Battlespace nomad, p.18
Battlespace Nomad, page 18
Hawthorne shot him an empathetic look. "Well, just between me and you, had I been legally allowed to place a bet, I would have bet against you. But you've proved me wrong, and that makes me happy, son."
Jimmy should have felt vindicated. However, he knew he still had a long way to go before he would be on the same level as the rest of the team in nearly every respect.
"Well, you gave me the chance of a lifetime, sir. I made the best of the opportunity," Jimmy said.
"Keep up the good work, Nomad," Hawthorne said, before turning about and walking away.
"Brown-noser," Boomer grumbled playfully.
Jimmy scowled, wiping a bead of sweat off his brow. "Well, a wise man once said that the only difference between brown-nosing and ass kissing is depth perception."
Boomer rolled over on the grass, laughing heartily. "That's a good one, man. But in truth, you held your own on the last mission. You're truly beginning to rise to the occasion despite the odds."
Jimmy frowned, feeling deflated. Maybe keeping his mouth shut was best, but the impulse to vent his feelings came to the forefront. "I didn't want to kill that guy."
"What? What guy?" Boomer asked.
"The guy I knocked out with the nano module. At the moment, I wasn't mentally prepared to use my knife and cut his throat like the boss thought I was gonna do," Jimmy confessed.
"Getting a confirmed kill with a knife is pretty rare, indeed. You might have missed an opportunity, but you chose the mission over glory and made the right call," Boomer said empathetically.
"Well, my point is, I didn't want my first kill to be so up close and personal. You know how it is being a soldier going through training. You're trained to kill with weapons at a distance, and don't ever think of having to use a combat knife," Jimmy said.
"Look, man. You made the right call for more than one reason. Killing another human being is an irrational act, and it should feel wrong. Otherwise, you're just a sociopath."
Jimmy mulled over his words for a moment before replying. "Well, even a sociopath has to eat," Jimmy changed the subject. "Let's get showered up and grab some hot chow."
"Now you're talking," Boomer said.
Inwardly, Jimmy felt much better after having confided in his new friend. It was good to be reminded that even highly trained operators were human beings first and foremost.
30
With a full belly and fresh fatigues, Jimmy entered the briefing room feeling ready for anything. However, Jimmy expected the meeting to include the team's training and maintenance schedules, per the bulletin board.
He sat by Boomer, who was stretching and yawning in his seat.
"Are you tired after a tiny bit of PT, buddy?" Jimmy asked with a smirk.
"It was the pancakes at the chow hall, man. I went back for seconds," Boomer said, yawning again.
"They were pretty damned good, weren't they?" Jimmy said. In truth, the army wasn't known for its food, but the chow hall at Camp Foster was a step above what most soldiers were accustomed to.
"If only we had navy cooks," Boomer said. "One of these days, if we get a mission aboard a naval vessel, you'll see what I mean."
"Do you think that will happen?" Jimmy asked with sincere curiosity.
Boomer shrugged. "No clue. We'll see what the future holds, I suppose."
Everyone was gathered in the briefing room. Data pads were on laps so the team could take notes. Jimmy slid his data pad out of his pocket and laid it on his lap. When Hawthorne appeared with fire in his eyes, everyone seemed to perk up, and tension filled the room. The commander took the podium.
Unexpectedly, Hawthorne announced a change in plans. '”The meeting is canceled. We have a mission instead,” he declared. “Professor, please explain the situation.”
The sergeant first class took Hawthorne's place at the podium, grasping the edges firmly as he leaned in. "Folks, we have another downed dropship. This one has two pilots. One male and one female. Pararescue is calling us in to assist with the search. Their efforts came up empty."
The holographic display came to life, and a topographical map appeared in the image field, floating in the center of the room.
"Marked in red is the last known location of the downed ship before STC lost contact with them at zero-seven-thirty-six this morning," Professor said.
Kievskaya raised her hand. "Why us? Why not dispatch a platoon or two to cover more ground?"
Professor grimaced. "Because our friends in pararescue suspect they've been taken captive but can't confirm it. That's where we come in."
"What are our assets? Blue air? Indirect fire?" Hammer asked.
"Blue air will be on call, but our resident forward observer hasn't yet been granted access to the air control network. The Air Force is particularly guarded regarding networking access, as you all know," Professor said.
Jimmy knew this well. Hawthorne had tried to get him access to the closely guarded network on the first day at Camp Foster. The Air Force was notorious for not working well with others on their networks, and by the time they approved it, the deployment would be nearing the end.
"I'll bring my mortar tube if I can get some help carrying ammo," Boomer declared.
"Negative," Professor said. "We don't have time for a lengthy suit-up. We go in with our basic loads and get out there quickly. We already have a dropship inbound to pick us up in fifteen minutes."
"What our ops NCO is trying to say is that we need to hit up the armory right now and get suited up without delay," Hawthorne added, his tone reflecting the team's readiness for the mission.
"Let's go, you bottom-feeding fuck-heads!" Master Sergeant Best chimed in, his words carrying a sense of camaraderie. The room rapidly cleared out, and Jimmy followed the others to the armory next door. The space was abuzz with activity. The low hums of combat suits performing their bit tests and start-up routines filled the space with sound as the team members worked to slide into their assigned suits.
Once inside his own suit, Jimmy linked his neural interface to the suit's dumb AI, so his natural motor control would drive the suit's actions going forward. Stepping off the jig, Jimmy donned his helmet and initialized his comms and HUD.
"Radio check," he said into the microphone built into his helmet.
"Roger, over," Kievskaya replied, her words coming through the internal speakers.
"Roger, out," Jimmy completed the obligatory response. With his systems up and running, it was time to secure his weapons. Thankfully, he'd pre-loaded his suit's cargo compartments with ammo, field rations, and two full canteens of fresh water, so all he had to do was secure his rifle and perform the functions check.
"All right, you fuck-sticks!" Master Sergeant Best called out. "Let's move out to the tarmac."
The room cleared out, and Jimmy found himself rushing for the paved surface of the nearby tarmac. A dropship rested on its landing pads with the back ramp down and the repulsor engines humming with a low thrum.
Piling in, Jimmy found a spot on the troop seat and settled in with his rifle stock planted on the deck plating below. Once the last operator boarded the craft, Hawthorne banged on the cockpit door to signal the pilot they were all there.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the overhead speakers came to life. "This is your pilot speaking. Please stand clear of the back ramp and find a seat. We're ready to dust off."
With that, the ramp roseand shut with a metallic click. The whining of the engines pierced the air as the ship lifted off with haste. It felt like an elevator on steroids, and Jimmy felt his feet get sucked to the deck plating from the abrupt change of inertia.
A few moments later, the overhead speakers crackled to life once more. "All right, folks. Please feel free to move about the cabin."
"That's our cue, Top!" Hawthorne called out to Master Sergeant Best.
"Copy that, Boss!" Best replied. "All right, you sorry excuses for panspermic drippage, get your asses in gear and let's knock out our PCIs."
Jimmy was on his feet. McCarty was closest to him and nodded to Jimmy, who spun about as Ghost checked him up and down. Meanwhile, Jimmy removed his magazine, cleared the weapon, and performed a function check. When he was done, he turned to inspect Ghost. The process repeated throughout the cabin until every thumb in the cabin was raised.
"All right, Boss," Best said. "PCIs are complete."
"Copy that, Master Sergeant," Hawthorne said. "Listen up, people. This mission is a knee-jerk reaction, and we don't know what we will discover. Stay frosty and remember your training. We have two friendly pilots in the wind, and we need to bring them home."
"Hooah!" the team replied in unison.
Minutes later, the overhead speakers crackled. "Ladies and gents, we're two minutes out from the LZ, standby for touchdown."
Jimmy felt his stomach drop as the dropship abruptly cut altitude and dropped. Moments later, the retro thrusters fired, slowing the descent before the landing pads contacted the forest floor.
The ramp fell open, and Jimmy rushed out into the open, his visor automatically adjusting to the new lighting conditions. He took his spot in the perimeter as the dropship raised its ramp and dusted off, leaving the team to their own devices.
Each operator lay in the prone position with their weapons facing in all directions. This was when the team's natural senses adjusted to the local environment. Jimmy followed his training and let the ringing in his ears pass from the noise of the dropship's engines as they faded in the distance.
They lay motionless for several moments until the TACNET keyed. "29th, this is Pararescue. You have friendlies approaching from the East; do not engage."
"Copy that," Hawthorne replied. "You're free to approach from the east."
Moments later, a pair of shadows appeared in the underbrush. The pararescue operators wore modified M-96 armored suits adorned with woodland camo and subdued Air Force identification markings Jimmy wasn't familiar with.
"Who's in command here?" one of the operators asked casually.
"That's me," Hawthorne replied, raising his hand. "Call sign Bossman, at your service."
"Sir, I'm Chief Master Sergeant Jeffries," the operator dipped his helmet in a light bow. "Call sign, Guardian."
"Well, Guardian, what's the SITREP?" Hawthorne asked.
Guardian gave the situational report. "Sir, no enemy activity has been detected on the ground, but we suspect another dropship was taken down by MANPADS. We've been holding off expanding our search until you got here because there's only a few of us to do the job."
"Do we have a bead on the crash site?" Hawthorne asked.
"We've narrowed it to three- or four-square klicks, but that's strictly based on the last known flight path before it dropped off the radar. Thankfully, they were flying at low altitude, so they probably didn't make it far beyond that point," Guardian explained.
"And why is it you suspect human trafficking is involved?" Master Sergeant Best chimed in.
"Because the pilots made no effort to make contact. Either they did not survive the crash, or they were taken captive shortly after they went down. We have to confirm it either way. And since you guys are the resident experts on the trafficking ring, we thought it best to call you in," Guardian explained.
"You made the right call, Guardian," Hawthorne said. "As far as I'm concerned, this is your operation until we confirm otherwise. How do you recommend we proceed?"
"If you permit me to send an access token to your team's shared HUD, I've prepared pre-planned search patterns with waypoints," Guardian explained.
"Done. Let's see what you've got, Chief," Hawthorne confirmed.
Seconds later, Jimmy saw the shared HUD populate with waypoints and graphics with boundaries denoting search patterns. Each was labeled alphanumerically to track the different sectors.
"Havoc, Wraith, and Ghost, take the eastern sectors," Hawthorne said. "Boomer and Nomad, you go with the Guardian and take the center. The rest of us will go west," Hawthorne rattled off the instructions as if he'd rehearsed it.
Jimmy partnered up with Boomer, and together, they followed the pair of Air Force operators into the underbrush. The going was slow initially, but as the trees thinned out ahead, they picked up the pace.
"Do either of you guys have a nano cloud out?" Boomer asked Guardian.
"Negative," Guardian replied. "If you've got one, then by all means, let it fly."
"Deploying a nano cloud now," Boomer said as he thumbed his nano module. Billions of tiny eyes filled the air and formed an invisible cloud of sensors.
"Wow," Guardian said. "I wish the Air Force let us use those things."
"The army isn't much better, trust me," Boomer scoffed. "If we weren't Special Forces, they'd give us two sticks and some used bubble gum to work with."
Guardian chuckled.
They continued their trek for several klicks until Boomer stopped dead in his tracks. "Whoa! Do you guys see this?"
"I see it," Guardian said. Jimmy scanned his HUD and saw what they were referring to. It was a significant heat plume rising from the forest floor up ahead.
"I think we found it," Jimmy said.
"I'll call it into my superiors. I suggest you call your team in to converge on that spot. Setting a waypoint now," Guardian suggested.
"Do the honors, Nomad," Boomer said.
Jimmy keyed the TACNET. "All stations, be advised. We found the wreckage. Converge on waypoint Bravo-two-three."
Acknowledgment pings returned from the entire team seconds later.
"All right, let's move in and see what we've got, people," Guardian said.
"After you," Boomer said.
They approached the waypoint, crushing twigs and broken limbs beneath their heavy armored boots as they drew closer to the wreckage. When the trees parted, Jimmy saw the downed dropship. It had come in, clipping treetops as it went, and had evidently plowed a trench before sliding to a halt.
Upon closer inspection, the cockpit canopy came into view, and no pilots were there to be seen. Boomer came around the rear of the dropship and called out. "The back ramp is open. They must have left the ship on their own."
"How can you tell?" Jimmy asked.
"Because dropships don't open from the outside once the hatch is sealed," Guardian answered on Boomer's behalf.
"What he said," Boomer confirmed. "I'm going in to have a look around. Nomad, pull security while I go in."
"Roger that," Jimmy replied, coming around and taking a knee by the back ramp, facing outward with his weapon scanning the horizon. Boomer slipped inside for several moments before rushing back out hastily.
"Guardian, we have a problem," Boomer said. Guardian and his partner rounded the stern of the dropship as he spoke.
"What have we got?" Guardian asked.
"The radio is missing from its mount, but so is the external battery unit for the COMSEC," Boomer said. "The enemy has gotten their hands on an operational radio with the latest encryption protocols. They'll be able to listen to any dropship operating on the planet."
Guardian nodded. "This is bad."
31
Ellie sat in her cell. The sound of the air circulating through the vents was her only company. She seethed with rage on the inside, and her mind was a downward spiral of catastrophizing thoughts. She found herself in the clutches of her mortal enemy. It was the same enemy that killed her brother, and the very same enemy that shattered the society she grew up in.
The cell was sparse by design. She had nothing but barren walls and a metal toilet. The shitheads didn’t bother giving her a blanket to sleep with.
Her memories of being caught by the enemy soldier still fresh in her mind. It had happened so fast, she wondered if any of the others evaded capture. There was no indication anyone else was being held in the same cell block she was.
Thus far, her only source of entertainment was the occasional interrogation she had had to suffer through. But she knew the SNA were weak and had laws against torture. She was more than happy to exploit the spineless nature of her enemy.
The last session of questioning had taken an interesting turn, as they began probing her about her father. Exactly how they figured out who her father was ... that was still a mystery. However, she didn’t take the bait and acknowledged nothing but her issued serial number and rank.
Her thoughts drifted to her father. She loved him, to be sure, but his endless efforts to keep her away from the fight filled her with even more rage than before. She blamed him for her capture. Instead of allowing her to serve in as a spy or saboteur, she’d been relegated to being a babysitter for captive slaves. The torment of having to keep her enemies alive was more than she could bear, and being captured was the final straw.
Had she been captured doing something meaningful, then she’d have worn it like a badge of honor. But instead, her father’s scheme of supporting the resistance by selling captured enemies as slaves had drawn too much attention. She’d warned her father that his entire operation had a shelf life, and his operation would be shut down sooner than later.
But he wouldn’t listen. He’d already lost one child to the enemy, and that made him overly cautious at her expense. And now, due to his protective efforts, she was in an enemy prison cell.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the cell door opening. She waited for the guards to enter and take her to the interrogation room again, but it wasn’t a guard at all. It was a middle-aged lady with short curly hair wearing a civilian employee’s uniform. The woman locked eyes with Ellie.
“Come with me before the nanobots run their course,” she said urgently.
Ellie didn’t hesitate. She didn’t know the woman, but she spoke with the local accent and wasn’t one of the invaders. That was all she needed to know.
When she slipped out of the cell door and out into the hallway, a pair of motionless guards were on the ground, seemingly unconscious.
“Nanobots, huh?” Ellie asked, motioning toward the guards with a flick of her head.
“Yes, but their neural interfaces have countermeasures. The nanobots only have a few minutes before they disintegrate. We have to move,” the woman said urgently, as she motioned for Ellie to follow.
Jimmy should have felt vindicated. However, he knew he still had a long way to go before he would be on the same level as the rest of the team in nearly every respect.
"Well, you gave me the chance of a lifetime, sir. I made the best of the opportunity," Jimmy said.
"Keep up the good work, Nomad," Hawthorne said, before turning about and walking away.
"Brown-noser," Boomer grumbled playfully.
Jimmy scowled, wiping a bead of sweat off his brow. "Well, a wise man once said that the only difference between brown-nosing and ass kissing is depth perception."
Boomer rolled over on the grass, laughing heartily. "That's a good one, man. But in truth, you held your own on the last mission. You're truly beginning to rise to the occasion despite the odds."
Jimmy frowned, feeling deflated. Maybe keeping his mouth shut was best, but the impulse to vent his feelings came to the forefront. "I didn't want to kill that guy."
"What? What guy?" Boomer asked.
"The guy I knocked out with the nano module. At the moment, I wasn't mentally prepared to use my knife and cut his throat like the boss thought I was gonna do," Jimmy confessed.
"Getting a confirmed kill with a knife is pretty rare, indeed. You might have missed an opportunity, but you chose the mission over glory and made the right call," Boomer said empathetically.
"Well, my point is, I didn't want my first kill to be so up close and personal. You know how it is being a soldier going through training. You're trained to kill with weapons at a distance, and don't ever think of having to use a combat knife," Jimmy said.
"Look, man. You made the right call for more than one reason. Killing another human being is an irrational act, and it should feel wrong. Otherwise, you're just a sociopath."
Jimmy mulled over his words for a moment before replying. "Well, even a sociopath has to eat," Jimmy changed the subject. "Let's get showered up and grab some hot chow."
"Now you're talking," Boomer said.
Inwardly, Jimmy felt much better after having confided in his new friend. It was good to be reminded that even highly trained operators were human beings first and foremost.
30
With a full belly and fresh fatigues, Jimmy entered the briefing room feeling ready for anything. However, Jimmy expected the meeting to include the team's training and maintenance schedules, per the bulletin board.
He sat by Boomer, who was stretching and yawning in his seat.
"Are you tired after a tiny bit of PT, buddy?" Jimmy asked with a smirk.
"It was the pancakes at the chow hall, man. I went back for seconds," Boomer said, yawning again.
"They were pretty damned good, weren't they?" Jimmy said. In truth, the army wasn't known for its food, but the chow hall at Camp Foster was a step above what most soldiers were accustomed to.
"If only we had navy cooks," Boomer said. "One of these days, if we get a mission aboard a naval vessel, you'll see what I mean."
"Do you think that will happen?" Jimmy asked with sincere curiosity.
Boomer shrugged. "No clue. We'll see what the future holds, I suppose."
Everyone was gathered in the briefing room. Data pads were on laps so the team could take notes. Jimmy slid his data pad out of his pocket and laid it on his lap. When Hawthorne appeared with fire in his eyes, everyone seemed to perk up, and tension filled the room. The commander took the podium.
Unexpectedly, Hawthorne announced a change in plans. '”The meeting is canceled. We have a mission instead,” he declared. “Professor, please explain the situation.”
The sergeant first class took Hawthorne's place at the podium, grasping the edges firmly as he leaned in. "Folks, we have another downed dropship. This one has two pilots. One male and one female. Pararescue is calling us in to assist with the search. Their efforts came up empty."
The holographic display came to life, and a topographical map appeared in the image field, floating in the center of the room.
"Marked in red is the last known location of the downed ship before STC lost contact with them at zero-seven-thirty-six this morning," Professor said.
Kievskaya raised her hand. "Why us? Why not dispatch a platoon or two to cover more ground?"
Professor grimaced. "Because our friends in pararescue suspect they've been taken captive but can't confirm it. That's where we come in."
"What are our assets? Blue air? Indirect fire?" Hammer asked.
"Blue air will be on call, but our resident forward observer hasn't yet been granted access to the air control network. The Air Force is particularly guarded regarding networking access, as you all know," Professor said.
Jimmy knew this well. Hawthorne had tried to get him access to the closely guarded network on the first day at Camp Foster. The Air Force was notorious for not working well with others on their networks, and by the time they approved it, the deployment would be nearing the end.
"I'll bring my mortar tube if I can get some help carrying ammo," Boomer declared.
"Negative," Professor said. "We don't have time for a lengthy suit-up. We go in with our basic loads and get out there quickly. We already have a dropship inbound to pick us up in fifteen minutes."
"What our ops NCO is trying to say is that we need to hit up the armory right now and get suited up without delay," Hawthorne added, his tone reflecting the team's readiness for the mission.
"Let's go, you bottom-feeding fuck-heads!" Master Sergeant Best chimed in, his words carrying a sense of camaraderie. The room rapidly cleared out, and Jimmy followed the others to the armory next door. The space was abuzz with activity. The low hums of combat suits performing their bit tests and start-up routines filled the space with sound as the team members worked to slide into their assigned suits.
Once inside his own suit, Jimmy linked his neural interface to the suit's dumb AI, so his natural motor control would drive the suit's actions going forward. Stepping off the jig, Jimmy donned his helmet and initialized his comms and HUD.
"Radio check," he said into the microphone built into his helmet.
"Roger, over," Kievskaya replied, her words coming through the internal speakers.
"Roger, out," Jimmy completed the obligatory response. With his systems up and running, it was time to secure his weapons. Thankfully, he'd pre-loaded his suit's cargo compartments with ammo, field rations, and two full canteens of fresh water, so all he had to do was secure his rifle and perform the functions check.
"All right, you fuck-sticks!" Master Sergeant Best called out. "Let's move out to the tarmac."
The room cleared out, and Jimmy found himself rushing for the paved surface of the nearby tarmac. A dropship rested on its landing pads with the back ramp down and the repulsor engines humming with a low thrum.
Piling in, Jimmy found a spot on the troop seat and settled in with his rifle stock planted on the deck plating below. Once the last operator boarded the craft, Hawthorne banged on the cockpit door to signal the pilot they were all there.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the overhead speakers came to life. "This is your pilot speaking. Please stand clear of the back ramp and find a seat. We're ready to dust off."
With that, the ramp roseand shut with a metallic click. The whining of the engines pierced the air as the ship lifted off with haste. It felt like an elevator on steroids, and Jimmy felt his feet get sucked to the deck plating from the abrupt change of inertia.
A few moments later, the overhead speakers crackled to life once more. "All right, folks. Please feel free to move about the cabin."
"That's our cue, Top!" Hawthorne called out to Master Sergeant Best.
"Copy that, Boss!" Best replied. "All right, you sorry excuses for panspermic drippage, get your asses in gear and let's knock out our PCIs."
Jimmy was on his feet. McCarty was closest to him and nodded to Jimmy, who spun about as Ghost checked him up and down. Meanwhile, Jimmy removed his magazine, cleared the weapon, and performed a function check. When he was done, he turned to inspect Ghost. The process repeated throughout the cabin until every thumb in the cabin was raised.
"All right, Boss," Best said. "PCIs are complete."
"Copy that, Master Sergeant," Hawthorne said. "Listen up, people. This mission is a knee-jerk reaction, and we don't know what we will discover. Stay frosty and remember your training. We have two friendly pilots in the wind, and we need to bring them home."
"Hooah!" the team replied in unison.
Minutes later, the overhead speakers crackled. "Ladies and gents, we're two minutes out from the LZ, standby for touchdown."
Jimmy felt his stomach drop as the dropship abruptly cut altitude and dropped. Moments later, the retro thrusters fired, slowing the descent before the landing pads contacted the forest floor.
The ramp fell open, and Jimmy rushed out into the open, his visor automatically adjusting to the new lighting conditions. He took his spot in the perimeter as the dropship raised its ramp and dusted off, leaving the team to their own devices.
Each operator lay in the prone position with their weapons facing in all directions. This was when the team's natural senses adjusted to the local environment. Jimmy followed his training and let the ringing in his ears pass from the noise of the dropship's engines as they faded in the distance.
They lay motionless for several moments until the TACNET keyed. "29th, this is Pararescue. You have friendlies approaching from the East; do not engage."
"Copy that," Hawthorne replied. "You're free to approach from the east."
Moments later, a pair of shadows appeared in the underbrush. The pararescue operators wore modified M-96 armored suits adorned with woodland camo and subdued Air Force identification markings Jimmy wasn't familiar with.
"Who's in command here?" one of the operators asked casually.
"That's me," Hawthorne replied, raising his hand. "Call sign Bossman, at your service."
"Sir, I'm Chief Master Sergeant Jeffries," the operator dipped his helmet in a light bow. "Call sign, Guardian."
"Well, Guardian, what's the SITREP?" Hawthorne asked.
Guardian gave the situational report. "Sir, no enemy activity has been detected on the ground, but we suspect another dropship was taken down by MANPADS. We've been holding off expanding our search until you got here because there's only a few of us to do the job."
"Do we have a bead on the crash site?" Hawthorne asked.
"We've narrowed it to three- or four-square klicks, but that's strictly based on the last known flight path before it dropped off the radar. Thankfully, they were flying at low altitude, so they probably didn't make it far beyond that point," Guardian explained.
"And why is it you suspect human trafficking is involved?" Master Sergeant Best chimed in.
"Because the pilots made no effort to make contact. Either they did not survive the crash, or they were taken captive shortly after they went down. We have to confirm it either way. And since you guys are the resident experts on the trafficking ring, we thought it best to call you in," Guardian explained.
"You made the right call, Guardian," Hawthorne said. "As far as I'm concerned, this is your operation until we confirm otherwise. How do you recommend we proceed?"
"If you permit me to send an access token to your team's shared HUD, I've prepared pre-planned search patterns with waypoints," Guardian explained.
"Done. Let's see what you've got, Chief," Hawthorne confirmed.
Seconds later, Jimmy saw the shared HUD populate with waypoints and graphics with boundaries denoting search patterns. Each was labeled alphanumerically to track the different sectors.
"Havoc, Wraith, and Ghost, take the eastern sectors," Hawthorne said. "Boomer and Nomad, you go with the Guardian and take the center. The rest of us will go west," Hawthorne rattled off the instructions as if he'd rehearsed it.
Jimmy partnered up with Boomer, and together, they followed the pair of Air Force operators into the underbrush. The going was slow initially, but as the trees thinned out ahead, they picked up the pace.
"Do either of you guys have a nano cloud out?" Boomer asked Guardian.
"Negative," Guardian replied. "If you've got one, then by all means, let it fly."
"Deploying a nano cloud now," Boomer said as he thumbed his nano module. Billions of tiny eyes filled the air and formed an invisible cloud of sensors.
"Wow," Guardian said. "I wish the Air Force let us use those things."
"The army isn't much better, trust me," Boomer scoffed. "If we weren't Special Forces, they'd give us two sticks and some used bubble gum to work with."
Guardian chuckled.
They continued their trek for several klicks until Boomer stopped dead in his tracks. "Whoa! Do you guys see this?"
"I see it," Guardian said. Jimmy scanned his HUD and saw what they were referring to. It was a significant heat plume rising from the forest floor up ahead.
"I think we found it," Jimmy said.
"I'll call it into my superiors. I suggest you call your team in to converge on that spot. Setting a waypoint now," Guardian suggested.
"Do the honors, Nomad," Boomer said.
Jimmy keyed the TACNET. "All stations, be advised. We found the wreckage. Converge on waypoint Bravo-two-three."
Acknowledgment pings returned from the entire team seconds later.
"All right, let's move in and see what we've got, people," Guardian said.
"After you," Boomer said.
They approached the waypoint, crushing twigs and broken limbs beneath their heavy armored boots as they drew closer to the wreckage. When the trees parted, Jimmy saw the downed dropship. It had come in, clipping treetops as it went, and had evidently plowed a trench before sliding to a halt.
Upon closer inspection, the cockpit canopy came into view, and no pilots were there to be seen. Boomer came around the rear of the dropship and called out. "The back ramp is open. They must have left the ship on their own."
"How can you tell?" Jimmy asked.
"Because dropships don't open from the outside once the hatch is sealed," Guardian answered on Boomer's behalf.
"What he said," Boomer confirmed. "I'm going in to have a look around. Nomad, pull security while I go in."
"Roger that," Jimmy replied, coming around and taking a knee by the back ramp, facing outward with his weapon scanning the horizon. Boomer slipped inside for several moments before rushing back out hastily.
"Guardian, we have a problem," Boomer said. Guardian and his partner rounded the stern of the dropship as he spoke.
"What have we got?" Guardian asked.
"The radio is missing from its mount, but so is the external battery unit for the COMSEC," Boomer said. "The enemy has gotten their hands on an operational radio with the latest encryption protocols. They'll be able to listen to any dropship operating on the planet."
Guardian nodded. "This is bad."
31
Ellie sat in her cell. The sound of the air circulating through the vents was her only company. She seethed with rage on the inside, and her mind was a downward spiral of catastrophizing thoughts. She found herself in the clutches of her mortal enemy. It was the same enemy that killed her brother, and the very same enemy that shattered the society she grew up in.
The cell was sparse by design. She had nothing but barren walls and a metal toilet. The shitheads didn’t bother giving her a blanket to sleep with.
Her memories of being caught by the enemy soldier still fresh in her mind. It had happened so fast, she wondered if any of the others evaded capture. There was no indication anyone else was being held in the same cell block she was.
Thus far, her only source of entertainment was the occasional interrogation she had had to suffer through. But she knew the SNA were weak and had laws against torture. She was more than happy to exploit the spineless nature of her enemy.
The last session of questioning had taken an interesting turn, as they began probing her about her father. Exactly how they figured out who her father was ... that was still a mystery. However, she didn’t take the bait and acknowledged nothing but her issued serial number and rank.
Her thoughts drifted to her father. She loved him, to be sure, but his endless efforts to keep her away from the fight filled her with even more rage than before. She blamed him for her capture. Instead of allowing her to serve in as a spy or saboteur, she’d been relegated to being a babysitter for captive slaves. The torment of having to keep her enemies alive was more than she could bear, and being captured was the final straw.
Had she been captured doing something meaningful, then she’d have worn it like a badge of honor. But instead, her father’s scheme of supporting the resistance by selling captured enemies as slaves had drawn too much attention. She’d warned her father that his entire operation had a shelf life, and his operation would be shut down sooner than later.
But he wouldn’t listen. He’d already lost one child to the enemy, and that made him overly cautious at her expense. And now, due to his protective efforts, she was in an enemy prison cell.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the cell door opening. She waited for the guards to enter and take her to the interrogation room again, but it wasn’t a guard at all. It was a middle-aged lady with short curly hair wearing a civilian employee’s uniform. The woman locked eyes with Ellie.
“Come with me before the nanobots run their course,” she said urgently.
Ellie didn’t hesitate. She didn’t know the woman, but she spoke with the local accent and wasn’t one of the invaders. That was all she needed to know.
When she slipped out of the cell door and out into the hallway, a pair of motionless guards were on the ground, seemingly unconscious.
“Nanobots, huh?” Ellie asked, motioning toward the guards with a flick of her head.
“Yes, but their neural interfaces have countermeasures. The nanobots only have a few minutes before they disintegrate. We have to move,” the woman said urgently, as she motioned for Ellie to follow.
