[hider=Margaret 'Woods' Collingwood]

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Margaret “Woods” Collingwood
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[b]Age[/b]: 27 [b]Hair[/b]: Red Eyes: Green
[b]Height[/b] 5’ 10 [b]Weight[/b] 150 lb
 
[b]Education[/b]
Bachelor of Electronic Engineering – CalTech
Bachelor of Defence and Strategic Studies – West Point
 
[b]Experience[/b]
US Marine Corps – Counter Intelligence
SOCOM –  Recon and COIN
NATO SOG
 
 
[b]Vignette[/b]
The rifles cracked mournfully in the early morning air. Maggie watched the proceedings from a safe distance, reluctant to admit she was present. In the green field of the cemetery a flag draped coffin stood beside a recently excavated grave. The aged and grieving parents of Master Seargent Thomas Glenn received the folded flag with appropriate solemnity. Beside them stood the sister he could never stand and a trio of children who had hardly known him. They too were trying to look solemn, though the youngest girl seemed more scared by the gunfire.
 
The bugler began the familiar tones of the last post and Mrs Glenn buried her head in her husbands shoulder. With dignified slowness the coffin began to sink into the earth. The plastic box was actually empty. The grieving family had been told that Seargent Glenn had died in a training accident. Maggie knew that Glenn had actually died in a Russian communication facility in Dagestan. He had been cornered by the facilities security before he could extract. Faced with death or capture Glenn had opted to trigger the eraser charge he carried. The potent thermite/phosphorus charge had killed him instantly; eliminating all evidence that Thomas Glenn had ever existed. Ashes to Ashes Dust to Dust.
 
The mission psychologists hadn’t been certain that a soldier would be willing to trigger the eraser charge when the situation called for it. Thomas would have appreciated that his last act in the world was to fuck with the pshycs. Maggie bought the flask to her lips, taking a long draft of whiskey and letting it burn her throat. The car door beside her opened. She ignored it, watching for the last glimpse of the coffin as it sunk into the earth.
 
“Woods, you could be out there  you know,” the calm voice of Major Brookings told her. Brookings was an intelligence wonk but he was alright. He had run the series of black ops which had culminated in Glenn’s death. The brass certainly though the program was worth the cost but soldiers, like Thomas Glenn and Maggie Collingwood and even, yes – Major Brookings, didn’t ask that question. Ours is not to wonder why and all that.
 
“Could be,” she agreed, “but I don’t want to lie to the poor bastards parents.”
 
Brookings nodded, a place holder rather than any comment on the situation. Lying was part of the job, just as much as anything else.
 
“I’m sorry he didn’t make it Woods, he was a good man,” Brookings continued. Maggie turned to face him at last. He was a thin man, his face ascetic and hollow like a monk of old. It was impossible to tell how truthful the sentiment was. Possibly it was heartfelt but the professional veneer of the long term spook didn’t peel easily.
 
“He was my friend,” she said simply. How good or bad Thomas Glenn had been didn’t really matter. There was a long awkward pause. Maggie filled it with another mouthful of whiskey. Brookings cleared his throat.
 
“Did Glenn tell you where he was being posted after the Dagestan operation?” Ah the point at last.
 
“Do you want me to say yes or no? I don’t suppose anyone is going to bust him for loose lips now.” Brookings ignored that with commendable restraint. He appreciated she was under stress.
 
“You were our second pick for that posting and now your number one. We don’t have another operator with your skill mix, I know it’s a long haul and space service is rough, if you need time…”
 
“Sign me up,” she said instantly. Meeting the older man’s eyes for the first time, she slipped the flask of whiskey back into her uniform pocket. In the background a second volley rang out as the coffin settle into the earth. Bid the soldiers shoot.
 
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