Prologue
Honorably Discharged
The somber office fellsilent as the last words Jon Johnson had expected to hear from his superior’s lips hung in the air. Jon held still, unblinking, some disbelieving part of himself waiting to discover that Major Miller had developed a shit sense of humor and was jerking their chain.
Jon’s longtime buddy, who stood at his shoulder, didn’t seem quite so willing to wait for Miller to crack a smile. Instead, Lance said, “Excuse me, Major, but what the fuck?”
Jon cut his eyes to the side.
Miller sighed, the sound filled with frustration and disappointment. “I know,” he said. “It’s sudden for me, too. I just got word this morning. And believe me, Marines, none of us want this. Although I’m sure that’s little consolation.”
This morning?Jon felt his brow pinch. “Isn’t there something else we can do? A waiver we can sign?”
“Shit, yeah,” Lance said quickly. “I’d do paperwork for that.”
Miller looked between them and gave a slow shake of his head. “I wish there were. Unfortunately, the direction things are headed doesn’t look like even that would fly, and the absolute last thing the Corps wants is for two of its best to fall victim to whatever political nonsense is coming down the pike.” He gave a choked sound, like he was biting back a laugh, and turned half toward his desk. “You’ve been in command positions long enough. If you think the military moves slow now, imagine how bad it gets when the public starts bogging down Congress and we have to wait for everything to go through transparent channels.”
Jon let his hands curl into fists at his sides. “So, the Corps is letting us go instead, in the middle of a tour? I’ve got men—”
“Johnson,” Miller interrupted as he scooped up the pair of identical, suspiciously flat boxes that had been resting on his desk. “I’m aware of what your unit was working on. Yes, the timing is shit. I’ll keep them alive while another CO is brought in; that’s all I can offer. It’s no longer your concern.” He held out one palm-sized box for each of them. “And this is the saddest fucking medal ceremony I’ve ever been part of, but we were told not to make a spectacle of everything. Your units will be quietly brought up to speed and sworn to secrecy on the details. Records of the exact reason we are actually discharging you are alreadybeing classified as we speak. You’ve done a lot for your country in the last sixteen-odd years, Marines. You deserve better than this, and for that, I and the Marine Corps am deeply sorry.”
Lance blew out a hard breath.
Jon flexed his jaw for two seconds, then forcibly released the tension. He took the medal box being presented to him as Lance did the same. He didn’t need to ask if the medal and associated ribbon in his box was the same as Lance’s. They hadn’t held the same ranks for years, but receiving the Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal as a bittersweet parting gift was less than a surprise. It was, indisputably, the least offensive part of the entire exchange. Even if he hadn’t wanted to receive that particular award for another twenty-some years.
“Shit,” Lance said, his voice strained.
Yeah.Jon wasn’t the only one who’d planned on maxing out his career with the Corps. And both their dreams were officially dashed, all because the general populace had apparently woken up and connected a few dots and done what people in large groups do—lost their shit. Loudly.
Someone, somewhere on the internet, had inquired as to how all the rest of the world dealt with the European nation of Marwood and its rumored more magically and other-inclined populace. The implication being that their military would, also, be of a similar nature. Which of course was true. Jon hadn’t heard shit about that, or the supposed initial responses. One of which had apparently been a short video of a man claiming to be in the Canadian military, shifting out of his animal form in clear view. The video included the captionI don’t lose any sleep over itand was linked directly in response to the original inquiry.
Cue public spiral.
Not having any sort of social media presence and being a little busy doing his fucking job, Jon had missed one hundred percent of the building panic. He hadn’t heard a single word ofthe insanity, paranoia, and frankly damn outrageous shit being tossed around online.
According to Miller, the public had immediately started screaming about how terrifying it was to think that non-ordinary humans might be among their nation’s armed forces. Or their enemy nation’s armed forces. Some of the implicitly offended men and women dared speak up in their own defense, which led to the secondary leading cry. Bleeding hearts who criticized the ‘use’ of non-ordinary humans as unethical and inhumane. As if only humans—baseline, powerless, defined-the-way-the-masses-assumed humans—were acceptable options to turn into soldiers and send onto a battlefield. Or perhaps they were the only ones who had the full and clear mental capacities to make the choice.
The angry and demanding outcries had gained too much momentum to ignore and valid concerns had built. People were already talking about policy reform, restrictions, and even testing—like they had the first damn clue what they were looking for. That kind of shit was going to be a nightmare and cause problems for a crap-ton of undeserving militaries, Marine Corps and elsewhere.
Not all of the individuals on the cusp of impact had been as open about theirdifferencesas Jon or Lance had been. And not all who had had put in as much time served.
It was all bullshit, on both sides. The people didn’t know what they were screaming about. They were just screaming because someone told them to, and meanwhile the instigators were already on to newer things without a fucking care. That was always how it worked.
But the damage was done. Jon’s career was over. Lance’s career was over. More than likely the same was true for at least a dozen others across the gamut of armed forces.
They barely had time to return to their quarters, throw their shit into their seabags, and rendezvous with a grunt who only knew where he’d been told to take them.
“Chief Warrant Officer Johnson,” the grunt Jon didn’t recognize said in greeting, snapping to salute. He shifted his focus to Lance two seconds later. “Master Gunnery Sergeant Blackburn.” He repeated his salute, a bit too stiff but technically fine.
Jon didn’t have the energy to correct him. “At ease,” he said, because he was the senior rank. “All you have to do is drive. We’re not expecting problems.”
The grunt nodded but politely waited for them to climb into the back seat before taking his own behind the wheel. He seemed aware enough to pick up on their tension and whether it was their difference in rank or some story he’d heard about one or both of them, the fact that both Jon and Lance were visibly agitated made the poor kid obviously anxious. If Jon were in a better headspace, he might have felt bad for that.
Instead, he made no effort to combat the silence that engulfed the SUV. He let his gaze slide out the window, barely absorbing the familiar sights of the city that opened beyond the base. There was no point in looking too closely. They were headed to the airport with prepaid, one-way tickets back to the States. Everything was changing. He couldn’t afford to dwell on what he was leaving behind.
He needed to figure out where the fuck he was going. What he’d do with decades ahead of him and no plan.
He suddenly felt stupid for not having at least a skeleton of a plan. But all he had was some money saved up—thank fuck.
