[The Republic of the Americas and Luna]-Chapter Three

Captain Commander Zapata was dressed in Battle Dress Uniform, like the assembled scouts. Light green smear with light brown and white squares in a digital pattern, all the colorful bits the size of a fingertip. Light brown suede boots. No headgear or eye protection. He wore a ballistic vest, elbow, knee and shin guards and he had more weapons and ammunition strapped to his body than any three cavalry-men. He was always equipped this way.

Three times, he had been in a battle where he had run out of weapons or ammunition in the middle of a firefight and had been reduced to hand to hand combat with knives and sticks. And he wasn’t going to do it again. As a Captain Commander in charge of the First Regimental Combat Team it was highly unlikely that he would ever find himself on the front lines of a battlefield ever again, but he was taking no fucking chances. Rumor had it he was a bit paranoid, and even slept with a pistol within arm’s reach every night.

He was also remarkable in the fact that he was a fully qualified Scout/Sniper. He was one of the two percent of men that made it through the training. His face wasn’t lined with age, his face was lined with something else. He looked distinguished, a man in his early, maybe mid 40’s. There were lines that were obviously from smiling a lot. Also, lines from scowling. A long, faint scar started above his left eye and moved back into his hairline, stopping above his ear. His eyes were dark brown, with crow’s feet at the corners. The hair at his temple was going grey. The hair on his head was black shot through with small streaks of grey. It was short. His face only had a small bit of hair on his chin, otherwise he was clean shaven. His eyes were coldly calculating. He was thin, but well built. A runner. His hands were covered in a network of old and faint scars but looked rather soft.

He walked in front of the podium. He took an earpiece and microphone and placed it on his head. He coughed. “Tasking,” His voice was carried over the sound system. He turned and faced the assembled scouts. “Ladies.” There were three shouted male voices that came out of the crowd of scouts. “Hey!” “Yes, yes, yes, AND Gentleman.” There was a susurrus, and light laughter that rippled through crowd. “Silence in the ranks!” Every eye on him, the Commander shook his head and smiled. “That never gets old.”

This time the laughter was louder. He raised his hand, and the assembly fell silent. “Scout/snipers. Force P. Honored guests. I stand here today with a broken heart. Two of my sisters are dead. And yet their deaths were not without meaning. ‘Bottom’ and ‘Argus’ kicked an incredible amount of ass before they died. Their deaths will be remembered by the scouting community for a long time. Until this Republic ends, and this Army is no more. They have joined the ranks of heroes in Valhalla, their names will forever associated with ‘Winner of the Silver Star for bravery’. We honor their memories, but that is not what we are here for right now. Right now we are here for an entirely different reason.

“The Army does not care about live scouts. We know this. They make attempts, but they fall short. The rules and regulations exist for a reason. In the past, different armies would sometimes hand out medals to commanders simply for flying through a combat zone. It was a travesty. The rules we operate by are intended to ensure that only those men and women who deserve it are awarded for valor. This has been going on for two hundred years."

"In true scout/sniper tradition we came up with a way of our own. A way to honor individuals who embody the best of our ideals. This way has nothing to do with the Army of the Republic of Central America and Luna. There is no Army influence on this rite, no regulation to guide how it happens.” “Two hundred years ago, a group of retired Kiowa scouts came together to address what they saw as a serious shortcoming by the Army of the Americas. They gathered in the small town of Cabuya, Costa Rica on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. There, these women got drunk and formed a conclave to address this problem. Over the course of six month’s and with lots of wine brandy and cannabis they hammered out a framework for how they were going to handle this."

"After all this work, they tried to come up with a name for the council that would handle these problems. The order was first named after Artemis, a God from antiquity, a Roman who was revered as the Goddess of the hunt. Things went well, until a ‘young’ scout noticed something and brought it to the attention of the conclave. Retired Master Chief Warrant Officer Wilhelmina Gutierrez pointed out to the conclave that the Goddess Artemis was a VIRGIN. After much debate the conclave sobered up and said ‘Fuck THAT.’ A spirited debate ensued, and when the blood and dust settled there was a new name for the council. They chose a Catholic Saint as the patron of their order. Saint Hubert, patron saint of the hunt.”

Commander Zapata looked around the floor where the scouts of the Third Army stood. “Kiowa, TEN HUT!” Every man and woman in the building snapped to attention.

Commander Zapata faced the entirety of the Third Army scout group. “Ladies. And you guys. Stand here and bear witness. An introduction and an induction! Madré de Dios, Archangel, front and center please!” From the back of the hanger, there came small taps. Metal taps on boot heels against concrete. A measured cadence, marching in perfect unison. Heels against the ground. Two Scouts appeared and walked down the center aisle. They were both in Battle Dress Uniform, and adorned with the native American icons that showed beyond a doubt that they were Knights in The Order of St. Hubert. They had long barreled bolt action rifles upright on their right shoulders. There were suppressors almost the length of the barrel The two looked like medieval knights carrying spears. There was a silver ribbon attached to the end of the suppressors, they had a wire or something sewn in the top so that they stretched out behind them like they were flags flown by charging knights. Each had their hair cut in a Mohawk. The sides of their heads were adorned with tattoos that indicated the fact that they were scouts, snipers and forward artillery observers. The tattoos were called ‘wings’, and it was a crime to have them on your head if you hadn’t earned them. The woman’s hair stood straight up, six inches tall. It was an unnatural blonde. They were both tall, freakishly tall for scouts. They were husband and wife. They were also the head of the Army Scout/Sniper school. Michael O’Neil was the head of the school. Samantha O’Neil was the dean of students. Together they oversaw the instruction of new warrant officers in the art of being a scout/sniper.

Archangel and Madre de Diós. Their radio call signs. Scout call signs were usually awarded during their time in scout/sniper school. The name they were saddled with was usually embarrassing and related to an incident that usually included alcohol and an incident or a man who was “special.” All of them were embarrassing and entertaining. Some scouts came to the Sniper Academy with call signs already assigned. Earned during their apprenticeship to the companies’ scouts, these call signs always had an embarrassing story behind them, denoting failures and just plain funny because maybe, just maybe, scouts could be assholes.