July 23, 1998
Arkalay Mountains Training Facility
4:00 p.m.
The sound of radio static clung to the air as the black uniformed soldier fiddled with his radio. He turned the knob on top of it, and the sound dampened. The soldier unclipped the radio from his web belt and glanced at the small display. Taking the radio in his right hand, he pressed in the dark rubber call button.
"Sarge, this is Wilkins, do you copy? Over," he said into the microphone hidden behind his gasmask. His voice sounded baritone and placid.
A garbled response was returned. The only identifiable part was, "…Sarge…static…to five…" before cutting out. It took Wilkins a moment, but then he switched his radio to channel five.
"This is Wilkins, do you copy Sarge?"
"Roger that Wilkins, report your status," came the rough reply from the Sergeant.
Wilkins reported that the upstairs was clear and that the doors to the Office, Conference room, and the Art Storage were locked, all the others were unlocked and previously undisturbed. He also reported that he had found nothing of interest in the Sitting Room.
"Copy that Private, proceed to the Boiler Room and rendezvous with Majors, over."
"Roger that Sarge, over and out," Wilkins finished as he released the call button.
The side room had a few couches, a low coffee table, a broken dresser and an old fire place. It must have been quite a cozy room once, but now it was empty and suspicious. He had to walk around the table to get to the door, and as he exited the room and moved onto the balcony over the lobby, he was taken back by the sheer size of it. Even in the cloud covered afternoon, years later it still radiated authority and grandeur. Looking down over the stone railing, he could see the door which he needed to meet up with Private Majors.
Of course the squad had all been given time to examine the blueprints to get a feel for the buildings layout, but its was quite large, so no single one of them had been able to memorize to much of the map. Not too mention, it was very difficult with the cloak and dagger traps and secret doors that Umbrella seemed to always have included in some of their older structures.
From the chatter the Wilkins had picked up over the radio, teams two and three had yet to breach either the Fire or Water Motif doors. Because their orders had been to do as little damage to the structure as possible, they couldn't simply break down the door, or blast it open. Before they had left, the Sergeant had forbid them to bring any explosives or weapons that fired anything higher than a nine-millimeter round. He was lenient for the squad, as he had allowed Turner to bring a Benelli Tactical Shotgun in case they did run into anything still alive in the Facility after so many years. The rest of the squad wasn't stupid though, especially Florez, who had snuck in his fifty-caliber AE Desert Eagle in. Of course, as always, the sergeant was armed with his five-fifty-six M4a1 rifle. All together, they were as prepared as they would have been able too.
This wasn't the first time that this squad had been on a mission like this, but they knew that any place owned by Umbrella was not to be underestimated. They had survived enough encounters, signed enough forms, and had to forget enough things to make them know they would never be fully prepared, even with a platoon and an armored division. Umbrella had made monsters once, and with the mindset of making them bigger and stronger.