Machine Learning (Captain Allen and DPD SWAT POV)

Stateside

"Semper Fi."

It'd been so freeing, a line of Humvees slithering across the desert like a snake, avoiding bombs and other hazards that would otherwise kill us, maim us, and blow us off the trail. Being able to drive normally instead of stop-go was something I took for granted before the Marines, and having that freedom restored was nothing short of incredible. I may have actually enjoyed it if I didn't have a pit in my stomach.

"Staff Sergeant," Phil muttered, "Aren't the penalties severe for disobeying orders in the Marine Corps?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you worried about them?"

"Not right now."

...

"It seems you've made quite the name for yourself...for the fifth time."

I jumped, flinched, shook my head and paid attention.

Lieutenant Colonel Henderson noticed.

"And even now, you're still not listening..." He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes, "Have a seat."

I was confused, but did as I was told.

"The notorious Staff Sergeant that could've been a Master Sergeant if his record hadn't been so bedazzled with black lines and red tape." He sighed, "You just can't color within the lines, can you?"

"You know what they say about Marines and crayons, sir."

He smiled. I didn't.

"Others within the Chain of Command seem to think what you did was...admirable. It appears top brass agrees."

My hands tightened around the curved forefronts of the armed chair, my knuckles whitening.

"I don't understand, sir."

"You've been nominated to Congress to receive the Medal of Honor."

I was surely dreaming. This couldn't possibly be happening the day after being interrogated by the government's lapdog.

"Whether or not that move was to truly honor your bravery or to keep you out of Guantanamo remains to be determined."

There it was.

"I guess we'll see what happens, sir."

He tilted his head, crossing his arms, leaning back in the chair behind his desk.

"Not exactly he response I was expecting."

"I don't want the medal, sir."

"You might not have a choice, Marine. And you know what else you don't have a choice in?"

I looked at him, concerned, "Sir?"

"Time off." He leaned forward, prepared for a fight.

A hard line formed in my jaw. I started to shake.

"I'm fit to serve, Lieutenant Co-"

"I didn't say whether or not you were fit for duty, Staff Sergeant. I said you're taking time off."

I thought about all those times as a teenager I'd quit on the spot, threw aprons at my managers at fast food places, told customers to fuck off when they got too entitled, and all the other instances that made my parents give up on making me work under the age of 18. Not that the number was magic, but at least they'd have an excuse to tell the family that "I was an adult," and I "wasn't listening." Not that it ever worked, because who would ever disobey my father, right?