Sam woke the next morning to the lilting tones of her phone's alarm. It was a year newer than Rebecca's, and demonstrated consistently better battery life. Dawn cast a little light through their windows, and she joined Rebecca in fumbling their way out of bed and setting about the day in front of them. Rebecca stoked the fire while Sam busied herself in the kitchen, finishing the half-prepared breakfast she'd left standing by last night. Hopefully the tea she'd sealed up in a large thermal flask was a good omen - steam rose from the spout when she opened it, taking a moment to enjoy the wafting scents of mint and lemongrass from that same favorite green blend of Rebecca's.

Sam still longed for quality coffee, but she'd come to appreciate the tea's gentler caffeine surge (more of a swell, really) in the mornings, compared to the overclocking or artificial energy sustenance she'd historically relied on magic beans for.

Their morning meal was quick and intentional, and before long they were dressing for the day. Sam paused for a moment to admire Rebecca's curves in her snug black leggings, before she pulled a pair of cargo shorts and knee pads over them.

Sam was wearing a pair of well-worn but robust Carhartt jeans — an old favorite she'd developed hunching and scrambling in robotics workshops — over her own athletic base layers. Her top involved more creativity, since she was smaller-framed than the original owners of their Black Tusk "space marine" body armor. Even adjusted as closely as they could manage, she still floated and rattled around in it a little.

"Zip me up, won't you darling?" She turned to face away, and smiled to herself at the feeling of Rebecca so nearby behind her. Sam scrunched her shoulder blades together as Rebecca closed up the neoprene "vest" they'd improvised by cutting down the only women's wetsuit they'd found in her size. The real thing probably existed somewhere, but it wasn't like she could just pull it up on 2-Day Prime Shipping anymore. The extra bit of padding it gave her snugged things up enough to be more comfortable, though she occasionally pondered what she'd do once the weather warmed up.

Sam's lightly flirtatious tone remained as she continued quietly. "Mmm, thank you. Seems like you're getting me all dressed up for a nice drive and might be plotting to take me back to your place afterwards." That earned her a chuckle and warm kiss on the side of her neck, and as she let the pleasant tingle it sent down her spine fade, she felt Rebecca step away and heard the snaps and clicks of mostly familiar equipment buckles a moment later. Sam turned and realized the one foreign sound was from Ronnie's loaned SMG's sling attachment.

That sobered her mood as she hefted her righteously purloined armor over her head and cinched it down. Getting lost in constant paranoia and forgetting entirely about quality of life was a big challenge, but she found the near-constant elevated vigilance life required these days made it just as easy to slip into potentially dangerous lackadaisical casualness. She'd been meaning to bring that up with Ronnie some day, maybe get some advice.

At least her gear didn't smell like misguided butthead anymore, after some detailed cleaning and months of hanging it with cedar sachets stuffed inside. (Realistically, that probably also helped cover up a subtle bouquet of her own sweat and funk too.) As she slipped on the helmet Ronnie had sourced, she was grateful the process didn't need repeating (yet), as it seemed practically new.

She clicked the helmet's main buckle in place, and then held still as Rebecca helped adjust where the straps conjoined under her ears — a part she always had trouble with on her own. She took a moment to glance searchingly into her Partner's eyes so close by, looking for signs of stress or worry. "You doing okay, sugar?"

Rebecca's eyes flickered to hers for a moment before she continued her task. "Yeah, I think so. As usual, Ronnie gave me a pretty good pep talk."

"Sarge is always looking out for us."

Rebecca made briefly lingering eye contact again as she switched sides and her face passed directly in front of Sam's. "Yeah. I know that if I get too stressed out about things, it'll actually make me more likely to miss something important. Honestly, I think some of her coaching about staying cool lining up a long shot is relevant for this too."

Sam found the casual, conversational tone reassuring about Rebecca's emotional state, and leaned forward for an affectionate headbutt, gently thunking the shells of their matching helmets together. They finished getting their gear on several minutes later, just in time to hear a few vehicles fire up outside and settle into a loud cold idle. Sam smiled at Rebecca once more at close range, then stepped away to scoop up her pack and tool bag. "Well, I guess that's our cue."

**

Rebecca crinkled up her nose when she caught a whiff of fumes from the smog-exempt military engines, and suspect poor Rufus did the same. She politely flagged down the first soldier to pass by, her breath fogging in the chilly morning air. "'Scuse me, which vehicle is Golf Two?"

The young woman, the first female soldier she'd seen in the garrison at their settlement, slowed and glanced at them. "You must be the Gunny's sniper girl and engineering wiz. Golf Two is the desert tan slantback there." Rebecca followed her gesture and picked out the Humvee she was indicating — it was one of three idling Humvees, accompanied by the basso rumble of a taller cargo truck. One was the blue and black former PMC vehicle Patrick and Christine usually drove — Rebecca was unsurprised by its presence, since it was armed, armored, and equipped with all-angle gunner protection, with steel plates and plenty of armored windows curving around and overhead the mounted gun with only a few very narrow gaps.

Golf Two had the top hatch for a gunner, but no turret, and the third Humvee, in darker "forest" colors, had boxy steel plating to the sides and rear of the gunner and a sloped plate around the hefty fifty cal poking out, but an open top.

Not wanting to interfere with whatever the woman needed to get done, Rebecca hastily thanked her and threaded her way through the small swirl of activity so she and Sam could stow their bags and her rifle case in the cargo bed and plug their phones into a 12V charging tap on the Humvee's 24V electrical system. By the time they'd opened the rear hatch and arranged their gear, Rebecca managed to pick Leonard out in the crowd of well-wishers gathered at the edge of the courtyard, and they led Rufus over to him.

"Good morning, ladies. Allison sends her love, and apologizes for not seeing you off in person. She's pretty queasy this morning, and I managed to convince her the stairs were a bad idea."

Rebecca's brow furrowed. "Oh no... these fumes probably wouldn't help. Please tell her we hope she feels better, and not to worry too much? I thought she was getting better."

"Mostly, but it still rears its head some days." Leonard reached out for Rufus' leash, which Sam handed over.

"Remy, I'm pretty sure we all know getting Allie not to worry about us is unrealistic." Then, to Leonard, "But yes, please do give her a hug for us."

He nodded. "Of course. Be safe, and I hope you find something good and nothing uncomfortable today, Rebecca. And, Sam, I hope things work out with those solar panels. I'm sure you could put them to good use around here."

Rebecca patted Rufus and promised him they'd be back soon, which got a hesitant tail swish, and rose again. "Thanks... and for taking care of the big guy here while we're away."

"Again, of course. I look forward to his help with the dishes."

The girls returned Leonard's grin and stepped away, catching sight of Christine and Patrick over by their distinctively painted ride as they turned back to the vehicles. They waved, and all converged at the circle of people starting to gather around Ronnie and Golf Two. Rebecca quickly realized that the four of them were the only people not in some sort of camouflage underneath the slightly mishmash collection of body armor and tactical vests.

"Alright everyone." By the time Rhonda finished the first word, the scattered side conversations hushed. "Teams have been over their parts of the plan quite thoroughly, we'll do a full briefing once we link up with the rest of the detachment at the airfield. For now, situation is as anticipated. Weather similar to yesterday, clear and cold, mid 40's warming towards high 50's. Dawn drone flights of our route to the airfield don't show any activity or new obstructions, no likely hostile contact."

She proceeded to rattle off a series of waypoints and eight-digit grid coordinates that Rebecca couldn't parse, but everyone wearing mottled earth tones seemed to understand — she just knew they'd be skirting the edge of town before crossing over the river and then cutting south to the airport, the street names, and which ramp to take at the really confusing last causeway interchange. Those were followed by communication frequencies, challenge phrases for the day, and a line of succession for command — which chilled Rebecca to hear.

Ronnie eventually closed the "mini" briefing with what Rebecca had come to recognize as a codifed-in-the-procedure call for any questions, and then orders to "mount up." The crowd dispersed to their vehicles, Ronnie joining them in the front "command" seat of Golf Two with a garrison member Rebecca vaguely recognized as their driver — "Adams", according to his name patch.

The dark forest camouflage Humvee with the open fifty took the lead at Ronnie's radioed call to move out, with Golf Two following, then the big cargo truck, and Patrick, Christine, and two soldiers bringing up the rear in their "civilian militia" vehicle. Rebecca waved to Leonard through the scuffed armored window, and winced as the Humvee thumped across a pothole, rattling the spartan interior and her teeth along with it. At least the cabin heater had been running while the engine warmed up — but she saw what Ronnie had meant about the world of difference between the vehicle she sat in now, possibly as old as she was, and the much newer, larger truck they'd commandeered during the Black Tusk attack. Even the interior of "P & C's" Humvee was comparably plush. She was just glad for the streams of fresh air that leaked in, they helped the headache and nausea she'd started to get from the exhaust lingering in the courtyard. Exposing poor Allie to that would have definitely been no bueno at all!

Rebecca settled the borrowed P90 between her knees as she watched their little compound roll by, and then away as they passed sentries and climbed the ramp to the main gate. Squaring away her own gun made her wonder what Ronnie would be using meanwhile, and she glanced past her friend's shoulder in the front seat. She'd heard the "every Marine a rifleman" maxim at least once and had seen Ronnie using a long M16 lately, but this was the first time Rebecca had seen what was unmistakably a grenade launcher attached to it, much like her own old M4 carbine and its small under-barrel shotgun. Jeez. That sure would have been nice to have last year... but she was grateful enough for it to be around now.