Directly opposite the door was a plane of what he recognized to be aliglass with a security station behind its protection. He knew that it was technically transparent aluminum, but it looked more like transparent sapphire, ten times as strong as plexiglass and still expensive as hell. A sheet of it meant somebody seriously wanted to stop an attack. The inch and a half thick window would shrug off an armor penetrator round.

“Bergstresser, Eric, PFC,” he said, holding up his ID to the guard behind the glass. The guard was a civilian, not a Marine, but he was relatively young and armed for war with an MP-7 on a three-point combat strap hooked into his chest, boron carbide helmet and heavy body armor. “I’m reporting for duty.”

“Hold your ID up to the scanner,” the guard said, gesturing with his chin. The guard checked his computer, then nodded. “Hold there for escort.”

“Aye, aye,” Berg said, taking a position of parade rest.

“Nugget?” the guard asked through the intercom, smiling slightly.

“Yes, sir,” Berg replied. “I’ve only been in Recon for three months.”

“I used to be Recon,” the guard said, glancing at his monitors. “Welcome to Wonderland. Here comes your escort.”

The heavy steel door to the room opened and a first sergeant in Mar-Cam stepped into the small room. The first sergeant was tall and slender with hair cropped so short it was hard to tell the color, hazel eyes and a slightly oversized nose. His right jaw was slightly protruding, the muscle clearly much larger than the left’s, a sure sign of a person who spent a lot of time in Wyvern battle armor.

“Bergstresser?” the first sergeant asked. His name tag read “Powell.”

“Yes, First Sergeant,” the PFC replied.

“ID?” the first sergeant said, holding out his hand. He checked the ID and nodded. “Welcome to the unit. I’m going to handle your in-brief then turn you over to your team NCOIC. Follow me.”