Chapter 1: Introduction
The mess hall was a symphony of clattering trays, hushed conversations, and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. The air smelled like grease and overcooked meat, the kind of scent that clung to the back of your throat and made your stomach growl despite the questionable quality of the food. Jager stood in line, his M16 slung over his shoulder, the weight of it familiar and comforting. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he knew better than to skip a meal—not when the next one might be hours away, or worse, nonexistent.
Jager was jolted from his thoughts when a hard shove pushed him to the side dropping his tray with a loud clatter on the floor below him. Lance Corporal Ross, the embodiment of swagger and arrogance, loomed over him with a sneer, his gray eyes cold and calculating. Behind him, two of his lackeys snickered, their eyes gleeful at his misfortune.
Ross smirked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Hey, *private*, watch were your going ." He emphasized the word 'private' as if it was a curse. Jager took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists
“my apologies sir but their is a line” Jager said in a calm voice his eyes never wavering from Ross's own.
Ross sneered, stepping closer, his boots scuffing against the grimy mess hall floor. "Oh, I see it. But see, *private*, rules don’t apply to officers or ncos like me. Not here, not ever." He leaned in, his breath reeking of stale coffee and something sharper—like the bitter tang of his own disregard for anything resembling respect.
"Now, why don't you be a good little soldier and step aside, let the real men eat first?" Ross drawled, his voice slick with mockery.
“You know where I can find one sir” Jager replied flatly, his jaw tense but his tone measured. Ross’s smirk faltered for half a second—just long enough for the insult to land like a boot to the chest. His dark eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring as he processed the refusal. The lackeys behind him shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uneasy glances. No one talked back to Ross like that. No one.
“ You little—” Ross was about hit Jager when a a stern voice cut him off mid swing “ Lance Corporal Ross. Stand down.”
Ross turned to see Liz standing there, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing with barely contained fury. Her patrol cap was slightly tilted, but her stance was rigid, commanding.
“I suggest you get back in line lance corporal” Liz said, her voice firm and steady.
Ross's face flushed red, his jaw clenched, but he knew better than to disobey a direct order from a superior. Especially in front of an audience. He stepped back, his eyes darting between Liz and Jager, his pride smarting from the public reprimand. "This isn't over, private," he muttered, his voice low and threatening. But he moved back in line, his lackeys scurrying to follow suit, their earlier bravado replaced with a palpable tension.
Liz turned to Jager, her expression softening. "You alright, Jager?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“yeah I’m fine ma am” Jager said formally , but his eyes betrayed his relief.
Liz gave him a small smile, her gaze flickering to the mess hall's entrance. "Let's grab some food I’m starving." Jager nodded, falling into step beside her, grateful for the distraction. They moved down the line, plates clattering as they piled on food—overcooked eggs, burnt bacon, and today’s special blue berry cobbler.
“if you don’t mind I would like for you to sit with me Jager” Liz said her voice casual but the edge of steel still present.
“Isn’t that only for SOG members only I’m just a reg” Jager replied hesitantly, his eyes flicking to the other tables where SOG operators lounged, plates stacked high, laughing over shared jokes.
Liz chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Since when do I care about the little rulebook? You’re eating with me today, end of story."
They came to a corner table where two of the most distinctive figures in the mess hall sat—Alice and Molle.
Molle, all broad shoulders and sharp elbows, was already shoveling food into her mouth like a woman who hadn’t eaten in weeks. Alice, lounging with her sleeves rolled up past her elbows, leaned back in her chair, one arm resting on the back, her gold eyes scanning the room with lazy amusement. When she spotted Liz approaching, she straightened slightly, her playful demeanor giving way to something more guarded, but still warm.
“Took you long enough,” Alice said, nudging a tray of untouched eggs toward Liz. “Saved you a spot.”
Liz slid into the bench across from Molle, who immediately pushed the tray of bacon toward her. “Here.
Eat before Molle inhales the whole table.” Liz nudged the tray toward Jager with a small smile. Alice leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her gaze flicking between Jager and Liz with quiet curiosity.
“So,” Alice said, her voice light but not without edge, “what’s the story with you two?”
Liz shot her a look, but Alice just grinned, unfazed.
Jager cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “We’re just friends.”
Molle scoffed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Friends? Liz, you dragged the poor kid over here, saved him from Ross’s temper tantrum, and now he's sitting with us . That’s a little more than ‘just friends,’ don’t you think?” Molle said with a smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief.
“he’s earned my trust and he’s proven that he can hold his own when he needs to in a fight that’s for damn sure”
Liz said in a matter-of-fact tone her eyes never leaving Jager’s.
“If you trust him then I guess he must be okay” Molle said with a shrug of her shoulders. She winked at Jager before turning her attention back to her food, shoveling another forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth with gusto.
Alice leaned back in her chair, her gold eyes studying Liz with quiet amusement. "Ross is going to be pissed," she remarked, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You know he’ll hold a grudge." Liz shrugged, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the edge of the table. "Let him be pissed. We all know he’s got it coming." She glanced at Jager, her expression softening slightly.
"You’re welcome to sit with us anytime."
The table fell into comfortable silence as they ate, the clatter of trays and distant laughter fading into the background. Jager found himself relaxing, the tension in his shoulders easing as Liz’s presence seemed to ward off the usual mess hall tension. Molle kept up a steady stream of banter, her voice loud and brash, but her words carried a warmth that made the table feel more like a family than just a group of soldiers sharing a meal.
Alice, ever the observer, watched both Liz and Jager with a knowing glint in her eyes.