04/24/2033 - Steel Brigade Commander

In transit over Canadian Arctic

Above my head, the twin rotors of the Tomahawk beat a steady rhythm carrying us steadily north. Outside the porthole I can see cargo ships passing through Canada's Northwest Passage in transit between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. Its been a long time since I've been this far north. Long enough that Alaska was still the 50th state. Can't believe the previous administration didn't try to fight that business.

I blink at my HUD to bring up the compass. Its deviation continues as we head farther north into the Arctic Circle. Admittedly, I've only been with the team for two short weeks, but I wish they'd trust me with where we're going. This team has an 11 man command staff, and somehow, I know less than the average Sergent it seems. I guess I'm still on probation for the time being.

I adjust my helmet's view to one side to keep an eye of my seat-mates for this flight: Lifeline, my fellow Colonel and Flint, warrant officer. Clearly the two of them have known each other for some time and get along quite well. Interesting. Their personalities seem to be diametrically opposed, I can't see them having ever gotten along.

Not that it matters. So long as the team is cohesive, it doesn't matter how likely or unlikely it is.

I lean my head against the back of my helmet, contemplating the journey, listening with half an ear to their inane conversation. Something to do with trades in the NHL, can you believe it? Members of the most elite military unit ever created, and they're talking about hockey. Unbelievable. They should be more concerned with hunting down terrorists than overpaid athletes.

Then again, perhaps Dr. Steen sympathizes with his fellow overpaid egomaniacs. He did buy the Calgary Leafs or whatever they're called.

I flip off the external audio and open intel files for review. That's the way we'll catch these terrorists, not by lazing around.

-

Alert, Nunavut, Canada - Four Hours Later

The engines above my head slowly rev down as our wheels touch the icy ground. Based on how the compass is pointing, and the external terrain, it is fairly clear we're in Alert. Mind you, the big fricking sign saying "Welcome to Alert" is a bit of a clue in and of itself. Real bright idea, big blazing sign for a military installation, if anything in Canada can actually be called that. Cold War early warning system indeed. Warning the Commies where they are more like.

I activate my helmet's external speakers, "I believe the mission briefing said something about an underground hanger."

"It did," Lifeline responds, "I'm not sure where everyone is. Permafrost and Kwinn were supposed to be waiting for us."

I have to roll my eyes at this. Two guys pulled away from work to tell us where we are? What a waste of manpower. Even up here, I'm sure they have something better to do. Well, maybe not. This must be where careers go to die.

Lifeline is approaching some building, his ridiculous red parka marking him out from what I can only expect to be several kilometers away. Seriously, are we trying to attract polar bears?

I follow, reluctantly. Why doesn't someone just try the door. These shacks can't be more than a few meters on a side. And yet somehow, the idiots walk right past all the larger - if that word even applies here - buildings and make their way towards what looks like an outhouse. Now I'm not arctic expert, but why the hell would you stick an outhouse in the base rather than use indoor plumbing. They can't be that backwards up here can they? Well...they do have a beaver as a national animal.

Lifeline cracks open the door.

Well now, that's interesting. Its not an outhouse. Its an elevator. Perhaps this isn't a waste of my time after all.

"Seems to be working." This from master of the obvious, Flint.

Rolling my eyes again, I step past Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum and into the elevator.

"After you," mutters Lifeline. Whiny baby. Get on with the job.

One button. Makes things easier. I push it as the other two cram into the lift. Must not be a very large underground space if the car is this -

I feel my stomach lodge in my throat as the car fires down the shaft at speeds above free-fall. It jams to a stop 3.45 seconds later. I feel my knees pop, but both Lifeline and Flint seem to have been prepared for this. So nice of them to let me know. The doors open and I step out into an area vaguely reminiscent of the bridge of the starship Enterprise. In the middle of the room is a bear. No, not a bear, a man in a white parka shouting orders at a staff. On several screens there are ongoing firefights between men in orange prison uniforms, and soldiers in uniforms that look like greenshirts. On another off to the right is what I assume to be a schematic of the facility. I blink a couple times to take an image of the layout and then magnify it in my HUD.

This place is a lot bigger than I expected, much like the PIT. These guys really have a thing for unnecessary expense. There's no need to hide a military force. The more people see it, the more they fear it, and the more your enemy's minds do your work for you. Hiding like this just emboldens them. Why would you hide if your not afraid. But its not my place to make those decisions. At least not yet its not.

Based on the schematic, this facility should hold at least five thousand inmates, but based on the combat on the screens, only a few dozen were currently incarcerated, but they've managed to arm themselves somehow.

Lifeline brushes past my shoulder, "welcome to The Cooler. Not quite the tour I had planned."

The cooler. Interesting. Enough double meanings there to write a book or two. But again, that's not my job. What's next? The Slammer? The Base? sigh.

"What's going on here Permafrost?" Lifeline asks the guy doing to Polar Bear impression.

"What's it look like," the guy sounds like a polar bear for that matter, "jailbreak."

"Forgive me, but that's impossible."

"Wraith."

Oh, the boogieman got them out. Take some responsibility ya turd. You screwed up. Bawdily. Or, more likely, the cursory background checks you probably run up here failed you and someone let them out. And what's the warrant officer cursing about?

"Is he still here?"

Oh please don't tell me that medic-of-the-year over there actually thinks there's some spook out there ruining things? I may need to shoot the both of them and explain myself later.

"Third screen, second row."

Unbelievable. What is wrong with these peo-

Oh, that's interesting. In the middle of the third screen there's a man in armor fighting off a small squad of men. About two dozen are dead nearby.

A couple blinks activate face matching software in my hub. Oh...that's Wraith. So this team's not the only one obsessed with these stupid code names. Or perhaps they randomly assigned it to him. Not that it matters.

"What floor is he on?"

My query causes both Permafrost and Lifeline to turn. The formers head is clad in a black balaclava, hiding his expression, but the growl of his voice suggests irritation, "Who is this Lifeline?"

"Steel Brigade Commander. Mind you, we've still got to get him his Brigade, but its a work in progress."

He grunts, "so long as he can fight. Sergent Harlan, you take 3 men and hold the command center. The rest of you with me. Colonels, if your staying here keep an eye on these screens."

As if. Lead from the front. Terrorize the enemy. This man knows nothing. I sincerely hope he's not in charge here.

"Of course we're coming 'Frost," Lifeline replies, snatching an ammunition satchel and SMG from a rack.

Well, perhaps he's not completely useless as I first suspected.

"Very well then. I'm taking these men down to the dock to back up Shipwreck. We can't let these guys get a hold of a sub. You and Flint bolster the squad on the 9th level. If steel-head here wants to take on Wraith, he's welcome to head off to the 6th level."

"Another day another bunch of corpses," Flint mutters as we head out. I follow at the end of the line onto the bridge and wait as the door seals behind me. I turn to ensure that it isn't in danger of being breached. Mag Locked. Level with the wall. Good. The glass windows to the control center are shuttered. This bridge is the only access in and out, connecting to the third level of cells. Below is a 5 story drop to water below. Practical. A drop of that height would be likely to break legs on an untrained individual, and the temperature of arctic waters would prevent anyone without protective gear from surviving more than a few minutes. They would never reach the surface.

I back down to the middle of the bridge. The elevator we came down in is concealed behind a rock wall. As a matter of fact, the command center and the levels above it are part of a large rock column with their windows protected with metal shutters. There's only a single method of escape without inside help - through the control center we just left.

That raises only a single question in my mind. How did this 'Wraith' get in?

Of course, there's only a single answer to that, he had inside help.

Well, I'll just have to hunt him down too. The others have moved ahead. Further observation shows that the cell block floors are connected using stairs rather than lifts. A wise choice. And the stairs run straight from the end of the bridge up or down to the top and bottom levels. No switchbacks where traps can be laid.

Four levels above, armed inmates appear, aiming down at our forces on the bridge. I drop to one knee and prepare to return fire, but three cracks ring out from above and behind me, and the three men topple. Instinctively I turn, rather than changing the view in my HUD. near the roof the end of a sniper rifle can be seen on a ledge at the top of the command pillar.

"Nice shooting Barrel Roll!" I hear Permafrost yell. There's a name I've never heard before. Interesting. I'll have to look over the team roster again at some point. For now I have a job to do. My legs carry me to the end of the bridge and up three flights of stairs directly behind Lifeline and Flint. I drop off and head into the complex. Gunfire sounds from my right, directing me where I need to go.

Around the corner, I run into a group of greenshirts, doggedly holding off one man in a metal suit. When I saw them in the command center's screens, there were over a dozen of them. Now, only six remain, the bodies of their fellows fallen around them. Well, time for me to do my job; I raise my rifle, smile, pull the trigger...and the man disappears.

"Ah shit. Not again," says one of the men.

Again? This happens a lot?

My curiosity is cut short as the speaker's head snaps back, a bullet mangling his right eye, and probably what was once a brain behind it. Two men stand frozen in the middle of the corridor while the other three duck into cell doors on either side. Before the first two can make a move, they are scythed down by gunfire from the unseen assailant. But the muzzle flashes from his weapon give him away, and I open fire on his position.

The three survivors are equally quick. They focus their fire on him, one aiming for his current position, and the others tracking fire slightly to either side of him.

What do you know, there's actually some guys around here with brains. Lets see if they can get through this without having them splattered all over the wall.

Whatever invisibility field, or parlor tricks this guy's suit does, its got to use a tremendous amount of energy to keep up moving projections like that during combat. Switching to infrared filters.

Much better. Sucker boy is lit up like a Christmas tree. Then again, perhaps jackrabbit might have been a better comparison. I manage to barely keep my sights on him as he manages a front flip over my head, landing in a crouch behind me and taking off for the stairs.

"Ah Hell no," comes from my left. One of the greenies, tossing a grenade after him. Obviously of the anti-personnel variety as it sticks to the left arm of the fleeing target. His heat signature shimmers as he reacts, frantically trying to dislodge it. He doesn't manage in time, the force of the explosion blowing him into a side hallway just feet from the stairs.

To their credit the other three don't waste time and energy celebrating their victory and instead follow on my heals to finish him off before he manages to recover. In motion, I flip my HUD back to regular vision; foresight which is rewarded when I turn the corner. The explosion wrecked, or at least damaged his cloaking system.

I don't give him a chance to recover, simply raise my rifle and fire. My shots are joined by three other streams. Once all four trail off, I turn.

"What are your names soldiers?" I ask.

"I'm Checkpoint, that's Rook and Red Zone. Technically we haven't earned promotion to official member status, but our duties here were supposed to be our trial. Turned out to be a bit more rigorous testing than originally planned." He shrugs at me, "not that it matters either way."

Well, at least he's smart enough to recognize that. The fact that he was involved in this pathetic event at all disgusts me, but at least this trio seems vaguely competent. Perhaps a decent group to take to start training for a superior counter-terrorism force within the Joes. Something that can actually do the job that the rest of them is supposed to be able to do.

"All right. Leave the body. We'll deal with it later."

Lifeline and Flint choose this moment to come jogging around the corner. Slackers. Probably waiting for us to finish the job and then come to 'offer support'. Humph. Pathetic.

"Top three levels are cleared out," Lifeline puffs between breaths. A doctor that out of shape? Does this team even have a selection process? "I see you guys are finished here. Good work on wraith."

He approaches. No doubt planning to take credit for the kill.

Instead, he drops to a knee to check his pulse. Check his pulse? Are you...oh. The bone saw in his hand explains what he's doing as he draws it roughly through the armored man's neck. Blood spills from the severed carotid arteries, and the cartilage of his trachea cracks.

"Was that really necessary?...er...sir?" asks Red Zone. Or was that Rook. Doesn't matter.

"No, but this would be the fourth time someones said they managed to kill him. I don't want to run into him again. No matter how much lead you put into him."

Thankfully my external speakers are off, or my loud sigh would have split the air. Lead. No one's use that in bullets for a century. Does he not even know that?

"All right," Flint interrupts, "Permafrost says that most of the escapees have made their way down to the sub dock. He and Shipwreck's crew are holding them off, but they need backup when they can get it.

Idiots. A few inmates should be no match for armed guards. Pathetic.

-

Command Center; The Cooler - Five Hours later

Shockingly enough, Permafrost's incompetent security staff has managed to clear the rest of the complex, and those inmates not killed in combat have been reincarcerated. Most of the greenshirts killed were downed by this Wraith fellow. No one is willing to admit that he got in using inside help. They insist that he snuck in using his 'stealth mode' and there was no way to prevent it.

I know better, and I'll be doing my utmost to root out the traitor here.

Why? Because that's just what I do.


Code Name: Steel Brigade Commander
Subunit: Steel Brigade
File Name: CLASSIFIED
Birthplace: CLASSIFIED
Rank: O6
Primary Military Specialty: Special Forces
Secondary Military Specialty: Counter Espionage