Chapter Text
Life in the Systems Alliance, Shepard discovers, is never a dull moment and always challenging. Every day is the same yet different, and he’s more than tired more by the time he hits his bunk. Exhausted doesn’t begin to cover the deep-seated drain and mind-numbing emptiness of the current eighteen-hour duty day.
That’s what you get when you have your squad in the wrong place at the wrong time and Sergeant Givens decides every assault rifle on base needs to be stripped, cleaned and reassembled.
It isn’t like he and his squad can walk away from a direct order, either. Well, they could, but he’s found a place in the Alliance, one worth keeping, and he isn’t about to lose that simply because Givens doesn’t like him. And if there’s one thing Shepard has figured out, it’s that the sergeant does not like him. The man is careful, though. Nothing explicitly said, no overt actions. Shepard knows not all English hate the Irish these days; in fact, he’s met several during Basic and AIT who have been rather decent. Still, there are some, like Sergeant Givens, whose main goal seems to be making Shepard’s life, and by association his squad’s, a living hell.
Every fucking last assault rifle on the base, Corporal Shepard.
Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph; how can one base have so damned many?
Basic and AIT training taught Shepard and his squad the how, and the process is one they can do it in their sleep, if necessary. But a base’s entire armory of ARs? And, while the training base isn’t huge compared to others in the Alliance, the number of assault rifles on hand seems to be. When all is said and done, they lose a good eight or nine hours to get the job done, and that is on top of their assigned duties. By the end of the day, Shepard relies on pure willpower to remain on his feet, hoping it’s enough to get him to his bunk.
Stumbling into the barracks, and though his body is thoroughly exhausted, his mind still races. His one remaining goal is to fall into bed and get as much sleep as he can before heading out on a five-mile run at 0600. Please, sweet Jesus, let that be enough to avoid Sergeant Givens again! Dinner doesn’t matter. A shower can wait. Blessed, blessed sleep is all he needs right now.
Half-conscious when he falls into his bunk, he nearly hits oblivion as his head touches the pillow … until a sharp beep followed by a persistent vibration at his left wrist yanks him back awake. Hissing a curse in his native tongue, he cracks one eye open to glare at the device. A small orange button near his wrist flickers twice in rapid succession and repeatedly indicating two incoming messages. The temptation to let them wait is real – neither appears to be a direct call – but it could be something requiring immediate attention and, therefore, needs to be addressed sooner rather than later. He fights back irritation even as he rolls onto his side and triggers the screen.
What he finds waiting startles him.
The first message originates from Alliance Command. The sender’s name is unfamiliar, but the contents are not. Nearly three months ago, maybe closer to four now, he submitted an application for sniper school – his hope, his dream since enlisting. At the time, there wasn’t an opening, but this message contains orders for him to report to a base just outside London in two days’ time. After today’s misadventure, the transfer is a blessing in disguise. He skims his way through the pertinent bits and notes his base commander has been informed. Reaching the end, he sighs softly in relief. No more worrying about Sergeant Givens, then. Good. Rolling onto his back, Shepard takes a moment to message Corporal Peters, transferring temporary leadership of the squad to him.
For the first time in months, hope burns bright in his chest.
The second message is one more of a personal nature. Still, the sender’s name – not one he’s used to yet, but it’s more recognizable these days – stirs a thread of worry deep in his gut.
To: Corporal Caleb Shepard, Systems Alliance
From: Corporal Connor O’Bannon
RE: Tada gan iarracht**
Caleb –
I hope this message finds you well and at peace with your new life. I hear from Anderson you’ve successfully made it through basic and advanced infantry, and are now stationed just outside of Kent. It’s good to hear that military life agrees with you. I thought it might after your experiences here. My thoughts and prayers are constantly with you, don’t ever forget that.
Anderson also tells me you are about to head off to sniper school. He sounded surprised at first, but I’ll be honest, I expected no less! Your skill at hunting, tracking, and shooting are legend around Shannon. Far too much of a one, I fear; it is a very good thing you left when you did.
I will be blunt, son, the Greystones have absorbed the last of the Reds – the people, the name, all of it. Believe me when I tell you, the Reds only agreed to this plan as a survival tactic. None who remain do so willingly. And, unfortunately, since your departure two more of their number have been lost. I’ve no doubt you remember Shane and Siobhan with fondness. I light candles daily to their memory in your stead, fear not in that regard. May the Lord bless and guide them to peace.
Caleb, Anderson mentioned you will come due for leave once you finish sniper school, and though that is some months away, I beg of you, do not return home. The situation here is … difficult, to say the least. The nature of the Greystones organization now is still somewhat chaotic. They are, as I understand it, taking the name of the Reds for reasons of which I am not fully certain, but I expect it is for no good. Their activities here are far more expansive than the Reds would ever have sought. Dealing in red sand, supporting any and all anti-alien measures, enforcing protection fees from locals – I am certain you understand – but most importantly, using violence to achieve their goals. If and when you should hear of these things with the Reds name attached, know it is not they, but the Greystones behind it.
It is frustrating I know, but please, son, pay heed to my words. They use the Reds name to confuse the issue, to frighten the locals into submission and reliance upon them for their survival. No good can come of it, I know you understand that, but if you allow your anger to guide you, you will end up a corpse lining the streets. Remember Aoife and Colin! Do not waste the opportunity you have! You will do far better to fight them from afar!
My eyes and ears are open. Should the situation change for the better, you will be the first to know, of that I promise. In the meantime, focus on your new life and make the most of it. But, most importantly, do yourself the best favor you can, lad; stay away from Ireland.
Blessings upon you,
Athair
The omni-tool fades out leaving Shepard in the dark as his head thumps back into his pillow with force. Righteous indignation swims through his veins at the news. Killing us, destroying us isn’t enough; they take our name and soil it further! His chest rises and falls rapidly even as his heart races, and for just a moment dizziness assails him. But despite all of this, he understands. Athair is right to warn him away. The priest knows him far too well; Caleb would be on the next flight to Shannon otherwise, sniper training ahead of him or not. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but one he ultimately accepts. At least, for now.
Another soft beep pulls him off the teetering edge of a downward spiral into his past. A quick glance assures him it’s just Peters acknowledging the change for the morning, but it is enough to pull him back to the here and now. He slings his arm over his eyes and forces his head clear of all thought, a trick he learned from Colin long ago. Since leaving Ireland, it’s more of a challenge to accomplish at will, but when combined with the tendrils of exhaustion that have not fully fled, sleep soon pulls at him. Blessedly, he does not dream.