SG Vol. 1 pt. 3 (Patreon)

Half of the base is evacuated by the time the sun rises.

That submarine left hours ago and the barrage from our naval support has continued all night.

Now, I’m sitting in my VSU’s cockpit tapping my feet and idly playing with the controls.

I could really go for a smoke right now, but I’d rather not write up another essay on how “sorry” I am for breaking protocol and smoking inside of the machine.

Fucking… they try telling me that the smoke might interfere with the hardware. Am I supposed to feel safe in something that’s vulnerable to smoke when going up against demons capable of melting through steel with plasma?

Dumbass rules.

Not even allowed to have a drink in here, and we’re not allowed to leave our VSUs until we’re secured on the carriers in case of “emergencies.”

“Sleep well?” I ask Hog 3 over the comms.

“Not at all, sir,” Hog 3 answers.

I figured that would happen.

“Sir, I heard some rumors about a submarine earlier. Do you – do you know anything about that?” he asks me.

“Was it in the briefing?” I ask him.

“No?”

“Then it doesn’t exist.”

“So… you do or don’t know any—”

“I know as much as you know, and that’s nothing.”

I swear if he tries to come up with even more small talk.

“So… you have a daughter, right?” he asks me.

For fuck's sake. At least he chose a worthwhile topic. “Yeah,” I answer.

“How old is she? If – if you don’t mind me asking.”

“She turned ten three days ago.” I already felt like shit for missing her birthday, and now I feel like even worse shit for missing her birthday over such a fucked mission.

“Really? How… you’re young, aren’t you?” he asks the question everybody always asks.

“I didn’t think protection was worth using when I was a teen. Now I know better.”

“You regret it?”

The fuck kind of question is that? I don’t know if he meant to ask me if I regret having my daughter, but that sure as fuck sounds like it. But, I know he’s just an idiot who asks idiotic questions without thinking about how they might sound, so I’ll try not to activate my systems and shoot him from over here. “Only regret is who her mom is.”

Now I’m pissed off because of his stupid question and making me think of that woman waiting for me at my home.

“S-sorry, sir. I’m prying again,” Hog 3 says.

At least he knows he’s going too far, even if I am answering his questions. “What’s your name again?” I ask him.

“Mason, sir. Mason Ford.”

“Alright, Hog 3.”

It’s another two hours before we’re loaded onto the carrier and finally allowed to get out of our VSUs.

Mason runs up to me as soon as he sees me, and I groan, but that doesn’t stop him from asking, “Want to get a drink, sir?”

“It’s still the morning and I don’t drink while on the water,” I answer. I’d rather not throw up. I can handle being on the ocean, and I can handle drinking, but I can’t handle both at once even if the waters are still. Must by something psychological. Regardless, no alcohol for me until I’m back on land.

Looking through the hangar bay, we lost a third of our VSUs.

“Sir, I’m curious,” Mason says.

“Of course you are, Hog 3,” I reply.

“S-sorry, sir. But… why couldn’t we just fly over with the birds? Couldn’t we have just stayed close enough to the water to avoid any long-range Cutter-class? I mean, if these ships can be out here on the water, wouldn’t they be vulnerable if we would have been?”

“You ask too many questions, and you’re only going to be disappointed if you try to discover the logic behind that sort of protocol bullshit. Same reason why they made us sit in our units until now even though there was literally fuck all stopping us from getting out.”

“But—”

“You came in on the draft, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“That explains it. You’re a draftee.”

“Aren’t you, sir? The draft has been in place for… well, since the forties, hasn’t it?”

“No. I enlisted as soon as I turned sixteen.”

“Why would—”

“You seriously ask too many questions, Hog 3. Go get drunk and pass out somewhere.” Fucking draftees. They’re all kids who put off enlisting for as long as possible.

“Sorry, sir. I just haven’t talked to a wolf before, so I want to learn more about you.”

It’s been a while since anybody has called me a wolf. No idea how that stuck, but I remember feeling pretty badass becoming a “wolf” when I first enlisted.

Now, that term means nothing to me. There’s no real difference between the draftees and us wolves at the end of the day. We just usually get killed at a younger age and they’re usually cowards or idiots.

“Maybe some other time,” I tell him. As much as I want to tell him to fuck off and never bother me with his annoying questions again, there’s no need to develop bad blood with anybody. Never know when somebody might be the one in charge of deciding whether I die or not later. Though, when I look him over again, there’s no way this puny pilot is ever going to become somebody.

Prove me wrong, kid.

“Yes, sir!” Mason says. We exchange salutes and then he runs off to probably look for somebody who can point him in the direction of alcohol.

I turn around and look my unit over.

Dried blood is splattered all over it. That fucking scorch mark on its leg wouldn’t be there if I still had both my eyes. I’m pissed off one of those bastards actually hit me even if it was just a graze.

I need a new eye, not a damn eyepatch. I’m a pilot, not a pirate.

That annoying engineer girl is going to give me so much fucking shit when she sees that I got my unit damaged.

“First Lieutenant Lance Adler,” a voice says from behind, causing me to sigh and turn around. “Come with me, sir.”

Looks like another draftee. No scars, soft looking hands… doubt he does anything hard or has ever seen combat.

Whatever the case is, I guess I’m following him.

I already have a bad feeling about this.

He brings me to where my commanding officer has set up a temporary office.

Great.

“I’ve brought the first lieutenant,” the man says, poking his head into the room.

I hear the annoying man within give the alright to send me in, and then the guy who brought me here opens the door for me.

Yep. There he is. Colonel Zane Hutton. The annoying man who’s my superior and—

“You’re safe!” Zane shouts at me, rushing up to me with open arms after abandoning all formality since the door was shut behind me.

“Seriously? Come on, you bastard. You know I’m not going to die,” I tell him, sticking my arm out to stop him from getting any closer to me.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about you! What am I going to do if you die?”

“You’re going to find some other pilot to cling to and annoy.”

“Come on, Lance. You know I couldn’t replace you like that! We’re brothers!”

“Don’t call me your brother when you can’t even tell me the truth behind these fucked ops. I saw the sub.”

Thankfully, Zane backs off and returns behind his desk to sit down. “You know I don’t like keeping secrets from you.”

“But you still do and still will.”

“You know I have to.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be pissed off at you anyways.”

“Always so cold to me, but I know you’re warm on the inside.”

Yeah? I don’t exactly feel “warm” right now. “I take it that you’re not allowed to say anything about the sub?”

“What sub?”

Fucking figured as much. “You could at least play stupid without smiling. That just makes you look and sound like an asshole.”

“You have to allow me to tease you when you’re always so mean to me.”

“No. No I don’t.”

This fucking man, who’s supposed to be a colonel of the damn United States Air Force, is fucking pouting at me.

“How old are you again?” I ask him with an annoyed sigh.

Zane smiles and shrugs before saying, “Seriously though, I’m glad to see that you are unharmed.”

“I told you already that I’m not going to die. I remember the promise we made.”

His eyes light up as a wide smile spreads across his face. “See? I knew you were warm on the inside! There’s no way you’d remember that silly promise of ours if you were as cold as you like to pretend to be.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Of course you aren’t. Now, as much as I would love to chat like friends—”

“We’re not chatting like friends. I’m just being annoyed by an overly-friendly commanding officer.”

He clears his throat and continues what he was saying, “As I was saying, I know you are not going to like this, but… you are being reassigned.”

“Haah? What do you mean I’m being reassigned?”

“You’re being rotated out to teach the next generation of pilots.”

"No I’m fucking not."

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not."

"Yes. You are."

No I'm fucking not, you dumbass.

"I know what you're thinking, but you still are," he says.

Fuck.