Corporal Harry Trust groaned as he slid his feet out of his bunk, blinking to clear the light out of his eyes. Sitting up, he walked into his barracks’ bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he swashed his face to wake himself up. Grabbing his toothbrush from his neatly labeled cubby, he brushed his teeth until they gleamed white. Then, Harry grabbed his razor and shaving cream to shave. Once Harry finished shaving he replaced the razor and cream, then dried his face with a grey towel.

Walking to the locker at the end of the bunk, Harry opened his locker and peeled off his sleep wear. Looking into his locker, he grabbed his steel grey jumpsuit. Slipping it over himself, he zipped it up tight to his neck. Harry then slid his synthetic boots over his feet and tied them off.

A hoarse voice greeted Harry from the next bunk over, "Morning Harry, how did you sleep?”

“Not that bad, Thompson, how did you sleep?” Harry replied, already moving to make sure his bunk mates were awake. Harry was responsible for keeping those two on schedule, as they were both members of his fire team. Knocking on the metal frame, he said, “Alright Derick, Gerald. Get out of bed. Now.”

Walking to the door, he pulled it open and stepped into the hall, pausing a moment after being hit by a blast of warm air. Looking at the dull steel walls, he walked. Striding down the hall at a decent pace, he noticed the Second Air Assault team’s older sibling was not in their bunk room. Shrugging it off, he figured they must have an early morning training event.

As Harry walked down the hall, he passed a large variety of rooms, ranging from barracks, to storage rooms, to offices, to life support rooms. Everything was one main building in Foba City, the third largest underground city in Nevexico, a nation formed from the remains of the states of New Mexico and Nevada after the Gas began to spread across the globe two-hundred years ago.

Each level in Foba City had a different purpose, with the highest level being observation, the one directly bellow manufacturing and factories, then surface access and the launch pads, followed by the military levels, of which there were two. Just below the military levels were the offices and shops, with housing making its home on the next level down. Below housing were several layers of food production, with power production being the very bottom layer.

While Harry idly thought about his home, he continued to walk. Further down the corridor Harry stopped at the softly glowing sign next to the canteen that read:

Potato Soup and Milk for Breakfast

Scallop Potatoes and Milk for Lunch

Baked Potatoes with Butter and Carrot Juice for Supper

Once he got into the canteen, he grabbed a bowl of soup and a cup of milk and sat down at a table near the front. Blowing on every spoonful before placing it in his mouth, he ate his soup. While Harry was eating his soup, he also glanced at the TV, but observed it was only advertisements.

The rest of his unit gradually filed in, grabbing their soup and milk, and sitting around the canteen. After a few more minutes of eating, Harry’s friend, Jonas, a ground support staff for the Blackhawks, sat across from him.

“Harry, did you manage to catch the game last night?” Jonas inquired, beginning to eat as he asked.

“No, I didn’t quite manage to, could you catch me up on it?” Harry followed his reply up with a gulp of milk, hoping he could cool his throat down.

“Well, last night’s Gooseball game, which was between the Foba City Flowers and Statler Trees, and ended with the Flowers having 16 geese and the Trees having 4.” Jonas said, before eating a spoonful of soup and continuing. “Had the game gone on another 10 minutes, Trees probably would have won, as in the last 2 minutes Trees stole 3 geese from the Flower’s coop.”

Whistling softly, Harry asked, “And Foba just let them take the geese like that?”

“Well, the defenders for Foba threw all the balls they could get at the Trees’ attackers, as well as chased them to try and tag them up close, but the Trees dodged the balls and ran like a cheetah was nipping at their feet.”

“If the Trees’ attacker could play like that, why did they only start doing so in the last three minutes?”

“Well, I am guessing that the attackers had an adrenaline rush when they realized the defenders only had one goose left to defend.”

Having finished his soup, Harry stood, grabbing the tray. Harry walked to the dairy dishes window and stacked the tray and bowl in their respective piles. He put his glass into the cup organizer, before returning to his seat.

Sitting back down, he noticed Jonas was watching the television. Looking over, he saw it was on the local news. After several minutes of watching, he got the gist of the story, with it pertaining to how Congress is voting on a bill to bring intercity internet. The plan for that was to lay the initial lines along the train tracks, and only allow emails to be transmitted between cities initially. Anything beyond that point was just speculation.

“Do you think Congress will actually pass this bill?” Harry said, turning to Jonas.

After a moment of thinking, Jonas hesitantly started, his hands moving in small, slow circles, “Well, they probably will. The only concern is whether or not they approve the placing of lines with higher capacity, allowing more than just emails to be sent. After all, right now I can only play War Thunder matches with the people in the city.”

With a bit of a chuckle, Harry responded “Why do you still play that game? It’s from when our great-great-grandparents were kids. Why not play something more modern like… Oh I don’t know, Mount and Blade 4: Empire of the North.”

“Well, why would I care about playing the remake of a game from our great-great-grandparent’s and great-grandparent’s life when I could play the original of them?”

“Better graphics, faster computing speed, less likely to get corrupted files.” Harry listed casually, knowing it would get a rise from Jonas.

“Well, yes, but I still-“Jonas started to respond with some defensiveness, before getting cut off when Lieutenant Yorkshire walked into the canteen.

“All members of the Second Air Assault Platoon start preparing for a search and recovery mission.”

And just like that, Harry and the rest of his unit were up and rushing out the door. Moving at a brisk pace, the Second Air Assault walked towards their bunk room. Retracing their steps back to the barracks, they moved with a rapid pace towards the bunk room.

Entering the room, Harry beelined for the lockers at the end of his bed. Flipping the one bearing his name open, he reached in and grabbed a field uniform from it. Stripping off what he was wearing for the second time that day, Harry hung the jumpsuit over the door. Peeling the desert brown field uniform off its hanger, he slipped the jumpsuit over his body, zipping it shut once secure.

Closing his locker, Harry made his way out of the room. Entering the warm hallway, he began walking towards the armory. Passing various other unit’s rooms, he made his way through the military levels of the city, approaching the armory.

Once Harry reached the armory, he joined the line for equipment checkout. As soon as he reached the front of the line, he quickly filled out the paperwork to acquire his M16A6 and M1911. Harry quickly filed the release forms, and he was promptly green-lit to proceed through a set of armored doors. Entering the familiar room, Harry walked down the aisles of weapons and body armor to his Platoon’s shelves. Locating his locker, he opened it and grabbed his plate carrier. Sliding it on over his head, Harry tightened it onto his torso. He then pulled his backpack out and pulled it over his shoulders. Next, Harry grabbed his helmet and gas mask, attaching it to his bag by a bungee cord.

Harry pulled out his M16a6 and M1911. The M16a6 was a 7.62 modification of the M16a4, the larger rounds adding more range and penetration. Placing the pistol in the holster, Harry brought the rifle strap over his head. Just before closing his locker, Harry snatched up his cleaning supplies. Leaving the armory, Harry made his way to Supplies and Requisitions. Arriving there, Harry once again got in line, waiting for his turn to get his food and water stocked, enough for three days in the desert. Once the paperwork was filed and the MREs obtained, he began to walk back to the bunk room.

As soon as Harry was back in the bunk room, he spread his equipment out over his sheets. He began silently checking and double checking them. Then he grabbed his cleaning materials and disassembled his weapons to wipe, scrub, and scour them thoroughly.

As Harry cleaned his weapons, he began to idly talk with Freeman, the platoon medic and Thomas, another rifle man. “What did you guys think of the menu today?”

“Better than yesterday, there was some variety in the food” Thomas replied, feeding a brush through his guns barrel. “It’ll be nice if the quartermasters can keep the carrots coming in for a while.”

“Yeah, it would.” Freeman replied as he counted the bandages in his medical kit. “It also gives us a better nutritional variety, helps us stay healthy.”

“Say,” Harry started as he put a wiped some carbon buildup away, “Don’t carrots help improve vision?”

“No, they do not. That was just a misinformation campaign started by the British in World War Two.” Freeman replied, giving Harry a sidelong look.

Suddenly, Gordon started cursing as he got up and hopped about his bed, clutching his foot. “Shit Fuck Fucking shit dick ass eating whore of a shitting sailor that fucking hurt like getting my dick chopped off. FUCK”

Laughing, Johnson, a squad Sergeant, got up and walked over to Gordon “Hey there buddy, what’d you do to your toe?” As he said that, Johnson moved Gordon’s backpack and guided him over to the clear spot. “Alright, what caused you to curse like a drunk sailor who just lost their job?”

In between curse words, Gordon managed to say, “Dropped my radio on my toe, felt like a brick.” Which led to even more laughter around the room. Johnson shook his head and wandered back to what he was doing before.

Following another moment of silence, Freeman says “What exactly do you guys think we are searching for?”

Without missing a beat, Thomas replies, “Probably has something to do with First Platoon being gone this morning. They probably screwed up and we are getting to clean it up.”

Harry leaned in and said, “Thomas, what is it you have against First Platoon? They’ve never screwed up before.”

“Because it’s First Platoon.” Thomas cryptically replied. Following that, Thomas turned away and began to disassemble and clean his pistol. This lead to a lull in the conversation as everybody cleaned and checked their gear. Before long, Harry had polished his knife enough times it could be considered a mirror. Eventually, they were told to line up by the platoon sergeant, Ash Asherson.

“I’m sure his parents thought they were hilarious.” Harry thought as he gathered his equipment and joined the line. Once everybody was in line, Sergeant Asherson led them out into the corridor. After a few moments of walking, they reached the airlock that lead to the exterior access floors. Stepping through the airlock, Harry waited in front of a bank of three elevators.

Crowding into the one of the three elevators, Harry was squished to the side, as the doors closed. Somebody managed to hit the UP button and activated the elevator. As the metal contraption trundled upwards toward the surface, Harry wondered about what the mission would bring. Before getting too deep into thought, the elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors dinged open, and everybody stumbled haphazardly out of the elevator into the corridor. After a moment’s pause, the unit once again lined up and continued on their way.

Entering the hanger, Harry could see about twenty-five chairs were organized into four columns, with six chairs each. Nearby there were three Blackhawks being prepared for flight. At the front of the hanger, there were massive steel sliding doors with access to the surface runway.

Harry sat in a folding chair behind his squad’s sergeant, Theodoor Watson. The other members of his squad were Thomas, Thompson, Gerald, and Derick. The last two were part in the fire team Harry led.

Following a minute of silence as everybody sat sat down, Lieutenant Yorkshire walked to the board and began, “Last night a train carrying supplies and information was forced to stop by mutants. It came to a rest over a canyon, with the engine unable to restart. As crew members and soldiers unloaded supplies and sent an S.O.S. to us, the insurgents in the area destroyed the bridge.”

Pausing for a moment, Yorkshire pinned a map up onto the board and circled a canyon. “This morning the First Platoon was dispatched in two chinooks to retrieve survivors, unaware of the insurgents at the time. The unit was able to retrieve survivors with no losses and confirmed several threats in the area.”

Turning to the board again, he marked several spots on the map with red, “There are Blood Eagles that live in or near the canyon, preventing us from landing right there. There are also roaming groups of mutants, however, we are unsure about most of their species. You can be sure that Scorpibigs will be active in the area. The insurgents appear to be stealing materials from the destroyed train and may have brought anti air weapons.”

“Our mission is to locate the messenger who was on the train, living or dead, likely dead, and bring the information she carried back to base. The messenger was last wearing the standard issue green button up, blue bottoms, and a standard issue government mask. The information we are looking for should be found in small metal box. The box will contain a single USB stick. The contents of the USB is highly classified and time critical, so we must retrieve it before a curious insurgent picks it up.”

“Command also wants to be able to secure as many supplies as we can for later retrieval, as it was being shipped to help maintain our already shaky alliance with the villagers that reside outside the cities.” Once again turning to the board, he marked four spots south and west of the canyon with a new color.

“Due to the location of the crash and the threats present, we will be landing three miles north of the canyon, in this area” He circled a small area on the map in blue. “Once we retrieve the information we will also exfil from this location.”

“After landing there, we will walk three miles south to the canyon. From there, two squads will remain on the lip of the canyon, providing covering fire, spotting enemies, and holding the extra food and water for the two squads that will be moving into the canyon. The two squads going below the lip will be searching for the messenger and the metal box contain the USB stick.”

After a moment of scanning his notes, Yorkshire continued, “The only support we will be able to receive will be from an howitzer unit being placed north east of the radiation fields in the area. They will not arrive for about two hours, so we can’t get into any deep shit until then.” He paused for a moment, allowing for a few chuckles before continuing, “Remember, because this information is on the messenger, we cannot call in a strike on the canyon itself, at least not until we are clear of the area.”

“The mission is estimated to last somewhere between seven and twelve hours, but you were to pack three days of food and water just in case somebody survived the bridge collapse, or if we are delayed finishing the mission. We are to leave in fifteen minutes, once the pilots and Blackhawks are ready for takeoff.”

Seemingly content with his briefing, Yorkshire said, “Any questions on something, or anything I didn’t cover?”

A soldier towards the back of a column, CPL Eric, Harry noted, raised his hand “What are our call signs?”

Following a quiet minute of the Lieutenant looking through his notes, the Platoon Sergeant stepped forward and whispered into his ear. As the Platoon Sergeant stepped back, the Lieutenant said, “The call sign for the Blackhawks are Black Sun-1 through 3, our call sign is Green Noose-1, command is Red Queen-6, and the howitzers are Blue Thunder-1.”

Standing, Harry and his squad gathered their equipment. Slinging his pack over his shoulder and following SSG Watson, Harry made his way to Black Sun-2. Before slinging his pack on fully, he performed one last check on his equipment. He swung them up and onto his pack, wobbling a bit as it hit his back.

Climbing into the craft, he sat and pulled his mask over his face. As he did so, the rest of the squad followed suit, covering all their faces with a uniformed anonymity. SSG Watson was the last one into the craft, pulling the door shut behind him. After a moment of silence, the screeching of the hanger doors pierced the silence, the doors shuddering open, allowing the Blackhawks to leave. Trundling out onto a well maintained tarmac, Harry watched as ground crew rushed about, preparing for the aircrafts’ departure.

—————————————————————————————————————————————

The aircraft wheeled onto different pads to avoid colliding on take off and began to spool up their rotary blades. The blades accelerated faster and faster, quickly becoming a circular blur above the helicopters. They began to lift off the ground, slowly tilting forwards as they did so. The blades pulling the crafts off the ground, they flew off into the dessert. A few ground crew members watched them disappear over the horizon, before hurrying to prepare fuel for when the aircraft returned.