Chapter 2: HECU


New Mexico

Three Months After Seven Hour War

It was a cold and moonless night just outside of an abandoned New Mexico town, and it was the third such night Corporal Alexander Vanguard had to sit in an impromptu ambush spot because of shaky intel from someone 'on the inside'. Each night saw him in a different spot, and each night, nothing to ambush.

Somewhere off in the distance a coyote howled, then a Houndeye followed suit from somewhere else.

As he stifled a yawn, he entertained the idea of digging into his ruck for an energy bar. He had found a case of them in the abandoned gas station earlier that day during a supply run. Then he remembered the scene they had found at said gas station and lost his appetite.

"All teams, this is Reaper, I have eyes on multiple vehicles headed towards the ambush point, I count five vics, profile matches enemy transports, they're moving at a pretty good clip too."

"All Voodoo teams, hold fire until they're inside the kill box."

"Voodoo one copies."

"Two copies."

Vanguard keyed his comm, "Three copies."

"Four copies."

Vanguard turned to see multiple sets of headlights moving in a row speed towards them.

"Lead vehicle is passing checkpoint one."

"Copy that, all Voodoo teams, ready up."

Vanguard shouldered his rifle and activated his night vision. As his world turned green, the man next to him, Private First Class Hendricks, pulled his M240B into his shoulder, slapped his assistant gunner and whispered, "Time to rock and fucking roll."

Vanguard watched the convoy approach a semi with a flatbed trailer full of concrete drain pipes attached that was parked on the side of the road. The truck had probably been there since the start of the Seven Hour War.

"Lead vehicle has just passed checkpoint two."

"Execute."

A Marine hidden in one of the culverts on the truck climbed out of his hiding spot, tossed a det pack into the middle of the road as the lead vehicle approached, turned to flip the vehicle off and smack his ass, then scurried back to cover before the turret had a chance to fire.

The lead vehicle lurched to a halt to avoid the explosive that was now in the middle of the road and forced the rest of the convoy to stop as well.

Doors swung open, and Overwatch troops poured out of the back of each APC. Vanguard saw a heavily armored soldier lumber out of the vehicle in the middle of the convoy, armed with a massive shotgun, behind him another large Combine soldier got out of the same vehicle toting a pulse minigun.

"Fucking Commandos." Vanguard groaned before he keyed up his radio to report the targets so that sniper teams could prioritize them.

"Reaper copies, we're trackin' em." Came the reply from the sniper team.

From the ridge, Vanguard could hear filtered voices calling out to each other as Combine soldiers grouped up into teams, fanned out and started a cautious search.

A group went over to where the first Marine threw the det pack, but their quarry was long gone.

One by one, the Combine fire team commanders activated their manhacks to find the hidden Marines. Another fired a pulse grenade at the det pack, disintegrating it.

Vanguard's radio crackled, "All teams, fuck em up."

A single rifle shot kicked off the ambush proper. As the report echoed through the canyon, the Combine Charger hit the road, most of his upper torso was missing.

That was a fucking Raufoss. Vanguard thought as Hendricks opened up with the 240.

Fire rained down on the Combine troops, and a few soldiers fell within the first seconds before they could get to cover. The rest of the Combine troops rallied together quickly and returned fire. Blue pulse rounds and red tracers filled the night air.

An occasional shimmering pulse grenade floated towards Marine positions and Vanguard saw at least one Marine float through the air and disappear with a crackle as the grenade found its mark.

The Manhacks, now having targets, streaked off towards the HECU Marines' ambush sites.

"TRAP SHOOT!" Marines called out as the Manhacks entered the fray, and most were brought down by Marines wielding shotguns. A few managed to still get through, and voices started to curse and scream in pain as the Manhacks found their victims.

The APC gunners opened up and the heavy fire suppressed the HECU Marines long enough for the Combine teams to start moving against their attackers.

Vanguard saw two targets moving towards Hendricks' position. He loaded a 40mm grenade into his M203, aimed, and fired. The grenade landed between the two soldiers and detonated. The two soldiers were blown off their feet.

Vanguard put a few rounds into each body for good measure. Pulse rounds impacted just below his oversight position and caused him to shove his head into the dirt. Beside him, he heard Hendricks let out a string of curses as the 240 went silent.

"You hit?" Vanguard asked the gunner.

"Nah, I'm good, Smith took one to the brainpan though, dumb shit."

Vanguard lifted his head again, just as one of the APC's let loose another burst from its turret. He laid flat again as the rounds walked up and over their position, the distinctive sound of the pulse rounds ripped over them.

"These motherfuckers." Hendricks grumbled as he rolled to his side and unstrapped the AT-4 he kept on his pack. He removed the safety pin from the rear of the tube and kept grumbling as he continued to prep the launcher.

Another burst soared over the two.

"FUCK THESE MOTHERFUCKERS," he screamed, "BACKBLAST!"

Before Vanguard could say anything, Hendricks fired and covered them both in a cloud of dust. The 80mm round shot towards the offending APC and punched through the armor before it detonated, blowing a hole in the center of the APC.

"GET FUCKED YA NERDS!" Hendricks yelled before he tossed the spent tube and got back behind his M240B.

Vanguard started laughing, he couldn't help it. Hendricks always got this way during a firefight, which is why Vanguard always volunteered to provide security for the guy.

Shame about Smith. He thought to himself.

Another fire team must have brought along an AT-4 as well, because a second APC was rocked by an explosion. Vanguard watched as the Combine's defense crumbled.

Soon, the only APC left intact was the center one, the Barrett sang once more, a round punched clean through the turret and fell silent.

The Combine Suppressor and a handful of soldiers remained. One by one, the Marines picked off the survivors. From their position, Vanguard and Hendricks could hear the Suppressor giving garbled updates between bursts of his pulse minigun to whoever was in charge.

"Overwatch! Requesting extraction on APF! Survival mark deployed!"

Hendricks put burst after burst into the Suppressor, while other Marines on the ground tried to drop the monster. The bolt locked back in Vanguard's rifle, and as he grabbed another magazine, he saw three Marines get cut down. Apparently even the PCVs couldn't handle the minigun the Combine was using.

"This bastard will not go down!" Vanguard yelled over the roar of the 240.

Another Marine stood up from his cover and fired a grenade from his M203, but the range was too close, the round impacted with Suppressor's leg and forced him to take a knee. The large Combine let out a muffled grunt as he struggled to stand, blood poured from multiple wounds. In a frenzy, HECU Marines moved in for the kill, but the minigun forced them back behind cover.

Vanguard slapped the fresh magazine in place, sent the bolt forward, and resumed firing. Another Marine tried to sneak up behind the wounded Suppressor, but the large Combine soldier wheeled around and fired, the shotgunner hit the deck as a burst of pulse rounds flew over him.

The Suppressor adjusted his aim and fired again, but the Marine rolled out of the way as pulse rounds ripped up asphalt behind him as he rolled behind one of the wrecked APCs.

Rounds peppered the Suppressor's back, and with a growl, the soldier stood, spun around and fired again. The shotgunner jumped up from his cover, sprinted towards the behemoth, shoved the barrel of his 12 gauge into the back of the Suppressor's neck, and fired. The slug ripped through the heavy armor and his head flopped to the side, partially decapitated.

Vanguard's headset crackled to life again, "Tangos down, all teams, move on the target victor."

"Fucking great," Hendricks moaned as he hoisted himself from his firing position, "I lost my sidekick, and now I have to haul all this shit myself."

Vanguard moved over to the dead assistant gunner and relieved him of the extra belts of 240 ammo. He paused as he looked at the missing chunk of the young Marine's face.

"I told you," Hendricks whispered, then spat into the dirt, "rookie fuck."

"He survived the War, I don't think anyone's a rookie after that, just his time." Vanguard said, hoisting the ammo belts over his shoulder and adjusting the extra weight, "Come on, let's go."

Vanguard led the way down the ridge, and by the time they arrived at the APC, the remaining HECU Marines had set up a security perimeter around the vehicle.

One Marine moved to open the rear door of the APC while Vanguard and the badass shotgunner, none other than Sergeant Evermore, covered him. The Marine by the door gave a quick countdown and swung the door open.

Inside they found two shaken, but unharmed people in plainclothes, one male and one female, as well as a large wooden crate.

"Hands up, step out of the vehicle." Sergeant Evermore growled around a giant wad of dip in his lower lip.

Vanguard studied the two as they stepped down from the back of the APC. The man looked agitated, his eyes darted from one Marine to the next. The woman looked, well, hot as fuck.

She had dark red hair, legs for days, and more curves than a mountain pass.

She also looked pissed. She kept giving the man some ridiculous side eye. Then she noticed Vanguard looking at her, and glared, Vanguard swore the power to his PCV dropped by ten percent.

Vanguard winked at the red headed bombshell and gave her the call me gesture.

She snorted involuntarily.

Vanguard grinned and mouthed "I win".

Before they could continue the battle of wits that Vanguard was definitely winning, a lieutenant and two more Marines joined them.

"Country." The Lieutenant said.

The man looked confused, "I'm sorry?"

The woman arched an eyebrow, an amused look on her features.

"Roads." She purred, and Vanguard felt a tingle somewhere.

It had been a while.

The man whipped around to face the woman with a look of horror on his face and hands still above his head, "You didn't!"

The redhead shrugged, "Shouldn't have planned to send me to that fucking chop shop."

The man made to lunge for the woman, Vanguard stepped forward and struck him in the side with the butt of his rifle. The man collapsed onto the road, gripped his side and started wheezing.

"You broke my ribs you psycho!"

Vanguard shrugged, "You're welcome?"

The lieutenant ignored the man and motioned to the crate still in the APC. "Is that the package?"

The red headed woman nodded, and the lieutenant motioned to the Marines standing on either side of him. The Marines climbed into the APC and checked the crate for any traps before one of them pried the cover off with a small pry bar. The two Marines looked inside the crate, one of them shook his head, and the two replaced the cover.

"Did you really think we would transport something so valuable in trucks?" The man wheezed.

The lieutenant nodded to Vanguard, "Corporal, you're her escort, helos will be here in five, make sure you put flexicuffs and a hood on her before we lift off."

He turned to the shotgunner and pointed to the man who was now whimpering in pain, "Sergeant, get this shit stain to his feet, he goes on a separate bird, he gets a hood and cuffs too, you'll both get further orders when we land."

The Sergeant shifted his shotgun to the other hand, bent down, and roughly hauled the man to his feet. He then spat the biggest glob of tobacco juice Vanguard had ever seen onto the man's shoe.

"Move it, Shit Stain." He growled and shoved the man.

The lieutenant started barking orders, "Alright Marines, prep the area for departure, booby trap enemy weapons and that vic," he motioned to the last standing APC, "then police our casualties and weapons, let's move!"

Vanguard dug into a cargo pocket and pulled a set of plastic cuffs out. She looked down at the cuffs and up to Vanguard, eyebrow raised.

"Alright ma'am," Vanguard said, "turn around for me and put your hands behind your back please."

The redhead sighed and did as instructed, Vanguard put the cuffs on and tightened them.

"At least buy me dinner first." She grumbled.

"We'll swing by Waffle House on the way back." Vanguard deadpanned as he grabbed the woman under the shoulder and escorted her away.

The sound of helicopter rotors echoed through the air as Vanguard guided her to the LZ.

"You guys still have working air transport?" She asked, a hint of surprise in her voice as two UH-60 Blackhawks and a CH-53 Sea Stallion landed nearby.

He looked at her, then to the helicopters, specifically the Sea Stallion which had the word MARINES stenciled on the side in big bold letters.

"Right," she muttered, "stupid question."

Without a word, Vanguard led her to one of the Blackhawks, and got her secured in her seat. Once seated, Vanguard then put a burlap sack over her head. After double checking her restraints, he dropped his bag next to the deck, leaned back in his own seat, and was asleep before they had even got off the ground.


Marine Corps Base Camp Santego

Arizona

13 hours later

Nestled deep in a mountain range on the Arizona/New Mexico border lies Camp Santego, the headquarters of the Hazardous Environmental Combat Unit. Before the Seven Hour War, it housed all four companies of HECU, plus support staff, and was designed similarly to the Cheyenne Mountain complex.

Instead of NORAD, however, Camp Santego was a maze of underground training grounds, storage facilities for the armored and air units, barracks, armories, and everything else needed to make sure HECU was as lethal a fighting force as could be.

But that was before the Seven Hour War.

Now, Camp Santego was home to the last survivors of the HECU's fourth company. Known before The Show* as the Forgotten (or Fucked) Fourth.

Fourth Company was the only HECU company that was not activated during the Black Mesa incident.

This was because HECU leadership wasn't sure if Captain Bradshaw, the company commander of The Fourth, could have been trusted to order his Marines to 'completely sanitize' the Black Mesa Research Facility in the way that they wanted.

They were correct in that assessment, and in the aftermath of the Black Mesa Incident, the Commandant of the Marine Corps ordered Captain Bradshaw to place the top brass of Camp Santego under arrest so that they could stand trial.

In the foregoing months, Bradshaw and his Marines had done their best to make up for the actions of their counterparts, and before the Show, and for reasons Bradshaw could only speculate on, that had put them at odds with the CIA and their Black Ops teams.

Rumors circulated that after the Combine came into power those Black Ops teams, and the CIA at large, had decided to switch sides. The man sitting across from him was proof of that.

Bradshaw regarded the bloodied man with a cold, calculating stare as a Marine sergeant placed a clipboard in front of him. He scanned the sheet of paper on the clipboard and handed it back to the guard.

"So," he began, "Mister Smith was it?"

The man said nothing so Bradshaw continued in a low voice, " To be blunt, Smith, I need information. Information on that device that you were transporting, as well as information on the Combine, their troop strengths, patrol routes, key facilities in the area, things of that nature."

The gray haired captain paused again, but Mr. Smith still said nothing.

"Mister Smith I want to make one thing very clear so you can better understand your position. My Marines and I are up against a force that has thrown all of the rules of war we abide by out the window. The Geneva Convention is no longer in effect and you have information that we need and we will do what is necessary to acquire any information that will give us even the smallest advantage."

Mister Smith finally looked at the Captain, his eyes narrowed.

"I want to give you a chance to tell us what you know freely, I hope you understand that, as of now, everyone on this installation considers you a traitor who has sold out humanity to the Combine, but helping us will go a long way in helping smooth things over."

Mister Smith still said nothing.

"What was supposed to be in that crate?"

Silence.

Bradshaw glanced at his watch, "I will give you some time to think things over."

With that, Bradshaw rose from the table and walked out of the interrogation room where he was met by Gunnery Sergeant Ford, a tall bald and muscular man with dark skin and a deep voice.

"Do you think he'll talk?" Ford asked.

Bradshaw shook his head, "No, he thinks that if he waits us out, his friends will come rescue him."

"So our best bet is the girl then." Ford stated as the duo made their way to the other prisoner at the other side of the underground base.

"Most likely."

Ford nodded, "Makes sense, she's the one who contacted us in the first place."

"There was also supposed to be a high value item in that crate." Bradshaw pointed out. "This could be a trap, they could be bait to sniff out our location."

"Installation security is as high as it can be, Bradley and Stryker crews are on alert, and both the Abrams will be back online later today."

"What about the air crews?" Bradshaw asked.

"The birds are gassed up and fully armed, they can be airborne as soon as we give the order." Ford informed his superior.

Bradshaw nodded as he stopped in front of the second interrogation room., "Alright, let me know if anything happens."

Ford nodded and left as Bradshaw opened the door to reveal a room identical to the one he had just left. Instead of a quiet, sullen man, however, this occupant was the red headed female who was glaring daggers into the Marine that was her guard.

"Sir." The guard, Corporal Vanguard, said as he handed Bradshaw another clipboard and moved to block the exit.

Bradshaw nodded his thanks, looked at the clipboard as he had done with the first prisoner, and then began talking.

"Miss Veronica?"

"That's me."

Bradshaw nodded and set the clipboard down, "It says here you were an operative in one of the many, many, Black Ops teams the CIA used before the war."

Veronica nodded, "That's correct."

"However, your team wasn't at Black Mesa.*

"Also correct."

"So, why did you contact us?"

Veronica stared hard at the Captain for a few moments before she spoke.

"They're shipping us off." She finally said, breaking the silence.

Bradshaw frowned, "To where?"

"A few places, scattered around," she explained, "Some went to Germany, a few more in Eastern Europe, I was headed somewhere not far from where you picked me up."

"For what purpose?"

"To be," Veronica paused, "re-engineered."

"Like the Combine soldiers?" Bradshaw asked.

Veronica glanced up at Bradshaw, "So you've cracked them open?"

"We have."

"They have something different planned for the Black Ops teams. Something worse." Veronica looked down at her hands.

"How did you acquire this information?"

She let out a humorless laugh, "That's what I did before I was assigned to be a babysitter."

"For Mister Smith?"

She did laugh that time, "Is that what he's going by?"

Bradshaw gave a faint smile, "It is, he hasn't given us much else though, do you know what he does?"

"He's a regional commander and liaison for City Seventeen."

"What's so important about City Seventeen?"

Veronica looked surprised, "You don't know?"

Bradshaw didn't say anything.

"Seventeen is where Wallace Breen set up shop, it's Combine HQ."

Bradshaw raised an eyebrow, "Do you know its location?"

"Yeah," Veronica snorted, "Eastern Europe."

Veronica expected the old man to look disappointed, instead, she could already see him making plans.

"So," Bradshaw said after a brief moment, "why did you think we could help?"

Veronica shrugged, "Because you're you, the HECU's infamous Fucked Fourth. Saviors of Cannon Air Force Base, the avenging angels who rode in at the last minute and turned back a Combine assault, Mr. Smith was not happy with you for that by the way."

"I'll send him an apology card." Bradshaw deadpanned, "What was supposed to be in the crate?"

"I honestly don't know," Veronica admitted, "What little info I could find didn't make any sense."

"What do you mean?"

"It was a bunch of science talk about teleporters and alternate dimensions, and the best part is that it's an advanced piece of tech." A wry grin spread onto her face, "From Black Mesa."

"Can you tell me where it was going?"

"Even better," she replied, "I can show you."


*The Show: Or The Big Show, a shorthand way Marines of Fourth Company refer to the Seven Hour War and further proof that the military loves acronyms even with world ending events.