“You’re sure you want to do this, sir? It is technically illegal.” The conference room off to the side of the command deck was small, and John had used it a few times to speak with his people in private. Particularly when sensitive subjects came up.

“Only by treaty and executive order. Those treaties mean nothing now, and I’ve been given explicit instructions that we’re alone and are to do everything to maintain this position.”

“If you’re sure, sir. I can tap a few people I know from my days at the CIA who I have in my unit. But, sir?”

“What is it Major Cranton?”

“This, this is going to spark a backlash if it gets out. Particularly from less than hostile locals. Not just because of the chaos it’ll cause to our north, but because it very well might paint a target on some of our would-be allies in the area, sir.”

“I understand that. But McOn’a can’t be allowed to get away with this. And we don’t have the forces to both secure this location and march through Chad and Northern Sudan to find and bring him to justice.”

“I understand that, sir. But the fact is—”

“The fact is he attacked civilians, Major. I’ll not have that go unanswered. You’re the closest thing I have to a spook, and I need you to do your job.”

“I’ll follow orders, sir. As long as they are confirmed, in writing, and by General Stevens, sir. I’m afraid you are too close to this to make that order, General.” John opened his mouth to respond and Major Cranton stopped him. “Sir, I am a military intelligence officer. It’s my job to follow orders, but it’s also my job, as you have said, to play the part of spook. I refuse to play in the grey, and be micromanaged by someone who clearly has been emotionally compromised. Stevens is a go-getter. He might be a bull in a china shop, but he wants to kill the bad guys just like the rest of us. Let me work with him on this. That’s his job after all.”

John thought about it. Cranton was being borderline insubordinate. It’s true that Military Intel types were given a bit more latitude, as they often had to interface with the alphabet agencies. Dealing with those people often required loose interpretations of standing orders. Besides that, John knew Cranton was right. If it were up to him, he would have bombed McOn’a’s entire city to rubble for putting his wife in danger. The red fiery rage sat heavy in his chest, but he left it there. Letting it cool as he considered his subordinates’ advice. Advice that really could have been looked at as a threat if John was so inclined. But Cranston was a good man, and what was more important was the man was right.

John sighed and leaned back in the conference room chair, rubbing his face with one hand. “Agreed. You’ll report to General Stevens. He’s in charge of combat operations outside our jurisdiction, so that makes operational sense. You’re right as well, to call me out for being emotionally compromised.” A tension left the room as John and Cranston both deflated slightly. “Major, we have a good working relationship. I won’t jeopardize that by insulting you, or demoting you. However, in the future, you better damn well be ready to back up your reasoning for trying to force me away from a project or mission. Understood?”

“Understood General. And thank you sir. Stevens might not be as understanding of subtly as you are sir, and that will make things more difficult. But, he’s clear minded.” John deflated further, leaning back into the comfortable office chair. The thing was the lap of luxury compared to most of the ticky-tack plastic crap the rest of the base used. He had authorized a small amount of EU’s spent on bringing over a few pallets of good furniture over through the Government Store. He still had access to it, but the offerings were slim compared to what they were just a few months ago. Greaves had explained the government’s focus was not on planet side issues anymore, they were focused on the bigger picture.

Still, someone in the Feds kept the store up and running, and stocked with at least basic supplies. Replacement parts, vehicles, the occasional pre-fabricated building, but what the store was really geared towards was helping the forts and forces on the ground become sustainable. Instead of just offering the chemicals they might need to make medicine, for instance, the store offered miniaturized industrial chemical plants. Industrial sized greenhouses and seeds in place of MRE’s. It made John itch to think that whatever might come after the integration was finished would cut them off from the rest of the military. But he’d do his job. So would everyone else at the African Fort.

John looked at his watch. It was late, and getting later. His family had been settled, Mary was in their quarters, and he was ready to go see her. But his shift started soon. Sighing, he dismissed Cranton and made his way to the coffee bar at the far end of the conference room. As Cranton packed up to leave, John distilled the darkest, most disgusting blend of coffee he could find. Not that there was much of a choice to begin with, and drank it all in a single gulp. The caffeine would take a bit to kick in, but he hoped it would be enough to keep him up through his shift.

I’ve gone longer hours than this without sleep, he thought to himself. It was then he looked at his system provided HUD, and he realized he had received a prompt. He opened and read it.

Congratulations! You have earned the “Authoritarian 1” trait for ordering the assassination of a geo-political opponent for personal reasons! Effect: Any assassination attempts ordered by you have an increase of +1% chance of success. Any forces under your command receive a -1% moral penalty for a month after every successful assassination. Penalty exponentially increased for multiple assassinations within the same calendar month.

Sighing, John left the room, the empty, blackened cup on the bar.