Leonard glared at the angel. It wasn't easy. Waves of kindness and peace quite literally poured off of her.

"What gives you the right to do this without asking me?" He growled. "I don't know who Vi'Radia is, but I do know that here in America, you don't perform medical procedures without informed consent."

The Angel's serene expression faltered.

"I've lived a damn full life, and I was ready to finish it out as comfortably as I could," Leonard continued, "knowing that my Mary was waiting for me," he shook his head, "so thank you very much for putting off our reunion for another seventy years."

He was building up steam, "My children and grandchildren are going to have a hard time believing that I somehow regressed seventy years," he turned his attention to Waters, "you should damn well have known better, Corporal," he went on, "why are you hassling an old man? Go show someone from your prior chain of command your new arm. You ought to have active servicemen, not retirees, if this project is really that important."

Waters opened his mouth to speak, but Leonard had the bit in his teeth now. "Son, what the hell were you thinking? I'm just one man, and while I have kept up with the officers who served under me, you know as well as I do that a number of them have died, and a greater number of them still have wives and children and aren't going to be in any hurry to hare off on some damn expedition."

"You need to get your shit squared away, Corporal, and run this up your chain of command," he leveled a finger at the chastised Waters, "the way I know the Corps taught you."

"As for you," he turned his attention back to the Angel and sighed. It was hard to rail against an Angel, or an angelic person, or whatever she was. "You aren't from this world, right?"

She nodded.

"Take this as a lesson learned then," he warned, "don't go around doing things to people without asking."

"I'm sorry, sir," Waters said quietly, "I was looking for retired officers without spouses or young children, and I didn't think it all the way through."

"Why are you looking for retired officers?" Leonard asked bluntly.

"The man who figured out what was going to happen, the one who was blown into the other universe, he has..." Waters paused, appearing to consider his words. "A poor history with authoritative agencies and figures, here on our Earth."

Waters shook his head, "he wasn't even planning to bring in the Corps; he was recruiting Dungeons and Dragons players for the project," he sighed, "it was only dumb luck that he ran into my old Sergeant and wound up having to read him in, which is when we started getting things moving."

Leonard snorted. It was pretty clear to him why this man had never made Sergeant. He looked down at his hands again, flexing them open and closed, marveling at the lack of pain and the strength of his grip. "Youth is wasted on the young," he muttered.

He'd need to send the kids an email, letting them know he was going on a vacation to Korea. He'd been back a dozen or more times over the years, although not since Mary had passed. He'd fought for their country, and the people there were kind and respectful. In many ways, he'd left enough of himself over there that going back felt a little bit like going home.

They wouldn't suspect that anything was wrong, and he had all his bills set up on autopay, so that wasn't a concern.

"Since I can't walk around looking like this," he gestured to himself, "I might as well see what else you've fucked up, Corporal. Why don't you start locating your officers while I take steps to cover up the mess you've made."

Bob wasn't particularly pleased with his change in circumstances. His inventory was comfortable and quiet. He preferred his home above murmuring falls, but it was nice enough.

This business of being reachable all the time wasn't conducive to a good night's sleep. He yawned as he sat up, careful not to disturb Monroe, who was curled up behind his legs.

He was going to drive the Dungeon down to another floor today, which meant he'd need to test the radio to see if it worked that far underground, which he most sincerely hoped it did not, and then make people aware that he hopefully wouldn't be reachable because he was doing something important.

Standing up from the bunk, which he'd covered with a persistent effect mattress, he took the three steps necessary to wedge himself into the tiny shower.

Five minutes later, having showered, shaved, and pulled a sleepily protesting Monroe onto his Makres, Bob picked up his radio and pushed the button.

"Alpha Foxtrot Tango One, Alpha Foxtrot Tango One, this is Golf Victor Actual, meet me in the tavern, over."

He'd received a rather stern lecture regarding radio protocols, and he recalled most of it.

He headed down into the tavern and smiled at Helen, who was dishing up breakfast for a long line of Marines.

"Gulf Victor Actual, this is Alpha Foxtrot Tango One, roger, over." His radio spat out.

Bob hunched his shoulders uncomfortably as each Marine that caught sight of him gave him a respectful nod. He hurried over to a table in the corner, sliding Monroe down into the center and then slouching back into the chair behind him, hiding from view behind a veritable wall of kitty.

The first bunch of Marines hadn't acted like that. It was only the ones he'd never actually spoken to, who had just been faces in a long line of regeneration rituals.

Bob shook his head. He needed to think about the eighth floor.

At that moment, Mike sat down in the chair next to him, where he reached out to give Monroe a friendly rub on the head.

"Good morning," Mike greeted him.

"Morning," Bob nodded, "I wanted to let you know that I'll be working on the eighth floor today, and I doubt the radio will reach that far."

"Alright," Mike stretched the word out, "but we have a few things to go over first."

Bob winced as Mike pulled his tablet out of his vest.

"We're running out of food," Mike began, "while the supplies we brought over were not insubstantial, we have a lot of men to feed."

"What?" Bob asked, surprised. "I made sure I had edible monsters down there."

Mike frowned, "Yes, you did, and the Corps thanks you for introducing them to the wonders of the Oxcipine."

Bob wasn't good with people. But he was fairly certain that Mike was being sarcastic.

"They're basically Oxen, which are a kind of cow," Bob protested.

Mike's left eye twitched, and he scrolled down on his tablet. "The Oxcipine is covered in quills, ranging from six to twelve inches in length, and cruelly barbed. When engaged in ranged combat, it launches volleys of these spines, numbering in the dozens, at its attackers. When engaged in melee combat, it has the propensity to launch all of its spines, all at once, in every direction. Safety glasses are to be worn at all times," Mike finished.

Bob shrugged. "They make steak and burgers, right?"

Mike sighed and set his tablet down, fixing Bob with a look.

"Yes," Bob thought he could hear Mike grinding his teeth, "they do make steak and burgers, but someone has to harvest the corpse, which if it hasn't exploded in a quill apocalypse, is rather troublesome." Mike began, "Also, not all of our Marines have experience dressing and butchering animals. In fact, the number is smaller than you'd think."

"Further," Mike was just getting warmed up, "we can't live on meat and multivitamins alone. While we aren't going to suffer from scurvy, we do need vegetables with our meals, much as some of them think they can live on Monster Energy drinks and beef jerky."

Bob frowned. "I can make a couple of greenhouses," he offered, "and if you can get me,someone who doesn't want to fight, maybe Helen," he nodded towards the kitchen, "we can them have take an earth/plant/control earth/plant growth/ritual magic path, and they can grow up enough food for each shift with just a couple of rituals."

"Hell," he said, warming to the idea, "she'll even level up those skills pretty rapidly if she's dropping rituals every day."

"You should ask if she's even interested in that sort of work first," Mike sighed. "She's a retiree, Bob, and while she seems happy to help in the kitchen, she's earned her rest, and she might not want to go back to work."

"Don't you have any conscientious objectors?" Bob asked.

"No," Mike shook his head, "that was a thing during the draft, all of our marines volunteered, and killing monsters doesn't carry the same sort of moral weight as killing enemy soldiers."

"Ok, so maybe we can borrow some folks from Holmstead," Bob said thoughtfully, "I remember mentioning that to Bailli; I should see if she's found anyone."

"That's great, but in the meantime, we need an immediate solution," Mike advised. "The fact of the matter is that unless we're self-sufficient, we're going to need to look towards the government for help, which to be clear, we should do at some point in the near future."

Bob winced. He knew that eventually, the government would have to get involved. He just had a hard time trusting them.

"I'll talk to Helen first, and then I'll portal over to Holmstead to see if Bailli found anyone," Bob offered, "I'll also enchant some backpacks that can hold an Oxcipine, so the Marines can bring them back up, where hopefully the people I find in Holmstead can butcher them."

Mike shrugged, "I'll have a few men go back over with the Endless kids and take a run through a few warehouse stores, but you have to understand that we're working with very limited resources."

Bob knew that money was a problem. He didn't really have any, and from what he'd seen, the veterans who had all suffered some sort of crippling injury weren't wealthy either.

He shook his head. "Food issues aside, is there anything else?"

Mike shook his head, "Not really; I'm assuming that you want to handle allocating personnel to the eighth floor the same way we did to seventh?"

Bob nodded, "Endless Swarm needs to take priority; they're the ones who are going to produce the largest number of crystals per person," he replied.

"Alright," Mike tucked away his tablet and stood up, "I'll keep anything else that comes up on the back burner until you pop up this evening."

Bob looked at Monroe. "What do you think, buddy?" he asked the giant Maine-Coone. "Take a trip to Holmstead and find Bailli and Icy?"

Bailli was on cloud nine. The first eight she'd created hadn't been quite right, but the ninth try had proved to be the charm. It turned out that her Elemental form came with a very limited ability to shape that Element, so she'd decided to make a soft, comfortable chair made of clouds.

It ended up being more like slightly hazy air, but it was very comfortable. Erick had agreed wholeheartedly, and even Icy had accepted it as a worthy napping place.

She was eating breakfast in the tavern when she spotted Bob as he walked in, Monroe trapped across his shoulders.

"Bob!" she called out, waving him over.

"Hey, Bailli," Bob replied as he sat down heavily.

Bailli looked her friend over, then did so again, more closely. He looked weary in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"Just have a lot on my plate," Bob replied, "which is one of the reasons I'm in Holmstead this morning; did you manage to find anyone who was interested in cooking or growing food at Glacier Valley?"

Bailli nodded. "Yeah, I've got a couple of dozen volunteers who are willing to relocate," she lowered her voice, "Thidwell is doing the best he can, but we're up to twenty-five hundred people outside the walls, and things are getting a little rough."

"Our greenhouses are doing what they can, and Amber's place is really carrying some weight, but even so, people aren't happy about taking charity, and they're getting frustrated at how long it's taking to move people through the Dungeon," Bailli whispered across the table.

"Eddi and his bunch are helping a lot, but there are only so many slots in the Dungeon, and at this point, everyone knows that you don't want to level up to five without leveling up your skills in the Dungeon," she finished.

Bob nodded thoughtfully.

"I've got an empty first floor and a half-empty second floor," he'd leaned across the table as well and was keeping his voice down. "Figure by the end of the day, that'll be an empty second and third floor." He shook his head, "I've got plans for those floors, but I can spare thirty slots for a couple of days to level up folks who are willing to help but are also willing to accept that once they hit level five, they'll likely be stuck there for a while."

He squinted his eyes, and Bailli was struck by just how much responsibility he'd taken on. She reached out and held his hand gently. "I can easily find people who would be willing to stall their advancement for a while if it meant they'd have a place inside the walls and productive work." He squeezed her hand carefully. "Part of the problem is that people hate not having anything to do, so the promise of work plus the ability to level up to five will get some takers, even if they know they'll end up stuck for a while," she promised.

Bob grimaced and let out a groan. "Fuck, there's a wave coming, isn't there?"

"Another week, maybe a week and a half," Bailli agreed.

"Shit," Bob cursed, "I need to get some walls up before then."

"Assuming you've filled up that fortress you call an Adventurers Guild," Bailli nodded.

"I've got over a thousand people there," Bob muttered, freeing his hand to rub his temples.

Bailli blinked. She knew he was going to have ramped up the number he had, but that was quite a few in just a bit over a week.

"I'll see if I can get that guy who built the Adventurers Guild to help me with the walls," Bob muttered to himself before raising his head.

"Okay, can you bring the people out to Glacier Valley tomorrow morning, say an hour after sunrise?" Bob asked.

"Sure," Bailli agreed, as Theo arrived with a plate for Bob and a bowl for Monroe, who roused himself from his slumber to sniff the air and lick his chops as he eyed the steaming chunks of boar.

"Thank you," Bob said, "I appreciate the food, Theo, as does Monroe," he turned his gaze to her as Theo nodded, tossing them a smile before he turned and left, "and thank you for helping me with all this."

Bailli smiled and reached out to give him a pat on the shoulder, which Monroe had vacated in favor of breakfast. "Friends help each other out," she said simply.