“So, as you can see, that is the situation we are currently looking at. Because of our last operation, the medic my team had been using was currently out of action. Luckily enough, we have you. A corpsman with enough combat under his belt won't hold us back,” the soldier who had opened the door to the SUV explained. It was a man the others around here called Blondie.

  Martinez doubted it was the man's real name, but it made sense they would use monikers. All the names he had heard while Blondie and Chloe gave a rough operations order: Jackal, Jester, Roper, Vicky, Tool, and others. It would make sense if the terms they used were just nicknames or possible callsigns. Referring to one another by non-formal names would enhance operational security, making it even more challenging to identify precisely who you were dealing with.

  Between Chloe and Blondies' briefings, Martinez had a solid idea of what they expected of him. But honestly, what surprised him was why they had to recruit some random Corpsman for what clearly was some kind of black operation.

  Visage had been an issue not just here in Draun—no, the horrible narcotic had spread far and wide across the galaxy. It had become such a prolific illicit drug that it had been on earth for several years at this point.

  Based on the few reports that Chloe shared, Visage had been spreading like wildfire across their cradle world: The La Ruins, Chicago, London, Moscow, New Brisban, and nearly every other major population center.

  Like all other illegal operations, where there was one problem, others soon followed. In this case, wherever this interstellar drug operation went, violence, robbery, and the spook's primary concern, sapient trafficking, had become common enough the GU and Human governments were dedicating astronomical forces that to snuffing them out.

  The desire to control the drugs had led Chloe and her team to Draun. While she technically was an ambassador, that was not her primary role. Managing her teams across this system was her sole goal and what justified her actions. Playing politics was just a means to an end, the end being the GU looking the other way when her team blew up some crooks or made people connected to the drug rings disappear.

  Their medic, Angel, had taken a few rounds after their last raid had gone tits up a few weeks past. Martinez appreciated the story of how it happened. The man was wounded, acting like a true blue Doc.

  As best as Blondie could recount the tale after the fact, a group of alien hostiles that he colloquially referred to as Targs, short for targets, had slipped past his team and assaulted Angels CCP; their goal seemed to have been recovering their merchandise.

  Angel managed to keep the Targs at bay until another operator named Hound returned as backup. But it was too little too late. Doc Angel had been shot to shit, and well over half of the Human prisoners were beyond saving.

  The result of that lapse in operational judgment had cost Angel one of his legs and at least six months of rehab while he had augmetics installed. Along with his injuries, the HVT hoped to smoke while planet side managed to slip out of their grasp.

  The current plan was simple. These spooks and their assets would locate the HVT and wherever the drugs had relocated. They would then plan a strike, pull Martinez in during the spin-up to the operation, and execute it flawlessly—unlike last time.

  These soldiers were clearly from some kind of high-tier special operations unit; there was no doubt they could perform ops without him. But even Martinez’s grunt ass could understand that there was a vast gap between their first aid and his trauma care.

  If he had a solid STTK or some other advanced medical kit, Martinez could treat a thousand boo-boos or even affix a temporary hemo-pneumo stabilizer—a device he could install on someone's chest that would crawl into their chest cavity and act as a temporary set of lungs and heart. They would not be able to do anything but stay alive, but it was better than meeting Big J.

  Despite Martinez being more than capable of doing everything the spooks asked of him, the idea of leaving Lysa and their future child for a month or two stung. The idea of them not being safe while he was away crawled through his mind like a venomous beast; old, nearly forgotten memories were dragged up from the depths of his mind.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He recalled the faces of Marines when they were preparing to deploy or stood at the door of a dropship, ready to drop into the crucible of war. He could see the look of fear and hesitance marring their typically stoic features.

  Now, they were not afraid of the enemy or of the danger of battle. Marines, especially Human Marines, were just not built that way. The idea of fear was antithetical to all they were and how they lived.

  They were fearful for those they would leave behind.

  Given how Humanity deployed troops, soldiers were often away from Human-controlled space for years, with no guaranteed return date. When those men had left home, they expected not to see their loved ones for years, if ever at all; a feeling that Martinez could now sympathize with. He understood why those stalwart men shook in their boots, and prayed to return home.

  Granted, unlike those brave men, his deployment would only be a few months; he knew that the time away from his love would be short, but still, that understanding did not make the idea any more palatable.

  No matter his feelings, Martinez knew there was only one way he could get what he wanted in the end. He would have to put on his big boy pants, suck it the fuck up, and live up to the expectations Humanity demanded.

  Oddly, nothing had changed since his boot camp class at Lake Baikal—nor in his follow-on medical training on Mars. He had to live by a never shall I fail attitude and do all he could to succeed.

  However, unlike when he aimed to be the best for his desires and ego, now he lived for others. He would do this; he would not falter.

  Alright, that sounds like a plan to me,” Martinez said, nodding as he accepted most of the plan. “But can I ask you for one more thing?”

  “You can certainly ask,” Chloe shrugged, willing to hear the man out.

  Chloe knew she had Martinez already; in the grand context of what she could do, all she planned on doing for him was trivial. So, a little bit more would not affect her plans.

  “Can I have some time after Lysa gives birth?” Martinez asked, trying not to sound like he was begging.

  Chloe raised a brow. She was already planning on letting Martinez have a few weeks with her. She understood that after giving birth, women would need to rest, and him being beside his dear would be vital for her health and to keep him happy; however, if he thought that was off the table, why would she correct him?

  She opened her calendar on her datapad and scrolled through her upcoming events, checking if there was something she could use Martinez for. It took her a second or two, but there was an event he would definitely be more beneficial for than who she had planned.

  Chloe leaned over and showed her datapad to Blondie, whispering so Martinez couldn’t hear..

  From Martinez’s perspective, all he could see was Blondie's cobalt-blue eyes scanning the datapad before shifting into shock. They had a short exchange, which he perceived as a bit of a spat. Chloe seemed insistent, while Blondie questioned her and repeatedly looked at Martinez. After a few moments, Chloe waved his concerns away and looked back to Matinez, ignoring Blondie's short grumble.

  “We can definitely arrange something, But I will need you to do me one more itty, bitty favor,” Chloe said, holding her fingers in a pinch.

  Martinez curled his toes, trying not to show how much the idea of owing this woman anything else pissed him off.

  “Don’t worry, it won't be anything dangerous. I just need some company for a particular event,” Chloe assured, looking at Martinez with what almost looked like a genuine smile.

  The nearly real smile was unsettling to see, not only for Martinez but also for several of the soldiers present. They were all used to Chloe, the spy, the handler, the woman who was always working an angle, being calm, flat-faced, and unexpressive unless it served her needs. However, right there, though, even if it was only for a picosecond, they swore her smile reached her youthful eyes.

  “Ok, what do I need to do?” Martinez asked, paying closer attention to Chloe's reaction after that.

  As if she could tell he was focusing on her details, Chloe put back up her wall after that little lapse. “Please just make sure your dress uniform is clean and well-pressed in a month.”

  “I will,” Martinez nodded, slightly wondering where she was going with this but not prying. Chloe would only give him non-answers, and he knew it.

  “Marvelous,” Chloe clapped her hands. “I am so glad we came to an agreement.”

  Chloe tucked away her datapad and walked over to Martinez. The comparatively short woman patted his back and gestured to her soldiers. “I hope you do well working with us, and I assure you we will help you and Lysa in any way we can. But for now, we have one last bit of business.”

  Chloe then directed Martinez’s attention toward one of the soldiers lingering in the shadows. The man was a monster. He stood a head taller than Martinez and looked like he had eaten three Mr. Olympia winners to absorb their power. That is to say, the man's muscles had muscles, and he had to walk sideways through doors. “Would you please go with Mouse there? He will fit you for your gear and take your requests for medical supplies. Afterward, he will escort you home.”