Alex was nervous. The League’s High Command was patched in, their faces daunting in the blue-gray screens. He didn’t really know why he was called in with the Captain and Kaner. He’s just a grunt—a specialized grunt, sure—but like everyone else, he just shoots and kills the bad guys so that he could live for another day.
“Captain, we’ve been advising you, repeatedly, to pull your men out of C60601-6,”
“And your counsel is noted, Commander,” the Captain responded with an edge to his tone, clearly having rehashed this conversation repeatedly with High Command and getting fucking tired of it. “But we have enough offensive firepower to hold C60601-6—”
“—but not enough defensive capabilities. For chrissakes’ Toews, get your head out of your ass. You are vastly outnumbered and at a tactical disadvantage. You have no way of keeping those xenosoldiers out. Get out of there before we lose more men.”
Maybe it was the bond or the fatigue of pulling so many shifts with the Captain, but Kaner—polite, quiet, easy-going Kaner—finally snapped. “That is not on us, you fucking trumped-up asshole. You sent us here with nothing. No preparations, no direction, no backup. Our rations were limited, our men green recruits, our ammunition stocks dwindling by the day. Jonny and I are doing our best to keep everyone alive but what can you expect when we’re down to using knives against 600-pound xenosoldiers? Do not for a minute even think you can pin the blame on Jonny when you sent us here to die.”
Alex could practically see the High Command collectively taking a sharp breath. It was true. Their company was ill-equipped to fight.
“You are a trained soldier, Lieutenant Kane. Giving you a gun and a knife is preparation enough,” one of the generals said frostily. “Be glad that you’re a well-decorated and invaluable member of the Corps and we, in gratitude to your years of excellent service, will choose to let this misdemeanor slide. If we weren’t at war and your skills so highly in demand, you’d be facing the business end of a firing squad.”
Kaner fumed, silent. The Captain was still standing in attention, ramrod-straight, but he knew he was furiously communicating with Kaner to back down. For all of the Captain’s derision against the League, he was still a stickler for the chain of command. After a beat, Kaner nodded to the Captain, a small tilt of the head that was almost imperceptible to everyone except for Alex’s sharp sniper eyes.
The general, thinking that he’d won, sat back smugly. Major General Bowman spoke up, using the lull in the conversation to divert the topic that wouldn’t get the Captain or his lieutenant court-martialed.
“Sargent DeBrincat,” Bowman called.
“Sir,” Alex stepped forward and saluted smartly.
“You have 28 confirmed xenosoldier kills, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. And rising.” Alex said proudly, looking at Kaner. Kaner nodded approvingly.
“And who’s working with you as your spotter?”
Alex frowned. He could hold his own just fine. He didn’t have a spotter, nor did he need to. He hadn’t had one, not since—
Bowman didn’t wait for him to respond. “The USS Arizona has been in orbit since 0700 hours. They’ve sent down two of their men.”
Alex knew. He’d been praying that one of them wasn’t him. He’d taken extra shifts to make sure that he’d be out of sight and doubled up on the bond suppressants, to quash the tell-tale thrum of the connection.
“Your file says you’re bond-positive, is that correct?”
“And that you were in simpatico with one of the men in Fort Erie during your training, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir but—” Alex felt nauseous.
“This man, Lieutenant Strome, is one of the two that have been sent down by the USS Arizona. Your file says he was the one you were in simpatico with. It also shows that during the last year of your training, you suddenly filed for bond termination and was granted permission by the Corps to get bond suppressants.”
Alex nodded, mind racing to those last few days in Fort Erie. Dylan was already being touted for a future as an officer in the Corps. Alex didn’t know if the Corps would even select him, his mind already resigned to a dreary future of piloting supply ships or mechanical work in the spaceyards. Letting Dylan go so he wouldn’t be saddled with a nobody while he rose up in the Corps’ ranks was painful but Alex knew he was doing the right thing.
“You might have personal reasons for breaking your bond, but as you know, we are at war. USS Arizona has reported that Lieutenant Strome has been having problems with other bond-positives. A pity, since he was one of the most promising in his officer training class. He’ll be assigned to you as your spotter and you will rekindle that bond,” Bowman commanded, matter-of-factly. “Is that understood?”
(1712 Space Marine AU. Where Alex and Dylan are former bonded space marine ex-boyfriends who’re now reunited for mankind’s salvation. Tropes, tropes and tropes galore. For @kanerboo, @secretkanerblog and @princesspeeksy )
