"Commander, form squadron for morning roll call!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

The morning had started as all other mornings did on the training base. It's location had been kept secret to even the cadets. He'd seen them brought in with blind folds and headsets not even a month ago. His new class was coming right along. There were trouble makers and there were star pupils. It was unusual that both be wrapped up into one individual. More unusual that this individual was a female.

The cadet corps had been brought to the mess hall last. They did not and would not be allowed to eat with the more seasoned cadets, other instructors or the brass. The only other person they ate with was their instructor, Sergeant Campbell.

They knew the drill already. Single file, they marched into the mess hall. Covers were abandoned and tucked into utility belts. Trays were lifted in a military precision that even Sergeant Campbell couldn't complain about. Upon ordered, the trays were presented and they filed along the buffet style line until each had their rations upon it. Today was scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and orange juice. For those allergic to eggs, oatmeal was provided. They all stood behind their chairs, waiting for the next order.

"Sit!"

And with one sound, one fluid movement, chairs were pulled back and taken.

"Pray!"

Hands dropped to the cadet's sides and heads were bowed. A brief moment of silence was given so that each cadet could silently pray to their own diety before they said the corps prayer, in unison. "God bless the Corps, Sergeant Campbell and the Alliance. Amen!"

Rett watched with folded arms. His mask of cold indifference settled upon his face. "Eat!"

And then the cacophony began. Truly, Campbell wasn't much in a mood to hear the incessant chatter. Cadets eating as quickly as they could, sharing exaggerated stories of their conquests and defeats. Whispers amongst the female cadets. Eyes turning towards him and then hurriedly lowered to their trays if he caught them staring.

He could Read their thoughts, if he wanted to. But the over indulgence from the night before had his mind clouded. If the cadets could get close enough, they'd see the redness to his eyes. But, to them, he was Sergeant Campbell. Get too close and get your head bitten off. Make a mistake, get your head bitten off. Unforgiving and cold, Sergeant Campbell.

As he slowly walked up and down the aisles of long tables, he heard his name in a hushed whisper. Only a glance was spared for the female cadets whispering behind their hands. As he approached, the females became silent, and only giggled quietly when he passed them. Idly he wondered what the rumor was this time.

Rett did not eat with the cadets that morning. The rot gut in his stomach from the previous evening's party amongst the NCO's had all but quelled his appetite. A brisk work out and he'd be right as rain. But for now, he dealt with the pain and nausea of the hangover in silence. Sitting in the chair he always occupied, he watched over the cadets from a cool distance.

When the trouble maker, star pupil and all around pain in Rett's ass got up from the table before the others, before the order was given to rise, he quirked a brow up. Was she sick? His ankle had been resting on the opposite thigh when she came towards him. Something sparked in her eyes and he knew trouble was afoot. The room went silent. Those that were in the know held their breaths as they watched the scene unfold. Those that weren't in the know simply watched her as if she were marching straight into the devil's den. And, perhaps she was.

The cadet tripped, supposedly, when only a few feet from him. She cried out and fell hands and face first directly into his lap. Quick to move to protect himself, he hadn't expected to need to wear a cup during morning chow, he gathered the girl up. He knew the ruse the moment she tripped and would not let her get away with it.

She was pulled into his lap and his hand found it's way to a small, pert and pleasantly firm breast. "Tit for tat, Ishido." A squeeze and then he was pushing her to her feet. "Latrine duty. Go." He barely even gave her a second glance as he straightened himself in his chair. The cacophony started once again as Ishido left the chow hall.

Rising, he tugged down the edge of his tunic. "Forks down!"

And just like that, breakfast was over.

Consequences. He lay strapped to a table, medicine pumped into his arm to keep him alert, awake. As the scalpel dug into his skin just under his ribs on the right side, he set his jaw. he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of screaming out.

"No sir, I cannot do it. Send anybody else, I cannot."

Rett's refusal of the order had his commanding officers scrambling. Garrett Campbell was known for his devotion, loyalty and ability to complete any and every order given to him. He was the ultimate warrior, a poster boy for the Alliance. And he never refused an order.

Never.

The scalpel moved down his side, in a jagged zig-zag pattern from the nervous surgeon's hand. The surgeon knew exactly who was on the table before him. And, like any other soldier in the Alliance, he performed his duty without a second thought. But this was Garrett Campbell, the legend. The surgeon wanted no part of his torture, or death.

Garrett clenched his teeth as the scalpel tore through his side, and the blood drained, pooling at his side. Part of it almost tickled, the feeling of the hot blood on his tough skin. Rett held onto that and actually smiled.

"What is your connection to this traitor?" the voice was dull and distant, muffled. Garrett had taken a beating and blood trickled from his ear. "We've seen the surveillance from your room. We know she was your lover. Are you protecting her? Do you realize what we do to traitors?"

Garrett was becoming fully aware of just what they did to traitors. They considered him one, and the torture was intense. The scalpel curved down from his side, towards his groin.

"Tell us again, Sergeant Campbell. Where is she?"

Mud colored eyes drifted over to his commanding officer. Once they had been tight. Rett had saved the man's life. His eyes became cold. "I do not know."

Every man has his breaking point. When the scalpel had been removed and the cutting started beneath the ribs on the other side of his body, even Rett had almost reached his breaking point. He was near cardiac arrest, his heart working twice as hard to pump half of the blood it was used to. Cold sweat broke out on his brow and his eyes closed. With the final incision, he cried out in agony. "I'll do it! Stop! Please!" His hands clenched in furious anger.

Only then was the nod given, anesthetic was applied by a syringe to the IV in Rett's arm. Immediately his eyes closed and his head rolled to the side. The surgeon closed the massive wound and bandaged it with sterile gauze.

Rett was given a month to recover. It was a month that would change Rett's mind. His eyes were wide open now. He just hoped that he got to Wren first. Before it was too late.