The Human Defense fleet is split into 3 main branches. The first two go through the same academy, later being separated into Marines or Mariners. Every Navy corps member can serve as a Marine rifleman, and every Marine can substitute into simple naval jobs. In regard to changes to conventional Far Gone Earth infantry forces, a major change for HDF Marines is that there are far fewer officers, relying on naval officers to serve in place of low-level officer roles. Most duties fall on Noncommissioned officers, and some mid-tier to high-tier marine officers. Marine officers can be picked from any enlisted rank and elevated to the position if they show the aptitude for leadership. This can and has resulted in corporals being elevated to ranks such as major or higher, seeing as low rank equivalents of O-1, O-2, O-3 do not exist within the Marine ranking structure, instead relying on the Navy for equivalent roles. Considering Marines have never been deployed for long-term assignments, and they are always working and living close to their Navy counterparts, this has so far never caused any issues.
Unknown author text commonly repeated in human scholastic textbooks
Grimoire, Starboard habitat, Sara’s room. Nick
The relative calm that had beset Canine when playing games like old times with Sara lingered even as he left, propping her sleeping head with a pillow so she wouldn't wake up with a crick in her neck before he went. Looking at her made him feel like his break from reality drifted away with every breath she took, like leaves on a porch blown away by a warm gust of wind.
He had taken the opportunity to try playing Armored Core 6, carefully linking his comm unit to her computer and hoping he hadn’t somehow changed a setting on her computer she would later chew him out for.
With his earphones on, the opening cinematic, music, characters, and the grim dark universe of Armored Core 6 pulled him in and immersed him in a fictional escape from reality. A growing ember of anger, fanned by fear, started to smolder in the back of his subconscious as he played. The cherry red cole growing to a fire in his belly and a restlessness in his soul.
He lost track of time and didn't care enough to check it after he left Sara’s room. His only consideration that caught his attention was making sure Sara was covered with a blanket and carefully buried in pillows. Everything else around him was ignored through the cold fog of logic, repressing the fires in his mind. If only until he needed the coal in the pits of his fear to let loose the flames to bend to his task. He stalked down the halfway, praying to a god he no longer believed in that none of it would matter. Not the training, the readiness of HFS Grimoire, or him would ever need to be ready. But that wasn’t his job to hope for the best. His job was to prepare for the worst.
3 days later, Grimoire, Cargo bay 5, commandeered by marines for training
Gunnery Sergeant Qurtez breathed his overwhelming frustration into the air rather than vent it at his Marines with another rebuke. The only one needing oversight was him, keeping his own foul mood from boiling over and distracting him from his platoon's current assignment. Ever since the embarrassment of the ship-wide drill, he was, for the first time in years, wishing that there was an officer to look over his shoulder, if only so he could kick all the shit up the chain to let them sort out. But as the highest non-commissioned officer, all that shit that could roll up hill fell on him. Technically, there were the logistics and support officers, but none of them had him and his Marines directly inside their chain of command. Certainly, Flight Defender Canine didnt share the same direct chain of command, but that hadn’t stopped him from commandeering his rawest, most problematic Marines to make a fool out of the rest of them. Rumors of Canine's rampage of debriefing meetings with different departments had reached his ear just before the stick jockey had made his Marines his special project for the last few days. Gunnery Sergeant Quartez didnt have to guess when Canine was going to swing by this time. A bridge officer who was similarly razzed by Canine's crusade through Grimoire had obliged him with access to tracking data on Canine, so he couldn’t surprise Qurtez or anyone collaborating with the black-haired sensor operator. Gunnery Sergeant Qurtez had been surprised to hear of the dressing down Canine had given first watch when he had stormed the bridge. While he was sure the bitter sensors operator had exaggerated, the following days of changes to the bridge operations, including her notification of pending reassignment to the third watch, showed there was support from the Captain. Captain Abrams wasn’t the kind of leader who would let that kind of stunt on his bridge unless there was a good reason. A reason he hoped to learn at the meeting he was about to go to.
5 minutes later, Grimoire, Captain's office
Selena was early, as was everyone else except Canine. He had set the meeting to discuss further readiness drills. She knew, as the opfor coordinator, that he was going to be laying out the second full ship drill. Everyone in attendance had gone behind his back to meet thirty minutes early. Selena wasn't privy to the why, but she had a few guesses. As effective as Canine had been in a few short days, he had made no friends and plenty of enemies with his rough, heavy-handed approach mixed with a weirdly forced, uncaring disposition to the crew. Selean reflected on her conversation with him about being a little more empathetic or softer during his meetings with people. She knew that he was far less abrasive and more sympathetic to the crew despite his harsh lectures and drills, thanks to her close working relationship with him, and how Dribbles spoke of him on nights when Selena shared a bed.
‘He never does anything without a reason, he's still as coiled tight as he always is when he's doing something he feels strongly about, but, if I'm being honest with myself, he has changed. He's not the same guy I group with, even if he is still the same friend. But a lot of the time I feel like I'm talking to a different person. I know he's been through a lot lately, that I can’t understand what he's thinking anymore, or how he feels.’ Dribble had told her during pillow talk. Although he refused to elaborate on what exactly Canine had been through the last few years. She pondered the man who was systematically shaking up her ship. Whatever it was, it shouldn't be any excuse for how intense he's being. Could it?
The Captain cleared his throat as the last division leader arrived just in time to be 30 minutes early, everyone was her except Canine. Sara suppressed a smirk at seeing Gunnery Sergeant Quartez checking his wrist comm yet again. No doubt checking Canine’s location with that nefariously obtained location checking data. Selena herself had caught the recently reassigned sensors operator abusing the emergency system, but after talking with XO Jean, they had decided to bust them both about it later. Canine had been a little out of control lately, and the thrashing he had given the Marines yesterday was uncalled for. Probably the inciting incident that brought everyone here today.
“As everyone is aware, we're meeting early due to yesterday's unnecessary infirmary visits by a handful of Marines. While I intend to take further action after this full meeting is adjourned, I will stress that I would not have allowed Canine so much lateral movement if it wasn't completely necessary we be prepared for possible contingencies.” Captain Abrams spoke as everyone took a seat around a hollow tube that descended from the ceiling. These holographic tubes were filled with a liquid medium that helps facilitate 3D projections. A multi-directional set of screens appeared so that everybody had at least one that they could see clearly.
Jacket Klem, the odd addition to the meeting, at least in Selena’s opinion, cleared his throat. Captain Abrams nodded and gestured to him.
“While I also agree that M… Canine reasoning for his overzealous behavior, I do not agree with every method he has employed so far, while omitting arguably pivotal information. Please understand that there are things we have both encountered in fourth-dimensional space and elsewhere that justify the oddly specific focus of training and scenarios that most have had issues with. I intend to share any information Canine himself does not share before the end of this meeting on the matter.” Jacket Klem said. Everyone responded in some manner of nods, dismissive waves, and even a few disgruntled ‘humphs’ from the more xenophobic-inclined division leads.
“Gunnery Sergeant?" XO Jean managed to ask in a way that was both a question and a command. Quartez stood up and swiped something on his comm to be sent to the holo tank.
Nothing surprised Selena about the footage from yesterday's event that they were about to watch because she had seen it twice already. Although it was clear from the reactions of most in attendance that this was their first time. She leaned back, ready to watch the events unfold again of Canine's little combat Exercise that sent three Marines to the infirmary.
13 hours earlier, Grimoire Aft hallways
The halfway was a short connection between two longer main hallways that served as major arteries to the rest of the ship. This hallway in question, that the marines were traversing between, only had two rooms, one to the port side, and the other to the starboard side of the hallway. Music in the distance was growing closer and louder as the forward element of the patrol neared the end of the hallway. What was thought to be a crewman in the distance listening to a rendition of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ originally by Nirvana but covered with an a acapella sound compared to the original, with humming and stomping of feet as the background keeping beat to the rhythm. A growing sense of unease.
Someone called a halt at the front, gun raising with a cacophony of small clicks, fabric ruffling, and straps sliding or tightening as the platoon took better positions to create better firing lanes or take cover out of the way. Some marines swiveled to watch the rear while an NCO gestured at the doors to either side of the hallway. Without missing a beat, four-man teams stacked up and breached the rooms like water flowing into a basin, perfectly drilled room clearing that rewarded the platoon with two all-clears.
“Clear”
“Clear”
Just in time for the tension to kick up as the maintenance bot rounded the corner. Their OODA loop predisposed disposition to act upon the maintenance bot as a threat was reset as they observed the dancing goat atop its head. The sight caught them all completely off guard, confused and hesitant. Not ready for the rear attack.
A staccato of simulation rounds barked at their heels as if they were the lethal big brother rounds that could threaten even an armored Marine's suit. In a rush of return fire, the platoon scattered to the alcoves of the two rooms, and the first squad opted to rush the other end of the hallway, where the maintenance bit and still dancing goat had distracted them.
Everything else happened in seconds. One of the opfor on the right side is shot and goes limp in view of the hallway. The single rifle's response on either side of the hallway falters as the downed opfor is pulled out of the way to safety. The left side picks up its fire, confirming the four opfor were all at the end of the hallways where they came from. But before a counterattack could be formed, two of the three remaining opfor lay heavy fire on the two alcoves as the third lobs smoke grenades not just in the middle of the hallway but into the rooms as well. Visual obscurity became worse as the lights went out just as the damn goats dance music sang.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Turn the lights off! It's less dangerous!”
The opfor hesitated to advance, losing their momentum. They should have pushed, or so Gunnery Sergeant thought. His men had barely gotten adjusted to nightvision software on their visors kicking in, their eyes adapting to the dark. Just in time for them to be ultimately blinded by the flash bangs. Then, opfor rushed.
Even with the well-timed attack, three opfor Marines weren't enough to take on the platoon, even if it was half-strength from the initial attack. They hadn't known Canine was rushing them as well from the other end of the hallway. Heavily clad in Black and red striped heavy marine armor. The bulky armor could stand up to most hard rounds that would threaten damage to surrounding ship infrastructure, and the soft rounds that Marines usually feared would have no effect. Any simulation they were to fire upon Canine with wouldn't do anything to stop him. So, as was standard practice with heavy armor such as that, melee weapons were drawn to counter it. Exactly what they had been training for.
The first notice of Canine's attack was the marine next to Gunnery Sergeant Quartez dropping from pistol fire. Without missing a beat, another marine struck Canine, engaging in a grapple. As the two wrestled, the gun fell out of Canine’s hand, only for Canine to pick up his opponent and slam him on the ground, giving him enough time to draw a crackling stun baton. What followed was underwhelming, considering someone who had been brazen enough to rush a room full of eight HDF Marines was barely better than any of the Marines in a one-on-one fight. Even outnumbered, Canine managed to incapacitate two more Marines. The stun button was inches away from Gunnery Sergeant Quartez’s face when a well-placed chair caught Canine in his helmet, both the stun baton and its wielder spinning away from. By the time the Gunnery Sergeant made it back to his feet, three marines were pinning Canine arms behind his back, and another was hunched over helping Quartez to his feet.
The last Marine had picked up the broken stun baton and was getting ready to strike Canine. The loud thwack it made was the same as Quartez had heard several times already, realizing that wasn't the first time he had stuck Canine.
“Hold, that's enough,” Quartez called.
Too late, this last strike set off a chain of motion as if Canine had been a coiled spring that was wound far too tight to be safe.
First, he kicked one of the marines behind his shin, a loud crack punctuating the breaking of sinew and bone. Canine simultaneously head-butted one of the Marines on his other side, breaking the man's nose with his heavy helmet. Finally semi-free, he grabbed the incoming baton stroke by the wrist and twisted in a flurry of movement that both threw and broke the Marine's arm in three places. Then Canine dashed backwards, removing his helmet to scream.
“Drills over drills over, has been over!” Canine still held a fight stand, holding his helmet in his dominant hand, looking ready to turtle fuck anyone dumb enough to attack him.
Then that was it, three marines to the medbay along with Canine to get himself checked for a concussion. There had yet to be any debrief due to the injury, no analysis of the drill or lesson to learn from. The closest thing to it was thirteen hours later, at the meeting the next day.
13 hours and 25 minutes later, 5 minutes before the originally planned meeting time, Captain’s office, Nick
Canine rubbed his sore neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to forget the constant aches and pains from his mistake yesterday. The drill with Gunnery Sergeant Quartez and his Marine was successful, but Canine’s damaged helmet radio prevented him from ending the scenario. Faulty stun baton stacked upon his momentary slowing of his attacks to try and end the exchange only served to open him up for a flurry of attacks that just set him off.
Canine pinched his nose and closed his eyes, thinking of the first time in nearly a year that he had slipped into a rage dance, even if he didn’t fully lose himself like the first time. The amount of pain, blood, and high stakes of the first time he nearly fell into a rage dance made him push away the memory and thoughts of the berserker tricks he had picked up over the years.
Canine walked into the captain's office, immediately making eye contact with Gunnery Sergeant, an uncomfortable feeling of everyone's eyes boring into him more than usual as he approached the marine.
“Gunney, I need to apologize about yesterday. Your Marines showed excellent group tactics in CQC, and radio malfunction or not, I made mistakes that could have prevented mine and your Marine’s injury.” Canine said. Gunnery Sergeant Quratez blinked in surprise.
“Uh, well, all you did in the short run was give the three an excuse to miss PT for a few days and eat ice cream lounging in the med bay yesterday. But,” Quartz looked around the room without turning his head, his eyes lingering on those present. “We were meaning to talk to you about things like that before we begin.”
Canine looked around the room, a sense of unease sinking into him from all the eyes looking at him or looking away as if embarrassed. That was when he noticed the holo talk display, a three-dimensional rendering of the metal that had haunted most of his nightmares. The surprise of it triggered a flashback that happened to catch and process before it took hold, shoving the feelings where they needed to be until he had time in private to think. His eyes barely showed his reaction, he hoped.
“I shared the barest of information on the Tinman. It was obvious what you were trying to prepare them for, and I felt it was counterintuitive for them to train in the dark. You should also consider what else they should know if our worries about what we might find in the Rift should be shared with this ship.” Jacket Klem said. Canine restored the urge to glare, instead falling back on gazing at the hollow tank, hiding his emotions.
“In my defense, I did tell Captain Abrams.” Canine nodded to the captain
“You also made it clear that secrecy needed to be exercised,” Captain Abrams countered.
“And, I don't think that's changed.” Canine looked around the room meaningfully, both trying to impose the importance of what was about to be discussed, never should leave the room. Trying to hide his unease that had him feeling surrounded by a judicial review board instead of an office full of his peers. Not that the division leads were his peers, but they certainly weren't his superiors capable of ruining his career. With a sigh of resignation, Canine took a data stick out of a protective hard-shell leg pocket and inserted it. He didnt know where to start, what words to use, and still felt unease at sharing more than he wanted. A reassuring brownish orange leathery hand clasped Canine's shoulder, steadying him more emotionally and spiritually than physically.
“Made you coffee, over there.” Jacket Klem said, gesturing with his beak to the captain's desk, where a singular light brown bulb of liquid called to him. Canine nodded, recognizing it for what it really was, and escape, or an excuse to let Klem shoulder the discussion for him. But accepting that outright felt like surrender, like a failure on his part that only marked him as more than the failure he already was.
“Let me start with the elephant in the room.” Canine began, the holo tank's projection of a fuzzy rendering replaced by a proper 3d recreation of the machine. It stood roughly six feet tall, its body of segmented ribbon with no discernible joins despite the clearly humanoid structure and angles of its limbs. Canine tapped on the holo tank's console, and the Machine moved, simulating jabs, slashes, and jumps. Its skin shifted as if to accommodate every movement without the need for internal mechanisms. “Pay attention to the armored skin, it has no real weak points, but I found it is slightly easier to break, dent, and even sometimes shred individual pieces when they are less overlapping. I always suggest the upper arm, chest and lower belly, and pelvic area. If such terms can apply to a hollow suit of armor.” Canine could see Gunnery Sergeant Quartez studying the holo display with intense interest, but most of the room seemed stupide. Stupid was wrong of him to think, they all had their area of expertise, and this wasn't one of them. Most ships like this relegated defense and the off chance of combat to people like him and Quartez, and Canine had to remind himself that this was a Human Fleet Ship, not a Human Defense Fleet. The majority of HFS Grimoire had no idea how to even fire a weapon, probably something not even he could justify trying to change. His existence was solely so that the average human didn't have to. Humanity Fleet Ships weren't like Vik ships, or other dust systems colonies. It was his job to handle things like the TInman, even if he still wasn't sure he could. He had failed the first two times. If another showed up again, he felt like he was the only one who could delay it, but stopping it on his own, not in his dreams. He was far too weak compared to the giants that ran with him in the dust systems. Canine didn't notice the time tick by, only images of Berserks with shield armatures carving paths through whatever opposed them, the úlfhéenar moving in packs, charging as if one will exerted through many. Then, numerous shield men and shield maidens of the Viks that could unify as a bulwark on any ship, hallway, or battlefield, they pushed on. Of all the average combatants, he was always the smallest, like a bird challenging a bear for scraps. And the Tinman, always made mince mat of even the heroes among them. How much preparation and study of this opponent could tip the scales of a broken excuse for a Maverick like him?
“Are these… Tinman, the only threats we might find when looking for the wreckage of The Den?” Head Chief Sanders asked, a lifeline for Canine to latch onto, pull himself out of his doom and gloom musing.
“The Den isn't destroyed… I mean, uh,” Canine said the truth as if it were common knowledge. The idea that it was destroyed in the opening moments of the Free Bird event, coupled with the lack of any contact, even to people like him and Jacket Klem, never truly stuck in his head that common knowledge of most of the last year or more was simply blatantly false.
“But the entire basis of the contract for Grimoire is to establish the state of…” Someone behind him he didn't recognize, said, trailing off, realizing that they had all accepted a job, assuming that they simply were looking for a wreck, not a search for a missing ship. Not even the captain had known, even if his intellect had smelled something fishy about the contract, even if he had been outvoted by the majority of his constituents.
“I can and should have already broken down the possible opposition to you and a select number of your non-comms. I'm… sorry that I didn't trust you with that need to know.” Canine said with eye contact between him and Gunnery Sergeant Quartez. The Marine had a look of abject annoyance with a twinkle of understanding in his eyes.
“There a reason not to trust all of my Marines?” Quartez asked pointedly, but there was a way to save face if Canine was willing to be even more honest and open. But how much was liability, and how much was it truly need to know?
Canine was never a fan of this kind of work, and yet, with Ben on the Wojtek, he was the only Ranger adjacent member left of the KTF squad. The thought of the non-existent group of HDF shoulders, of their final moments next to him, of the secrets they shared. The weight of not even being able to speak of them, because Rangers never existed, even after death. It ate at him.
“Jacket Klem and I have encountered espionage over the past couple of years. Jacket Klem can give more details. I know he's been running across these abnormalities longer than I have known him. But to suffice, yes. It would not be new for HDF or HFS ships to have sympathizers or paid actors carrying out acts of treason or espionage. I truly don't know or understand, but because of it, I see trust as a liability. Jacket Klem, if you don't mind, I'm going to drink some coffee and let you take over.” Canine walked on wobbly knees to the chair in the corner of the room next to the captain's desk and sat down.
Tuning out the discussion, he focused on sipping the warm beverage, enjoying the sweet, smooth taste of the coffee made the way he liked it. He silently thanked Jacket Klem. They may be of a different race, a different creed, and born from a different life, but the Chirp always had his best interest in mind as Canine did him.
The occasional glance his way, the silent nod of understanding, or signs of camaraderie from those present didn't feel like encouragement. To him, each gesture felt like an acknowledgment of his brokenness, his failure. The warped reality seen through his psyche only further alienating him from those around him. The part of him that was failing every day to fight against the pessimism and wounded hole in his soul that threatened to engulf him in misery was losing yet again.
But then a hand reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. He looked up to see XO Jean firmly but gently squeezing his shoulder. A strand of gray hair broke away from her carefully done bun as she squeezed his neck before patting him on the shoulder one more time. Unarguably caring and reassuring him. There was no amount of pessimism and his mind that could argue that. And so he latched onto that just like he latched onto every single moment like it. Trying desperately not to just believe in himself but in humanity as a whole.
