Zombie Field: The Rise and Fall

Zombie Field:

The Rise and Fall

By Razorback

Smashwords Edition

Copyright (c) 2010, Razorback Graphic Illustration

All Rights Reserved.

Cover Illustration: Razorback Graphic Illustration

Proofreaders: Patricia A. Wheat, Erica D. Miller

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Visit http://www.zombiefield.com/ for downloads and updates

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 – Treachery & Treason

Chapter 2 – High Priest of Holocaust

Chapter 3 – ViZioNZ

Chapter 4 – Dead to Rites

Chapter 5 – Power

Chapter 6 – Tiger, Tiger

Chapter 7 – VSI

Chapter 8 – Arena

Chapter 9 – Tailgunner

Chapter 10 – Combat

Prologue

January 8, 2000: After such notable disasters as the Gulf War, Bosnia and Cheznia, a committee within the United Nations is formed in the attempt to keep nuclear arms and biological weapons from falling into the hands of paramilitaries. The committee, made up of 86 member states, become known as the Global Economic Exchange Commission (EC for short) and promised to deliver a New Age of Global Peace. In a short, four years, they nearly accomplish just that. Intercontinental trade and exchange soar under the direction of the EC. As a result, not only does the national economy grow, but a surge of technology as well.

October 13, 2004: The EC program has been so successful, terrorism and conflict have been eliminated in greater Europe and Southeast Asia. Because of this, the UN Security Council conglomerates NATO into the EC. Positive they can assure peace in the Arab countries by eliminating the flow of arms to dictatorships, the committee makes a requisition to eliminate all worldwide military establishments in favor of one centralized force run exclusively by the EC. The requisition sparks very heated debates between the nations and the motion remains under United Nations consideration. For the next few years, EC representatives travel worldwide gathering support to push their proposal into an official resolution.

July 10, 2009: A coalition of ten Mediterranean nations called The Rising Dawn, with nuclear weapons purchased through communist states, threatens to wipe European allies off the map, holding the world hostage for eighteen weeks in a nuclear stand-off that had not been seen since the Cold War. The crisis is finally put down in a spectacular air battle by the United States Navy 113th Strike Fighter Squadron of F-4 Phantoms. Three teams of pilots known as The Four Horsemen and their squadron leader Isis receive the Medal of Honor for the mission.

December 3, 2009: After the nuclear threat, the EC takes advantage of the public outcry to once again push for a centralized military force. Under the ordinance, now an official resolution, the EC promised to end all wars. This time, the majority of nations follow. The United States, having the largest military service in the world, stands in opposition of the EC Resolution. The United Nations Security Council begins sanctions against any nation who will not submit its military to the EC, including the US. Having virtually all of its manufacturing operations overseas, the US has little choice but to concede.

June 1, 2010: The EC Resolution passes through the UNSC with an overwhelming 92% approval. Meanwhile, on US soil, the controversy has almost brought the American government to a standstill. Not since the Civil War has America been so divided over an issue. Military servicemen vow to never give up their way of life, and they will kill to keep it.

August 8, 2010: Under the EC Military Reformation Act, armies from every nation are drastically down-sized, placing millions of servicemen out of work. The flood of new employees into the work force begins to buckle the economy of several first-world nations. As many large corporations, who worked under government contracts, close as well, the Global Age of Prosperity crumbles.

September 15, 2010: The first official UN-EC Military bases open in the United States, to be met with sabotage by former servicemen. Those Americans who willingly joined the EC Military, put their lives on the line.

December 25, 2011: Out of the early morning air, five squadrons of F-4 Phantoms mercilessly attack the EC Military Headquarters in Belgium. Completely unprepared for an offensive, the government of Belgium falls in just under six hours. As if coming out of the very ground itself, invasion forces trample all of Eur-Asia. Battles break out in Tokyo, Moscow, Cean, and all over the United States. The little defense the EC Military can put up is quickly crushed by the enemy.

January 3, 2012: Five of the smaller nations, unable to get protection from the EC, surrender to the unnamed invader, while fighting intensifies worldwide. Italy and France, under heaviest assault, begin to fall.

January 25, 2012: France and Italy finally succumb.

January 28, 2012: Daily satellite transmissions are interrupted by a man claiming to be the leader of the invasion force known as VENOME. Major General Jeremy Riley, former US Joint Chief of Staff, threatens to continue his hijack of the world until the EC Resolution is abolished.

By March of 2012, 32% of the nations under EC Military protection have submitted themselves to the overwhelming might of Venome.

The United States itself quickly schisms. Venome re-opens every former service base closed by the EC Military, recruiting hundreds of thousands on the spot. The former military installations once again become alive with the movement of troops and equipment and Venome spans across the globe.

June 22, 2012: Under heavy pressure by United Nations, the United States government is forced to make an official declaration that Venome is an enemy of the people. However, 17 state governments use their emergency powers of autonomous rule to declare themselves Venome Territory. All hell has finally broken loose.

August 29, 2012: In a last ditch effort, the EC spawns a special force known as the Resistance to combat the seemingly omni-powerful Venome. Enlistment is optional. According to the common public, any man who joined the Resistance Army is walking into the field of the damned—the Zombie Fields.

Chapter 1:

Treachery & Treason

3 January 2015: Fuck! shouts Commander Brandi Schofield as she smashes her fist into the control panel of her fighter, sending shards of glass whizzing around the cockpit. How dare that idiot order us to retreat!! Just who the hell runs Flight Division in this army? I do, not him!!

Behind her is Lieutenant Michael Sheerer, the See-Con or Secondary Controller, who handles the weapons systems and radar intercept functions of the aircraft. Over the years of working with Brandi, he has become accustomed to her temper just after a battle. Obviously, today will be no different.

Relax, Brandi, he says, while flipping switches on the navigational computer. Zombie Field was kicking our ass anyway, we had to retreat.

Who the fuck asked you? she retorts. Besides, that fucking Riley was the one who ordered us along that flight path and it was so obvious that it was a trap! Hell, a Common Guard would have known the Resistance Air Wing was strongest there!

You won’t get any arguments out of me on that one, Sheerer agrees.

The Commander sharply turns the fighter into a steep bank, then kicks in the afterburners, sending it into speeds past Mach two. Her grip is heavy on the flight yoke as she navigates through the bright, blue skies.

I’m telling you, Mike, that idiot Jeremy Riley is going to get us all killed one day... or worse, caught. Brandi’s statement clearly exemplifies her train of thought: Better to die than be captured by the Resistance.

Not too much we can do about it since Riley is the Venome leader.

Leader?! she growls. Jeremy Riley couldn’t lead his dick to a whorehouse!

The fact remains, Brandi, Riley’s in charge, Mike continues to argue.

Yes, well, I think it’s about time that mistake is corrected.

Oh? And who do you propose as the new leader... yourself? the Lieutenant says jokingly.

She decides to ignore Mike’s sarcasm, for she is in no mood to be toyed with, especially by a subordinate. By military law, she can have him up on charges for that comment. However, Brandi has known Mike for a number of years now and he has come to be the only person she can trust in this whole twisted regime. Lucky for him, she never held a grudge where he is concerned.

Ten minutes pass with nothing but the sounds of sixteen-thousand pounds of jet thrust filling the air. It pisses Brandi off to lose, even if the odds were stacked against them from the outset. She prides herself on being one of the best pilots to ever set foot in a plane, and top guns don’t lose. Suddenly, a piercing blare shrieks inside the fighter, followed by a pulsing, yellow alarm mounted on the flight board. The Commander responds by dropping the fighter below mach and maintains cruising speeds. A crackling sound comes from over the intercom perched above their heads.

Attention pilot, you have entered Venome Air-Space. Give your flight number and destination or your craft will be intercepted and destroyed. The message from the Com-Link cycles over and over, meaning they have just crossed the Outer Marker Beacon.

Venome Headquarters has remained a secret location since the war began thanks to wave deflective technology. Not only is it hidden from radar, but it bends light waves around it as well, making it invisible to satellite imagery. It’s safe to say, the very existence of the regime hangs on the stability of Venome Headquarters, therefore, high levels of security must be maintained to ensure its location is not compromised.

The Commander flips more switches on the Com-Link and speaks loudly into her oxygen mask, This is Commander Air Group, 3rd Fighter Squadron - Commander Brandi Schofield; Flight: Charlie-Delta-Victor-Romeo, Two One Two Six Nine, escorting squadron from battle; requesting landing clearance.

Within minutes, a voice on the Com responds, Identification verified: Charlie-Delta, Two One Two Six Nine, you are cleared to land at dock fifteen.

Welcome back, Schofield, the voice pleasantly adds.

Fuck you, she snorts in return.

The fighter is well into the mountains of the Black Range, New Mexico, when the Commander begins final approach procedures. She first drops the plane’s speed under two-hundred-sixty-knots and pushes the nose forward. Soon, Schofield notices the small, flickering, green lights of the Inner Marker Beacon on her Heads-Up Display.

Since Venome Headquarters is invisible outside a thirty-mile radius of the mountainside, she’s entirely dependent on her navigational computers for the correct approach path or else she will crash straight into the terrain.

Once the fighter crosses the deflection field, the outline of a city-like complex becomes clear. This is their destination. Venome Headquarters: a military base built on the largest mountain in the Black Range. Rumor is, it had taken the former US Army three years to blast away enough rock to produce a level surface to build a military installation. Not too long after, the Army abandoned the project and it fell into the hands of Major General Jeremy Riley. Now, five years later, VHQ dominates the landscape like a cloud of death.

Rapidly approaching her target, Brandi begins final landing protocols, relaying information over the Com-Link to the Landing Signal Officer. Dock Fifteen is the underground hangar. Since VHQ can’t fit an entire fleet on the upper level, a secondary hangar bay exists on the very interior of the mountain. Another project scrapped by the former US Army.

To Brandi, this maneuver is as simple as landing on an aircraft carrier; she can practically do it with her eyes closed. A solid steel, two-hundred-square-foot panel on the mountain wall begins to move, revealing an inside runway. Schofield’s fighter hits the deck at one-hundred-eighty knots and grinds along the solid ground until the tailhook snags the cable, bringing the fighter screeching to a halt.

The aircraft taxis slowly through the corridor until reaching the main hangar bay. Flight personnel in orange jumpsuits wave red flags, directing the Commander to move her fighter from the runway and into its final position. Still more Flight Division personnel flood through the hangars, running around desperately to prepare the landing bay for the incoming squadron that followed the Commander from battle. With the fighter at a complete halt, the canopy swings open and a ladder is brought up to the cockpit as the two officers depart their aircraft.

Brandi crosses the lower decks of the bay and ascends to the Pilot’s Registration booth with Mike Sheerer close behind. After filling out the tedious and often unnecessary paperwork, they continue through the maze-like hallways that lead to the surface of Venome Headquarters.

Emerging from the passageway, Commander Schofield lets out a slight sigh of relief. As extensive as the underground hangar is, there is too much noise and commotion in such a constricted area for her tastes. Now on the main streets of the complex, she looks up to the afternoon skies, slightly obscured by the high-rise buildings. To her, Venome Headquarters more resembles a city instead of an army base: cars zooming past while other members of the regime dart in and out of buildings, doing their daily routines.

You’re not serious about that stuff you said up there, were you, Brandi? Mike boldly inquires as they begin their walk across the installation.

Hell yes! the Commander stresses, it’s high time Riley got bumped off the top of the totem pole!

No. It’s high treason... and I wouldn’t say things like that too loud, Mike warns her discreetly. All we need is one Common Guardsmen to overhear you and we’re sitting in front of a Grand Inquisition.

Brandi pretty much ignores him as they cross the streets of VHQ. From where they are, the Officers’ Decks, the housing installation for high ranked personnel, is approximately two miles away. The white, marble-faced building is probably the best-managed housing complex on base: definitely better than the dwellings created for the lower ranks. At last report, the Ranked Barracks, home to the Common Guard and all enlisted personnel, would completely burn to the ground in five minutes if a fire happens to erupt.

Crossing another street, Mike continues to relay his concerns. Besides, if Riley hears about this, it’ll be our ass!

I didn’t say we’d ask him for his permission. I mean a coupe.

You’re fucking crazy! Sheerer shakes his head.

At this point, she has had enough of his whining. In all the years, she’s never once known Mike Sheerer to take immediate action when necessary; he always had to think. That’s a weakness in her eyes and she refuses to stomach weak people. Stopping dead in her tracks, Brandi turns, jumping in the Lieutenant’s face.

Look, she shouts, Riley has been fucking up too much lately. We’ve lost three countries to the Resistance and seven more are thinking about splitting. If we keep this up, we’re going to end up right in the hands of the Resistance. I’d rather die a proud officer trying to save the army, than sit through an UN Court Martial with a pathetic face muttering, ‘I was only following orders!’

When Commander Schofield takes a tone as she has, people shut up and listen. For the rest of the walk to the Officers’ Decks, Sheerer does exactly that. It really isn’t so much that Mike doesn’t want Major General Riley replaced; in truth, he does. However, barging into a veteran General’s office, with guns a-blazing, and asking him to step down hardly sounds like a feasible plan.

Not another word is spoken for the duration of the walk to the thirteen-story housing complex. For no apparent reason, Sheerer follows Brandi through the halls, up to the Commander’s tenth floor apartment. The Lieutenant lives downstairs on the fifth floor, but really finds no reason in going home just yet. A single man in Venome doesn’t have many distractions, unless you count getting drunk and flirting with the women at the Recreational Center.

Brandi unlocks her door and walks inside with Mike following closely behind.

Wanna drink? she asks, strolling into the kitchen.

No.

When she returns, glass of scotch in her hands, she sees Mike Sheerer standing and facing away from her. She sets the glass on the counter top extending outwards from the dining room and unzips the red with silver trim flight jumpsuit, dropping it to the floor.

Mike, Brandi calls to him, unbuttoning her white, long-sleeved uniform shirt. As he turns, she drops the shirt around her arms to her waist and approaches him, now completely topless.

Why don’t you come here and make yourself useful, she seductively summons.

Seeing Brandi’s perfect, naked breasts is enough to send Sheerer’s heart leaping into his throat. Judging from the tone of her voice, Mike knows he had better do something; he may never get this chance again.

~~~~

The next day, Commander Schofield is awakened by the sound of Lieutenant Sheerer putting on his flight uniform. She slowly stirs to life, brushing her chestnut brown hair from her face. Mike glances over to his companion, now engulfed in the morning sunshine. Brandi has always been the most alluring woman he’s ever known, and in this light, she is even more beautiful. Attempting to break his concentration from her porcelain smooth, soft, white skin, he proceeds to button his shirt.

Where do you think you’re going, airman? she calls to him, teasingly.

Mike chooses to reopen the previous day’s discussion instead. Just suppose we were to get rid of Major General Riley, who would we replace him with?

I see Riley’s gotten on your nerves about as much as he has mine.

Brandi begins to fish around the area for her clothes. After a few minutes, having no luck finding them, she flops back on the bed, arms behind her head. In that brief span of time, she’s totally forgotten what he was talking about.

Brandi? Mike calls to her again.

What, Mike?

Who do you have in mind?

For what?

Mornings are not the Commander’s thing. Even though she had spent years in training getting up at the crack of dawn, her position in Flight Division has given her leeway to get up as late as eleven if she wants to: one advantage of commanding an entire branch of the army.

To replace Riley, Sheerer restates.

Schofield wraps a thick, red blanket around her body and stands up. She begins walking over towards her bathroom when she stops and turns to him.

Tell you what, Mike. Meet me at Vehicle Registration in an hour. I’ve got to get cleaned up. With that, she disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Back at his fifth floor apartment, Mike Sheerer slams his keys on his dining room table. Apparently having some time to kill, he takes the nine-millimeter, standard service pistol from its holster and slams it also on the tabletop. In less than a minute, it’s completely apart and he starts cleaning his weapon.

All of this is an attempt to keep his mind off Brandi and what happened the night before. He’s pretty certain Brandi isn’t in love with him, just using him as she’s done to so many others. Like everyone else in Venome, Commander Brandi Schofield is only interested in people for what she can gain from them and nothing more. He has known this since they met in flight school, almost eight years ago. Even then, he had a thing for her, but working with her in Venome has shown him another side of Brandi. He knows that she is more fighter than female, more warrior than woman. There’s only one love in the heart of Senior Division Officer, Commander Brandi Schofield: the love of flying and the thrill of combat.

In no time at all, the weapon is completely cleaned and reassembled. Mike Sheerer decides to take a shower and change his clothes. Forty-five minutes later, he arrives at the Vehicle Registration Bay, near the entrance gate of VHQ. Due to the high number of automobile thefts from the base, all cars must now pass through the Vehicle Registration Bay for inspection before exiting the installation. Guards at the bay have authority to execute thieves on the spot.

Not long after his arrival, a midnight blue, Vector M12 sports car screams into the Vehicle Registration Bay as Mike watches while standing against a nearby wall. It twists and turns through the aisles of the lot and finally comes to a screeching stop in front of him. The driver’s side door opens and Commander Schofield pops out, devious grin on her face.

Where are we going, Brandi? Mike asks, knowing that grin usually means she’s up to no good.

Road trip, my dear. Road trip.

Hours later, the officers reach the city limits of Phoenix, Arizona, unoccupied territory. Brandi veers off the interstate, makes a series of short turns and after another twenty minute journey, they arrive in front of a tall, white, multi-building complex with the words Paradise Towers mounted on the left and right wings, on parallel columns. After pulling into the parking garage and walking around the front of the building, the two stop at a security booth by the main entrance way which is occupied by a well built, bald, security guard.

Smith, Brandi barks at him.

Tower One, Suite 215, floor 15.

A buzzer sounds, the door opens and the officers proceed through the hotel’s main lobby. Paradise Towers redefines opulent: Goldenrod colored, marble-textured columns reach up to the fifty-foot ceiling, where crystal chandeliers hang low and cast bright reflections from the flawless, almond walls. It looks like something out of the Waldorf Astoria and is obviously where either the rich, or the extremely important, reside. Just beyond the front desk lay a line of elevator doors, which Brandi and Mike enter.

On the way up, Mike continually voices his apprehension. This had better be worth risking a high treason charge.

Will you please shut up?! Schofield finally snaps. He’s bitched and moaned the entire three and a half hour ride and if the Commander has to hear another complaint, she just might bring the Lieutenant up on charges herself.

Finally reaching the fifteenth floor, the elevator jerks to a stop and the metal doors pry apart. Schofield and Sheerer follow the ascending, numbered doors along the hallway until coming upon a brown door with a silver plate and an engraving: Suite 215. D. SMITH.

Brandi knocks on the door and waits. Finding no answer, she begins to knock again when suddenly, it creaks open and a long-nosed, .357 Magnum appears. With lightning speed, she clamps the attacker’s wrist, spins around and flings him out of the doorway and across the hallway floor. The man hits the ground with a bone-crunching thud and Commander Schofield buries her black boots into his stomach. The .357 Magnum clatters to the ground a short distance away and in reaction, Mike Sheerer rushes up and kicks the weapon, sending it whizzing down the hall.

What the hell is going on, Brandi? Mike shouts.

From around a nearby corner, a black man in a dark grey, single-breasted Dinner Jacket, wearing sunglasses, steps from cover and into direct firing range of Mike and Brandi. From a holster on his left side, he takes a Glock .40-caliber weapon, aiming at the Lieutenant. The cocking of the hammer is enough to stir Brandi’s attention and she spins around. Seeing the second assassin preparing to fire, she screams, Mike! Duck!!

The man with the dark sunglasses fires a series of three shots toward Sheerer which slam into a ‘no smoking’ sign only inches away from the Lieutenant’s head.

Move again, either of you, and you’re deader than Julius fucking Caesar, the tall, black man announces. I’ve got them, Debbi.

From around the corner appears an attractive, young blonde woman in a light purple, floral-decorated top and faded, blue-jean shorts. As she passes the black man in the dark sunglasses, she says, Good job, babe, giving him a playful pat on his rear.

Debbi? Brandi says in confusion.

Hello, Brandi, long time no see, the woman greets the two officers.

You know her? the man in grey asks.

Yes, Razor, and you should too. Brandi went to high school with us. Standing on his left side, Debbi runs her fingers through his long, black hair. They’re okay.

What the hell was all the rough treatment for? Brandi shouts as she watches Razor sheath the gun.

Sorry about that. Front desk only told me there were two Venome officers on their way up. Can’t be too careful.

She strides over to where the first attacker is laying. Kneeling besides him, Debbi Smith checks to see if the man is conscious, but he’s out cold.

Sixgun tried to ID you, she continues, but you slung his ass across the floor... good throw, for what it’s worth.

ID me?! Brandi fumes, he put a gun to my fucking face! And Terminator over there nearly blew Sheerer’s head off!

I never said Sixgun didn’t deserve it. Besides, if Razor wanted your friend dead, he’d be dead. Razor doesn’t miss.

Lt. Sheerer, still shaken from being shot at, finally finds his voice. What’s going on, Brandi?

Mike, meet Debbi Smith, Brandi introduces.

"The Debbi Smith? Mike’s eyes pop open. Three time, Air Force Top Gun winner; youngest commissioned officer, Debbi Smith?!"

Oh please, stop. Debbi turns her face to the side and blushes.

Yes, Lieutenant. Stop, Brandi emphasizes with a glare.

Razor, honey, why don’t you scrape Sixgun off the floor and show everyone inside? Debbi implies, finding her second companion slowly stirring to consciousness.

Razor, with Sheerer’s aid, helps the one known as Sixgun to his feet and starts towards the apartment, meanwhile, Brandi walks over to Smith, keeping her eye on Razor. She tugs at Debbi’s arm, pulling her away.

He looks so familiar. Who is that, Debbi? Brandi inquires.

Razor? Oh come on, Brandi, you have to remember him. Remember, in Mr. Gott’s Honors class, he sat right behind you and in front of me?

Oh, you mean...?

Yep.

Debbi, I thought you couldn’t stand him? Brandi laughs, recounting her school days.

Well, yeah, he bothered me then, Debbi laughs in return.

So you two finally became friends, huh?

More than that. I married him, Debbi proudly acknowledges by holding up her left hand and showing off an obviously expensive diamond ring.

No shit?! Brandi gasps, clutching Debbi’s hand to get a closer look.

Seriously. Coming up on three years now.

So, what about the other one, should I know him too?

Sixgun? No. Razor met him after he dropped Honors courses; they’ve been best friends ever since. They served Army Special Forces together. Sorry he whipped a gun on you, I told him to find out who you were, nothing more. Sixgun’s pretty rash at times; he lets his ego write checks his ass can’t cash.

Shit, we have lots to talk about! Brandi follows her into the apartment.

For hours the friends sit, reminiscing over all their adventures in high school and beyond. At one point in time, Schofield and Smith were almost inseparable and the mischief they could create, insurmountable. Mike Sheerer mainly listens, finding interest in Commander Schofield’s past. He’s only known Brandi since flight school, but finds the stories of the mayhem she caused in her youth not surprising in the least. What confuses him a little is, in all this time, he’d never heard Brandi mention Debbi Smith’s name and judging from their interaction, they had barely even spoken since high school. What could cause two good friends to break almost all communication for over a decade?

From there, the two women trade tales about military enlistment, flight instructors, ex-boyfriends and all the other typical things women discuss when they get together. On her mantle are dozens of military awards, certificates and merits that Debbi Smith achieved over the years.

In fact, she is the youngest woman to ever receive a commissioned rank from any military branch. For six years, the name of Debbi Smith was on every broadcast and video screen nationwide. Smith had broken every record ever set in the Armed Services, not only with her flight skills, but in other areas as well. She’s rumored to have the highest IQ since Einstein himself, but to look upon the soft-spoken Debbi Smith, one would never guess. She carries herself not as an intellectual elite, but more like an everyday person. By request, she details how she received her merits. Listening to the Lieutenant Colonel speak, it’s hard to believe Smith has accomplished all she has at such a young age.

Eventually, the guys grow tired of girl talk and begin their own discussion on subjects men always find most interesting: cars, sports, guns and women—of course. Debbi and Brandi quietly giggle while watching the three men argue over Zero-Gravity Football teams, whose car runs the fastest and whose gun has the longest barrel. It must be a testosterone thing. Razor gloats about his custom restored, mint condition, ‘57 Toronado in the garage of the hotel. Being something Mike Sheerer has to see for himself, the three men exit, leaving Debbi and Brandi to themselves.

So, why did you come here after all this time? Debbi asks, beginning the task of removing dishes from the living room.

Seeing no reason to beat around the bush, Brandi gets right to the point. Venome needs a new leader and I don’t know anyone better for the job than you.

You must be out of your fucking mind, Smith laughs dismissively.

Why not? Schofield is almost surprised at Debbi’s attitude towards the situation. Who wouldn’t want to rule, literally, the world?

Why not?! Debbi half shouts as she slams a glass into the sink. She storms over to where Brandi is sitting and places her hands on her hips. The look on her face is not one of displeasure, Smith is outright pissed.

Eight months ago, ten of General Riley’s men jumped me in the parking lot of a grocery store; I was just on my way home from going shopping. Four of them went to the hospital; the rest went to the fucking morgue! Debbi says, becoming furious.

I’m sorry...

You’re sorry?! Debbi grabs Schofield by the lapels of her red, flight vest and snatches her off the sofa. As Brandi struggles, Debbi grabs the Commander by the throat and lifts her from the floor, leaving Brandi kicking and flailing.

Get the fuck off me! Schofield screams.

God damn it, Brandi, you started this fucking war and I’m sick of paying the price for it!!

I didn’t start this war, Riley did!

You led the initial attack on Belgium! Smith’s grip clenches tighter on the Commander’s neck.

He ordered me to! I don’t run the fucking army!

I know that. The whole god damn world knows that! Did Riley send you here too?

Let go! Brandi bellows even louder.

Debbi sends Brandi crashing to the sofa then begins to violently pace the floor. In any other situation, Brandi would have shot Smith down. No one attacks a Venome officer, especially not Commander Brandi Schofield. As it stands, she needs Smith’s help, no matter how much she doesn’t like it.

The hell is wrong with you? rants Brandi, I’m offering you the world and you snap off like a crazy bitch.

I don’t want it. All I want is to be left alone.

Still rubbing her throat, Commander Schofield stands. What the hell does Riley want with you anyway?

Debbi sits on the love seat on the other side of the apartment, placing her head in her hands and sighing loudly.

A couple of years ago, General Riley approached me and asked me to run his flight division. He thought that having the infamous Debbi Smith on his brigade would make his army that much stronger, Debbi explains. I had just gotten married and I was granted early leave to work in the private sector instead of being shipped off to join the UN Military. I had enough of it all anyway; I told Riley no.

But Riley wasn’t going to take no for an answer, Brandi observes.

Fuck no. He thinks he can force enlist me like he’s done everyone else. Ever since, Riley’s sent his goons after me constantly to change my mind.

Debbi stands and walks over to the mantle. There, she picks up a wedding picture and clutches it tightly to her chest. "All I wanted was to fade away from the military life; live out my days with my husband in some suburbs somewhere with a house, two point five kids, a dog and a white fucking picket fence. I’m tired of being ‘The Debbi Smith’."

She walks back over to the love seat, staring deeply into the photograph as tears form in her eyes.

Now, I gotta move around all the time. Not just because of Riley’s hit squad, but thanks to this god damned war, United Nations wants me to fly for the Resistance because they think I’m their only hope of winning this war. No one will just leave me the fuck alone. With that, Debbi starts to cry.

A thought suddenly occurs to Brandi. What about Razor?

What about him? Debbi snaps back.

He doesn’t know about any of this, does he? Brandi is a master at picking up what isn’t said.

Debbi doesn’t answer, but continues to stare at her wedding portrait. Schofield’s on to something and she knows it. If there is one thing aside from flying she’s good at, it’s manipulation.

Don’t you see, Debbi? Brandi starts, This is the answer to your problems. You know as well as I do Riley will never quit until you either join, or you’re dead. You’re under obligation by the United Nations to fly and they won’t stop until they find you as well.

And how is any of this supposed to help? Debbi Smith looks back out of the corner of her eye.

Venome controls three quarters of the known world. If you take Riley’s place, everyone has to answer to you. You can live wherever you want, do whatever you want. Shit, Debbi, you’re a fucking genius. If you wanted, you could beat the Resistance and end this war once and for all.

Brandi walks over to Smith and kneels in front of her. Riley’s a megalomaniac and he’s losing control. Even if the EC wins, you think they’ll let you out of service?

Debbi still isn’t showing any response to Brandi’s reasoning, but Schofield knows she’s gaining ground. She takes a few minutes before making another proposition.

Look, Debbi, at least remove General Riley and take temporary command. Make a few speeches and smile; convince the world Venome isn’t the scum Free Press has made us out to be. All the world looks up to you, you could swing public opinion in our favor, then just disappear.

With still no word coming from Debbi Smith, Brandi decides to play her final hand.

Fine, keep running until you get caught. Shit, Debbi, if I found you, how long do you think it’ll be before the EC comes knocking? You can’t run forever.

Keeping her eyes to the ground, Debbi finally concedes. Shut up, Brandi. You’ve made your point.

The Commander gathers her things and starts for the door, not sure if she has been convincing enough, when suddenly, Debbi calls to her.

Listen, if I’m going to do this, then I’ll need a complete overview of the entire operation. I want to know what I’m supposed to do, where I function; everything from the ground up, Debbi says through a sigh.

No problem, Debbi. Schofield hides her triumphant smile. I’ll drop by tomorrow and we’ll get started.

Show yourself out, Debbi groans and disappears into her bedroom.

~~~~

Late that evening, Brandi’s Vector pulls up the long, winding, mountain roads leading into Venome Headquarters. This day has been slightly more than she had bargained for. Neither she, nor Mike, had spoken a word the entire ride. Sheerer has his own issues to contend with: namely, what to do about Brandi and the previous evening. It’s something he tried to bring up time and time again, but Brandi was too preoccupied.

The Vector stops at the first gate where an Elite Guardsmen verifies their ID. Speeding off past the checkpoint, they arrive at the parking lot underneath the Officers’ Decks within minutes. Neither officer has plans for the remainder of the night, and knowing he shouldn’t, Mike Sheerer follows the Commander back to her apartment, this time resolving that he can not let her use him again. They can talk, have a few drinks, maybe go to the Rec. Hall, but sex is out of the question. He may be in love with Brandi Schofield, for longer than he cares to remember, but he will not put himself in a position to be stepped on again.

As she plops down on the plush couch in her living room, Schofield runs her hands through her brown hair, sighing. She’s literally exhausted. Mike only stands with his hands in his pockets, looking too nervous to move. He figures that Brandi is in no mood to have company so he turns to leave. Assuredly, there has to be something for him to do somewhere on this vast establishment.

Don’t go, she calls to him, the tone of her voice entirely different this time. She sounds lonely and in need of some affection. Hard to imagine Commander Schofield needing anyone; she has always seemed so self-sufficient. He strides over to her and positions himself on the couch. Brandi leans over and rests her head on his shoulders. Sheerer can’t help but to put his arms around her and begin to play with her soft hair.

Funny the things you notice at times like this, all the things that make a woman so uniquely feminine: like how her hair smells, now that his nose is only inches away; the soft, almost purring sounds she makes under her heavy breathing; her warm, brown eyes and amber lips.

He also finds it amusing how little Brandi tries to be feminine. Most of the women in his past would spend hours in the bathroom, putting on the war paint, he calls it. This isn’t Brandi. If she wore make up at all, he had never seen her do it or noticed it on her. She still radiates a beauty unsurpassed by anything he’s seen. He knows every inch, every curve of her face as if it has been embedded into his brain.

He can feel her delicate lips kiss his chest through the thin, uniform shirt; her tiny hands, grasping at the buttons and pulling them loose. It’s as if she has complete control over this man, and though his body wants it desperately, his mind knows better than to succumb.

Brandi, stop, Mike pulls away.

What? She looks up to him innocently.

I just can’t, not after last night, he whispers.

Now Brandi never thought of herself as the prettiest woman on the face of the earth, but she knows she’s not the ugliest either. All of her life, she’s been hit on by the grossest looking guidos evolution just barely managed to squeeze out. For a long time, she wondered if that was the best she could get. All that changed when she met Mike Sheerer. Something was so different about him. She knew he had a crush on her, even as far back as flight school. In her mind, she had him right in the palm of her hand. To have Mike turn her down now is a slap in the face.

What was wrong with last night? she says, getting agitated.

Nothing. It was perfect... too perfect.

Okay, that makes a hell of a lot of sense, Sheerer.

I’m just not going to let you use me anymore, he finally musters the courage to spit out.

"Use you?" Brandi’s anger grows.

Look, Brandi. I know how you are. I know all about you.

Oh, really? Well, why don’t you tell me about myself, Brandi says sarcastically.

You don’t make commitments to anyone. I’ve seen the way you flirt around with men just so you can get your way. I refuse to be a part of that.

Brandi pushes him away from her. That’s bullshit and you know it!

No, no it isn’t. I’ve seen you with the guys from flight... how you act around them.

So? I’ve seen you with those big-boobed, stupid bitches from Allocations Department! Brandi retorts instantly. Oh Mikey... she mocks, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously, could you please get my pen? I seemed to have dropped it and I’m too damned blonde to do it myself.

That’s different. I’m not sleeping with any of them, Mike says defensively.

Oh, so, now I fuck everyone I meet? Is that what you’re saying? Brandi folds her arms across her chest and glares at him.

No. I didn’t say that. The fact remains, Brandi, I want someone who feels the way I do, Mike tries to redirect.

How the hell do you know what I feel?

That’s my point, I don’t know how you feel! You don’t seem to want a relationship with me or anyone else.

You never asked! she shouts at him.

Both of them stand silently at an impasse. Brandi is right in one aspect; in all this time, Mike never once asked her how she felt. He has always just assumed that she had better things to do than get involved with him. As far as he’s concerned, he laid everything out to her; he always put his heart on his sleeve where she is concerned. If she wants to make more out of the relationship, she can speak up.

Brandi’s heart is pounding so loudly in her chest it’s ringing through her ears. If there’s one person in her life that she could say she loves, it’s the man standing right in front of her. If only life were as simple as that. In many aspects, Mike is correct: she did use people, only because she feels out of control herself.

Though she can’t bring herself to say it, she doesn’t want to lose him. It had been Brandi’s experience that the best way to keep a man around was to