Luke awoke to a sharp rap on the door. His head was pounding and the world was spinning but the worst part was the blinding pain in his chest. He didn't remember the fight at all but he remembered the pool cue slamming into his chest. Another knock came.

"It's open"

The door popped open and Shuhrat stepped in, wearing some jeans and a shirt with some Russian print on it.

"Блядь, It looks even worse with light on it. Hey, at least your still ugly" the Russian let out with a laugh.

"Thanks", simply speaking made his head pound even worse. The light pouring through the window was even worse.

"Are you going to survive friend."

"Just... Just hand me my fucking med bag."

Shuhrat picked up the hefty kitbag and laid it next to Luke. Slowly he propped himself up, unzipped it, and reached inside as Shuhrat leaned against the desk, observing with a wide grin. Finally, he found a fresh IV bag. Working with one hand, he bit off the cover of the syringe and searched for a vein. He found a suitable one in his forearm and jammed the needle in, now 5 minutes or so and he should feel a little less shitty. They sat there in silence as the mixture of saline and a couple of other compounds slowly drained itself, Luke sitting there trying to gauge if he was even able to walk.

Maybe just a beer next time. Yeah, just a beer.

Luke stood up. The world was spinning, but, he could put one foot in front of the other. Slowly, he crossed the room to his locker, Shuhrat watching to make sure he didn't fall on his face.

"You may want to step out"

"You got something to hide?"

"Just don't want to make you feel insecure"

Shuhrat shook his head laughing and squeezed past the airman and through the open door. Luke turned back to his closet and grabbed a clean tan t-shirt. His pants were scuffed up too but he didn't have the energy nor the patience to worry about it right then. Painfully, he pulled his shirt off and looked down to see the damage. His chest and stomach were purple and swollen from the fight. He grabbed his new shirt and slipped it on in a slow, painful process before sitting back down. Finally, he grabbed a pair of sunglasses and shut the locker.

Luke stepped out of the room and looked at Shuhrat who leaned against the door. He nodded at him as he led the way downstairs. Everybody was out on some early morning free time apparently, so Luke appreciated not having odd looks thrown his way. Silently the strolled across the parking lot and made it to Shuhrat's car, which was surprisingly a hatchback. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Shuhrat turned the radio on, much to the chagrin of Luke.

"You need food?"

"Wouldn't hurt"

"Thank god, I have been starving all morning. Very long night."

"Yeah, sorry about that"

"Ehh, it was not you. Tina didn't exactly let me sleep. If you understand my drift. Then again you did interrupt the middle of it".

"So why did Six call you. I understand Meghan and Mike but what did you do?"

"Heh. Uhh.", he paused for a moment, "Technically I was supposed to be your mentor. Six saw fit that we were both direct people and somewhat. Tough. No, abrasive men. And, I was gonna invite you drinking but you left. So my fault for not going with you."

Shuhrat continued driving as Luke examined his car. It was relatively new, possessing a touch screen but it was simple. Shuhrat was listening to some Russian rock band but Luke noticed an American country station preset into the radio. Now, that was surprising.

"You like country?"

"Hell no. But Tina loves it, absolutely fascinate her. For 5 hour I had to listen to it when we drive to Scotland. I almost puke. You like it?"

"Can't say I'm a huge country fan. But I'm from Texas so I know the classics. More of a rock guy."

"I figure. Most of American SF like that kind of stuff. Jordan says you have guitars."

"Yeah, but I don't play anymore."

"Well, is waste of money. Ehh, maybe one day we'll convince you", Shuhrat said.

The conversation ceased from there except for the occasional scream from Shuhrat at another driver. They stopped and grabbed some bland meal from a fast food stop and continued on. Finally, they arrived at a quaint manor surrounded by green fields.

"Here we are, Chateau de shrink", Shuhrat said laughing at his own joke

Luke stood up, the IV had run its course and he felt almost normal minus the wobbliness in his legs. Might have been the cue hit more than anything else. He climbed the steps to the front door and waited as Shuhrat knocked on the grand wooden doors. The door popped open and a young middle eastern looking man stuck his head out. He wore tinted eyeglasses and had a dark goatee that needed a trim.

"Shuhrat good to see you. And I'm guessing you must be Luke. My name is Harishva Pandey, but you can call me Harry. It is a pleasure", he stuck out his hand. Luke gave it a firm shake and responded with a nod.

He motioned them inside and into a large with bookshelves, paintings, and an assortment of items from ancient warfare. A crusader helmet here. A full set of legionary armor there. The room felt inviting to Luke. He could live in here if he had to. Harry began digging through his desk until he found a Manila folder. He skimmed through before shutting it and handing it to Shuhrat.

"Anything else Six needs."

Shuhrat shook his head as he ensured the file's contents. Harry had scrounged a tape recorder and began typing into it.

"Shuhrat you can wait in the living room. We shouldn't be more than an hour"

Shuhrat nodded and duck out the glass doors back towards the front. Now it was just Luke and Harry, who was still prepping a bunch of files. Luke didn't particularly like psychs. They weirded him out, and usually, they had problems of their own.

"My apologies. Let's begin", he pressed the record button on the device, "Session 1. Luke Hernandez. Blindside. Luke, do you believe you have a problem with alcohol?"

"Not particularly"

Harry began scribbling notes, "So if I told you to quit you could"

Luke nodded, "I'm not addicted. It's just the easiest option"

"Option for what"

"For forgetting shit I don't want to remember. And I did drink a little too much. I'll admit that."

"So would you say this binge was an isolated event", still looking at Luke, searching for something on his face.

Luke thought it over for a moment. He had never been this bad but he had gotten close before. He was a little disgusted when he realized just how much time he had been spending in bars. He was also surprised that Harry hadn't said anything about his face yet.

"I wouldn't say it's a one-off. But it ain't happening every other month."

"I appreciate the honesty. But I'm going to have to ask you a hard question. Do you think your drinking increased after Master Sergeant Charlie Morgan's death."

The question hit Luke like a freight train. Harry could see Luke's face immediately change, tensing and twitching. What he couldn't see was the ringing and sights that were wandering in the back of Luke's mind. The blood, screams, and fire that had taken 5 good men from this world. He stared at the desk searching his soul, but he already knew the answer.

"Yes"

Harry nodded and immediately scribbled something on his notepad. The question had obviously struck a deep nerve. But Luke was an enigma to all, every single psychoanalysis Harry had found in Luke's file provided no insight on the airman's mind.

"Luke, I understand that you had helmet camera on your helmet that day. Was it recording?"

"Why is that… What's it have to do with this."

The defensive posture was just what Harry needed. Luke was just as evasive as any other patient, but, he hid it very well with cooperation. Now, he had pinned him, but, he needed to push further.

"Do you still have the footage"

"I don't see why this is necess-"

"Luke, did you keep the footage"

"Yes", he gritted through his teeth.

"You watch it, don't you", Harry continued, not expecting a response. Luke sat across from him, his eyes were slowly filled an uncertain look. The truth was often, hard to deal with. Harry had learned this from the other 30 something operators and their problems.

"You obsess over finding what you could have done better. Over finding how it could've been different. But you can't. And it very nearly breaks you. So you drink to help the pain."

Harry paused, looking at Luke. Harry could see that Luke had as much anger in him as any other operator who'd taken losses, but he controlled it very well. He directed at himself rather than others. However, even the strongest willed men could only go on so long and Harry knew that Luke was nearing the end of his rope. He would either explode or implode and neither would have a good outcome. Perhaps Rainbow was just what he needed.

"Luke, you can't live your life blaming yourself. We read all the reports on that day, no other human being alive could have made it off that mountain. Sometimes you just have to let go. There is no weakness in doing so."

Luke drew a shaky breath. Barriers had been broken in his mind, but, Harry couldn't see what the effect was. The airman abruptly stood up.

Harry sighed. Luke's own faults had so deeply entrenched himself in his mind that it would take time to break them. He reached across the desk and pressed the stop button on the recorder. Harry had pushed hard, but, the mind was a tricky thing and required time.

"Well, I think that we've made progress but no more drinking. I know you're a musician and a wrestler. Both are unique talents. Use those to take your frustration out. Not some poor saps at the bar. And talk to people, no man can go through this life alone."

Without a response, Luke stood up and walked out into the front parlor. Shuhrat was sitting on the couch watching a new program and drinking a bottle of water. He noticed the airman's approach and nodded.

"We're good?"

Luke nodded and immediately walked out the door with Shuhrat close behind.

"You okay my friend?"

"I'm fine", Luke replied bluntly. Shuhrat didn't accept the answer but knew that Harry had a tendency to put operators in a sour mood

As they got to the car, Luke saw Shuhrat was staring at his phone. They sat in silence in the car for a moment, Shuhrat staring at his phone. Finally, he put it down and turned the car on. Shuhrat turned to Luke with a wide grin on his face.

"You want to go grab a drink?"

Luke shook his head, he could see why Six had paired him up with the Russian, even if he had shirked his duty for the first few days.

"Not to be rude, but you are the worst fucking mentor anybody could have. But if you're buying and taking the consequences, I guess I'm game."

Sweat clung to Luke's forehead as he drew in steady breaths. The 80-pound rucksack had begun digging into his shoulders over the last mile and he figured that since the sun was coming up, he should probably call it. He looked at his phone's GPS and calculated his distance. He guesstimated that he had covered around 13 miles over the past 75 minutes, not bad but his pace had slowed by half a minute. He swung the weight off his back and took a seat next to it on the curb. It was a calm Friday morning, two days after his bar incident and four since his arrival at Hereford.

Nobody had really dared mention the bar fight. They gave an odd look for the first day but now it had more or less been swept under the rug. Luke looked around, finding himself among the large kill houses they used for training. The last two days he had tread very carefully, relegating himself to medical duty or staying in his room, much to the chagrin of Shuhrat, who thought of Luke as his new best friend. From what Luke could guess, Shuhrat wasn't exactly the most popular person, especially with some of the more by the book operators. Then again, Luke didn't dislike the guy, even if he was loud and brash. He could see why some would think of him as abrasive.

"You searching for more people to row on?"

In his thinking, Luke had completely spaced out, not hearing the approach of Mike Baker. The old man looked odd in a t-shirt, Camelbak, and running shorts. Luke shrugged his shoulders in response, unsure of how to answer.

"Figured you'd be out running. Didn't figure you'd be carrying the bloody kitchen sink. How much?"

"60 something pounds."

"Bloody hell. We're still 2 miles away from home. How were you gonna get that fat bastard back?"

"A hope and a prayer"

Mike chuckled. The old operator had come to take a liking to Hernandez. He was as hard-nosed and stubborn as Mike was in his youth but one of the most well-disciplined operators he'd ever worked with. Granted, Mike had aged a little before he started picking bar fights.

"Well, I got some business to discuss with ya. But I need some bloody food. Think you and your bag can make it back to base with me in 20 minutes? I'm trying to make it before the rest of the lot steal all the food."

"20? I can do 12"

Luke swung the bag onto his shoulders as Mike began a head start. Luke, not on to be beaten, broke into a hard run to catch up with the old timer who had a breakneck pace. They continued on like that for a mile and a half before Luke had finally caught up to the veteran SAS soldier. His legs burned and lungs strained to keep up as they the barracks came into view. The last quarter mile was an internal battle for Luke and he nearly collapsed by the time he reached the front lawn. The old man looked like he had gone out for a Sunday walk while Luke was doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

"Bloody hell, kid. You PJ lot are animals."

Luke still couldn't speak, simply waving his hand. He unclipped the bag and let it fall to the ground with a loud thud. Sweat was dripping off his face and the pavement under him looked like it had seen a miniature rainstorm. Mike opened the door, holding it for Luke who stepped inside.

"C'mon, I'm bloody famished."

The rec room was filled with operators all grabbing from a table filled with breakfast items. Laughs and conversations filled the room. Apparently this weekend a bunch of the operators had scheduled a trip to London. Shopping. Sightseeing. That kind of bullshit. Shuhrat had extended an invitation to Luke, but he'd politely declined. Groups trips weren't exactly his thing. Luke quickly grabbed some toast and the last few strips of bacon before anyone else could. He sat with Mike, away from the crowd at one of the tables in the corner of the room.

"You said you had some business for me"

"Yeah, mate. Six put together training with the Russians up in Siberia. Week of Arctic patrol and survival. I need a medic up there. Figured you'd be up for a little adventure considering you've only hit the killhouse a couple times."

"What are the teams looking like?"

"It'll be you, Timur Glazkov, Tina Tsang, and Yumiko Imagawa in Team 2. All of you lot have arctic experience and Yumiko is an expert mountaineer like you."

"You guys really do dig deep."

"It's not that hard to find an Expert Pass at US Army Advanced Mountaineering School. Have to say, I opened your file and it actually impressed me."

"That's the usual sentiment." Luke paused, "You said Team 2. Who's in Team 1?"

"Maxim Basuda, Eliza Cohen, Zofia Bosak, Meghan Castellano."

Luke chuckled. 3 females in the Arctic. He found Rainbow amusing in that aspect. Very few women had become tier one but those who had excelled so well that they were here. He figured 3 females in one team couldn't be a coincidence.

"Why the party in Team 1?"

Mike look confused for a moment before realizing what Luke was referring to. He grinned as he formulated his explanation.

"Maxim is normally a lone wolf when he is out in the wilds. Bloody nut is always out there. He'd leave the whole lot of them on their own if he could. We figured less cold inclined operators would make him slow down and work with the team. Granted those operators need to learn the skills of the Arctic."

Luke nodded, "Two last questions then. "What do I need and when do we leave?"

Mike slid over a dossier. The face of it was emblazoned with a dagger through a snowflake. Printed under it was; Operation Coldstone

"Everything including the brief is in that dossier. You leave on Monday. Good luck, mate."

Mike quickly cleaned off his plate and Luke followed suit. After finishing his food, he relegated himself to his room. The sun poured through the tall window, lighting the walkway in between his bed and his desk. A FOG mine sat on his desk, skeletonized from Luke's tinkering. He wasn't exactly a technical mind, but he knew his way around a circuit board or a pneumatic pump. The mines were bulky and he needed to find a way to cut down on weight. Each one was nearly 10 pounds and he carried 3. But that would have to wait. He pushed everything to one side of the desk and opened the dossier.

Dozens of sheets of paper were jammed into either side. Maps, lists, and paragraphs of operational briefs. The simple gist of it was being dropped into far northern Siberia and hitting a bunch of land navigation points along the way before linking up and crossing the Yablanovy Mountains to the extraction point. The required packing list was an ungodly amount of things that were mostly there for extra weight.

Luke opened his closet and found the massive rucksack that he used to carry his gear into a deployment. He began filling with the essentials; parka, balaclava, gloves, socks, and some more socks. Getting your feet wet was the quickest way to die in the Arctic. Frostbite would set in and you would die if you couldn't walk. Luke had been to Advanced SERE School in Alaska and some of the other classmates had learned that lesson the hard way. 3 days in an F-22 pilot lost a toe because he refused to change them. The taiga and tundra were unforgiving, unsustaining, and unrelenting. A squeak came from the door as a man in khakis with a long beard stepped in.

"Sorry to bother, I understand you're going to be my medic", the man said in a Russian accent.

"Glazkov, I assume?"

"You'd be correct. I wanted to introduce myself after that embarrassment at the kill house but it had slipped my mind. Do you have all the gear?"

"Just missing a few things I can pick up at the PX. Anything else?"

Glazkov shook his head before giving a polite nod and stepping out. Luke assumed that the guy was just making sure that he didn't have a complete train wreck on his team.

He turned back to his bag. Motrin, a lot of fucking motrin. He grabbed a bottle of the painkiller and threw it on top of all the other gear. The list also called for a rifle and ammo so Luke picked up his SCAR's hard case and grabbed his 7.62 mags. He preferred the M4 but it had a tendency to jam in the cold so he would have to use his DMR for this one. Plus, humans could walk off a 5.56, let alone an 800-pound bear. Wildlife was another danger out there, everything is hungry and human is a better alternative than starving.

By the time he was done, he had to sit on the bag to be able to close it. It probably weighed 90 something pounds. The vest and gun would add another 30. 340 pounds falling from the sky was not good on the knees but he had done worse. He looked back at the brief, the mid-September weather would be cold, but the wind forecasted that week was going to make the jump hard.

Why do I always get sent to the fucking cold

LA, California, USA

Michael Romano sat at the computer staring at the camera footage. He was building a layout of the bank and how quickly anybody could respond. The hacker like set up seemed out of place in the peeling walls of his ancient room. His apartment in Skid Row was ghetto at best but he couldn't afford more on his bagboy paycheck. Nobody was hiring for dishonorably discharged police officers. He was a black sheep in society. A duffle bag full of money sat in his closet but spending so close to the robbery meant that he would look suspicious. Plus he figured Carson would always end up borrowing some of his cut. Romano guessed it went towards drugs. Carson didn't do it around him, but it was obvious at this point.

He refocused his train of thought and looked back at the screens. The Federal Reserve was massive and at any time held 100 million in hard cash. But that was in the vault, which would take nuclear bomb before it would bust open. Instead, he charted out the 3 lockbox rooms the bank had. They sat behind a sturdy steel door, but with enough Semtex, it would come open. Romano carefully plotted the plans into and out of the bank and then expanded his plan to the city level, looking at the time constraint from the first alarm to responders on site. In his opinion, he was the only reason that the gang hadn't been caught yet. However, at this point, he couldn't tell if it was a good thing. They never killed when they started but now if a person looked at them the wrong way they got shot. Carson had no endgame and Romano didn't know whether or not he would just keep going until he died.

Romano looked at his wall. It was decorated by a single photo; his sister and him on the day of his academy graduation. She hadn't spoken to him since he was indicted and nearly jailed for corruption. It nearly broke him when they put him in his own cuffs. They acquitted him but the charges had left their mark. No department would hire him and his own sister wouldn't speak to him. He hadn't even met his nephew. Instead, he sat alone in the dark. Revenge is what Carson promised, and days like this reminded him why he took up that offer.