At the advent of the mid-21st century some of the world’s most outspoken political analysts were of the opinion that the threat of “modern warfare” was no longer a viable method of cementing national power. The development of nuclear weapons and biological agents that once created a Cold War a hundred years prior were still in play, however the reasons for their stockpile were no longer viable. The differences in ideologies, religion, economics; all slowly became well understood and respected among the four great powers of the new century; The United States, Republic of China, European Union, and Federated Russia. Their once deep rooted fears became a cornerstone of understanding, and later the foundation to what some would come to call “the green war.”

Instead of the threat of carrier groups, spy planes, and nuclear warheads, wars are now openly fought upon the interconnected global stage of open markets, space development, and scientific research. Rather than a game of armageddon, the constant evolution of economic opportunity, social justice, and the exploitation of new markets drives forward a system once built on selfishness and greed that in the great irony of it all, has created global stability.

Not to say of course that the entire world is a utopia of peace and prosperity. There are many left behind by the changing times; countries that relied heavily on the economic booms of natural energy sources (oil, coal, etc.) were caught unprepared by the introduction of commercially viable fusion power and renewable crude oil. Cut off from their primary source of income, many of these countries collapsed before the start of the 2060s. Today, these nations rely solely on cash flow gained from hijacking helium tankers and economic support granted by unknown figures.

Though, global politics were the least of the worries of the two marines. Currently on Pier Thirty-Nine in San Francisco, the crowded tourist attraction was bustling with activity from all different sources. Seagulls and the distant drone of ocean waves crashing on concrete foundations are interrupted by the cries of sunbathing sea lions upon shorelines, the bustle of tourism fading away at the incredible view of the fog covered Golden Gate Bridge six kilometers out.

Sitting at an outdoor table, a few glances from passing civilians are taken at the pair of uniformed soldiers, the light-blue fatigues of the Solar System Defense Force unmistakable among its contemporaries.

Master Sergeant Shu Ling closes his eyes as he tries to hold in tears. “Keys I can not do this.”

“I told you not to get the large.” Lieutenant Keys reiterates as he finishes his plate of baked cod. “You didn’t even glance at the size chart.”

“This is not soup either.” Ling continues as he holds his stomach. “It is like eating butter…”

“West Coast clam chowder.”

“And it comes in a bowl of bread…”

“San Francisco.”

“Do you want this?” The battered man offers.

“No thank you.” Keys chuckles concernedly. “And honestly you shouldn’t be eating this stuff after four months in orbit. All this grease’s gonna make you throw.”

“It is hard getting used to full gravity again.” Ling agrees as he suppresses a burp. “And I thought this soup would be… 清淡. Unlike you I can not eat this first meal back.”

“Hey you wanted to see Pier 39, and you were the one who got hungry.” Lieutenant Keys defends himself. “I told you to order the small.”

“Everything is bigger in America.” Ling groans

“As you seem to learn the hard way every time…” Keys opens his phone, finding the day’s schedule as he ignores nearly two dozen new notifications from Task Force Thirty-One’s chat room. “You know we’re the only ones on duty right now. Rubicon’s crew is scattered on leave, Captain Perez’s visiting her parents, and… well Admiral Tucker’s at least in the same state as us.”

“So all we need is to convince Corporal Estelle Mercier to join and then we have leave time?”

“That’s what the Admiral said.” Keys answers. “Unless he wants us to run an errand or something after this.”

“We better go then. I promised Michelle I would go to visit her parents in Monaco after we are finished here.”

“Wait, you paid fifty bucks for that bread bowl and you’re gonna just trash it?”

“I can not eat this.” Ling states. “And we are going on a train?”

“You can just carry it around. The soup’s gonna eventually soak into the bread either way.”

“Does that make it better?”

The man pauses. “Honestly, let’s ask the Admiral he’ll probably know.”

Keys enters the question into the group chat, message shot out to the twelve members of Task Force Thirty One.

Captain Michelle Perez is the first to reply, the time zone difference ignored by the usually early sleeper. SEND PHOTO OF SHU SHU KEYS ❤️❤️❤️

“Don’t move Ling, I'm just following orders.” Keys raises his phone, snapping a candid photo of the Master Sergeant’s slightly concerned expression.

“I-I…”

Admiral Tucker begins to type, along with several others within the chat box. Lightning fast, Keys sends out the picture before the next reply arrives.

It takes a total of three seconds for Captain Perez to beat the rest in her response. AHHHHHH MY BATTERY’S RECHARGED ❤️😘

“Man Michelle is a monster.” Keys comments with a slight concern. “How do you even get the energy to spend time together?”

“Oh I always feel relaxed when I am with her.” Ling's smile fades as he processes Keys’ look of unease. “... It is not normal?”

“I’ll be honest with you… not in the slightest.”

Admiral Tucker’s text reply comes with the actual answer. Yes, eating the bread bowl afterwards is what makes it worth. Also, did Ling seriously order a clam chowder bowl?! And you guys are at Pier 39?

“Eat the bread.” Keys transmits to the man across from him, fingers dancing across the touch screen. Yes he did order a large bowl. And yes we are at Pier 39.

“I think I need to be in the conversation.” Ling begins, reaching for his phone.

“Finish your coleslaw.” Keys waves off.

Admiral Tucker sends the follow-up, unprofessional but courteous. Pog. I’ve called ahead to the SF Office BTW. Show them your orders and they’ll let you in. Tell me how it goes.

Wilco. Keys replies.

GUYS CHECK OUT MY CAT

Captain Michelle Perez, awardee of the Silver Star for Bravery in Service, Purple Heart for wounds sustained in battle, and Commanding Officer of the Orbital Combat Corvette Rubicon, is only a half-decent photographer.

The soft grey fur and beautiful yellow eyes of a Chartreux feline staring at the camera upon a night-time porch backlighted by city lights is enough to derail the conversation completely, and Keys instinctively slips his phone back into his pocket.

It takes a few minutes for Ling to swallow his side dishes, the man still recovering from the brutal transition from zero to full gravity.

Trained for seven brutal months in a mixture of massive immersion tanks, orbital installations, and Earthside bases, the average Marine Operator for the Solar System Defense Force was a finely tuned killing machine in microgravity. The sheer amount of raw fitness a fresh S.S.D.F. Marine leveraged made them incomparable to the Astronauts of old, dominating warriors created for combat.

Though, even with constant training and exercise the decay of zero gravity upon the human body was a constant in the lives of space workers. Eventually, even the strongest of flesh under the strictest of regiments would falter.

“Alright light rail is coming in ten.” Keys announces as he stands from the metal chair, clearing the table of layered paper plates in a single sweeping motion. “Gotta go.”

Mouth full of shredded vegetable matter Ling grabs his bread bowl from the slaughter, watching as the Lieutenant dumps the rest into an open trash bin. Swallowing, he tries not to choke. “Now?!”

“Unless you wanna walk to Golden Gate Park, it’s now.”

Covered in a dense layer of foliage, the depths of San Francisco were smothered with a slightly foggy afternoon. Massive thirty meter tall trees tower over the city, some naturally planted in exposed earth while others modified to grow directly upon tiny plots of barely fertile land. Although visible from orbit, the experience from beneath them was breathtaking.

An entire city of brutal concrete and rebar was buried underneath a newly formed forest of life, the sheer audacity of humanity to force nature into urban hell creating a fragile symbiosis between bitter enemies.

Redeveloped, redesigned, Golden Gate Park was something of a victim in San Francisco’s grandeur ”50 year plan.” The locale’s famous well-trimmed lawns and gardens were turned into a massive complex of intertwined office buildings, built straight into a gigantic forest cultivated by fast growing pines and redwoods.

Secured within the western sector of the park, the Solar System Defense Force held a singular administrative office on the fourth floor of the squat glass building. Although paling in comparison to the organization’s massive Training Facility in Los Angeles, the office’s presence within the area still had a noticeable effect on the surrounding park. Instead of the usual business tag within the courtyard directory, the Solar System Defense Force’s office was marked by a decommissioned combat space suit mounted right beneath an overhang. Figure turned statue by poured concrete, the two marines gaze into its reflective visor.

“That’s one of the Mark Fives from ten years ago.” Keys informs Ling. “Guess this is what happens when your suit breaks and you decide to tick the donation box.”

“It becomes statue?” The Master Sergeant asks.

“If it doesn’t become salvage first, then I guess so.” Keys shrugs. “You ready for this?”

Bread bowl in left hand and tablet in another, the man smiles. “Of course.”

“Alright, so we’re going in good-cop bad-cop style?” Lieutenant Keys motions with both his hands, weighing the words. “Or should it be more of a ‘I’ll make an offer you can’t refuse’ sort of deal?”

Ling blinks. “We go in, ask for her transfer to Task Force Thirty One.”

“It’s not that easy.” Keys objects.

“It is that easy.” Ling repeats. “That is how Admiral Tucker got me on board.”

“True.” The Lieutenant relents. “But at the same time you’re not Corporal Mercier, and we’re one hundred percent not as smooth talking as the Admiral.”

“We will improv it.” Ling motions to the door. “It will be easy.”

A quiet open office, the administrative staff light on conversation while heavy on tasking. Work stations brightly decorated, suffering in silence.

Staring at the pair from behind the armored desk the receptionist suppresses a scared laugh as he hands the orders back to the two waiting marines. “Oh good luck you two, this won’t be easy.”

“Why not?” Ling asks.

“Oh she’ll let you know.” The man, a Petty Officer with the name J. Arthur printed on his uniform, points over at the corner of the open office. “Corporal Mercier’s the one with the window desk.”

Ling squints his eyes, finding the designated location fifteen meters away as well as getting a peek at her computer screen. “Playing video games?”

“Yep.” The Petty Officer sits back down, taking a deep breath. “Normally comes in at 1100 and plays until 1600, then she leaves.”

“I thought office jockeys did a 10-5.” Keys remembers.

“Not her. Any discipline charge we throw at her she just brushes off. Honestly, why do you even want her… on whatever you’re doing?”

“That’s classified.” The Lieutenant answers with a sly smile.

“Oooo.” Ling takes a breath of excitement. “Can I say that too?”

Keys grins as he nods, and Ling speaks with his attempt to imitate an American accent. “Sorry, that’s classified.”

“I’m sorry we always wanted to say that.” Keys chuckles, returning back to his more serious disposition. “But anyway, anything else you know about the Corporal?”

“Other than the fact she spends most of her time playing ‘Sightlines’ in the office, no nothing.”

“Then you think we have a good chance at recruiting her?”

The Petty Officer thinks. “Well with you on the table Lieutenant you guys might have a chance.”

“Why me?” Keys squints his eyes.

“All due respect, but being a Star of Terra winner’s gotta mean something right? I mean hell, I even had a friend on Collins Memorial.” The man chuckles nervously, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But either way good luck, she’s a bitch whenever Commander Wong forces her to work.”

“We’ll take that as good advice.” Lieutenant Keys nods.

“Um, by the way can I get a photo?” Petty Officer Arthur pauses as he makes an uncomfortable smile. “All due respect.”

“After we’re done.” Keys waves away with an equal amount of unease, leading forward through the office as the Petty Officer sits back down.

Gathering a few stares from the sixty or so assigned personnel, Master Sergeant Ling Shu and Lieutenant Johnathan Keys slowly walk with purpose towards Corporal Mercier’s assigned space. Broad shoulders and fit frames, they arrive in force behind her.

Short and petite with regulation breaking length light brown hair covered by a pair of red noise canceling headphones, Corporal Estelle Mercier slouches on her chair as her dark eyes glue themselves on tasks of utmost importance. One hand on a mouse and another on keyboard the screen in front of her is filled with the simulated chaos of fictionalized, fast paced ground combat. Sniper rifle in hand, the character sprints through some yellow washed, bombed out desert city. Rounding a corner, a single enemy is highlighted; marked by a tag on his generic, tactical helmeted head.

The two marines watch as Mercier flicks her wrist in a maneuver of pure muscle memory; snapshot finding center mass on the target as she takes the opponent down with a single shot.

A hostile appears around the corner with an assault rifle blazing, Mercier’s character cycling their weapon’s bolt in mechanical efficiency, taking a few screen shaking hits in the process. Unfazed, Mercier takes aim as she zooms through the scope at near point blank range.

A single headshot takes the hostile down, Mercier allowing her character a moment of respite to reload and heal.

Ling and Keys exchange a look, conversation internalized as suddenly the woman in front of them speaks up through a thick French accent. “If you are here from Martian Expedition Administration, I do not have the file ready.”

Ling gives an after you motion to Keys, who shoots him a glance of annoyance. Cleaning his throat, Lieutenant Keys begins. “Uh, Corporal Mercier, we’re not from the Martian Expedition Force. We’re actually with Task Force Thirty-One. I’m Lieutenant Keys and this is Master Sergeant Ling.”

“The hot one?” Mercier turns around from her game, taking in the pair as she removes her headphones. “Euh, I expected you to be… taller.”

“Which one?”

“The one who is about to be married.” Mercier sighs. “Whatever information your task force wants from me, it is already given in testimony. Thank you.”

A mixture of regret, surprise, and a bit of shock passes through Master Sergeant Ling’s face, Lieutenant Keys taking a moment to smile at his partner’s expression. “We’re not here to question you about anything Corporal. Actually we’re here to recruit you.”

Confused look granted from the woman, Lieutenant Keys motions to the Master Sergeant who produces a mine-like device from his uniform’s pocket.

“Who sits here?” The Lieutenant asks as he motions to the desk behind Mercier’s, a pair of chairs left empty at the post-lunch hour.

“Euh Commander Wong, she is…”

Chairs procured, the Lieutenant and Master Sergeant sit. Leaning forward, hands resting, the serious expression on their faces gravitates enough emotional energy that a few concerned glances are shot over towards the impromptu meeting.

“What is that?” Mercier asks as the Master Sergeant mounts the device between them, a light hum filling the air.

“Mute charge. Our Admiral got it from one of his friends.” Lieutenant Keys answers with an unusual seriousness, noting the nervousness and confusion of the prospectee. “We’ll need to have this conversion privately. And for the record, this meeting… will be off the record.”

The Lieutenant and Master Sergeant exchange a high five as the line is dropped, both of them staring down the woman as they execute the action. Taking a deep breath, Lieutenant Keys begins with confidence. “Have you ever heard of Admiral Issac Tucker?”

“No.” Mercier answers straight.

Lieutenant Keys lets the awkward silence sit, stumped at the unexpected change in the conversation. “Cool…”

“I get the feeling that you do not normally do this?” Mercier asks frankly.

“He does not.” Master Sergeant Ling answers for the man, fingers ripping chunks off of his now half-consumed bread bowl.

Lieutenant Keys cuts the Master Sergeant a look, quickly returning to the topic at hand. “Well Admiral Tucker is….”

Master Sergeant Ling interrupts with a glance. “Keys do not start with…”

“Got it.” The Lieutenant clears his throat. “Alright listen Corporal, we’re just going to do this directly. No sort of chain of command or anything, is that alright?”

Mercier nods carefully.

“You’re primed for the Martian Garrison, leaving in six months right?”

“I thought Admiral Tucker said to not open with that.” The Master Sergeant whispers.

“You’re not helping Ling.”

Mercier answers to a superior officer, composure barely held against total confusion. “I am, the garrison is under the authority of Martian Expedition Force.”

“Good…” Lieutenant Keys stops as he relocates the conversation topic. “We’re offering you a posting in Task Force Thirty One’s Marauder Squad.”

A look of surprise dawns on Mercier’s face, her eyes darting to the Master Sergeant for confirmation. Mouth full of sourdough bread, the blank expression that the man returns to her is of complete seriousness.

“Are you joking?”

“No, we are not.” The Lieutenant exhales.

“How many members are in Marauder Squad?”

“Two.” Lieutenant Keys answers. “Eleven total in the task force currently.”

Narrowing her eyes, Mercier tries to read the expression on her fellow marines. “Two in Marauder?”

“Just me and Ling, plus our TAC-COM Officer who also doubles as the Task Force Commander.”

“That was who Admiral Tucker is.” Master Sergeant Ling informs.

“So you are recruiting me into a marine team?”

“Special Operations under Special Warfare.” The Lieutenant corrects with a grim look. “We’re operating under Cat. Eight designation.”

The Master Sergeant blinks at his squad mate. “We are black operations?”

“Black operations.” The Lieutenant confirms under confidence. “Not really but like it’s the same thing.”

Mercier is unfazed. “You two are crazy…”

“It was not our idea.” The Master Sergeant interrupts.

“Still crazy.” Lieutenant Keys adds. “Either way, I can get into the gist of things and talk about why we need you as our Squad’s marksman, or you can just accept right now and have Admiral Tucker explain all of it, which he is much better at doing.”

“And I have choice in this?” Mercier asks. “Not ordering me for transfer?”

“Given the nature of our Task Force and how we operate, yes you should have a choice in the matter.”

Next to them a figure approaches, pausing as she stops at her now chair-less desk. Commander Wong takes a moment to connect the dots, turning towards the meeting next to her.

“Take care of her Ling.” Lieutenant Keys orders.

Standing up, the man makes a gracious smile as he exits the mute charge’s bubble of silence. “您好...”

Making a concerned expression, Mercier turns back to Lieutenant Keys. “Commander Wong does not speak chinoise…”

“Ling’ll figure it out.” The Lieutenant grimly replies as his comrade’s conversation immediately spirals out of control. “Well at least I hope he does. Either way, any questions?”

“Why do you want me in your squad?”

“Well you're the best marksman in L.E.O. to start.” Lieutenant Keys stares. “I mean, take it from me Corporal I’ve never seen anyone shoot a DP-9 without a ballistics computer.”

“But I do use a ballistics computer.”

“You do understand that the Ops Manual for DP-9s state that the computers are supposed to be turned on at 100 meters, which you only seem to do if it’s past three hundred.” The man corrects. “And I only think two people in the entire Force can hit a target past that mark.”

“Then why do not you recruit them?”

“Well we have.” Lieutenant Keys looks over, watching as Master Sergeant Ling’s attempt at distraction receives cringed expressions from across the office. “Problem is that the Master Sergeant over there’s our main rifleman and breacher. Can’t suit him up with an anti-material rifle can we?”

“So you want me to fill in role?” Mercier stares. “Why?”

Keys pauses. “Are we going to talk about Bishop Squad now?”

“If you have read my testimony, then you would know that recruiting me is bad idea.”

“Trust me I know all about ‘bad ideas.’ The only reason I’m here is because of a bad idea. And you know, Task Force Three One is basically one giant bad idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“As I said we’re special operations.” Keys answers. “But instead of just a squad under a task force, every member of the Task Force works under a squad. Fourteen maximum, we’re running it like a skeleton crew. No regulations, no rules. As Admiral Tucker put it, complete autonomy and no oversight.”

“That sounds illegal.”

“Yeah that was my reaction as well.”

“Is it illegal?”

“Probably not.”

Narrowing her eyes she stares down the Lieutenant with an uninterested look. “Why me?”

Taking a frustrated sigh, Lieutenant Keys takes a moment to look at the carpeted surface beneath him. “Listen, we’re like the same age right?”

“I am twenty three…”

“Ok I hit the wrong point there…”

“You really do not do this at all do you?”

“Honestly? Not a lot.”

“So why are you recruiting me?”

Master Sergeant Ling speaks up behind her, the presence of the man seemingly materializing with his sudden appearance. “Because what you did over Chang’e City could have saved entire squad. Bishop Leader made a call that was in their power to do, and you thought it would have got your entire squad killed.”

She just stares at him in silence.

“I knew Lieutenant Barkov. His order to advance was bad. Ones that went over top had to die. You took a risk, either everyone lived, or all died.”

Lieutenant Keys leans in with a smile, the pace of conversation found as Mercier shrinks back. “You made a call that went against a direct order Corporal. That could’ve made you a hero….”

“I-...”

“Fact of the matter is; what you did out there is something that we’re looking for in Marauder Squad.”

“A person who breaks orders?”

Master Sergeant Ling slaps the Lieutenant on the shoulder. “You are talking to Lieutenant Keys.”

“Out on Collins Memorial I had orders to stay put for a hostage team to arrive.” Keys pulls out his Star of Terra, the four tipped medal of polished alloy catching the sun. “You think I earned this thing because I sat there waiting?”

“No.”

“Listen they put you out in this office so you can’t cause any more problems and headaches to the Admiralty. And in six months, you won’t be a problem at all.

“If you accept your fate you’ll be back here in five years with nothing to show for it. And if you join us, we’ll make you the hero you’re meant to be.”

There’s a pause as Mercier’s mind moves, her gaze turning between both of the higher ranked marines.

Ling glances over at the idle computer screen. “And I do not think you would be able to play Sightlines on Mars.”

Turning back to the ongoing match the avatar of Mercier stands idle, gunned down a few seconds later. For the first time her eyes betray an interest, heroes and warriors no longer. For the first time, something more.

“You play?” Mercier asks.

“No but Michelle does.” Ling answers.

Keys sighs. “You play with her.”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re ranked Gold Four, I’m pretty sure this goes beyond ‘sometimes.’” Keys shakes his head. “Anyway, the offer is on the table Corporal. And I’d think Admiral Tucker would like your answer before the end of this week.”

“And you can pull me out of Martian Garrison?”

Keys snaps his fingers, Ling producing a folded up piece of paper from within his uniform’s pocket. The Lieutenant narrates as Mercier takes the item, scanning them over with wide eyes. “Those are the transfer papers from the Garrison to Task Force Thirty-One. It’s already approved, all we need is transferee consent.”

“Already, approved?”

“Our Admiral has… connections.” Keys informs quietly, standing up from the chair. “Keep the papers. … We’ll see you soon.”

Ling coughs. “I do not think we are allowed to give to her the…”

“We’ll need the papers back.” Keys corrects, motioning for her to return the transfer orders.

Staring at the pair Mercier takes a deep breath, reluctantly returning the folded sheet.

“We’ll see you soon.” Keys cuts a small smile as he repeats the line, turning back as he motions for Ling to follow.

Corporal Estelle Mercier stares into the distance, watching as the pair calmly begins strolling to the exit of the office building with immense confidence.

A singular memory erodes away, and the words echo within her head. Warfare in the black, a distant earthrise over a sun baked lunar surface.

We’re family now Mercier, never forget that.

Running back, Master Sergeant Ling crosses the fifteen meter gap between deskspace and entrance at sprinter level speeds. Grabbing the still active mute charge from the floor, he gives a nervous smile before rushing back out.

Commander Wong speaks up with a confused look as the bubble of deafening space leaves them, the pair of idiots tripping out the front door as they exchange a high five. “What the hell was that all about…”

“Commander.” Mercier looks up at her superior officer, putting her headphones back on as she diverts back to her match. “I am transferring out of Martian Garrison.”

It takes a moment for the Commanding Officer to process. “What?!”

“Now.”