Fallout - Chapter 5

The mess hall was half empty by the time I sat down with my tray – eggs, dry toast, black coffee. Fuel, not food. Conersations buzzed at other tables, but I wasn’t listening. My eyes kept flicking to the far end of the room without meaning to.

No sign of him. Not that I cared.

It was stupid, the way last night had stuck with me. Just a glance. A shared silence. I’d had entire deployments go by without so much as flinching. But something about the way he looked at me – not through me, not past me – like he saw something and didn’t flinch from it…that hadn’t left me.

I shoved a forkful of eggs into my mouth and forced my thoughts elsewhere. I had a weapons brief at 0800 and a meet-up with Lieutenant Ortega about overwatch rotations. No time for distractions.

And then he was there. Knight.

Jogging steady, shirt damp with sweat, arms tight with controlled power. He didn’t see me – or maybe he did and just didn’t react. I wasn’t sure which option irritated me more. I didn’t stop walking. Just kept my pace, eye forward. A flicker of something shifted in my chest, quick and uninvited. I crushed it down.

Later, in the briefing room, Ortega tapped the whiteboard with a marker. “We’ve got a rotation shakeup starting tomorrow. Steele, you’re being pulled for an evaluation. You’ll partner with someone from the new unit – Knight.”

My heart didn’t drop. It didn’t rise either. It just…paused.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Ortega asked.

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

“Good. You’re both high-performers. Command wants to see how you handle pressure together. Fast turns. No margin for error.”

I nodded, jaw clenched. “Understood.”

He moved on to the rest of the assignments, but I only caught pieces of it. Knight. Partnered. Tomorrow.

The room emptied out slowly after the briefing. Boots scraped concrete, chairs clattered, soft mutters passed between squads. I stayed seated a beat longer than I needed to. Not for dramatic effect – just to breathe.

Knight.

I didn’t know his record, but Ortega didn’t hand out partnerships like candy. If he was pairing me with someone new, it meant he wanted eyes on both of us.

I pushed back from the table and left the room without looking for anyone. Outside, the base was starting to cook under the late-morning sun. I headed straight for the arms room. Not becuase I didn’t trust my gear – I just didnt trust surprises.

I ran my hands over my rifle, field-stripped and reassembled it twice. Checked my plates. Swapped out two mags that had minor scuffs. Everything was squared away.

Knight. New unit. Temporary attachment, maybe. Maybe longer.

Didn’t matter. The mission was what mattered.

I logged the inspection and moved on to the motor pool. The mechanics had my team’s vehicle prepared for tomorrow – M-ATV, turret cleaned, fuel topped off. I ran the standard checks anyway. Tires. Comms. Weapon mounts. Every bolt, every buckle. Again, not for the sake of distrust. For control.

Later, I caught a glimpse of Knight across the lot. He was running drills with his team – room clearing, pieing corners, full kit under the sun. His movements were sharp. No wasted energy. No need to impress anyone. That, more than anything, told me he wasn’t new to this.

He didn’t see me watching. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. Maybe he was used to it.

Back in my barracks room, I pelled off my blouse and sank to the floor to stretch. My muscles ached in all the usual places – shoulders, knees, lower back – but it wasn’t the kind of pain you complain about. It was the kind that reminded you you were still here. Still useful.

I thought about the briefing again.

You’ll be working with someone from the new unit – Knight

That pause in Ortega’s voice hadn’t been hesitation. It’d been a test. He wanted to see how I’d react. Probably already had his theories. But I didn’t flinch. I nodded, said “no, sir,” like the good soldier I’d trained myself to be.

Now, sitting alone on the cold tile, I could admit it – not out loud, not even fully in my own head – but there was a shift happening. A subtle change in my rhythm. I didn’t know if it started in the gym or when he glanced up from that rifle during gear check. But something cracked.

Just a hairline fracture.

Tomorrow we’d be stacked together on a live-fire exercise. Real rounds. Real sweat. Real tension. I finished stretching, stoof up, and checked the lock on my door.

One more night to reset. Because tomorrow, I wouldn’t have the luxury of keeping my distance.