[Main Operating Base 7]
"Touchdown in three, two, one… down. Stand by for ground crew." The phantom hawk set down in the middle of the snowstorm, its reinforced rotors slicing through the harsh wind that pounded against its hardened fuselage.
In the snowstorm, the helicopter's slim body was almost invisible along with the white camouflage paint scheme, and the ground crew as well as the pilot relied entirely on instruments, communications, and the blinking lights of the phantom hawk to land.
Visibility was almost down to zero in the harsh conditions, and Eve shivered uncontrollably despite herself as a ground crew wearing a bright orange reflective vest flung open the door after the pilot had powered down the rotor.
He shouted over the howling wind. "Everyone out. Once you're out, head down to admin. Follow the runway past the hangar, and it's right in view. It's the largest building on base, you can't miss it."
Their lieutenant handler stepped out first. "Thank you!" Eve and the others quickly followed, hustling off of the helipad and following the runway past the hangar like where they were directed. Their combat uniforms, which were engineered to provide all sorts of environmental protection, were barely able to keep them warm in the blinding and piercing weather that swept through the base, and Eve quite literally shook in her boots from the cold.
Soon, they reached admin[1], and as they each stepped through the door, they took off their hats. Eve's shoulder length brown hair, which looked as if it was dyed silvery white by all the frost that had grown on it, started to become soft again, thanks to the very welcome heating of the building.
The TRACE operators felt out of place in their grey-toned camouflage in a sea of arctic warfare white combat uniforms, but stood respectfully as their handler walked up to the desk and penned them in[2].
"Sergeant Glen, Corporals. This is Captain Jeong. He'll be our liaison with the Arctic unit." The Lieutenant gestured to a Captain who towered above everyone like a giant. Like everyone else in the compound, he wore a toned white combat uniform, but also wore a reflective orange visibility vest. His rank was emblazoned on the slip on that stood proudly on the epaulettes on his shoulder.
Captain Jeong stepped forwards and shook hands firmly with each of them, before side-stepping towards a double doored hallway that led to several rooms and offices.
"Welcome to MOB[3] 7. Please, follow me," he said in a low, gravely voice. Eve could see Vian staring at his back and elbowed her, staring at her pointedly. Vian deliberately avoided Eve's eyes. Eve sighed.
As they followed the Captain past the main office and through the hallway, Eve could feel the piercing gazes of the logistic and admin officers through the office and briefing room windows at them.
They stood out like a sore thumb in their grey uniforms, and their brilliant silver TRACE tabs - a tab that designated them as members of TRACE - on their shoulders made it feel even worse.
"Given the urgent nature of the briefing, we'll be heading over right away," the Captain said. "Sit in the seats marked for you. There will be placards with your name and rank on them." They soon reached a heavy door. The captain held the door open for the TRACE members to enter.
The briefing room was about the size of a classroom, and it was dark inside, the only source of light being a projector. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Eve quickly found her spot and sat down. They were the first ones there, and the Captain walked to the front table and stood at ease.
Soon, after a few minutes, others filed into the room, all wearing white camouflage except for a small, distinct group dressed in full black, and seats were quickly filled. They waited in silence that pressed in on them, seemingly growing every minute.
- - -
Eventually, the door opened. The captain snapped to attention. "Room!" he bellowed. Eve and the rest of the room quickly sat up straight and placed their hands in fists on their knees.
A new voice called out. "As you were." The room relaxed yet stayed tense as the lieutenant-colonel strode into the room, followed by a major.
He set down a cup of coffee, a laptop and a binder on the table, picked up the projector's controller and stood behind the table. The major and captain exchanged greetings, then stood at the front of the room to the side.
The lieutenant-colonel had a slightly disheveled appearance, as if he hadn't slept in days. Regardless, he addressed the room.
"Thanks for showing up," the man at the front said, loud enough to cut through side chatter. "We'd do introductions, but we're short on time. I'm Lieutenant-Colonel Song, base commander here at MOB 7. If you don't know me, you will soon enough."
He popped open his laptop, muttering curses as he struggled with the projector's controller, fiddling with the buttons. "Stupid tech… Back in my day, we used paper and a damn lightbulb."
Laughter rippled faintly through the room until eventually the screen behind him flickered to life. Static and the hum of the projector faded into a drone in the background.
"Alright. Eyes front."
The murmurs died.
"This is your briefing for Operation A1. It's a recon and intel extraction mission. And if things go sideways- destruction."
He tapped a key on his laptop. A grainy aerial image replaced the title slide: a snow-blanketed ruin. Caved-in walls. Scorch marks. A shell of an outpost that had quite obviously seen better winters.
Eve narrowed her eyes further. A half-destroyed facility, with information so important that they, the TRACE team, were called in.
"Our target is what the Asphodelians call Cold Weather Outpost Four. Our intel suggests there's something at that site they don't want us to find. So we're going in to take it. If we can't extract it…" Song paused, "we level the place."
However much he tried to hide it, Eve could tell that the Lieutenant-Colonel felt slightly uneasy about it, as if they were making a mistake. His breathing seemed off, and ever so often his eyes would flick down to the laptop screen, as if he were checking for something. Glancing back, Eve could tell that everyone else didn't seem to pay it any mind.
Perhaps it's just the Lieutenant-Colonel's habits, then. He did seem tired, after all. Perhaps I'm just paranoid? Eve kept it in mind as he continued, regardless.
Another slide. Another flick. Satellite overlays, red markings, scattered signal readings, but - as Eve noticed - a whole lot of blank space.
"We've got a lot of unknowns. Pre-recon didn't report enemy presence- because it didn't get the chance. The UAV was shot down before it could get within range to use its thermals. So assume they're there. Assume they're ready."
He paced slowly in front of the projection.
"Our team's small. That's intentional. We're going in quiet. Stealth is our best chance."
Click. New slide: personnel charts.
"You've got Platoon 6 with us- best on base." A cheer rang out from the rear. "Platoons 7 and 8 are QRF. You'll notice we have a TRACE team with us too." He gestured toward Eve's group.
The room's energy shifted. Cheers died to murmurs.
"Yes," Song said. "It is that important."
Why, Eve wondered. What could be so important that we'd be pulled up from TRACE MOB all the way up here for it?
"We've also contracted support from the Seaward Wolves."
That got a bigger reaction- quiet, but sharp. Eve's eyes narrowed, and she tightened her jaw. She wasn't the only one.
Song didn't flinch.
"I know what you're thinking. I've read the same reports. I've heard the same rumors. But like it or not, the Wolves' PMC[4]s are the best we've got right now. And I'm sure you don't need me to remind you of their record."
No one disagreed. The Wolves were ghosts, brutal, silent and efficient- in their time of operation of over 50 years, only 10 commissions hadn't been fulfilled. The PMC world's version of TRACE, if you will.
Song pressed on. "Phantom Snow Hawks will handle infil and exfil. UAV overwatch. Bomber wing on standby. Weather conditions won't improve- we're looking at a continuing storm. Use it. Cover will be on your side during extraction. With our tech and thermal dampeners, we can minimize detection. But don't test your luck. Avoid contact. This isn't a siege- it's a smash-and-grab. Find out what they're hiding. Get out. Or call it in to the bombers and liquidate the place. But I will make it clear-" His eyes glared about the room- "anyone who does so without my express orders and permission will face very heavy consequences." He left this threat hanging in the air before he nodded toward the major, who stepped forward, laser pointer in hand.
The major clicked a button on his laser pointer, and the slides changed back to show the aerial photo of the compound.
"You'll deploy in two teams. Alpha: Platoon 6, squads two and three, augmented by Seaward Team Two. First IC[5]: Tech Sergeant Wynn. Bravo: TRACE Team One, Platoon 6's first squad, and Seaward Team One. First IC…" He paused. "Sergeant Glen, TRACE."
Eve's stomach dropped. That was her. Second operation. First in command once more. No time to process, however.
The red dot from the Major's laser pointer circled around a spot on the aerial. "Alpha drops two klicks north, secures a perimeter. Bravo moves in once the area's locked down. UAVs on standby, fire-on-laser. Our drone ops can see through structures- paint your targets, and they'll hit what you can't."
Another flick.
"Command structure is as follows: Lieutenant-Colonel Song holds operational command. Team leads report directly- Alpha under me. Bravo under Lieutenant Nia and Captain Jeong."
He kept going- more data, contingency scenarios, emergency comms- but Eve wasn't hearing it all. Her heart thudded beneath her uniform. Second mission. First IC.
And if this went wrong?
She'd be the one answering for it.
- - -
Eve stayed in her uncomfortable folding plastic chair, rocking back and forth, her mind still processing everything as the briefing drew to a close. She was snapped out of it by Seo.
"Sergeant? We need to exchange our gear and get our new rifles. Are you okay?"
Eve shook her head, clearing her mind, still barely registering the words that came out of the Tech Corporal's mouth. "Yes, sorry."
Eve hoisted her kit bag, then pulled out a map of MOB 7 that she'd been given and led the TRACE team down to admin's main entrance, grasping a piece of paper with combinations for her arms locker. The corporals also held similar strips of paper, with their own lock combinations.
The operation would take place tomorrow, and Lieutenant Handler Nia had gone with Captain Jeong to iron out the remaining logistics issues, which left Eve and her team to exchange their equipment on their own.
Eve and the rest of the TRACE operators donned orange reflective vests before they stepped out into the blinding snowstorm once more, shivering. Reaching the armoury after plodding through the crisp snow, they dusted the snow off outdoors before heading in and checking in with the corporal at the front desk.
Then they were in. MOB 7's armoury was perhaps twice the size of that at TRACE. Each lane was filled with lockers in neat rows and sections based on their battalion number, company number, platoon number, and even by the squad. Eve spotted a section labeled "visitors" and headed over with her team.
As she walked, familiar sounds flooded her ears: rifles being cleared, their bolts and actions clacking backwards, the thumps of guns and equipment being placed inside arms lockers, doors being shut, locks being clicked secure. They eventually reached their lockers marked 'TRACE SQUAD' with sharpie on duct tape. Eve input her combination and heard the lock open with a satisfying *click*. She reached inside to grab her new rifle and gear while placing her own inside for storage.
She would've wanted to examine her rifle and equipment, but she was distracted by a tall shadow leaning across her door. She looked up to see a tall woman, in a sleek black combat uniform, not of any military unit that she knew. Her face was hidden by a black medical mask, and a black baseball cap was pulled down low, half obscuring her eyes. Long, obsidian-like black hair was pulled back in an elegant ponytail, and Eve could barely make out purple eyes that glittered dangerously like amethyst. The figure noticed Eve.
"Oh, sorry, did I disturb you?" The woman's voice was low, melodious, and somehow cold at the same time. She peered down at Eve, her locker open. Her amethyst eyes seemed to peer straight into Eve's soul, examining every single crevasse, every single flaw with wintry judgement.
"No, not at all," Eve replied, staring at her not too subtly. Hot damn, she thought. "Are you from MOB 7? I don't recognize that uniform."
"I guess I am now. You're TRACE, right?" There was no emotion in her voice as she glanced past Eve at Seo, Taeyeon, and Vian staring at her curiously. She then extended a hand forward to shake Eve's hand. "I'm looking forward to working together soon." Eve had half extended her hand with a questioning expression before she noticed what was on the woman's baseball cap. A logo of the growling visage of a wolf, embroidered on waves in deep navy blue thread. Then it all clicked together.
The baseball cap. The black combat uniform. The mask. How Eve had never seen that uniform. The words in sharpie marking her locker that Eve hadn't noticed earlier.
The woman reached forwards and shook Eve's hand. "Isa Nymera. Seaward Wolves, team one squad leader. Pleased to meet you, Sergeant Glen."
[1] Administration - generally this will be probably the largest building on base. It records everything admin - files, documents, who comes in and out, logi, briefing, etc.
[2] Signed them in, register that they'd arrived at the base.
[3] Main operating base
[4] Private Military Contractor - Essentially private soldiers for hire
[5] First in command