Solace & Taproots

1.8 - Revised

Sam was at the armory too, insisting on checking every team's radio and light batteries with a voltage meter. Occasionally she'd fish through a box at her side, select the correct replacement by feel alone, shove it into someone's hands, and wave them on. Bex watched her give a member of Search Bravo one battery after another, her face growing sterner with each. By the time she was finished, her lips were pressed thin and the eyebrow came up. "We are having a talk later, you and I. Don't even bother trying to hide when you get back."

Bex stepped forward for her turn, pulled the bolt back on her M4 and tilted it to the left to look in the open chamber before handing it over, just like Ronnie had taught her. She obediently twisted to move her radio close so Sam could pop it out of the dedicated pouch and tap the charging contacts with the meter probes. When Sam held out her hand imperiously for her non-weapon-mounted flashlight, Bex considered herself fortunate the electron gods had bestowed a satisfactory blessing upon her that day. Perhaps libations with one of their priestesses the night before garnered their favor.

Or, you know. Charging her own shit.

Rhonda's strident voice pulled both of their gazes to the other side of the room where a cyclone fence enclosed the ammunition storage area. "Erik, whatthefuck is this shit?" She poked the top of a stack of rifle magazines. "What're you doing giving my battle buddy this GI metal bullshit? You want me getting shot in the back? You give that to someone who's gonna be standing still on guard duty, not crawling and climbing and covering my ass!"

Bex marveled at how even when she was being protective, Ronnie wrapped it up in a layer of gruffness and plausible deniability. Erik, his sandy beard a testament to his people's genetic predisposition towards epic facial hair, shrugged nonchalantly from the aisle he'd already started back down.

It was a fair bet Ronnie kept her eyes on him as she reached out with a single finger, pushed the object of offense back through the window, and pulled her hand back grasping an acceptable replacement. "When people go out, you give them the polymer stuff or so help me I will come back in that cage and go full NCO on your ass!"

Bex stepped aside of Sam's table but didn't stray too far, in case she needed to stir up a little Clash of the Titans action and beat a hasty retreat while they were occupied with each other. Rhonda arrived shortly, and handed her a stack of black plastic mags. Her face was growing less stormy by the time Bex made eye contact and voiced her lingering puzzlement. "Uh, I guess I appreciate that? But I don't understand what the difference is."

Rhonda grunted and jerked her head back towards the ammo cage. "Hmph. That's supposed to be HIS job. All it takes is dropping one too much, or you flopping down on top of it just so, and the metal will bend too easily. They jam too much under adverse conditions, basically."

"So, by adverse conditions, you mean pretty much everything since the last time I had cranberry sauce," Sam muttered from under a brunette woman's arm, raised for a radio check. That done, she backed out and stretched upright with a few audible pops. As she watched the two of them stow magazines and a couple of smoke and flash grenades around themselves while nobody else was ready for a battery inspection, her lips started to compress again.

Bex elbowed Rhonda. "Uh, incoming..."

"You two..." Sam wiggled an upraised finger back and forth between the two of them for emphasis. "You two keep each other safe out there. Watch your backs, shoot straight, conserve ammo, and never, ever cut a deal with a dragon."

That got a pair of confused sounds from the both of them, and she waved her hand dismissively. "Shut up. I've always wanted to get to say that." The finger returned, leveled at Bex's nose. "And you. Don't you go forgetting that you've got people, Sparky, hear?"