Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

XXXI: Eighty-One Snakes

❝The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves.❞
—William Penn

We've been in this place before.

The sticky heat seems to invade every inch of our bodies, swimming down our throats like warm honey, crawling up our skin like large wasps, burning up our foreheads like a child running a fever. It's almost 90 degrees... And it's nearly December.

The water washes against the metal pillars of the dock running along the sandless-shore. The entire beach has transformed into something very unlike a beach. It's a naval harbor — and a very large one at that. It stretches both ways as far as the eyes can see. In the ocean rests countless ships of all shapes and sizes.

I used to be a pilot, so if I was shown an airfield of aircrafts, I would probably be able to name what type of aircrafts were present. But I'm no sailor. I can't identify these ships or boats. They're huge, that's all I have to say. Huge and intimidating.

This is an American naval base.

When we arrived at our destination, we were finally told where we've landed. By then, most of us, including myself, figured it out.

We are in Cuba.

I wouldn't be able to say exactly where we are in Cuba — other than along the Southern bay — but that's the country we've deployed in.

After the AC invaded Cuba and took the entire fucking country over, American Naval bases were scattered around the territory. There are no more Cubans in the country, all of whom have been evacuated to Brazil by Brazil. Boats and ships are kept in Cuba, along with the Navy soldiers with the skill to work them. They wade in the water of Cuba, preparing for the call to action.

It's the regular Navy present, not the Navy AC. They're just... chilling. They're living the soldier life, spending most of their time on the boats, tending to them and keeping them up in shape. It's a hard and very important job, yes, but...

Why? There is no present threat, is there? Sure, traveling South of Cuba will lead you to several Voyna counties like Venezuela and Brazil, but their economies and militaries are too weak to challenge us at the moment. Why not send these troops and men into the thick of things? Somewhere where there's bound to be fighting?

The sailors are here under Washington's orders. I wonder what is going on in that man's mind?

November 27, 2058.

We arrived yesterday, but the entire day, we worked on preparing our new space. This included stationing the Ocelots, unloading supplies from the Hawks, and radioing back to Washington for updates and notices.

As for today, we are setting up camp. Frankly, this place was not prepared for Army AC troops. The sleeping quarters are in the ships, all of which are occupied by the Navy men and women. So this morning, after sleeping on the uncomfortable decks of the ships, we were shoved into some abandoned Cuban barracks.

They are dirty and dusty from lack of use. Not only that, but there are bugs I've never seen before crawling all around — this should have been expected considering the hot climate.

We got some vague orders from Burr to start cleaning, then he left with Lee and John, presumably to speak to the Navy Admirals.

It was almost laughable really. Not that long ago, we were armed with our advanced weapons and equipment. We had our gear on, prepared to go into action at a moment's notice. Now, after an hour or so of cleaning, we've been reduced to maids.

We've tossed aside our weapons and armor, stripping off our black ACU tactical jacket. We're left with our standard black shirt underneath, although a few have even removed that to leave them in a white tank top.