Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

L: Five Hours Unconscious

❝Despair gives courage to a coward.❞
—Thomas Fuller

I knew something would happen. I just didn't think it would happen so soon. I was hoping for more time. I was granted no such thing.

We Americans returned from the previous night of city duty, got about three hours of sleep, then were suddenly awoken and told everyone has to get back in the city. 

There have been warnings and reports of abnormally large groups of Red Vests lurking just outside Paris, plotting and preparing for the biggest riot yet. That explains their silence for the past few weeks. They were strengthening their numbers!

They're hoping this will be their last stand against the military. And part of me hopes they're right.

Things are going differently today. We've broken into squads as normal, but this time there are more squads dispersed further around the city. The increase in squads meant there was a need for leaders of these squads.

Imagine my surprise when John elected Alexander and me, among others, to lead out a squad. The upside: it's one of our first experiences as actual leaders. The downside: Lafayette assigned us to stations on the complete opposite sides of the city.

So that's what's going on.

April 23, 2059.

In my squad is one other experienced soldier, Mark Powell, a graduate partner of mine. The other three people in our squad are apart of a class that graduated around five months ago. While not as new as the soldiers who graduated very recently, they haven't been on a mission yet, so that makes them rookies.

I see it as my responsibility to keep them all in check and safe. That's how I'll establish myself as a good leader.

It's mid-afternoon and there has been a lot going on at other stations. None near me. My squad is stationed at Place de la Bastille, which could be best described as a big, thick, metal stick poking out from the ground. I'm sure it has some sort of historical significance, but I'm just not educated on the subject. I bet Alexander knows... God, I wish he was here.

As it stands, there are no Red Vests around my squad. I suppose they aren't focused on fucking this place up. They'd rather tear up other places. I know there are a lot of them. Like, a shit ton of them. And their numbers are only bound to increase as time goes on. I can hear the rampaging going on in my earpiece as my companions at other stations speak. NLS codes and status reports are non-stop in my right ear.

"We've got an 8899 at the Eiffel."

"Rumors of armed Red Vests, General. Requesting further instructions."

And other calls from French squads.

I guess you can say I got lucky. 

My squad paces back and forth, standing in front of the Bastille and next to our Caracal. We have our guns on our backs and shields retracted. It's hard work, really, hearing the struggles of everyone else. By the sound of it, Squad 5 has a lot on their plate. Squad 10, Alexander's squad, has been eerily silent.

Through all the mess, I can hear one call from an American soldier: "2667. Requesting back-up at the Notre-Dame for Squad 13."

That's not that far from us! A five-minute drive at most! And if they need help... It's a perfect opportunity. The rest of my squad seems to think so as well.

"Think we can go help?" one of the younger soldiers, Nancy, asks.

"Worth a shot," Mark responds. "Hey, Captain. Radio up."