“So when they say prepare for drop, they’re being literal. Like, actually brace yourself. Disengaging from the plane is pretty rough. Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you, alright?” Iris said over the general frequency.

Silvy said, “Dropping Charlie in five minutes.”

“Why would I need to brace for the drop?” Roselyn asked.

“Just trust me?”

Mendel commandeered the line. “Alright, listen up. This mission is a bit unorthodox, and I know that’s making a lot of you uncomfortable. Trust me, I understand. It’s not normal to bring on two temp workers for something this important… but, we haven’t done it for no reason. This is the kind of mission that you only hear about once in a lifetime, and each of you, on this plane, back on the ship, scattering around the world to our allies right now? You’re in the middle of it. This is some Grade A spy shit. They’re going to make movies about this, if we pull it off.”

Iris wished she could see the reaction that was receiving from the rest of the crew, from everyone working for Blumhagen. Mendel’s voice was getting broadcast to everyone in the PMC. To people on standby, to people actively deploying, and everyone else. Blumhagen was going to war without a contract, pointing their sword right at the throat of some of the richest people in the world, without even the means to loot their treasuries.

“The mission is simple to say, difficult to execute. That's where you all come in, coordination, execution, clean up. BISON has just shat all over half the world, a lab grown feces of a blighted monster. Don’t ask me how it regenerates, but it does. Our own Iris Haber isa the one who spent a few hours experimenting on it to prove this. Wherever in the world it is, the largest intact piece of Fauxnir will regrow. The Shermans did this as a non-stop biological weapon against UAAF. This will make ye olde suicide bombers look like a pleasant disagreement. This monster, it’s going to pop up all over the world and destroy whatever is near it. It’s going to break homes, kill civilians, cripple their economy… if we don’t catch it without them knowing.”

Iris said a prayer, though she wasn’t particularly faithful, that Blumhagen’s encryption wasn’t compromised.

Mendel continued, “That’s where our new recruits come in, because the only thing to be done about a full grown monster is to cut it into little tiny pieces. Butcher it. Pulp it. Burn it. We’re going to have to keep doing that, in conjunction with local forces, until it regenerates in a place where we can capture it. Once that’s taken care of, we go after the people in charge and cut their heads off… That’s where the catch comes in.”

Iris could feel the collective groan of the entire PMC, even if she couldn’t hear it. Mendel gave them the moment of discomfort, and went on. “The Shermans have some serious cash. Enough to buy entire countries. They financed the production of this bio-monster, both of them are state of the art HAB units. We can only guess what else they have up their sleeves, who they’ve bought off, or what they might throw at us. We’re going to have to play it fast and loose. Gunna have to roll with the punches, adapt, improvise. That’s why I’ve procured the services of our former enemies. I’m putting them on the front line, because they can take it, but only if they get the help they need. We’re in this together, and if we pull it off, then we’ll save the damn world.”

With that Mendel terminated. The company commander could only say so much. It wasn’t like he was asking them to storm the beaches of Normandy, but to spend the next few days scattering across the world to do disaster recovery while he negotiated for their pay. Everyone in Blumhagen had a different job, a different angle to take, and that fell to squad leaders to disseminate. Mendel’s attention would be directly on the three HAB units he was ferrying around.

“Dropping in three, two, one,” Silvy said, and the plane shuddered. Drop Pod Charlie fell an inch, enough for the wind scoop to get exposed, then it was torn free of the belly of the cargo plane. Everyone heard a crunch of metal from Roselyn’s mic. The plane lurched a bit while people tried to suppress their laughter over the general.

Mendel pinged Iris directly to ask, “You think I can dock her pay for damaging my drop pod?”

“I think you’ll only have to worry about that if we all survive,” Iris responded.

Silvy cleared her throat and was the first to stop laughing. “Right, that’s Drop Pod Charlie away, special delivery to the East European Plain. Turning due east now.”

Roselyn screamed, “Why am I in a drop pod sized for equipment deliveries? Why was my face even able to reach the crash frame?” Then the landing thrusters lit up, and she was auto-muted so noone had to listen to the roar of her landing among the dunes boarding the European territory. The first incarnation of Fauxnir had been detected via satellite, easy to spot something black the size of a train car moving through an irradiated tundra.

“Just be careful down there,” Mendel said. “Once the Shermans realize their pet has been stopped, they’ve probably got some fallback plan. Wouldn’t be much of a weapon if it could just be captured, now could it? They aren’t going to make this easy on us.”

A moment later, her drop pod landed, and Roselyn grumbled over the radio as she kicked the door off and extricated herself. “You better send me a car or something soon. This ain’t gunna take me more than five minutes,” she said, her voice already getting weak as the cargo plane left her behind.

“Sure, sure,” Mendel said. “We’ve got some local contacts delivering you an autonomous truck. Hop in there after you’re done.” Roselyn’s claim that it would take only five minutes didn’t pan out, but nobody particularly doubted her acoustic blade could do the work. The problem was the accuracy of the drop location, just like when Iris had landed in Siberia. Roselyn had to get to the monster first, and hope it didn’t turn tail and run away. It gave the cargo plane time to cross the Urals.

Holly broke the silence of the plane, speaking over the dull vibrations of engines and wind. While people had been checking ammo, watching radar reports, listening to radio chatter, she had been rubbing her thumbs together like she might spark a fire with them. “So I’m getting dropped next?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just as soon as we figure out where the next one is going to regenerate. We’re flying over Siberia now. We figure UAAF will have all of South Asia under control, more or less. We’re just going to focus our contributions out in the boonies.”

“Okay, but shouldn’t I stay in the plane until the second one regenerates? We don’t actually know whether the next largest piece is in Asia, and like, even if it is, Asia is really big. What if it’s back near Pump Nine?”

Mendel sighed into the microphone. “If it’s near Pump Nine, which I’ll remind you, was just blown to Kingdom Come, then whatever is left of the UAAF army division will deal with it. Don’t worry, Miss Smith, we’re dropping you with the mantabike that Iris stole. You’ll be able to get around. You know how to fly one, right?”

“Only sort of. Hey, come on, you can just do a big lap until after Roselyn wins the fight, right?” Holly asked.

As if she was still listening in, Roselyn added, “Found it, killed it. I mean like, chopped it in half. Doing the ol’ slice and dice now. Get ready for the next one.”

“Alright,” Mendel said. “Holly, you’ll be getting a direct feed from UAAF satellite mapping. The moment they detect regeneration, a big bastard rampaging around, you’ll get the GPS coordinates and off you’ll go. We’re dropping you now. Good luck, Miss Smith.”

“Hey, wait! This is too early!”

Her protest ended with the clunk and scrape of her drop pod getting jettisoned out somewhere in the reclamation territory of the Gobi desert-turned-hydrofarms. Mendel whistled. “Plane, would you please take us due north?”

“I’m next then, right?” Silvy asked. She wasn’t seated in a drop pod like Iris, she had a mini-plane in the back. Wings tucked up like cricket legs, the whole craft wasn’t even the size of an Archjet. Smaller, unarmored, but designed for speed instead of combat. It was the kind of plane that could buzz rooftops and never set off a radar sweep until it was too late.

“Are you ready?” Iris asked.

Silvy laughed. “I just have to go land in Fort Helsinki and get your fish tank, right? Not exactly the most dangerous thing ever done.”

“They might have put a security detail on my apartment or something.”

“Then you’ll have to come save me, won’t you?”

“I guess I will. Be safe though. I don’t want to repay the rescue favor so soon.”

“Right-o. Boss, wish me luck.”

Mendel scoffed. “Good luck Silvy. Our whole plan is counting on you.” Then the back of the cargo plane opened. The bay dragged down like a toad rolling out its tongue. Wind ripped and howled, making the whole vehicle shudder.

“See you soon. Just a milk run,” Silvy said, and then she blew off the parking cables. Her mini-plane rolled back as the nose of the cargo plane tipped up. Iris could hear the wheels scraping against the steel, vibrating the hold like a bucket until it cut off, and her mini-plane fell. After that, the only thing Iris heard was the hydraulics pulling the bay door back shut. The roar of jet engines beneath may have only been her imagination.

“Just me and you now,” Mendel said.

“Wake me when we get there,” Iris said, and settled in for the ride over the north pole. They flew in through the Yukon, passed over the sepratist airspace endowed to the Isles, and both of them could feel the boring gaze of satellites tracking their plane south. When Iris awoke, the only thing that had changed was the blinking light tracking them across the globe. That, and Mendel had finished his drum and bass retro-mix and switched over to some kind of country rap.

“Hey.”

“Thought you were still sleeping? Catching some zeds?”

“Caught all that I can.”

“Holly just engaged with one of the monsters.”

“The second?”

“Fifth actually. UAAF took one down near a lithium mine near the Caspian Sea. There was an orbital strike to liquify one near Cape Horn. And then Roselyn fought off the fourth down in Crimea. This one is on the God damned Great Wall of China of all places.”

“Sounds like that’s all within expectations.”

“More or less.”

“On we go?”

“On we go. How’s that augment suit feeling?”

Iris shifted in her seat, moving one joint after the next and feeling how the cocoon of steel and synthetic muscle moved with her. The suit added over a hundred kilos to her, and yet she had never felt so effortless. Her internal energy meter was still at ninety-five percent, the idle resistance only taking a few points off over the hours. “Feels like I’m ready to rip the Shermans apart.”

“Well, I’m coming in low. Not sure if we’ll get hit beforehand, or if they’ll just let us walk in. All I know for certain, is they like a good show…”

Someone else broke into their radio frequency to say, “Blumhagen, you’re cleared to land on Airstrip Two. Try to be polite.”

“Son of a bitch,” Iris growled, hanging her head.

“Guess they do know,” Mendel said, and adjusted the course of the plane. “We going to trust them? Might be a bomb waiting for us.”

“I say fuck being polite. Drop me on them.”

Mendel laughed. “That your way of saying you just don’t want to be your ride back there for nothing?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “A silver lining. What would be the point in you going in with me? You’d just get yourself killed, Boss.”

“Ain’t that right. I’ll stay in the skies as long as I can. Got a parachute ready too. I’ll put you down on their Airstrip Two. Get ready.”

Iris braced, shoved herself into the seat and locked up the augment suit. As soon as she closed her eyes, her drop pod plummeted. A few moments of weightlessness, then she was plunging down. The landing thrusters hammered her, drove her into the seat so hard she thought the added weight would break it. Then she impacted and kicked the door off. Out from a concrete crater, she leapt and drew her sword.

The only people that confronted her were a maid and butler, no weapons to be seen. They strode with poise and composure, and looked at her from behind porcelain masks. The butler gestured to what looked like a small hill, if not for the bunker entrance. “The casino is this way, Miss Haber.”

She lowered her micro-blade. “Not quite a red carpet welcome, now is it?”

The butler glanced at the airstrip runway she had just smashed to pieces. “Do you want a red carpet?”

“Fuck no,” she said, and marched over to the underground bunker the Shermans had converted to a casino for the elite of the elite, where trillionaires gambled on war and famine.