[TC: Day 109, 107]

  [EC: August 20, 2618]

  With the city established and the rescued people relocated, we turned our attention to the next phase of our operation. Intel from our mission at Mount Weather suggests that HOTE had a major presence at the bunker in Sydney, Australia. We need to find out if it’s accurate, and if so, neutralize them so they can’t cause any further harm.

  We relocate to a position 20 kilometers outside of Sydney and begin gathering the 3 battalions of Marines for the mission, not knowing what we’ll face when we breach the bunker. This time, we won’t be talking our way in because, according to the informants, the bunker houses approximately 10,000 people. That’s far more than I want to face since they could possibly overwhelm us with sheer numbers alone. So, the pn is to pump a few tons of hibrazine gas into the complex and give it a few hours to work. After that, we can breach the door in retive safety, take down anyone who somehow isn’t knocked out, and take them into custody. They’ll wake up a couple of days ter, extremely nauseous with a hell of a headache.

  I have the kitchens set up to serve hot meals and allow our troops to rest and rex for several days because we’ve been running since we nded. During the respite, I take the opportunity to review our strategy and contingency pns with my top officers. We pour over recovered blueprints of the Sydney bunker, analyzing entry points, potential chokepoints, and areas where resistance might concentrate. While the hibrazine gas should incapacitate the vast majority, we can't afford to underestimate HOTE’s resourcefulness or will to fight.

  As the sun dips below the horizon on the eve of the operation, an eerie, tense calm settles over the camp. Hatred of HOTE and everything they stand for is almost a religion on Terra. The troops know what’s at stake, and the weight of the impending mission hangs heavily in the air. I’m a bit of a military history addict, so I make rounds like leaders of old Earth used to do on the eve of battles, offering encouragement, trading jibes, and reminding them of our purpose. I remind them of the oaths we swore to protect Terra and, by extension, the survivors on Earth.

  HOTE is, was, and forever will be the enemy. After murdering over ten billion people, they deserve no mercy, no quarter, no chance to reenact their atrocity. Whether they were alive or not when it happened, the fact they know what HOTE did and yet still decide to join or remain within their ranks makes them just as guilty as the original perpetrators.

  [TC: Day 110, 107]

  [EC: August 21, 2618]

  In the predawn hours, the troops perform a final check of their weapons, equipment, and ground vehicles. An hour before dawn, we move out, our convoy racing to the outskirts of Sydney. The city, once a vibrant metropolis, now stands as a hollow, decaying shell, a testament to the devastation wrought by HOTE's actions. Crumbling skyscrapers and abandoned, rusting hulks of vehicles litter the streets and are the only things to greet us as we silently navigate through the eerie urban ndscape. The only signs of life are the occasional scurrying of animals and the rustling of overgrown vegetation in the wind. Regardless of the apparent emptiness, the turret gunners are hyper-alert, their eyes darting over the devastation, searching for any sign of an ambush.

  As we approach the coordinates of the bunker, the troops become progressively more alert, readying themselves for anything. They know the pn but also know the best-id pns can go awry. The entrance, a nondescript, two-meter steel door set deeply into the side of a hill, seems almost too inconspicuous for a facility housing thousands. Recon troops fan out, searching for any hidden defenses or traps, while the remainder of our force secures a perimeter around the main entrance, ready to provide cover fire if needed.

  A special ops team enters the tunnel leading to the door, they find only trash and debris as they cautiously make their way to the door. They find a set of automated machine guns at the door, which thankfully, are inoperable due to age and ck of maintenance. They attach a retively small particle nce, only a meter long and a half meter around, to the door. They then set the timer on it, and retreat to avoid the radiation backscatter as the protons tunnel through the 90cm thick door.

  While we wait, I order a hot meal to be served instead of battle rations, and after they eat, to change the guard so they have a hot meal as well. In my opinion, it’s the little things like this that can make you a beloved commander.

  That’s something that I’ve always tried to instill in the officers under me. Unfortunately, there are always the types that never listen or realize that the enlisted make or break a command. Every single person I’ve caught acting like that has ended up cashiered. Discipline is one thing, mistreatment is entirely another matter, and I simply won’t tolerate it.

  Hours ter, the particle nce has completed its task. Troops carrying the hybrazine canisters enter the tunnel while an engineer sets up a sealed port around the 10cm hole. He then attaches the canisters to a multiport valve so he doesn’t have to keep switching them out, attaches the lead to the sealed port, and opens the valves.

  As we wait for the hybrazine to permeate through the entire facility, I order a minimal guard to be posted and the troops to rest. As the hybrazine gas is pumped into the Sydney bunker complex, an eerie silence falls over our encampment.

  Slowly, the designated time ticks closer, and I order the engineering teams to move into position. First, they seal the entrance to the tunnel with a psma shield, and then decontaminate the tunnel. They then begin cutting through the door with heavy psma torches. Several hours ter, they announce they’ve cut out a panel, though they’ve left it in pce until troops are in position. The troops, having caught several precious hours of rest, now stand at the ready, weapons primed and eyes alert. The anticipation is palpable, a tense energy crackling through the air as they await my signal to breach the bunker.

  Despite the thoroughness of our pnning, a niggling sense of unease tugs at the back of my mind. HOTE has proven themselves to be uncaring of casualties, and I can't shake the feeling that they may have a surprise or two in store for us. I mentally cross my fingers that the hybrazine has knocked them all out, but in a facility this rge, that’s highly unlikely. The best we can hope for is the majority of them are incapacitated.

  My troops line the tunnel to the door, ready and waiting to follow the three heavy armor teams after they push the panel into the bunker and enter.

  I’m not going to go into a huge amount of detail about the operation, but approximately 1,500 of them realized what was happening and managed to cordon off level three, the lowest level, from the rest of the facility. Thankfully, only a few were armed since the armory was on level one, so our troops captured them with retive ease. The shots that the HOTE members got off left scratches on the Marines' armor, which of course, they compined about since they’ll have to be buffed out. The only deaths came from ricochets before the Marines broke through their makeshift barricade and stunned them all.

  After they were all removed, I walked through the bunker, and from the state of their supplies, they had maybe another year before they ran out. The facilities, such as the toilets and showers were in bad shape, and the kitchen wasn’t much better. Most were broken or half-working, and the entire pce was a mess. Believe me, when I returned to our temporary base, I immediately took a shower.

  [TC: Day 115, 107]

  [EC: August 26, 2618]

  As we were informed, every single one of them are HOTE members. Mostly the children of core members and every one of them we’ve interrogated are true believers in their cause. They are then remanded for trial. The judges consist of me, Colonel Garcia, Lieutenant Colonel Bellows, Major Adams, and Major Young. They are assigned someone from JAG (Judge Advocate General's Corps) to represent them and then put on trial. The nano interrogation statements made by them are admissible, so as a general rule, they are told it would be best to throw themselves onto the mercy of the court. The trials tend to be rather short considering that. All but five have been sentenced to a personality rewrite, and more than half have had their gender-swapped as well. I’ll get into the why of that soon.

  The five I’m referring to are quite old and were members when HOTE released the virus. Two of them sat on HOTE’s directing council, so approved of the pn. All five were sentenced to death by firing squad. Suffice it to say, it made the rest of them sit up and pay attention when they were publicly executed.

  So, about sentencing to gender swapping. We still have two more facilities to crack open, but as things stand, the male-to-female ratio needed to be adjusted since it’s weighted slightly in favor of males. We expect there to be around 1,000 people in the st two facilities, and the other five combined amount to about 25,000 people. Far more than we began with, but still, that’s not a lot of people to recim a pnet.

  The st elderly man we interrogate turns out to be one of their founding members. I’ve ordered that any action against him be put on hold because, at some point, I want to have a conversation with him, and maybe get some answers.

  [TC: Day 125, 107]

  [EC: September 4, 2618]

  I make a call to the Athena onboard the Victoria. When she answers, I ask, “Hey, love. How would you like to come down?”

  “Hell, yes!” She states in an excited tone.

  I chuckle at her enthusiasm, not that I can bme her. “Good. Then you can take my pinnace and bring my dress uniforms with you.”

  [TC: Day 146, 107]

  [EC: September 25, 2618]

  Reaching over, I sp off the arm with a groan. I seriously don’t want to do today. I’m not tired or anything, it’s just because I have a meeting with the so-called civilian leadership of the survivors. I call them self-appointed imposters who say they are the leaders of the US government. All of them were rescued from Mount Weather, so it’s not all that surprising, but there are no countries anymore. Regardless, I have no idea where they’ve come up with the idea that they lead anything.

  I disentangle myself from Athena, crawl out of bed, and head off to the mini-kitchen in my pinnace to eat. Afterward, I shower, comb my hair, apply my makeup, and don my dress whites.

  I then step over to the bed, gently caress Athena’s cheek, softly kiss her, and whisper, “I’ll see you ter, love.”

  She sleepily murmurs, “Mmm~. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” I murmur, and make my way through the cargo bay. As I begin to walk down the ramp, I see Colonel Garcia waiting for me, and call out, “Good morning.” Of course, he’s in his dress uniform as well.

  He replies, “Good morning, Ma’am. Or, I should say, it would be if we didn’t have to meet with these wannabes.”

  I ugh as I reach the bottom of the ramp. “Trust me, I feel the same way, Jose. Where these idiots get the idea that there are countries is beyond me.”

  He snorts. “Ma’am, never underestimate the stupidity of some folk.” He gestures to the APC. “Shall we?”

  I nod and we board the APC and make the 20-odd-kilometer drive to Orsus, the so-called new capital of the US. Soon enough, we arrive in front of the town hall, Jose hands me out of the APC and we make our way inside.

  We enter the room and I’m surprised when I find General Miller there in addition to the so-called civilian leaders who asked for a ‘diplomatic meeting.’ I agreed but considered the idea idiotic. I’m no diplomat by any stretch of the imagination unless you want to consider blowing up things diplomatic.

  Regardless, I smile and nod as I greet them. “Good morning, Lady and Gentlemen,” as Colonel Garcia and I walk over to sit down on the opposite side of the table from them.

  General Miller stands up and growls, “Young dy, both of you are forgetting something!”

  I continue to smile as I curiously tilt my head, and then ask, “What would that be, Mr. Miller?”

  “That’s General Miller,” he thunders. “And junior officers are required to salute their superiors!”

  I close my eyes and sigh. When I open them, I stare directly into his eyes. “Mr. Miller, there is no United States or any other country on Earth. As such no one has a military on the pnet other than the Terran Federation who rescued and inocuted all of you,” I state in a deadpan tone.

  He condescendingly states, “No credible service would allow their members to dress so… inappropriately.”

  I look down at my dress uniform, and then back up to him to ask, “How is my uniform inappropriate?”

  “The length and fit,” he says. “It’s far too short, and shouldn’t look like you’re going to a nightclub. Then there’s your hair, it should be worn up.”

  I merely shrug. “The length and fit of my uniform conform to regutions as does my hair. Do try to remember, we are from Terra, not Earth.”

  He disapprovingly sniffs and then scoffs, “You’re just a kid.”

  “Me? A kid?” I chuckle as I gnce at Jose. “Did you hear that? The Federation Council pced a kid in command of a fleet with enough firepower to devastate a pnet. That’s rather reckless of them, don’t you think?”

  Jose chuckles and a moment ter, Miller snarls, “What’s so funny?”

  Jose asks, “May I, Ma’am?” I nod and he replies. “Your assumption is way off base. Both of us are over one hundred years old.” Everyone’s eyes widen in apparent surprise. “General Reeves has been in the Terran Federation military for over 80 years and I’ve been a Marine for over 75 years, so it’d behoove you to drop any preconceptions about us.”

  Miller sucks his teeth, and then says, “Regardless of that. There is a US, our leaders are right here,” he gestures to the men and woman seated beside him. “That means I’m the senior commander of our armed forces, and that would pce you under my command.”

  I lean forward in my seat and pce my arms on the table. “What armed forces, General?” I ask stressing the title. “As far as I saw, there’s you and about forty others that still pretend that you command something.” I pause as I lean back in my seat. “Colonel Garcia has more troops in a single company than in your entire fictional armed forces. Those relics you tout as main battle tanks in Cheyenne and Mount Weather couldn’t stand against a single light tank of ours. For that matter, the Marines could take them down without support.” I harden my tone as I continue, “General, I couldn’t care less if you wanna py pretend army commander, but don’t you ever try to order me or my troops around. Is that clear?”