Falling in the Frey

Summary: (AU) Master Sergeant Emma Swan and her team are commissioned to escort and protect Ms. Regina Mills, a feisty civilian, in the warzone of Freylache.

Pairings:Emma/Regina (eventually)

Disclaimers:I do not own OUaT or any of it's characters. I do, however, like to take them out of their boxes and play with them.

A/N: This story is not meant to reflect any real life countries, wars or militaries. I have never served in the military, so I hope my research and personal life experiences are sufficient to create a realistic story.

Any and all feedback is welcome. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Chapter One

It had only been five months, so I wasn't concerned when my C.O. called me into his office at the end of my shift. "Sir" I saluted, only because I had to. "Master Sergeant Swan." He responded and gestured for me to sit, so I did. I should have seen the big red flags go up at his use of my full rank, but like I'd said, it had only been five months since I had returned. Plus maybe I thought he was acknowledging that I had just put on the higher rank two weeks ago, though the paperwork had processed over four months before. Bureaucracy, civilian or military, was a bunch of red tape bullshit. But I digress.

"Just wanted to give you a heads up; I don't know the details yet, just general info. You're being deployed back into the Frey." Shit, I should have known. Usually they guarantee a six month break before sending you back into hell, but fighting had escalated in the region and we had lost over 650 soldiers in the last month alone. I've been serving under Captain Forrest for the past three years. Well, when I wasn't serving under some other decorated idiot in the Frey. But every time I manage to make it out alive and return back to Camp Brookes I got assigned to him as my Commanding Officer. Which is good; he came from an enlisted soldier background so he knows what it's like to be one of us.

"My whole squad, Sir?" I am the NCO, or Non-Commissioned Officer for eleven other soldiers. Separated into teams of four to make up Fireteams, it was typical that an entire squad would train and move into combat areas as one group. He pulled out the envelope that contained the orders and passed it across the desk to me. "Nope, this is different. Only orders for one Fireteam." I looked at the orders and read between the lines. "Sir, it's only a two month tour?" Like I said, I should have seen the red flags.

The next day at lunch break I was once again summoned by his personal assistant, Corporal Riddle, to Captain Forrest's office. I sat in his office, waiting for the captain. I still smirk when I read his name plate Michael S. Forrest. I try to think of what kind of cheeky parents would give their son the middle name of Sherwood. I stood and saluted as he entered the room. "At ease, Swan." We both sat and he pulled out an envelope that was similar to yesterday's.

"Alright…" he began. "…here are your official orders. 2 month tour. You and three other soldiers from your squad will leave in 72 hours." He checked his watch. "Correction, now 68 hours. You will be based out of Camp Azor, you know the drill upon arrival I trust." I nodded. This will be my fifth time into the Frey; I've got the drill down pat. Camp Azor has been my home as much as anywhere the past eight years. The Captain rifled through the rest of the papers until he found a specific one.

"Well the good news is, it's only a 2 month tour." I waited for the other boot to drop. He didn't make me wait for very long. "Bad news is, you're on protect and escort duty." P&E… Shit we're fucking babysitters. He passed me a copy of the sheet. "Her name is Regina Mills. Her family is…" he cleared his throat "…prominent in the manufacturing of defensive supplies…" Awesome, a damn war pirate. "…Get to know her file. Meet and greet tomorrow at 10:00 in room 208. Oh, and there's a formal dinner tomorrow night at 18:00 hours. Dress Greens for that Sergeant. Pass it on to your team that all four of you are expected there." He handed me the rest of the orders and wished me luck. 10:00 tomorrow only gave me a short window of time to assemble my team, get my dress uniform ready, and start pulling together our gear kits. It was going to be a long night.

I hated being told to pick three others from my squad to go back to Freylache with me. Nobody should have to go back to the warzone, let alone be hand picked for duty. It's a bit like asking me which of my squad I'm willing to risk dying just so a civilian can get a close up look at a region that should have been bombed to hell in the first place. Then, at least, we could have avoided the deaths of the fifteen thousand good soldiers who died in the name of 'peacekeeping'.

It didn't take me long to make my decision. I know that my squad has lots of strong members, but the fireteam I've lead the past two tours works well together. They may not be the strongest soldiers in my the entire squad, if you put them head to head with the others, but I know each of them well enough to know that they have each other's backs...and mine. I'm not going back to the Frey to be a hero or to get more awards. I just want to get back to the Republic alive and in one piece. That's a tough enough plan when you only have to worry about your team, but now we have a civilian to babysit. I'm sure her agenda is soooo important to her company, but that doesn't mean it makes my job any easier.

I looked at her 2"x2" headshot picture. Dressed in a typical dark gray business suit attire, Ms. Mill's keen deep brown eyes stared back. Two months of babysitting duty was dangerous enough. But then factor in that she was a civilian and a war pirate; that combination meant serious trouble. War pirates, as we refer to those in the supply side of war are simply those who make a profit over the war's continuing. As long as there is a need for bullets, guns and vests to protect soldiers from them, someone makes a living off of us fighting….and sometimes dying.

Then it hit me; she was a show pony. Somewhere, someone who had a lot more stars and bars than I did on my uniform decided that trotting out the top female executive of a civilian company would look good in a photo op. Make the Frey seem, well, safe. And what better place to take a photo then by having her shaking hands with the three-star General running the show in the Frey.

It was after dinner and tucking Henry, my ten year old son, into bed that I slouched on my living room sofa with her folder and a cold beer. The dossier was fairly brief. Regina Mills, daughter and heir to Mills Combat Vestments, Inc., graduated magna cum laude from Aston Law School. According to the file, Ms. Mills was responsible for overseeing "The implementation of development and improvement of body armor provided to Republic soldiers involved in warfare and training." A lot of words to say they made the armor that stopped, or sometimes didn't, the bullets that were shot at us. As I tossed the file onto the table and drained the last of the bottle I knew that I was completely screwed.