5 - 3
GRIND II
“Among the maxim’s on His Imperial Majesty’s chamber wall there was this: ‘Matters of great concern should be treated lightly’; upon seeing this General Petrova commented: ‘Matters of small concern should be treated seriously’.” - The First Remembrance, Official Court History written by Valuchi Tiamen, 11 MIC.
Secretary Nō simply would not stop pacing. He walked from one end of the room with his eyes fixed on the ground and his hands folded behind his back until he nearly collided with a wall. He halted, abruptly refaced, then continued on in another randomly chosen direction like a primitive autonomous vacuum cleaner. The practice was beginning to annoy Yuri. It was only a matter of time before it resulted in Nō crashing into one of the end tables and demolishing one of the many expensive pieces of Wucai porcelain decorating them. Though not a military man, Nō would have to learn some discipline, Yuri thought.
The door opened, pausing Nō’s rather bothersome ambulation. Group-Captain Zhou entered and ushered in a Senior-Lieutenant carrying a diplomatic case then closed the door behind them. Zhou glanced at Nō and then flashed out a quick interrogative in OWS sign language to Yuri.
[what is he doing here?]
Yuri rolled his eyes while replying silently. [He will be coming with us; the Chairman’s direction]
Though Nō had stopped pacing, he continued a routine of agitated fidgeting, repeatedly combing his fingers through his already slicked back hair with one hand. The practice exaggerated the already high widow's peak of his black hair.
“Vongzhi-Zhou, do you have it?” Nō impatiently probed.
“Yes, Vongzhi-Nō, the Amazonian’s provided exactly as we requested and more.” Zhou placated him while motioning the Senior-Lieutenant towards the holographic map table in the center of the room.
Nō sped across the room to the map table, expectantly hurrying the Senior-Lieutenant with both hands. “Let’s see it then Vongzhi, the sooner I am done with this briefing the sooner I can be back to dealing with business.”
Zhou watched the exchange then flicked his eyes back to Yuri while signing. [Does he know that yet?]
Yuri simply crossed his fingers and pointed them down, it meant both ‘no’ and ‘death’, depending on the context. “Vongzhi-Secretary, patience and humility are both virtues.” Yuri cautioned aloud.
Nō stood up and away from the table, folding his arms. “My apologies then, Vongzhi-Colonel,” he excused himself then immediately set to twisting and wringing the fabric of his suit jacket around his upper arm.
“I trust the conference in Amazonia went well?” Yuri redirected to Zhou. Senior-Lieutenant Rodriguez broke the tamper seal on the diplomatic case, retrieved a shard, and inserted it into the table.
Zhou nodded and approached the table. “Yes, we have a mission now. Though as of yet we have little word on our Thartic counterparts. Their representative, a hun Major, Deemo I believe his name was, was unable to say with any certainty what unit they would provide. The Noachians were much more forthcoming. Company B, 117th Composite Armor Battalion, from the 1st Brigade of their 7th Division will be provided for you to command in its entirety, Vongzhi-Colonel.”
Yuri approached the map table, examining it with some interest as a topographic and political projection of Central-Amerigo shimmered into existence.
“The Amazonians have not been very open until now, Vongzhi-Colonel; I did not believe they had this kind of capability until they showed it to me. All of this imagery is no more than a few sols old. They also provided a wealth of other intelligence and our official WARNO,” Zhou explained while panning in repeatedly until the Yukatan Republic took up most of the display. Various icons representing both friendly and enemy dispositions blinked into existence as they drew closer. “We will be here, Chixloylte, right along the line of actual control.” Zhou indicated a tiny spec of a town 10 kilometers east of the official border and no more than a stone’s throw from the red-hashed edge of the disputed area between Yukatan and Mexigo.
Yuri studied the imagery intensely as Zhou panned in further and the image transitioned to an excruciatingly detailed projection of the town itself and the surrounding area. It had clearly been constructed with machine composited photogrammetry and synthetic aperture radar, though the clarity and detail was quite impressive. The resolution must’ve been less than 10 centimeters as not just roads were visible, but individual tire tracks left in the mud. “And who are we replacing?”
Zhou grinned, “That is the best part, Vongzhi-Colonel, no one. No MISAM unit has been here in a permanent status since the end of the conventional war. The Amazonian Tagmatarchi I spoke to referred to it as ‘indian country’.”
Yuri frowned, “colonial language.” His face shifted to a wry grin as he continued to study the map, “but an opportunity none-the-less.”
“Opportunity?!” Nō burst with a series of animated arm waves. “Vongzhi-Colonel, it seems more likely to me that the Westers are attempting to sabotage the Party’s contribution to this mission by saddling it with the single most dangerous and contested area for a hundred and fifty kilometers in any direction! This is unacceptable!”
“Vongzhi-Secretary, I am not concerned by difficulty. The Chairman has charged me with this duty on behalf of The People and we will execute it.”
“We? What is this ‘we’ you speak of Petrova? I am simply here to provide liaison from the Foreign Affairs Ministry. This is your crisis to manage, one which I have no interest in becoming entangled in.” Nō rejected while pivoting around and attempting to exit the room.
Senior-Lieutenant Rodriguez stiffened with anger and seized one of Nō’s wildly gesticulating arms by the sleeve, spinning him back around to face Yuri. “Vongzhi-Secretary! You will refer to the ranking Party member with proper respect.”
Yuri waved Rodriguez down. Nō took a half step back and brushed off the area the military brute had seized while Yuri spoke. “Vongzhi-Secretary, what is of your interest, is of no concern to the party, nor is it of any concern to me. We will do as we have been commanded by The Chairman on behalf of The People. You will be assisting us first hand; your ability to liaise is quite limited if you remain here. Or perhaps you would like to join Vongzhi-Levario?”
“Levario has been liquidated, Vongzhi-Colonel.” Nō replied pensively.
“I did not misspeak. However, unlike Vongzhi-Levario, you have been found worthy of a chance at redemption.”
Lucy stormed out of the Regimental Headquarters. She was now both late for her next commitment and in a furious mood. That scum, that politicking, two-faced, back-stabbing, savarashi slime! Fairness? When has anything in the Army ever been about fairness? If anything, war, the sole purpose for which the organization existed, was marked by a desire to be as unfair as possible. Fairness was a concept for those more concerned with Honor than Victory. It was a luxury that simply could not be afforded when faced with a competent foe.
She tore down the cobblestone path linking the Regimental headquarters main entrance to its subordinate Battalions across the carefully manicured grass of the One Rifles Parade. She was so lost in furious reflection that she nearly collided with a contractor kneeled at the monument at the Parade’s very center. Roughly brushing against him while he moved towards an electric cart loaded with stone working tools.
The sudden jolt brought her back to reality for a moment. She buried some of her anger, blurting out a quick apology while she continued past the man who simply shrugged and returned to his work.
She stormed down the rest of the walkway and through the rear door of 2nd Battalion’s Headquarters, noting the sound of animated shouting emanating from above as she hurried up the stairs. It seemed the company commanders had gotten started without her after all. She threw open the door to the conference room.
Captain Tiernabok, Rapier’s commander, paused his belittling of two of her Ensigns to toss an almost disinterested glance at her.
“Lyssa, you’re late.”
Lucy scanned around taking a quick mental role of the Company Commanders and Staff Section heads seated around the table.
“I know, the Reg XO wanted to speak with me. Where’s Lt. Col. Balalaika?”
Something tugged at Stewart’s lips as Lucy’s eyes passed to her. She sat in smug silence, idly pivoting back and forth in her chair, returning the gaze with an air of conceited victory.
Captain Eckartt answered the hanging question. “Also running late”.
“They’re still up at Division?” Lucy asked while moving around to her assigned seat. She momentarily considered sitting down in the pleather chair but the pain intermittently jolting down her leg like electricity would only get worse if she did.
Eckartt nodded. “Should be back soon, but I don’t see a point in waiting. We can back brief her later.”
“First things first, Fritz,” Lucy motioned towards her statuesque ensigns. “What did they do?”
“Well Lyssa it’s really more of a question of what they didn’t do,” Tiernabok responded, turning his back to the two ensigns to face her.
Lucy made a circular prompting motion with her hand. “Well, spit it out then; We’ve all got better things to do today.”
Tiernabok smiled at her thinly, as if inviting her to watch. He spun around, instantly switching into a vicious accusation leveled at Ens. Wilczec. “This fucking oxygen thief ‘forgot’ to submit two of my NCO’s Travel Vouchers. Corporal Nowe and Sergeant Fouchs are both footing the bill that The Army should’ve covered to attend Heavy Weapons Leader to the tune of twenty-nine Marks each!”
“Sir I-” Ens. Wilczec started.
“No one said you could speak; the adults are talking.” Tiernabok snapped.
“Well, I’d like to hear them out personally.” Lucy countermanded dryly while leaning onto the conference table with one hand. Tiernabok side-eyed her while she prompted the two Ensigns. “Well Wilczec what do you and Nahl have to say for yourselves?”
Ens. Nahl was less sure of herself than Wilczec; the type to observe before making their thoughts known, and then only offering an opinion with the strictest qualifications. Her appearance was so disarming that she mostly got away with this. Hardly recognizable as a Rifle Officer at first glance, she was relatively short and doe-eyed, perhaps no taller than 170cm with frizzy black hair that must’ve taken ages to tame every morning. Her origin was clearly marked by dark soil colored skin and, very slight, but unmistakable Sirenese accent. She also wasn’t always the most forthcoming, certainly the least headstrong of the three Lucy had been charged with, but she did have faith in one thing almost absolutely: regulation. That faith was more than enough to overcome her natural apprehensions.
“Ma’am, Kris returned their vouchers for corrections on my input. None of the expenses were itemized and not even a single receipt was provided. The Division Comptroller wouldn’t have paid out if we had submitted them as provided.” Nahl explained stiffly.
Tiernabok straightened up and folded his arms. Lucy wondered if he had bothered to hear them out at all. The thought of him performing a frontal attack on her office, and harassing her subordinates, because his Riflemen couldn’t be arsed to do their own due diligence made Tiernabok seem like a perfect outlet for her own recent frustrations.
Lucy drummed her fingers on the tabletop for a moment; there had to be more to it than that. “Kris, did you mayhaps, tell these Riflemen they needed to amend their vouchers?”
Wilczec cringed slightly. “Well, uh maybe not-”
Tiernabok caught his second wind and exploded with a hammerfist to the conference table. “Exactly what I fucking thought!” Nahl and Wilczec both jumped slightly and stiffened back into a more appropriate posture. “In what Solar can you expect Riflemen to do something that you didn’t tell them they had to do! I swear every new crop out of OCS and The Academy is dumber and more fucking useless than the last!”
“That’s enough Matthew,” Lucy countered sharply, blocking Tiernabok from launching into another tirade. “You two are dismissed; we’ll talk about this later.”
Wilczec and Nahl broke from their rigor and moved to exit the conference room only to be frozen again by Tiernabok’s growl. “I didn’t dismiss you. Stay where you are.”
The two Ensigns looked at each other and then at her for some kind of guidance. Lucy took a deep breath and stepped back from behind her chair and swiftly moved across the room to confront Tiernabok’s scarred visage face-to-face.
While others naturally might have assumed it was the result of combat Lucy knew the well healed white line running from his left cheek across his lips and down onto his chin was a sign of the highest vanity. It was a Mensur dueling trophy from his time at prodigious boarding school prior to The Academy. While he was generally competent enough, the mark was a tiny window into how deeply he was concerned with his appearance, both social and physical.
She waltzed right up to him, nearly chest to chest. “Matthew, I’m going to give you one warning. I swear to god, keep this up and I am going to give every single one of Rapier’s land and ammo allocations to 3rd Battalion.”
“Only Cydonians and believers swear to god.” Tiernabok remarked while staring her down. It was clearly an insult, both to her heritage and to Wilczec’s faith. Just like Restrepo and many other members of the New Martian Revival Church he made no secret of his covenant with the divine. ‘Job 19:25-27’ was tattooed plainly above his heavily lidded right eye.
“You had Range 7 next week for pistol qual right? What five thousand rounds?” Lucy asked rhetorically. “I think you’ll do just fine with half that. Only your vehicle crews need to shoot, and they only need to re-qual. There shouldn't be any need to practice.” Lucy did not break the stare for a moment while motioning at the two Ensigns and who quickly made their exit.
Tiernabok shifted away from her to watch them scurry out of the room. Lucy snapped her fingers next to his ear to regain his attention in the most condescending manner possible before continuing in an even and controlling tone. “Matthew, if you have a problem with either of them or any of my Riflemen for that matter, you talk to me. Don’t test me. I will make it my sole mission in life to ruin your command and your career if you pull some stunt like this again. I will stonewall any support request, I will pull from Rapier for every tasking order, and corrupt every byte of correspondence that has to flow through my shop. You will get nothing. Nothing.”
“Balalaika will hear about this.” Tiernabok retorted.
Lucy smiled coldly, “Go ahead, I’ll make sure to tell her about the satcom downlink your HQ destroyed with a recaf-maker last week and then wrote off as a field loss without an investigation. Or maybe, I’ll just tell her about all those off-limits establishments on Gehen Strasse you just love to visit.”
Tiernabok sat back down in his chair and turned away from her.
Plugging at least one blowhard today eased some of her latent frustration as she approached the large electronic training calendar projected onto the wall and erased the last half of Rapier’s pistol qual from existence with a few hand motions. As a rule, she never bluffed with the Commanders; the day could always come when she would have to and she wanted a long and flawless track record to back it up.
Lucy pivoted around to face the rest of the room while Lt. Col. Balalaika made her entrance through the command hatch on the opposite side of the room. “Now that that’s sorted; let’s get started, shall we?”
The Army had two principal duties, firstly to fight and win wars, and secondly to prepare for them. To that end, training meetings at every echelon were a lengthy and tedious, but critical part of the weekly routine. They served as a venue for senior leaders to provide guidance and intent and for junior leaders to pitch their plans on how to meet those back to the Commander for approval.
The focus for now was the Regimental Combined Arms Live-Fire Exercise which would happen in three months time at the Sunshine Acre Field Training Area in eastern Amazonia. It would complete the Regiment’s training evolution and certify the unit for deployment to combat, or at least for use in some operational capacity.
While there was enough space on the Fort Fortune Military Reservation to conduct the exercise, picking up and bringing everything you needed to fight a war to some distant locale tested a unit’s logistical functions and gave them an opportunity to practice and work out the kinks. Sunshine Acre was also the Western Coalition’s premier location for force on force training. A large exercise against the home-team opposing force would precede the live fire and expose any weaknesses the unit had. Where the Regiment was planned to go once they were finally certified was as of yet unknown, but Major Deemo would have some information on that front when he returned in a few days time.
In order to actually conduct the CALFEX, each lower echelon had to perform a similar crawl-walk-run training progression and be certified by a leader two echelons higher than them. They were still very much at the beginning of the process, individuals, sections, and crews were still in the process of conducting their qualifications. The two Ocelot mounted CAAT platoons had completed their crew gunnery and had moved onto practicing platoon operations. All of the Lioness crews across the Battalion had yet to start their live-fire and were still in the midst of crawling through mandatory simulator time. Because of the time and resourcing involved in conducting any sort of large-scale operations with combat vehicles, ironing out the details for their gunnery took up most of the meeting.
The Rifle Sections and Squads would certify separately and in parallel, largely under the direction of their companies, only reuniting with their rides for the Platoon live-fire scheduled for the middle of next month. The requirement for a leader from two echelons higher to certify a unit meant this was where the extent of the planning at the Battalion level ended. The following Company Attack and Company Defense would be orchestrated and certified by the Regimental Staff and Col. Mallock respectively with Division blessing off on the penultimate Battalion level exercise.
Billeting as ‘Acting’ Operations Officer meant that the eventual Platoon Live-Fire was Lucy’s problem to manage. The process began with receipt of the mission, in this case for all platoons to certify. Immediately following this, Lucy then issued a warning order to the subordinate commanders so they could do their own planning in parallel. Balalaika then provided her intent and general guidance. Operations, the S3, was charged with actually working out the nuts and bolts. Lucy then collected estimates and war-gamed options with the S2, Intel; cross-referenced manning, gains, and losses, with S1, Administration; and requested projections and limitations around the food, fuel, atmo, and ammunition to make it work from S4, Logistics. At various points Fires and Communications would insert themselves into the process and factor in their own capabilities and limitations. This was all condensed down into tentative plans presented back to Balaika as a menu of potential Courses of Action from which to choose.
The Commander, of course, was under no obligation to choose any one of the presented options, reserving the right to tell the Staff to go pound sand and start over. Lucy had learned that Balalaika had a rather annoying habit of taking a little from column A and a little from column B then instructing the Staff to frankenstein two different COA’s together into a coherent plan. Once a final COA was approved the S3 produced the written operations order, supplemented by the other S-Shops annexes and complimentary products: the Intelligence Collection Synchronization Matrix, Fire Support Execution Matrix, Task Organization and Concept of Operations Diagram, as well as Operations, Fires, Engineering, and Enemy Situation Overlays for their maps along with numerous other critical warfighting products. These were then distributed to the lower echelons so they could complete their own plans, rehearse, and execute.
While this was training the process was identical in war, even if condensed into a time span of sometimes hours rather than weeks, and served to train the leaders as much as it did the followers. This division of labor and responsibility between Command and Staff also served one very important function, accounting for differences in ability between individuals. A weak Commander could rely on a strong Staff and a weak Staff could be molded or discounted by a strong Commander. In other armies, with much more limited command support, a unit's success or failure often relied nearly entirely on their Commanders competence.
The ‘Military Decision Making Process’ and Orders production had consumed nearly every waking moment of Lucy’s life for the past several weeks. The wave of relief she felt watching Balaika sign the final Op-Ord was heavenly. Distributing it out to the Commanders at the end of the meeting was nearly enough to block out her admonishment at Corvo’s hands earlier today. There would be changes to the order between actual execution and now. Even outside of combat friction always manifested itself in some shape or form. These would be published in the form of Fragmentary Orders which Lucy would no doubt be writing, but for now the work was complete, and what a sweet feeling it was.
Capt. Eckartt was the last to approach her, tapping his own inknote against hers to collect the products as he made his way to exit.
“Fritz,” she paused him. Some of the levity slipped away as the reality of her own situation returned.
“Hmm?”
“We need to talk.”
Eckartt raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Lucy shot a sidelong glance to Stewart who was still present in the conference room, jovially rubbing elbows with Tiernabok and Khultz, Falchion’s commander. “Probably best to discuss this privately.”
Eckartt shrugged casually, glancing at his chrono. “Alright Lucy, well I’m a bit busy this afternoon, pre-deployment physical at the RAS. Can you come by my office at maybe sixteen?”
Lucy nodded, “Yeah sounds good; stay sharp.”
“Like a cutlass.” Eckartt responded with a smile while exiting the conference room. Lucy sighed, it would not be a fun discussion, and made her way back to the S3 office.
Moving through the open door of the S3 office revealed Dalia seated in Lucy’s chair at the corner of the room, chatting away with Chief Hawke, while the enlisted members of her shop pecked at their terminals or conversed idly around the small map table near the entrance.
The white haired and age weathered Warrant Officer greeted her first, motioning towards her with his ancient and filthy recaf mug. “How’d the meeting go?”
“Pretty well, The Commander signed and published the order; no amendments this time.” Lucy answered then redirected her attention to the Rift-Guard occupying her chair. Hawke simply nodded and puttered off into his office to do whatever Warrant Officers occupied their time with.
“But what are you doing here?” Lucy probed.
Dalia kicked against the desk, spinning the chair in circles. She had to lift her feet off the ground even though it was adjusted to maximum height because of her stature to maintain the rotation. “Didn’t have shit to do today other than that Mess meeting. I finished signing over my property to the replacement this morning.”
“What, so you came over here to pester me?” Lucy asked while placing her hands on her hips.
“Reee-laaax Lucy, I haven’t seen you outside of uniform in a week. I just wanted to check up on my maid-of-honor.” Dalia explained while rotating slowly. “This is a really nice chair, you know.”
“Yeah, it’s almost too bad I hardly use it.” Lucy agreed while closing with Dalia, seizing the backrest with both hands and halting its movement.
Dalia glanced over her shoulder with a smirk and stood up, denying Lucy the chance to dump her out of it forcefully. Lucy returned the smile as Dalia turned back to lean against her desk and face her. These games were all in good fun.
“How is the leg?” Dalia asked.
Lucy lifted her right leg slightly to massage the needling muscle with both hands; it eased the pain somewhat though Sam did it a dozen times better. “Honestly? It fucking hurts. All the time.”
Dalia shook her head “I told you, go to the aid station again. These sorts of things don’t get better if you don’t do anything about them.”
“What? So they can give me a light-duty chit and tell me to fuck off again? Or worse yet put me on a permanent profile?” Lucy set her leg back down, her face still somewhat sour. “It’s nerve damage; I’m not lame.”
“Yeah, but you’re in pain all the time.” Dalia pointed out casually.
“So?”
Dalia tilted her head backwards, staring down at Lucy along the length of her subtly grecian nose. “It makes you more cranky than normal; I don’t need a pissy-bitch of a bride’s maid ruining my wedding.”
Lucy rolled her eyes playfully. “Fine, I’ll make an appointment. Not like I have to worry about staying off restriction anyways.”
“Is that what the old crow wanted to talk to you about?” Dalia asked while surveying Lucy’s desk for another object to fiddle with, picking up a stylus and spinning it between her fingers quite expertly.
“No, he’s giving my ROALC slot to Stewart and on top of that Fritz is leaving.” Lucy squeezed the pleather backing of the chair so tight the fabric threatened to rip. “Corvo’s going to give Cutlass away to that airhead.”
Dalia’s brow furled incredulously as she caught the stylus. “To Maddie? Has he talked to her recently? Like there’s not another Stewart in the Regiment that I haven’t met is there? Maybe someone new?”
Lucy pursed her lips for a moment, then relaxed slightly. “Nope, the one and only. He made a big deal about ‘fairness’ and ‘seniority’. Said I wasn’t ‘mature’ enough to mentor other Officers.” She explained while making a variety of air quotations.
Dalia clicked her tongue and shrugged. “I did warn you this might happen.”
Lucy grumbled. “And you’re right. Again. You want a medal?”
“My stack’s already big enough.” Dalia casually tugged at the laurel encircled Rifle insignia on her collar, now bearing three campaign stars. “Stewart though, wouldn’t’ve been my first choice, or even my tenth.”
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on in his head, but you know Stewart. Always the people pleaser.” Lucy replied with an exasperated toss of her hands.
Dalia smirked again, leaning forward slightly, “You know, normally I’d think they might be fratting, but Stewart prefers feminine company, and there’s no way Corvo’s been sexually excited in a decade.”
“With how tight his ass is? No fucking way. He gave Sam this really long spiel about me and how it wasn’t technically against any regulations but, it might be ‘dangerous for his future career prospects’.”
“I think he just doesn’t like you.” Dalia cut to the heart of the issue.
“The feeling’s mutual,” Lucy acknowledged harshly. “I don’t grovel enough to be in his good graces.”
“With the Regent coming to the Mess there’s always a chance to flip the script,” Dalia suggested while straightening up again.
“I’ll keep my dignity, thank you very much,” Lucy replied tersely.
“Just a thought.” Dalia gave another easy shrug. “What’s more important, your pride or your goals?”
“I’ll find another opportunity. I’m not Mulleux; I’m not gonna go crying to daddy every time I don’t get my way.”
“Always the high road with you.” Lucy’s heels were dug in and Dalia knew better than to keep prodding her in the hopes of changing her mind and decided on switching the subject. “Speaking of that prick, I think they want to make me his XO.” Dalia groaned.
Lucy relaxed some more and smiled, letting it build into a chuckle.
“What?” Dalia questioned with a pang of annoyance.
“Neither of us can get our way, can we?” Lucy smiled.
Dalia returned the gesture, as much from seeing her friend lighten as the thought she had shared. “I guess not.”
“How long, before, y’know? Captain Wunder must’ve said something right?”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
“Before I kill him? I give it three weeks.” Dalia grinned.
Lucy continued her smile for another brief moment before it faded while she inspected her nail beds. “You know, I’ve still got to break the bad news to Fritz. I might be able to get you a different job.”
“Different how?”
“How does Cutlass sound? You know, in the interest of keeping my alma mater from exploding, I think Stewart is going to need a solid XO. She’s putty anyways; she’ll do what you want her to if you’re nice about it.” Lucy suggested.
“And leave 1st Battalion?”
“I mean, if you’d rather work with Captain Mars, go ahead and stay.”
Dalia eyed her suspiciously, “You sure this isn’t some ploy for you to wiesel in down the line and us finally work together?”
“I thought you wanted that eventually; we make a great team,” Lucy encouraged.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m on board 100%, but for someone who supposedly hates playing politics you sure seem to be getting good rather fast.”
Lucy quoted a Hensho turn of phrase that Dalia couldn’t parse save for a single word. Sam had clearly been rubbing off on her. “Bats?” She asked bemused.
“When you go to a bat’s wedding, you must hang on the ceiling.” Lucy replied with a confident grin. Dalia nodded, still slightly bemused, but seeming to grok her meaning.
Nahl and Wilczec slinked through the door, obviously wanting to avoid her attention, but Lucy snapped her gaze to them at the slightest hint of movement and hooked a finger. “You two, come over here.”
Though neither made an external sign, Lucy could always detect the slightest hint of stress these interactions brought them. She was fair, and made it a point to be. She also did her best to instruct as well as protect them, but they still had this slight skittishness around her. She didn’t like it; it was something that Fritz had never created. While she did her best to emulate his leadership style, it had its own spin and she found herself pushing them much harder than Fritz had found necessary to push her.
Wilczec led the way with Nahl trailing slightly behind, though the latter's gaze was fixed on Dalia rather than her. A wave of shock quickly washed over Nahl’s face and then receded just as quickly as she closed enough to resolve the marks on Dalia’s face and the badge sewn onto the breast pocket of her uniform blouse.
Dalia's eyes brightened. She greeted Nahl with a smile and a quick burst of cheery Sirinese to which Nahl replied with something much shorter, colored with an air of formality and customary submission.
The White Army was a Foreign Legion more than a State Army both in the sense that it courted transplants like herself, Dalia, or Nahl, and that its members swore fealty to the institution rather than the nation it guarded. A foreigner was generally much more easily assimilated into the melting pot of the White Army hierarchy than fully integrated into the parallel but separate Republican culture. Lucy herself had lived in Tharsis longer than Cydonia now, and thoughts of her ancestral home rarely crossed her mind. These two on the other hand, were much fresher removed, and supposedly indoctrinated into a new set of customs and norms; seeing a remnant like this so nakedly expressed was slightly disconcerting.
Dalia appeared hardly to notice, laughing again and casually patting the much shorter Ensign on the shoulder. She added another quick twitter of what seemed to be advisory Sirenese while motioning Nahl’s attention back to Lucy.
“Captain Tiernabok is clearly an asshole,” Lucy began. “But, that doesn’t absolve any of us of our duty to support him or his Riflemen. This shop ultimately exists to support the individual carrying the weapon, trading fire with the enemy. Don’t forget that.”
Wilczec started a defensive reply as he did so often, but Lucy simply held up her hand to silence him before calmly continuing. “Listen, I’m not concerned with assigning blame. When someone tasks you to do something, do the thing. Don’t stop when you hit a half-meter hurdle and toss the baton to someone else. No one in the Army needs a leader who shoves work onto others when they think they’ve reached the limit of their duties. If you have questions, come talk to me and I’ll give you guidance. But that’s enough of that; what matters right now is that you two fix the issue. Track down Cpl. Nowe and Sgt. Fouchs, get them in this office side-by-side with you at the terminal and correct the vouchers. I want them amended and submitted before close-of-business, check?”
“Check rodge, ma’am” Wilczec and Nahl both replied in unison.
“Any questions?” Lucy prompted.
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. Then execute and let me know when you’re complete.” Lucy motioned for dispersal and they both turned to carry out the job as instructed.
“You’re not that bad with them.” Dalia observed as they moved out of earshot.
“I wish they were a little more forthcoming with me when they ran into problems. It would help me trust them with more responsibility,” Lucy admitted.
“Maybe this is the enlisted in me speaking, but in my experience a subordinate's willingness to admit a mistake is directly proportional to their leadership's willingness to tolerate them,” Dalia suggested. “You’ve always been one for perfection.”
“I mean, I like to think I treat them about the same as I treated my Sergeants. I never had any trouble with them.” Lucy replied while opening a desk drawer and retrieving a tube of lip balm, applying it quickly.
“It’s a different dynamic, you’ve got to remember with NCO’s they have all the knowledge and experience, way more than we do. They’re gonna take that platoon or company that they invested all of their time and effort in training and building to war, with or without you. Ensigns are blank slates; you’ve got to let them fail sometimes.”
“When they do I usually just end up doing it for them,” Lucy complained while recapping the stick.
“And that’s part of the problem. How are they going to learn? What you did just now, do more of that and they’ll be fine.” Dalia motioned for a turn with the lip balm. “And, don’t forget to be human around them sometimes.”
“Meaning?” Lucy asked while handing it to her.
“C’mon sister, you know you have a reputation. You’re not just some Staff Captain, people talk about you and your accomplishments, on top of the way you carry yourself.” Dalia snatched the nameplate off her desk and held it out to reinforce her point. Lucy stared down at the block letters for a moment in silent reflection, ‘(R) Capt. L. O. Petrova’ then let out a reluctant breath.
“They’re clearly in awe. Show them you put your trousers on one leg at a time and it’ll ease the tension a little.” Dalia added while uncapping the stick again and gesturing with it before applying a thin coat on her lips.
Lucy nodded again. “What did you say to Nahl a second ago?”
“Oh that?” Dalia acknowledged, pausing briefly to press her lips together and even the coat. “I gave her the proper greeting and she got all flustered, called me Watch Stander like I was still posted in Capital-Rift with the purple banner. I brushed it off; she’s no longer Cheispa and I’m not a Paashbaun. Gotta put that stuff to bed.”
Lucy at least knew what Cheispa meant, if only because it had infiltrated Thartic as a derogatory loan word. In its original context it just meant an ordinary person, a member of the middle strata. Now it meant something along the lines of ‘migrant day-laborer’ or more bluntly, a hobo. It’d traveled along with the people who had left Sirenium in hopes of a better life in the aftermath of the Imperial System’s collapse.
“That’s good then,” Lucy smiled another wry smile. “Because I intend to snatch her and Wilczec out of here to lead Platoons when I have Cutlass. They’ve both got potential.”
“I love that you still have vision.” Dalia remarked, stowing the stick back in the desk. “We should meet up later; I've gotta go check out venues with Mark.”
“Combat club tomorrow at the usual time?” Lucy queried.
“Sounds like a date,” Dalia agreed while making her exit.
Lucy rubbed her leg again. The pain had subsided back to a dull tingling, enough that she could finally sit down. It didn’t usually come as an instant response, just pressure there for any prolonged period would eventually cause it to build and Army furniture was particularly bad in this regard. Continuing to live with it was certainly possible, even preferable at some level, but Dalia always seemed to say what needed to be said.
She unlocked her terminal and sent a quick message to Capt. Cho asking for another referral to the Regimental Aid Station. Time could be spared to deal with this problem now that the order had been published.
Lucy then paged through her pending correspondence blankly for a few minutes. It was an odd feeling having nothing much to do. So much of her life was consumed with work that these slow moments brought on some tiny anxiety. She had been raised to abhor idleness, to do everything, even the most mundane of activities, with full effort and focus. Even leisure she took to its maximal extent.
This moment of boredom also brought things into perspective for a moment. She was stuck inside this office most of the time, hammering away at a keyboard doing precisely the farthest thing from combat imaginable. An Officer’s principle weapon was their mind. Despite her best efforts to maintain it through physical training, various simulations and practical exercises, as well as studying the relevant doctrine, she felt dull. She wondered for a moment if she would ever recapture that feeling of pure and violent focus that took over when the bullets were flying. It seemed impossibly far away.
Nahl offered Cpl. Nowe a seat across the room and set about fixing his voucher while one of her Sergeants taught a patrolling class to the juniors using the map table.
Her mind traced back to other similar moments she had spent with Karoff and the Squad Leaders gathered around an identical terrain model. She would indicate her general plan and Senior did his best to fix it; always doing his best to add something she had not thought of and redirect her thinking. Krieger would sandwich a legitimate and thoughtful suggestion between jokes before Dygalo and Rybeck snapped him back to the task at hand. Weiss always had some refinement, some way to hone her Lieutenant’s instinct into a fine point. Those days seemed so far away now, so thoroughly colored with bitter-sweet nostalgia.
Lucy glanced at her chrono, pausing to attempt to remove some tiny speck of dirt wedged into the crack splitting its face. It was 1530 now and she had already put in a full day's work without even accounting for the many many times she had worked late into the night in recent memory. Perhaps today was an opportunity to reclaim some of that lost time. She slipped her comm out of her pocket.
Lucy 💎: ‘Really sorry about lunch’
Lucy 💎: ‘don’t have much to do now though, I’ll be done here about at 1630 or so if you can skip out early’
Clearly Sam wasn’t actively engaged judging by the speed of his reply.
Puppy 🐶: ‘!?’
Puppy 🐶: ‘You? leaving early?’
Puppy 🐶: ‘Is it raining on Europa?’
Lucy 💎: ‘🙄 I’m actually finished with everything early for once and that’s all you’ve got to say?’
Puppy 🐶: ‘No actually, this is great!’
Puppy 🐶: ‘Can you leave now? I’ve got good news to share’
Lucy 💎: ‘?’
Puppy 🐶: ‘ Killed my interview today. 1/5FAR Cmdr wants me to take over the Liaison Btry. 😁’
Lucy caught herself smiling; he had wanted that particular job so badly. Sam had not been a Cannon Officer by choice. He was a victim of the Army’s policy of spreading its talent across the many fields equally. As a result he had done his damnedest to stay away from the gun line and doing typical artillery things.
He had worked in fire support, integrating the artillery with the maneuver forces, his whole career and preferred a life close to the front. Leading the Battery tasked with parenting all of the forward observers and coordinators across One Rifles was both the best use of his skills and most preferable to his inclinations.
It also kept him close. 1st Battalion, 5th Field Artillery Regiment, while not part of One Rifles propper, maintained a habitual relationship and formed part of the Regimental Combat Team when it composited together with its supporting arms and logistical enablers for combat. Their footprint was only a stone's throw away on the other side of Camp Rashkigi. It felt good to know that at least one of them had caught a win.
Lucy 💎: ‘That’s great! I’m so happy for you Sam.’
Lucy 💎: ‘When do you take over? Soon?’
Puppy 🐶: ‘I got hot-slotted for COALC, will do COC couple weeks after I get back’
Puppy 🐶: ‘👀 Can you leave rn tho?’
Lucy nibbled on her thumbnail for a moment before stopping herself. She had been getting so good at restraining the habit it almost surprised her the ease with which she fell back into it at times.
Lucy 💎: ‘I need to talk to Fritz real quick then we can dip.’
Puppy 🐶: ‘headed over right now, I’ll wait.’
Lucy 💎: ‘♥️’
It was as close as she ever got to writing the word out. She had let it slip to him before, but never casually, never thoughtlessly. Only in their most intimate moments did it feel appropriate to speak aloud and mean . It was something in the way she was raised and instructed. No one in her early life ever let the word fly with the kind of effortless sincerity that he did.
She pivoted in her chair towards the open office behind her. “Chief!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Chief Hawke responded while turning his own away from his desk.
“I’m gonna go see if Fritz is in and then probably leave. Can you make sure Nahl and Wilczec finish those stupid vouchers? Feel free to cut everyone for the day; I don’t have anything else for them.”
“Yeah, no problem ma’am. I’ve got everything covered here.” Hawke acknowledged with a casual thumbs up. With the knowledge that everything would be managed in her absence she made her way downstairs.
Cutlass’s Office was the same as it ever was minus her own name and official biography posted near the entrance. Inside her replacement was seated at what used to be her desk yanking on his hair in exasperation with one hand and rapidly paging through an electronic spreadsheet with the other.
“James.”
Lt. Nix startled slightly, apparently too focused on whatever was keeping him chained to his desk, rather than actually engaging with his platoon, to have noticed her entrance.
“Is Fritz in?” Lucy asked while approaching the desk.
Nix blinked rapidly and then stood, glancing over his cubicle wall to a separate office at the back of the room. “Uh, I think he and Vo went out to smoke. Probably be back in a little bit.”
Lucy huffed slightly, smoking regularly was a disgusting trait for an Officer. Not because it was unhealthy, that was well known and could be managed at the very least, but because it had the appearance of laziness. A smoker had a convenient excuse to dip into a break at their convenience; it was a classic enlisted tactic. If one had to be addicted to something in her opinion, it should at least not interrupt the natural rhythm of work. Chief Hawk had a particularly disgusting habit of chewing cured tobacco leaves, apparently a practice common in many of the shithole places he had visited in his lengthy career, but it was tolerable in the sense that it didn’t interrupt his duties. For Fritz, it was more of a social activity than actually managing an urge, he rarely engaged, but was always willing to accompany someone else. It almost made it bother her more.
“Ma’am, since you’re here, do you mind looking at this for a second?” Nix motioned to his terminal. She took up position behind his chair and leaned forward. He apparently was in the midst of combing through the massive seating chart for the mess.
“What’s the issue? I thought the old crow was satisfied.”
“Well he said that, then I got a message back from him like 30 minutes ago with a list of changes and instructions to fix it before COB.”
Lucy glanced over the message open in another window. Guardsmen, and no small amount would need to be assigned seating. For all the hullabaloo Corvo had made for a single Grenadier it was positively sacrilegious to invite Republican Guard officers into their mess; no doubt it’d been a direction from higher.
“I’ve been trying to find spots here and there, but I don’t think anyone is gonna want a Red staining their table.” Nix ground his teeth nervously for a moment. “He’s gonna fucking crucify me isn’t he?”
“It’s not that serious,” Lucy dismissed while analyzing the problem more thoroughly. “Here’s what I’d do: max fill everybody else and just reserve one table for them. If you’ve gotta give up one or two to sit with them anyways, just pick one of the wellbreds. They’ll make sure to keep up appearances.”
“Like who?” Nix asked.
“Oh, you know, Mulleux or Byrne, someone like that.” Lucy suggested while glancing over the roster.
Nix raised an eyebrow, “really? Doesn’t Capt. Mulleux have a kind of a big mouth?”
“He knows better than to make an ass out of himself in front of the Regent. Besides, a little segregation will keep his peers from doing it for him. You could move Maeve too, she’s diplomatic, but people actually like her.” Lucy concluded while studying the diagram to ensure her own seating assignment with Sam, Dalia, and ‘Lt. Tiamen’s Guest’ was unaffected.
Nix pulled on his hair for another moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks ma’am.”
Light streamed into the room as Capt. Eckartt and Lt. Steiner came in from outside, still chuckling about something.
“The scion returns!” Steiner greeted.
“Yeah not for you, chump.” Lucy remarked, lightly punching him in the chest as he approached.
Steiner placed his hands over his heart and collapsed back into his own desk chair dramatically. “So cruel, nothing but a typical heartless Cydonian after all. You never come down here anymore you know.”
Lucy rolled her eyes while he continued his routine of fake insult; Steiner always had a penchant for theater, but the smile he had been wearing the entire time made it obvious he was glad to see her.
“The stairs work both ways, Vo.” Lucy chided with a small smile as she moved past him towards Capt. Eckartt’s office.
Fritz closed the door behind her and motioned towards the seat opposite his desk. He grimaced at his own thoughtlessness then retracted his hand. “I forget sometimes.”
Lucy waved it off as she moved behind the chair, leaning on the backrest. “It’s alright. I’m trying to get it fixed soon, made another appointment today.”
“Well, hopefully they do a better job than they did on me.” Fritz held up his left arm to demonstrate its very slight involuntary tremor. “Nearly four years and it’s still shaking.”
He had been shot there on his first trip to Yukatan. The bullet entered at his wrist and traveled down the length of his arm, tumbling and fragmenting as it went, exiting near his elbow, and leaving much of his forearm a pulpy mess. The only thing left of his ulna were shards, much of the muscle and connective tissue were torn to shreds.
It was a great testament to the ability of Martian medicine that he not only did still have an arm, but had complete use of it. One wouldn’t have known the extent of the injury looking at it now. It was ordinary in nearly every way save for a network of thin surgical scars running up and down it. Artificial tissue grafts, a complete restructuring of the bone, and large doses of high grade regen had made light work of the injury.
The nerves however were much more difficult to manage. The body's signaling system was still not entirely understood. While it was possible to reconnect severed ones, growing entirely new nerves was a process of trial and error. Regen hijacked the body's own self-repair mechanisms, sending them into overdrive. Particularly in high or uncontrolled dosage the drug could cause the nerves, or occasionally other things, to grow at random. As treatment, medical staff had gone through a lengthy process of selectively culling extraneous ones until Fritz had full control of his fingers and the sensation of a phantom third hand disappeared, but it still shook. It probably always would.
A similar phenomenon was responsible for her aching leg, and she almost certainly caused it by refusing to follow Doc’s orders and let the wound heal. She frowned at the thought. Her mind was stronger than her body, much to the body’s detriment.
She tabled the idea, turning back to business. “Not why I’m here though.”
Fritz silently used the same circular motion she had borrowed earlier in the day.
“The old crow was gnawing my ass after the mess meeting. Apparently, I’m not ‘mature’ enough to lead this company.” Lucy explained.
Fritz slumped back in his chair. “I really was hoping this wouldn’t happen… had everything all planned out. Who?”
“Stewart.” She spit out. Bad news was best delivered with the minimum of affectation in her opinion.
Fritz wiped at the exasperation on his face with both hands and took a deep breath.
With Fritz at least, she didn’t feel the need to conceal her displeasure. “It’s fucking complete horse shit. This company is going to rot with someone like that at the top. She needs a position with less responsibility, not more.”
“I know, we all know, Lucy!” Fritz exclaimed. “How do you think I feel? You know when I got here Cutlass was averaging three Number 31’s a month? They hung one of the Section Leaders for murder. I built this place from nothing. From nothing! Now I have to hand it over to that fucking misbred self-absorbed moron so she can ruin it.”
Lucy watched Fritz cycle through the stages of grief from the comfort of his office chair. He took another deep breath. “This is your fault you know; this job was yours to lose.”
Sympathy disappeared from her lexicon for a moment as anger flared. “My fault?! How!”
Fritz ignored her threat display. “If you had just been a little more gracious, a little more flattering, a little more humble. This wouldn’t have happened; Corvo wouldn’t’ve had a leg to stand on.”
Lucy bit her tongue for a moment, forcing herself to see his point. They both had a habit of telling people uncomfortable truths; it was one of the things she respected about him most. Out of all of the Officers in the Regiment he was one of a tiny handful she actually considered a mentor. The air cleared slightly as she managed to restrain herself from detonating any further. “Nat’s leaving too right?”
Fritz nodded. “She put in for Change of Station orders right after we got back. She’s headed to Camp Lamplend right before I swap out. It’s just Top Knute and 1st Sergeant, and with the exception of Steiner there’s gonna be a whole new crop of Lieutenants here soon. This place is about to be fucked Lucy.”
“I’m not gonna let that happen.” Lucy asserted, both to reassure him and herself. “Listen Fritz, I already had an idea. You know Lt. Tiamen?”
He nodded pressing fingers against his temples. “She just gave up her platoon right? Needs XO time?”
“I figure at the very least it’ll keep three out of the top four staffed with strong leaders. Between her, 1st Sergeant, and Top Knute, they can keep this place from backsliding too hard.” Lucy elaborated.
“It’s good.” Fritz nodded, relaxing slightly as the tension in his own mind finally eased. “I’m glad you’re finally starting to figure the game out. I’ll talk to the Colonel, maybe this place isn’t past the event-horizon just yet.”
Lucy stewed for another moment before she finally let out the other emotion she had been suppressing.
“And, I’m sorry, by the way.”
She couldn’t exactly pin-point why she felt that way, it was just a feeling. Maybe it was for disappointing him. Maybe it was out of responsibility for the thousand other things she had done with her typical brashness which he ultimately had to answer for. Maybe it just needed to be let out.
Fritz just wagged his finger at her. “Don’t be sorry, it doesn’t suit you at all.” His normal confidence returned as he gave his final guidance. “Just be better. It’s all we can ever do.”
Sam was waiting for her outfront just as he said, mindlessly scrolling through his comm from the driver’s seat. She leaned towards the tinted window and knocked lightly. He looked up and instantly smiled with such sincerity she couldn’t help but reciprocate. Leaning across the passenger seat he popped the door open for her. Before he could lean back she caught his wrist and pecked him on the lips. It just seemed to make his smile brighter.
“Busy day huh?” He jested as she slid in and closed the door.
Lucy belted herself in. “Started off wall-to-wall with meetings, but not all that much to do now. Glad I can finally skate out early for once.”
“How’s your leg?”
She opened the glove compartment and retrieved a prescription bottle, shook out a single tablet and swallowed it dry.
“That bad huh?” He asked while watching her stow it again.
“It’s alright,” She dismissed while roughly rubbing the limb down with her hands. “I made another appointment today. I just don’t want to be hurting by the time we get home. Congratulations by the way, I’m glad everything went well.”
“Thanks,” he beamed while pulling the vehicle out of the lot. “Though I can't take all the credit, helps having someone motivate me.”
“Oh please, you did it all yourself.” She dismissed while leaning onto her armrest. “When are you headed to COALC?”
“Can’t remember the class date off the top of my head but it’s in a few weeks.” he glanced at her, eyes narrowing with theatrical suspicion. “Why? Are you gonna miss me?”
She rested her head on her hand and watched him closely for a moment. “Yeah, I think I will.”
His smile widened again. “Well, don’t worry because I’ll be back on the weekends. Turnbolt’s not all that far, I can just ride the maglev back when they cut the class for liberty on Fridays. You mind taking care of this while I’m gone? I don’t mind you using it.” Sam patted the dash.
His Xpedition was second only to her and his friends in terms of his affection and being trusted with it in his absence almost felt like an honor. He clearly cared about it more than his apartment based on the relative care he maintained both of them along with the money invested. At least until she had come along and whipped the place into shape.
The way he saw it, the vehicle was his freedom. It was his link to all of the exciting and extreme hobbies that he filled his time with and was modified to that end with a plethora of outdome and outbacking equipment. Lucy had driven it before under his careful supervision. It was fun enough, especially outdome where it’s additional bulk in comparison to the average vehicle wasn’t so constricting.
Lucy nodded, “Yeah, of course. It’s safe in my hands.”
“Well, how was your day?” He inquired.
She paused for a moment, considering simply hiding her own disappointment behind some vaguery so as not to spoil his mood. It seemed both selfish and selfless in its own way. There was no reason to set a precedent of white lies, doubly so with the amount of trust he had just extended. If there was anyone capable of making her feel better about the whole thing it was him anyways.
She sighed, “Well, Corvo got into me after the mess meeting. Looks like I’m staying upstairs for a while longer.”
He shifted his eyes off the road again. “What happened?”
“Well,” She sighed “I’m not sure to be honest. Maybe I burned one too many bridges, apparently he convinced the Colonel I’m not ready. Something about maturity; I dunno, I’m starting to think he might have a point.”
Sam guffawed loudly. “Beautiful, please; Corvo’s a scumbag. Don’t degrade yourself by taking anything that man says seriously. You know what he probably is? Jealous.”
His complete abandonment of any pretense of respect for the Regimental Executive Officer’s rank or position was refreshing and did make her feel better, but she still wasn’t quite sure where he was going. “Jealous?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, jealous. You think he was anywhere near getting a company command when he was your age? Fuck no. On top of that he’s been extra ass-pained lately because the Regent didn’t promote him. He’s gonna be force-retired if he doesn’t make the list next year. You getting a Meritorious is just rubbing salt in his wound.”
This was news to Lucy, people didn’t share the sort of gossip with her that Sam and Dalia readily spread and received, but the revelation did connect some errant dots.
Sam blurted out some Hensho and then translated. “A future in disorder breeds a resentful mind. The old crow’s exactly the type of stravak fucker to drag down anyone who he thinks might surpass him. You’ll weather the storm; just don’t let that stuff get to you.” Sam added.
Lucy readjusted herself in the seat as the needling sensation in her leg returned. Apparently the dose was taking its sweet time in kicking in or her vice-implant was accelerating the development of a tolerance. “Nah, I mean I’m still a little upset, but I’ll find another way. But, I don’t want you to worry about that stuff. It’s early, we should celebrate your win, go out or something.”
He smiled another reassuring smile as they pulled into the Xpedition’s assigned spot outside of their Hearthblock. “We can, but you know, I consider getting to spend some extra time with you celebration enough.”
Their arrival routine was well-rehearsed at this point and Lucy set about executing it with all the skill and precision of an SOP battle-drill. She buzzed around the living room and balcony watering plants, tidying up here or there and unpacking the dirty PT-gear in her bag from this morning. Normally this would transition into her taking out her work terminal and hammering away for another hour or two, but she hadn’t even bothered bringing it with her tonight. There was so much extra time to play with that she wasn’t used to having. Watching him unload the dishwasher she dreamed up a few ideas.
Sam had his own routine, mostly taking care of a few minor chores that they shared before he actually settled in to relax. He wasn’t really paying much attention, all of these simple things he did nearly autonomously, letting his mind wander to the extra hours they had together. Surely she would be in the mood? He frowned slightly, with how her day had gone there was always the small chance she would go sulk in a book rather than want to blow off steam. Though she had seemed receptive earlier, maybe it was worth trying his luck.
She disappeared into the bedroom to change out of uniform and he followed. Stripping off his blouse he carefully deposited it on a hanger while she kicked off her boots and unleashed her hair from its braid. Before, he would’ve thrown it onto the back of a chair, but she had a way of imparting her own attention to detail on others. A compromise he willingly made, the place felt much more inviting after her modifications to the decor, and now they both shared a responsibility to maintain it.
He stripped off his skivy shirt and posed in front of the full length mirror doubling as a closet door. They both had been cutting, it was part of the fitness and dietary routine they were following together. He was no stranger to shedding weight, but this was a far cry from the shock therapy he put himself through as a collegiate wrestler. The goal then had been to shed every possible gram in a few days to make weigh-ins. Most of it was just water, and it ended up being an exercise in competitive asceticism with whoever could dehydrate themselves the most having the largest advantage when the tournament happened the next day.
This program was structured much more deliberately to maximize retention of lean body mass while stripping away the fat. It was also significantly less unpleasant, but the slowness of it bothered him somewhat. Already extremely fit, it had only just begun to show results.
He glanced over his mirrored shoulder, catching her bent away from him while slipping off her uniform trousers. He smiled, a sight he never tired of, though the scar running down the back of her leg still concerned him. He didn’t like the idea of her being in pain.
“Lucy.”
“Hmm?” She finished stripping down to her underwear, and straightened up to face him.
“What do you think?” He pivoted slightly to better catch the light and switched to a front double bicep. “I’m feeling a little smaller to be honest.”
She knew exactly what he was doing. It left her wondering why they even bothered with these performances anymore while sauntering up behind him. Circling her arms around his waist from behind, she perched her chin on his shoulder while he broke his pose.
“It’s natural you’re gonna look a little worse at the beginning. You’re comparing against yourself at peak bulk, when you were all full of carbs. The body’s gonna start with the easy to access resources first.” She explained while tracing her hands downward. Her fingers played across the visible crests of his upper abdominals and then lightly pinched at the tiny patch of stubborn softness near his navel. “Little longer and this’ll be gone. Just think of yourself as a master-piece in progress, I certainly do.”
She lingered in the embrace longer than he expected, pressing her body into his back and studying his reactions in the mirror as her hands wandered across his chest and her lips brushed against the stiff flesh of his calcified ear. He shuddered gently as she drug her fingernails lightly across the front of his hips. Another warm breath tickled his ear as she giggled softly when his face flushed with color. Her lips and hands continued to wander down downward further still. She nipped at his neck and he decided he could not take the teasing any longer. His hands ran down her arms and caged them momentarily as he turned to face her.
“You’re perfect already.” He meant it, as shockingly strong as she was beautiful she seemed the pinnacle of the human form to his eyes. Though it came out sounding more colored with desire than sincerity. She just silenced him with a long kiss while their hands rejoined and fingers interlocked.
“Neighbors won’t be home for a while,” He suggested as they parted, flicking his eyes to the pillows she had stuffed behind the headboard when he wasn’t looking.
“I wouldn’t care if they were.” She pulled him in close again.
They used the extra time well and it was still early in the evening when they set about the after care. Fresh from a rinse in the shower and once again clothed in a crewneck and shorts, she took up her normal spot on the couch to finish drying her hair. Sam brought over food and posted up next to her and began flipping through streams on the Tri-D. The food despite its relative plainness was gone quickly, a caloric deficit combined with physical activity tended to have that effect and they settled in to watch some gravball 30-for-30 docudrama.
He wished this moment could last forever. It seemed so ordinary, but out of everyone he had shared some kind of relationship with no one quite seemed to make the ordinary special like she did. Before he had nearly scorned the idea that anyone would choose one other person to spend their whole life with. There had been a partner for every mood, every spell of feeling, and they, men and women both, came and went easily. He certainly felt some kind of affection for most of them, some of which was reciprocated, but the spell always faded. No one had given him this feeling of completeness that only seemed to grow stronger with time. Maybe this was what Mark had been talking about, maybe he knew now what he wanted.
Lucy brushed her still slightly damp hair over one shoulder and shifted into him more. It was both more comfortable to lie on her side and satisfied a desire to be just a tad closer. He obliged and stroked her arm while she settled in.
“Glad I left early today.”
“Me too,” he agreed. “Always best to end on a high note, take your mind off work for a while.”
There was another long pause while an interview played and they both gave it more attention. It stirred something in her and she glanced up at Sam who returned the look. She was safe here.
“Still thinking about today?” He inquired.
She sighed lightly. “Yeah, seems like I’ve been dealing with people like Corvo my whole life. They just get it in their mind that I’ve been handed everything and need to ‘prove myself worthy’ or some shit.” She trailed off again and played with the words to communicate her feelings accurately.
Sam shifted himself towards her to give her his full attention while she thought.
“When I was younger, all I could think was ‘why me?’ you know? I just felt all this pressure and it seemed like it would have been better to be born anyone else.” She chuckled, crossing her feet and rubbing one against the scribbly tattoos on the other. “I used to tell the other kids at boarding school my name was Lucy Pethrov. I just wanted to be ordinary.”
Sam remained completely focused on her, reassuring her with that comforting easy smile.
“As I got older, it kind of shifted. Why not me, you know? I am different; I was made for this. I’ll show them. I’ll prove it.”
“And now?” He asked without a hint of judgment.
“And now, all I can think is how fucking arrogant that sounds saying out loud. If-.” She stuttered for a moment. “If you had to choose between your dignity or your goals, which would you?”
She looked so conflicted and yet deathly serious; it almost felt bad that the question made him laugh. She slapped her open hand down on his bare thigh just below his shorts and he jerked out of reflex. It didn’t hurt, stung maybe, but the jolt was enough to stifle his laughter slightly.
“Why’re you laughing?” She asked while fighting with a smile and jabbing at his ribs with her fingers. “I’m serious!”
He parried the playful blow with his hand and suppressed his chuckling. “Sorry, it’s just that question is so like you. For me though, it’s easy.” He made a show of thinking while drawing her close again. “I’d pick you every time; so, goals, I guess.”
Maybe not the matter-of-fact answer she had wanted, but perhaps that was why it was endearing. “I love you, you know.” The words came out more frustrated than your typical trideo soap-show confession, but it was how he knew she really meant it deeply.
He waited until she was settled in his arms again before replying with his typical casualness. “I love you too.”