In the green NVIS light that filled the cramped cargo compartment, I could make out the eight other monsters surrounding me. They looked ferocious, with the terrifying fanged skulls painted on the oxygen masks, and demonic 4-tubed NVGs hiding their eyes. All aspects of their humanity, and my humanity, are hidden under a hundred pounds of battle rattle and HALO gear.
They call me Phoenix. I am a warrior. I do the things you don't like to think about so you can have the safety to not like what I do. And today, I'm doing something you really won't like.
I'm sweating bullets, sucking in pure, dry oxygen from my back. Normally I like to read, or sleep while en route to our missions, but not today. I take a deep breath, count to four, and breathe out.
The faint sound of Clearwater Redemption's Fortunate Son plays in the background, fighting to be heard over the sound of the engine, wind and propeller. The song is always played by Regulator, my team's breaching expert, whenever we fly in choppers.
I glance at my watch, it reads 0257 l.t. Only 3 mikes until jump. I quadruple check my gear.
To an outsider, everything looks like a typical clandestine operation, but we all know it is in anything but.
First off, rather flying than our usual MC-130J, we're riding in a much smaller aircraft: the Mi-25Z. This unique craft of Russian design combines the firepower of a gunship with a small cargo compartment. Upgrading it with stealth technology, and improved armament, it can now pierce the air defense of our target country with ease, and provide CAS if our monster hunt goes south. Although capable of carrying 10, highly cramped, warfighters, we fit 9 in: 2 door gunners, and half our usual combat unit. Gold, my fireteam, are in the second chopper. Our brothers, Silver, the Recon/Sniping team are in the first helo, about 30 mikes ahead. They will paint the secondary targets for the Hellfire missiles, and get an overwatch position for the bullseye.
Unfortunately, we're going in juggernaut style. To a man, we are decked out in heavy yet impenetrable AR500 steel rifle plates, with riot gear styled soft armor encasing every limb, complete with bulletproof gloves, shinguards, and groin protection. Normally we like to go light, utilizing just composite plates. To blend into the night, we wear Krypton Typhon black camo, and wear advanced NVGs equipped with thermal abilities.
The rounds in our weapons are specialized: the casings are cased telescoped (meaning they're lighter and easier to carry), and the bullets are Armor Piercing, High Explosive, Incendiary. These viscous types of bullets, while shunned by weaker men, are almost exclusively used by the warriors in American forces.
In addition to the heavier arms and armor, we are equipped with Google Glass-esque goggles, Less Lethal underbarrel dart launchers, C4 explosives, and Roman Gladius-style, Kevlar piercing swords strapped to our backs.
This mini arsenal is not for a person. No, it is to take down a being endowed with super abilities. A monster. This individual has unlimited cryokinetic power. I.e. control over ice and snow. This doesn't sound like much, but she has proven her destructive capabilities and terrifying tendencies. She is entirely capable of freezing entire oceans, and there is a rumor that it can create sentient creatures of ice. We call her Jadis, Killer Frost or the White Witch. You probably have seen the news and will recognize the title "Snow Queen." Our target is new Queen Elsa of Arendelle, and her death will mean the life of humanity.
As contractors of the PMC NightRidge, we can choose our missions. Yes, we are hired killers, but we follow a code of honor. On every job that we take, we vote to accept the mission when potential customers try to hire our talents. We evaluate the risk and reward alright, but we always debate the morals of the job. Today's mission, when the Duke of Weselton contacted us, was extremely close. The vote count- 7:6, barely passing. But the citizens of Northern Europe were starving and in danger.
I still voted no. I am against killing the young queen before trying diplomatic avenues are tried. But we are a go. I am a Manumitter. I. Do. Not. Fail.
Someone taps my helmet, jarring me out of my thoughts. I'm closest to the ramp, only one person sits next to me. It must be my best friend and mentor Thor, a mountain of a man. I turn my head to the left, my neck popping. He gives a questioning thumbs up. I nod and signal "OK" with my gloved hands.
When he flashes a Shaka, I grin and flip him the bird. I see him laugh and he slaps my helmet again.
With a short buzz of a bell, the jump light turns green. We all stand up. The music in the background is changed to the rather fitting Jump! By Two Steps From Hell. The rapid beats increase my adrenaline rush. The ramp lowers. Is it always this painfully slow? No, just today. I try to breath calmly from my canned air. The ramp opens, my portal to oblivion. The two door gunners signal to jump. Without a pause, I dive into the empty void.