Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

Frontliner

Things had happened so fast, so quickly, that Eric Winsor had almost forgotten the journey he had partook to reach this point. The US of A had been in the midst of a “War against Terrorism” for the majority of the 21st century, or so the history books read. It was a hundred years later, in the early years of the 22nd century, when in one bold strike; President O’Neal brought an end to said war. Mustering the countries entire military force, President O’Neal launched a full scale invasion on the Middle East.

The USA eliminated all opposition, and potential resistance without prejudice. The republican guard was over powered, and the frail governing authorities of these regions could not with stand the might of the American army. In a matter of weeks, the US had occupied all territories between Saudi Arabia and China (with the exception of India), and claimed these lands as new colonies of the United States.

America’s actions outraged the United Nations, and thus was the country excommunicated, becoming any enemy of the entire free world. But with the vast oil resources the US already possessed, combined with its new acquisitions, the nation had transformed into THE Super Power, a Monarchy of sorts. By the time the rest of the world had come to realize it’s distain for the States, it was too late to take action America had become unstoppable. It was only a matter of time before President O’Neal would choose to use the countries new found strength and take over the world.

A small percentage of the American populace felt as the UN did, they were outraged by the actions of the government. This small percentage of people relinquished citizenship and fled the country. Some had no where else to go, they remained at their homes, as separatist. But it would be a difficult life for these people as the majority of the populace rallied behind their government. Over night 90% of the American people united in their new found prosperity. Separatist were not welcome, the borders were closed, and foreigners were no longer permitted to visit or immigrate (not that they would at this point). You were either a patriot or you were a target.

With the nation transforming as it were, the gay community jumped on the band wagon, and united in its endeavor to gain just as much opulence as the rest of the nation. Life had been hard for them; they didn’t want to give the newly broken society another avenue to discriminate against them. With gay marriage legalized in nearly 44 states, the Human Rights Campaign thought it time to take the next leap, whilst appearing more patriotic then any other sub culture. Representing all Gay Americans, HRC presented a bill to congress and an offer to the President that could not be refused. President O’Neal was power hunger, completely reliant on the passive sentiments of his people and the glory of his army. So when the gays offered to strengthen that army, he immediately accepted.

Thus, the Frontliners were established. The Frontline Bill over turned the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Don’t Pursue act, and allowed open homosexual’s to serve in the US military and reap the same benefits as their hetero-sexual counter parts. Also issued with the bill was a zero tolerance for discrimination policy, to protect out service members. However the Frontline Bill was a double edged sword, for a service member to serve in his or her open status, they had to be, or become, a Frontliner: An Army/ Marine Corp cross branch infantry unit. O’Neal needed bodies on the frontlines, and if the gays wanted to serve so badly, then they would answer his call.

The gay community was initially outraged by this; they felt that HRC had failed them, and that it was a mockery to have to prove their loyalties, when the heterosexuals did not. If any of them didn’t approve of the countries new “leadership” and “direction” they would have separated. But the majority of them didn’t, and some of them wanted to help by joining the armed forces, but they were still treated lowly.

But over time, a new prospective emerged amongst the masses. A couple hundred gay men and lesbian women joined the Frontliners; they were the spear headers of a new movement. They would do their jobs; they’d do them well, and prove to the nation that they were equals, if not superiors. No longer would they be considered 2nd rate citizens, they would form the new upper crust of the nation, and forge fruitful futures for the rest of their kind, or so was their dream and the reason for their movement. It was a mission of sorts, Frontliners were considered to be heroes of there people, they were the best of the best, extremely disciplined and readily qualified for the job.

***
Winsor had only graduated Corp school four weeks ago, and he was already sent abroad. The Navy had many needs for Corpsmen, keeping Marines healthy on the battlefield was one of those needs. He was attached to a joint battalion in Iraq, though Iraq was now American territory, there were still remnants of terrorist cells in the country that needed sniffing out. His unit, Unit 932, was one that was supposed to find and eliminate these remnants.

Eric wasn’t afraid of the battles ahead, the imminent danger, all that concerned him, was establishing and maintaining a comfortable bond with his team mates. It was a unit of 14 members. Seven of the members were Marines, so Eric was already in good standing with them. Marines have a strong understanding that it is the Corpsmen that will keep them alive when the heat is on, and so they treat Corpsmen like their own, if not better. But four of the other members were Army, he had never operated with soldiers, and wasn’t sure if they would take to him as the Marines did.

However, it was the remaining three members of the unit that he was truly afraid of, The Frontliners. Parker, Diaz, and Burke, the Frontline Fags, It was a nick name they gave themselves, by coining the term f*****t they robbed the word of its negative connotation, and others were less inclined to use it. Parker was a lesbian, about 5 foot 4, short spiky black hair. She had an attractive build, but was covered in tattoos and resembled too much of a boy. Diaz was the poster boy, very attractive, great physique, always well groomed and was a very vain. Burke was the awkward stereotype. At 6 foot 7, nearly 300 pounds equal shares muscle and fat, he was the most intimidating of the Frontliners, but he was also the most feminine.

It was a freshly formed unit; the others had yet to determine if they liked the Frontliners. They had no reason not to like them, but treating Frontliners with the utmost contempt, was an unspoken rule since the Frontliners integration into the military. Weather it was because a member did not like or approve of the gay life style or because they just followed what everyone else was doing, the Frontliners were never out right welcomed to a unit. At least not right away, camaraderie had to be earned. But the Frontliners had an alternative way of handling this task. Weather the others liked them or not was not their concern, their actions would prove their worth to this country.

Eric’s fear of not gaining the Frontliners companionship steamed from the fact that Eric himself was a homosexual, but was very much in the closet. He was worried the Frontline f**’s would sense or learn of his sexual orientation and pass judgment on him for not possessing the strength to do as they had. It would be foolish to think of homosexual men and women different from everyone else. They all bared their own unique characteristics, passions, and skills. But Frontliners were a different breed, they were good at what they did, and they weren’t always pleasant. They were cold, distant, and always had their mind on the mission. (Be it the current mission, or the long term mission of all Frontliners)

They believed full heartedly in their mission: to prove to the nation that their sub culture was just as good, if not better, then everyone else. The belief that their actions today, would help to mold a more positive future was powerful. Their unity and strength, their strength through unity, was an impressive marvel. Eric was ashamed, ashamed that he hadn’t the courage to live life the way they did, to be apart of something far greater than he was. But it could not be helped… fear was the governing emotion that coursed throughout his being, fear of being judged or worse.

***
Of the seven Marines two were snipers, two their scouts and the other three were infantry. Eric had only been attached to the unit for a week, but he had already taking a liking to one of the snipers. Staff Sergeant Riekin, the archetypal Marine: tall, muscular, handsome, clean cut, blonde jar head with piercing blue eyes. He was very professional and straight laced. Staff Sgt. Riekin was incredibly reserved in comparison his counter parts. His valor, fairness, attention to detail and ear for reason, was why he was awarded the position of squad leader a few months back. He took to the position perfectly. Every one took a liking to him, but Eric to an exceptional liking to him, his behavior seemed much like a harmless guy-crush to the others. But to a perceptive gay man, it would have been a dead give away that Eric certainly had the hots for Riekin.

.
***
Jun 15 2218

Rieken was summoned to the OIC (officer in charge) earlier that morning. After morning showers were taking and breakfast ingested, 932 had come to realize that something was up. Rieken had been in the tent all morning. Without much conversation, the unit loomed in its corner of the sand box (dessert base) quietly, yet eagerly, awaiting the return of their squad leader. Almost and hour and a half later, Rieken emerged from the OIC tent. He was snatched up early that morning, and hadn’t even the opportunity to dress. He approached his awaiting unit (and he did know his unit would be waiting for him) with a map in hand.

Without a word, all fourteen members of the unit gathered round has Riekin spread the map out on a make shift table. “Navy Intel reported evidence of an al Qaeda strong hold burrowed deep into the populated confines of Al Tiezar…” Riekin began explaining. Eric was some what excited, this was his first brief, that meant he was about to go on his first mission. But he couldn’t pay attention to the information Riekin was putting out. Riekin was giving his brief in little more then loose white boxers and sand covered shower shoes. Eric’s eyes were a glaze, his sight scanning across the Riekin’s body like an Eagle scanning the terrain for unsuspecting prey.

But Eric’s trance was roughly broken when he received a sharp elbow to the ribs. He snapped back to reality and found Diaz next to him. Oh God, did Diaz do that on purpose? Did he see me staring at Staff Sergeant? Does he know? Eric was no longer dreamy-eyed, but he now couldn’t pay attention to the brief for his mind was now raced in another direction. “…we are to rendezvous with the seal team that provided us with this Intel, and assist with the eradication of that terrorist cell.” Riekin continued with his brief. “Be ready to roll within the hour.” He said as the unit dispersed.

Eric draped his fatigues on, and accompanied them with his heavy utility belt, his med kit, a berretta 9mm, and his Kevlar vest. He pulled the vest over his shoulders, but left it unbuckled. He then proceeded to the Marine tent, specifically Riekin’s corner. This had become a routine, and the other Marines were already well aware of why Seaman Winsor was entering their tent. “You’re hopeless Winsor” one of them said “This new Kevlar don’t weigh s**t, and you still can’t strap your self in.” He continued in playful mockery.

In all actuality Winsor knew how to strap in, but with out a single word exchanged between the two, Riekin stood from putting on his boots, and began to buckle Eric up. This was what Eric lived for. It was this every so slight bit of contact with the unsuspecting Staff Sergeant that sustained Eric for days on end. “There you go bud. Need me to tie your shoes too?” Riekin joked with a pat to Eric’s shoulders, before he went to dressing himself.

Dually satisfied, Eric went to the open mouth of the tent and sat on one of the crates the Marines used for playing spades. This would be where the unit would gather before heading out, Eric was the first one ready. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was until that moment, that perfectly peaceful moment. He understood now what ‘the calm before the storm’ meant.

The dry dessert air gently whipping the occasional grain of sand against his cheeks, the rowdy chatter of eager Marines prepping for battle in the back ground, the sun barely peaking over the walls of the encampment, it was a perfect morning. Eric hoped the battle ahead would be a successful one, he wasn’t concerned of his own safety, he was a Corpsmen, he was trained to keep the others alive should the need arise. He hoped the need for his skills would not surface, he couldn’t bare the thought of one of his teammates in pain, or getting killed, especially not Riekin.

He’s thoughts became a jumbled mess, thoughts of excitement for his first mission, thoughts of concern for all his teammates, and the uncontrollable fantasy about his squad leader, all fought for supremacy within his head. He was too busy day dreaming to notice the four soldiers approach the tent, ready for the task’s ahead. “What are you staring at…?” The army radio-men said to Eric, rousing him from his day dream-like trance. He was thinking hard, so had that he hadn’t notice he indeed was starring. “…Anything good?” the Radio-men asked as he kneeled and peered off in the direction that Eric had been starring. Sure enough, he was intently gazing at the Frontliners tent, which was wide open, revealing the three Frontline Fags prepping.

The primary responsibility of a Frontliner is to keep his or her unit members safe during special operations. The guerilla tactics of the modern terrorist have evolved. The usage of suicide bombers was now attended by highly trained and dedicated hand-to-hand assassins. The Frontliners are the countermeasure to these new tactics. They have been individually trained to deal with adverse situations, and each was given a specific combat training regiment. Each Frontliner was trained in a specific combat style and weapon(s) to augment their effectiveness. And as a precautionary measure, no two Frontliners were trained in the same style or with the same weapons, this way the enemy could not adapt.

A majority of the Marines had finished getting ready, and joined Eric and the Soldiers in the scrutinizing of the Frontliners. They watched as Park strapped a harness over her dessert tank, the harness was riddled with various shotgun shells, but the casings on these shells varied in color, forming a rainbow on her Rambo-esk combat accessory. She then proceeded to inspect her dual, modified Dessert Eagles, holstered them, and began strapping up her boots.

Diaz wore no shirt, on his cargo pants and a Kevlar vest. But he’s entire uniform was laced with various throwing weapons. He had 4 tomahawks on his back, each arm had small throwing knives tied around them, and his gauntlets were also littered with throwing knives. He had huge knives holstered to his thighs; pockets full of throwing stars all around his waist, even had weapons strapped to his shins and boots. But the war machine was more so concerned on trimming his stray eyebrows, and so he spent his last few moments in camp bonding with his best friend… the mirror.

But the FF (Frontline f**) that took the unit mostly by surprise was Burke. The Frontliners were not bond by the same uniform code of conduct as everyone else. Burke decided to make some… changes to his combat gear. He clued large metal spikes to the toe of his boots, and instead of Kevlar vest, he wore a leather harness complete with shoulder armor and a gladiator neck guard protecting the right side of his neck, and he dawned a bull whip on either hip. And to top it all off, he studded the majority of his outfit with metal studs, and had practically shaved his head bald.

“Are you serious?”
“…Looking like Mad Max at a gay pride parade.”
“What is she wearing?”
“Hey I got muscles too, but you don’t see me charging into battle damn near naked.”
…Were but a few of the reactions of the Soldiers and Marines that watched the spectacle.
“You really think these guys could back us up in a pinch?” one of the Marines asked.
“Well I’m not counting on it.” One of the Soldiers responded coldly.

The group immediately split up and pretended not to be starring when the FF’s finished getting ready and headed over to join them. “I take it were ready then?” Rieken asked, and in no time, Unit 932 was heading out. It was only early spring here, though the dessert was still hot, it wasn’t as hot as it could have been. The Unit had to travel on foot, in formation (for safety), and would take them about a day to reach their destination. The trek was long, but not that boring. The men were spaced out, but still able to talk while they marched. They could afford to let their guard down some what, as the Frontlines marched in a different formation each of them flanking both sides and the rear of the unit.

Eric had come to learn that the radio-men was perfectly suited for his job, he loved to talk. For the first few hours, though Eric had nothing in common with the radio-men, he was totally entertained. That is until the radio-men started cutting jokes…
“Hey what does a gay horse say?” a dry pause was all Eric could give in response. “They say… Heeeey.” The radio-men said in a comedic flamboyant manner. Though he’s physical comedy was funny, Eric couldn’t truly enjoy the jest of the joke without feeling appalled. And it only worsened as the radio-men’s gay jokes continued, until he secretly began to target the Frontliners. Eric thought in fortunate that the Frontliners were some couple hundred yards away, guarding the perimeter of the marching unit, unable to hear the harsh words of their teammates.

This continued on for another couple of miles, but then the radio-men paused, and cupped his hand around the ear piece in his left ear. After only a brief moment, he broke formation and sprinted up to the head of the pack “Staff Sergeant! I think you should hear this!” He said, as the formation came to a halt, and the radio-men handed Rieken a hand-set. “FF one…” The radio-men said as he fought to catch his breathe from the sort sprint “Repeat your last.”
“Repeat… boogies inbound 4 o’clock. It’s some sort of truck” Parker said into her own throat mounted com device.
“FF one, can you tell if it’s hostile?”
“Wait one.” She responded. A few seconds later her voice crackled over the com “Affirmative 932, boogie is an early model Datsun pick-up, retrofitted with a 50 cal mount. I count three occupants. I think they might be looking for us.”
“FF one eliminate target, rendezvous with as at the check point.” Rieken ordered sternly, before roughly giving the hand set to the radio-men and gestured for him to fall back into formation.

“Woo, moment of truth.” The radio-men called out playfully as he jogged back to his position.
“What do you mean?” someone asked.
“Parkers gonna face off three dudes in a truck with a 50 cal.” The radio-men chuckled. “Guess we’ll see if the ‘Frontliners’ are all they claim to be.” He added.
“932, fall out, double time.” Rieken called out from the head of the pack
As the formation began to jog out of the area, Eric couldn’t help but peer back over his shoulder a few times. He couldn’t believe they were leaving her on her own. If she got hurt, he wouldn’t be there to assist. But this was the ultimate responsibility of a Frontline, he had to except this and jog out with the rest of the unit.

***
Parker had been protecting the right flank of the unit from 200 yards out, when she spotted a tiny plume of dust made by the pick-up truck off on the horizon. After receiving her orders from Rieken, she, nonchalantly began to walk in the general direction of the on coming truck. It was still a ways of giving her enough time to contact Diaz and Burke via her throat com, which they were also equipped with. “Fall into rear guard formation” She ordered the others.
“Negative” Diaz responded, “One of us should fall out and assist.”
“No, don’t compromise the unit safety.” She fired back
“Um, you realize neither of us out ranks the other right?” Burke added.
“True, but Rieken does, and he ordered me to handle this… Guys I wanna handle this.” Parker explained.
“Fine, hog all the fun to yourself.” Diaz responded sarcastically.
“Commence radio silence.”

By this point the truck was quite close. Parker drew one of her dessert eagles. She then retrieved one of the pink shells on her rainbow bullet harness. She slid the cartridge into the modified sot on the top of her giant hand gun, then dropped to one knee and took aim. Now the truck had spotted her, and one of the men climbed out of the cab of the moving truck and manned the 50 caliber machine gun mount in the back of the truck. But before he could c**k the giant gun, Parker squeezed the trigger.

Parker’s Dessert Eagles were unlike any other high powered 50 caliber hand gun, it also had a second firing chamber designed to fire her spell rainbow charges. The shells came in every color of the pride rainbow, and each color had its usage. When Parker squeezed the trigger, her cartridge, shed itself of its pink casing, and cut through the dry dessert air until it made contact with the front of the on coming truck. The explosion that ensued was very reminiscent of the dreaded collapse of the Twin Towers in New York City. With a brilliant pink glare, the dessert erupted into a flurry of sand and tremors. The shockwave would have sent Parker soaring through the air if she wasn’t already well prepared for the power of her cartridge. She did, however, have to shield herself from the massive wall of sand that engulfed her.

Nearly half a mile away, unit 932 screeched to a halt at the sound of the earth shaking explosion. All that could be seen over the sandy ridge was a pink glare, and a giant cloud of sand. All were astonished and extremely curious at this point, even the radio-men had nothing to say. “932! Move out!” Rieken ordered, recollecting the focus of his men. When the shockwave had passed, and the sand now raining back down to earth, Parker stepped a few yards closer to the destroyed truck. The passenger was dead, the gunner no where to be found, presumably disintegrated by the explosion. But the driver was barely grasping to life. She would have let him be to die of his injuries, but she realized he was gasping with difficulty breathing; he was speaking into a radio. “Without hesitation, she put a single bullet through his radio and his head. Bullet might have been too late.

She turned and high tailed it, while sprinting through the said she broke radio silence. “Guys, boogies down, but he’s not alone, I think he called for back up. “Diaz, Burke, and the radio-men heard Parkers report, but before he could inform Reiken of the situation, gun shots rang out over the sand dune. The unit instantly dropped into a low defensive posture. Rieken used hand signs to signal his other sniper, and their scouts to follow him up the dune. Once on top, they spied an American soldier, a Navy Seal, running for his life. A giant battalion of al Qaeda was on his tail, firing at him with rifles.

It was a trap, the al Qaeda intercepted their transmissions, they located and captured the SEAL and new a unit was dispatched to assist him. The boogie Parker took out was a tracker, transmitting 932’s location to the enemy. Once contact was made, the al Qaeda had no use for the SEAL, so they let him go and were using him for target practice. Fortunately they were horrible shots. The SEAL was accustomed to running under even worse circumstances; he had nearly made it up the dune toward Rieken and the others (though he did not know they were there) when he took a bullet to the back.

The call to arms had been made, an American was down, and a confrontation was inevitable at this point. Rieken gave the order and he and the other Sniper opened fire. They seamlessly took out one enemy after another, as the two spotters made their way down the dune and retrieved the SEAL who was badly hurt, but still alive. They had just barely moved the SEAL over the crest of the dune when the al Qaeda began spraying bullets wildly at them. “Corp-men up!” one of the spotters called out as they dragged the SEAL towards the unit. Those were the magic words, all Marines saving grace. This was what you said when someone was injured.” This was what Eric was trained for. In the blink of any eye, a rush of contradicting emotions over came him. But in what Eric deems as his strongest moment, he over came them… without hesitation he rushed to the aid of his felloe sailor, while the rest of the unit joined the snipers on the crest of dune and prepped for the massive fire fight ahead.

As expected, the conflicting forces began to exchange lead. The Americans were far better trained however. Within an hour they had only sustained the SEAL’s injuries and a flesh wound procured by one of the Marines. As the enemies slightly thinned, and twilight fell upon them, a distinctive gun shot rang out from behind them. The unit was pinned between two sand dunes, if the al Qaeda was able to reach either submitted of those dunes; the unit would be decimated. They would have been successful in this endeavor, while the majority of the unit fired from the cover of dune A, a group of al Qaeda flanked the unit while it was distracted, and was making for the dune B in the rear. But Parker had caught up to the Unit at this time, and was able to foil their plot.

She loaded a green cartridge and fired it at the large mob; the bullet hit one combatant, and then burst into a green mist of lethally toxic fumes. The first wave of this mob went down, but Parker was extremely out numbered. Eric could see all that was transpiring from where he was treating the SEAL. He had no idea where winch his sudden rush of courage came, from, but he drew his 9mm and gave Parker covering fire, taking out a few of the enemy. “Look out!” The SEAL cried out, as he could see the head of another mob coming from the opposite mouth of the two dunes. Eric hadn’t the time to reposition and defend himself and the SEAL; he was a Mila second from catching a bullet in the brain pan, when volley of razor sharp metal stars took out the first wave of this second mob.

Burke had made it to Parkers position and was assisting in the defense of the unit’s rear left flank. While Diaz covered the right, and the rest of the unit fought fired from the front. They wouldn’t last long, Rieken new that, he ordered the radio-men to call for evac and air support. The request was granted but the chopper was at least 20 minutes out. They would have to hold the line nearly half an hour.

Burke kept hordes of on coming enemies at bay with the heavy and precise swings of his bull whips. The lash of one of his whips could split a human’s hide in two, and he was using two of them. The crack of his instruments rang through the air like a clap of thunder. He might have been a Nelly man, but he was a fearsome warrior. He insured to inform each of his victims how much distain he bared for them before cleaving clunks of their flesh off with every swing of his leather.

Parker had originally taken position on the lowest incline of the dune and was capping of enemies from a distance, but her position was soon over run, she now used her giant guns as melee weapons. They were heavy and good for bludgeoning, but she was still able to fire off rounds and she struck. Diaz held off his front like a mad man. The littering of bladed weapons across his uniform, proved to be very effective. With little effort Diaz could retrieve a weapon from his person, and send it flying into an on coming opponent. But for fear of running out, he also took to hand-to-hand combat, uses his tomahawks to their best capacity.

The occasional terrorist that slipped past Diaz, Burke, or Parker, was quickly dropped by Eric. The SEAL had given him his 9mm, combined with his own, Eric was devoted to the preservation of this life and the life of his patient. He stood over the SEAL, and dispatched of any potential threats that managed to avoid death by Frontliner.
Any of the other unit members that could afford the brief moment to witness Eric’s baptism by gun fire would have been in awe, if they didn’t have to keep their own finger on the trigger. Eric had transformed throughout the course of the ten minute battle. He slowly destroyed his stance over the injured SEAL, and moved over to Diaz’ flank, and assisted with much valor and a hint of pleasure, in not only the protection of his unit, but the slaughter of his enemy.

They were now in sync; Diaz and Winsor had become a well oiled machine. They instinctively new the next move of their partner and position themselves accordingly. With little more then basic combat training, Eric was surprised by his capability now, and he owned it. Through all the chaos, blood shed, despair… Eric had found his belonging. This is where he belonged; side by side with the finest specimen man had to offer. They truly were the elite, this is who he was and no one could tell him different. All his years of self loathing and pent up shame came spilling for his soul, it mingled with Diaz’ and the two melded into one singular consciousness. Eric felt as though he were losing his virginity, it was all so different, some what awkward, and absolutely enjoyable.

The next 10 minutes were a complete blur. The next thing Eric knew, the sun had nearly completely set and three choppers were hovering over head unloading a barrage of rockets onto the units remaining enemies. Parker, Burke, Diaz, and Winsor had fended off either flank, keeping their unit safe. The bodies of their adversaries piled high, but every last terrorist that had shown up today to claim the lives of unit 932, was eradicated. The choppers landed in a near by clearing, and the Unit headed for them with much enthusiasm. Some of the Marines picked up the injured SEAL and hoisted him into one of the evac vessels. Once everyone was loaded, Rieken turned to send for the Frontliners, as was protocol that they stay behind and fend off the enemy until all unit members were loaded.

Too Riekens surprise, bring up the rear, battle tattered, stained with blood, gun soot, and sweat. Walking confidently with Parker, Burke, and Diaz, was Seaman Winsor. Rieken saw who it was, but did not recognize him. He was a changed man, stronger, bolder; he even appeared to stand taller. When the four approached the helio as it idol ready for take off, Rieken extended his gratitude to Eric.

As they shook hands Eric determined that Rieken was still worthy of his affections, but he no longer felt inclined to pine over the Staff Sergeant. Eric felt above that, Rieken was now his equal, no… he was better then Rieken. In that realization Eric understood what it was the Frontliners were fighting for, it was this feeling, this incredible empowerment. He smiled to himself as he turned to board the chopper. Diaz extended a hand and heaved him up into the cabin. With smirks around, Parker and Burke watch on as Diaz drew Eric’s ear in close and said “Welcome to the Frontliners.”

So he had known all this time.