CHAPTER THREE
Romeo-Sierra

The world was phosphor green and sickly monochrome through the night vision goggles.

Stars pinwheeled above Latvian woodlands as Rainbow trekked the foothills. Overhead, nature met Soviet relic: a dilapidated airfield with a small runway, a hangar, a two-story living quarters, and a background of pines and aspens. Upmala-14, as the erstwhile Latvian Soviet Socialist Republic had called it, saw no more military action or Government use after the USSR's fall, mostly because of its odd geographical location— by the river in the heart of a rolling forest. The airfield maintained a silent decay until the European Inner Circle used it for gun-running operations and other crimes under the sun. They have erected wooden watchtowers and constructed a few more tents, and their lights were warm against the nightly fog.

Eliza "Ash" Cohen and her four comrades had been briefed about Upmala-14, but no one had yet taken a good look, satellite imagery aside. Tonight was the night Rainbow would see the airfield with their own eyes.

"Two heartbeats detected, behind the hill," Pulse said, peering through his HB-5 Cardiac Sensor.

Ash motioned everyone to stop, then to fan out as they climbed over the grassy mound. Mounting her rifle on a boulder, she saw two men looking toward the airfield, unaware of Rainbow's presence.

"IQ, take out the one on the left," Ash said. "On two."

The countdown ended. Her finger slipped on the trigger and a silent burst from the muzzle came, in time with her friend. The two enemies crumpled to the ground; their beanies spattered with crimson. NATO's clearance to kill was realized in half a second.

Rainbow advanced. Their Russian marksman, Timur Glazkov, stepped over the corpses and installed his OTs-03 sniper rifle on a fallen tree trunk nearby, crosshairs aimed at the watch tower's compartment. The enemy scout guarded the wrong direction, oblivious to the first casualties. Glaz held his breath and fired.

The night-shift watcher, with blood spurting from his neck, tumbled over the railing and fell to his death.

Emmanuelle Pichon, callsign Twitch, saw her fair share of marksmanship over the years. Ash patted her shoulder; two enemies emerged from the hangar! The men bantered and laughed with each other, drunkenly mumbling something in a foreign language.

Twitch crouched, looking through her FAMAS's red dot sight, as Ash slinked closer. The Frenchwoman shot the man on the right, and Ash hurriedly knocked out the other man with the butt of her rifle, wasting no time. They had to leave someone alive.

Next, Twitch pulled out her shock drone and immersed herself in the wrist-mounted user interface. The drone whirred into life and rolled into the hangar. Maneuvering under barricades, she saw five tangos on their slow-footed drudgery. One climbed aboard a Piper PA38 civilian utility aircraft and started the engine, filling the airfield with a low, rumbling sound. Someone's leaving.

"Five targets inside the hangar. One started a plane." Twitch furrowed her eyebrows. "My hardware is glitching."

"Move forward. We can't let that plane take off," Ash said, now ready to breach in. At this point, Glaz and Pulse had broken off the main gang and headed to the living quarters to snuff out the last enemies. Bravo Team had it easy, facing off against soundly-sleeping tangos.

Ash opened the door slowly, back against the wall.

"Andris, kur tu biji?"

Her eyes narrowed. Ash kicked the door open, blitzed into the room, and planted two bullets on his forehead before the enemy could react. The man fell with a thud, but no one heard it. IQ and Twitch followed their de-facto leader in the compartment and stacked near the doorway to the main hangar. Peeking revealed a space with minimal cover and a plane preparing for take-off.

Ash took inventory. Five targets. One in the plane, one loading cargo, and the rest watching over the operation. She hurled a flashbang to the hangar with her squad ready to breach in.

An ear-piercing explosion blasted the enemies, blinding their vision into shock and daze. Rainbow spilled in with cunning skill and precision, and the bodies dropped one-by-one. Thwoop, thwoop, thwoop! Then only two were left: the cargo loader and the pilot.

The cargo loader dropped a box of electronics and raised his hands, but the pilot had more sinister plans. He slipped out of the plane, on the other side where Rainbow could not eye a clear shot. IQ saw the gap between fuselage and concrete and shot the pilot's foot. He stumbled and writhed in pain. Twitch rounded the corner and finished him.

"I give up, don't shoot!" the cargo-loader pleaded, but no one understood. Ash tackled him to the ground and cuffed his hands with no great effort.

Just in time, her radio crackled. It was Glaz.

"We're done. Four targets in custody, one KIA. Tried to blow the whole place up."

"We're done too. AO is clear."

It was over. With a sigh of relief, Ash leaned against the wing and said, "Can someone stop that fucking engine?"

Twitch shrugged. "I told you we should've brought Jager with us."

IQ wandered in the middle of the hangar, blue eyes glued to a wrist-mounted screen. The pixels jittered with all kinds of unpleasant colors that proclaimed a glitch in the motherboard and central processing unit. A red bar hung over the display. That meant the VRAM— all 15 gigabytes of it— could not handle any more input! She squinted at the mess of colors, then gasped behind her balaclava.

"Team! Something's wrong with my Spectre," she said.

Twitch looked over IQ's shoulder with a curious face. "I have the same problem. The interference in this place is insane…"

"Phone's glitching," Ash joined them. "Might be a signal jammer. I'll let the Latvian police check it out."

IQ shook her head, leaning closer to her Mark III Spectre. "I see multiple electronic signatures… underground."

The three women looked at each other.

Rainbow had to investigate, and investigate they did. By the time they discovered a metal hatch jutting on a grassy knoll a few feet behind the hangar, the faint chops of helicopter blades drew near. The Latvian National Armed Forces had arrived. Ash ignored them. No, something was lurking underground— something the Inner European Circle's Latvian Cell did not want anyone to see.

With a heave, they opened the hatch. A steel ladder snaked through the depths, and at the end, pale light spilled on the floor.

Ash dropped a drone, but when she looked through the viewing port, it only showed her static, like IQ's Spectre and Twitch's wrist-mounted screen. They have to investigate. That was the mission, but it could all end in disaster…

If someone was waiting for them…

Pulse had scanned the ground earnestly, but it couldn't help. Either the strong electrical interference of Upmala-14 messed up the cardiac sensor or it could not see that far underground. Didn't matter what it was, Ash thought. She was going in blind.

Ash took a deep breath, composed herself, and held her R4-C. On the first step down, she hesitated.

She gripped her rifle tighter. One step closer.

Her heart raced. It almost jumped out her chest when a piercing high-pitched noise tore through her ears. Her headset glitched! Quickly, she turned down the volume knob of the screeching thing and caught her breath. It was as though the sound had carved a piece of her brain.

At the last few steps, she readied her weapon and jumped off, landing on the floor. There were no stragglers— but what she saw shook her to the core!

Under fluorescent utility lights, a mix of both new and Cold War era computers lined up the walls. She saw wiring— lots of wiring. They crawled and draped around the place like wild vines in the jungle. At the center of it all was a mess of thick wires and motherboards and transistors and batteries and more. It was a ball of hardware, and when she drew near, the red dot sight of her rifle died.

This must be what's causing the interference. It almost rendered her speechless. On top of the thing was a generator sparking with raging blue electricity. This cable-ridden capsule must contain something deadly. A bomb?

Twitch stepped down behind. A wave of bewilderment dawned on her face. "Mon dieu… W-What is this?"

"A WMD," Ash wanted to say. It reminded her of the Iraqi beach ball, a nuclear implosion device contained within a metal sphere the size of a washing machine.

She walked deeper in the underground facility, past the consoles, the computers, and the mysterious capsule, until pure darkness stared back at her.

When she turned on the lights, she was speechless for the second time…

There were rows upon rows of the same device, cloned in the dozens. A gallery of weapons that left its destructive capability to the imagination!


Westbound on I-64, Matthew enjoyed a sort of fleeting freedom. The road may only go two ways, but he drove for himself. His phone slept soundly in his pocket, and there was no hide nor hair of the CIA.

Mary Fuller waited for him in her new home in Lexington, Kentucky. Three months ago, she married prestigious lawyer Bruce Anderson inside the Cathedral of the Assumption, where Matthew could not go. Of course, he could not attend a wedding when he was knee-deep in the muddy forests of Cauca, Colombia.

Now, Matt had the time to make up for his absence. He had to be there for Mary's birthday, even if it meant spending six hours on the lonely highways.

Perhaps he could make a detour to North Carolina and meet his family who missed him dearly, but that was a trip for another time. Just thinking about his life before the Agency washed Matthew with a sense of hard-hitting nostalgia.

Merging onto I-75, and finally entering Georgetown Road, Matthew pulled to a stop. Fabulous high-end homes lined the street like wedding cakes in a baker's window. A guard opened a metal gate that led to the Anderson residence, luxurious to boot. Several cars were parked near the estate. He positioned his Crown Vic under a big oak tree, took a deep breath, and turned off the engine.

The mansion rested on the foundation of finest woods and ostentatious stonework, framed perfectly by lush hedges and a central fountain. As Matthew passed by an inferno-red Lexus LFA, a gardener greeted him. He waved back.

Matthew knocked on the cocobolo door, fixed his shirt, and straightened his back a bit. He was half disappointed when it opened to reveal a medium-build bald man with a scowl. That scowl turned to a grin when he saw Matthew's gift wrapped with a neat bow.

"Honey, your friend's here!" he called out. "What's up, man?"

Mary appeared behind him, giddy as a schoolgirl. She pulled her childhood friend— who was maybe surprised at the affection— into a deep hug. "Hey, you came!"

"Congratulations, you two. Sorry I couldn't be in Louisville," Matthew said. "Happy birthday, Mary."

Mary looked a bit different now, but in many ways, she was the same girl he met before mid-school, years before that fateful day in the autumn of 2001.

Matthew placed the gift on the table. The expensive gift-wrapped perfume he bought in Virginia joined the mountain of presents for Mary, on her first birthday as a married woman.

"Party's outside. There's cake!" Bruce said.

Matthew flashed a polite smile and followed the couple to the backyard, then he soon realized it wasn't a normal backyard. It was a large, luxurious expanse of private property. There were patios, gazebos, and a large circular pool in the midst of it all, surrounded by marble tiling. People sprawled around the area drinking sparkling champagne, and Mary's father, now an aging fellow, flipped barbecues on the electric grill.

"Wow," Matthew said.

"Took me a while to get used to, too." Mary smiled. "It's a long way from North Carolina."

Indeed, it was. In Kentucky, Mary finally settled down, of all places— but Matthew was still a lone highwayman, chasing something.

"Matt, I've missed you. A lot," she said. "I… Well… How are you? How's your family?"

"About as good as can be expected," Matthew said. It was the truth. "My family's doing great. Dad's retired, Mom's still cooking. Claire's a brain surgeon now, can you believe it?"

"Little Claire? Claire, who's afraid of blood? Who hates dentists?"

Matthew chuckled. "Yep, that Claire."

"Amazing! I have to hit her up sometime. Oh, and Jake?"

"Same old. He's still studying medicine, but he's getting there."

Mary nodded. "And what about you?"

Matthew frowned. Anything that comes out of his mouth next would not make Mary happy. "I'm an analyst…"

"Like a business analyst?" Mary said. "That's great! I mean, I didn't expect you to take up that kind of job but—"

"Nothing like that. It's… complicated."

"Oh." Mary went silent, then shot a glare at him. "God, are you working for the government!?"

Matthew nodded.

She made a face and shook her head in disgust.

"Just an analyst?"

Matthew mentally winced. "Of course, Mary. Just an analyst."

He half-expected that Mary would turn a cold shoulder and make the rest of the party awkward, effectively making his trip a little less worth it, but she sighed, like a disappointed mother.

"You're still… doing it. Right?"

Matthew asked himself the same question. He looked at the mansion, the pools, the guests, and then looked at Mary.

"You moved on," Matthew said, "but I didn't."

She wasn't there, Matthew thought. She wasn't in Iraq.

Years ago, Mary mourned the death of Charles Dawson, her childhood sweetheart, her lover for many years, and Matthew's best friend and captain in the Marine Corps. The three grew up together from elementary to college, and they were as inseparable as paint and glue. Before his deployment, Dawson said he will put a ring on Mary's finger when he returns, and everyone knew about it.

Mary did not witness Dawson's death. No, she was inside her home in North Carolina when that text message came. But Matthew knew how his best friend died— bleeding, chapped lips, bloodied helmet, pale as a ghost, barely able to speak as he took his last breath.

Mary did not serve in the Marines, detesting every second of war and death. Matthew vowed to find the man who caused the electromagnetic pulse blast that killed Dawson, while Mary moved on, the pain subsiding year after year until it didn't hurt anymore.

And Mary certainly did not work for an organization she hated, but Matthew did. He joined the CIA, the best job he could take to find the no-good terrorist that killed half a dozen Marines in Iraq, even though Matthew hated the foreign policy they served. She was his only friend with a sense of normality, living an ideal civilian life in America.

"He wouldn't have wanted you to keep doing this to yourself," Mary said. "I know you still miss him. But this isn't the way…"

Matthew scoffed, shaking his head. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"Please, let's talk about something else."

Mary sighed.

"Yeah man, let's talk about you!" Bruce appeared out of nowhere, a glass of champagne in his hand. "Have you eaten yet? There's salad, sautéed chorizo. What else… Oh, you want beer? We totally have something you like in the freezer."

Matthew grabbed a plate with salad and sautéed chorizo. Then, he took a seat at the table with Mary and her husband. They told him stories of how they met, which Matthew found charming. But he kept thinking: if Dawson came home from the war, things would be so much different.

Then, Bruce had an idea. He wanted to go swim with Mary, but she refused. Meanwhile, Matthew thought he heard a faint humming noise in the distance.

"Oh come! I need to see you in that new bikini… It's kinda expensive—"

Mary wasn't looking at him anymore. She raised a finger and furrowed her eyebrows. "Do you… hear that?"

All heads in the party turned skyward, the faint chuff-chuff of helicopter blades growing louder and louder.

Matthew's eyes widened. He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a phone. Twenty-one missed calls from Bill Glasser.

And then, a US Coast Guard MH-65 helicopter emerged behind the roofs! It glided over the backyard like a dove, then circled around after it had found the perfect spot to land, a heavy repetitive noise filling everyone's ears. The eyes of partygoers remained glued to the bright orange fuselage and fast-rotating blades chopping the wind with mechanical ferocity. Tablecloths and napkins flew everywhere as the helicopter descended, touching down on trimmed grass. It was no common sight for these suburbia folk!

The pilot, donning a decorated helmet and vibrant flight suit, emerged from the cockpit. He wandered to the heart of the party, a star-spangled patch on his arm and Coast Guard insignia on his vest causing everyone to stare and gawk.

"Montes?" he called.

Matthew raised his hands like a schoolboy reciting his attendance. The pilot walked to him, nodding. Almost all the people in the Anderson estate whispered and mumbled something among themselves, forming a throng around the pilot and the analyst.

"Sir, I'm Petty Officer Second Class Parsons, United States Coast Guard. We have orders to bring you to D.C.."

Matthew pointed to his back. "My car…"

"The Department of Defense provided that for you. We will send someone to retrieve it."

"Okay. Okay," Matthew said, turning to Mary. "Happy birthday, Mary. Uhm, sorry for—

"Bringing the Coast Guard to my backyard?" Mary said. "Don't worry about it."

Matthew nodded.

Up there, in the sky, the path may go anywhere, but the Government gave Matthew one avenue. At last, the freedom he enjoyed was gone.

"Stay safe!" Mary called out.

"Tha—"

"Sir, please come with us."

Matthew entered the helicopter, the smell of metal and sulfur filling his senses, then pulled a seatbelt over his plain blue shirt. Glancing out the window, she saw Mary's sad blue eyes looking back at him. Riding with the Coast Guard to Washington D.C. did not typically happen to analysts; did she think he was lying?

He wanted to say he'll be fine— that he won't suffer a certain fate under the Government's orders.


A/N: I may remove chapter titles in the future.

This is the part where I finally introduce RAINBOW, apart from that tidbit with Nomad in the first chapter. Special thanks to GrimGravy for proofreading this one.