Hale stood in the halls, wearing a grey uniform and a white helmet with the words "MP" painted on it in block letters. A ballistic shield was held in his left hand, his right hand placed on his gun. He was pacing rapidly. He felt as though Azrael himself stood in this room.
He quickly breathed out once he realized his lungs had frozen in fear.
He shakes his head and snaps out of it. He had feared for his life before, but never like this. Before he was just a beat cop, throwing ladies into the brig who had too much to drink. But this was not crime. It was war. And he had the intention of being on the ground when the enemy attacked.
He sat and prayed, not inaudibly, but in a whisper. "LORD, make my aim be true, and my hand quicker than those that would seek to destroy me. Grant us victory over those that would seek to do us harm. And if today is the day you call me home, let me die in empty brass."
He offered a fake ID to Sienna. It might not fool everybody, but he figured it'd be worth a shot. He says "Madame. I think I'll need to be on the ground today. Here's my credentials. It lets me join combat during situations...like this one." The ID looked authentic and official, at least at first glance. It had olive branches on it, and a forged signature. He had made sure not to skimp on anything.