Bitterness of Duty

Posted on Mon Oct 26th, 2026 @ 5:40pm by Major Samantha Snyder

1,299 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Looking in all the wrong places.
Location: MXO's Office.
Timeline: Current.

The office had grown quiet, save for the steady hum of the computer terminals and the occasional beep of keys beneath Samantha Snyder's fingers. The immediate chaos of the operation had passed, the weapons secured, the wounded evacuated, and the survivors accounted for. Now came the part of military service that never made it into the heroic accounts or the official commendations. The paperwork. The accounting. The names.

And the losses.

Seated behind her desk, the Major had discarded her jacket and rolled her sleeves to the elbows. A half-empty cup of coffee sat forgotten beside a stack of datapads, its contents long since gone cold. Her eyes were tired, but her expression remained composed as she worked her way through the after-action reports, reviewing every detail with the same painstaking attention she would have given a tactical briefing.

Every engagement needed to be documented. Every decision justified. Every expenditure of ammunition and equipment recorded. The timeline had to be precise, the chain of command clearly established, and any discrepancies identified before the reports were forwarded for review.

It was necessary work. Important work.

But it was the casualty lists that kept drawing her attention away from everything else.

Samantha paused over a name, her fingers hovering above the console. A service number. A rank. A unit designation. A brief notation confirming that the individual had been killed in action.

A life reduced to a handful of lines on a screen.

She drew a slow breath through her nose before moving to the next entry.

The figures had to match the medical reports and the personnel records. The missing had to be distinguished from the confirmed dead, the wounded from those still unaccounted for. There could be no assumptions, no hurried conclusions, and certainly no names sent forward on the strength of incomplete information. Families deserved certainty wherever it could be established, and honesty where it could not.

That responsibility weighed heavily upon her.

Before Colonel Frost could sign off on the notifications, Samantha needed to ensure that every detail was correct. Next of kin had to be verified, contact information cross-referenced, and the appropriate notification packages prepared. Each would require the proper documentation, the circumstances of the loss, and whatever information could be responsibly disclosed to the family.

She had prepared such paperwork before. She knew the procedures by heart.

That did not make the task any easier.

Her gaze settled upon the casualty roster again, and for a moment she allowed herself to consider the people behind the names. The soldier who had promised to call home after the mission. The young Marine whose family might still be expecting to hear about their next leave. The seasoned veteran whose absence would leave a space in a unit that no transfer order could fill.

Somewhere, people were going about their ordinary lives, unaware that their worlds were about to change.

Samantha's jaw tightened.

She could not afford to let the weight of that knowledge compromise her work. Not now. These reports would become part of the official record, and these notifications would be the first words some families received about the worst day of their lives. They deserved accuracy, dignity, and respect. Nothing less would do.

With deliberate care, she added another annotation to the report, flagged a discrepancy in one of the personnel records, and sent a request for confirmation to the appropriate department. She would not allow a clerical error to compound an already unbearable loss.

Once the figures had been reconciled, she assembled the completed reports into separate files, attaching the casualty summaries and the prepared next-of-kin notifications for the Colonel's review and signature. The outstanding cases were clearly marked, with the reasons for each delay documented.

Finally, she leaned back in her chair and rubbed a hand across her tired face.

There was still more to do. There always was.

Samantha glanced at the time displayed on her terminal, then returned her attention to the final summary. She read it once, checked it again, and made one last correction before saving the document.

The reports were ready for Colonel Frost.

She gathered the relevant datapads into a neat stack, ensuring the most urgent notifications were clearly identified, and placed them at the edge of her desk for delivery. Her expression remained firm, her posture straightening as she prepared to move on to the next task.

The mission might have been over, but the responsibility for those who had served in it was not.

And Major Samantha Snyder intended to see that responsibility carried out properly, from the first line of the after-action report to the final signature authorising a family to be told the truth.

She exhaled slowly, rubbing at the bridge of her nose before glancing at the chronometer.

A small smile touched her lips.

Bianca Donati.

Just the thought of her partner was enough to soften the hard edges of the day. Samantha had spent hours immersed in casualty figures, operational summaries, and the grim business of accounting for lives lost and changed forever. She had done what was required of her as a Major, maintaining the discipline and composure expected of her rank. Yet beneath that uniform, beneath the responsibility and the carefully maintained professionalism, she was still a woman who wanted nothing more complicated than to spend some time with the person she loved.

And, truthfully, she needed it.

The thought of seeing Bianca brought with it a warmth that the cold glow of the computer terminals could never hope to provide. She could almost imagine the sound of her voice, the familiar expression on her face, and the simple comfort of being in her company without having to think about casualty reports or the consequences of the operation.

As she rose from her chair, Samantha straightened her duty uniform and smoothed the fabric over her shoulders. The familiar motions were almost automatic, but her thoughts had already wandered away from the office. She wondered what Bianca was doing at that moment, whether she had finished her own responsibilities for the day, and whether she might be able to persuade her to share a quiet meal together.

Perhaps they could find somewhere away from the bustle of the base, somewhere they could talk without interruption. Or perhaps they would simply spend time together, content with each other's presence. After the day Samantha had endured, either prospect sounded wonderful.

Her eyes drifted briefly back to the casualty reports.

The smile faded, replaced by a more solemn expression. She knew that the paperwork waiting for Colonel Frost's signature represented families who would soon be grieving, and she would not forget them simply because her own working day was ending. Their losses mattered. Their loved ones mattered. She would carry that responsibility with her long after the reports had been filed.

But she also knew that she could not pour from an empty cup forever.

With one final glance around the office, Samantha collected her personal belongings and switched off the remaining terminal. The room fell into a quieter darkness, leaving only the muted illumination from the corridor beyond the door.

For the first time in hours, she allowed herself to think about something other than the mission.

Bianca.

The anticipation brought a genuine smile back to her face as she stepped into the corridor, her pace a little lighter than it had been when she first entered the office. There were still duties to attend to tomorrow, more reports to review, and undoubtedly more challenges waiting around the corner.

Tonight, however, she wanted to see her partner.

And as Major Samantha Snyder made her way out, she found herself looking forward to that reunion with a degree of eagerness that no military commendation, successful operation, or completed report could ever quite match.

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