After an uninterrupted sleep, Andrew woke feeling clearer than he had in days. Wearing casual clothes he made his way toward the balcony.
Sliding open the glass door, he was greeted by the cool morning breeze and the faint hum of life stirring below. From where he stood, he could see soldiers in the middle of changing shifts at the perimeter, their movements precise and routine. A few civilians walked out of the hotel , cups of steaming coffee in hand, their quiet chatter carrying faintly upward. For a moment, it almost felt normal — like the world hadn't completely fallen apart.
He lingered there a moment longer, then stepped back inside and headed to the small bathroom. The mirror was fogged from the morning chill as he began brushing his teeth. In times like these, the hygiene is even more important then before.
As Andrew brushed his teeth, his mind wandered to Grady Hospital. Now that they had it secured, they should see about setting up a proper dentist's room — assuming they could find someone who actually knew what they were doing. Little things like that mattered now. Clean water, working lights, a place to fix a toothache… a poor dental hygiene could kill a person if not treated in time.
He rinsed his mouth, splashed some cool water on his face, and looked at himself in the mirror. The marks of fatigue were still there — the faint shadows under his eyes, — but he was still alive, and that was important. He changed into his uniform, holstered his pistol, slipped the Kombat knife into his belt, and decided he'd grab the rest of his gear from the armory later.
The hallway outside was already lively. He passed a few soldiers talking quietly, one of them laughing at a joke that barely carried down the corridor. They straightened a little and saluted as he walked by, and he gave a small nod in return. The air smelled faintly of coffee and cooked food— a strange, comforting moment of normal life .
Downstairs, the first floor felt alive. People moved with purpose ,soldiers and civilians, both heading towards the mess hall. It almost felt like a small town starting its day.
Halfway to the mess hall, Andrew spotted Jun-hyuk and Erik coming from the opposite direction. Both looked tired but satisfied.
"Morning," Andrew greeted.
"Morning," Jun-hyuk replied, adjusting his glasses. "We were just heading to grab something to eat."
Erik gave a small grin. "Been a long night. The drones are coming together, though. We've got two teams now — one focused on working on the drones , the other figuring out how to install the solar panels that were brought in."
"That's good," Andrew said, genuinely pleased. " It's going to help us a lot in the long run."
They walked together for a bit before Erik hesitated, lowering his voice. "Hey, uh… is it true? About that group out there?"
Andrew pondered for a moment. " We haven't encountered them yet, so i can't say anything for sure. But we've got it under control — just keep doing what you're doing. It helps more than you know."
When they reached the mess hall, the smell of coffee and warm food greeted them. People were chatting softly. They lined up for their portions before parting ways. Erik and Jun-hyuk joined the rest of their team, still talking about wiring and signal range.
Andrew took his tray and crossed the room toward a corner table where Major Griggs, Captain Price, and the others were already seated.
Andrew slid into the seat beside Captain Price, setting his tray down with a soft clatter.
Major Griggs looked up as Andrew sat down. "Morning, Lieutenant. Hope you got some rest," he said, voice carrying that familiar mix of calm authority.
Andrew gave a small nod. "Managed a few good hours of sleep, feeling like new."
"Good," Griggs replied, stirring his coffee absently. "Because we've got things to go over. I've been thinking about that group Sergeant Doyle mentioned."
Price looked up from his mug. "The angry civilians with rifles?"
Griggs nodded. "Yeah. Call it what you want — group of angry civilians, an insurrection, whatever it is, we can't ignore it. They're angry, armed, and they know how we operate. That makes them a threat."
He paused, letting that settle for a moment. Ghost had stopped stirring his coffee, Soap looked up from his plate.
"The problem," Griggs continued, "is that we can't start taking people in here. Not anymore. Every new face becomes a risk. We let the wrong one through those gates, and we could be dealing with sabotage, or worse."
Andrew nodded in agreement.
Griggs took a slow sip of coffee, eyes distant for a moment. "Which brings me to the other point — that gated community one of the patrols found. It's defensible, mostly intact, and close enough to supply and defend. If we can clear it, fortify it, we'll have somewhere to move civilians — and maybe even train a few of them without bringing them into the Fort itself."
Price smirked faintly, setting down his fork. "Something of a buffer zone, then."
"Something like that," Griggs said. "We'll need recon first — drones, maybe a small team on foot to map the layout and confirm it's clear of hostiles. Once we know the layout, we can decide how to move forward."
Andrew leaned forward, tone steady. "That's doable. If it's secure, it'll take some pressure off Ironwood."
For a few moments, they ate in silence — the sound of clinking utensils and quiet conversation filling the hall around them. The coffee was lukewarm now, the eggs nearly cold, but no one seemed to care.
Griggs finally set his mug aside and stood. "Finish up, gentlemen. We'll continue this in the command room — I want everyone on the same page before we start planning deployments."
Price gave a brief nod, wiping his mouth with a napkin before pushing his chair back. "Aye, Major."
Andrew downed the rest of his coffee and stood as well, adjusting his uniform. Around them, soldiers and civilians moved through the mess hall , talking quietly, laughing softly.
They placed their trays on the table near to the exit . Then they walked out stepping into the cool morning air, heading across the courtyard toward the command building.
...
Corporal Cassandra Whitaker and Valeria Ramirez made their way back from patrol, rifles slung across their chests. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine from the treeline beyond the perimeter. A few soldiers were already moving between vehicles, the quiet hum of generators filling the stillness.
Whitaker let out a tired sigh, rolling her shoulders. "Well, that's another uneventful patrol," she muttered. "Can't say I mind the quiet."
Valeria glanced her way, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Yeah, but it feels like the calm before the storm. Everyone's been talking about those attacks — civilians going after soldiers. That's not something you hear every day."
Whitaker frowned slightly. " I agree. It's not unusual for people to be armed— but this? Targeting military patrols? That's different." She shook her head. "It doesn't look good."
They turned the corner of the hotel when a familiar voice called out, warm but edged with fatigue.
"Morning, you two. Looks like you beat the sunrise."
Both looked up to see James Ramirez walking toward them, helmet tucked under one arm, a faint grin creasing his face. His uniform was dusty, his sleeves rolled up, the faint patch of the 75th Rangers visible on his shoulder.
Valeria smiled, a trace of relief in her expression. "James. You're up early."
He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd check in with logistics, see what the day's looking like."
Whitaker smirked. "Let me guess — more work?"
"Always," James said dryly, stopping beside them. "Heard you two just got off patrol. How's the line holding?"
"Quiet," Valeria said. "Almost too quiet. But the talk going around about that hostile group isn't exactly making it easier to relax."
James nodded, his expression hardening a little. "Yeah, I've heard the same. Command's taking it seriously — they don't like the idea of people turning their guns on us. Not now with the dead walking around."
There was a brief silence as they watched a pair of soldiers unload crates near the motor pool. The early sunlight caught on the metal surfaces of the parked JLTVs, their mounted guns glinting faintly.
After a moment, Valeria turned to her brother. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this talk of Fort Benning, would you?"
James gave a small, knowing smile. "Word travels fast, huh?" He adjusted his grip on the helmet. "They're discussing it right now — trying to figure out the logistics. If Benning's still stocked like we think it is, it could change everything. Food, gear, ammo… all just sitting there, waiting."
Whitaker tilted her head. "Sounds like a big 'if'."
"Yeah," James agreed, glancing toward the command building in the distance. "But it's a risk worth taking. We can't keep patching things together forever."
Valeria exhaled softly, shifting the rifle on her shoulder. "Then I hope they've got a solid plan."
Her brother smiled faintly. "They will. Griggs doesn't move without one."
For a moment, none of them spoke. The camp around them was waking — soldiers heading toward the mess hall, the smell of brewed coffee mixing with the crisp air.
James finally broke the silence, turning back to them. "Come on. If your shift's over, you should grab some breakfast before everything's gone. They've actually got eggs today."
Whitaker raised an eyebrow. "Eggs? Enough for everyone?"
"Unless the cooks are lying," James said with a grin.
Valeria chuckled, nudging Whitaker's arm. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Together, the three of them headed toward the mess hall, their laughter fading into the morning hum of Fort Ironwood.
...
The discussion in the command room was wrapping up, the air was thick with the low hum of conversation as the last details of the Fort Benning operation were being finalized. Griggs stood at the head of the table, leaning on his palms, eyes scanning the map spread out before him.
"…Alright, that's enough on Benning," he said, closing the folder and setting it aside. " For now—next order of business."
He straightened, tapping a spot on the map near Atlanta with a gloved finger. "This group of civilians—the ones targeting soldiers—we'll treat it for what it is: an insurrection. Doesn't matter if it's twenty or two hundred; they're organized, and pose a threat. Before we make any big moves, we need to tighten our grip on this area."
His finger moved across the map, marking several points. "There are a few National Guard armories and supply depots still within reach. If we can secure them, we'll have access to weapons, fuel, and equipment—enough to reinforce Fort Ironwood and support any future operations."
Price gave a curt nod. "Makes sense. Cutting the enemy from accessing the equipment they require."
"Exactly," Griggs replied. "We'll start drafting plans to take these locations before they fall into the wrong hands."
He then moved to another section of the map. "Next—Grady Memorial Hospital. SWAT teams have already been dispatched to bolster security. We'll use HESCO barriers to lock down the perimeter and clear a two-block radius. That hospital is one of the few functioning medical facilities left. We can't afford to lose it."
Soap leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Good call. That place becomes a target, we'll have more than broken bones to worry about."
"Agreed," Griggs said, then turned his gaze toward the others. "Now, about scattered military survivors across Georgia. Finding Sergeant Doyle and his people, made me think of the possibility that there could be small groups out there—isolated units, maybe even full platoons still trying to hold out."
Ghost tilted his head slightly. "You want to bring them in?"
"I want to find them," Griggs said. "We'll broadcast on open channels, short bursts every few hours. But Fort Ironwood's location stays off the record. We can't risk luring hostiles here."
Gaz nodded in agreement. "Smart. Keep the message hopeful but vague. Something to rally on."
Andrew, who had been quietly studying the map, spoke up. "If we're broadcasting openly, we should set up a decoy base. Somewhere to draw attention away from Ironwood. If hostile groups come looking, they'll find that instead."
For a moment, the room was silent. Then Price gave a slow nod. "That's a solid idea."
"Agreed," Griggs said, looking around the table as others murmured approval. "We'll put together a small team to plan the site—somewhere defensible but expendable. If it keeps Ironwood safe, it's worth the effort."
He leaned back slightly, his tone steady but heavy with intent. " Now we are working on rebuilding control. And that means thinking ahead. But still be prepared for unexpected variable's"
After Major Griggs finished speaking Andrew looked down at the table, his finger hovered over the map, tracing a line without really thinking.
He remembered from the show, a school designated as a temporary consolidated shelter, military and FEMA elements posted there. If the Big Spot managed to hold, maybe the highschool had, too. Maybe there are people still there, and if they are not, the equipment and supplies should be untouched.
He cleared his throat, carefully of what he says. " Major," he said, pointing to a point on the map near the edge of their sector. "Cranwell High — before control was lost, it was marked as a consolidated shelter. I heard there were National Guard and FEMA teams stationed there, there's a chance that it might still be standing."
Griggs looked over, interest sharpening in his eyes. "You think it's worth checking?"
Andrew met his gaze. "Yes, sir. If there's a functioning site with supplies or personnel, it could be a major asset — a staging point, medical help, more hands. Even if it's empty of people, the gear could help us a lot."
A quick, practical silence fell as everyone considered the possibility. Price nodded once. "Could be useful. And if the hostile group is watching main thoroughfares, a side check like that might avoid drawing attention."
Ghost folded his arms. "It'll be a recon in force — small team, quick in and out. Every precaution must be taken."
Griggs tapped the map, then looked around the table. "All right. Mercer, take a team and check Cranwell High. Keep it tight: stealth on the approach, comms every thirty minutes, fallback points established. Report back with what you find. If it's useful, we'll plan integration; if not, we pull back and reassess."
Andrew inclined his head. "Understood. I'll assemble a recon element and be ready to move within the hour."
"Good. That's it for this briefing — everyone gear up, and be ready. We move on verified intel, not guesses."