Hours later, Ronnie was saved from the drudgery of approving billet arrangements when Rebecca's voice on the radio heralded Echo's return and requested gate access. She gladly cast the tablet aside, re-slung her rifle, and nodded to the sentry outside the second floor command post as she exited.

The electronic form her 'paperwork' took now that they had ample power was quite the reversal — ones and zeroes were renewable resources again, while writing paper currently wasn't. One of the Air Force guys was trying to perfect the manufacture of toilet paper during his spare time — if everyone else could benefit from his desire for continued creature comforts, sure. That was one of the few things she could be sure nobody would complain about. It would make for one hell of a bartering commodity too.

Why yes, hypothetical local civilian. We will in fact trade you a month's supply for your looted assault rifle when you resettle near the airfield. You can keep a handgun for personal defense, but we don't need to deal with you waving around something that'll go clear through your house and the next, thanks.

The direct path from the stairwell she used to the courtyard passed through one of the ground floor double-height retail spaces had been opened up to the "courtyard", forming sheltered open-air spaces for training, storage, and work areas. She glanced at a pair of soldiers in fatigue pants and military green t-shirts squaring off on the sparring mats, surrounded by a circle of other garrison members in varying mixes of duty dress and civvies. The zeal and fervor of the watching crowd told her there were multiple bets in play — that was all fine, as long as they abided by the rules she'd declared for wagers and gambling.

No going into debt. Betting shifts was fine as long as it didn't result in doubles - no fatigued sentries because of poor decisions. No essential or service-issued equipment. No personal effects with sentimental value attached. Rations had to be swapped, not surrendered; sure, you could make a loser give you their highly sought chili mac in exchange for the dreaded vegetable omelets, but no leaving anyone to (unwillingly) starve. All one-on-one bets were public with witnesses. Pool buy-ins had to be approved by consensus.

So far it had worked pretty well, no misunderstandings had progressed beyond yelling and a day or two of resentment. A few disagreements were settled on the sparring mat, but everyone knew both parties would be disciplined if there was an injury. Ronnie made a silent prediction of the outcome of the current match and kept on walking.

Ruiz, the young Army PFC who took the long shot on Rebecca and bet against Ronnie several weeks back, turned away from the crowd to shadow her. "Hey, Gunny!" He must have been cheering vociferously, because he was already out of breath as he double-timed to catch up. "If Echo's coming back today, do you think there's gonna be a rematch I can put a little side action on?"

She smirked at his enthusiasm, but it was halfhearted. "Might be a wait, Ruiz. They had a bit of a rough run out there."

"Oh, damn." Concern flashed over his face.

"Everyone's coming home, just a little banged up."

"Shit, okay. That's good at least. Sorry if I stuck my foot in mouth, Sergeant."

She wasn't sure if he was continuing to follow her into the courtyard to make sure she wasn't offended, or for something else. "You're good, soldier." She glanced at him sideways as they walked into the courtyard. "You know Clinton's spoken for, right?"

"Yes ma'am." Ruiz's reply snapped back so fast it could have been a parade salute. Maybe there'd been some accidental menace lurking in her tone. "Not that I'm brave enough to make a pass at someone you were training personally, for a couple of different reasons."

Okay, points for entertaining the reluctant outpost commander. "Smart man. You sure you're not a corporal? Or a Marine?"

He chuckled, probably continuing his wise streak and skipping some jokes about crayon-eating, instead gesturing towards the top of the other building. "I, uh... heard a little about her man too, rest in peace." He continued as Ronnie looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Y'know, a few of the more religious folks... well, we like to think he's watching over this place."

Huh. "That's... surprisingly sentimental, PFC. But a nice thought." They slowed as they reached the open end of the courtyard, near the main gate, and she thought she could hear vehicles over the compound's ambient background noise.

"All the help we can get, ri— mierda." The almost annoyingly positive young soldier cut off as the two black SUVs rounded the roadblock at the base of the ramp.

Ronnie knew they'd taken fire, but the sight still caused her to exhale slowly through her teeth. She was used to seeing battle damage, but it was worse on civilian vehicles — maybe because it looked so out of place?

"I'll just... make myself scarce, Sarge."

Ronnie acknowledged him with a half-turned nod as he withdrew, then she started forward again. The crunching of the gravel under her feet eventually merged with that of the approaching tires, then both faded to silence. The lead SUV didn't look so bad from the front, she could see some small arms hits on the windows and bodywork, but nothing she was worried about penetrating the concealed armor. The second one though, as they both parked at a slight angle...

Holy fucking shit.

Pangs of 'should've been there' guilt started to lurk in her chest as she took it all in. The headlights were categorically fubar — the kids were lucky they could make the rest of their trip in daylight. The grille was gone, and she could see an exposed radiator behind the gap; there probably should've been armor there, but Epstein must have removed it to make repairs. Scrapes covered the entire surface of the black hood and abrasions continued up the windshield. One of the snare lines Sam mentioned must have ridden up over the sloped surface. Maybe that at least was better than if the cable had hit the vertical front windows of a Humvee. The front tire on the side facing her was starting to come apart, and she spotted glints from the wire wrap under the outer rubber layers.

The whole thing had a lot more holes in it too, fore and aft. There was one particularly nasty hit in the windshield she didn't like the look of at all, but she backburnered her dwelling as the engines rumbled to sleep and the kids started piling out. Epstein made eye contact first, and she returned his salute with a pointed glance at everyone else. He was smart, he'd figure out the approval behind it.

Patrick was next, closer to her as he exited the passenger side. He needed a shave, and maybe the thick brown stubble on his face is what made him seem miles away from the scared kid back in an underground storage room with zip ties around his wrists. She clapped her palm to his shoulder twice on the way by and exchanged nods, then patted Christine's back on the way by where she was opening the tailgate. Blondie's vibe had an edge to it too, and Ronnie could tell that surviving this wild ride had hardened them much more than the fast-paced battles in the storm sewer and outside of Broadway.

Had to happen sometime, and they came back. That's what matters.

Then she drew near the second SUV and a very un-sergeantlike lump tightened low in her throat. Sam gave her a weary but relieved wave from the rear, where she was helping someone — probably Mrs. Clinton — who was obstructed from Ronnie's view. Rebecca had just finished unbuckling her armor near the front passenger door, probably with designs to put it on the vacant seat.

Ronnie didn't entirely approve; even inside the guarded compound, she would have preferred the kid leave it on until she was inside, but Rebecca was probably desperate to feel normal again. Ronnie decided the risk was acceptably small and smiled as she approached, reaching to lift the weight off of Rebecca's shoulders.

How ridiculously symbolic.

**

Rebecca expected to tear up when she saw Ronnie, Allie, and Rufus again, so she was surprised when she just felt a surge of excitement when she spotted Ronnie walking their way. She eagerly shoved her helmet onto the dash, wedging it behind the expended airbag, and struggled briefly with the clips on either side of her torso.

She finally got the last one open just in time for Ronnie to clear the back of Chrissie's SUV and draw near, and she suddenly realized how much her friend and mentor represented the feeling of safety. The remains of the agitation that had lingered all the way until the front gate faded, and she smiled back as Ronnie helped her get the armor off.

"Ronnie... hi. Thank you."

"Welcome home, cookie."

Wow, even that was like eight times more eloquent that what I managed to mumble. Rebecca took the armor back from Ronnie and deposited it inside the passenger cabin, then turned back and swiftly embraced her.

Of course, the grizzled veteran's reflexes anticipated her move — what else was new — and Ronnie braced to steady them both with only the slightest sound of shifting of gravel. Even at home, Ronnie was unsurprisingly wearing her tac vest and at least a light load of gear. Four different pieces of it poked uncomfortably through Rebecca's clothing, but she didn't care and tightened her grip. Ronnie's right shoulder was clear of gear and pouches, instead bearing a pad for a rifle stock to seat against, and Rebecca lay her cheek against the bare space, shutting her eyes with a long sigh. All her real concerns, the ones bigger than what to do about Rufus and Sue, melted and washed away.

Even if something's wrong with my head... I know she'll take care of me.

Ah. There the tears were — Rebecca felt them dampen her closed lashes. This was the first time in days she wasn't worried about something. Tough and caring as Ronnie was, when Rebecca was scared of things out in the world, nobody was better to have around.

**

Just as Sam finished helping her make sure the clips holding the top and bottom halves of Sue's cat carrier together were secure, Laura heard a funny little squeak from Rebecca, and looked around the end of the car. She saw her from behind as she rested her head, facing away from Laura, on the shoulder of a sturdily built, slightly taller Black woman. She was clad in weathered but meticulous military gear, patterned in an odd pixelated camouflage, with her sleeves crisply rolled at mid-bicep. Even if it wasn't for the black rank pins visible on one lapel next to Rebecca's slightly messy hair, this was obviously the renowned Ronnie. Or Rhonda? I'm not sure how informal I can be yet.

The woman was clearly aware of her surroundings at all times, because immediately after Laura leaned around Sam and the car, their eyes met. Laura smiled tentatively and Rhonda nodded in greeting to her, but had to pat Rebecca on the back and nudge her attention towards Laura to get her to release her grip.

Laura wondered with amusement what such a professional thought of her daughter being the blatant and unabashed hugger she was, but smiled the thought away while Rebecca finally got her wits about her and introduced them.

"Ronnie, this is my mother, Laura. Mom, meet Ronnie, our resident softhearted badass, who literally got me through last year."

That description seemed to elicit a brief disgruntled expression from Rebecca's friend. Laura mentally fumbled with how to address her, and thus was slower on the draw to reply.

"Mrs. Clinton, it's a pleasure, I'm glad you made it here safely. You should be very proud of your daughter, ma'am."

"Thank you, I am. And, likewise, it's good to meet you, ah..." Laura's eyes darted to the embroidered nameplate on her uniform. "Sergeant Ellis? What... how should I address you without looking like a rude idiot?"

The other woman's patient smile as she lowered her hand from Rebecca's back didn't succeed in making Laura feel like much less of a fool. "In front of other military personnel, Gunny, Gunnery Sergeant, Sergeant... any those would be great. Plus my last name if there's someone else with three stripes around. If we're among friends, Rhonda or Ronnie is fine, ma'am."

"Please, you're making me feel old. Just call me Laura. Or Mrs. Clinton if you have to be formal around your troops. Though I guess that might make me unpopular with some of them by association." She glanced to her left. "Sam seems to have dubbed me 'Mrs. C' if that is more universally compatible."

Sergeant Ellis gave Rebecca a meaningful look about something and chuckled. "I see the aversion to 'ma'am' runs in the family. And don't worry about old world politics, most of the people around here know that's all out the window. Or at least they'd better — please let me know if someone still thinks it's worth the breath to blame the other side of the aisle for what happened."

Rebecca scoffed over to the side. "More like the whole goddamned building."

Laura gave her a gently admonishing look. "Sweetheart, please. Your friend probably doesn't have the liberty of speaking ill of the government."

Rhonda chuckled. "Not in public anyway."