The Upright Man
Section Zero - Classified
Men and women filed into the room. Only a handful were present to view the procession. It was a hearing for Dean Letham and Eli Brooks, allowing them to give their report regarding the events that transpired at the Commonwealth fishing colony on G'rho. They were military chiefs from every division, juniors and seniors, but Lord Admiral Horus was not apart of this board, Dean noticed, nor Intelligence Director Winslow or the Commander-In-Chief of the Marine Corps. He wondered for a brief moment if this mean't he was in troubled water for a crime he was unaware of committing. It was unusual to give a report in such a fashion, but the events on G'rho were dire. Perhaps it was necessary in this instance.
"Commander Dean Letham, Staff Sergeant Eli Brooks," a woman announced, and Dean instantly recognized the voice. Marguerite Podolsky. 'God dammit', he cursed inward, 'What was she doing on the committee?' "Reporting, ma'am," Dean answered bitterly. He was above rank on the field but the situation had flipped them around, she was now his superior - for the mean time. Marguerite held a datapad and reviewed the initial report, "Contact with G'rho was lost last night. All signals flatlined at zero-three hundred hours." 'It'd had only been that long?' He caught himself thinking. He reeked of sweat, he was still in his power suit, grime gripped his face. He had only just gotten off the field when they pulled him in for an immediate debriefing with a council.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Two hours ago,
Departing G'rho. . .
"Damn the Force," Dean muttered. His helmet visor was split down the center, held under his arm. His hair matted with his own blood. Someone else's blood smeared across the dented plates of his armor, his shields depleted and his suit was almost out of juice. Soon it would be just dead weight unless he got out of it, and so he did. They were in the safe confines of an MPD drop ship departing G'rho, the surface below growing distant with every passing second. The land was scorched black, fires still raged against combating firefighters. The few marines that accompanied the MPD, and the crew chief of the bird, were helping remove the suit. He got a breath of fresh air, not that it mattered awfully.
One of the pilots announced the hyperdrive was warming up for a quick jump back to Alexandria, it'd still be an hour and a half before they arrived. "Sir," the crew chief muttered, "The Lord Admiral is requesting your presence before a committee for an immediate debriefing." He ran his hands through his hair again, not out of habit but stress. He felt like he was getting older by the second. He felt a gentle stroke of pain shoot through his palm as it smoothed down his hair. The damn creatures had cut his palm open, but Brasi had done a good enough job bandaging Dean up in the field. Damnit Brasi, he thought, he was a good bloke, the Commonwealth was all the poorer for his death.
He'd revenged him at the very least, he recalled bitter-sweetly. His boot sat on the throat of the struggling creature, it hissed and spat, like some type of maniac monster. Dean had slowly pushed pressure down on its throat, cutting off its supply of oxygen, then in a final coup de grâce Dean shot a hole through its cranium with his MM99. It had felt good, it felt like justice, but it didn't bring Brasi back. He'd still have to hand over a Commonwealth flag to his wife and kids back home, he'd still have to tell them how he went down fighting for them, Dean knew it wouldn't matter if he told the family he'd put a bullet in the creature that did it. Brasi was still dead. "Damn the Force!" Dean cursed.
