“Crew, this is Kimber Novarro, recent graduate of interrogation training, and our long gun for the op. The tall menacing one is her Mentor, and too scary for names.”
“Wait, the small one is our sniper? She would probably fit in the barrel!” A burly man, who was likely either a breacher or a squad weapon guy.
“She looks like a climber, I could see it. What’s your rifle squirt?” A hard-looking man with a scraggly beard that looks as though he took some fire damage to the hairless parts.
“MRAD PSR with .300 magnum rounds. It’s got a dynamic range, atmospheric compensation scope on it, so a blind turkey could be your sniper.”
The hard man’s face softens in . . . mirth? And the big man snorts.
“At least she’s funny. Can’t say the same for you Denning. Maybe she can be our mascot.” The muscular white girl eyes me in a way I don’t understand. So I prepare to do what I always do—fight discomfort with humor!
“Hmm, puckered asshole for a mascot. Seems appropriate.” That gets me a laugh from the whole team.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Skinny dude with glasses says, not yet knowing he’s being an ass.
“Member of the Angry Orphan’s club, sadly, but I’d kiss your mother with this mouth.” I waggle my eyebrows. To try to deflate the situation, but apparently a fifteen-year-old making insinuative comments is just too awkward.
“Well, now that we’re clearing mines with our faces, I’m Team lead. Big man is Denning. The grizzled vet is Tennison, the beefy tart is Waller, and the boy with foot in mouth disease is Templeton.”
“Pleasure to meet you all. As Harlow said, I’m Novarro, and I’m pre-initialized.”
“What the hell Harlow!” The rest of the team objects. Harlow tries to calm them down, but they aren’t having it. The idea of a real kid on their team is unpalpable.
“Do we really have time to babysit while storming a manufacturing ring?” Big man asks. Denning.
Marcella leans over and whispers, “show ‘em the speed. Denning has a field knife.”
I let Denning’s comment bother me and I cross the 3m distance in an instant, pulling the knife before he can raise his arms and I have it at his neck soon after. “I would be happy to read you a bedtime story.”
Quiet thunders through the space. For moments bordering on hours, the whirr of the forced air is all I can hear.
“Fuck me then, that was legit.” He pinches the tip of the blade to pull it back and I just release it to him and step away.
“As you can see, Kimber is more capable than your average ‘kid’. Though I’m surprised you all wouldn’t just take Harrow’s word for it.” She looks at me and continues. “I’ll be retiring early. You should chat.”
Everyone watched her turn to walk away, some watched for longer than they should so I cough loudly. At least Waller is embarrassed about the extra attention.
“Don’t worry about her. I’ve never expected blind faith before and I won’t start now. So, Novarro, if you have a mind for some Q and A, it could comfort the team some.” He sounds like he’s asking and not telling, which is nice.
“Sure. I’m not bashful. Whaddya want to know?” Four people shouted at once. I raise an eyebrow. Then point at Templeton.
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen and just over a half.” I then point to Waller.
“Who is that lady?”
I smirk at that, “my mentor.” She groans and I laugh. I point at grizzly.
“What was that move?” He asks, a calculated peering aimed at my body.
“Pre-Talent manifestation is my best guess. Speed for anger.” He nods, though to say he looked satisfied at my answer would be wrong. I point to Denning.
“How many people have you killed?” he gets a variety of looks and ‘what the fuck man’ aimed in his direction.
“Five? One in self defense when I was ten. I throat cut a teen who thought gang leaders could rape little girls when I was fourteen, and an assassin that shot me about a month ago, and one, maybe two in a disagreement.” The people in this room clearly did not grow up on the streets and were amazed at my childhood hit count.
“Post war streets have been mean, friends. You either grow up strong or find someone who did. I was the someone for my Orphanage.”
It stays quiet or a minute before Denning broke the silence. “The puckered asshole is a good mascot for us.”
***
“We’ve got the breaching plan, and the CQB strategy, and some nominal spots for Novarro, what’s left? What am I missing?” Craig shared layouts and plans with the crew’s system and I got it on my scroll. I looked at the images and the surroundings while Craig was detailing the inside plan.
“How likely we thinking an ‘other than front’ exit will be?” I ask Craig.
“The plan is to subdue and contain at first. Analyze the drugs then destroy their production means. So inside for an hour or two. You will be expected to audible with us if we need to egress.”
“Okay, then the tower is out. I don’t think I could get around the neighborhood fast enough from there to cover you.”
“That’s fine. These points were picked for their areas of coverage, you’re the long gun, you pick the spots in the end. Just as long as you cover our asses, no one cares.”
He’s not here to spoon feed me, copy that. I nod in acknowledgement and try not to flush in embarrassment. Our last meeting before an early morning show time ends and I have that freshly-opened package feeling.
Waller puts her arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “Don’t let the tension get to you. This is your first day out, so don’t focus on failure, focus on what you need to do for us and do it the best you can. And maybe give me your Mentor’s comm ID?”
“Thanks for the advice, but no way in hell. She would chew me out then chew you up.”
She shudders, “Yes please.”
“EEEW!” I shove her away. “It’s weird when people think she’s hot.” Waller then laughs the rest of the way down the hall.
I reluctantly continue to the room I was sharing with Marcella until she left earlier this afternoon. One day back was not enough hugs, or sister cuddles. Nothing says comfort like an arm flop and a loud fart in the middle of the night.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Three a.m. comes before I’m ready, but I dutifully put on my modular, Kevlar weave layered over carbon fiber mesh, armor. I strap my knives to my left leg and my 9mm to my right with my MRAD on a retractable sling magnetically clipped to my back. My belt and chest armor have a mess of ammo attached to it. My back plate has a fixed blade sheathed at the bottom and my helmet has various vision aiding attachments that would completely reveal my position if I ever used them. I feel like I’ve seen old video of folks robbing banks with less gear than I have on.
When I get to the door to the area with the red lights, I see that I’m the asshole yet again as the rest of the team has miss-matched armor with some custom paint jobs to make it all blend together. The paint tries as hard as it can. A couple of jabs about how new my armor is and how fun it will be to break in make their rounds, but once we’re through to the red hall, then it’s silence out to the Jeep covered in a camo net.
Craig and Big Boy Denning are in the front, with the four smaller folk of the squad in the back with our gear in our laps. I should say their gear. A backpack cordless saw and some extra shotguns with extra ammo and guns in the floor locker we’re sitting on.
The first twenty minutes were interesting as the crescent moonlight revealed some towers on our back way to a town called Mountain Pass. Grizzly Tennison tells me that those are power generation towers, some of which still work. The trail through the hills is bumpy and seems longer than it really is, especially with feet and guns digging into my legs.
Craig parks by some storage tanks on the side that I want to take position on, but farther away from the lab building that was used to test or separate minerals. I’m sure the original purpose of the building was briefed, but it went in one ear and out the other. Apparently it’s a safer place to cook meth than a trailer in the desert.
We all pile out and do a quick comms check. We click around and with a thumbs up, then we trot toward a set of processing buildings. Looking at the complex on the way in, I chose the three tall cylinders on the right connected by ducting and further connected to lower buildings by ducts, ramps and sloped roofs. I see a shrouded ladder leading to the top of the cylinders on the far side, so I click the mic to get the squad’s attention, then motion for a boost and point to the ladder.
Denning nods and follows me over to the side makes gestures for me to put both of my feet in his giant mitts and that he will throw on three. I climb into his hands and crouch, making sure my feet are even, then give him a pair of taps on the shoulder. On his third bob, he stands and hoists as I jump and I launch halfway up the side and have to grab on to the outer cage of the ladder instead of the ladder itself.
My heart is thundering, trying to escape this reckless form of daring do, deep breaths failing to bring the rate down. I try a few more breaths then pop a candy to help calm me down. I can still hear my pulse in my ears, but my limbs stop shaking. I hear clicks around, I click and start climbing with slow surety. Without the gloves that came with this armor, climbing up the cage would have been much more painful, as I have to death grip the long vertical rectangular bars whose rungs are too far apart for me to use as a jungle gym.
Five minutes later I’m looking for a good spot for a nest and climb to the left most cylinder top closest to the car. I walk the edge of the roof to see the best spot from which to watch the door that doesn’t have my weapon hanging over the edge. The box-shaped vent with fan unit near the middle of the cylinder appears the best vantage I’m going to get that has a way to brace my MRAD.
“Crow in position,” I subvocalize. I get a click in response.
Minutes pass before I see Tennison emerge ahead and to the right of my position, moving in a very speedy, but level gait. They cover the 80m between my columns and the target building in half a minute and flatten themselves against the wall. I continue surveying the lines of approach on my side and it’s another minute before I see a pair of shadows come around the far side of the building.
“Patrol coming counterclockwise. Two minutes,” I relay.
“Copy. Don’t let them see us.” Craig replies, and I click back.
For most of the next two minutes I am mentally trying to hurry their ingress up, but apparently we are still trying to break in silently. I turn my compensating scope on and let it take its data to correct for distance and windage while I follow the patrol, trying to ready myself to shoot someone totally unrelated to my sphere of experience.
Luck, or persistence, is with us tonight as Tennison manages to get the team inside, and Craig gestures to remain silent before slipping into the building. The next hour proved to me that I could both be anxious and bored at the same time. Keeping alert and seeing nothing is freaking hard.
All is well and good until the patrol decides they want to radio in.
“Patrol is engaging their hand-held comm devices.”
“Don’t let them inside.” I click in confirmation.
I hit the calibration button on the scope again as the men on the ground are fiddling and checking their devices. They are facing each other so it’s near impossible to see what their expressions, but I can see when the furthest man pulls out a set of keys.
The crosshairs on the scope are red while I’m seeking, but as soon as I use the breath control I read about, the hairs turn green as they align with my victim’s head. Consistent trigger squeeze and my rifle cracks in the night. The shot hits the first head and the second abdomen, making the guy with the keys stagger, and in the moment he takes to recover, I’ve racked another round and put a shot into his chest.
“Two down at entry. Moving.”
“You’ve got two minutes before we’re ready to make some noise. Be able to cover the rear entrance by then.” I click my mic and stand. Collapsing the stock for carrying, I start climbing ducting and trusses supporting the long traversal sections to scamper up to the crisscross lattice of conduit and ducting that run between the air-conditioners, and other large openings that are connected between the different buildings at this mine. I feel as though my feet are moving like the wind, but I’m barely moving at a trot.
Three minutes roll by and I’m starting to worry as I see Waller bust out of the back door and start sprinting down the path between buildings. I’m not in a great position to cover yet, but I can see Denning come out before Templeton, then Harlow, and finally a hobbling Tennison, who turns around and plinks a few bullets back in the door with his assault rifle. Craig and Denning fall back 15 paces then stop to cover the grizzled veteran as he tries to run on his wounded leg.
As a man comes out the door, I make a reaction shot and wing his shoulder. That’s embarrassing. The cover gunners take him out.
“We need you to do better than that, kid. We’re about to turn, and Ten is in no shape to stop moving.”
“I’ll get ‘em boss.” I say with all the naivete of a suckling babe.
Craig nods to Denning and they spring past Tennison to set up another cover location. At this point I have to assume that Waller and Templeton are getting the Jeep. When people emerge from the building I drop to the ledge and lie on the skinny piece of concrete and start popping shots as soon as the scope stops moving from the recoil. Three shots more and I have to put a new mag in, and the bolt action is flying forward and back as fast as an idling engine. A total of seven enemies exit the building before part of the building explodes.
Between the feeling of the boom in my chest and being startled by the fire and debris, I lose my balance on the ledge and start to roll off. I immediately drop the rifle--as it is attached to me--and grasp for the ledge with both hands. I look down to see Craig and the big man have passed me and Tennison is almost below me, which is the good news.
The bad news is that there are three wounded goons taking aim and shuffling forward. Another on the ground appears to be calling for reinforcements. Telling Craig I could handle it, I decide to risk it for the biscuit. I pull out my pistol, allow myself to feel the panic and need for action, putting my first pistol shot into some guys head. The following shots were much less accurate, but with Craig covering and Denning going to pick up the wounded grizzly, the few extra shots I make to wound the pursuers is all that is necessary—I hope.
“You’re good to drop, Novarro.”
Orphanage me would have laughed and told him to eff right off. Trained dog Kimber automatically lets go, braces her pistol hand with the other, and pops off more shots as I fall toward the ground. They were good shots too.
Denning caught and stopped me much smoother than I could have expected, then dropped me the last half meter to the ground. I scramble up and point my pistol down range.
“Rides here,” Craig says over comms. “Novarro, take Dennings AR and help me cover while they load.”
The big man unlatches his sling and slaps the gun to my chest. I holster my pistol and check that there’s a bullet in the chamber of the gun he gave me. The big man scoops up Tennison and shuffles quickly to the car. I see some body-shaped movement and shoot it. I assume Craig is doing the same. Loading takes less than a minute as we just hop in a pile in the uncovered back as Waller accelerates away.
The boys in the back lift me, shift me and pass me so that I can have a more stable position to turret with my rifle and ensure that anyone that follows us gets a bullet for their trouble. This particular sniper rifle doesn’t have the caliber to stop the car, but the .300 mag rounds don’t deflect much through a windshield, or so the info card said. To my great relief, I didn’t see a single vehicle behind us. Our return to the bunker was uneventful and we climbed inside within the hour. We stayed quiet until the sound of our collective sighs escaped as we collapse in the mess area.