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. 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 it,
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 are ready," Dr. Shang said with passive hostility.
"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.
"Alright, armory. No slacking." Tom ordered. Despite being the youngest of the group, he displayed the most leadership capability, especially now, after his 'treatment' as he later came to call it. Velociraptors were normally vicious creatures, but they were also scary smart. Fortunately for Tom, being jammed into a crowded field with bullets pinging by overhead and explosions all around without being able to work together to overcome a superior enemy weren't exactly advantageous for a Raptor. The Iraqis just hadn't gotten into their heads that they were taking a behavior and instincts born millions of years ago and barely suppressing it with drugs and pain. Eventually the Raptors would snap, and turn on their brutal allies, the Iraqis.
All of the courtyards were designated according to importance and proximity to the gate. Conveniently, the building just inside the gate was an armory, so Tom and the crew, as well as anyone else exiting on an operation, wouldn't have to trudge halfway across the college sized research and development facility. The team jogged back to the lift and mashed the holographic display that took the place of buttons in the high-tech elevator and rapidly descended to the bottom.
The lifts were meant to get people and objects to their destination as fast as possible, and at one point Tom felt his stomach rise as he entered free fall inside the shaft. Just as quickly as it came, it passed, and soon Tom felt the lift slowing. The doors dinged open a moment later, and Tom jogged over the threshold and to the exterior door.
Unlike when Facility 1 was under attack and all the exterior blast doors were open to let troops out as fast as possible, the blast doors leading to the real world outside were usually heavily locked down. A biometric access denial panel ran along one wall, and a code was required to open. Tom keyed in the code SHAMEOFFORTKNOX and the blast doors slowly slid apart, then the lighter plastic doors detached and opened. Tom jogged out, not even bothering to check if the rest of the crew was following. He knew they would be.
The Officer's barracks and rooms were located at the near center of the campus, just beside the main research building that made the centerpiece of the large military camp. Oddly enough, the facility was so large it merited a highspeed mag-rail train that ran from the main research building to a supply depot fairly close to the gates. Tom boarded the train, and as he turned to grab a handhold, he saw Matt, Holly, and Scarlett walking in a straight line slightly behind each other. Training was part of their lives. No thinking involved anymore, just action. There was no sense in walking in a tight group for the benefit of an assassin or bomber that happened to be in the neighborhood. That would be just their luck, to be preparing for an op crucial to the success of America, and all get blown into pieces just because they walked together. Tom grimaced at the thought.
Matt boarded the train, then Holly a few seconds after, with Scarlett taking their six.
Tom reached out to jab the launch button, but waited for a recruit pushing an ammo carriage to settle in as well. The recruit was so busy fussing over the ammo that he only realized he was in the presence of four officers when he looked up after securing the supplies, by which time Tom had hit the button and the train was taking off.
The recruit looked up and before he could grab a hold, he saw Tom.
"Sir!" The recruit stammered, and hastily raised his right hand in a salute. Without his hand on a hold, the train picked up speed and the recruit flew backward. He would have crashed into a wall, except that Tom grabbed him by the collar and hung on until the man's flailing arms could clutch at on of the restraints.
Tom let go, and the man hastily saluted again, this time keeping a leg wrapped around a pole and his other hand securely locked on a loop.
"At ease, soldier. That's an order." Tom told him. The recruit was a year older than Tom, and he felt justly awkward about ordering someone outside his squad a year or two his senior around.
The man nodded and ducked his head to check on the ammo crates, his face heating.
The ghost of a smile lit Tom's face, and he turned back to his team.
The train was bolting along the magnetic railway, officially labeled 'really really fast'. They would be at the supply depot in another couple minutes. Tom clutched loosely at the support.
Exactly three minutes and five seconds later, the doors split apart, and Tom found himself in a musty, gray storage center. Stalls lined one wall, their locks controlled by a man behind a desk on the other side of the space, bulletproof glass extending from the desk to the ceiling. The recruit behind Tom busied himself pushing the cart towards one of the stalls, his ID card held up for the operator to see.
Tom searched for the nearest exit. He strode towards a glowing, helpful sign labeled 'Exit'. Matt followed a few feet behind.
Tom opened the exterior door, and the crew filed outside into the sunlight for the second time in five minutes. Tom looked around and found the building he was looking for; the armory, painted a deep blue color with an assault rifle painted on the door in white paint.
Tom entered the building after opening a third exterior blast door set. Inside he saw racks and racks of rifles, shotguns, SMGs, LMGs, explosives, and handguns. The weapons were organized into separate rooms. Tom walked up to a rack and examined the occupants. He was in the SMG room.
Time to load up with some serious gear.
Thirty full minutes later, Tom strode to the checkout booth in the armory so the operator could tab his weapons, make sure they got back to the right place.
He was packing heavy. So were the rest. Tom had a feeling he'd need it. Even with an assault rifle, SMG, handgun, and grenades, he still felt uneasy.
He strode out into courtyard Alpha with the rest of the crew right on his tail. Dotted around the enormous courtyard were 8 Assault Heli-Planes, rotors beginning to spin as they warmed up. Boarding them were lines of green-on-black-clad soldiers, looking scary as all-get out, armed to the teeth with rifles in hand and secondaries strapped on their backs. Tom estimated about a hundred and fifty men, with he didn't know how many already in the heli-planes.
Looking closer, Tom spied West slouched against one of the Heliplanes that had red paint designating it as a command craft. Tom strode over after leaving Matt and the others, aware that all the eyes of those in the courtyard were on him.
