Chapter 4

The jeep rocked against the rough terrain of the dirt road as Ferguson navigated the way to the GST facility. Jack gripped his seat to keep from jerking around with each rough jump the vehicle made. Ferguson didn't seem to mind, having no doubt been in this situation numerous times before but that did little to ease the raven-haired teen. Checking his cell phone signal, he found that his service was being jammed. No doubt a security measure to prevent unauthorized communication.

It seemed even the upgrade Ratchet had made to his phone still did not stand up to the advancements made by military science. The youth made a note to ponder whether that constituted as good news or bad later. He was more concerned with how he was going to contact his mother while he commenced this assignment. He felt a small smile tug at his lips when he thought about the fury she would unleash on Ferguson for not informing them about the jammer when he returned. What had been thought to only take up a few hours of his time was revealed by General Scott Mitchell to be much longer.

"Regular Army training requires months in advance," he had explained to his mother, Agent Fowler, and Optimus Prime. The third party had been brought in at his and June's request, which was met with no resistance from either government official. Ferguson still remained oblivious to the Autobots' presence, as did the rest of the world. Mitchell had gone on, "Therefore, training with SF groups usually requires a basic knowledge in that field. One Mr. Darby, as I've been told, already possesses from his time with the Autobots. It should be a simple thing for us to go from there to SF training. At the very least a week of drills, exercises, and war games will be required."

"I'm not sure about this," said June. "I'm by no means an expert in military training but aren't the exercises Special Forces groups take part in dangerous?"

"These exercises are meant to simulate real-time combat, mam," said Mitchell. "To ensure the finest results, they must carry with them some level of difficulty akin to an actual combat situation. The GST is no different in that regard; if anything, our training is the finest Mr. Darby will receive from any faction in the Armed Forces."

"But there is no official record for this 'GST?" asked Optimus Prime. "From our previous conversation regarding this matter, your group is not officially recognized nor does it fall within the knowledge of the public. I take it this is one of your 'black ops' groups?"

"In a manner of speaking," Mitchell answered. "The GST is an organization deep within JSOC and falls within the jurisdiction of the Army. More often than not, we are sent to combat threats that fall below our radar and attempt to harm the United States in any way imaginable."

"Threats like M.E.C.H?" asked Jack.

"Precisely."

Agent Fowler interjected, "Then I'll ask you again why you're taking the time to drill a teenager who may not even join your group when he's old enough to decide. I for one believe Mr. Darby would make a fine addition to the Rangers but it should be his choice."

"I came here under the assumption that he'd chosen to accept our offer for training."

"It is," replied Jack.

"I know it seems strange now, but I believe that Mr. Darby might benefit from what he'll learn from Captain Ferguson and his team in the future. I'm not asking for your trust as we have not known each other long enough for something so personal. What I am asking, however, is that you go on a little faith. If any harm befalls Mr. Darby while in GST's care, I will personally take responsibility. You have my word that we'll allow no harm to come to him."

"Jack," Optimus turned his gaze on him. "Are you certain you still wish to partake in these excercises?"

Jack looked the Autobot leader in optics and answered firmly.

"Yes."

After packing a week's worth of clothes and personal affects, he had set off with Ferguson earlier that morning. He had bid farewell to Miko, Raf, and Arcee—in her vehicle mode—before entering Ferguson's jeep and leaving the base in the distance. Dressed in a khaki t-shirt and baggy camos, he was prepared for the desert heat. Growing up in Jasper, Nevada had made him appreciate the rarity of a nice cool day. Today was no such day.

Neither man had said anything since they left the base, preferring a comfortable silence to conversation. Jack was certain there was no animosity on Ferguson part toward him—he seemed more or less relieved that Agent Fowler had not been there to see them off—but just seemed to prefer silent contemplating to actually speaking. His mother had relayed the small bit of personal information about Ferguson—that he was a father of two. He could tell the captain had been disappointed by his decision to agree to the training but said nothing. He was a dedicated soldier, following orders no matter how much he disagreed with them.

The rumbling of the jeep stopped as Ferguson was stopped at a guard post.

"Cedric Ferguson," he introduced in a rehearsed tone; he'd likely committed this part of the security check to memory. "Captain of GST Team 1, call sign: Ghost Lead."

The guard checked the information against what looked like a giant computer pad. Technology, thought Jack with amusement, sure has come a long way. Verifying that Ferguson's identity was official, the guard let them pass. They approached a small unassuming building and parked in front. The color scheme matched the desert background, so it would have been easy to miss had they not been looking for it.

Getting out, Jack grabbed his duffle bag of clothes and items and followed Ferguson inside the building. A blast of cool air greeted the raven-haired teen and he was much too grateful to pass it up. Savoring the cool air, he appraised the inside of the building. I looked more like an office building sans the workers. Following Ferguson, Jack found himself in the Team 1 quarters.

He felt gazes on him immediately as two men stopped whatever activities they were engrossed in to welcome their C/O home. The first man was well-built, thick arms crossed across a broad chest, bald-headed and with a thick beard. The second man had a lesser—but no less impressive—build, black hair cut in military fashion and a beard, arms at his hips to appraise Jack. They were both wearing dark green t-shirts and desert camo pants, tucked neatly inside boots. The bald headed man was the first to speak.

"This our new assignment, sir?" he asked.

"Indeed, he is."

He extended his hand, "Master Sergeant Robert Bonifacio. Call sign: Pepper. Nice to meet you." Jack took the man's hand nearly lost his own in the larger appendage. Pepper's grip was strong but he kept it loose enough not to crush Jack's hand. "Don't let my age fool you, I can still rock with the best of 'em."

Jack took notice that his brown beard had several spots of grey in it, but it was likely from the stress being a military Special Forces operations officer. Still, Jack said nothing and smiled at the older man's attempt at humor.

His partner chose that moment to make himself known, "Sergeant First Class James Grant Ellison. Call sign: 30K. So what makes you so special that the General stuck you with us?"

30K spoke with a lilt that suggested he was from the rural South. Jack could already tell the man didn't like him and he'd have to work hard to earn any praise from him. He knew this next week would not be one he would remember fondly. But he was here and he was determined to see this through to end, regardless of whether he made any friends here. Before he could answer, 30K stepped closer and grasped Jack's arm.

"Dang, you ain't got no meat on your bones, son. What do you eat? Paper?"

"Organic tofu."

At 30K's raised brow, Ferguson stepped in, "Mom's a nurse."

"Really?" asked Pepper. "Maybe she could give me tips on lowering my blood pressure."

"One way to do that is to retire, Pep."

"But then who's gonna keep 30 here from giving this kid a hard time?" He looked back to Jack. "Don't let his attitude get to you, he's not a bad guy once you get to know him."

"Yeah well for now I'm his worst enemy," 30K smirked. "Trust me, kid, by the time I'm done with you, you'll wish you never decided to tangled up with the Ghosts."

"Ghosts?" asked Jack.

"Mr. Darby," Ferguson said. "Welcome to Ghost Recon."