Jordan looked at himself in the mirror. He had gone through these motions thousands of times, but still he felt strange preparing for a public appearance in this form. He reached into his pocket, removing the purple heart he had earned more than two centuries ago. The mutant stared at the inscription. “For Military Merit, Jordan B. Cockburne.” he muttered, before pinning it to one of his bandoliers.
Straightening his beret on his head, the man grunted as his touched the scorched scars on his face. He couldn't even remember who had caused those, when. Then, Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Report." He said to the shimmering he saw in the reflection, grinning as the nightkin clearly did not appreciate being seen despite the active stealth boy. It was a comforting thing. Jordan remembered days with the psych ward after his first dealings against Chinese stealth suits. Now his beastly eyes could truly make out the technology of subterfuge.
"Johnson and Slasher are fighting again."
"What over?"
"The sewers. Johnson is insisting we keep them as is so we can hunt the mirelurks and such while Slasher wants to clear it out for more workshops."
Cockburne groaned. "Where are they."
"Council room."
The Colonel stomped off traversing a corridor and two flights of stairs to come to the scene of the argument. The two debaters were almost nose to nose until the arrival of their commander. They saluted, their fingers touching the spot where flesh met their flat caps. Jordan was about to spew out a tirade, but then a better idea came.
"I hear you have been debating the matter of the sewers.” he stated.
A raspy “Yessir.” came from both mutants.
“Good. Healthy debate lets the army improve itself. However, you both have as many merits as flaws in your arguments.” he stated, not elaborating. “The solution is simple. Both of you are to take your divisions and march East. You will bring something to me. Whoever brings a better tribute will show that their way is correct. Understood?”
“Yessir!”
“Good.” And with that, Cockburne left. This at least would put the passion of the feud between two of his Lieutenants in the army into a productive outlet. Eventually however, a choice would have to be made, and Cockburne knew that the fact was that the tribute wouldn’t have any relation to what decision he made as to the fate of the sewers. He rubbed his forehead walking towards the balcony of the underground restaurant wherein he would make a speech to his people. The more mutants joined the army the more issues they had with one another, and Cockburne knew one day that this boil would have to be popped.
A portrait of the glorious Colonel Cockburne
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