continuing, "The turret motor hasn't been greased up since the dinosaurs, so its just metal on metal basically; the 105's barrel is a couple of hundred rounds past replacement, and only God knows how much misaligned, the hydraulics system has been more or less beaten to a pulp from overstraining- God damn we might as well give you a new fuckin tank," the man threw his arms up in frustration at the last part.

'I shoulda gone with the others….' Brooke mentally sighed. Wallace crossed his arms and started taking deep breaths.

"So, what does this mean?" Brooke decided to speak up.

"Twenty-four hours," grumbled the mechanic.

"What?"

"Give us twenty-four hours," Wallace frowned at the notion.

Brooke's expression lit up, "So you and your guys can fix this up that fast?"

Wallace beamed with pride, "We've fixed worse- and we got a lot of random parts to work with because of all the fucked up tanks lying around."

The bit about random parts made Brooke slightly uneasy.

"Well- You're the mechanic…."

"Well, grab a wrench; damn it, we're going to need all the help we can get here," Wallace grinned before clambering atop the beleaguered M60.

Brooke sighed, "Son of a-"

Across the facility…

"Look, god damn it, I don't care how you do it, just do it!" Connor heard a man shout from the other side of the door; his heart jumped at the boom of his voice. The soldier guiding him was long gone, and he could only guess for a good reason. With a gloved hand, he slowly moved a fist towards the door; the label "Conference Room" was adorned with a sticky note "Meeting in Progress."

A trio of sharp knocks echoed through the empty corridor, followed by an uneasy silence.

"Come in!" the man inside bellowed, and Connor quickly barged in. The Corporal stiffened up like a log as he entered. "Sir, Corporal O'Neil is reporting as requested."

'Ok, I think I still have my customs and courtesies down packed,' Connor mentally pumped his fist as he took in the room. A long row of two plastic tables sat in the center of the poorly lit space. Metal chairs occupied by unfamiliar faces were arranged around the makeshift desk; ashtrays with still lit cigarettes dotted its surface. A single projector rested on the table, projecting a large empty box of white light on the far wall.

The room's occupants stared daggers into Connor from their seats, their faces largely hidden in the poor lighting. 'Fuck I shoulda waited,' the thought ran across the Corporal's mind like a speeding train.

A man sitting at the end of the table in the center was the first to speak, "Take a seat, Corporal, you may want to sit in for this," his voice sounded much like that of the man who was screaming earlier.

All eyes were affixed on Connor as he sat in one of a few bare metal folding chairs. He could barely make out their features before the man in the center boomed again, "Ok, start the slideshow!"

The projector whirred to life, displaying a large overhead map of the area, a multitude of small cartridges rotated atop it when it changed frames. Blue boxes with a single green one sat in a line across the map from the sea to the mountains; the single green box in the line Connor only could guess was them.

"This was our line roughly a week ago," the briefer started with and hit a remote; the projector whirred and clicked before the frame changed. Much of the boxes were either gone or sitting behind their old positions.

The briefer continued, "This is our lines, a day ago." A soft murmur filled the conference room.

"What this means, folks, is that we're going to be moving our timetable up a little; our withdrawal to the Volk Line will be happening in thirty-two hours on the dot, no later nor sooner," grumbled the briefer before he continued "Lights!"

With a short pause, the room was illuminated far better than before; Connor's heart jumped in his chest at the sight of all the ranks surrounding him. Captains to Lieutenants, to the lone Major who sat at the end of the table. His name tape read "Wilkes."

The stone-faced man wore no ribbons or awards across his chest as Connor would imagine; his piercing gray eyes seemed to drill a hole through his flak jacket. "As some may know, Corporal O'Neil of the 310th Armored has recently joined us; this is the best time for you to ask questions about the status of the enemy rear, their tactics, the whole shebang." Wilkes lit a cigar on his pursed lips, the man's jawline looking like much of a cinder block on his shoulders.

Once again, the room was fixated on Connor, his heart now racing in his chest, ‘Motherfuc-’