-0823 Military Hours
-Cygnus Station, Armoury
"Okay, I'm all set," Robert says, coming into view as he slings his weapon into position across his chest.
"That makes four." Douglas stands up and puts on his rucksack, groaning lightly as the weight settles behind him. Just like the rest of us, his bag is notably bigger than usual.
Much of the added weight is due to the expectation of operating without extended support, therefore necessitating the need for more food, water, and expendable pocket drones for the purpose of our mission.
"Let's go," I announce and start moving, pacing towards the exit only a few metres away.
With a clean twist and pull, the door opens to reveal a dark, muted expanse ahead. Cold air rushes in, dropping the temperature inside the armoury in a handful of seconds.
I step outside, feeling the overwhelming chill surge through my hands and feet. Through the fierce winds, the subtle, ominous glow of the Rift glares back. There it lingers, quarantined from the rest of Cygnus—the only point of entry into New Eden.
"So what's the word on our new stint?" James interjects as we begin trudging towards the anomaly.
The team medic comes up to my side and nudges me on the arm, holding an expectant look that is obvious even through his visor.
"We're dropping right into indigenous territory. Something about a recent sighting from one of their drone runs. We'll know more once we link up with Ops," I say.
"Who's in charge again?" Robert asks, glancing back.
"That would be Meagan. She's the one now calling the shots rift side," Douglas answers from behind.
"Never heard of her," James interjects, "what can we expect?"
From the rear, Douglas paces faster to catch up before issuing his thoughts.
"Meagan's a recent addition. But she's managed a few UN facilities over on South America. That's what I heard in the mess yesterday, so take it how you will."
I shrug, slowing down as we approach the Rift. The confirmed loss of team six sent shockwaves all across the garrison, almost changing how it operated overnight. Revamped protocols, increased security, even the complete overhaul of management all sprung up as word of our discovery spreads—on Cygnus and New Eden.
It remains to be seen if this change of hands will mean anything.
The Rift flickers ahead and pulls me back to the present. I had a few wild theories concerning the nature of our mission. Considering my experiences so far across the rift, none of those theories seemed far-fetched.
"Alright, same thing. Walk straight, squint your eyes, and don't stop," I announce and step into the light.
Once through the Rift, I quickly assess the surroundings, spotting a pair of troopers stationed several metres away under a general purpose tent.
"Special Operations' Team Desert?" The first soldier asks, stepping out of the shade.
I stop and introduce myself to the armed sentry. "Second Lieutenant Simmons, my team's expected in Ops."
Turning around just as the others exit the Rift, I gesture to my team and continue. "Cygnus command gave us the call an hour ago."
"Noted," the second soldier steps in and logs down our arrival on a notepad. "Go on. You know where the hub is?"
"It's near the hab' modules," I answer.
"Correct," the man nods, then gestures to his left, "which is that way. Just be mindful of the excavator works as you pass."
The first soldier then gestures for the team to proceed. Both sentries then turn around and retreat back to their station, continuing their shift as we move past.
Once we clear the initial exclusion zone, the team adopts a brisk pace and proceed through the base, getting fresh insights on its ongoing development as it unfolded.
Progress on the overall infrastructure is proceeding rapidly. It is almost unrecognizable from how it was when I first stepped through the Rift, and that was four days ago.
Several workers toil away at the central hub, laying new sections of cable on exposed trenches, helping to facilitate the inevitable expansion of the power grid.
"Looks like they're really serious about this," I comment, noting the increased activity along our route.
"I told you," Robert points to the construction vehicles behind a steel fence, "brass is too invested to call it quits. Not yet anyways."
With each day, there is something new to be noted. This one is no exception. Excavation works continued along the route we take, but a few already have a decent foundation in place for the prefab that will soon follow.
We skirt past several sites, taking alternate routes where necessary to minimize interference with the ongoing construction. Soon enough, we close in on New Eden's operations hub—the newly minted command centre for all activity in this world.
"This is it," I say, referencing our destination ahead with a finger as everyone slows to a leisurely pace.
The large, two story building stands adjacent to a line of almost identical prefabs. Mounted on top the entrance, and clearly displayed against a gray plaque, is the building's official name.
"Tartarus Command Hub," I quietly read.
"That's something new," James chimes in, "they finally decided on a name for this base."
"Good for them," I shrug, urging the team to head inside the building. "Come on, we've got ten minutes left."
======
-0901 Military Hours
-Tartarus Command Hub, Ops Room
The projector flares to life and displays an empty slate ahead. Around the small room sat a familiar entourage of representatives and staff officers mixed evenly with a slew of new faces.
"Is everyone here?" A women looking to be in her late 50s asks.
"Yes Ma'am," one of her aides reports, "all representatives and relevant security attaches are present—including Second Lieutenant Simmons and his fireteam."
I raise a hand to acknowledge the call out as the man gestures to me. The woman nods, and stands next to the projector screen.
"I don't believe we've met before," she begins, furrowing her brows, "I'm Meagan Pierce, Chief Administrator for Tartarus Station—which is officially the name going forward."
She pauses, and opens a presentation on the projector. After shifting through several verbose slides, Meagan stops on a familiar map depicting the immediate topography of New Eden.
The Chief Administrator continues, retrieving a laser pointer to reference the upper portions of the map, all of which were overlaid in bright red. "Due to recent events, these sectors are strictly off-limits unless given strict authorization," she says, referencing the northern grids.
I give a small nod at that revelation. The restriction is barely a surprise. After the loss of Expedition six and our unexpected skirmish, it seems only natural to have these directives in place to prevent similar occurrences. Though her opening statement did not fully address the need for my team's deployment.
"Which grid are we dropping into and why?" I lean forward and look the Chief Administrator in the eye. "The team's only been told that it's a site of recent interest, and to expect the possibility of hostile encounters. We've prepared accordingly based on that assumption."
A few seconds pass before Douglas interjects with a piercing glare. "If you want us to step back into indig' territory, there better be a damn good reason for it. Else we're not going," he issues with a coarse voice.
Meagan nods, and gestures to the person sitting beside her. I glance over to the woman, immediately recognizing the bright blonde hair—neatly pinned into a ponytail, and tanned European features.
Helen shifts around in her seat, taking a moment to compose herself. She gestures at Meagan for the pointer and answers as the Chief Administrator passes it to her.
"Despite your findings a few days ago Lieutenant, " Helen states with a distinct Mediterranean accent, nodding at me, "intelligence has confirmed that there are survivors from expedition six—two at least."
"Where?" I say, masking the shock from my voice.
"Just north of Grid A15, at point Sierra which is this place here," the young woman answers, pointing the laser within the aforementioned grid where the signs of civilization are apparent even at the map's current resolution.
"That place still the closest city to us?" Robert asks.
Helen nods. "It still is, yes. Plenty of activity within and around it, so please be careful. This is the site we want your team to survey," she calmly adds.
One of the staff officers holds up a palm to gather everyone's attention. "As far as your deployment is concerned, rescue will not be the primary objective, or even a secondary. However should the opportunity present itself, you are free to execute whatever is necessary to bring the researchers back home."
"It will be standard recon and such. For all the good our drones have done, we still need boots on the ground to fill out the gaps. Anything you can scrounge up over the next few days will be greatly appreciated," Meagan adds before advancing the briefing.
The Chief Administrator takes over the meeting and gives the team a rundown on the mission specifics. Once done, she proceeds to highlight the rules of engagement indicating the various revisions that had been made to the clause since our first stint. A few staff officers step in to detail the specifics and address our questions as needed over the next hour.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Much of the latter discussions revolves around specific routes taken by the locals, highlighting areas to avoid at all costs, and recent engagements between the two main factions currently still locked in a state of war with each other.
Just as the clarifications wrap up, Robert steps in with one final statement, pointing an accusive finger at Meagan.
"You're still putting the team in lots of danger. Even if it's advanced recon for a possible rescue, I just don't think it's right," the operative asserts, then sighs, "but maybe it's just me."
"Make that two," James adds, looking at Robert.
Douglas shrugs, then removes his helmet to reveal a disgruntled expression. "The way those soldiers fought, I'm sure everyone here's familiar with the report we submitted," he pauses, eying the entire room before continuing, "I hate to refer it as such, but that type of capability... whether it's magic or whatever, makes their soldiers incredibly dangerous. I hope you at least considered that before drafting this mission," he says as his shoulders slumps.
"Anyhow, we're going only if our Lieutenant's okay with this," Douglas concludes and glances at me.
Everyone in the room quickly follows suit. I look away and consider my options. Even though we were originally deployed to address the Garrison's need for a quick reaction force, it still was not fair for the team to be faced with such a poorly conceived mission.
But on the other hand, there are survivors. Even if the chances of staging such a rescue deep in indigenous territory are minimal to begin with, we still have a responsibility to do our very best to get them back. I would have wanted the same courtesy if I were in their shoes.
Both options are reasonable, but I can only choose one. Ultimately, it had to be one where I will not look back on and regret.
I sigh, and look up. "We're... going in," I answer. The team makes no effort to object, and we soon conclude the briefing.
Meagan nods, and personally guides us to the airfield where a grounded J60 Humming Bird spools to life as we approach. In a matter of minutes, and after the team conducts a final check on our equipment, the Chief Administrator calls me over as the rest of my team step on board the rotor-wing.
"For what it's worth, thank you," Meagan says over the helicopter's engines.
I lean in close and reply. "You should know, we don't fully agree with this. But we'll still do our best to recon Point Sierra."
She returns a strained smile and nods. "Good luck out there Lieutenant. I'll return the favour someday."
"I'll hold you to that, Ma'am" I answer and turn around, making my way up to the Humming Bird.
As the J60 lifts off, I glance out at the landscape below—for one final look at humanity's growing presence in New Eden, and commit the sight to memory. It will be a while before seeing Tartarus again.
======
-2314 Military Hours
-Grid A15, Point Sierra
It is a dark, monotonous stretch of forest ahead. The storm that relented a few hours ago still left the ground slick with moisture. Much of the trouble now came from navigating through the dense vegetation.
Every step came with a chance of tripping over hazards that are almost impossible to spot even with the visor's assistance. The undergrowth is so thick that the ground is barely visible.
To make matters worse, the team's line of sight is often reduced to just a handful of metres.
Fortunately over the last hour, the worst of the restrictions have passed and the overall density has since thinned considerably.
The low lying, dense underbrush rustles as I wade through, easing myself past the next few metres just as a deep rumble echoes overhead.
"Storm's not done yet," James grumbles ahead, his figure barely more than a vague set of arms and legs in the dark.
After two days of rucking, and several close encounters with the locals, we are finally on the last stretch towards our destination. Douglas once again indicates to possible foot tracks running across our heading, activating the auxiliary lights on his helmet as he crouches.
"Fresh?" I ask, stopping to survey the weathered trail behind the operative. Most of the footprints had been washed away by the rain.
"Maybe," Douglas murmurs, immediately cutting the lights before standing up, raising a finger to one end where the path leads to, "this one's north, so it should take us to Point Sierra."
"Then we're close," I answer in kind, gesturing for the team to spread further out before resuming our pace, "disperse—four metres, let's go."
The team adopts a loose wedge and continue on. Everyone covers their respective sectors of approach, occasionally sharing brief call outs as we encounter things of note. The next significant find is a discarded shield by Robert. I signal the rest to halt and circle around it, noting the distinctive crown and twin swords emblem across the shield's face.
"Faction Alpha," I remark, staring down at the symbol.
A brief flash of the team's previous encounter comes to mind. I shake the memories away and issue the signal to continue, leaving the shield behind. Despite its supposed value to anthropology, the thing is just too large and cumbersome to bring along.
A few minutes later, Douglas raises a fist to halt our advance. "Hold, got a vehicle ahead," the operative whispers through comms, slowly pointing at a distinctive shape through the thinly spread greenery.
"Looks like a wagon," James remarks.
"Roger, have visual. Everyone on lethal," I answer, sweeping left and right to survey our immediate surroundings, picking up several more trailing the first, all appearing in various states of disrepair.
The team advances slowly and disengage our safeties, the soft clicks issuing in quick succession. I feel my heart race faster as we step into the open road which the wagons evidently took. The road looks deserted in both directions.
James inches up to the first wagon and circles to the rear, weapon turning sharply into its dark interior. His muffled gasp catches me by surprise. The operative takes a few steps back and lowers his rifle, pointing a trembling finger inside the wagon.
"They're—" James pauses, and shakes his head, "take a look."
I hurry the last few steps, pacing right up to him and turn on the helmet's auxiliaries. As the lights hit the interior, my breath shudders at the carnage inside the wagon. There are dead soldiers, slumped on the benches with one draped over what seems to be a cache of supplies, arrows jutting from the person's back and left leg.
"Femoral artery's screwed," James grimly intones, pointing at the pool of red staining the wagon's floor centred around the soldier's leg.
"There's seven, plus one on the rear wheel," Douglas highlights a corpse beneath the wagon's broken axle, a staff still clutched in the figure's limp hand.
I lean forward into the wagon, feeling my stomach turn at a disturbing revelation. These are all soldiers, and almost all of them are female. Blood still trickled from the wagon's rear onto the soil beneath. The scene is still relatively fresh.
"Not much weapons," I turn to James who still remains glued to the scene inside.
"I'm guessing they're with logistics—lines up with what we know of their military," he returns.
Douglas and Robert form up and proceed to the next wagon just as a sharp cry breaks the ambiance. Several more voices soon follow, prompting the team back into a wedge.
Robert steps up and takes the lead, his weapon raised and quickly gestures for the team to form up behind. I nod, and fall in on his left. Further signs of battle are present along our line of advance.
Dead soldiers, horses, and scattered weapons—all abundant. The next few wagons and carts show similar states of disrepair. A few of them are overturned, spilling their deceased occupants and cargo onto the damp soil.
After a few dozen metres, the trail of destruction stops. At the end, figures congregate in a loose crowd, the visor registering the unknowns and giving an estimate on their numbers.
"Contact dead ahead, thirty metres, at least twenty-three," I whisper, taking a few steps to seek cover behind an overturned wagon.
The team spreads out across the entire width of the road. I line up my sights onto the commotion ahead and attempt to discern what is happening. At first glance, it seems clear the carnage we witnessed is the result of an ambush, and this represents the final phase of that skirmish. There are only a few stragglers left from the entourage, and they knelt in place as their enemies hovered over them.
Just as the notion of retreating comes into mind, another violent scream breaks the silence. The tone is a frantic, blood-curdling cry of a woman's voice. One of the kneeling figures slumps forward and hits the ground with a resounding thud. The voice drops to a strained gurgle before fading entirely. At the back of the woman's neck, barely visible, is the thin shaft of an arrow.
A few convulsions follow, but they quickly cease. Now only two of the knelt soldiers remained, likely to face a similar fate.
I look to the team, seeing them still observing the commotion. The rules of engagement clearly specifies avoiding all contact with the locals where reasonably possible. But, it doesn't seem right to apply it to this situation. They are unarmed, and being executed on a whim. We are in a position to stop that from happening.
Regulations are written in blood. But as a general rule of thumb, there are always exceptions. That was what several former colleagues and superiors emphasized. It is a piece of wisdom I still take to heart.
When another scream echoes again, I finally decide on the team's course of action. The decision might come back to bite me later, but for now, we have to act. This is the right thing to do.
"Engage, warning shoots only," I whisper over comms, deliberately sinking my aim a few degrees to hit the ground below the group.
"Roger," Douglas responds, the only one to vocally acknowledge the command.
The hope is that the sound of the shots themselves will be enough to dissuade them and force them into retreat. With a quick pull of the trigger, the first shots hurtle away, hitting the ground close to the crowd. The figures recoil then move into a defensive line, returning a slew of words that seem to convey a sense of surprise.
Soft, glowing lights emerge from their ranks as the soldiers consolidate their positions in front of the two surviving captives. Streaks of fire and the whizz of arrows mark the start of their retaliation.
"We need to go lethal!" Robert hollers over comms.
"Go for it!" I yell back, stepping out of cover to discharge a quick burst into the main formation. Three bodies immediately drop.
I pull myself back to safety, noting a few arrows partially sticking out from the wagon's tough, leathery exterior. Shifting to the other side, I return another short burst, this time targeting the formation's left and am immediately rewarded with the sight of two more bodies collapsing instantly.
Again, there seems to be nothing tangible protecting those soldiers from weapons fire.
The survivors falter and the formation quickly disentagrates. Their shouts turn into desperate yells as the soldiers break contact, foregoing any sort of cohesion with each individual making a frantic bid to escape from the exposed road.
"They're out!" James announces, pausing to look over his cover.
Douglas and Robert continue squeezing off a few more rounds, saturating the tree line along the left side of the road where the soldiers had routed into. A few seconds pass before I step out of cover. After confirming no weapons are within reach of the two captives, I turn around.
"Robert, James," I call out and point to the survivors splayed on the ground, still alive, "check those two. Douglas and I are on watch, go!"
Both operatives advance, keeping good pacing as they trained their weapons at the pair. As they approach, James slings his weapon behind and circles around to their rear.
"Got one male and female, both injured," he informs, taking a knee behind the pair.
The team medic frantically digs into his pouches as he inches closer, gesturing for me to head over. He points to the female soldier curled defensively on her side, sobbing weakly with both her arms wrapped around herself.
"There's stab wounds on the upper back—at least two across her right side. We're looking at hypovolemic shock without proper attention. I'll do the best I can, but field treatment's not gonna cut it," he reports without deviating from his trade, pulling out a fresh cannister of hemostatic gel as the woman's painful wails continues.
I nod, and consider our options. The other soldier yells out and crawls desperately to get my attention. His features twist as he continues his incomprehensible tirade.
After a minute of useless back and forth between us, the frustration finally reaches a breaking point. The soldier finally gives up and points a finger behind to convey his thoughts, indicating to the road behind that would lead us to our original destination—Point Sierra.
I tap the man on his plated shoulder and move towards James. "Patch her up as best you can," I pause before turning to Douglas, "how far are we from Point Sierra?"
"Should be under five klicks down this road," the operative returns, briefly dividing his attention to answer.
I turn back. "Once she's stable, we're going to the city. We'll drop these two in visual of the eastern gate."
"Roger," James answers, his helmet's auxiliaries shaking briefly as he nods, "just give me a few, and someone keep the other guy quiet. Asshole can't keep his mouth shut."
"I got him," Robert announces and steps up to physically restrain the man.
The team medic proceeds swiftly, administering the hemostatic cannister onto the woman's back after cutting the straps off the armour, leaving her in a state of dress consisting of only her armoured leggings and a white tunic that is almost entirely stained red.
Much of the bleeding has stopped, though the damage has already been done. The woman's skin is pale, and with each breath, I could tell she is slowly, but surely, losing the fight. Time is against us.
We have to get her to that city, if only to save her life. This will be considered a massive risk, and possibly a severe breach of the UN's existing directives even accounting for the fact that special teams like us are allowed to operate with a degree of flexibility on the ground.
Another weak cry pulls me back from the mental dilemma. If there are disagreements with my decision to take this leap of faith, the team is free to voice it out at any time just as we've discussed. Everyone seems to be on the same page.
Maybe our first encounter is an exception, and this would be where the UN's relation with this faction officially starts. I am ready to give this a shot.
One final hook before I really considered them a lost cause.
===End===