[Val Verde]

[December 2019]

—

I had just returned back to the homeland, and yet I was already out and about.

The car ride was, in a kind word, bumpy. The jungle roads were ‘poorly’ maintained, and only the craziest of people came out here anymore.

The old XM211 trucks were an oddity. Relics from WW2 that were still in service. Cheap vehicles that transported soldiers across decades of service.

On the side of the canvas that covered the back, was the emblem of my mercenary group, Jade Falcons. It covered the fact that underneath the fabric was 5mm of steel. Designed to protect the soldiers riding it.

I often wondered what was actually left of the original vehicle. The heavy utility vehicles had regular service that included retrofits.

Modern features replaced old things. After so many decades, the original engineers would not recognize it. Little remained of the original 6x6 that rolled off the assembly lines so long ago.

Even if it need constant retro fits, like extra defensive plating and ‘modern’ engines, it was still a reliable transport today. If funny looking as the mismatched paint coats, and rust stains gave it a jalopy effect.

The golden age of service for these machines was over. A fact that that didn’t escape my mind as we ran over a large pot hole. The vehicle shook hard enough that I feared we had hit some sort of land mine.

In contrast, the soldiers they carried had only modern weapons and gear. Protective armor. High tech communication and information HUD. Energy guns linked to a power pack. The best I could buy as we rolled around the world.

We were elite soldiers. Leftovers from a time where ‘tomorrow only promises greatness’. We had a lot of trained soldiers, but not a lot of industry. I, and my men, were moved towards making money. We had to try to support a dying country.

I looked over the my fellow soldiers. Many of them were from the classes right after me. Trained by the old methods, and bloodied by war. I trusted them with my life.

The crackling on my headset had me shifting focus.

[Targets identified. Marking,] the scout squad leader said as he began to relay the information.

My helmet’s computer took in the information, and flagged the relevant location. A hundred and fifty meters.

[Slow down. We will roll forward and then move on foot at 50 meters,] I ordered and the driver gave me his affirmative.

The truck slowed to a slow cruising speed. Faster then foot, but would keep the sound down.

I watched as the approaching target began to click down. 150. 100. 50.

The eight trucks all slowed to a stop. I hoped that we remained undetected as the loud screeches of brakes felt unusually loud. I tapped my communication button.

[All units, disembark and move up. Break into your fireteams, and move in. I want prisoners,] I ordered and I heard the thump of fist onto their protected chests.

The soldiers moved out of the back, as the driver parked and released the ramp for quicker deployment. The truck co-pilot moved through the cabin’s back door. Then up to the energy gun mounted to the roof.

My command squad formed up as my feet touched the ground. I stared at the assembly of soldiers before. War veterans that followed me through hell and back. Nearly a hundred soldiers here that formed my elites.

I snapped my fingers and they dispersed into the forest.

This was like the old hide and seek games we played during secondary school, and during first service.

Move carefully. Move quickly. Move as a team.

The ‘Type 34 Wolfpeltz’ power armor made movement inhumanly smooth. After a decade of service, these boys and girls were like ghosts as they made their way towards the target.

They were my children who had trained with the gear for years. It was like a second skin to everyone who used it. Though it was not bleeding edge tech anymore, it was still more then sufficient to deal with anything but the best super heroes.

The gear was well tested. We hopped around military hot spots as reliable mercenaries, and kept our losses to a minimum. Unlike Hydra, I had no intention of just sending my children off to death.

For those who received honorable discharges for term served, many had gone off to regular lives with regular jobs. Trades. Farming. Civil works. Bureaucrats.

Yet the world had turned on Val Verde after Hydra. Trade embargoes had been settled down like anchors to a ship. A ship that somehow had a dozen such weights.

Without the ability to easily export our goods, we focused on what we could.

Farming was the new prioritized occupation as Val Verde was spiraling into famine. We did not have the spare funds to import food en mass. A gift from the international warlord, Bane.

The crazed man had set off massive dust clouds made up of several tons of cremains. The ground up bones of a cremated body. These dust were settled onto farmland, and then ingrained with the rain.

Thus, Val Verde slowly began to starve. Our forces weakened, and Bane waltzed right into the Mourning Mountains to use as his personal base of operations.

Emergency calls for military had surged up. Instead of fighting off the crazed bastards, many of us were shipped off to foreign lands in exchange for money. To claw for every dollar in war zones.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The closest mainlands, South America and the Caribbeans demanded high prices for food. They knew we were in a tight spot. We bought what we could, and then tried to ration the rest.

Other nations, such as Cuba, bought our metals for cheap, and then resold it at a higher price. They felt that it was a wonderful exchange. Something that was true since we couldn’t even fight for better rates. Who else was going to buy embargoed resources for fair prices?

The newest threat, aside from starvation, came in the form of drugs and their dealers. Santa Prisca natives that were setting up shop in the country. Drugs began to circulate. The people suffering found an outlet, and embraced it wholesale.

We had mobilized after we investigated. It all stemmed from somewhere in the northern Mourning Mountains. Around the old Cobra run ‘American’ Hama Pharmaceuticals.

The cursed mountain of devastation that saw both Cobra, and Hydra fail. Their man made buildings demolished, and sent the leaders fleeing the isolated island of Val Verde. The land where I had lost Carmen, and so many fellow countrymen.

Then the Supreme Leader died. Along with his cabinet via boardroom explosion. Which meant that I had freedom to get involved.

[Visuals confirmed. Eight males. We are holding positions,] a voice came in. I blinked twice as my mind shifted.

I waited until the other squads all settled.

Ten squads would move in. Twelve squads would be waiting in case they broke the initial encirclement.

With the last confirmation, I looked over to the left and I saw the group of soldiers. The Electronic Combat Team.

They had antennas on their power packs, and helmets. The squad had set up various a tall antenna on a heavy tripod. White cylinders stuck out into the air.

I have them a thumbs up, and they hit some buttons on the wired controller. A thin humming noise began, and the crew nodded as they checked their readings.

In turn, the other two ECT squads would pick up the first signs of jamming, and activate their own devices.

They gave me a thumb up back. We were good to go. The area was now locked down and no digital communication would be possible. Only super geniuses like Stark and his friends would be able to break through.

[This is the soldiers of Val Verde. Give yourself up!] I ordered via the loud speaker built into my suit.

“Go fuck your mother!” came the loudest reply. The man's words screamed as the rapid cracks of a sub-machine guns broke the silence of the forest.

I watched as a random round pinged off the shoulder of my unlucky second in command. The armor held up flawlessly. The small round left neither a dent, nor a scratch.

In turn, Candice pointed to our tallest member of the squad.

Alek hefted her standard issue, light machine gun. The energy weapon connected to the power pack mounted onto her backs. The scary part was that Alek could lift the gun with raw muscle power.

Alek she walked off to the side. She moved with the soft hiss of her t-4 exoskeleton frames. She took a moment to steady herself as her HUD showed her target.

The outline showed that it was a rusted shipping container. The data from the drones was clean and easy to read. The dense thermal outlines of the people inside made them easier to kill.

Alek aimed, and opened fire. The rapid pulse of repeating pew sounds filled the air. Her shots garnered return fire. Bullets came flying past but only found foliage or trees.

Her assault came to an end as her gun hit its thermal limits. She then pivoted and walked back to us.

We then watched a torrent of bullets scattered into the general area. Then it happened again as they finished reloading.

Alek didn’t kill anyone. She wasn’t supposed to.

The other squads moved in. With nice underhand tosses, they threw a dozen of the support grenades.

The clouds of white smoke began to fill the air as the knockout gas from several canisters did their jobs. Our suit's respiration system filtered out the chemicals.

Like ghosts, the first squads moved in. Their matte black forms would have been intimidating, if they saw it. Instead the defenders of the shack did not react as my men dragged them out.

The dozen living natives of Santa Prisca got tied up and brought over to me. I waited for them to wake up. The gas had some variations on individuals, but it was quick to act, and quick to degrade.

I motioned for the ECT to turn off the jamming. With this, my mission was a success. The step would be interrogation and information games.

Within moments I got another thumbs up. Digital signals were clear now.

[All squads, move in and search the area. I want to find anything of value,] I ordered and then relaxed as I squatted down.

They began to wake up.

The sight of black armored, faceless soldiers must have been a touch unsettling. As one, they began to scream. Their yells got worse as they realized they were bound.

I waved to get their attention, and they began to calm down.

“The game is simple. I ask questions. You answer,” I began.

“Fuck you! And fuck your grandmother!” a familiar voice screamed out in the middle.

I nodded to myself, and clapped my hands twice. “You win! Alek, please show him what he has won!”

The tall woman moved once more. She cracked her knuckles as she made it to the mouthy bastard.

The man laughed. His voice was cocky, but a bit strained.

The heavy, muscular woman showed off her power as she picked up the man in the middle. She moved with grace as she hauled him over to the side, and away from everyone else.

In turn, I walked up as I pulled out my special gun. The leftover prototype was a test weapon. A attempt to mass produce one of Heat Wave’s flamethrower gun.

There was other attempts with Captain Cold, and Mister Freeze. Those were still locked up in the armory. For today, I felt that fire was the way to go.

“Lets try… 10 seconds,” I said as I aimed the funny looking cylinder pistol. It was still twice the size of the villain’s weapon, but it worked very well.

A visible ray of heat spread out and covered the man. He screamed as the temperature went from a daytime warm 35 Celsius, to a blistering 250 Celsius.

For myself, it was a short moment. I squeezed the trigger. Yet for the terrorist, I understood that it was an eternity. I had burned my hand on the stove once when I was but a boy.

The contact must have been for two or three seconds. Yet I still recall the feeling of time stopping.

His sobs were all that remained. His bravado stripped away. The red skin made him look like a lobster. Blisters formed, and a few had popped, leaking blood and plasma.

I turned around. The four stared at me. Two had wet themselves as I saw the stains grow. My filtration system luckily kept out smells.

“Where is your main base?” I asked as I pulled the trigger again. The man’s screams were shrill this time. He had no fresh skin to protect himself.

The attack lasted but two seconds. The man dissolved into broken Spanish sentences.

He was begging me to stop.

Two of the men began to speak in rapid fire Spanish. I knew enough to get by, but their dialect was making it rough.

I turned to Candice. She moved up and pointed to each person as she asked questions. She was such a nice woman. In the last decade she had taken interest in foreign cultures, and now spoke several languages.

“They are saying… its around…” Candice mumbled as she exchanged more words. They answered. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“It sounds like the old mines used to harvest nickel. Most of it went into the Flying Fortress,” she summarized via helmet speaker. [We also found a small truck full of MRE.]

We both gulped as the idea of food. Even MREs was delicious. The shortage was hurting everyone. The regular people hurt the most. As an active military officer, I got an extra ration, but that only meant two per day.

[If possible, save enough for one for each of the Falcon. Set the rest aside for the orphans,] I ordered, and Candice nodded.

The nickle mines. I had studied the maps enough to know that it was only a hundred clicks or so north, north east. It would take us into the base of the Mourning Mountains.

Candice then moved away. She talked to a few newcomers. Then turned around and confirmed what little information found. A map with a circle drawn around the nickel mines.

I looked over to my ECT squad.

[Inform the other captains. Nickel mine is where they are. Tell our scouts to move out first.]

They main man gave me a thumbs up and got to work.

[Round everyone up. We are going to move up a hundred clicks. Then wait for the scouts to confirm,] I said as I looked over at Candice.

She gave me a salute.

Everyone began and I had a moment. In distant mountains, clouds hovered over the infamous peaks of Val Verde.

—

Chapter 05: The Jade Falcons