A week had passed, and here Mike Randall was sitting once more in a hospital bed looking out the window provided where a gentle rain pattered against the glass.
Just then, his hospital door swung open, and Princess Leccamaradel stumbled through. Mike turned and looked at her with slightly wide eyes; she wore a light white sundress with golden embroidery on her shoulder straps. The fabric was just loose enough, yet it still showed her figure, and her curves were somewhat outlined, but thankfully hidden by a dark-blue shawl.
Looking at recovered sergeant, a small smile crossed Lecca’s lips as she noticed he was staring, “How do I look?” She asked twirling around in place.
Mike was taken aback by the question as he was still somewhat dazed by the final dose of medication, he was to be on for the rest of his stay. Eventually it clicked in his mind, and the man gently cupped his chin trying to think of the proper word to describe the princess that awaited his answer nervously. Her normally straight hair was curly as it just reached below her shoulders, and her face held little makeup; just the small amount of red lipstick on her lips shined in the morning light of the sun.
“Beautiful.” He stated not leaving any room for him to feel embarrassed.
A calm smile crossed his lips as he watched Lecca try to hide her face as she had broken out in a light blush. He let out a small, pain-stained chuckle; Green, and now Simon deserved to be with him laughing, yet they wouldn’t. At least Simon was still alive, all things considered.
Calming down and returning to silence, Mike fell back on his pillow as he closed his eyes and breathed softly trying to ease the light pain in his chest. With a pained smile on her face, Lecca gently stepped forward and took her place at the chair next to the sergeant, her slim hands clutched a manila folder and soon placed it down on the wooden table to her right. Neither of them exchanged words as they sat in the blissful peace that they had unknowingly become accustomed to with their recent visits to the hospitals throughout the Federation. It was an unsettling thought that would eventually cross both of their minds. The princess didn’t want to find herself in a place like this after her men had recovered. Mike would be the last Ranger to leave, Simon had already been transferred to a better university hospital in the capital and was receiving round-the-clock intensive care for his wounds. The young boy would never enter a warzone ever again; Simon had signed up to do so, but now he was just another number, just another casualty that would be sidelined for the rest of history. The images of her own bloodied hands helping Simon out of the transport plane replay over-and-over in her mind leading her to clench her right hand on the slim blanket that Mike was covered by. Taking her eyes away from her hand, she drew her vision across Mike who was slowly opening his eyes as he breathed slowly. A small smile flashed across her lips as she admired the man before the door to the room opened.
Walking in, Lieutenant Patterson and Captain Thompson arrived, both looked dressed to kill. Patterson in a jet-black suit with red tie, and Thompson wearing a button-down white shirt with a harness that carried his pistol and two magazines. The captain tugged at his collar before returning his free hand to a packet he held in his right hand. “Evening you two.” He began in a neutral and strained voice, “I have received our next briefing, but for now, you’ll be getting out of here in an hour Staff Sergeant.”
With the exception of the lieutenant standing behind him silently, both Mike and Lecca looked at Thompson with wide eyes and shocked expressions. They did not see this coming, and Mike didn’t seem the most ecstatic about this move made by his commanding officer.
“Staff Sergeant.” Mike parroted, a frown crossing his face as he straightened his body and saluted in bed.
“At ease. No need for that. Especially not when we can’t throw an official ceremony.” Thomson said with a plain face; the gears in his mind turned rapidly as he thought of his next move to make after the failure to establish a dialogue with kingdom forces.
Relaxing his posture, Mike stared at the ceiling. His breaths were soft, and his body felt heavy with exhaustion. He fought to stay conscious. The expression his captain had shared was something that bothered him, yet his mind was occupied with the current situation at hand rather than anything that would lead to nothing but conjecture. Glancing over the silent princess sitting next to him and towards the two men that were silently overlooking what looked to be a phone in their hands, the newly promoted Staff Sergeant found his voice.
“Did the OMFS hear about the mission near the Frontier?” He suddenly asked.
“Yes. Ryan checked back in; said he was glad to hear we made it out alright.” Thompson responded pocketing his device.
“It’s not something we expected. Any idea on who was responsible for the Reavers?”
“No. We have to leave that to the Federation.”
“Isn’t that why they brought us in, to find out who was responsible?” Lecca said shifting the conversation.
“The orders came from the top. The commander may have given us orders to mobilize, but it no doubt came from someone in power.” Thompson answered with a heavy sigh. “There may have been other fireteams that could’ve dealt with a situation like this, but with the attack in the capital, I would assume most resources and personnel were distracted.”
Forcing out several coughs Mike returned his vision up. A pain remained in his chest. No doubt the cause of his former injuries of broken ribs and the missions he had been deployed on. The missions. What the Federation wanted was a complete mystery to him. There was no doubt in his mind that the nation wanted peace between themselves and the Kingdom of Yondel, but accounting for the Federation’s history, there was no doubt that certain parties would benefit from a sustained conflict.
“Hey.”
Turning to the voice calling out to him, Mike shifted his eyes left, back to Lecca.
“Are you alright?”
Closing his eyes and pinching them shut with force, he took a light, shaky breath before answering.
“I’m just a little sore… I-I’ve been through worse. What a fucked-up thing to say.”
Thompson looked at Mike form where he was standing. The man didn’t believe a single word the staff sergeant said, but he let it go as other pressing issues kept his mind occupied. What had happened within the previous week had completely fractured his men, the surviving members of Task Force Spare. He was left to pick up the pieces and reestablish some form of morale, yet the things he would typically use to reinvigorate such a mental state no longer existed.
His time spent debriefing with the director of the OMFS, something he didn’t think possible, and high-ranking officers from the Federation Army, and Navy had led him to meet interesting people that shared his ideals. What had happened to two of his men, both of his privates, had made him reconsider many of his ideals when dealing with this new world. Something had to change.
“Our team took a hit.” Patterson spoke up averting his gaze from Mike and Lecca.
“Yeah, no shit.” Thompson forced out as he withdrew his device once more and spared a glance at the small, miniscule screen on the front. He provided a curt nod to the two sitting down as he patted Patterson on the shoulder, letting him know that he was needed elsewhere. Soon enough they left without even a simple goodbye. And their next destination would be an office building just down the street.
The lieutenant remained silent as he soon broke away from Thompson who continued down the street. The younger man had an assignment provided to him by the OMFS, and the deadline was in two days. He was to provide a detailed report about the failed operation to the Frontier and his personal accounts of what happened during the mission; one thing to note is that he and the others did not mention anything retaining to the void they had entered after the ambush by the Reavers was sprung. It would put too much pressure on the already wounded and torn squadron and could possibly lead to them being separated and prevent them from completing their objective of returning to the Kingdom of Yondel, a place where they had not been for almost half a year now.
Standing still at a busy intersection, Thompson’s eyes drew upwards to the small town he was in just no less than fifteen miles from the capital city. Though the sun broke through the clouds and shined upon the brick-and-mortar buildings, snow still fell from the cloudy skies above and coated the area in a soft white blanket. The light rain shower had passed and in its wake was nothing more than a gentle snow that would soon melt when the spring sun would fully break through a shine its warmth on all those who traversed the town.
Letting out a short breath, Thompson sucked in the cold air as he walked across the street to the office building, he was requested to.
Walking into the building, nothing was unusual. The place was owned by an investment firm that delt with trade. Business was conducted. Though it was a legal operation, within, there was something that occurred that many would call ‘sinister’ or ‘evil’. The reality within was something that most would hate. Perhaps that’s why the business was a cover instead of a branch of the organization.
The participants were limited: Two army officers, on the younger side. One naval flag officer, a Rear-Admiral UH in his late sixties. Three NOGS. And five soldiers that specialized in intelligence and sabotage.
As he walked down a narrow hallway, Thompson was easily able to discern the men and women that made up this organization. From simple office workers, what stood out amongst the crowd were the men that were wearing streamlined and similar attire with correct postures normally found amongst service members. Those that were not experienced in concealing their pistols stuck out. It was primarily the intelligence and sabotage army soldiers that had problems with concealing weapons as all their lives they either lived without handguns or they ran through a battlefield with their equipment at the ready.
Both the soldiers and NOGS soon converged on a small side-hallway leading to the conference room where the meeting was to be held. All present and accounted for were service members, soldiers, and sailors alike. Each branch had their mission-set, but the primary objective was to ensure the security of the Federation and all her allies. None of them belonged, here in a civilian environment, they belonged on the battlefield away from the politicians who controlled them and gave them half-assed orders. One would believe they would stay firm, never lose their temper, never lose control, never lose perspective. Yet, they were as much victims as the everyday man that walked theses same halls, these same streets.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Some of the men had a hard time trying to believe everything they had sacrificed had been in the name of protection.
Thompson was the last to follow the men that had entered the backrooms. He was luckily able to sneak past most of the office workers, with some giving him weary eyes as he stepped confidently trying to mask his presence. There was no doubt that one or two of the people near him either worked in counterespionage or were former agents of the Federation. Their conversations were simple and always retained to the office’s task at hand. And whatever words they shared about him, or the others was soon drowned out by a nearby quirk of men and women singing over the soft tunes of strings.
He slipped away like a ghost and was never traced into the room he entered.
Lieutenant Maru McCann tilted the cold shot glass in his hand and poured the liquid inside down his throat. Thompson watched silently. “We're all here. Tell me, captain, do you find yourself wondering about the future?” The young man’s voice was raspy as he leaned forward to grab the bottle of whiskey sitting on the table sitting before him.
The man beside the lieutenant, Rear-Admiral Ed O’Donnell laughed, “Well, there isn’t much a future now is there?”
Not bothering to respond to the probing, Thompson walked over to the closet wall to the group sitting at the couches and leaned against it as he folded his arms over his chest.
Turning his attention to the man standing across the room, the rear-admiral nodded as he let Specialist-Five Michael Jones speak next. “As evident by the reports provided by the army, the mission near the Frontier to intercept a convoy owned by the Kingdom of Yondel has failed.” His words were clear-cut as he turned around with a sheet of paper in his calloused hands.
“We have confirmed five casualties from the border guards and the 2nd Infantry Division that was deployed to clean up the mess created. Two soldiers have been killed with the last three critically wounded.” McCann followed up finishing a major part of the report, “The President is resisting against calls for war, citing reasons of a rouge faction, terrorists, but eventually he’ll cave. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
The specialist nodded, “This is why I got out of politics and went back into intelligence.”
“Press was all over the attack in the capital, but someone caught wind of our operation…” Rear Admiral O’Donnell stated as he grasped a bottle of whiskey and uncorked the top. “To think the media alone has put a halt to all military operations within and outside of the Federation.”
Thompson was the one to raise an eyebrow in surprise, “Are those people fucking crazy?”
“We can’t count on high command nor the President to make the right call. The events that occurred near the Frontier have cost us. We need to be at the ready.”
Thompson watched silently as the rear-admiral before him gallantly took two large swigs of whiskey. The man was a threat, and the captain’s stomach couldn’t handle the idea of having a drinking match against him. The older man took a short breath as he reached into his pant pocket and took out a small envelope with a red stamp sealing it shut. He held it between his fingers just before his four ribbons and a single medal hanging on the left side of his uniform.
“It’s upsetting that we have to resort to the back-up plans. Though Phoenix has delivered, the Admiral is on our side, for now. He has provided the recourses for our next move. All we need is a plan, though there’s no guarantee that this will slip by any government employee unnoticed.”
Lieutenant McCann sunk into his seat and shook his head slowly. He was passed the message the rear-admiral had pulled out, and suddenly withdrawing a pocketknife he cut the envelope open in one swift move. The paper he pulled out was a copy of a memorandum the director of the OMFS had written, A call to arms, and a message for hope of the future. Passing the letter around, it eventually fell into the hands of Thompson as he quietly read the pressed ink on the paper.
Mr. President, members of the executive branch, I have a message for you all.
With the sudden failure of the operation not only within the Frontier, but within our own borders as well, a clear line has been drawn by any and all enemies that wish to assault this very federation. The likelihood of an attack between nations such as the Kingdom of Yondel and the Principality of Lotus is inevitable if our actions can’t avoid direct confrontation.
The latest report from Army Lieutenant Jason Jones reports a collection of five-thousand troops gathering on the kingdom’s northern border. Third-party militia groups throughout the Federation have been arming themselves for the beginning of a frozen-spring war—the details behind their gatherings have been muddy at best, but many suspect an oncoming conflict with the sudden attack on the capital, thankfully no one is suspicious of any other nation for being responsible at this second.
There’s not much I can confirm about the current political situation and deterioration happening within the Kingdom of Yondel, that much I can leave for Director Conway, I can provide the necessary information to build a capable resistance against the magical threats that this nation has been under siege for the last two weeks.
In a recent conference I had with Secretary Sullivan Falk, the latest strike against the 3rd Fleet had provided a gap in our military defense. The unknown group that struck the battleship and submarine only targeted those two vessels, primarily due to what we believe is an intelligence leak regarding the newer, more sophisticated weapons and gear we had aboard. One to test the effectiveness of the NOGS, and two to enact submarines hunting training operations with new radar and sonar devices. Speaker Perenchio of all people have approached me concerning the lives lost and the technology lost, but I assured him that new tactics have been put in place to ensure the security and survival of our sailors.
The influence we have over the Frontier is minimal. Hostiles from unknown organizations and nationalities are free to move through this uncontested land, free to strike us when we are at our most vulnerable. In addition to the threat of the “Forerunners” I can only say that the Federation of Zivaland is looking at a new form of warfare in the coming, harrowing years that are laid ahead of us.
The only solution I have at the moment is an imminent first strike on the forces that have attacked us. They have placed us in a state of war, and no one has made the proper call, nor the proper response to such bastardly attacks upon this country. Zivaland is a big place, a place, a people. Our history is stained in blood, our own blood, and I’ll be dammed for the rest of my life if I let anyone else die under my watch.
The Kingdom of Yondel has been allowed to run amok for over two-hundred years. They have killed many in their barbaric actions against those innocents, and the recent apprehension of mercenaries from an organization known as the Volunteer Corps have doubled down my opinion and evidence to launch a retrieval and sabotage campaign. We’d not need war, but they will force our hand eventually.
My men can provide intelligence—golden pieces that will allow any army or navy strike group to eliminate key facilities and groups of hostile individuals throughout the Federation, Frontier, and Kingdom. My authority will only go so far—imploring is the last thing I would like to do, yet here we are in a broken and shattered state. No other nation in the world has risen to the Federation’s power and influence, and once again I find myself wondering why no one in the world, not even our allies in the East, consider us a true world power. Our secretive and seclusive nature has held us back for far too long. Everything can be provided easily: funding, weapons, training, safe-havens, men. The Office of Military and Federal Security is more than capable of supporting a drawn-out campaign.
This is not only a plea, Mr. President, but a call to action. To many people have died in the founding of the Federation. We are no empire; those times have long passed. The people want revenge. And only one person can make the right decision in these trying times.
My words will no doubt trigger skepticism, the director of homeland security calling for war. A foolish idea to many, but to those who know the current situation that my agents deal with on the daily I can assure that whatever threat comes at us, the Federation needs to be ready to give not only the very best it has to offer, but it gives everything to resist the pressure to collapse under this brave new world…
Thompson blinked. This was not what he expected to see from the director of the OMFS. The man had been drawn to his limit, man people had, and he had now jumped on the call for war. His voice would be one of the strongest in the new growing faction, not that the captain could blame them.
Their nation was attacked. It had been under attack for the people’s history.
What concerned him was the advent of members of the Volunteer Corps being took into custody. It wasn’t much to go off, but if the men were being cooperative with the Federation troops, then perhaps a chance of peace could arrive, and those responsible could be brought to justice. That line of thinking would only go so far, reality had to take hold, but there was room for hope within this dark veil that had set over both the Federation and Yondel.
Only a select number of government officials and military officers had been allowed to see this memorandum. Special accommodations had to be made to ensure that this single document did not end up in the wrong hands. The National Intelligence Agency took care of that responsibility, after all, they were the ones that wanted to keep control of the current issue developing on the southern border.
Not two days ago, demons and other monsters attacked a border patrol base. Five operators were killed and another ten injured with varying degrees of statuses. The base, outpost itself was in shambles. Magic had completely decimated the brick walls that made up the spanning base that acted more as a rest and relaxation haven for operators coming back from patrols. Similar event had happened over the last week. Over eight people had been killed between incidents.
Guns and explosives could only do so much against a horde of endless, magic using monsters. That was the harsh lesson the border patrol organizations learned.
Thompson closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This day couldn’t be any longer.
“Captain.” Rear Admiral O’Donnell began, “You know what this means, correct?”
Shaking his head as he stepped off the wall he was leaning against, Thompson breathed as he looked the admiral in his golden eyes, “Yes, my men will be sent back out there for more work. At least the men I still have in one piece.”
“You won’t have to worry much. I’ll have people on standby and close enough to act as reinforcements.” O’Donnell’s words confused the captain as he shifted on his foot with an uncertain gaze captured in his eyes.
“I tried to save the world before. I will do anything to prevent anyone from destroying what has been built here.” The captain spoke in a heavy, clear voice. His words held meaning, something the admiral struggled with even now.
“No one man should have to save the world.” Specialist Jones spoke up. “That’s how heroes are created. They’ll die to save the world.”
“Well, not much we can do about that. Not considering the stakes.” Lieutenant McCann said, a cautious gaze plastered on his face. “If we look at it from an objective standpoint, only us humans have to gain something from a war like this. Remember that the Federation’s population isn’t solely made of humans.”
“Take what you can get and create a group capable of standing against our enemies.” O’Donnell sharply ordered.
“We might just have a shot at preventing the world from entering another conflict.”
--
“Staff Sergeant.”
“Hm? It’s not like you to call me by rank.”
A soft chuckle emerged from the room. “I suppose so.”
“Right. So, tell me, how are you feeling?”
Again, a chuckle was softly heard followed by amused humming.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“I don’t know. Do I have to have a reason?”
“No.”
“Very well then. Still, you should go get some rest.”
“… I will… Thank you.”
“For what?”
“That’s for me to know.”
Publicly Available Information: Combat Joint Task Force Operational Detachment—Gold:
Also known as Gold Team, Security Detachment Gold (SDG), or Task Force Gold, CJTFOD-GOLD is a special mission’s unit that is under the command of the Federation Army. They undertake highly classified missions that primarily involve close target reconnaissance (CRT operations, advance forces operations (AFO), sabotage, amphibious reconnaissance, intelligence gathering, deep reconnaissance, direct action, and expeditionary missions among many more.
GOLD operators are selected primary from air combat divisions and special reconnaissance units. They are the best of the best, and many operators believed to be selected for the program have ‘died’ after training and integration into the unit, though it seems it is only limited to officers and command staff. The rest remain designated in their former units.
CJTFOD-GOLD is believed to be involved with operators from Project Blackbird though the two “tier one” units have completely different missions sets.