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English
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Published:
2025-10-17
Updated:
2025-11-18
Words:
1,087
Chapters:
2/3
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38
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No Orders for Grief

Summary:

The recruits mourn openly. The drill sergeants grieve in silence, burdened with loss, guilt, and the weight of leadership. A character study of McKinnon, Sullivan, and Howitt facing the death of one of their recruits.

Chapter 1: Staff Sergeants McKinnon

Summary:

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it.” – Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

He sat alone in his office, long after the lights went out and the base had gone to sleep. The humming of the desk lamp was the only sound in the deafening silence that surrounded him. The clock showed 02:40 but he didn't move. He didn't need to, the night had no orders or routines to follow, or any discipline to impose.

The file lay untouched on his desk, the lamp casting a halo like light on the picture clipped to its corner. Ochoa's picture. He hadn't moved it, too afraid he might bend it, damage it — admit it was real.

They always thanked him at graduation. Parents would come up to him to shake his hand, recruits would salute, all grateful to him for making them stronger. 

No one ever wonders about the costs of this strength. It is the only thing he can teach them, strength, how to stand on their own. He doesn't teach them how to prevent themselves from falling — how can he? They are his recruits, not his sons.

He remembers the shake in Ochoa's voice on the first day of boot camp and how it had steadied by the third week. He remembers the pride he felt at seeing how he had grown. But now he too feels the weight, one that is heavier than any pack they will ever carry. He had taught Ochoa how to stand, not how to break his fall.

His office smelled like coffee and dust. He had poured himself a cup, one he had not drunk; instead he had let it grow cold sitting beside the file. He stared at it, the lamp flickering as he reached out, his thumb brushing over the picture. One that contained a smile, the outline of someone who was once alive. Alive enough to laugh and worry, alive enough to be here. Alive enough to be gone.

“I was supposed to get you through,” he whispers. The words tramble as the drill sergeant in him fought to hold them back, to keep his voice like steel. He is a military man, there is no place for emotions, not here on the base.

He closed the file and laid it back on his desk again. The paper beneath his fingers felt like a mockery, proof of his failure as a father as a sergeant. He stood up and walked to his window, he could still see how Ochoa had stood there at attention, his helmet half askew and a hidden grin on his face ready to prove himself.

He had been asked to speak at the memorial, to say a few words of respect, a formality and nothing more. But he felt the weight in his chest and knew he had to keep up face, just like the other drill sergeants.

He knows grief doesn't belong to chaplains or folded flags. It belongs here, to these empty halls, to the silence before the rise of dawn. It belongs to the bed unslept in. 

But as the night carries on, he is still here, alone in his office with no one to speak to. With a broken breath, and the laughter of a ghost and the weight of a promise he had failed to keep.

They think he doesn't care.
But he does. He always will, and always has. Even if he has to do it in silence.

Notes:

I felt that in the show, we only get to see the impact Ochoa’s passing had on the recruits, while the grief of the drill sergeants is largely left unaddressed. I wondered how they might deal with it, and this fic was my attempt to explore that.

I’d love to hear your thoughts, so please let me know in the comments!

Just a reader trying to write.
—FromBooksToFics

Chapter 2: Sergeant Sullivan

Summary:

“Grief lingers in the spaces where a brother-in-arms should have stood.” – Unknown

Notes:

Sorry it took so long! School buried me in tests and deadlines, but I should be in the clear (for now).
This chapter is a bit shorter and a little OOC, but even though Sullivan said they “can’t carry ghosts,” I believe grief will haunt you anyway, whether you look at it or not.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Ghosts are a burden — dark and heavy. They bring a man down more than any battle ever will. When Cope had approached him, asking if the platoon would do something to honor Ochoa, he had said just that; they don’t have the luxury of carrying ghosts around with them. Of course Cope had ignored his advice and taken Ochoa’s hat with him instead of returning it along with the rest of the fallen recruit's belongings.

Sullivan didn’t know if it was stupidity or bravery, he can never tell with Cope but it made him remember all the men he had lost during his time with the Marine Corps, both in Guam and before he was stationed there. He thought of his own training platoon. How many of them were left?

It made him think of the man – the Marine – Ochoa could have been.

He may not have been the strongest, or the brightest, or the fastest recruit. He struggled with carrying his pack, with running the same pace, but he still did them. He still ran, he still carried. 

He may not have had the power just yet, but he did have the heart, the motivation, and the drive. He always powered through, he didn't give up. When he struggled he kept going, never giving up. When Sullivan or one of the other drill sergeants came up to him, questioning him if he could even become a Marine he always said the same thing, that he would not give up, that he would fight and grow.

He kept the moral high and the drive going.
He would have made a fine Marine.

When morning came it was once again his turn to wake the recruits. For a moment he just stood there surveying the room, listening to the slow rhythm of the breaths of the sleeping recruits. They had been told to move on, to focus on the work yet to come. But grief doesn't take orders, it lingers and haunts, always heavy and ever unspoken.

Sullivan's eyes drifted towards the empty bunk. It felt wrong seeing an empty bed while the rest of the room still had a chance at succeeding, of becoming a Marine.

The blanket had been folded, tight and neatly, the pillow had been squared. One of the recruits must have done that before lights out, a small sign of respect, a goodbye or a final act of remembrance. He didn't know who and he wouldn't ask.

Once all the recruits had left, ready for another day of training, he crossed the barracks. Reaching for the frame of the bunk, its cold metal felt final against his fingers. There was nothing left of the recruit who once occupied it.

He squared his shoulders and straightened his stance, habit taking over once again.

“Carry on,” it had been a whisper soft and unheard in the vast room. Sullivan doesn't know why he said it, there was no reason to, no one around to hear it either, but maybe that was the point. A final goodbye, one to Ochoa and all the other brothers he had lost during his service.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! Sullivan’s grief was a tricky one to write, so if you have any thoughts or ideas on how it might affect him, I’d really love to hear them.