Nine

"Any luck? Aaron asked his partner.

Derrick looked up from the communications dials, and switches, "none, I'm starting to think they don't know how to turn the damn radios on."

Aaron nodded, "stupid kids. Why didn't we work harder and get assigned to a real base?"

"We were also stupid kids." Derrick laughed. "I'll stay and try a few more times; you should go tell Ramirez that his team won't check-in."

"Yeah, but they're getting beat when I see them. This is such bullshit." Aaron headed out the door. "It's not hard to check-in like you're supposed to."

An hour later Ramirez sprinted down the street and shoved past a group on the stairs to the officer's fundraiser.

"Here comes trouble." A tall, thin, graying man nodded.

A middle-aged couple turned and looked through the glass doors, rolling their eyes, they calmly stepped away in the direction of the bar.

Ramirez hurried through the double doors toward the thin man. The carpeting was a deep velvet red, with swirls of golden inlay. Dozens of high-ranking officers filled the room with drinking, laughter, and conversation in varying volume.

"General Singer, sir, if I may have a moment of your time." Ramirez asked. "There is an urgent matter I need to discuss with you."

The gray man smiled, "my friends, excuse me."

The two walked to an empty hallway.

"Sir, training team foxtrot delta hasn't checked in a single time since they landed on the beach." Ramirez said, "all other teams have returned safely, I'm organizing a group to start looking- "

"You will do nothing, commander," the General cut him off; "the situation is already being handled by the appropriate authorities. I suggest you forget about the matter and worry more about the others."

Ramirez pressed further, "with all due respect, general, those two are my recruits. My responsibility. At least allow me to assist- "

Again, he held up a hand, silencing Ramirez, "in that case, then, they are no longer part of your squadron and you will pursue this matter no further. So help me commander, I will have you whipped in center square, and bury your career so deep your great grandchildren won't have the authority to bag groceries, much-less command recruits. Now, you are dismissed.

Ramirez tried to argue once more but was cut down. He stormed through the crowd, and back out of the building, furious. Greene and Halbert were his trainees, his responsibility.

"At least check in you two idiots." He mumbled to himself.

Stories of daring feats and failed attempts mixed with thrills from nearly truth-less missions. The Trench was buzzing, nobody payed any attention to the two empty beds. Only a couple trainees even noticed.

"Nailed him right in the face!" one said while his partner layered more embellishments on their tale of bravery and skill.

Ramirez appeared in the doorway, "lights out, ladies and gentlemen. Final scores and rankings will be withheld until I have had enough time to thoroughly process them. Reports are still coming in from your areas." He paced through the Trench and continued, "We have a missing team which I will be looking into, that will be priority. In the meantime, you will all report to Captain Carter. Congratulations, good night, and good luck."

As the last word rolled from his tongue, Ramirez strolled out the doorway and the room went black. Again, the buzz of conversation broke out.

"Missing team?" one asked.

Where's nick?" another pointed out, "and the new girl."

"Maybe they got lost…"

"She was weird, what if she killed him?"

"They probably ran away together."

This last spurred the kids into laughter and kissy noises.

The night air was cold and thick with fog as Ramirez walked from the Trench, something was wrong with foxtrot delta. Both Greene and Halbert were two of the most motivated and hardworking trainees he has had in a long time, they didn't just get lost.

"Maybe I should bring this to the general's attention." He thought, "Or I can assist the investigation. I knew them better than anyone else did."

His quarters were standard cinderblock, and green-grey paint with a steel door. But inside was his private area, the one place he could relax and be himself. He used to storm into his room strong, and confident, but as soon as the door was shut and latched- he would cry. The stresses of overseeing two dozen kids was bad enough when they weren't forced to be here and as rebellious as ever. He has flipped every table in the room, thrown his pillows around, and punched holes in anything softer than his fists. But he felt that his frustrations showed his dedication to them all. It meant that he still gave a damn, and in this world… that was a rare thing.