“Oof, I’m never going to get tired of seeing that.”

Jason paused in the act of peeling off his jumpsuit as he heard a distinctly feminine voice in an area that was very much not supposed to have any feminine presence at all.

Specifically, the male showers.

Well, ‘male’ was a bit of a misnomer. Up until the Terran First had occupied the Gentle River, they had just been changing rooms. A Shil’vati regiment didn’t usually have enough men in attendance that having segregated changing areas was any way economically viable. Instead, said men would just have to suck it up and deal with the leering.

Which was little different from basic training, really.

…Or they could make use of the no doubt standing offer to use the officer’s showering area. Because, of course, the officers had their own showering area. Still communal, but undoubtedly nicer than those used by the enlisted.

Of course, the Terran First did have men. A lot of them. A lot of women too. Which meant that the showering areas that had been previously divided by officer and enlisted had been switched to male and female, with the ladies taking what had previously been the officer’s showering area.

Which had caused some grumbling about favoritism, before it had been quite reasonably pointed out that the remaining officers among the regiment were almost universally women. More to the point, the officers shower had less showerheads per square inch of space. Which meant that if it had been given to the more populous male side of the regiment, they would have had to either share showerheads – something even a strident naturist might object to - or spend a very long time waiting in line to use them.

In the end, reason had won out.

Grudgingly.

Which begged the question…

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Jason asked, whirling around to face Friska.

Something he wasn’t alone in. He’d finally managed to wriggle into one of the regiment’s shipboard training exercises and had just been getting ready to shower off after – hopefully – managing to put in a decent enough showing. Which meant that showers were currently occupied by a good chunk of 2nd Company’s Third Platoon.

Though few had been quite as vocal as him, he hadn’t been the only one to speak.

“I just came down to ask if you’re the reason why my company has stopped acting like a bunch of scorned ex-wives.” Friska said, eyes obviously panning around the room. “And I figured I’d check on the status of the troops while I was down here.”

Jason frowned at the complete lack of professionalism. “Well you’ve checked now, Ma’am. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be out to speak to you.”

The purple woman seemed surprised by his irritation, which of course, only irritated him further. Still, she thankfully chose not to say anything else before slipping back out – though now without one final glance at the array of naked bodies on display.

Silence reigned in the showers, broken only by a continual spray of water.

Finally someone said what they were all thinking.

“Fucking purps.”

…Or almost, everybody.

“I don’t know,” another Marine responded. “I kind of like it when a woman’s clear about what she wants.”

“What she wants isn’t on offer.” The first responded. “We’re Marines, not eye candy. It’s infuriating. I mean, for fuck’s sake, all I want is just a few minutes to myself without being ogled.”

“What are you, gay?” Another man snickered.

“Fuck you, Pulasky.” To Jason’s surprise, it wasn’t the first that responded, but another voice that piped in. “Not literally mind you, I’ve got higher standards than that.”

“Fuck you, Grant.” Pulaski – apparently – grunted.

Uphased, Grant continued. “Hell, I don’t see what the big deal is. Even if I’m not interested, a guy can appreciate being appreciated. It’s not like it costs us anything.”

“Dignity. Pride. Privacy.” The as of yet unnamed, first voice muttered.

And was swiftly ignored as a Marine with a Canadian accent felt the need to add his two cents. “I guess I can understand that. I mean, I feel that I’m a good looking guy, but the only girl I ever remember calling me handsome was my grandma. Not since the purps showed up. Now I know I apparently have ‘gorgeous blue eyes too’.”

“That has to be the gayest thing I’ve ever seen or heard.” Grant deadpanned.

“Fuck all three of you!” The still unnamed first voice continued. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I ain’t a sack of meat.”

“I stand corrected,” Grant sniped.

Only this time, the self-proclaimed gay man was the one to be ignored, as New York accent piped up. “I hear you brother. One more catcall and someone’s getting a broken nose.”

“Ya’ll are…” Pulaski started to say before Jason mentally tuned the man out, wrapping a towel around himself as he strode towards the lockers.

It wasn’t like the conversation was anything he hadn’t heard before. Or mentally debated himself.

----------

“So you wanted to talk, ma’am?” he asked as he finally stepped out of the changing rooms, fully dressed now.

Which Friska had been quick to note if her put-upon pout was any indication. Still, she was quick to straighten up, shifting into what Jason was quickly coming to dub her ‘officer face’.

“No shadows today?” The woman asked, noting the conspicuous absence of both Nora and Yaro.

Jason shrugged. “Probably still changing.”

The Captain frowned. “Protocol dictates that one of them should be with you at all times. They’re your bodyguards after all.”

“Which is complete overkill in any environment that isn’t an active warzone - and even more so on a friendly ship in transit.” More to the point, it wasn't like any of the officers, sans Cleff, were walking around with a perpetual pair of guardians. The only reason he had bodyguards was because it was tradition. “And more to the point, protocol dictates that they have to be with me at all times unless given direct orders by a superior officer or me.”

“And you told them to leave you alone?” Friska looked disappointed.

“Hardly.” He wasn’t that boneheaded, even if he thought a rule dictating that he needed at least one bodyguard at all hours was stupid. “I just told them to take their time getting changed after the exercise. Which Yaro hasn’t been doing over the last week – which means I have been surrounded by the near perpetual odor of wet dog. Something I no longer have the patience to stomach now that I have discovered the reason for it.”

“You chose to have a hole in your protection detail because you couldn’t stomach a little smell?” She smirked. “You men and your delicate noses.”

For just a second, Jason wondered just how much trouble he’d get into for cunt-punting an officer? And if the satisfaction he’d derive from the act would outweigh the punishment he’d accrue?

A quick mental inventory told him it wouldn’t…

…If only barely, he thought.

“You wanted to talk with me, ma’am?” He reiterated.

The alien chuffed in amusement, but magnanimously chose to drop the previous topic in favor of actually getting to what she’d come to see him about.

“Well done,” she said, straightening up. “While I don’t know the exact details of how you did it, I’m glad to see that my company is finally mixing with the rest of the regiment.”

He cocked his head. “You knew? About the problem, ma’am?”

The alien favored him with a look that suggested he might be a little slow. “It’s my company. Just because us officers have to pretend to be above it all doesn’t mean we don’t try to be aware of it all.”

“Then why…”

“Didn’t I do something about it?” She finished for him.

He nodded. Because truth be told, the revelation that the officers had been aware of the issues with 4th Company, but chose to leave it to him to resolve them… Well, it was irritating.

Which was why he was utterly caught off guard by the woman’s response.

“We didn’t know how.”

He paused.

“What?”

Friska continued. “I didn’t know how to resolve the issue. It’s just not something me or the other officers are used to dealing with. I mean, you tell a bunch of Shil’vati to fall in line and they do it. At least, so long as they're plebeians. You Humans though? Your whole race seems to love being as contrary as possible. Even when it benefits you not at all.”

Ignorant of Jason’s incredulity, the woman continued, as if she was venting all the frustration she’d been feeling this last week.

“I mean, we’re going into a combat environment. One where we all need to work together. More to the point, nearly three quarters of this regiment is comprised of fresh faces. Yet what do I find my company comprised of skills veterans doing? Forming their own little secret coven and actively causing dissent amongst the ranks!”

Idly Jason glanced up and down the hall to see if anyone was close enough to hear the woman’s heated diatribe. There had originally been a few, but it seemed that they’d gotten wise and scarpered the moment they’d seen the Shil’vati’s captain marks.

An act Jason was rapidly wishing he could emulate.

Fortunately for him, it seemed the alien was slowly calming down after venting. Quietly, the woman took a deep breath before composing herself.

“My point is, this passive resistance bullshit isn’t something we’re used to. More to the point, the idea of continuing to fight for something beyond the point where it’s in any way beneficial is also new to me – and I imagine the Imperium as a whole. Certainly, the occupation of Earth has been a learning experience for all of us.”

Smiling, the woman slapped a massive palm onto his shoulder.

“So as I said, before I got distracted, I wanted to thank you as a Marine and an officer for coming through and finally pulling my company’s heads out of their own asses. It might not seem like much, but I think it’ll save a lot of lives in the months ahead.”

Jason nodded slowly, before pausing. “Don’t you mean weeks?”

That was how long this whole operation was expected to take.

“Against the Roaches?” The alien just laughed. “You humans might have passive resistance down to an art form, but Roaches are the ones who taught us about the idea of ‘resistance at all costs’.” She shrugged. “Nah, I’ll consider us fortunate if we’re finished with this before the new year.”

Her bit said, the woman strode off, still chuckling to herself, leaving Jason standing in the hall with but one thought in his mind.

Shit.

--------

“They’ve been here a month and done nothing?”

Gremp leaned back in her seat as her fellow captain paced back and forth across the floor of the mobile command unit.

And what a very nice command unit it is, the woman thought, ignoring Friska as her eyes roamed over the truly gargantuan vehicle’s interior.

The MC-L3 was, like much of the regiment’s vehicle pool, an outmoded design that had been pulled from mothball as a direct response to Raknos-Three’s rather unique weather systems. Specifically, the nigh constant storm systems that made flight near impossible and orbital fire a total crapshoot.

The same storm system that even now she could hear battering away at the thick outer armor of the vehicle in which she now sat.

Of course, annoying as said storms were to her as a commander, she could still appreciate that their presence had turned a vehicle that was considered by many commanders to be little more than an oversize deathtrap into a rather comfortable means of conveyance.

The MC-L3 had originally been designed as a mobile forward command post for divisions or independent regiments. The two story machine housed a sick bay, a small kitchen, internal power generators, a briefing room, a state of the art war center, and living quarters for the unit commander.

Living quarters contained sufficient amenities that many amongst the military wondered if perhaps the machine had been designed to appeal more to noble commanders who wished to appear as such, rather than actual serving members of the military.

Needless to say, the oversized and over-cost machine quickly developed a reputation as a mobile coffin as the thing’s massive presence and slow rate of movement made it an ideal target for airborne or orbital fire. Only a few hundred were made before production was stopped and the remaining MC-L3s were quickly and quietly rebranded as a command center for disaster relief efforts and shunted off onto any civilian authority that was willing to receive one.

Of course, in true Imperial fashion, the military refused to outright admit that the design was a total failure and thus had apparently retained at least one. Which now found itself in the possession of the Terran First. Just the latest in a long line of small sabotages that had plagued the regiment since its inception.

Of course, her ruminations on the topic were interrupted as Friska’s data-pad clattered noisily across the table.

Sighing internally at the woman’s lack of composure, she restrained herself to raising a single eyebrow at her.

“I’d hardly say they’ve done nothing,” Gremp allowed, playing the Deep One’s advocate. “According to these reports, the Hundred and Ninety Eighth clashed with the terrorists just this morning.”

Friska glared at her. “An isolated firefight between a patrol and an ‘unknown number of attackers’ isn’t a clash. Especially when the Roaches were the ones to initiate.”

Despite herself, Gremp nodded as she slowly picked up the discarded data-slate picking over the details in the report. “It does certainly seem like our fellow regiments have been content to cede the initiative to the enemy.”

“Because they’re terrified of moving beyond the ‘drop holes’.” Cleff’s voice rang out as the woman herself stepped into the command room, carelessly shrugging a rain soaked coat off as she went. An act which forced the Champion, who had been trailing behind her to rapidly catch it, lest the soaked material hit the floor.

Not ladylike at all, Gremp couldn’t help but think irritably about the Triki woman, even as she and Friska rapidly stood up and saluted. Something the Colonel barely acknowledged as she moved to sit at the head of the briefing table.

“Both of my fellow Colonels are hidebound fools who seem completely incapable – or unwilling – to adapt to the unique conditions presented by Raknos-Three.”

“I take it that the meeting with your contemporaries did not go well, ma’am?” Friska asked.

The Colonel’s antennae twitched spasmodically, something Gremp was rapidly discovering was a show of irritation.

“The pair of them were more interested in hitting on our Champion than working out a plan for striking the mining stations.”

Well, even if she didn’t agree with it, Gremp could well understand that temptation.

As he stood attentively in the corner of the room, this ‘Jason’ made for a rather delectable specimen. Not just as a result of his looks either. His accomplishments at Gurathu meant the Human was storied enough that a lady would not be considered going ‘below her station’ by going after him.

At least as a second husband, Gremp conceded. The first would have to be a proper Shil of proper station.

That was just good business.

For fun though… she thought as her eyes roamed the masculine alien’s tight bodysuit. Whatever issues she might have had with Humans as a species, the attractiveness of their males wasn’t one of them.

“It’s not too surprising,” Friska said finally. “Conventional strategy suggests the use of orbital fire to engage an enemy when it’s available, and to actively avoid engagement when it’s not.”

“I’m well aware,” Cleff droned dryly. “The issue is that our compatriots in arms seem completely unwilling or unable to grasp that orbital support is not, nor will it ever be, available on Raknos-Three. Thus they actively have to close with and engage the enemy, even if it runs contrary to the ‘normal’ way of doing things.”

Friska shrugged. “I know that. Imagine they know that too. Still, it’s difficult for some people to act a certain way when just about every facet of their training and experience tells them to do the opposite.”

Gremp felt she needed to get her own piece in, lest her fellow Captain be seen as the only contributor in their superior eyes. “With that in mind, it is not a total surprise that the Hundred and Ninety Eighth as well as the Three Hundred and Twelfth are both sticking to the ‘drop holes’, where the rules of engagement are at least ‘normal’.”

Cleff snorted, before her attention shifted. “Lieutenant Avilla, how long until we can move?”

The sudden question from the Ccolonel elicited a small squeak from the thus far silent third person in the room. So silent that Gremp had honestly forgotten the plant woman was present, a sentiment echoed by her fellow Captain, if the slight widening of Friska’s eyes was to be believed.

“Well, uh, the rest of the equipment should be offloaded, within the next two hours.”

Cleff grinned. “Great, that means we will still have enough daylight to-”

“Actually ma’am,” Avilla interrupted, her leaves turning a deep yellow. “I have an advisory from Captain Klefd from medical.”

The colonel looked affronted, but eventually waved for the plant woman to continue.

Leaves switching to green in relief, the lieutenant continued. “He specified that the sensory readings we received while on Shil were not entirely correct. Or at least, not applicable. While it is true that much of the planet has Shil equivalent oxygen levels, the area we are expected to be operating in is raised and thus the air is thinner than anticipated. To that end he suggested the troops will need a day to acclimate.”

Cleff made an audible clicking sound, but eventually the Colonel relented.

“Probably for the best,” the alien finally allowed. “We probably need to change our plans to accommodate our sister regiment’s complete lack of initiative.”

Leaning forward in her seat, the Triki woman’s gaze turned distinctly predatory. “But make no mistake ladies, tomorrow we start showing those Roaches that a whole new breed of predator has shown up on Raknos-Three.”

Everyone present nodded, though Gremp couldn’t help but shiver just a bit at the audible hunger in the colonel’s tone.