Chapter Seven

First Strike

OCIA Headquarters

Fort Eustis, CD

March 2, 2028

0440 hours

Avery glanced over the reports on his desk. The desire to put an end to this whole thing was burning him up, but there was nothing he could do.

On his desk laid a particularly thick folder, titled "Code Name: VENGEANCE." It was new. Wasn't there earlier in the night, anyway. From the outside, Avery could see photo paper. Opening up the folder, he found some documents and photos. One of them had a massive shape, a photo from orbital reconnaissance.

"This looks interesting," he muttered, pulling the photo out to get a closer look. The shape looked kind of like a B-2, if you looked at it funny, but it was way too big. "Are those…fucking tankers?"

Sure enough, on closer inspection with a magnifying glass, there they were. Xueyu H-6s, Verusan-built versions of Yuke bombers. But these had to be the tanker variants. The H-6s looked like little blips compared to the aircraft they were refueling, and not like that Aigaion critter from a few years ago. This thing was huge.

Scooping up the photos, Avery rushed over to TECHINT. Maybe they had something on this.

••••

"This looks kind of familiar," was the reply. Special Agent Reagan Adams had been with the CIA for nearly forty years now, so just about anything could look familiar to him in the right light, probably. "I think I remember seeing this somewhere…"

He began riffling through a box full of files. It wasn't even marked. Within seconds, though, Adams yelled in pleased surprise. "Here it is!"

Adams produced a slim folder, a folder that would look unremarkable in any other circumstance. "Offensive Campaign No. 4102" was emblazoned on the front side. "Forty-one oh-two? Never heard of it," Avery said. "Four one oh two was a secondary campaign," Reagan said. "It was a joint-services operation involving a lot of intelligence sweeps. They weren't doing anything in terms of traditional military action, this was all covert operations. Guys grabbing folders and pieces of paper that looked important. Figuring out Pendragon was a top priority, but anything else was fair game."

Avery was already flipping through the handful of pages when he stopped on something that did look familiar. "Hey, what's this?"

"That's what I was thinking of! It was a big flying wing design the Belkans had played with. Never got to prototyping, though. Closest thing they had was Hresvelgr."

Avery frowned. It wasn't much to go on. "Where did it come from?"

"Funny you'd ask," Adams replied.

Classified Location

near Solis Ortus, Belkan Ustio

May 12, 1995

0330 hours local

"Okay ladies, we're almost on target. Check your gear and get ready to drop. Remember, Rangers lead the way!"

Captain (OFMC) Keith Danielson checked his M4 light carbine. It was a fairly new weapons system. The JSOC guys were raving about it, anyway. Keith didn't appreciate the AR-15 much, though. Looking around, there were a bunch of guys here with older M16A1s. Jesus, he thought to himself, we've got this big-ass military and no decent equipment.

"Greetings, transport aircraft, this is callsign Garm One. We are your top cover this morning. Ground troops, let us know if you need any assistance on the ground. You are our top priority, over."

So this is that merc they've been babbling about. Maybe I'll get to see him really strut his stuff.

As exciting as the prospect was, Keith preferred focusing on the mission. A former Marine, now an OMDF SEAL, a position he'd held now for several years, he wondered when his run would end. He'd been told that 4102 would give him the option to go straight to Colonel and work in the JSOC command center in Port Royal. Feeling hamstrung, he'd taken it up. Radio traffic jarred him out of his plans.

"Okay ladies, line up. Thirty seconds to jump. Norton, you're up, old man."

Goddammit.

Keith sidled up to the jump position. On cue, he jumped out. He was pretty used to the sensation by now.

The jump was good, the landing better. Probably his best landing to date. He rejoined the Rangers on the ridgeline. Sergeant Arroyo walked before his men.

"Bravo One-Zero, you guys have the DMRs. Line up along the ridge here, and provide overwatch. Bravo Two-Zero, you're on me. Norton, you're with us too. You said you have a different objective?"

Keith nodded confirmation. "Alright then," Arroyo said, "let's move out. Rangers lead the way."

Jesus, do they say that all the fucking time? If we said "Semper Fi" about everything, or, god forbid, "the only easy day was yesterday" about everything, we'd go hoarse.

The platoon had a walk to get to town, made more tense by the fact that they needed a quiet approach. It didn't take long for the Belkans to begin firing on the aircraft above, though, which necessitated moving on troops positioned on the ground.

The once quiet morning was quickly ablaze in antiaircraft fire, tracers from soldiers' rifles, and shouts of orders. Purple flames streaked through the sky as the Garm pilots zipped in and out, their cannon report coming with lines of bright, fiery light. Explosions rocked the earth as missiles and cannon fire poured in both directions.

Keith was used to it. This was nothing like Clavis.

He gave Arroyo a hand signal. I'm off, fuckers.

It was a rough landing. Of course it was. I'm landing on the side of a goddamned mountain. The village he had to get to was barely five hundred yards away, in a clearing beyond the forest that lay in front of him.

The objective was on a side street. A little house, strangely Belkan in appearance. Inside, there was supposedly a lot of documentation for Project Pendragon. Or something. Keith's handlers hadn't been clear on exactly what he was looking for. They seemed to agree papers was a good thing to look for. Folders too.

Getting there wasn't hard. Getting in wasn't, either. I don't like the look of this, Keith muttered as he glanced around the empty room he'd walked into. "Orca One-One to Dragon. I've gained access to the house. Gimme a sitrep, talk me through what I'm looking for, over."

The radio crackled to life after what felt like a lifetime. "Orca One-One, this is Dragon. We don't give a damn about contents, anything that looks secretive, classified, fancy, grab it. We need whatever we can get." With a sigh, Keith clicked back a "roger."

There were all kinds of documents. Orders, some of them. Maybe some nudie mags. There was no way to properly classify anything laying around. Keith picked up some folders and stuffed them into his pack. Then he saw a case full of floppy disks. They looked promising. In they went.

A folder caught his eye. It was blue. A dark blue, like Air Force dress blues. Picking it up, he read the outside.

"Classified. Air Force eyes only. Do not open without authorization."

It was in Belkan, but Keith's Belkan was good enough. Looks interesting, he thought, flipping through the contents. "A fuckin' big-ass flying wing," he muttered, putting the folder in his pack.

Just as he did so, the radio took a blowtorch to his ear. "Orca One-One, this is Dragon, recommend you get the fuck outta there. Friendly FLIR recon is showing a shitload of heat signatures bearing on your position. They're surrounding the house, they know you're in there. Repeat, get the hell out of there before they can contain you."

Keith was just impatient by this stage. "Who cares? Light the fucker up! I'll run out, but I'll need air support for this one."

Keith quickly rounded the stairs to the main room, and bolted for the door, he opened the door to a group of Belkan soldiers, their G3s pointed menacingly at him. "Goddammit!" he yelled, "get me some fucking air support!"

Just then, he heard the roar of twin F-15 engines. Slamming the door shut, bullets breaking the dawn, Keith dove for a desk. He heard the buzz of the 20-millimeter cannon. The bullets stopped.

"I'm fuckin' going!" he yelled into his mic, running out the front door once more, this time, to dead bodies. But as he began to run, he heard the engines coming closer again. Another buzz, followed swiftly by the heat of the rounds tearing through the air. Then an explosion. Suddenly, everything was black.

Aurel River Senior Care Facility

Austin, Orlens, Osea

March 9, 2013

1440 hours

"I'll tell you what, kid, that explosion must have taken out the whole fuckin' block," Keith growled, pausing for a sip of soda before continuing. "I woke up maybe eight hours later. Sun was beatin' down on me. Everything around me was a charred wreck. Damn propane tanks. Why do those even exist for residential areas? Jesus."

Avery chuckled in response. "I guess they had to get rid of you somehow, Uncle Keith."

"Yeah, I fuckin' figure. It's just the damn Belkans couldn't do it themselves. But really now, that merc. Demon Lord, some of the guys in the field called him. He was top-shelf fighter talent, let me tell you. Don't let a goof-up fool you."

Avery smiled. Let the old man talk, he thought to himself. You never know what he'll tell you.

Solis Ortus, Ustio

May 12, 1995

1144 hours local

Slowly, Keith blinked. The light burned his eyes like a furnace. "The fuck…" he groaned, rolling over on his stomach to block out the heat.

It had to be close to noon by now. As his eyes adjusted, Keith looked around. Everything was black for about two blocks. Beyond that, the city just looked like a typical war-torn city. Damn shame things have to be like that. To call it normal, he thought to himself, glancing around, trying to get a bearing on what was around him.

There were no jets. No guns. No missiles. Just a deafening silence. It was quickly broken by voices in the background of his radio.

"Try it one more time. We can't find him."

"Orca One-One, this is Dragon. How copy, over?"

Keith snapped to action. "Dragon," he spluttered, "this is Orca One-One, good copy, over."

It was almost too much for his dry throat. He began hacking. I knew I should have given up the fucking smokes.

"Orca One-One, stand by. Can you confirm your status?"

"Dragon, Orca One-One. Copy. Status is…hammered shit. I'm uh, still at the operation location. The village near Solis Ortus. You know. The place…"

"Roger that, Orca One-One. We're getting a Ranger team over to you now. Stand by."

It felt like an eternity. Sergeant Arroyo and the rest of Bravo Two-Zero were the team that showed up. Arroyo called it in. "Bravo Two-Zero Actual confirming, we have found asset Jack Norton, he is in need of a medevac. Chop us a medevac as possible, over."

Arroyo leaned over. "It's okay, man. You're doin' good. You're gonna make it."

Keith turned to him. "Fuck you. I know I'm gonna make it. I survived Clavis, alright? I can handle a fucking propane tank. I'm gonna take a fuckin' nap, don't wake me up until that chopper's here. You got me?"

Arroyo nodded, but he was clearly confused. Good fuckin' riddance, Keith thought, as he closed his eyes.

CIA Archives

Fort Eustis, CD

March 2, 2028

0530 hours

"So this is what he was grabbing!"

Avery was in a flutter now. "He didn't even know he was getting this! Oh my god, Uncle Keith wasn't just a crazy bastard after all!"

He was going through the aviation intel records like a jackhammer now, looking for anything linked to this project. Finally, digging through computerized records, there it was.

"Project Albatross."

Reading the contents, the documentation, it was mostly technical jargon. It was a document titled "Mission and Purpose" that caught Avery's eye.

"From the Federal Aviation Development Board. Albatross is to become our military's true source of strength. With this great weapon, we will recapture the Fatherland's glory and show the world that it is Belka that will reign supreme."

This was what Avery was looking for. The nationalist connection. How the Verusans even got involved in this in the first place. It all traced back to one name.

"Fleischer," Avery said, grabbing his coat as he dashed out of the room.

OBI Headquarters

Oured, CD

March 2, 2028

1130 hours

The secretary motioned to Avery. "The Director will see you now," she said, waving toward the office.

"Avery, kiddo, how are ya?" Sidney bellowed in his deep Atlantan drawl. "Come on in!"

Avery sat himself down confidently, trying not to betray his nervousness about his request. "I know ya ain't come here to talk about yer life, kid," Sidney said. "'Salright. I know you got somethin' else to talk to me about. What's eatin' ya?"

Avery smiled weakly and chuckled. "Well, I feel like I'm dealing with an unresolved plot point. I need to tie up this loose end with Jonas Fleischer, and I need the Bureau's help in figuring out what he knew."

Sidney leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his barrel-shaped chest. He was silent for a long time.

"I tell you what," he finally exhaled, breaking the silence, "I can get you the HRT and they can raid Fleischer's office. We've left it untouched, letting his operation believe he's just dead and to carry on in his absence. But if you want access to key information, I'd say that's where you need to go. I'll need to figure out warrants first—"

"That's fine." Avery cut in. "Warrants aren't an issue. We can feed you information if it's needed." Sidney laughed loudly. "Information? Hell, we don't need no damn information. The man's a wanted war criminal, son. The warrant won't be an issue."

"Okay," Avery replied, "that's fine. Whatever works for you guys. I just want to know what he knew." Sidney leaned in and smiled. "Well," he said, "that won't be an issue, Mister Danielson."

••••

Lakeshore One

Apito, Raritan

March 4, 2028

0530 hours

OBI Special Agent Jason Wood was a veteran of the Hostage Rescue Team. Four years ago, he had been in this very city, not ten blocks away, at the airport. Then, it was Karaban terrorists. Today, it was Belkan arms dealers.

Wood was a former SEAL, and in spite of his age, he was as sharp as ever. Now, sitting in an MH-9, flying to Lakeshore One, a huge skyscraper in the Apito skyline, he was steeling himself for a fight.

The helicopter carefully hovered over the roof of the building. "All callsigns, green light, repeat, green light," the rappel leader instructed. On the command, the entire team moved to the door and queued up.

The drop was smooth. But nobody expected any resistance there. The team stacked up on the door to the inside of the building. "Six, get up here, and wand the door." Wood said.

Special Agent Sara Faucher prepared her Optiwand unit and scanned the doorsill. With a quick thumbs-up, she got back in position. Wood checked the door. It was unlocked. "On me," he said quietly, as he opened the door.

Within minutes, the team was on site of the office of Jonas Fleischer. To the surprise of all, there was nobody inside.

"Okay, team, let's sack the place. Look for anything of value."

NSA Headquarters

Fort Sill, Nassau

March 4, 2028

0535 hours

Kevin Stanton, cyberwarrior extraordinaire, took a seat at his workstation once again. Nothing like a strong black beverage to wake you up for a long day.

Today's operation was to work in conjunction with OBI agents—without their knowledge, of course, grunts called it "No Such Agency" for a reason—and figure out what Jonas Fleischer's little arms operation had on their computers. The agents were inserting USB devices and placing trackers on the computers, ostensibly for OBI tracking purposes, but that was never part of the plan. Director Sidney had signed everything over.

By now, at least some of the devices had to be connected. With full access granted to Stanton's workstation, he now had to comb through a couple dozen computers and figure out what was in them.

It didn't take long. A folder marked "Project Albatross" was full of data about an unusual aircraft—not something expected of an arms dealer.

Stanton had no intention of notifying a superior, however. He opened up his email window and began typing an email after attaching the relevant files.

"Hi Avery, attached find some files of interest…"