🪖 Don't Ask, Don't Tell 2.0: The Trans Military Ban Violates Equality & Readiness
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The open letter calls for the repeal of the transgender military ban, emphasizing that discrimination undermines unit cohesion, military readiness, and the equality of service members. It highlights historical parallels with the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy and advocates for equal treatment, access to gender-affirming healthcare, and a merit-based military system. The letter demands immediate action to end discriminatory policies and restore the rights of transgender Americans to serve openly in the military.
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Red vs Blue: Universe Collision, chapter 6.5: bonus content
So I’ve had the idea for this snippet that directly follows Chapter 6 in mind since forever ago, but it doesn’t fit into the main story and I’m not going to try and make it.
But honestly I had too much goddamned fun with it not to post it.
Thank you to Steph for help with the Southern euphemisms!
Sarge and Agent Washington, 760 words. Warnings for excessive and possibly inaccurate Southern euphemisms and Wash angst.
Wash kept a death grip on his helmet as the Warthog bounced along to the sound of Sarge and Grif’s bickering. He stared at the reflection in the visor, focusing on each scar, each line, each change.
Your name is Agent Washington. You’re on Chorus. Project Freelancer is gone.
Connie. York. North. South. Wyoming. Maine.
He tried not to think about York under him, two eyes staring up shocked, South tackling him, North approaching with his hands raised like Wash was a rabid animal who could lash out at any moment.
That wasn’t too far from the truth.
He barely noticed when the Warthog ground to a stop, and didn’t bother reacting until Sarge practically dragged him out of the vehicle.
“Hogwash! Hootenanny! Treason! Suggesting that I—your superior officer—“
“Jesus Christ, fine, I’m going.”
Grif floored the gas, leaving Wash coughing in the dust before he’d realized what happened.
He scrubbed the grit out of his eyes before putting on his helmet and gauntlets, and only then did he notice that it was just him and Sarge alone in a clearing.
Alone.
In a clearing.
Wash immediately started to pull away, but Sarge’s hand gripped even more tightly around his arm. “Oh, no you don’t. Sit down before you fall down.”
“Sarge. Let me go.” Wash kept his voice low and menacing. “I don’t want to hurt you—”
Wash tried to keep his voice low and menacing, but it rose higher and broke as the sentence went on. Sarge’s grip never wavered as he towed Wash over to a log and shoved on his shoulders to make him sit down. Even then, he just transferred his grip to Wash’s shoulders, keeping him anchored.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Wash repeats, almost too quietly.
“And you ain’t gonna.”
“You don’t—if you and Grif hadn’t come along back there, I could’ve—“
“But we did! And you didn’t. Though that was a real numbnuts move you pulled, goin’ off on your own after a blow to the head. Of course, being a Blue you’re bound to demonstrate some remarkable stupidity more often’n not, but sometimes I think if brains were leather you wouldn’t have enough to saddle a junebug.”
Wash blinked a few times trying to decipher that one. “…oh.”
When Sarge let go, Wash stayed put. The Red Team leader settled onto the log with a long groan.
“‘m impressed you didn’t snap sooner, tell you the truth. These new people been making me a miiiite twitchy. We already went through half of ‘em trying to kill us once, don’t see why we need to do it again.”
Wash let out a groan of his own and bent over, lacing his fingers behind his neck because this was really not helping.
“Extreme violence was a perfectly reasonable response! You’re not crazy. Well, I mean, no crazier than you already are for being a blue. And wanting to ride your fellow blue around in a flat-bed truck.”
“…what?” Wash had utterly lost the thread of this conversation.
“Tucker. You want to slap a mum on his chest and take him to a football field.”
Wash lifted his head to stare blankly at Sarge.
“You want to cause a scandal bigger than the time Nellie Weatherspoon eloped with Susan Coolidge.”
Wash continued staring blankly.
“You want to take him to the purity ball and put your key in his locket. Give grandma another heart attack. Want to row row row his boat.”
Wash started shaking his head slowly, and Sarge let out a very deep sigh. “You want to kiss him, son.”
“WHAT?” Wash sat straight up, face burning up under his helmet.
Sarge chuckled and stretched out his legs. “You know, the more forcefully your shell of denial breaks down, the more you sound like a cat in heat.“
“Oh god please stop,” Wash said, faintly, trying not to think. Especially not about some of those euphemisms.
“You sure? Because I got a few more I’ve been saving up.”
”Please stop.”
“Allright, allright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, buttercup.”
Wash stared at the sky and tried not to let himself start laughing, because he had a feeling if he started, it would descend into crying.
In another universe, Allison lives. A few years down the line, her Alpha squad crash-lands in the universe where she didn’t.
*Crashes through the window with a two-month-late update* HAPPY PI DAY
When Wash arrives at the training ground, he already has a headache from another night with almost no sleep. The sight of the squad of New Republic soldiers deep in gossip doesn’t do much to help.
“This doesn’t look like you’re ready for a training session,” Wash announces, letting his voice carry.
They all jump guiltily, turning en masse to look at him.
“Sorry, sir, it’s just…” the cadet, a Private Campos, trails off as Wash stares at him.
“Is it really true that Captain Caboose is from another dimension?” another private bursts out.
Wash takes a very deep breath and gives the same explanation he’s been giving for the past four days. “No. No, it’s not. As we already knew, the visitors are from a parallel universe almost identical to our own. They have counterparts here. One of their members is the counterpart to Captain Caboose’s sister. They’re not actually related.”
“Unless she’s from this dimension,” someone whispers. Wash is too tired to try and figure out who.
“If you have the energy to gossip, you have the energy to run laps. Let’s move it.”
They groan, but start running. Wash takes another very deep breath and a moment to regret the life choices that had led to him saying the words “parallel universe” in all seriousness.
After putting the soldiers through their paces, Wash has to go looking for Tucker, and comes out near the motor pool. Caboose is standing over to the side, talking quietly to Freckles. For the first time Wash has seen in the past couple of days, he’s alone, and Wash detours to talk to him.
“Caboose!”
Caboose looks up, and then hunches his shoulders. “Oh. Hello, agent Washingtub.”
Wash feels like he just got a bucket of water dumped on his head. “Caboose?”
“I am glad to see you are not still mad at me.” Caboose still won’t look up at him.
“Caboose, why would you think I was mad at you?”
“When you are mad at people, you do not like to talk to them. And you have not talked to me at all lately. So you are mad at me.”
“Caboose…” Wash takes a moment to sigh. “Caboose, I’m not mad at you.”
“See, but that is what you would say even if you were mad at me. Because you are bad at feelings but you still don’t like to hurt mine.”
“Caboose, I’m not mad at you, I promise.”
“But you are mad at Freckles.”
“What?” Wash is genuinely flabbergasted. “I’m not mad at your…dog.”
“Not this Freckles, first Freckles.”
“Oh, you mean…Niner. I’m…not mad at her.” Wash pauses. “Caboose—you do know that she’s not actually your sister, right?”
“You mean she is adopted?”
“No, it’s—you know there’s another one of Carolina, and of…me. She’s another version of your sister. The real Freckles isn’t here.”
“I know that she isn’t from here, Wash. She is still my sister.”
“Oh.” Wash keeps feeling knocked off-balance by this conversation. “Well…as long as you know that.”
“So you will stop avoiding us now?”
“I’ll stop avoiding you, Caboose.”
“Okay, but that is not—”
“I have to go find Tucker now, I’ll see you at dinner.” Wash starts for the other side of the motor pool.
“Look out!”
Wash turns just in time to see a Warthog come barreling through the entryway.
He knows he tries to dodge, he knows he fails because he feels it slam into him, and then he knows nothing at all for a good few minutes.
“Washington? Washington!”
Caboose shouting at him is a familiar enough sound that it takes Wash a few moments to register it as something important.
“Caboose, if you set the base on fire again…” he groans, hauling himself awake.
Wait a minute. Did he fall asleep in his armor again?
“Agent Washington! Oh thank goodness you are okay. There was a car. Tucker did it.”
The second part of that is probably a lie, but Wash is ready to believe there was a car. He hurts all over—he doesn’t think any bones are broken, but he’s definitely going to have a nice set of bruises. Not to mention that his head hurts like hell.
“You are okay, right?” Caboose asks.
“I—” Wash tries to rub his forehead and hits his helmet with his gauntlets. “I’m fine. I just need to go to the infirmary.”
“I will come with you!”
Wash winces at the volume of the voice. “No—no, that’s all right, really. I can make it. You should go…” He waves a hand. “Do things.”
“If you are sure,” the blue soldier says, worried. “Because you do not look very good, Agent Washington—”
“I’m fine. Go.”
He goes, and Wash turns and starts his trek for the infirmary.
Wash’s head is still kind of sore, but the doctor said he was healed enough to leave by now. A few days in a hospital bed can be really boring, it turns out, especially when most of his team is off doing other things.
He pulls on his helmet first and sends off a message to all the Freelancers. <Doc says I’m healed, but won’t let me leave alone. Some1 come get me?>
York and the twins are heading for the edge of camp to start patrol when they get Wash’s message. They’re close enough to the infirmary to detour without losing too much ground, and when they get within sight there’s Wash, standing outside. He’s looking around at the trees, but he must not see them, because he turns around and starts to head back inside.
“Hey, Wash!” York turns up his mic, letting his voice carry. “You ready to get out of here?”
Wash turns around and sees them, pulling himself up a little bit straighter. “I—” He shakes his head slowly. “Yup. Let’s go.”
Now that the ship’s been stripped, Maine doesn’t have any big task that needs doing. He can’t collect information like Connie can, sneaking around, or just by conversation like the rest can, because the cadets still keep whispering at him. He’s taken to hiding out in the darker corners of the motor pool, running his invisibility unit at short intervals whenever someone walks past so he doesn’t have to answer any awkward questions.
The patrol assignment, when it comes down, is a relief. He and Wyoming meet up at the motor pool to wait for the signal from Florida and Connie that they can come meet them without fear of blowing their cover too close to the pirates.
Wash’s message comes in right before that.
“Shall we collect our wayward friend, then?” Wyoming asks.
Maine agrees by the simple expedient of walking off in the direction of the infirmary and letting Wyoming catch up.
He lets Wyoming stay out and keep an eye on the doors while he goes in to fetch Wash.
Conveniently, Wash is standing just inside the door, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
When he sees Maine, he draws up very straight.
“Ready?”
“Yup. Let’s go.”
“Agent Washington!” The doctor in white and purple armor who Maine remembers checked over Wash when they first arrived comes running up, and she stops when she gets to Maine. “Ooh, you’re big. I take it you’re going to be responsible for him?”
“Regrettably.”
“Hey!”
“Well, he hasn’t had quite as much head trauma as the Washington I know, but you should still keep an eye on him for the next couple of days. Make sure he gets plenty of fluids and sleep and doesn’t take any more whacks to the noggin. And if he starts bleeding from the eyeballs…well, let me know.”
“Wait, what?”
Wash is screeching again. He should be fine.
“Will do.”
“Well. Have a lovely day, both of you.”
As they head out, Maine types up a message and sends it out to York, Carolina, and Connie. <Got WA, heading out.>
They get twenty feet before York sends back a message that makes Maine’s stomach flip.
<u cant have wash we hsve wash>
Crap.
“Wash.” Maine drops a hand onto Wash’s shoulder. “Take off your helmet.”
“Seriously? I’m fine—”
“Now.”
Wash doesn’t make him repeat himself, just reaches up and undoes the seal. He looks exactly like Maine has always known him to look, blond hair sticking up around a brand-new bump and freckles sprinkled across his face.
“Not bleeding out the eyeballs, see?”
Maine snaps a picture and sends it to York, because this is definitely their Wash. Which means York and the twins definitely have a problem.
“So, what are we doing out here?” Wash asks as they’re tramping along.
“Just a regular perimeter check. Trying to get to know the terrain, make sure there aren’t going to be any nasty surprises sneaking up on us.” York answers with half his brain, the other half busy scanning the trees.
“Why this planet, though?”
Right, missed the briefing because of the checkup. “Don’t let the concussion pull you too far down, Wash. It’s the alien tech or something.”
“Oh.” Wash prods a vine on a nearby log with his rifle. “So where is it?”
“You’re hilarious,” South mutters.
“So how far out from camp are we going?” North calls from where he’s monitoring their position.
York just barely catches Wash’s mutter of “camp?” as he does some quick calculations. “Just a klik. Florida and Connie are starting on the other side of the camp, closer to the pirates. Maine and Wyoming are going to go join them after they’re past the really dangerous area, and we’ll meet them at the rendezvous. Which is about five kliks from here.”
“Pirates?” And that’s Wash’s screechy voice. York had missed that screechy voice. “What’s going on with this planet?”
“Couldn’t tell you if I tried, buddy.”
South slings an arm over Wash’s shoulder and starts giving him a creative spiel, with North interjecting at key points for realism. York’s figuring out a good contribution when his helmet pings with a message from Maine.
<Got WA, heading out.>
York stops in his tracks for a second, causing South to crash into him and cuss him out. He mutters some apology, trying to scramble ahead and type at the same time.
<u cant have wash we hsve wash.>
Maine’s reply is a picture. That’s their Wash, alright—freckles and blond hair and a bump on his head, caught right before he put his helmet on.
Shit. They have the wrong Wash.
“Hold up,” York blurts out, raising a fist. “Quiet for a sec.”
They all stop and shut up and he opens up a private channel to the twins. “Maine and Wyoming just caught Wash coming out of the medbay.”
“But isn’t that where we found—” North suddenly falls silent.
“Fuckberries.”
“Yup. We need to head back. Try to act like everything’s normal, don’t let him realize, if he takes off out here he might actually get lost for good.”
“Well? Do you hear anything?” Wash asks, impatient.
“Got a message from Carolina,” York lies. “We have to head back now.”
“Seriously? We just got out here!” Wash complains.
“Hey, you can be the one to argue with her, alright? Let’s just go back to camp.”
They turn around, heading back, and York thinks they might actually get back with no problems when a Warthog bursts through the trees, that crazy mechanic kid Niner’s probably going to adopt driving. Niner herself is clinging for dear life to the seat.
“Sorry!” the kid yells, careening back into the trees. Niner yells something about “hell of a pilot”—what a terrifying thought—and then they’re gone.
“Well, I think we can check “near-death experience” off the day’s to-do list,” York offers, trying not to let his voice shake.
“Shut—”
“Niner?” Wash’s mutter cuts off South’s tirade before it can start, and they all turn to stare as he brings a hand up to his head. “With—Jensen?” He notices them, and stares like he’s seeing them for the first time.
“How are you doing, Wash?” North offers, sounding totally normal, like if he just acts calm and composed he can keep Wash from freaking out
And for an impossible moment, York thinks it’ll work, because Wash doesn’t do anything—
and then Wash drops his hand and stares up at the sky. “I’d like to wake up now,” he says, not looking at any of them.
“Wash?” York tries.
“I said I want to wake up now. Go away.”
“You can’t wake up, Wash, seriously. Stop being so creepy.”
Wash doesn’t seem to hear her, scrabbling for his gloves and then helmet catches, pulling them off.
And if any of them are doubting which Wash they have at this point, those doubts are gone. This Wash, from this universe, looks so old and so tired, the bags under his eyes enormous and his face eternally drawn. There’s a scar across the bridge of his nose that looks old and worn, and as he frantically spins around, scanning the trees for something, there are ugly scars visible on the back of his neck.
York trades looks with North and South, reopening the channel. “How do you want to play this?”
“No. No. No. I can’t—Grey wouldn’t—I won’t go back there.” Wash slams his fist into a tree, and ouch, that’s bound to hurt without armor. “I won’t!” he yells at the sky. “Do you hear me? Wake up!”
“Call one of the troopers,” York says, and closes the channel, approaching Wash carefully. “Hey, Wash? You need to calm down. You’re not dreaming, I promise, this is just—”
Before he can go any further, Wash tackles him to the ground and grabs at his helmet, undoing the latches and yanking it up. York is too stunned to do more than stare up at Wash as his face goes from shocked to vicious.
“Nice try,” Wash says, voice cold and dangerous. “But York only had one eye.”
And wow, York would love some time to process that, but South grabs Wash off of him.
“Get a grip, Washington!” she yells, throwing him to the ground before York can warn her that might be a bad idea.
“South’s dead,” Wash snarls at her. “I killed her myself. You want to pull one over on me, do your goddamned research.”
“The fuck?!” South freezes in place, and North starts to come forward, but York cuts him off.
“Wash, stop!” he yells, stepping between the twins and Wash. “This isn’t a trick, it’s not a trap, you’re on—”
“Oh yeah, York?” And the way Wash says his name, York knows he doesn’t believe him. “Then tell me, what’s the first thing Delta ever said to me?”
“Who?” And now York’s just plain confused. “Delta? Is he like Epsilon?”
Wash’s eyes go wide and dark and scary. “I’m not telling you anything,” he snarls, and then pulls out his gun.
Which is about the time another Warthog crashes through the trees, this one with Grif and Sarge on board.
“Agent Washington! What the hell are you doing? Weapons should never be pointed at your fellow soldiers! Unless they’re pointed at Grif!”
Something in Wash’s face and body language jerks, and the weapon drops from his hands as Grif drives the Warthog in between him and the Freelancers.
“I don’t—” York can’t see his face anymore, but Wash’s voice just sounds weak now. “What…what did I—” A pause. “Oh, no…”
“Hey, mustache universe guys! Did Wash shoot anyone?”
“He killed me, is what he fucking—”
“No!” York yells, miming shut up at South.
“Great. Get in, asshole.”
“Not-a-captain Grif! Clearly your false promotion has addled your brain and made you believe you’re capable of giving orders. This will have to be corrected! In the meantime, Washington, get in!”
“I can’t—”
“Don’t you fucking dare leave me alone in this car with Sarge.”
York grabs Wash’s helmet and gloves, which wound up on their side of the Warthog, and hands them up to Sarge.
He takes them, and then lightning-quick, grabs one of York’s wrists.
“Now you just stay right here, son,” he says, quiet and brimming with the potential for danger. “You just stay right here.”
The Warthog drives away, Wash on board, leaving the three of them behind.
York walks over to his helmet, picks it up, and puts it back on.
“What the fuck,” South growls, and then walks away to beat the shit out of some trees.
Free for All - Episode 3: Unit Cohesion (Part Three: Lock and Load Montage)
EPISODE THREE
UNIT COHESION
CUT TO:
EXTERIOR: BRAVO HUB 48, DAY
A lone MX2A2 light tank passes by Hamilton, and his crew as work continues on the hub.
08:25:23 AM (MARS TIME)
INTERIOR: “GEAR UP SESSION”, THE LIVING ROOM
As the rest of Bravo Four-One, with the exception of Rumer and “Joker”, gather round to assess their armaments. You can see their chairs, tables, especially the kitchen table for some reason, become platforms for their equipment.
A song blares out in the room, “Save Me” by Remy Zero. No complaints on how loud it is.
· “THE PRO”. Handling his XP-AR6 assault rifle. Attachments on the table, a sight to behold. From the scope, to the foregrip, to the “jungle style” taped magazines. Everything handled with ease.
· “BASTION”. Passing around M09 pistol magazines, and some M91 hand grenades. His weapon sight, and suppressor for his pistol can be seen on the table just beside his M44/A1 carbine.
· ANDERSON. Receiving the M09 magazines. He’s working the kinks for his M46A2 assault rifle. Later, he’ll try to clean out his AR03A1 grenade launcher, and the number of rounds he’ll get to use for later.
· “DEO”. Grabbing, and gathering ammunition belts for his M72 automatic weapon. A machine gun, in layman’s terms. He looks like a damn Pharaoh, with all that “jewellery” adorned on him.
· “RALPH”. Doing the same thing, but for his M70 machine gun. He’s sharpening his combat knife, and deciding whether to go with a cloth pouch bag, or a full belt to hold all his ammo. His MK-25 can also be seen being maintained.
· “GRADY”. Rationing the oxygen containers for their armor suits. His M46A2, with a strap, surrounded by the ammo magazines, and his M09 pistol. A bag for the M72 ammunition, can also be seen. Flat at first, but watch it later.
· Finally, “ZEE”. Loading up the rifle batteries for his Eta-2M blaster rifle carbine. He’s now focused on the radio, and the extra batteries he’ll be carrying. Just in case. There also something else on the table, a Japanese idol keychain.
RALPH notices this.
RALPH:
Lucky charm?
“Zee” gestures a number.
RALPH:
Drei?
GRADY:
He’s got more if you want.
RALPH:
Nah, Rumer’s got more.
Besides.
RALPH takes out his combat knife, sharp to the edge. A writing is seen in the back blade, “I AM THE BEST”, in German.
“DEO” eyes this, more than impressed.
“DEO”:
That’s your lucky charm?
RALPH:
Nah.This is my “babe magnet”.
GRADY:
You are one strange fellow, Mister von Krupp.
On the other side of the table, “THE PRO” checks the time on his watch. As he stares down on the gear of his two other squad members just outside their doors, he wonders when they’ll return in time.
“THE PRO”:
Must be on hell of a weapon, Bas.
“BASTION”:
Oh, yeah.
CUT TO:
GRAPHIC: OUTSIDE ARTOO’S
We see Samylin, Rumer, and “Joker” outside. They watch, and help Corporal Simmons on trying to outfit their MX-4 utility vehicle, nicknamed “Breaker” with its new toy. The day continues as time for the patrol draws closer.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Free for All - Episode 3: Unit Cohesion (Part Two: Silent Majority)
EPISODE THREE
UNIT COHESION
CUT TO:
08:24:48 AM (MARS TIME)
INTERIOR: BATTALION STAFF COMMAND OFFICE
Loud typing, and a great flow of document traffic fills the air of this office space. Many calling on their Links sound like a normal Earth office cubicle, taking calls and making appointments. We see breather mask racks, a whiteboard/calendar of events, and a “curse jar”.
The officers from earlier exit the Lieutenant Colonel’s office, saluting him and giving him their regards as they do. They begin to make their way outside, with this to start off with.
CAPTAIN JEAN RAWLINS, BRAVO COMPANY C.O.:
My God, he can’t mean it.
CAPTAIN JAMES DARLING, ALPHA COMPANY C.O.:
I’m afraid he does.
Whatever the change, I bet he didn’t like it, the first time he heard it.
So Command must know something.
And so do the Martians.
The first is Captain JEAN RAWLINS. 33, American, from Somerset County, Maine. He served with the 2nd Infantry Division, and fought in Afghanistan, where he was never wounded. The other is Captain JAMES DARLING. 32, English, a Grenadier Guard from Manchester. He once told his fellow captains how he was described by both his mates and his enemies as a “typical English gent” during Operation Telic.
CAPTAIN RAWLINS:
You think he’ll tell us about it?
What happened out there in the Argyre Frontier?
CAPTAIN DARLING:
By God, no.
Command’s too relaxed to give him a piece of that biscuit.
LIEUTENANT GEORGE KRAMER, S2 BATTALION INTELLIGENCE:
There you two go again, with the chit-chat.
And really, Darling?“That biscuit”?
This is Lieutenant GEORGE KRAMER. One of the intelligence staff officers. 34, American, from Manhasset, New York. He once made “one hell of a coffee” during his tour in Iraq.
CAPTAIN DARLING:
Always wanted to use it, dear George.
Do try to be more creative.
LIEUTENANT KRAMER:
Will do, sir.
I’ll be sending your tactical papers in color this time.
With Comic Sans.
CAPTAIN DARLING:
Please don’t, Leftenant.
CUT TO:
INTERIOR: HALLWAY, FIRST BATTALION HQ BUILDING HUB
The officers make their way outside. More staff officers, and enlisted fill the hallway. Somewhere to go, and something else to do.
CAPTAIN DARLING:
I can tell you this though.We cannot afford to underestimate the Confederacy.
Same goes for their followers.
LIEUTENANT KRAMER:
Not now too.
Last I heard, they were threatening to “take” Olympus Mons.
CAPTAIN DARLING:
Let them try.
The Martian’s best is out there, eager for a fight.
LIEUTENANT KRAMER:
You think Kilo Charlie wouldn’t like that?
CAPTAIN DARLING:
“The Confederacy”, dear George.
Not “Kilo Charlie”.
As they keep walking towards the exit, Captain DARLING notices Captain RAWLINS using his Link, with the look filled with understandable worry. He walks up to him.
CAPTAIN DARLING:
I’m assuming you’ve told him.
CAPTAIN RAWLINS:
Pays to be prepared, Jimmy.
The guys on the ground won’t like the news either, especially him.
Especially with their assignment today.
CAPTAIN DARLING:
I understand.
Captain Rawlins tucks away his Link, and heads out with the officers. Marching with the silent confidence in him he has for his men.
Free for All - Episode 3: Unit Cohesion (Part One: Running For Time)
FADE IN
08:00:19 AM (MARS TIME)
INTERIOR: THE LIEUTENANT COLONEL’S OFFICE
Here, behind the obvious looking commanding officer’s desk, sits the man in charge of first battalion. Lieutenant Colonel ANDREW COSTA.
The desk is organized well. The nameplate’s shined up. The mini Union Jack flag pole is seen upfront, just beside the nameplate. Papers, and books piled up, accordingly. Pens all lined up by color. The lieutenant colonel is quiet to himself. As he looks on at the pile of documents to be signed, and the one document marked “Formerly Restricted Data” sitting dead center of his desk. He flips around his regimental cap badge like a coin.
Then, a knock on the door.
LIEUTENANT FOWLER:
(Voice-over)
Sir.They’re here.
LIEUTENANT COLONEL ANDREW COSTA:
Yes, send them in.
His guests enter. Four men in combat ready uniforms of the Army branch of the UNGAC. The first three all have similar markings of a captain. While the last has a markings of a lieutenant. They stand at attention, and salute their commanding officer. COSTA stands up from his desk, and eases them down.
LIEUTENANT COLONEL COSTA:
(Continued)
My apologies, for calling you all here, gentlemen.
But it seems, we’ve had a bit of a change in plans.
TITLE CARD
FREE FOR ALL
EPISODE TITLE APPEARS
EPISODE THREE
UNIT COHESION
JUNE 25/TULA 07, SOL SATURNI, 07:45:58 AM (MARS TIME)
CAMP LEE MARVIN, FORWARD OPERATING BASE “JACE MALCOM”
SOMEWHERE IN THE ARCADIA QUADRANGLE (MC-03)
GRAPHIC: A RESTED M44/A1 RIFLE CARBINE IN A CORNER, DAY
EXTERIOR: BRAVO HUB 46, DAY
We see Lieutenant JAKE PASCO. 30, American, from the First Infantry Division, “The Big Red One”. You can even see it on the left shoulder of his Carbine suit, three big letters in red “B.R.O.”.
He is preparing for his daily ritual, an early morning run around the camp. Deep breaths inside his breather mask, a few short jumps, and some stretches to keep his body strong.
This particular rifle is a favourite of his. It is rested by his hub “porch”. He checks the time. With no more time to waste on the little things, he grabs his rifle and goes for the run. He sings a little cadence as he does.
Meanwhile…
CUT TO:
08:17:29 AM (MARS TIME)
EXTERIOR: VEHICLE MAINTENANCE FACILITY 011/“ARTOO’S”, DAY
Sun beats down on the roof of Artoo’s. It’s got the vibe of a typical gasoline/diner place you see in the movies, except without the lone hero going in there just to shoot the place up. The place is closed for now. Metal and industrial canvas, with a pinch of leftover construction parts. We see the outside wall, decorated with “street art”, and a beautiful pin-up art of a girl in a yellow jumper that serves as the pinnacle.It makes people feel right at home, they say.
We see a few vehicles outside, mostly utility vehicles. They are marked with either a “Needs Repair” or “Parts Donor” sign/s. Then we see a guest, waiting for opening time, the first in line here.
This is Sergeant SAMYLIN PETRENKO. 36. Buff, inside his Carbine suit. A former airborne soldier, and a veteran of the Second Chechen War. Now on Mars, he is the head of another maintenance facility that deals with weapons. And he’s been very good at his job in handling the arms here in the F.O.B.
He’s standing proud just beside a very large box, like a General surveying a beautiful sight.
He then turns around, greeting someone.
SERGEANT SAMYLIN PETRENKO:
Good sol, Corporal Simmons.
The guy he greets, is one Corporal CHRIS SIMMONS. 26, a Canadian Mechanical Engineer. He walks towards the workplace, and his first guest of the day. Most of his “customers” here say that he’s got a knack for machines. To the point that some suspect he could talk to them, in a spiritual sense.
CORPORAL CHRIS SIMMONS:
Good sol to you too, Sergeant.
SERGEANT PETRENKO:
Overslept?
SIMMONS starts to open up shop.
CORPORAL SIMMONS:
Nah.
Jake just told me to rest more.
She thinks I don’t get enough sleep.
His eye turns the big box just behind the Russian Sergeant. The box marked “Alkaev Arms Section, 40x46 mm Automatic”.
CORPORAL SIMMONS:
(Continued)
Is that it?
SERGEANT PETRENKO:
Da.
One brand new automatic grenade launcher turret, fresh from the factory.50 rounds of pure fragmentation firepower.
CORPORAL SIMMONS:
Lord have mercy.
SERGEANT PETRENKO:
(In Russian)
Amen.
His eye turns elsewhere, and Sergeant Petrenko notices it too. In a distance, and passing by a TX-50 forklift vehicle. We see Corporal “Joker” Ocampo, and Specialist Rumer Jose gunning for the entrance at Artoo’s. Their faces show a relief that they made it on time, and a worry of how long their errand will take.
In another universe, Allison lives. A few years down the line, her Alpha squad crash-lands in the universe where she didn’t.
Today, this fic returns from the war with a bit of a filler chapter. Next update on the 19th, hopefully.
“Agent Carolina! And, uh, Agent Carolina?”
Carolina looks up from the intelligence she’d been reviewing with her counterpart and Epsilon to see Andersmith, out of armor, looking between the two of them.
“What do you want, Andersmith?” She’s not nearly as annoyed as she sounds. She could use the break. It’s…effective, to work with someone who thinks so similarly,
But at the same time, there are things she misses. She has complete confidence in the loyalty of the soldiers, doesn’t think to consider betrayal. She’s more casual than Carolina was at her age.
But she has that same kind of fire to lead, and more than that, to do right by her people. Good. She’ll need that, no matter what the world.
“It’s Agent Washington, sir. Our visitors—” He sneaks a discreet look at Carolina’s counterpart. “—showed up at the training session, so I went to find Captain Tucker, and Captain Tucker sent me to find you. Agent Washington’s gone.”
Carolina is on her feet immediately, Epsilon gone silent in her head. “What do you mean gone?”
“He ran off. I don’t know where or why. Captain Tucker told me to find you, he’s at the smaller training ground now.”
Carolina spins to confront herself. “Did you—”
“No. I didn’t know anything about this.” And she’s angry about that, Carolina can hear it. That’s definitely a “someone’s going to pay” tone.
“I’ll be right there.”
“I’m coming—”
“No.” Carolina stares herself down. She can’t afford to appear divided, especially not so literally. “I can move faster on my own. You go see what happened to the rest of your team.”
She hesitates, but nods. Epsilon activates Carolina’s speed mod almost before she’s ready, and they’re gone into the camp.
Maine lifts the busted bench off the floor and throws it out the door, right over the head of one of the baby soldiers. They yelp and duck, throwing themselves to the floor like he might actually hit them with it.
Please. Like he doesn’t know how to throw a chair.
Whether or not it’ll actually be of any use is up in the air. Or, well, not, since the ship crashed. Whatever.
The point is that it’s metal and molded plastic, there’s a use for it somewhere. Probably.
“Maine!”
He looks up from examining the rest of the wall to see if anything else can come out to see Niner crossing her arms at him.
“Was that really necessary?”
Everyone’s a critic.
Maine shrugs at her, because he can’t do everyone’s thinking around here, and then goes back to looking for things that need removing.
“I could use your help in the engine, if you’re done terrorizing our hosts,” Niner tells him. “It survived the crash pretty well, and there’s a lot we can salvage.”
Maine ends up taking out everything, just because even if something is broken, it’s blocking other unbroken parts. With the state of the body, this thing is never going to fly again.
He keeps having to stop and check behind him, because more of the baby soldiers keep showing up behind him and whispering. The hiss hiss hiss keeps getting on his nerves, and more than that, makes him think he’s about to be ambushed. Turning and glaring at them just makes them squeak, and then they keep whispering.
He ends up blasting music through his helmet to drown them out, steadily emptying more and more of the engine out of the Pelican.
This means that he ends up missing someone trying to get his attention until Florida waves his hand around in front of Maine’s helmet, forcing him to turn off the rap blasting through his ears.
“Thanks, bud. It looks like we’re heading back now. Tried to get your attention on the radio, didn’t have much luck.”
“Why?”
“Seems there’s been a bit of trouble at the camp.” Florida hooks his thumb over his shoulder to where Carolina had showed up and started talking to Niner. “Carolina wants us back now.”
Maine sighs and hauls all the engine parts onto a tarp before bringing the corners together and slinging the makeshift sack onto his back. “Lead the way.”
He thinks he hears one of the baby soldiers squeak out “Ten bears!” as he and Florida walk past.
Carolina scowls at the group in front of her, even though they can’t see it behind her helmet.
Tucker had walked off as soon as he’d seen her arrive, only stopping to let her know “this fucking mess is now your problem.”
She can’t blame him.
The freelancers had grouped up. That might have been the most surprising part—as the main instigator, she’d have expected York to be standing alone, the others trying to distance themselves from him.
But instead, they’re all gathered behind him, standing in solidarity.
Carolina tries to remember a time she’d seen her team arrayed like this, and can’t.
That almost helps.
“Would any of you like to tell me exactly what happened here?” she asks, pitching her voice menacingly on purpose.
“I asked to spar with Agent Washington, out of armor. He agreed, and he won—and then he—” York shakes his head. “I don’t know what happened. He reacted badly.”
“He ran.” North speaks up from where he’s standing with the group. “None of us knew to stop him.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t.” Carolina does not let her fists clench. “I don’t know why you were here, or what you thought would happen. Frankly, I don’t want to know. I’m not going to hold you responsible for this, but I assure you, should anything similar happen, you will be first on my list.” She crosses her arms and stares them down, because running isn’t an option here. “I suggest you find something to do that doesn’t disturb the workings of this camp further.”
<Harsh.>
<They started it.>
The freelancers leave, but CT hesitates, looking back.
Carolina keeps up the stare, focusing on her helmet until she turns around and follows the others.
“Now,” she says, turning to face the lieutenants. “Since Agent Washington is no longer available, I will be finishing this training session.”
Andersmith jogs up just as the other three let out groans.
<Really harsh.>
<Shut up.>
The general was generous enough to give their team an entire hallway to themselves—though Connie thinks that may have been less generosity, and more a desire not to let too much about them be known.
This means they have five rooms for everyone, plus a bathroom, which is helpful since the current meeting just goes to prove that while they can all fit themselves into a single bedroom, it’s very cramped and no one’s happy about it.
Connie herself is currently wedged under the bed North and South are sitting on, after having swept the room for any electronic surveillance and setting up a few baffles of her own. Carolina and York are squished onto the other one, Florida curled up underneath them and Wyoming to his right. Niner’s furthest from the door, Maine closest, because he needs to stretch out his legs in between the beds.
It’s a good thing Wash isn’t out of the med bay yet, because Connie isn’t sure they could have fit him in here if they had to.
“So,” Carolina says as soon as Connie and Florida give the all-clear. She probably shouldn’t be able to sound so intimidating while her shoulder’s pressed up against York’s and he’s elevating his bad leg by propping it up on top of her outstretched ones. “What do we know?”
“Wash has issues,” South mutters, swinging one leg a bit too close to Connie’s face. “That’s new.”
“Major issues.”
“The troopers seem to know what they’re doing better than they did on our world,” North remarks. “Tucker diverted me pretty well when I tried to go after him. If I tried that with the Tucker we knew, I’d probably have been able to get some vital information out of him before he even realized what I was doing.”
“They don’t trust us,” Connie offers, pushing South’s leg to the side.
“That’s obvious,” Wyoming mutters. “The first thing they told us was that all of us were dead.”
“They really don’t trust us.” Connie can tell from the soft clicking noises that York’s playing with one of the fidget toys he always keeps on him as he speaks.
“They’re scared of me.” Maine’s voice is an even lower rumble than usual.
“That’s nothing new,” Niner scoffs.
“No, they’re…” he lets out a frustrated noise, like he’s looking for a word. “The soldiers from this planet. They’re gossiping. And arguing. And pointing.” He shakes his head. “They knew about me, but not about any of you.”
“That’s something.”
“Why?” Carolina taps her fingers on York’s knee. Connie isn’t sure she’s even realized she’s done it. “We know they would know about me and Wash, but—why you?”
“And why would they know enough to be scared? If we never wound up in Blood Gulch, where did they meet you?”
“Who died first?” Florida’s voice is low, nothing like the tone he usually puts on.
The rest of the team starts trading glances, and Connie sucks in a breath.
“That is the question, isn’t it.” Carolina sounds lost in thought. “Alpha doesn’t have any ideas.”
Or if he is…he’s not telling you, Connie thinks. Alpha loves getting new information. The odds that he hasn’t done some digging of his own already are slim to none. The odds that he just isn’t sharing it with them? Much higher.
If Alpha ever detaches himself from Carolina and goes back to jumping around, Connie is definitely going to press him for answers.
“Not just who,” Wyoming says, carefully. “Why? And how?”
That keeps everyone quiet.
“Wash still fights like himself, sort of,” Connie says, when no one else comes up with anything. “He’s more…brutal, now. He doesn’t hold back. I wouldn’t want to face him head on in CQC, not if he can take down York.”
“I had a bad leg, stop maligning me.”
“I’ll malign you as much as I like.”
“Oh, knock it off, both of you,” Niner grouses, sliding further down the back wall. “My ship is even more broken now, and we’re not fixing it anytime soon. Which means we’re not getting off this planet anytime soon, and forget about going home.”
“Always a shining beacon of optimism, Niner.” North shifts on the bed, making it creak ominously over Connie’s head.
“Watch it!”
“Watching it.” He holds still.
“So what are we going to do?” South asks, deliberately nudging her brother and eliciting more shrieks from the bed because she lives to torment Connie.
“Wait for Wash to get out of the medbay, first of all. We need to stay together for this.” Carolina swings York’s leg off of hers and scoots off the bed. “Then…wait and see if they want us to do anything. First step to getting home is getting off this planet, which means this conflict has to be over. So we’ll help the people who know better than any of us how to stop it. Until then—don’t antagonize our allies. And make sure you leave this Wash alone.” She reties her ponytail, quickly and efficiently. “And with that, we should go before anyone comes looking for us.”
Tucker’s plan to spend the rest of the day avoiding Wash is pretty effectively ruined by the way Wash apparently decided to spend the rest of the day avoiding him and every single other person on base. He ends up looking all over for Wash after lunch, before Dr. Grey pops out of nowhere to drag him back to the medbay for a check-in.
“Now, I don’t have the resources of the full hospital out here, so it’s very important that you not injure yourself too badly while recovering,” she tells him, examining the remaining stitches on his stomach. “Which could be very easy to do if you go around trying to fight highly trained professional soldiers. As your doctor, I would advise…not doing that.”
“I’m not going to fight them, I’m not an idiot.”
“Oh, good. I was hoping you hadn’t, but well, half the gossip around base says you already punched the one whose leg I sewed up, and you did already try to fight two of them at once, so I just wanted to remind you.”
Dammit, Palomo.
“Anyhoo, it looks like you’re all set! The last of these can come out now.”
Yaaaaaay.
After Dr. Grey pulls out the last few stitches and sends him off, Tucker ends up standing guard duty until dinner. He makes it to the mess hall late, and tells himself he wouldn’t have run into Wash anyways.
He goes to bed early and stares at the ceiling for a long time.
The next day, Wash is at breakfast again, sitting as far away as possible from the table where the weird alternate universe freelancers are eating but still there. Tucker tries not to stare at him over the scrambled whatever that the cooks have come up with today.
It must not work, because Wash looks up and asks, “What?”
“Nothing.”
He’s spared from making further conversation by Caboose, who’s happy to talk about how he gets to go look at the spaceship today.
“Because they said they need someone strong! And I am very strong!”
“Yes you are, Caboose.”
“I think the purple lady is coming, too. You know, the one you shot, Wash! Are you friends? Because I shot Church and he is still my bestest friend, but I have shot some other people and they are not my friends anymore.” Caboose’s voice trails off as Tucker stares at Wash hard enough to hopefully bore a hole through his thick skull. “You know, I don’t know where they are. I hope they are not hiding from me. Cause that would be mean.”
“You shot the purple chick?”
Wash takes a sip of coffee and doesn’t make eye contact, like he’s hoping if he pretends he isn’t there hard enough Tucker will believe it.
“You shot the purple chick.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Like when you were trying to kill all of us?”
“…Before that.”
“It was when he was with me and Church!” Caboose sounds pleased. “And we were just good friends going on an adventure together. Like right now! But with less pirates. And less friends.”
“Wow,” Tucker says, flatly. “Just. Wow, dude.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Wash shovels down the last of his toast and clears away his tray, still not making eye contact.
Tucker doesn’t yell after him today, because one almost-interrogation was enough and the Caboose trick probably won’t work twice. He just groans and narrowly avoids faceplanting in his plate when he thunks his head against the table.
“Hello Mr. Florida!”
“Hey there, Caboose. Ready to go check out a spaceship?”
“I am. I really am. Goodbye, Tucker!”
The Florida guy sounds kind of familiar. Tucker decides he’s going to worry about that…much, much later.
“About time,” Niner gripes when Florida finally shows up, trailing someone tall in blue armor. “I was worried York was going to start telling lightbulb jokes.”
York, who Carolina decided to send out of camp today, manages to convey offense through his helmet.
“Sorry about that. Had to collect our new strongman.”
Maine snorts. “Thanks for replacing me.”
“Oh, I just thought we could get more done with more people. This fine young fellow here is Caboose!”
Niner’s attention, which had been wandering to the ignition of the warthog, is suddenly recaptured. She hasn’t gone by her last name for a good two years now, but the sound of it still grabs onto her hindbrain.
Her hand doesn’t freeze on the key, though, until she hears his voice. “Hello! I am Caboose. I hope we can be friends.”
She stays frozen for all of thirty seconds, her breath caught in her lungs, before she yanks off her helmet and spins around to demand, “Mikey?”
