Master Sergeant Jason Cordova and the rest of Reaper Team Three were on the side of a mountain atop a sheer cliff. They were overlooking a mountain villa maintained by the Medellin Cartel and had been assigned a mission to either eliminate or coopt the inhabitants and establish a hidden forward operating base in the Andes Mountain Range.
It was 8pm, six hours before they would begin their assault.
“So these guys are bad guys, right, sarge?” Corporal Justin McCullough asked.
“Yep. They peddle poison, enslave locals, and violently murder anyone who dares to interfere with their operations. Only reason they haven’t been brought down yet is because they’re so vicious that everyone’s afraid of pissing them off,” Jason replied. His toes were still twitching, so he appreciated the distraction provided by conversation.
“So why ain’t we just, y’know, ‘removing’ ‘em?” the corporal said, using air quotes around “removing” to indicate that he was talking about calling in an airstrike.
“Because we’re not supposed to make a fuss here. We eliminate who we need to in order to infiltrate, then coopt the leadership. That’s what our spook is for. She’ll ensure that their leader, Juan Carlos Mesa, will be a good little boy and turn to our side for as long as we need him.” Jason spat on the ground next to where he was laying.
“I guess that makes sense. We gotta stay quiet as a church mouse ‘n all.” Corporal McCullough went silent for a moment, then continued, “So like, if these guys are really bad guys, then what’ll happen after we take ‘em over? Won’t we be the bad guys then?”
Just like Jason had twitchy toes as the manifestation of his pre-mission jitters, Corporal McCullough turned into a chatterbox and his accent came out. He was a big corn-fed farm boy type even before the genetic enhancements, and after them, he looked like Lou Ferrigno from the old tv series “The Hulk”. He was the team’s heavy weapons specialist and his usual loadout was a chain coilgun. It was a testament to his strength, as those were normally mounted on vehicles or turrets because of their mass and recoil. But he could handle one just fine on his own, and when the metal met the meat he was a good guy to have on your side, so even with his chatterbox tendencies and thick, rural accent, nobody would ever be anything less than patient with the gentle giant.
“That’s above our paygrade, corporal. I’m sure the brass has other plans.”
The chatterbox continued chattering and the toes continued twitching as the team waited for zero hour, when their targets would be at their least vigilant. They would make their move then, but until go time arrived, each member of the team continued their pre-mission rituals. It was just another day in the life for the elite soldiers of Reaper Team Three.
The Nyx agent, however, simply lay in a slight hollow on the ground, remaining as still as a knocked-over statue. She would also do her duty, when the time came and whatever that duty was.
......
Andes Mountain Range overlooking the Medellin Cartel compound, 1:45am.
It was fifteen minutes to go time and the nerves were getting to the team. This was their first mission outside of their training in VR, and though they felt as prepared as they could be, they were still jittery. Master Sergeant McCullough noticed their nerves, and to calm them, he offered some words of encouragement.
“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,” he began. “For he today that sheds blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile. This day shall gentle his condition, and gentlemen in Eden now abed shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon this day.”
(Ed note: Henry V, “Saint Crispin’s Day monologue” by William Shakespeare is a great motivational speech. The whole thing is really good; google it if you want to read more, this is just a small bit of it that’s been used many times before as an inspiration for others.)
“Amen,” the rest of the team chorused. The Nyx agent, to everyone’s surprise, joined them in a pleasant, low alto voice.
“Alright, gentlemen—and lady—it’s time for final checks. Check your gear and report status,” Jason ordered.
The team reported all green and the agent nodded. Seven men and one woman would soon be charging into the gates of hell, bringing death with them. The eighth man was a sniper, nested on the hillside they were currently resting on in order to provide cover fire.
......
Andes Mountain Range, “go time”.
Jason gestured to his team to proceed with eliminating their preselected targets. As the team leader, his glasses’ HUD allowed him a broader view of the chosen battlefield than the others. His target was highlighted in green, while other potential targets that had already been chosen by his team members were red, and the rest were yellow.
Thanks to Overwatch, the AI that was specifically tasked with providing satellite intel on active operations, the situation on the ground was clear and the team proceeded with eliminating their targets.
Jason leaped up the wall and drove his monoblade under the chin and into the skull of his first kill of the night, the monomolecular edge easily sliding through soft tissue and bone alike. It was an instant, silent kill, and he grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and landed on the ground outside the compound’s wall, where he tucked the fresh corpse up against the base of it. “Tango down,” he whispered, then checked the status of the rest of the initial targets.
“Proceed to position two.”
The team leaped over the walls and began stealthily clearing the guards. Everything went as smooth as a hot knife sliding through butter, and soon they were the only souls left in the compound that weren’t part of the cartel leadership cadre.
The Nyx agent nodded and entered the building, escorted by two reapers. She had a lot of work to do, and thanks to the efficient and rapid work of Reaper Team Three, plenty of time to do it.
