Day 33: Somewhere in Western Siberia
Captain Alexandra Jacobs of Cellstrike Air Command trudged through the thigh-deep snow, carving a path in her wake for the others to follow. She looked down at the small digital tablet in her hand, which gave her a satellite view of the local topography. Jacobs was not accustomed to being part of a ground operation: her place was in the sky. But now that she’d spent some time wading through massive snow drifts and feeling a cold that she didn’t even know was possible, she had to admit: she hated this.
“We shouldn’t be far,” Jacobs shouted back at the other two. “Only a couple kilometers more.” Jacobs turned and continued to push through the snow.
“I know the mission brief said it’d be cold but holy hell,” grumbled Captain Mitra Taheri of Cellstrike’s Special Command. “We should be getting hazard pay for this.”
“We are,” said Major Beau Breton from underneath no fewer than three layers of cloth that wrapped around his mouth and neck. Breton, a native of Louisiana, felt the cold cutting straight to the bone. But he would be damned if either of the soldiers under his immediate command – and especially not Captain Taheri – saw him buckle under the conditions. He has to set the example, after all.
The three of them continued onward. It was only three kilometers, but when the air is 40-degrees below zero with wild-whipping winds, three kilometers may as well be Mars. But they pushed through, and before long the three Cellstrike operatives could see what appeared to be a small work shed in the distance.
“Is that it,” Breton asked.
“It sure as shit better be,” Taheri said. If it had been any other commanding officer, she would have considered using slightly more appropriate language.
It only took a few minutes for the trio to reach the building. They were immediately surprised by just how small it was. The building itself was only the size of a few outhouses. Taheri was able to do a full perimeter sweep in only a few seconds. The wooden walls were only interrupted by the large, matte black metal door centered on one of the walls. A small number pad sat next to the door.
Jacobs looked back at Breton. “Door’s locked, sir.” Breton nodded, then reached for his radio.
“Breton to Command. Come in Command.”
“I hear you,” confirmed the voice of Major Koga Soseki. His voice was somewhat garbled, the wind interfering with the signal. “Just barely.”
“We’ve managed to reach the outpost, but there’s a lock on the door. Did our informant happen to give us the key?”
“Ah. Yes. Stand by.” Breton shivered in the wind as he waited. After a moment, Major Soseki returned. “1-9-8-6.”
“Ah. They’re clearly a Mets fan, I see,” Breton said in mild amusement.
“Mets?”
“You know, baseball. You’re not a fan?”
“I love baseball,” Soseki said. “I have been following the Buffaloes since before the merger.”
Breton ignored the comment, turning to Jacobs to relay the passcode. Jacobs entered the numbers and a moment later the trio heard a loud buzzing accompanied by the heavy ker-chunk of locks being let free. Jacobs opened the door and stepped inside, followed closely by Taheri and Breton.
The inside of the building was quite spartan. The wood paneling on the exterior of the building did a masterful job at hiding the concrete walls which made the shed shockingly sturdy. The walls themselves were spartan, bare and gray. The only light came from a single bulb in the center of the room. To the far end, a large metal double-door rested in the floor. Breton instructed Jacobs and Taheri to open the doors, which they did, revealing a long, concrete-reinforced stairwell in the process.
Taheri peered down the deep stairwell. “Oh, great. A mysterious concrete stairwell leading deep underground. This isn’t foreboding at all.”
Jacobs slapped Taheri’s shoulder. “Sounds to me like you just volunteered to take point.”
Taheri made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, then grabbed the heavy matte-black flashlight from her belt. Clicking it on, she started down the dimly-lit stairwell. Jacobs and Breton followed.
The stairwell went down, and down, and down for what felt like an age, with only the sound of heavy boots striking concrete to break up the silence. Nobody spoke. Taheri was focused on making sure they weren’t surprised and trapped in the stairwell, her free hand brushing against her sidearm to remind herself that it was there. Jacobs had her nose buried in the electronic tablet as she reviewed the mission files. Breton followed a few steps behind the pair, keeping a steady and watchful eye on the two. He wasn’t expecting a fight – all the intelligence given to Cellstrike indicated that this was a very old, very forgotten outpost – but the past few weeks have taught him to look at anything given to him with a healthy skepticism.
At the bottom of the stairwell was another heavy metal door with another keypad. Taheri tried the code she used on the door upstairs. Other than eliciting a loud, grating buzz, nothing happened. Major Breton grabbed his radio.
“Soseki,” Breton called. Static. “Soseki, do you copy?” There was no response. Breton clipped the radio back to his belt and thought a moment. Then, with a wry smile, he looked at Taheri. “Try 1-9-6-9.”
Taheri punched in the numbers. The door gave a quick buzz, and the ker-chunk of heavy deadbolts releasing echoed up the concrete stairwell.
Breton smiled to himself. “See? Mets fan.”
Taheri pulled out her sidearm and slowly pushed the door open, shining her flashlight into the otherwise dark room. In the darkness, she saw a single table in the middle of the room and what looked like a television. She inched into the room, nudging the door wider with her shoulder as she entered. The door slowly drifted more and more open, and just as Jacobs entered the room there was a small click from the door. Jacobs snapped around to the door just as several fluorescent bulbs flickered to life and bathed the room in a sanitized light.
The table at the center of the room was a large metal desk with an old, dust-covered CRT monitor resting on it. A beige keyboard and square mouse sit on the desk. On the far end of the room was another black metal door. It was smooth, with no keypad and no door handle.
Jacobs walked up to the desk and looked at the old computer. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Do you think you can get what we need off of it,” Breton asked, keeping to the mission.
“Yeah, of course,” Jacobs said. “Assuming this thing is still connected to Redcell’s network.”
“Do you have reason to think it wouldn’t be?”
Jacobs leaned forward and let out a quick burst of breath. A small cloud of dust wafted away from the old monitor. “Reasonable expectation.” Jacobs sat down at the old desk and cracked her knuckles. She then reached into her pocket and pulled out a small USB drive, plugging it into the old computer.
As Jacobs settled in, Taheri looked over the door at the far end of the room. She brushed her fingers against the door. It wasn’t exactly warm to the touch, but it also wasn’t cold like the rest of the room. Taheri took a step back and eyed the door for a long moment before going back to pacing around the room.
Breton reached for his radio and tried to contact Cellstrike HQ once again. “Soseki? Soseki, you copy?”
The radio spat static for a moment before a voice, garbled and digital, punched through. “Breton? Breton? We have been trying to reach you for the past half-hour! What happened?”
“Soseki,” Breton said, then let out a soft, relieved sigh. “We’re inside the facility, probably a hundred feet below ground. It is not terribly impressive. The tech is old. I have Jacobs working the problem.”
“Good. Air Command says she’s one of their best,” the Major said. “According to our informant, you are in an old weather observation post that Redcell commandeered to keep an eye on our movements in North America.”
Just then, Jacobs slammed her palms down on the desk. “Oh, what the hell is this,” Jacobs snapped. “Vista!?” The Air Command Captain shook her head and began clacking away at the keyboard.
Breton stifled a laugh before turning his attention back to Soseki. “Everything’s covered in dust. This place looks like it hasn’t been used in years.”
“According to our informant, it hasn’t.”
“And you trust this informant,” Breton asked pointedly.
“Absolutely not.”
“Neither do I. Something about this isn’t adding up.”
“I understand your concern. Just grab the personnel lists and get o--”
Soseki’s voice was cut off as the radio suddenly and completely went dead. Breton turned to look at Jacobs to find the Captain with her hands up, and the monitor black.
“What’s going on,” Jacobs asked.
Taheri tightened her grip on her sidearm.
“Excuse me,” a mysterious voice called out. It was coming from hidden speakers. “Hi. I know why you’re here, and I have to tell you that you’re wasting your time.”
“Who are you,” Breton called out.
“I’m a friend. That’s all you need to know about me. But you need to know about this mission is that you’re being set-up. The personnel lists that you’re here to acquire? They’ve been forged. You’ll find that half of the names on it are your own Cellstrike operatives.” The voice paused. “In fact, I do believe that you are on the list, Captain Taheri.”
“Excuse me,” Taheri snapped, looking up at the ceiling.
“Now, now,” the voice continued in a tone so casual that it was starting to be grating. “I know that you’re not a turncoat, and you know that you’re not a turncoat. But after what happened in Greece, if that personnel list made its way up the chain of command you could be made an example of. In front of a firing squad. Correct?”
Taheri was quiet. Her grip tightened further, the wood on the pistol’s grip creaking beneath her fingers.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Why are you telling us this,” Breton asked.
“Because there was a time when I believed in Redcell’s cause,” the voice said. “But that has changed, and not necessarily for the better. Redcell has become something… else.”
“What happened?”
There was a pause. Taheri and Breton exchanged a glance.
“No,” the voice finally said. “I’m doing enough for you as it is.”
“Fine,” Breton said. “If the personnel lists are bad, as you say, then what are we looking for?”
“Redcell maintains a database of coordinates. Some of these coordinates correspond to supply drop locations, while others point to Redcell outposts."
“Does this include their headquarters?”
“Maybe,” the voice said. “Maybe not. As I said, I’m doing enough for you as it is. I am loyal to Redcell – I am simply…” the voice paused a moment, choosing their words carefully. ”I am in disagreement with current leadership.”
“Was there a coup inside Redcell,” Taheri asked.
“I’m restoring power to your screen,” the voice said, ignoring the question. “You will want those coordinates. And to prove that I’m not bluffing…” A document opened on the computer screen. Jacobs arched an eyebrow. “Go ahead. Search for Captain Taheri’s name.”
Jacobs looked at Taheri, then at Breton. Breton gave her a quick nod. Jacobs turned and hit CTRL + F, then typed in ‘Taheri’. Sure enough, on line 1138:
NAME: Taheri, Mitra L. RANK: Technical Sergeant, 2nd Class STATUS: Undercover
“I’ll be damned,” Jacobs said to herself. Jacobs entered another name, and then a third. No matches. A fourth name returned a match: Petersen, Valerie
“This can’t be right,” Jacobs said.
“As I said,” the voice chimed in after a moment. “The personnel files were a plant. Plus uploading them to your servers would have opened a backdoor for a pretty devastating little virus that would have decimated Cellstrike’s data network. Oh, a different time and place,” the voice continued, sounding almost wistful. “I would have been really proud of that one.”
“Okay,” Breton nodded. “Let’s say you’re telling us the truth. We copy the coordinates and then what? You said there were two things you had to tell us.”
“Oh! Right,” the voice said. “You see that big black door on the far side of the room? That is a maintenance elevator and in about three minutes or so that big black door is going to open and a half-dozen very angry men with Kalashnikovs are going to spill out into the room. I would suggest not being in the room when that happens.”
Breton glanced at Jacobs. “Three minutes,” she said. “Practically an eternity.”
“Good luck, Cellstrike,” the voice said. “Assuming you survive this, I think we’ll see each other again.”
The voice went quiet. A moment later the radio made a static hiss, then the familiar sound of an annoyed Soseki. “Breton!?”
Breton grabbed his radio. “Soseki! We need evac. Now.”
“What happened?”
“We’ve been compromised. Personnel files are a no-go but we’re not coming back empty-handed.”
“Copy that,” a confused Soseki said. “Satellite shows that the winds are still kicking up a lot of snow. Get to the surface and light a flare. We’ll find you.”
“Hard copy.”
Breton slid the radio back onto his belt just as a loud thud echoed from the far side of the black metal door. Taheri slipped her pistol back into its holster and gripped her MP5, aiming it at the door.
Breton grabbed his own sidearm, his eyes shifting from the door to Jacobs. “Captain?”
“Download in progress,” Jacobs said, eyes locked on the computer monitor.
“You said three minutes was ‘practically an eternity’.”
“I’m also used to working with technology made in this century, not Cold War hand-me-downs coopted by a terrorist organization squatting inside of a weather depot out in the middle of fucking Siberia.” Jacobs paused, swallowed, realized the stream of consciousness that flowed out of her mouth, and added. “Sir.”
“Wow,” Taheri muttered to herself as she knelt down and began to unlace one of her boots.
“Air Command plays it fast and loose, don’t they,” Breton opined, returning his attention to the door.
Another loud thump from the far side of the big black door. Taheri raised her submachine gun, adjusting her grip. Breton pulled his pistol from its holster as his eyes narrowed on the door.
A third thump. Then a fourth. A fifth, then sixth, each thump louder than the last.
“Alex,” Taheri called to Jacobs. “Do you have any gum?”
“What?!”
“Gum.”
Jacobs blinked, then turned her eyes away from the screen to look at Taheri. “Only the MRE gum. Why?”
Taheri sighed. “It’ll have to do. Give it here.”
Jacobs reached into one of her pockets and pulled out two squares of gum wrapped in plastic. She tossed them to Taheri. Taheri snatched the gum out of the air and immediately ripped the plastic open and popped the gum into her mouth, chewing with great intent.
A seventh loud thump, as though something had hit the door, echoed off the concrete walls.
“Done!” Jacobs shouted, jumping to her feet and snatching the USB drive from the beige PC tower.
“Everybody out,” Breton ordered. He grabbed Jacobs by the shoulder and pushed her in front of him, towards the stairs. “Head up the stairs and stop for nothing.” He turned back to Taheri, who had moved to the door. “Let’s go, Captain.”
“I’ll provide support, Sir. You head on up.”
“Absolutely not. I’m not leaving anybody behind.”
Taheri turned and smiled at Breton, chewing all the while. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll see you upstairs.”
Breton stared at Taheri a moment, then smiled. He took a step towards the stairwell. “Make it quick, Captain. Don’t be too flashy.”
Taheri pointed at Breton and smiled. Breton turned and started up the stairs, leaving her alone in the room. Taheri’s smile melted away as she turned her attention back to the door. She pulled one of the two wads of gum out of her mouth and stuck it to the metal door. She then reached behind her back and pulled a small blue cylinder from her belt. She tied the boot lace around a ring that dangled on one end of the cylinder, and then pulled the other wad of gum out of her mouth and pressed it to one side of the cylinder. Taheri pressed the cylinder to the wall adjacent to the door, using the gum as an adhesive. It wasn’t a good adhesive by any means, but it only needed to hold for a few seconds. She then pressed the loose end of the boot lace into the gum on the door.
Taheri turn turned and bolted to the desk, flipping it over onto its side. The CRT monitor shattered as it hit the concrete floor. And then, Taheri waited. Seconds felt like hours. She could feel her heart beating in her ears. The door creaked, then growled as it rose and Taheri closed her eyes. Her vision was dark, black as night.
Then, suddenly, a white flash accompanied by a deafening bang told her that it was time.
Taheri rose from behind the overturned desk, submachine gun at the ready. Five men, all holding Kalashnikov rifles, stood in front of her. They were shouting in at least three languages, and were all shielding their eyes. Taheri didn’t give them a chance to recover. She adjusted her grip on her firearm and pulled the trigger. Burst after burst of rounds erupted from the firearm. As the Redcell soldiers realized they were being attacked they tried to defend themselves, lifting their rifles and firing randomly. One round punched a deep dent into the metal desk. Another punched into Taheri’s forearm. She let out a cry and then unloaded the remainder of her 30-round clip. The men dropped in a heap, one on top of the other.
As quickly as it started, it was over. Taheri lowered her weapon and looked at her arm. She saw the hole in the sleeve. She felt the burning of the wound. She felt the intense, piercing pain that only comes with a shattered bone.
And she let out a string of expletives so vile that it would have made the most battle-hardened Marine blush.
She turned and slung the MP5 around her good arm. She clutched her arm and, as she started her way up the long stairwell, continued her tirade until she caught up with Jacobs and Breton, and the three of them waited for evac.
It took Val four days to crack the encryption on the files that Breton’s team had brought back but, to just about everybody’s surprise, the mysterious voice had been true to their word. Inside the encrypted files were not only coordinates, but weapon manifests, travel itineraries, and dossiers on every member of General Fury’s team, including detailed psychological profiles on Val and Aneni.
They even had [REDACTED]’s name! Well, his first name. When Val saw that in the files she knew immediately to never, ever mention it out loud.
“This is exemplary work,” Major Soseki opined as he pulled a drag of his cigarette, which was pinched between the index and middle fingers of his cybernetic right hand. “And you say you do not know who this informant was?”
“No,” Major Breton replied, glad to be out of his winter gear and back in his dress uniform. “They only said that they were a friend, although they were intimately aware of our plan to take the personnel list.”
“Interesting.” Soseki took another drag of his cigarette and thought for a moment.
“Whoever this mole is,” Breton continued. “I don’t think they know that they have a leak of their own.”
“We need to be careful. This asset could be of value to us. We need to be cautious to not show our hand too brazenly or act too quickly.”
“Agreed. So, what happens next?”
Soseki chuckled to himself. “General Fury is taking point on the next offensive. He has convinced the leadership that a direct offensive with a small team – handpicked by him, of course – is a viable option.”
“So much for caution.” Breton said, taking a sip of water.
“Indeed,” Soseki said. He smiled. “But if there is any one of us who I would trust to punch Redcell in the mouth and come home alive, it would be General Fury.”
“When do they head out?”
Soseki took another drag from his cigarette and, with a small shrug, exhaled the smoke through his nose.
“Soon.”
To Be Continued…
