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

XLVIII: Thirteen Things to Remember

❝No radical change on the plane of history is possible without crime.❞
—Hermann von Keyserling

We've landed in the Normandy region of France, not that far off from the city of Rouen, early this morning. We hopped onto Caracals, which is a French-produced military vehicle similar to the Ocelots America makes.

Now we're heading to Paris. That's where all the riots are.

"Ladies and gents, welcome to France," John said as soon as we landed. "Warnin': France is a shithole."

John took a sadistic point of view when it came to being in France. To be fair, no one in the AC is happy about this.

April 9, 2059.

It's so surreal being back in action. After such a chaotic and life-changing turn of events in America, it doesn't feel right to be in my ACU uniform.

I can tell Alexander feels the same way, but he has refrained from saying so.

We travel lighter than we would when entering Voyna territory. We don't carry as many weapons or gear as we normally would. No heavy-duty armor. No explosives. No high-damage weapons (Rory was pissed to find out he wouldn't get an RYG Rocket Launcher). What we do have is our standard TFXs, our shield, a pistol, our earpieces, and our flare guns.

The lack of advanced gear delivers a message, I just can't decipher it.

The sun must be high in the sky, although I can't see it well through a thick layer of clouds casting the world into misty grey. A light fog drifts along the road as we roll by. Water puddles and the distinct scent of rain in the air alludes to a rainstorm last night. For now, there's deadly soberness in the air.

Being a soldier isn't what it used to be. At least not for Alexander and me. We work with about seventy other American soldiers, all of whom know more about us than we know of them.

The Caracals have open back carriers, making it easy for them to goggle at us like fine pieces of art. Alexander and I stick close to Peggy and Rory, pretending not to notice these stares. That doesn't stop the soldiers in our Caracal from making conversations about us.

"You guys sure do sound Russian!"

"How do you guys know how to fly a plane?"

"Alexander is even cuter in person."

Soldiers we've worked with since our graduation don't spare us more than a glance. Everyone who bothers to talk about us is a new graduate. As in, people who graduated about two days ago. They see no issue in taking pictures of us.

"Can y'all stop?" one of the older graduates hiss.

"I need to post this on my Insta! What do you mean 'stop'?" a young graduate chirps.

"You are all so annoying," another older graduate demands. "You guys are bothering them! Just leave them alone!"

"But they're famous!"

Rory, surprisingly, stands up for us. "Keep taking pictures and I'll toss you off the Caracal, yeah?"

Peggy, encouraged by this, sends herself in as reinforcements. "Yeah! Leave them alone!"

John's voice comes over on the earpiece. "Stop arguin' or I'm goin' up there and tossin' everyone off the fuckin' vehicle."

John, who is driving the Caracal we're on, must have heard us. It encourages younger graduates to stash their phones away. I hope we get somewhere with no phone service soon; I don't want my face on the internet. Especially while I'm on duty.