The mess was mostly empty. A few logistics officers sat hunched over trays in the corner, clearly smart enough not to gawk at a squad of operators who looked like they’d just walked out of a firestorm. The air smelled like coffee and reheated protein.
“Grab what you can,” Viper said. “Eat fast.”
The food wasn’t fancy—mostly prepackaged high-cal meals, MRE components, and eggs that might’ve started frozen—but it was warm and solid.
Kaze practically inhaled a breakfast burrito before sitting back with a bottle of Gatorade, looking almost serene as he unwrapped the second. “Man,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “I know we’ve seen some shit... but fake eggs and vending machine hash browns? This is what survival tastes like.”
“Better than cave crickets,” Reaper muttered.
“Or fermented tree root,” Juice added.
Zero sipped black coffee, eyes locked on the clock. “Fifteen minutes.”
Viper barely registered the food on his tray. He ate on autopilot, the sharp edge of leadership humming low in his chest like a frequency only he could hear. Ward was gone. Separated from them as they’d expected. But that didn’t make the silence feel any less sharp or the ache in his chest any less raw.
Trace nudged his tray aside and leaned closer to Juice. “Think they’re going to ask?”
Juice didn’t even look up. “Of course they’re going to ask.”
“How much do we tell them?”
Viper’s voice cut through the conversation. “Exactly what happened. That’s what.”
No more. No less.
When the call came over the loudspeaker—“Volcano, report to Briefing Room Alpha. Immediate.”—they were already standing. The walk was short. Two corridors down and one flight of stairs. Their boots echoed across the linoleum in a steady rhythm, the sound so familiar it barely registered any of them anymore.
Outside the briefing room, a pair of officers waited in pressed blues, not looking entirely sure whether to salute or flinch. The older of the two gave Viper a quick once-over, then stepped aside and opened the door.
“Commander. Gentlemen. Inside, please.”
They stepped through as one, the door whispering shut behind them with a finality that rang too loud in the sudden silence.
Rows of chairs lined a long table running down the center of the room, and a massive screen was already flickering to life on the wall. Viper raised an eyebrow at the five sets of eyes peering expectantly at them.
He refused to blink. He nodded to each man of a similar rank to him and saluted the two who ranked at fruit salad level as he walked around the room to take the seat at the head of the table.
Showtime.
The lights dimmed, and the main screen at the front of the room flickered to satellite footage—Saonae Island, pre-blast. A red overlay marked their initial insertion point, and Viper leaned forward, hands folded, posture crisp and professional.
“Operation Caldera,” the briefing officer intoned. “Commander, you have the floor.”
Viper nodded once and jumped straight into debriefing mode. “Initial insertion at 0200 local time. We tracked the HVT—Abdul al-Rami—using heat signatures pulled from a drone sweep six hours prior. Pattern analysis suggested movement toward the island’s eastern ridge.”
He tapped the tablet in front of him, switching the screen to show infrared overlays and a series of GPS pings.
“We maintained low-profile movement through the terrain. Engaged only once—two hostile scouts, dispatched silently. The rest of the island showed minimal resistance. We believe al-Rami was operating in seclusion, likely running independent ops off-grid.”
A man at the table—a Marine colonel—interrupted, “What about the dig site flagged by ISR? You skirted it completely.”
“Affirmative,” Viper replied. “We were aware of the excavation. Avoided it intentionally. Mission parameters were HVT-focused. No civilian interaction, no unnecessary entanglements.”
The colonel scribbled something, but didn’t push any other question his way.
Viper continued. “By 0500, we’d cornered al-Rami in a series of volcanic foothills on the south ridge. We executed a close-quarter sweep, engaged in a short firefight, and neutralized the HVT. No casualties. Mission complete.”
He paused. The screen behind him changed—thermal scans of the volcano in its pre-eruption state.
