Insertion

[Cassie Granger 0]

Insertion

A Silver-Granger Log

 

Briefing 0700 - USS Buffalo Gap

Operation Lost Souls: Viper Strike

 

Hearing the names of their targets for the first time, all eyes snapped to the photos that flashed on the big screen. But if anyone knew or suspected Cass’s connection to the names there, no one showed it.

 

Major Ishiiu continued, haloed by the monitor in the dim lighting. “You’ve heard this all before, but let’s go over it again. Operation Lost Souls: Viper Strike is a personnel recovery and target elimination. Story is these guys,” he pointed at the screen, “infiltrated a Klingon-Romulan gang known as the nIyma — or ‘ghosts’ — in an attempt to track down several MIAs. We know nIyma’s main source of income comes from human trafficking and body parts,” he explained and no one objected to the racial term.

 

“Fed wants clean up once you secure your packages. Source says there are 15-20 of them, well-armed. Mostly projectile weapons, some Klingon disruptors. Expect resistance. Assume they know what they’re doing.”

 

“Targets are here,” he said, pointing again at the screen as the image shifted to long-range sensor imagery of a compound surrounded by dense jungle. “No update on their status, so expect to carry them out.

 

“You’ll notice the site’s changed. Overall plan has not. Last location was the origin of our targets’ beacon, but latest Intel confirms they’re here. The Buffalo Gap will reach the Klingon border on Thursday and remain on patrol. Shuttle launches at zero-dark-thirty on Friday. At zero-four-five, you’ll cross the Klingon-Federation border, waypoint Cantor. You’ll HALO on the first pass here,” he pointed at a location coded Nicobar, “land here and hike in. Your shuttle will land at the primary extract, here, and wait.” He briefly eyed Shalin and then continued.

 

“The team’ll enter the compound and locate our targets. Granger will verify before securing the packages.” Several eyes finally shifted from the screen and a dozen tablets to Cass, but the Major carried on without pause. “You’ll destroy the compound, then hike to the primary extract. Rally points and secondary extracts are here and here.

 

“Any questions?” Major Ishiiu nodded at the silence.

 

“This is a covert op, gentleman. Sanitize your kit. Leave your personal stuff at home. We still have MIAs to recover from Rura Penthe, so we want everyone thinking these guys were hit by a rival gang.”

 

 

* * * * * *

 

 

Not many words passed among them as the team formed up in the bay. The plan called for a fly-by in a purpose-built stealth shuttle: minimal signature, no warp engines, no transporters, no big guns. They’d get one pass to minimize the time spent airborne and the chance of being spotted. Teams were geared up for a HALO space-dive from 500 km. The shuttle would land three klicks from the compound and wait.

 

All gear stowed on the shuttle and ready, the team lined up, each checking the other’s jump suits’ seals, pressure, airflow, oxygen mix and feed, and helmet locks. A thumbs up signaled good-to-go, and they filed into the shuttle, took their seats and the shuttle crew finished prepping for launch.

 

After checking her seat, Cass looked up to meet the gaze of Silver square on; the luck of the draw sat him directly opposite. His eyes were stoic; hers were resolute. Anything that had happened between them had vanished as they both focused on the mission.

 

A voice on the overhead speakers cleared them for launch, giving final instructions. Apparently, the pilot had opted to pipe the radio traffic. The pilot replied and the shuttle hummed, shaking as they lifted from the flight deck under power. In seconds, they cleared the hanger doors and were on their own.

 

“Shuttle 027, you are clear of Buffalo Gap airspace,” control droned on the cockpit radio.

 

In a routine insertion (if there was such an animal), Souter would have had his earplugs in, music blaring as he bounced his head to Gadston Alset’s most recent country-western chart-buster. He’d probably have been mouthing the words or, gods forbid, actually singing along, ignoring the cat-calls and lewd hand-signals from the rest of the team. Gonzales would have had his head buried in a well-used copy of Atlas Shrugged or The Great Gatsby, an incongruity that was hard to miss. O’Neill would have been juggling whatever he could find or fidgeting with the latest puzzle-knot bestowed on him by Hammond, the platoon’s master puzzle-maker. Tasha would have been fashioning another puzzle that she’d toss him if he ever finished. Everyone had a diversion, used to relax before mission insert.

 

Going in sterile precluded that. Taking anything identifiable wasn’t an option, nor was leaving it on the shuttle in case the shuttle was compromised. So they sat and stared, talked among themselves or slept. Just over fifteen minutes to jump, Cass dozed.

 

“2 minutes to drop,” a voice announced from the overhead and the crew chief gave the signal, securing a mask over his face and preparing for release.

 

“Prep!” a senior NCO yelled.

 

“Head on,” added someone nearby.

 

Helmets were donned and collectively clicked into place. They stood and filed into two lines down the center of the cabin. Buddies made final checks on their suits then gave the ready signal. The crew chief watched, snapping the control that sucked them against the bulkhead and opened the cargo door.

 

“Viper, drop in ten,” the voice droned in their helmets.

 

“5.”

 

“4.”

 

“3.”

 

“2.”

 

“1.”

 

The chief flipped a lever and they shot into the void, aimed head-first at the planet below.

 

Walk in the park.