෴෴෴ ෴෴෴ ෴෴෴

Scorched Earth

෴෴෴ ෴෴෴ ෴෴෴

In a rundown but spacious hangar just outside Faya-Largeau, Chad, a team waited on standby. The group had the hallmarks of a hastily thrown-together mercenary operation. With few exceptions, they whiled away the time on their own, avoiding extraneous contact with each other.

On one end of the hangar, a broadly built man wearing a dark khaki outfit did improvised bench presses with the front end of a pickup truck. Each lift punctuated by a soft grunt of effort.

The corner nearest the back door had been walled off with rough cloudy glass. The glass walls were glossy and smooth, with no way in or out. Inside, a tiny figure dressed in dark gray was barely visible, in a warped and distorted way. The distorted figure appeared to be sculpting mud. Occasionally the slim silhouette would vanish for a few seconds at a time.

In another corner, a Hispanic man, notable by a large scar across his face, wearing desert camo, sat at a translucent glass workbench. An AKM rifle was torn apart in front of him. Next to the workbench was a beige glass weapon rack, with several AKM variant rifles and other small arms arrayed on it.

A group of local mercenaries occupied one corner of the building. Indistinguishable from the Faya-Largeau locals, they seemed more comfortable with the heat, dressed in worn but serviceable desert gear. Several played cards, one was reading a book. One of the younger mercenaries was walking alongside a tall white man who had just come back in from outside.

This younger soldier had just made the mistake of asking the tall, bespectacled man about the process of gaining abilities.

“—then, I hook you up to a drip, and give you the catalyst very slowly. While that happens, you maintain a steady frame of mind and think about the ability you want. The better you can mentally articulate the ability, the better your chances of not dying horribly.”

The man rubbed his hands together with obvious glee at the thought. “Eventually, you either die or get the ability. It can go on for quite a while.”

The younger soldier gulped. “It, your—method. Does it hurt?” he asked in a thick proto-french accent.

The taller man stopped short, and smiled widely, showing too many perfectly straight white teeth. “Well, I’ve done it myself, so I can say yes. It’s like you’re being set on fire, from the inside. Honestly, it’s worse every time. So yes. It hurts more than you can imagine. That’s why I’d have you strapped down, of course.”

The mercenary gave an uncertain smile and wandered off back to the rest of the locals. They immediately began interrogating him about the conversation he’d had, a loud polyglot mix of French and Arabic rising from the group.

He called out after the young man, “I’ll have you know my success rate is far above average in the industry! The young lady with us is a prime example of a success story! I have the equipment to do it here with us if you're interested.”

In the middle of the enormous building, they had set a sort of office up. A table made of solid brown glass held a pair of portable computers, printer, and satellite data uplink. The unused portable computer started beeping loudly.

A feminine voice rang out from behind the glass walls. “Boss! It’s for you.”

The man doing bench presses pulled himself out from under the truck and glanced at the figure behind the muddy glass walls. “Ingrid! I tell you stay out of computer!” A disdainful muttering was his only answer.

At the sculpted glass desk, sat another man in glasses, identical down to the clothing as the one speaking to the Chadian mercenary. He glanced over at the screen, then absently hit a key on the beeping machine to shut it up and called out. “Yes boss, it is indeed for you,” he said with a tone of disdain.

With a sigh, the broad-shouldered man popped to his feet. “Svolach Hui!” The Russian curse rolled off his tongue more naturally than the English he normally spoke. He continued a litany of Slavic cursing to himself as he went to check the incoming message. Scanning over the message, his scowl only deepened.

With an irritated expression, he looked around the building. “Meeting in ten minutes.” He called out loud enough to fill the large space.

He looked around the room and started giving orders. “Ingrid, clean up all not essential.”

A hole opened in the glass wall around the sculptor. A feminine hand stuck out and gave a thumbs up. A moment later the glass began separating into grains of glittering sand.

He looked at the man working with the rifles. “Juan, finish up and let Ingrid know when you done. He punctuated this by pulling a set of weapons off the rack for himself. Juan nodded and cycled the action on the rifle he was working on several times, then put the upper receiver cover back on and slung the rifle.

“You got it. Gear is all ready.” His Mexican-Spanish accent was faint but clear.

A few seconds later, another message came in. The tall man in the lab coat lifted his spectacles when he saw it was for him and began to read it. The neutral expression he wore shifted into a glare that only intensified as he got further into the message.

Ten minutes later, The well-built man in khaki pulled up drone footage of the target and laid out the plan of attack. Afterward, he looked over the group. “Now. Each of you, tell me your part of the plan, your overall role.” He pointed at the scarred Latino. “You first.”

Juan nodded and started to speak. He glossed over his role as quartermaster to the operation, and focussed on his role in the assault on the target. “My overall role now, is simply to liaise with our local help and back up Ingrid. Ahh, but…” He trailed off.

“Something on your mind?” The man in charge asked.

Juan shrugged. “Fidel, you know I’ll fill whatever role you need. But when you hired me, I assumed you were looking for my services as a sniper. I feel wasted on the close assault.”

Fidel shook his head. “Look at these.” He pulled up a picture of a four legged beetle-like creature with arms tipped with long scythe-like blades. “This anomaly produces mostly non aggressive creatures that cannot long survive this desert. These, on the other hand, are well suited to the environment, and eat first creatures, and anything else they can catch.” He looked at Juan. “We know not how many they are. They strong and fast, and I would prefer we don’t return to your sniper hide and find you eaten. Your ability would not be enough to keep you safe. As you said, you are our commander on the ground for our local friends.” His wave took in the Chadian soldiers.

The local mercenaries looked concerned. One of them spoke up. “How big?”

Fidel pointed at the pickup truck he’d been lifting. “Bigger than that.”

The young soldier swallowed and nodded.

Fidel looked to Ingrid.

She sat up a little straighter. “I’ll try to sneak in, take out the guard towers and gas the barracks. If that works out, I'll get the data. If I can take out the defenses and get all the research, we can avoid the whole fight and just bomb the site. If that doesn't work, I’ll try not to get killed and you can all use the barricades I’ll make for you ahead of time to light them up. Or something like that.”

Fidel looked at the last team member.

The two identical men both rolled their eyes at him and reluctantly nodded. “I’m here as backup, to assist with the fight.” His distaste and disdain were clear in his every move. “And because our wonderful employer is upset with me and wishes to punish me and make a point.” He paused, then smiled. “On the other hand, maybe I'll get a chance to try out my newest version of the implants.” The other one quivered in what looked like a moment of ecstasy.

Ingrid shuddered and looked at the pair with undisguised horror and disgust. Fidel scowled and almost suppressed his own shudder. He raised his hand for quiet. “Leon, we have a strict scorched earth order.”

Both identical men smiled widely and shrugged before one spoke. “I saw the orders, you’re in charge ‘boss’.” He injected pure disdain into his words. “But as you know, if we find someone with an ability, I have a standing order from the top to try out the field implantable chip.”

Fidel frowned but nodded before wrapping up the briefing. “Ok, we have many miles to travel, get your gear stowed, and let us begin.