●　●　● Akkadia One, Eden Space Territories

Vincent walked back into his office, joined only by the sounds of the automatic doors closing behind him. By the looks of his face it was evident he had not slept for days. He took a seat back at his desk where he watched several live feeds from orbital security, one overlooking Bogota which was still overcast in the early morning’s darkness. He scrolled back and forth between one end of town and one empty clearing near Bosa, a district bordering Kennedy to the west. The Bosa clearing was marked for an Infinity drop operation. He then reached for his phone terminal and pressed a button that had been softly flashing green and spoke: “You may continue as planned. I still don’t see any buildup of anything. No heavy equipment activity, not even a tank or armored carrier to be seen.”

“We still have no idea where their armed resistance got their equipment from,” a voice responded. “They could have all of that hidden anywhere nearby.”

“But it won’t be an MBI response like last time- you can’t hide those anywhere. Their anti-infantry and vehicle outfit should suffice.”

“Leave it to command, sir. If anything, we can still rely on locals to assist. Don’t forget we’ve got binding contracts from the Galeano’s and are awaiting return responses from the Vera’s and Benitez.”

“I realize I shouldn’t be meddling in their decisions, and of course I won’t, but I can’t help but at least keep my eyes open for the duration of this launch as well. So much is at stake with the three countries that are about to go full scale with our security programs. We need all three to be fully successful if we are to be able to ramp up funding and recruitment. But if not, I fear this unrest will only grow hungrier.”  

“Speaking of needing success, sir, is now a better time to ask why you included Knight in the initial launch? She’s a complete rookie, and we could’ve sent her in on the next cleanup wave.”

Vincent hesitated before answering: “I just got this feeling we need to ride on the ones who show the most energy and promise. That’s how we were so successful last year with our work. My son and his partner showed me that I have to put my faith in those who want to go to work and let them do what they do best.” He then had flashbacks of news headlines detailing the death of his son, killed in action during the Battle of Hargrove (May 2163, Casares Territories). “But unlike then, I will better know my limits and when to stop.” He then wandered back to another map where he saw a drop pod carrier headed for SAU airspace. While still feeling hesitant, he held to his confidence in his decision. Afterall, it was Sam’s father he had worked with so closely at the end of the last war, knowing all too well of his family’s capabilities. Forgive me, Alexander. This is a gamble I hope you can understand.

▽　▽　▽  

A large freighter vessel approached a secure hub nearing an inner orbital path with the Pacific Ocean in full view. Several Akkadian naval warships stood guard as the vessel checked in, clearing security. These large checkpoints remained eyesores to most commoners as their history was marred in violence; many a destructive electromagnetic rail charges were fired from warships near this point in the previous wars, reigning destruction upon the targeted regions below. And in that last war, many of the firing ships were disguised as freighters early on, always drawing leery eyes from Earth-born passersby.

The freighter approached a dock where it transferred the large, capsule shaped pod it had been carrying to the main frame of the dock. Just behind it was a smaller passenger ferry that pulled up to the same dock’s main frame. Inside, Sam awaited the signal to stand and deboard. She let out a nervous sigh, looking out the window to watch the main docking frame pass by slowly. It’s been ages since I’ve been by here. This is where Isaiah made his marks all those years back. Upon hearing the chime, she took her earphones out and prepared to unbuckle.

“A bit scared?” a strong yet soft voice in a thick Scottish accent came from the seat across the narrow aisle from her. The younger red-haired man with a clean-cut beard looked her way as he continued: “Joe Burnley. I reckon I seen ya from the SRC before, signing your papers. You hittin’ Earth for the first time?”

“I’ve been. But only to London and Paris when I was little. How about you?” Sam politely responded, hiding the urge to tell him off, thinking he might be someone she needs to get to know and be on good terms with.

“Ah, I’m from Edinburgh myself. Scotland. Did all my training in Akkadia, though. You from there?”

“Yes, born and raised.”

The man began chuckling with a smile that made Sam quite uncomfortable. “Well, well, things are more fun on Earth. You took your bone density supplements, but I hear your space type take more than a week to adjust. I heard the trick is to drink fruit juice with them to make them work better. Have you heard?”

What the hell? Are they letting just any idiot in these days? Sam immediately turned away in offense. She knew to stay quiet, but couldn’t resist the urge on this one, turning back to him. “Calcium uptake is inhibited by the acid in fruit juice, but thanks for the attempted bad advice, prick.”

“Oh my, such a firecracker,” he continued to chuckle in amusement, further angering Sam. “Keep up that attitude and the Colombians will have more than a new addition to their street girls.” As he laughed harder, he could see the anger in her eyes quite clearly now, ready to snap back. His eyes then wandered below the neck. “Oh, you got the package alright, I bet you’d draw them a pretty penny!” Before she lunged, he quickly returned a glare full strength.

“You think I’m an arsehole. Perhaps, but if you go in this soft, you’re fucked, love. I’ve been on three security runs through Dhaka, one of the hottest spots on Earth at the moment and would hate seeing people with supposed talent like you smeared all over the asphalt. You’re a Knight, right? Yeah. Get off your intelligent PC high horse and develop some skin. If you are scared now, get angry instead. Helps take the nerves off. Helps you stay more alert in the right ways. I like for my teammates to be angry. I saw nothing in you to get you that way, so maybe I did the job?”

Sam couldn’t come up with a response, too befuddled to do more than let out a confused breath as they all felt the ferry come to a halt. Her eyes instinctively had her looking outside, but when she turned back the other way to respond, his seat was already vacated. She quickly grabbed her bag and filed out along with everyone else. What the hell kind of team am I really boarded up with? Am I supposed to take what he said for real?

She along with the rest in line made their way to their seats in a debriefing room where dozens more filed in from multiple hallways, all having come from several different boarding locations. As she got herself situated in her chair, she looked up and noticed the Scotsman across the room from her as he sent her a wink. She looked back ahead as two other men sat next to her. She did happen to notice there were not many women in the room, either.

“Attention Infinity crewmen and women,” a female officer called over the speaker as she looked upon the gathered crowd. She looked to be in her early thirties, wearing badges showing her experience piloting from the previous war. Her bright orange-red hair ran straight midway down her back, tied up just enough to not get in the way.

That’s Marian Channing. She was one of the few Confed pilots who got the Harbinger tag. Who’d have thought she was working here in space?

“As you know, our drop zone is Colombia’s capital. Bogota is currently under the leadership of a government that largely allows itself to be instead governed by five ruling mobs. They are locally known as Familias, and I need you to familiarize yourselves with some names I am about to give you.” As she spoke, images of each important organization and their people showed up on large screens.

“‘La Familia Galeano’ has attempted to make the first payment, but they were intercepted and now refuse to pay unless they are able to meet up directly for a hard transfer. They have been very accommodating and have promised full cooperation, but we need this payment transfer to succeed in addition to providing full security across the major targeted Downtown areas. You should have already studied the target areas by now. The people you need to seek contact with ASAP are the Navarre’s, veteran paramilitary members who have the most experience of their group with La Familia Galeano. Renzo and Sebastian Navarre are the only LTAC equipped men they have, which means LTAC crew need to seek them out first when establishing contact. All others need to seek out Daniela Navarre who is in charge of ground crew activity. Support crew especially needs to link up with her to continue determining the best logistic plans. The only other information you need to be updated with is the following: La Familia Rocha is off limits – do not by any means allow yourselves to communicate with anyone from that group or their paramilitary. Immediately alert anyone of their presence. The other news is that a Rocha-led attack on both a major police headquarters and on a Galeano-owned compound had just occurred recently, so everyone will be on edge. Keep close to each other and stay sharp for wanderers.”

Where have I heard that little line from before? I feel like I’ve heard that explained to me before by someone in the family.

As she closed her announcement another directing officer took her place as he spoke up: “Once you get your final schedule adjustments delivered, load up. We are departing by 0430 hours at latest. Director Channing’s crew will follow her to station one, and everyone else follows me to station two.”

Some minutes had passed after Sam watched her schedule fill up. She saw their landing coordinates, her core pilot crew of six listed, and their report priorities show up on screen. Shit, they put me with Burnley. Of all people to put as my squad commander, she thought in reference to the pilot she encountered earlier. After a few focused glances at the other names, she put her communicator away and shouldered her bag, making her way for station one. As she passed through the main gate she felt as if Officer Channing from earlier was watching her. She pretended not to notice as it was a crowded hallway, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. Not long after boarding the pod, each member stopped by several cutouts in the path where they stepped into space suits designed for travel between Earth and Space.

“Departure for Bogota landing zone in T minus eight minutes.”

Nervousness set back in as she locked in her restraints where she was seated, looking once more across the way to see Burnley from earlier, still grinning like before. He was one of the six pilots sitting in their chamber. Everyone around them seemed to be chatting it up except for her, but as the countdown neared zero the conversations slowed to a halt.

▽　▽　▽  

The drop pod raced through the sky, blazing towards the surface like a meteorite, leaving a trail of thick steam behind it. As the flames started to fade, the pod began to pick up its nose, angling away from the ground. As the approach angle leveled off enough, smaller pods were released from the main frame as each went into a temporary free fall before allowing their parachutes to deploy. After their paths were stabilized, fins extended from the containers as to keep their path straight. “All crew, silent check in,” Officer Channing spoke over the radio.

Sam reached for her left shoulder harness where her communicator was attached, clicking a large button three times.

“Hitting outskirts of the Bosa district in less than a minute. Prepare for anti-impact thruster charges. Get your helmets off and un-suit as soon as the belts are off. We have to get the payment delivered safely to us first, then we will reroute and rendezvous with the Navarre’s.”

●　●　● Bogota, Colombia

The three pilots of the cloaked LTACs disguised in the forested hillside saw from their camp the smoke trails left by the incoming drop pods. The one pilot sitting near the detection equipment looked back at his main screen once more before looking up to the sky again with his viewfinder. “They’ve changed course. Damn it, someone changed their course. They jutted away from the airport landing zone and are now headed south of there. The welcoming party won’t be ready. What the hell is going on?” he grumbled as he hurried over to his LTAC, still cloaked as it was the day before. “Don’t tell me it’s who I think it is.”

“Reap’, hold up!” one of the other two pilots shouted as he stood up. “We can’t just move out yet!”

“No, no, I need to confirm something,” he said as he connected his headset to his main system’s terminal, watching the screens as logged messages began streaming in. His left chest pocket had a call sign nameplate that read “Reaper”. His eyes were pale blue, his hair jet black and slightly unkempt, and his face not shaven in days. He let out a troubled sigh as he disconnected the cable. “I figured so. Cable swung them off course and didn’t log any of the code changes with Hexa. She’s got her reasons, I’m sure, but we will have to play this one by ear until she makes contact with us.” He then adjusted the channel encryption on his headset and began to speak. “Cable off course. Adjusting to position after touchdown. Will send in Rocha’s cells immediately after confirming their 6-6-18 package numbers. We will fall in to sweep up as needed.”

“I’d expect this is their one and only attempt, Reaper,” the digitally distorted voice spoke from the other side. “Make sure of it. Don’t leave any survivors or anyone who would wish to ever return.”

“Copy. Moving out with Revenant and Requiem shortly.” Reaper disconnected his equipment while motioning to the other two. The one who spoke earlier wore the tag “Revenant” on his left chest pocket. His features were that of Middle Eastern descent along with tightly parted short black hair and hazel eyes. His demeanor gave off an aura of caution and meticulousness which could be noted in the way he packed away their camp equipment in a quick, orderly, but quiet manner.

The other, who looked of Israeli descent with much shorter, tighter curled brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a cleanly maintained goatee, donned the chest pocket tag “Requiem,” and he had a calmer demeanor as he took his time neatly packing away the loaded camp equipment. All three men were of the same late-twenties age range by appearance. All the while, the approaching drop pod grew larger in size and noise as it approached into clear view, causing them to pause momentarily to look up. “No rush. Let’s not attract any local’s attention.”