"Strike Sergeant Roy Alexander reporting as ordered, sir."
The young marine performed a regulation salute and stood at attention, waiting. His posture was subtly different from the average infantry marine. Alexander looked more relaxed, as if he were more comfortable and sure of himself. One might even have guessed he looked at home, which was confusing, given the unsettling surroundings.
The Alaska base had been incinerated from the inside out. Afterimages of human bodies had been flash-burned into the walls by incredible destructive energies. It was as if an enemy had managed to detonate a nuclear weapon inside the facility without destroying the structure. Everything but the walls had been reduced to slag or flaky ash. The makeshift table had to be constructed out of cement blocks and a bent electrical access panel. It was unbearably hot and the air was thick with the acrid smell of burned out chemical fires. It wouldn't be long before the environmental systems failed completely.
"Take a seat, sergeant."
Alexander moved with efficient intent and sat on a rickety chair across from Jason Hunter and Annora Doverly. Both officers were dressed in "the blacks." It was the fleet name for the nondescript fatigue-like uniform designed to keep high-ranking personnel from standing out in forward areas. Black blouse. Black trousers. Black boots, belt, holster and sidearm. Each wore a patrol cap with a removable rank patch. Their jackets had their names on the chests and Argent insignia on the shoulders, all black on black.
The unusual uniforms were a necessary precaution. By all rights, battleship captains, commanders and medical chiefs were rarely allowed to hit dirt in a hot LZ, and were often barred by regulations from visiting a forward base so recently attacked, at least without a heavily armed escort. But something the regulation writers often overlooked was the fact circumstances often called for more decisive action.
And these most definitely qualified. Captain Hunter was about to preside over one of the biggest buildups of reinforcements for a capital ship in recent memory. But before he welcomed the new crew, marines and hardware to the decks of DSS Argent, he had an urgent mission to complete.
Both Jason and Annora noticed the sergeant didn't make a sound, either pulling the chair out or seating himself. He was a plain looking man. He definitely didn't resemble a fleet officer's image of a special forces marine, especially one from the elite recon section. He wore an impeccably trimmed beard that perfectly matched his short brown hair. He wasn't particularly heavy, nor noticeably muscular, but Hunter did notice his stare right away. Sergeant Alexander never broke gaze. He never looked down. Never glanced or fidgeted. He was like an icy reflection. His face didn't flinch. When he blinked, he looked perfectly relaxed. Even his breathing was unusually steady.
A man like Roy Alexander got called in when the situation could be handled in no other way, and the recommendation of his services was always delivered by whisper. His reputation preceded him, even through meetings with two admirals and a marine general. The only thing about him that wasn't classified was his name and rank. He was the deadliest human being in the Bayone system, and Captain Hunter was about to send him on a mission from which he would quite possibly never return.
"At zero four hundred hours Bayone Three time yesterday, an Argent Second Marines infil team deployed to the planet's surface to conduct reconnaissance of what we believe is a hidden recovery LZ sixty miles southwest of the 14th Infantry Garrison at Lethe Deeps," Hunter began.
"Both our ground and orbital stations lost contact with Paladin Six Four over the Triad Jungle at these coordinates." Commander Doverly indicated a location roughly halfway between the Starhaven perimeter and the Rustridge Mountains at the far end of the Triad Basin. "We were unable to pick up any residual energy readings, nor can we locate a crash site."
"Even with look-down probes?" Alexander asked.
"There's some kind of scattering field active down there," Hunter replied. "My signals officer speculates it could be coming from a natural source, as the swamps in the Triad basin are home to some rather unusual algae blooms that can ionize the atmosphere over the water. Unfortunately, that's something we can't confirm from orbit."
"Understood. You need visual confirmation to locate the vessel and your missing men."
"It's not just any missing man, sergeant," Hunter replied. "My ground forces commander is on that mech. I have a battalion of marines that may get the call at any second, and I don't relish the thought of sending them into action without my best officer in the lead. Acknowledged?"
"Aye, sir."
"I'm reasonably certain sitting here I don't have to go into much detail on what we're facing. I have eleven starships gearing up to engage what may be at least three hostile battlegroups, and the strike point will either be Hallows Moon or--"
"Bayone Three," Alexander finished.
"Komanov's intelligence section believes ground forces will hit the planet in less than 72 hours," Doverly added. "If they've quietly established an LZ somewhere out there in the Triad Basin, we need to find it and put it out of commission before their invasion force arrives."
"Affirmative. Which objective has priority?"
"Say again?"
"Do you want the LZ out of commission or the missing paladin rescued first, ma'am?" Alexander asked the question as if it were perfectly reasonable that one man could accomplish either task, to say nothing of both.
"Find my marines first. If they are still operational they can join the mission to take out the LZ."
"Acknowledged."
"We realize it's a lot to ask of one man," Doverly said.
"Negative, ma'am."
"What do you mean?"
"I always have help."