Multi-Front War

Claire loved people watching. The bustle of the city below her gave an odd sense of serenity. None could spare the time to look up to her thirtieth floor balcony and balk at her old, loose pajama pants, at the stained tank top she wore, at her aging features that she had not yet concealed under carefully applied makeup. She sipped her coffee, admiring the deep chocolate flavor that peaked through an acidity that the pour over was notorious for. Some didn't care for it, and she usually used a french press to mellow out the flavor, but this morning, for no reason in particular, she had grabbed her pour over flask. Claire enjoyed the ritual, perhaps more than the drink it produced, and her morning seemed splendid from the start.

The sun had not yet risen above the skyscrapers that towered over her apartment building on all sides. The street below was a strangely vibrant gray as the throng of working people went about walking from the train stations to the variety of factories and office spaces to the south. Claire knew she would have to go against this flood to get to her building, but that was several hours off. She had woken up some time before she would've had to, something about a nice long morning to prepare oneself for the day. Her little ritual of watching the city awaken while sipping her coffee always calmed her, set her mind at ease, prepared her for the chaos she knew she would be stepping into.

A bit of grit in her latest sip alerted Claire to the fact that her cup was near empty. She mulled over the thought of having another cup, and decided to do just that. Once more the kettle was put on the stove, the flask was emptied and rinsed out, and another delicious cup was prepared. Claire liked to stare into the wisps of steam and try to identify shapes.She didn't seem to be able to see any as she waited for her cup to come to a more reasonable temperature. It just looked like steam. She felt the nagging sensation of thoughts waiting to be examined, the clamporing of her day's work waiting to take up the majority of her imagination. She did not wake this early to begin work this early. She took a sip, inhaling sharply as she did so making a whooshing sound, and then exhaling long and slow, seeming to fend off the work day for a few more precious moments.

The shower in her small bathroom turned on with a few sputters and a long whine. While the water heated, Claire set out her uniform. Green blouse, tan pants, socks, boots, she didn't have to wear medals today, but she made a mental note to find her medals before Friday. An inspection wasn't guaranteed next week, but she'd heard rumors and the rumors she got to hear were often true. She cast a glance at the ruin of her closet, old shoe boxes holding a treasure trove of honors and rewards and random bits of uniform regalia. She knew there were bits from the fascism days in those boxes, but the thought of actually organizing her uniforms filled her with a sense of dread. Seven different uniforms seemed a bit much, but Claire was prideful of her attention to detail and she wasn't about to abandon the challenge of her monthly scavenger hunts through the closet of doom. The thought of accidentally wearing a piece from the old regime terrified her, but she knew that despite her lack of self confidence, when the time came to get dressed, she would do so properly and pristinely, like the fine soldier she was. She disrobed, purposely skipping a look in the mirror before stepping into the scalding water of the shower. She spared a thought for Private Icernio, a brave and competent young soldier under her command, and prayed he would do her the mercy of also showering today.

She let the streaming water soak her, breathing deep and letting the steam work its magic on any bit of spring congestion the coffee had not managed to deal with. A strong knot in her back began to unravel as her mind wandered. She looked at her hands, calloused and weathered, telling a tale of many long years keeping fit. Truly she did not earn these destroyed hands actually working. The slight wrinkles that pervaded the skin on the back of her hands, the blue veins that seemed to shine defiantly, telling of the decades of service, forcefully intruded on her serenity.

She thought of the knife, a six-inch fixed blade with a tanto tip. Phosphorus coated to prevent rust, with a plastic sheath containing many drainage holes, a lanyard holding it around her neck. Claire was not wearing it now, but she was thirty-four years ago. Gerber, if she remembered correctly. Her shower knife, a necessity for FOBs in the unwelcoming mountains of Afghanistan. For a fresh faced new sailor, a stint in the rocky highlands of decidedly unfriendly territory was quite a frightening prospect. She took her first life there. It honestly felt quite silly to still feel so frightened of those days. The fool that snuck on to her base with sand colored blankets couldn't have been older than sixteen. Larger than her, and stronger, he was a kid, and she was a soldier. A naked soldier, at the time, but armed and rather agitated. His allies had similar fates after they managed to destroy the impromptu mess hall in the ensuing firefight. Depriving her and her fellow soldiers of hot meals for the following week was the only victory they had achieved that night. Claire reminisced and soon her time in the warm shower was at an end and cold water signaled that it was time to move on.

She stood before her sink, staring down at the cold porcelain before turning her gaze to the mirror. Warm, light brown eyes scanned her face and body, a multitude of scars lined her torso, crow's feet sprouted from the corners of her eye sockets, smile lines, wrinkles, general signs of a life lived. The right eye shuttered and transitioned to a cool blue, resuming its scan in the mirror as wrinkles faded, muscles tightened, and general aches and pains faded into memory. Staring back at Claire was the image of a much younger woman, much like how she used to be, but with far fewer scars, with a far better posture, and with one piercing blue eye. An ever so slight shift to white and the eye began showing Claire different lines of text, news, orders, a variety of things the eye thought she might like to see. Blinking hard, she looked once more at the mirror, showing two brown eyes staring back at her.

Making her way back into the bedroom, she was about to dress herself when a small, blonde blur shot out from under her bed and began rubbing itself on her pristine uniform. The tiny dog ground eye boogers deep into the fabric of her trousers and all Claire could do in response was sigh loudly and pick up the small furry menace. The little girl was panting manically, tongue out, as though she had just completed a great feat. In reality, all she had done was give purpose to the lint roller resting on Claire's computer desk. Giving a kiss to the top of the small beast's apple shaped head, she placed the dog on the patio, where a small patch of fake grass rested. At one point, Claire had taken Lilly to the park in the mornings, but the presence of other people and animals seemed to stress the little dog out too much, and it was deemed that a singular evening walk was best. For all other business, the fake grass would have to do. Lilly proved this to be correct when she enthusiastically went to the patch to complete her business.

Claire realized at once that she had gone to the porch without clothes on, but this embarrassment quickly faded as she remembered that hardly anyone occupied the floors of the office building across the street. She made her way back to her bedroom, dressing quickly in her uniform, taking a moment in her full-length mirror to ensure she had not missed any small detail or loose clump of dog fur. Satisfied with her crisp attire, Claire decided to spend some time at her desk. Not to do any work, but to take the time to stay updated on current news and events. Her carefully curated feed scrolled past her, an eclectic mix of independent journalists and niche, bot generated accounts. Quickly scrolling through, she saw a mix of reports of rising tensions to the east and several pictures of raccoons eating various foods. Slight chuckles at the small creatures eating grapes and vague interest in the conflicts in the east followed.

These journalists were doing good reporting, a bunch of twenty-somethings doing the best with the resources they have and a lot of passion. She was more interested in the journalists themselves than the stories they were reporting. They were breaking news about fire bomb attacks, skirmishes, and increasingly violent rhetoric spreading through the small communities dotting the eastern mountain range. Some of them even infiltrated these communities to conduct interviews. All raising the alarm about the growing fascist threat to the east. This failed to elicit shock in Claire, as she guessed it had in others, because she'd had briefings on these developments for weeks now. She had far more twenty-somethings on the ground in these areas gathering intel, conducting operations, and passing their findings directly to her. The resources of the military dwarfed the resources of these idealistic collectives of truth seekers. Still, she had to admire their bravery in going into these regions without military support and searching for answers in a particularly hostile situation.

Dog put in, lights turned out, and door locked, Claire made her way to the elevator. A crowded ride down and she was delighted to see that the beginning of her walk was not nearly as congested as she feared it would be. People seemed to make way for Claire as she casually walked down the sidewalk toward the Logistical Command Center near the center of Old Town. It was likely the uniform causing this deference as Claire often thought, but it was sometimes quite unnerving to her. She stopped at her usual cafe a few blocks from the center, patiently waiting in line before being handed a drink that had been prepared in advance.

"Americano, cream no sugar" a friendly teenage barista proudly announced as she handed Claire the drink.

A wide, beaming smile on Claire's face, she happily said, "Well, now I know I'm coming here too much!" a laugh erupting as she continued, "Thank you so much sweetie, I'll see you tomorrow." Claire proceeded to leave thirty dollars in the tip jar.

The genuine smile and effusive thanks of the barista left Claire with a warm feeling as she finished the walk with her drink, taking a sugar packet from her pocket and adding it to the coffee. This small bit of human interaction was the highlight of her mornings, and coming upon the looming form of her workplace seemed to cause a change to come over her. Claire's eyes got harder, her mouth tightened, her back stiffened. It was nearly time for work and Claire knew today would be rough. There was to be a meeting, and she knew it would be as tedious as the last had been.

Upon entering the LCC she stood in the brief security line. She touched her palm to the transponder reader and the small gate before her opened, much as it would in the parking garage, she mused. She held her coffee in her left hand, better to leave the right free for the multitude of salutes she was obligated to return on the walk up the stairs to her office. Her assistant greeted her from the desk guarding her door by standing quickly and offering a sharp salute.

"Ma'am!" the serious young woman barked, without a hint of this being a daily routine. She said this every morning, just as she was supposed to, with all the professionalism of a nervous new hire. She had worked for Claire for five years at this point, but her attention to detail and protocol was admirable. More than once she had saved Claire from being seen with minor mistakes in uniform.

Claire returned the salute before taking a casual, if slightly performative sip of her coffee. "Morning morning, Petty Officer, how's your day going?"

"Well enough, Chief. You have several messages. I left them on your desk. The brief for your meeting is there as well." the Petty Officer said, as though she were a perfect assistant in a training video for perfect assistants.

"Hmm" Claire nodded, "Anything else? Little one still raising hell all night?" A warm smile and a chuckle before adding, "I remember my daughter being like that, couldn't go three hours without being held or cuddled. My son was a bit different, hated to be touched, that one. I guess I got both sides of it!"

Her assistant's large, dark eyes failed to match the smile as she laughed, "No she's been good these past few nights. Nothing to worry about. If you need anything else from me, please let me know Chief Kilday." Another salute, her subordinate had just told Claire in no uncertain terms that their morning interaction was concluded.

"Well Ajanay, if you need me for anything, just let me know. You know I'm here for you". For once the smiles they gave each other were equally insincere. Claire took a self indulgent moment to reflect on the absurdity of a Chief being saluted. She didn't care for that at all. She was an NCO before, she was ostensibly an NCO now. She shuddered to think of the shit storm that would've enveloped her had she mistakenly or drunkenly saluted a Sergeant or a Chief back in her day.

Closing her office door behind her, she set her coffee down on her desk and set her bag down by her chair. Though she did not trust Petty Officer Ajanay nearly as far as she could throw the petite young woman, it seemed her briefing had been unopened. Most likely due to the fact that Claire's babysitter was already made well aware of the contents beforehand. The briefing contained a summary of a number of disturbing, classified events to be discussed in the all hands meeting that was to take place shortly. These disturbing, classified events would have been quite shocking had she not been made aware of each one days or weeks prior. Even her social media feed contained more details about some of these bullet points, and the accuracy of the reporting on both her feed and this meeting brief was likely similar.

The events ranged from inconsequential acts of civil disobedience, such as the destruction of posters and stickers that the Office of Public Morale had so diligently produced in a manner suggesting that these little bits of propaganda were an honest grassroots effort in support of the fledgling government, to more serious acts, such as the abductions of peace officers and militia members. Bombings and arsons were rare but happening at a rate that drew concern. It seemed to Claire that overt acts of violence were being carried out in the east, in the foothills of the Cascades. The fascists there, or American revivalists as they called themselves, favored blatant attacks during the day time. They used rifles, thrown explosives, vehicles, and possibly even aircraft if the rumors were to be believed. Claire didn't quite believe the fascists had a secret air force hiding in the mountains, but the tactics were effective regardless. They want to be seen fighting, they want word to spread. The revivalists very intentionally avoided harming journalists, and often spoke with them when time permitted. They strike, make themselves seen, and vanish. The people living in these battlefields don't particularly like the revivalists, but those that harbor negative sentiments about the People's Revolutionary Council or the militias it utilizes often sympathize with their cause. They are republicans, if the limited propaganda can be believed. And possibly democratic, too. The revivalists are less clear on that particular issue. Their thoroughly defensible position and anti-aircraft capabilities have thus far rendered the eastern mountain range an impregnable fortress. Any gains the military happened to make were always accompanied by an uptick in violence elsewhere. The revivalists wanted to keep the Council's forces spread thin, and they'd give up territory to ensure it.

The former comrades to the west, mainly on the peninsula, were a far greater threat in Claire's estimation. They favored covert operations, never showing their faces but showcasing their work in as bright a spotlight as they can find. They preferred bombs and arson, abductions, and propaganda. Drawing the anarchists into a traditional fight was an exercise in futility, Claire knew from hard won experience. There was little danger in hunting the anarchists, one would be hard pressed to actually lose a battle to them, but upon executing a perfectly devised encirclement, one would find that they had melted away, leaving only zines and stickers, mocking the military and often, Claire specifically. They had many colorful names for Claire, and trying as she might to view combat through a professional lens, she couldn't help but give in to a bit of animosity. They were allies some time ago, and now they hide in their rainforest, taunting the Council and disappearing any military or militia personnel foolhardy enough to take a step into those blasted trees. The reason they posed such a great threat, in Claire's mind, was their ability to blend into Cascadian communities and inspire defections. Claire couldn't find a reasonable theory as to what the goal of the anarchists was, but as it stood, The People's Revolutionary Council of Cascadia was surrounded on all sides by enemies, and it was up to the military and militia leaders to come up with a solution.

Claire's eyes scanned the document once more and found a particular point of interest. An incident within the capitol itself, a Sergeant with the 3rd Infantry Division had gone missing. This was not seen as important and was instead listed under events of potential interest. Claire scanned her memory for a moment before remembering. 3rd Infantry Division, better known as the Interior Protection Force, also known as the force that provided security for this very building. This was something she would have to bring up. Claire rose and made her way to the meeting. Every Chief of Staff, every general, every admiral, every command sergeant major, and every command master chief would be there. Claire thought the idea of bringing the top ranking NCOs into these meetings was a good idea, better to keep the top brass honest and realistic. As Claire walked down the hall, a nagging thought clawed its way up to the forefront of her mind. All reserve units are currently deployed, a sergeant with this building's security force went missing, there should be an unguarded point. They should be a man down. Claire resolved to do a casual sweep of the building after the meeting to confirm this line of reasoning, but as she walked she did not notice any gaps in security.

Arriving at the entryway to the conference room, she received salutes from the corporal and sergeant standing on either side of the large double-doors. She snapped a salute back before inwardly laughing at the injustice of a sergeant on door duty. Claire entered the spacious room with dozens of tables arranged in a circle. Like a middle school dance from her youth, Claire smirked at the clear division of people in the room, old men with commissions on one side and old men without commissions on the other. Claire realized with some horror that she had been the last to arrive, as many glanced at her arrival and began taking their seats. She felt mildly embarrassed until she heard something that set her instincts on fire. The room and people in it faded in her mind as she heard the faint clicking of the only door locking from the outside. Her eye flashed a bone white as she scanned the room, seeing a device receiving an RF signal.

Claire may have shouted, or perhaps not. Everything happened so fast, even for her elevated reflexes. Kicking over the nearest table shocked all present but not for long. For no sooner had Claire dived behind her makeshift cover was the room engulfed in a bright light, a loud noise, and an intense heat. Claire had enough time to see and hear and feel all these frightening things before everything quickly faded to black.