Disclaimer: The charcaters aren't mine, 'cept for Veronica and General Li. Don't sue. I'm a poor college student. I ain't worth your time. Long Live the Browncoats!

Independence

Serenity Valley, Hera Colony, Lenos System, 2517AD

It was just before dawn. The fighting had been going on all night. Both sides throwing everything they had left into the battle, like it would be the deciding factor between the Unification of the systems or the continued self-governess of the planets. In the Core, where politics were debated, far from the heat of battle and the stench of dead bodies, it was ideas being thrown around. What-if scenarios and slippery slopes; no one making headway. Neither the Independents nor the Alliance were willing to negotiate just yet. The body count wasn’t high enough, apparently. This valley will change that, thought Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds.

Sgt. Reynolds was holed up with the remains of the Seventh Brigade and the First Light Armored Recon, also known as the IA Balls and Bayonets Brigade and the IMC Highlanders respectively. They were running low on ammo and personnel. The Alliance had the Independents on the run, but the fight was still in them. They had fallen back onto their original line, having back-tracked through 35 miles of gained ground in the last two weeks. This was where they were going to make their last stand. After this, there wouldn’t be much of anything to fight with.

“Conserve your ammo! Only fire if you can see the whites of their eyes!” Sgt. Reynolds called out across the line. It was a line he remembered from history books from Earth-that-was. The situations were eerily similar, if anyone had sat back and thought about it. At the moment he was the most senior man on the line, with more pressing things on his mind than the similarities between two battles nearly a thousand years apart. His captain had been killed a week ago, killed by a lucky bullet through the skull. The Marines had lost their officers when an RPG hit their command tent. Their senior enlisted were severely injured in the same attack. This left Sgt. Reynolds in charge. And he was gonna be damned if the Alliance was gonna take his men from him.

“Sergeant! We got rollers on the move!” a lance corporal called over the din. He was looking through the scope of an Alliance sniper rifle. The spoils of war. “How many?” came the reply, Sgt. Reynolds rushing down the trench. “15, 20. The smoke is still pretty thick. But our skimmers don’t have the ammo to put more than five or six down, at the most.” The lance corporal said when he heard Sgt. Reynolds kneel beside him. “That will be five or six less that we have to deal with. It will at least give us time to get an air strike down here. Keep a look out and keep me informed as to their movements.” Sgt. Reynolds said his voice calm and reassuring. This was the opposite of what he was really feeling. “Aye, Sergeant.” The lance corporal replied, shooting an unlucky Alliance soldier.

Sgt. Reynolds walked back towards the radio shack, which was not so much a shack, but a covered piece of ground. He was shaking his head in light amusement, despite the circumstances. He would never get used to the whole “Aye, Aye” thing. It felt like he should be wearing a pirate costume. As he made it to the radio, he was intercepted by Corporal Zoë Warren, his second in command. He had assigned her the job of overseeing the Marines, mainly because she had cross trained with them during her infantry training. She knew how they thought and had their respect, or as much as an Army grunt could get from a jarhead. She was also his most trusted friend. She had survived because of his leadership, and she would follow him to meet Satan himself if need be. She also had the cooler head of the two when it came to what she deemed “Big Damned Heroics”. He relied on her as much as she relied on him. He would have gotten himself killed if it weren’t for her coolness in the heat of battle.

“Sir, we’ve got rollers on the way. 17 so far, but I think more are coming.” Cpl. Warren stated in her usual calm and straightforward demeanor. “I got the same info. We have four skimmers, and the lance corporal that I have on lookout says that they can take out at most five or six of the rollers. I’m thinking we need an air strike right about now. And would you quit calling me sir? I keep looking around for the captain every time I hear it.” Sgt. Reynolds said; the last bit with a little light heartedness. “I’ll try….sir.” she said, trying to egg the sergeant on. They had seen too much for them to actually have an argument about it. Sgt. Reynolds cocked an eyebrow at her, but let the matter drop. “Bendis!” he yelled, calling for their radioman. He was a green private, having only arrived about three weeks ago. He still had the eyes of an innocent, but that was soon to change, if he survived this. “Yes, sergeant!” Bendis called out, running over to Mal and Zoë, wiping his face. He had thrown up again; he was still not used to the stench of dead bodies and the sight of friends ripped apart by ammunition. “Bendis, I want you on the horn to HQ and get us some air support. We got rollers and not enough skimmers to take care of them.” Mal ordered. “But, we need a lieutenant’s or captain’s authorization code.” Bendis said, the war zone making him a bit twitchy. Mal looked around and saw the jacket from one of the dead Marine lieutenants. It was found in the marine’s tent and was currently keeping a wounded private warm until he could be evaced. Mal reached over and ripped the rank badge off the shoulder. “Here. Now you are Second Lieutenant Baker, First Light Armor division, Fourth Marines. Congrats on your new rank. Now get me some air gorram support!” Mal yelled, snapping the private out of his fear. A task would keep the private sane long enough to get the air support, hopefully.

Mal turned back to Zoë, giving her a knowing look. It was gonna get bad before it got better. Best to be getting the bad over with soon. Mal looked at the men, they were tired, hungry, and losing hope. If we didn’t start winning soon, they were going to desert, or mutiny he guessed was the naval term. “Zoë, get the skimmers ready. We need to buy some time. Tell them to go balls out and blow those bastards to hell. For God and Country and all that jazz.” “Yes, si---.” She never got to finish, when she heard a jet engine whooshing in the near distance. Both she and Mal dove to the ground. “Hornet incoming!” called out someone, grunt or jarhead, no one knew or cared at the moment. Everyone dropped to the ground. “That’s it! Zoë, get three of the skimmers on the move, and I will take care of that hornet, and Bendis, you better have air support on the way when I get back!” Mal yelled, mostly to be heard over the jet engines. He and Zoë began commando crawling toward one of the skimmers, and when they were out of cover, they ran towards it.. It had an anti-air turret with plenty of ammo. Three of the skimmers powered up and zoomed towards the incoming rollers. Mal jumped on the Turret and began scanning for the hornet. It was on its way back for another strafing run. You won’t make this one. Mal thought as he was targeting the gun. As soon as he got a lock, he started firing. 500 rounds per minute, armor-piercing bullets. God he loved the Independents. After a minute of continuous fire, the hornet caught fire. Mal jumped up and down, cheering. Then his enthusiasm left when he realized where the aircraft would crash. He stood there for a second, a deer caught in headlights. This is the end for me. The Big Damn Hero dying in a blaze of jet fuel, not Glory. Mal thought as the hornet came closer.

Suddenly, Mal felt a large object hit him from the side, causing him to fly off the skimmer and into a small crater, the object going with him. The hornet flew by, right where his body was standing a few minutes ago. It crashed in a glorious blaze, about 100 yards from the crater, and about ¼ of a mile from their camp. Mal looked to see what hit him and saw Zoë. She looked up at him with a none-too-pleased look on her face. “Sir, if you are going to insist on Big Damn Heroics, please have the courtesy to do it when I can save you a little sooner than the last second.” She said in a slightly sarcastic tone, pushing herself up to her feet and offering Mal a hand. “Then it wouldn’t be big, damned, or heroic, now would it?” Mal replied, dusting himself off after he was on his own feet again. “No, sir, it wouldn’t. But you would live a bit longer.” She replied, looking in the distance as the skimmers were heading towards the rollers, guns blazing. “Who wants that?” Mal said jovially. He also was following the skimmers with his eyes. “Hope our Angels get here soon, sir, otherwise those boys just died for nothing.” Zoë said, solemnly. “I do, too. I do, too,” replied Mal.

As if on cue, one of the Marine privates came running up to him and Zoë. He was running full steam, which meant one of two things. Either their Angels were on the way, or they were about to be overrun by Alliance. Mal silently prayed that it was the former. Zoë also prayed for the Angels, but she wagered that it was alliance.

“Sergeant! Sergeant!” the private yelled as he came closer. “What is it private?” Mal said trotting up to the private, with Zoë close behind. “…Angels…inbound…be here…fifteen minutes.” The private panted out when Mal and Zoë were close enough. “Woo hoo! You hear that Zoë? Now we’ll show those purplebellies what the browncoats can do.” Mal cheered, a huge grin on his face. Zoë smiled a little, but she focused on the last part of the private’s message. Fifteen minutes. She looked towards the line, and saw the Independent Skimmers in a heavy firefight. She was slightly surprised to see that the three skimmers were still fighting. But then she saw one of the Skimmers take a direct hit from an Alliance roller. It was a ball of fire and metal shrapnel in a matter of seconds. She silently prayed those Angels would get there soon. Mal saw Zoë’s lack of enthusiasm and looked to where she was looking. He then saw the skimmers, now down to two. Fifteen minutes may not be close enough.

“Alright, private. We still got plenty of enemy to take on. Let’s go make it easier for the Angels.” Mal said, running back towards the line. Zoë and the private followed, a determined look on their faces.

The line held, bullets and grenades flying everywhere. Within fifteen minutes, the roar of engines became apparent to the line. But instead of diving for cover, the browncoats threw their arms in the air, cheering as the Angels flew past on their way to crush the remaining purplebellies. Mal ordered the skimmers back, and the line continued to fire with renewed vigor, the explosions of Alliance rollers heard in the distance.

“Sergeant! HQ on the Horn for you!” Bendis yelled over the fighting, getting Mal’s attention. “Zoë, hold the line, keep those jarheads from doing anything stupid.” Mal said as he headed for the radio. “Yes, sir,” she replied, “Alright! Keep firing, we got ‘em on the run now!” she yelled at the troops. Mal walked over to the radio and took the handset from Bendis. “This is Sergeant Reynolds.” He said into the handset “Sergeant, this is Colonel Li. Are you the most senior man on the line?” “Yes, sir. My captain got a bullet through the skull, and the marine command tent was hit about a week ago.” “Sorry to hear that. Unfortunately we can’t send any new officers because of the big push on Aphrodite. What is the status of the line?” “Colonel, we’re holding it, but just barely. We got lucky and were able to get an air strike called in to assist against some rollers. We’re down to a platoon of Army and two squads of Marines. And we have only three skimmers left and most of our ammo for them is gone. If we’re gonna move this line forward, we’re going to need reinforcements and soon.” “I see, Sergeant. I’ll see what I can do. Move the line as far as you can. Those Angels should have given you some newly cleared ground to take. I’ll send a munitions transport as soon as we’re done here. Keep the fight going. If we succeed and win this battle, I believe the Alliance will capitulate and we can all go home.” “Thank you, sir. If there is new ground then we’ll take it. We’re not called Balls and Bayonets for nothing.” “Goodbye, Sergeant.” The colonel hung up. Mal hung up as well, handing the handset to Bendis. He looked at the ground for a few moments, then began to walk away. “Sergeant? What did he say?” Bendis asked. “We move the line forward. No reinforcements yet, but we should be getting some ammo soon. Should be here in a few hours. We ain’t won the battle yet.” Mal said, his words feeling hollow to him. Mal trotted over to Zoë, watching her gunning down Alliance soldiers. Zoë had a determined look on her face. She was not going to lose this battle. “Zoë!” Mal called over the din of the battle. “Yes, sir,” Zoë said, halting her fire and looking at Mal. “We got new orders from the colonel. We have to move the line forward, soon as we get some new ammo. We have an ammo transport coming in a few hours. No reinforcements, though. We gotta keep the boys alive long enough to win this battle.” “We’ll win this battle.” Zoë said, as if it was Bible-truth. “Zoë, send out two fire teams to start moving the line. Tell them to be careful. We can’t afford new losses.” “Yes, sir.” And with that, Zoë rushed over to the Marines and gave the orders. Mal went back to the army line and began issuing orders for the upcoming move. In the back of his mind, for the first time since he took up arms, he felt that things would go his way after all. Maybe not smooth, but they would end up alright. As long as the Independents kept breathing, that was enough for him.

ONE YEAR LATER

New Washington, Capitol District, Londinium, Centauri System (a.k.a “The Core”)

“Today is a monumental day in history. The Alliance of Planets and the Independent Faction, now calling themselves the Confederation of Independent Planets, have come together today to sign a peace treaty to end the intergalactic war that has raged for six years. The turning point for this war, many academics and military theorists have claimed, was the battle of Serenity Valley, fought on Hera. The Independents, after their initial victories against key Alliance strongholds, were, in a dramatic turn of events, pushed back to the rim of the known universe. Many thought the war would be over with the defeat of the Independents on Hera. It was that very battle which turned the tables and forced the Alliance back to the drawing boards. The victory for the Independents was a pyrrhic victory, but it succeeded in halting the Alliance. Now, we are here today to see the end of a very costly war, both in terms of economy and lives lost. The Independents have been granted what they thought was theirs all along, freedom,” Veronica Walters said to the camera. She had a smile on her face, though she desperately tried to keep her face unreadable; a must for the reporter who wanted to keep her job.

Veronica was an Independent, heart and soul. She believed in their cause with passion which few equaled. She even attempted to enlist with the Independent Army, but when they saw her credentials, they gave her an even more important job. She was given the duty of spying on the Alliance, through the guise of a seemingly pro-Alliance reporter. Her intelligence saved thousands of lives, but one piece saved the Independents from losing the war. She gave them the information to overturn the events of Serenity Valley. She swelled with pride today. She saved the day. But she would never be given a medal, or even acknowledged for her work. She was only given a “Well, done,” From her handler in Independent Intelligence. But that was enough for her. As long as the Independents keep breathing free air, it was enough.

Behind Veronica, the peace treaty was being signed by the leaders of the Alliance and Independents. Prime Minister Richard Gadsden and General Jeremiah Li were seated at opposite ends from each other at a long table. This gave the press plenty of space to film the events. It also kept ample distance between the two leaders in case of a disruption. General Li, though not an elected official, was signing the agreement because President Darris’ transport was delayed because of ship difficulties, but the general was the only one who knew this. He suggested that the President keep quiet about his mechanical difficulties because of the psychological effect it would have. It “rubbed salt in the wound” was the general’s exact words, which suited the President just fine.

“General. If you would sign at the dotted line, and place your thumbprint beside it for verification,” the young Alliance corporal said, placing the agreement in front of him. “Thank you, corporal,” the general said as he signed the agreement. He privately thought about how this lucky corporal got such an important job. It then occurred to him why; it was psychological. Saying that the general was only worthy of a corporal giving him the agreement. Touché, Prime Minister, touché.

An Independent-friendly bar in New Shanghai, Verbena, Xiaoxiao System

“There you have it folks. The war is officially over, and the Confederation of Independent Planets has been formally recognized by the Allied Planets as a sovereign governing body. The next step in this process is …” the Cotrex vid-screen was drowned out as the entire bar exploded in cheers. The bartenders were moving as fast as possible to fill drink orders. In the back corner, sitting in a booth, sat Zoë and Mal. They had empty mugs on the table and nearly full ones in their hands. They cheered when the treaty was signed, but afterwards they went back to their conversation.

“So, sir, what have you decided to do now? No more war, we have independence,” Zoë asked, looking at Mal, who now wore the railroad tracks of a Captain. “I don’t know, Zoë. I was going to see about going home, back to Shadow, to check up on my Mom. Maybe see about buying some land there and starting anew. But these Captain bars are pretty nice too, so maybe I’ll see where these lead me for awhile. The war may be over, but the Independence we just got still needs defending. Reavers are still attacking the outer planets and other ships. So I am thinkin’ about staying with the Army for a bit. What about you?” Mal said, looking wistful when he talked about home. He now stared at the mug of beer, wondering if the amber liquid held the answers. “I think I might go back home, same as you. See about starting again. But if you stay, then I will, too.” “Now why would you do a crazy thing like that?” Mal asked, looking at Zoë incredulously. “Some one has to save you from your Big Damn Heroics.” She said, a smile and laughter erupting from her.

Mal smiled and laughed as well. But his smile was for a different reason then Zoë’s. He rarely saw her smile; truly smile, through the war. Sure, she smiled when someone said a good joke, but it never quite made it to her eyes. It seemed that she did it for the other person, not for herself. Now, when he saw her smile, it made it to her eyes. And it was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. He never thought of her that way until just recently. He never had the time or energy to do anything but keep his troops alive. Now that he had the time, he realized just how beautiful Zoë really was, and how much he cared for her. He’d been trying to write the feeling off for weeks as a side effect from the war. She was just the nearest female object, he told himself. She was his closest friend because they kept each other alive, that’s all. It wasn’t working though. He kept getting the same butterflies in his stomach feeling whenever he was near her. He took another swig of his beer, smiling and laughing still.

“That so, Zoë? You think I need saving?” “Yes, sir, you do. Your ego tends to write checks your body can’t cash, and I always have to cover you for the rest. Who else is gonna do it? Surely not Bendis!” She said, laughing at the prospect. “I guess you’re right. I do need saving. I propose a toast, to Big Damn Heroics,” Mal said as he raised his glass towards Zoë. “And making sure you don’t die in the process,” Zoë added, also raising her glass. They both drank to it, slamming their empty mugs on the table. They both chuckled, and Mal stood up, somewhat uneasy from the volume of alcohol he drank. “I’m going to get another round.” Mal said with the resoluteness of a drunk on a mission. “OK, sir. I’ll be right here.” Zoë said as she smiled at Mal. She watched him walk over, unsteadily, to the bar to get more beer. As she watched him attempt to get the bartender’s attention, she giggled to herself. He can be so funny when he’s drunk. She giggled again, remembering the last time they were in an Independent-friendly bar.

One of the whores working the bar was being manhandled by one of the patrons, a little too roughly by Mal’s standards, and he went over to settle the situation. He was not a Captain then, nor even a sergeant, just a little ol’ corporal. He tried to reason with the man, who was a sergeant, in his drunken state. It was hilarious to watch. The sergeant did not take kindly to a corporal telling him what to do, so the sergeant threw a punch, connecting solidly with Mal’s jaw, sending him to the floor. Mal got up, made a remark that further infuriated the sergeant, and threw a return punch. This started a brawl, and Zoë had to go in and save him from the pack of NCO’s that were trying to beat him to a pulp. It was the first time she had to save him from his Big Damn Heroics. It was also the first time she saw something in him that made her heart beat faster when they were alone. It wasn’t just his good looks and charm. It was his odd sense of gentlemanly conduct. He looked down on whores with apparent disdain, but if he saw someone disrespecting a woman of any kind, he was the first man to jump in and defend her.

She kept these feelings to herself, dismissing them as a grade school crush. The war made it easier to forget them; she had a duty to her platoon first, her planet second and herself last. But now with the war over, those feelings became ever more apparent to her. It was no grade school crush. She thought she might be in love with him. Mal’s return snapped her out of her reverie, as he tried to carefully place the mugs on the table, without much success. She grabbed the one closest to her and inadvertently touched Mal’s hand. There was an obvious spark that occurred at the connection. They both looked at each other, a surprised look on both their faces. They held eye contact for a second, then they looked away. “Here you go, Zoë.” Mal said, sheepishly while moving to sit on the other side of the table. “Thank you, sir.” Zoë said, equally sheepish. “Now, Zoë, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me sir when we are out having fun?” Mal said, desperately changing the subject. “Until you are no longer a sir, sir.” Zoë said, reveling in making things difficult. “Then I guess it’s a lost cause. I’m not gonna be turning into a ma’am anytime soon, so I guess I will have to deal.” Mal then drank more from his mug, thinking how much he liked their little games and banter. “I guess you will.” She smiled at Mal, and took a drink of beer. She enjoyed their games, too.

It was well into the night when the bar finally closed. Zoë and Mal were the last to leave both because of their extreme drunkenness and because of their officer ranks. No one kicks an officer out of a bar before the enlisted folk have left, or at least that was the courtesy offered by most bar-owners. Mal and Zoë supported each other walking out of the bar. They hailed a rickshaw when they got near the street. They hopped in and rode to their hotel. They were still on liberty until Monday, and it was only Saturday morning, so they didn’t need to go to the barracks. Mal and Zoë walked into the hotel and walked up the stairs to Zoë’s room first. Mal was always a gentleman, regardless of whether Zoë had killed five men with her knife. They arrived at her door, and Mal leaned against the door jamb while Zoë fiddled with the keys. She got the door open and turned to say goodnight to Mal.

“Well, good night, sir.” Zoë said, nervous for some inexplicable reason. “Goodnight Zoë,” Mal said, after which he began to stumble away. Just as Zoë almost shut the door, Mal turned and started to say something. ”Zoë, I need to say something before I lose all the courage I just drank.” Mal said, leaning on the wall and speaking with a drunken lisp. “Yes, sir,” Zoë said, wondering where this was going and hoping it was something she wanted to hear. “I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on.” Mal said, a relief flooding through his body once he said it. “You are incredibly drunk, sir. You ain’t thinkin’ straight,” Zoë said, trying to hide her blush and giddiness at the complement. “No, no. I am thinkin’ straight. I just had to be really drunk to ever have the courage to tell you that. I have thought so since the war started letting up and we had more R and R. I’ve been fightin’ it for a coupla weeks now. And I don’t think it will go away.” Mal started to move towards her, using the wall for support. “And I guess I wanted to ask you if you would…let me court you.” Zoë was quiet for a moment, a little shocked at this confession. But she was happy, really happy and giddy inside. She had always wondered, and now she knew. “Zoë? If you don’t feel the same way, then we can forget this and I’ll go back to my room.” Mal said, worried about the silence. “No, Mal. You don’t have to leave. I was just a little shocked is all. I have to admit I’ve been havin’ the same feelings as you for a while. A lot longer actually.” Mal was closer now, their bodies almost touching. Zoë looked at Mal and flashed a sly smile. She kissed him, just a quick one. She really didn’t know what she did until it happened. Mal kissed back, passionately. She then pulled Mal into her room and shut the door. She pushed him on the bed and got on top. They continued kissing, their hands roaming over each other’s body, pulling off articles of clothing as their passion heated up.

The next morning, Mal woke first. He looked around the room, disoriented, and with a huge headache. He didn’t see his gear strewn about the room, so he surmised it wasn’t his room. But the room was laid out the same as his, so he was in the same hotel. He then look beside him and saw Zoë, still sleeping. He smiled, and thought to himself, God, she really is beautiful. He rolled onto his side with as little movement as possible, but it didn’t work. Too many years on the front; Zoë was a light sleeper. Zoë woke up and turned to Mal, yawning. “Hey there.” She said, smiling like a girl on Christmas morning. “Hey, there yourself, beautiful.” Mal then leaned and kissed Zoë. He then propped himself on his elbow and looked at her, enjoying looking at her body. “You like what you see,” Zoë said, catching Mal’s look. “Very much so.” He said, looking her in the eyes. “Well, burn it into your memory. Just because of last night, don’t mean you don’t have to court me, now.” “Yes, ma’am,” Mal said, giving her a salute. Zoë laughed at him, her eyes filled with glee. “Now get dressed, because I want breakfast.” With that, Zoë rolled out of bed and went to find Mal’s and hers clothes. She found his and tossed them to him. He began getting dressed, as did Zoë. In a few minutes time, they were presentable to the outside world. They headed downstairs, holding hands like they were teenagers. They both were happy. It was the first time they had felt such an emotion in a long time, and it felt good.