Wastelands (Act One, Chapter One)

[thehonorablebat]

 

John Bradford couldn’t decide if his new position was a blessing or a curse.

Being the junior commander of the organization on the forefront of this new, strange war was an opportunity.

An opportunity not unlike the one he received when he got recruited into the DIA.

Did it always have to be like this? Trading peace of mind for advancement.

But the difference between now and the initial move into the intelligence community, XCOM meant something. If there was going to be a fight he’d rather be in the thick of it.

If only he could do it from several positions back. Him being in charge only lead to death. He’d proven that before and he’d reinforced the idea now

Almost a full squad dead was John Bradford’s introduction to XCOM as their Central Officer.

He could only hope the Commander could inspire more confidence.

And fewer bodies.

--

Commander Weir (William M.) looked like a banker in his pressed business suit. Tall and lanky. Square glasses covering sharp eyes. The only thing out of place about him was wavy hair that couldn’t quite be tamed.

For half a second, Bradford imagined meeting him in a different situation. What might come of it?

But they weren’t in another situation. They were here. Bradford saluted his superior officer. Praying that command hadn’t sent a civilian to oversee a military operation.

If the Commander had anything to say, it got interrupted by the Geoscape alarm. A pattern that would continue throughout the night and the next day.

By the time they got some peace and quiet again, Bradford was more than reassured by Weir’s capabilities.  

--

Bradford took a deep breath before he knocked.

“Come in,” The Commander called from inside his office.

Bradford straightened his sweater before entering.

“At ease,” Weir said without turning around. He stood in front of his desk, shuffling through a stack of papers. “I really can’t wait until we have an all digital society. The sooner I don’t have a million papers cluttering up my desk, the better…Christ, I just got here, and already…”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Sorry. I’ve gone hours without coffee. Did you need something, Central Officer?”

“No, sir. Just checking in to make sure you have everything you need.” Bradford tilted his head, noting the Commander didn’t have a comm yet. “I could have someone send up coffee.”

The Commander threw a brief smile in his direction.

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

While Bradford sent the order to the break room, the Commander rounded his desk. He set the pile of papers he held down with the other four stacks.

“Would you say you have an obsessive personality, Central Officer?” The Commander asked.

Bradford took his hand away from the comm.

“No, sir. I don’t think so.”

“No need to stand on ceremony in private. Relax, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “And the keys to the drink cabinet someone saw fit to provide me.”

Bradford’s eyebrows raised.

“Thank you, Commander.”

“Mmm. Commander. I’ve been promoted, but I feel like this is step down. I wonder which one of the peanut gallery came up with our new brilliant ranking system. I’ve been here for all of twenty minutes and I can already see the chain of command is a mess.”

Bradford agreed, but it wasn’t his place to trash talk the council. He wasn’t looking to get fired.

“Why did you ask if I have an obsessive personality?” he switched tracks to get away from that pitfall of a topic.

“Because you don’t put alcohol or drugs or a gambling machine in front of an obsessive person. It never ends well. Trust me, I know.” Weir leaned against his desk. “Tell me, was that your first time running an op yourself? Not just providing support?”

Bile rose in his throat. He’d hoped it would be a few hours before the Commander heard about that.

“It was.” Only years of discipline kept his voice steady.

“What do you think?”

And wasn’t that a loaded question. He’d found it hard to look away from the Commander’s dark eyes since he had turned to face him, but something razor edged had entered them. Bradford snapped his gaze to the spot of wall over the Commander’s shoulder.

“I think I prefer being support,” he said.

He heard the Commander’s smile in his voice.

“Good to know you’re not gunning for my job.”

Bradford found enough reserve strength to look the man in the eye again.

“Quite frankly, sir, I do not envy you. At all.”

His orders. His orders got those people killed. How was he supposed to know the aliens could mind con–

“Smart man,” Weir said.

He didn’t feel like it.

A knock on the door signaled Weir’s coffee had arrived.

--

“So–” Weir folded his hands over the folders in front of him “–how’s it going?”

Bradford entered that into his list of ‘Worst Ways to Start a Staff Meeting’.

“We’re making good progress excavating, Commander.” Shen shook a sugar packet into his coffee.

“Good, because for some reason, the council nations are refusing to give us their satellite data.” Weir didn’t quite roll his eyes. “When I protested this decision, the Council informed me that tracking UFOs is our job. So we’re going to need our own satellites and the equipment to maintain them.”

Shen’s frowned as he made a note on his tablet.

“On that note,” Weir continued, “no one will be lending us their air force and they will not be taking orders from us. So intercepting any and all UFOs will be up to us.”

“That’s insane,” Vahlen said.

Bradford refrained from nodding in agreement. What was the council thinking? Should fighting off the aliens be top priority? Worth any expense?

“That’s bureaucracy. I’ll be spending each second of my free time complaining until they give in or quit taking my calls,” Weir said. “If I know them, and I do, it’s going to be the latter.”

Bradford looked down at his tablet. The three little numbers that comprised their whole budget for the month seemed all the smaller now.

He looked back up to find the Commander watching him.

“How are the recruits?” he asked.

Bradford smiled.

“Eager to get out there, sir.”

“Curb that,” Weir said. “I want them ready, not eager.”

Bradford’s smile fell.

“Yes sir. I’ll speak with them.”

Weir waved his hand.

“No, no. I’ll do it. I still need to address them, anyway. There just hasn’t been time.” Weir laughed to himself. “Time.”

Bradford shifted in his seat. He’d noted down the things he wanted to bring up at the meeting, but now that he sat here, he almost didn’t want to say anything.

“Commander, there is a sm…a problem with our current roster.”

“Oh, this should be good,” Weir said.

“We were supposed to get people transferred from Special Forces branches, but–”

Weir held up his hand.

“Let me guess, we instead got a bunch of fresh faced kids straight from the recruiting office?”

“They’ve been through basic training.” Allegedly. Their aim called even that into question.

“Well hallelujah.”

“Do they want us to fail?” Vahlen asked.

“That, doctor, is an interesting statement.” Weir gave her a hard stare. “One you had best keep from dwelling on any further.”