Atlantis: chapter 7

And here's the next chapter in the ongoing saga (lol). Chapter seven everyone!

Please note this is a work in progress, the authors reserve the right to edit and/or re-format the book.

Chapter VII: Eggs, Bacon, and Orders

"Wake up sleepy head." A soft voice flowed through Tom's ear as he drifted back to consciousness. It was Scarlett.

"Right now?" He grumbled. Tom was not much of a morning person.

"Yep. Matt's making eggs and bacon."

"Somehow the idea of a homey meal of eggs and bacon here just turns the thought sour." Tom yawned.

Tom lifted himself on his elbow into a slouched but technically upright position. Blinking back the sleep-induced haze, he crawled out from under the thin blanket. He stumbled up to the kitchen counter of the tiny room and groped around for the coffee pot. Pouring himself a cup of the dark, cloudy black liquid, he settled down on a stool with a plate.

Matt was still in the kitchen, beating a bowl of eggs. Somehow it just seemed out of place. Matt scrambling eggs inside and firing guns and slicing with knives outside. Just odd.

Holly came and joined him after downing three cups of coffee in one sitting.

"Thanks for breakfast Matt." Holly said through a mouth full of eggs.

Tom stared at the golden, fluffy eggs with chunks of ham seeded throughout and a sprinkle of pepper on top. It reminded him so much of the time spent with his Mom, and suddenly he didn't want to be there.

"So when'd you learn to cook?" Tom finally asked.

"My mom taught me." Matt answered. "She was concerned that I would be a lifeless slob in college, and so made it her duty to educate me in household necessities."

Tom grinned, and Matt chuckled.

"She sure did a wonder on you in the fine art of putting eggs on a pan." Holly said, adopting a fancy British accent.

"I think they're great." Scarlett said.

"Glad someone appreciates my hard work." Matt said in mock indignation.

The exchange was so like old friends from elementary school. We are indeed friends from elementary, Tom reflected.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Asked Scarlett after a moment.

"Well, I thou-" Holly began.

Tom's comm link vibrated. He walked over to the headset, which was sitting on a table beside his bed, and fit it over his head. The visual-audio system let him view Dr. Shang's pale, thin features in vivid detail.

"Sorry to wake you, Mr. Lane, but you are needed in my office. Bring the rest of the company with you." He said, then closed the link.

"Looks like our rest is short lived." Tom groaned.

"We'd better go see what he wants." Matt grunted, then tossed his plate into the trash.

All four of them, sporting light military fatigues, piled into a lift and ascended to the top floor. A secretary was awaiting them as they got off the large, open elevator and crossed the threshold to the top commanding offices.

"Follow me this way please." She said. Her breath was tinged with a spearmint twang.

They were shown into a office adorned with plush black leather couches and tall, wiry lamps. A small, cozy fake fire was glowing from one wall. The lamps threw out harsh LED white light, the only portion of the office out of place. Numerous military decorations hung on the wall above a richly adorned mahogany desk. Thick oriental rugs carpeted the floor. Hanging above the medals and Doctor degrees was a set of ceremonial Wakazashi Japanese sword-daggers. It was Tom's first clue as to Dr. Shang's heritage.

And that was another thing. Dr. Shang had a P.h.D in psychology and Medical science.

Tom cast a glance at the finery and decided he'd rather stand. The rest of the crew apparently agreed, for they all stood beside Tom.

"Please, take a seat," Dr. Shang drawled, interrupting Tom's momentary detached manner.

The crew looked around and reluctantly lowered themselves onto the overstuffed chairs, with the exception of Tom, who remained standing.

Dr. Shang raised an eyebrow but made no comment.

"Tea, anyone? It's Jasmine," Shang offered. When no one spoke, he shrugged and poured himself a cup. Savoring the smell of the expensive blend, he took a sip, then set the cup on a immaculate white saucer on his desk designated for that exact purpose only.

"Now, to the heart of the matter," Shang cut abruptly. "As you well know, the raid on Facility 1 has left us stretched thin, and our defensive networks threaten to fall. We cannot let this happen." He said, opening a file on his laptop and spinning it around so that Tom and the rest of the crew could see.

"As you see here, Facility 1 guards the Southernmost tip of our section of our network. Without the strategic advantage of the facility, the enemy will have an unchallenged alley to surround us, a secret pass, if you will. Without Facility 1, the enemy can surround us and attack from three of the four cardinal directions: East, South, and West. We cannot allow this to happen under any circumstances. This campaign would end here and now. This is not acceptable. America beaten by Russia! What will people think? Yes, America won the Cold War. Thirty years later and Russia stomps us out of the most significant historical and technological find of the millennium! It can't, it won't happen. However, we need you four's help.

"We are dispatching teams to set up camp along this rift here," Shang said, running his finger on a precipitous drop two kilometers to the West of Facility 1. "The mission for these teams will be to set up a mobile rapid attack force borderline that defines our space. Four teams, four camps, and four mobile defense outposts. Conveniently, there happens to be four of you.

"This operation will be assisted by patrolling Predator UCAVs, or unmanned-"

"I know, I know," Tom interrupted impatiently. "Unmanned combat aerial vehicles."

"Good. I forget that you are not the stubborn, oblivious Lieutenants that I have to deal with. Regardless, you will be aided by patrolling Predator attack drones, and you will have access to whatever equipment you need. This mission is encoded class Beta, one of the highest their is. Needless to say, this cannot fail." Turning the screen around to face him again, Shang closed out of the virtual map and pulled up a word processor.

"Now for your teams. I have them sorted out for you already, or you can handpick members from your own squads if you want. Oh, and Tom, West has recovered. Turns out he wasn't bashed up as much as we thought, and the meds gave him a few stimulants, so he's good to go on active combat."

"Thank you sir," Tom replied tersely. "I'll be glad to have him on my roster."

"Hm, well, your teams will consist of fifty men. One man will not make much of a difference."

"No sir," Tom was forced to agree.

"Well, do you have any preferences besides West?" Shang asked.

"No sir. Just West. I don't want anyone else from my squad to get hurt, and they deserve a break."

"Very good. Matthew? Any preferences?"

"No sir, I will be content with any you can give me, so long as they won't slow us down." Matt ground his teeth. He hated his full name, as he thought it didn't sound tough enough.

"Alright. Scarlett?"

"No sir."

"Holly?"

"No sir."

"Good. Your teams have seen some action before, so you won't have to worry about any greenhorns getting in the way. Matter of fact, they're the best that the American military has to offer. Together, they make up Angel Squadron. I believe you're familiar with them?" Shang asked.

"Yes sir, just rumors and overheard chatter among my men, nothing solid though."

"Paraphrasing the President, 'Angel squadron makes up the finest and bravest of America, they are our fallbacks whom we can count on to show us the path to victory...'. In short, they are the elite. The best of the best, only top grade-A Psi soldiers."

Tom saw Matt out of the corner of his eye turn slightly and mutter, "Psi soldiers?" to Scarlett.

"I'm sorry sir, you said...?"

"Psi soldiers, like yourselves. They are the specials, all of them can control one type of element or energy, but only one, unlike yourselves. Conveniently, Angel squad consists of 196 men. So you each get 49 men for your expedition. Tom, you'll have 51, including West.

"Yes sir," Tom answered. This whole 'yes sir, no sir' crap is really annoying. Tom thought at Matt.

Yeah, I feel like the sheep in the song 'ba ba black sheep'. Matt answered, although no verbal sound escaped his lips.

Scarlett joined in next. Tell me about,

And I don't see why we have to answer 'yes sir' to him. Holly jumped in, not wanting to be left out.

Yeah, Scarlett agreed. All of us could kick his fat-

Guys, listen, he's about to speak again. Tom warned.

Not 'he', but it. Scarlett said.

Just one of the many gifts of having psychological powers, Tom and the crew had learned telepathy at an early age. During their days at a government training camp (their lives were that weird) the only way they had been able to speak without fear of being overheard by the millions of cameras and bugs and listening software was to do it mentally.

An added advantage to using telepathy, unlike the normal rules of physics, telepathic thought took place instantaneously. They could have whole conversations in only a thousandth of a second.

"Your teams will meet you forty five minutes from now in the courtyard outside. Make sure you have all your gear and whatnot by then."

"Yes sir!" The crew declared all at once.

"Thats it. Dismissed."

"Yes sir!" The crew shuffled out of the cozy office with Tom in the lead.