Chapter 3

From there it was a short walk to the barracks, like the rest of Cheyenne Mountain those were being expanded. Crews had moved aside bunks for easier access, as they passed he observed a crew installing new lights on the ceiling. There were fewer workers and less equipment than in the R&D labs or the hangar, new barracks were a lower priority it seemed.

The rooms within were already being claimed, bags with name tags were set on cots as markers. Horribly informal, he guessed a sergeant would straighten things out later, but it worked for now. And peeking at the men already present, like a group of buff men with mustaches playing cards and casting unfriendly looks at the apparent civvies in their midsts, he doubted they would care that much.

For a moment he stopped and took a deep breath, letting out a small sigh. Dry, check. Clean save for the dust from construction, mm, mostly. Enough lysol to gas a man? The smell of a US Military barracks was present here, in all its eye watering, sinus clogging glory.

Of course he didn't sneeze, a Colonel with his distinguished record would never sneeze in circumstances like this, it was far beneath his dignity. Despite the 'demotion' he was no mere recruit who just arrived at Boot.

When he was sure nobody was looking he rubbed his nose.

He just needed a bit to get used to it again was all. Retirement had dulled his sinuses… and admittedly he wasn't the most orderly person anyway, that cottage cheese in his fridge wasn't that far past its expiration date- he cleared his throat, catching a knowing smirk from an unaffected Kawalsky.

The folks around here… were an interesting bunch. US SEALs and Rangers giving each other looks, Polish GROM settling in, two GSG-9 members who already had to enjoy some rather good natured ribbing about being cops, British SAS with one man in particular spouting an excellent example of a mustache looking around for exits. But also less… conventional US allies.

He observed a whole bunch of Nigerians and Egyptians getting ready for evening prayer, while an ethnically japanese brazilian talked with an actual japanese person, at least based on the patches stitched on their sleeves. The latter was struggling to speak what he guessed was portuguese, the former was helping him pronounce his words.

Now, Jack was hardly monolingual, for all the in his opinion well justified love he felt for simple and decent plain old english, but some of the talk around here was too much even for him.

"Calling dibs." Ferreti busied himself by rushing into an unclaimed room, flashing a look much like Jack's.

"This is something, ain't it Jack?" Kawalsky said before heading inside as well.

"Yeah, it is." Jack was aware that he left his earshot, taking in the big picture.

X-COM was calling upon friends and enemies alike to band together. Old rivalries and ancient feuds were being set aside for the greater good. Or something flowery like that, he was sure this whole pony show was pragmatism at its core. Best not to let a country become too favorable to the aliens, letting them establish a foothold with human allies. Present a united front, not allowing any divide and conquer strategies. Doing so would be a mess, one that the briefing showed they couldn't afford. Jack was sure that was it, but if the grunts believed in a noble cause, then hey, more power to them.

Still, what Cheyenne Mountain was transforming into was damn near unprecedented, the only thing he could think of to rival this operation was the Manhattan Project. And what he saw was a whole lot bigger than an atomic bomb.

That had ultimately ended a big war.

He just hoped that this time less people would have to die.

—-

The alarm was shrill and accompanied by blaring lights, distracting Jack while he dashed in with the unit. It was a makeshift bunch hustling to the briefing room, with as many flags as there were men, many of whom spared critical glances at him. Jack ignored them, he had to see what this was all about.

The briefing room was a different area than the initial conference hall, brand new to the point of not even being painted. In fact it was pretty sparse except for a projector, currently running from a computer operated by a harried looking technician, who was fussing with the device even as they piled in. There weren't any chairs, just a few foldable desks with warm papers tossed on top.

Hammond stomped into seconds after the dozen men poured inside, grimacing while he read the document. "Alright men, I'll make this quick. There's been a confirmed UFO presence detected on radar, interceptors weren't able to get there in time. It's touching down in Chicago in thirty minutes or less, you'll be on the ground shortly after them. National Guard units are being mobilized, but they have no idea what they're up against. I don't have any intel on the enemy's position, numbers, or equipment, just a rough guess of their unit size. You'll receive more intel along the way, when we know you know."

Jack resisted the urge to hiss. This was a recipe for disaster, he just knew it.

"Private O'Neill-" Hammomd singled out Jack with a pointed finger, making him freeze. Him and the other men present, the British and Brazilian and Egyptian troopers who had clearly been here longer, staring at him with a mix of unease and confusion. "You and your team are heading out to meet 'em. You boys have the most experience fighting aliens, you're up first. The rest of you are deploying in one hour, we have possible abduction reports in Britain and Argentina. We're meeting them wherever they land."

"…well sir, far be it from me to question an order, but we just got here." Now that got him some fresh looks, of the unpleasant variety. But Jack wasn't just testing how far he could push before he was disciplined, there were valid concerns at hand. Like how he didn't even have a weapon, he didn't know the comms protocols, he was still in his jacket and shows for pete's sake.

"My point stands. Ritter, you're going with them." Hammond's tone brokered no argument, the slight narrowing of his eyes hammering the point home. "The longer you sit here and argue, the more time these bastards have to dig in and harm civilians. Dismissed."

Sucking in a breath past clenched teeth, Jack turned and walked off, rolling his shoulders for a shiver. Right, crisis.

Now how was Kawalsky managing to grin. "Cheer up Jack, it's the Windy City. The locals will get to the aliens before we do."

The armory wasn't far, a newly built room that had a tarp over the other side for new construction. What was here was meticulously cleaned and carefully watched, the quartermasters he saw were already preparing for all sorts of grunts to outfit. Read: to clean and fix any messes the trigger pullers were going to make, screaming included free of charge.

Ferretti and the german guy, Ritter, were already suiting up, ahead of the rest of the team and ahead of Jack. A uniform and armor were waiting for him already, and picking it up to inspect his new gear, he could only whistle.

Putting it on felt he was adding a shell to his body, once the chest piece was fully buttoned up with the help of an aide stood up and grunted. It was lighter than it looked, a bit more flexible too. Tapping on the armor while arm and shin guards were strapped on, he discovered it was moderately flexible, it wouldn't be hard to stand up if he were knocked over, and his range of movement wasn't that badly affected…

Jack looked down. "Careful with the goods bud."

"That's why this is here sir. In the future you will do this part yourself." The aide finished the strap for the groin protection.

Jack should have grabbed a helmet, but that wasn't his style. Besides, he figured that however fancy this armor was, it probably wasn't stopping a plasma shot, mobility and cover would be better protection. By the looks of it Kawalsky didn't share his opinion, strapping on a helmet like a pro.

Now for the interesting part, Jack accepted a bulky rifle and checked it over. This wasn't a US Military standard weapon, actually he wasn't sure where it was from or who made it. What he did know was that he needed some range time to figure out its quirks, get it sighted in, and see what it could do. Though a peek inside the magazine hinted it was going to be one mean thing.

Once he was suited up Jack took a moment to look himself over. He… looked like some 80s comic artist's idea of the future, if he were honest. Off to fight aliens on Planet Sphero or something corny. Only, this was actually happening.

"Let's go, we dust off in five!" And Ferretti wasn't letting himself get lost in the moment. All business, just like a nervous looking Ritter.

Rolling his shoulders, Jack marched back to the hangar, hoping for a quick check in with Carter but failing to see her. A shame, he hoped she had some information that could be useful. Something understandable preferably.

Earlier Jack expected something fancy for a transport, and he wasn't disappointed by what was wheeled in. A twin engines brick that was moderately streamlined, being fueled up as they marched into view, its dark colored hull only emphasizing how huge its engines were. If this thing couldn't hit at least mach 4 Jack would be offended.

He already pitied the poor maintenance crew, based on the briefing this beauty was going to have a lot of miles on it before too long.

The presumed pilot was doing a quick walk around inspection, turning when he heard them approach. A thirtish man with a warm smile and a buzz cut, Jack recognized him as a fighter jockey long before he spoke.

"Howdy gentlemen, welcome to X-COM. This bird here is called the Skyranger, a supersonic VTOL transport fresh out of skunkworks. It'll be your ride to wherever you need to go." He had a light southern drawl, nothing too much. "I'd give you boys the full walk through with this thing, but the order came down. Strap yourselves in, we're out in two minutes."

"You got, mister…" Jack left hanging.

"Mitchell sir, or I guess you should be calling me sir. Anyway, Cameron Mitchell, at your service. I'm new to this girl, but I've been flyin' F-16s for years. You can count on me to get you boys into the fight pronto." Michell grinned.

"I'll hold you to that. The names O'Neill, with two Ls." Jack gave the pilot a solid handshake, letting go and rushing into the cabin.

The craft was already rumbling to life by the time Jack was in, fumbling with a lot of straps. Lights from the hangar dimmed as the hatch closed, he just got himself tightened down when the intercom crackled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Skyranger Airlines, I'll be your pilot. Please put your trays into the upright position, we're expecting clear skies and a high chance of alien invaders. Enjoy your flight." What flight would be complete without some snark?

Jack liked this guy already. Ritter looked puzzled, Kawalsky leaned in to explain, but then the engine roared to life. It was deafeningly loud, they needed radios if they were going to hear anything.

Seconds later the Skyranger lifted into the air, tilting sideways once it was clear of the hangar, then it shot off. Jack grunted, being sucked into his seat. Without a gauge he couldn't tell, but if they weren't breaking the sound barrier already he would be shocked. And it just kept going faster…

The flight probably only took forty to forty five minutes, but it felt longer, like he was taking a marathon trip to Iraq from California. Jack was thankful when the craft finally slowed, jolting them again as they descended. Weakening enough to let him stand on somewhat rubbery legs, Jack groaned as he undid his belts, stomach fluttering as they lowered to the ground. Ferretti looked a little green around the gills, somehow Ritter looked just fine, and of course Kawalsky was smirking.

Then the hatch opened into a dark cityscape, and there was no more time for jokes. Hefting the rifle, Jack ran out into the open.