Three days ago
15 July 2037
04:30
SNA Forward Assault Base, East Europe Command, Rudnya, Russia
Before dawn had fully surrendered the sky, the base thrummed with motion. Under a lid of bruised clouds, hangars yawned open and men moved like machine cogs — checking kit, lacing boots, trading quiet prayers. Outside, MI-8s and MI-38s of the SNA lifted their noses toward a grey horizon, rotors chopping the morning air. Inside a vast hangar, two hundred and fifty soldiers ran through final checks, the low murmur of talk braided with the snap of webbing and the metallic clink of ammunition.
A Typhoon APC eased to a stop at the hangar mouth. A brigadier stepped down with an escort; the formation snapped to attention and saluted. Brigadier Sergei Smirnov acknowledged the salute with a single nod and walked down the line.
"I know many of you from before," he said, voice firm and efficient, "and I see many new faces too. Reinforcements from New Eden. I'm Brigadier Sergei Smirnov, commander of this base. I'll spare you the pleasantries — the mission is what matters."
As he spoke, men with a field projector hustled into place. The projector bloomed, painting a satellite map of Belarus across the hangar wall. Smirnov clicked a remote; routes traced themselves in thin red lines.
"Last night's imagery shows FNA forces have pushed through Poland and are advancing into Belarus, pressing toward our borders," Smirnov continued. "Our primary objective: halt that advance. We'll move to intercept their columns, set up a forward base, and stabilize the front. After the base is secure, we can consider driving them back."
He paused, scanning the faces beneath the brim of his cap. "Secondary objective…" His sentence broke off as the distant thrum of engines swelled into the hangar.
"Speak of the devil," he muttered.
A shadow passed overhead. The Athena descended like a leviathan, its VTOL engines folding to a gentle stop and the ramp yawning wide. The Charlie team flowed down the ramp: black-and-red uniforms, faces tight with focus. Mei led them, long strides efficient and economical. Annabelle, De Luca and Arina followed in step, their presence turning the hum of the hangar toward them.
Mei moved forward and offered a hand which Brigadier Smirnov grasped. The brigadier took in the team, then gestured to the projector. "Task Force 7 will accompany us today," he said. "But know this — their objective differs from ours."
Mei folded her arms and regarded the map. "Our mission details are classified," she said, each word measured, "but I expect full support from you. We can't do this without that." It read as a request, but her tone carried something firmer — a quiet confidence that expected compliance rather than begged for it.
Nearby, De Luca spotted familiar faces in the ranks — Elina and Sajjad. He nudged Arina; she glanced over and returned his silent, conspiratorial wave toward the two soldiers. Small gestures of recognition threaded through the crowd, anchors of camaraderie on a morning charged with the prospect of battle.
Smirnov stepped forward again, paper in hand. "I'm dividing you into nine hunter squads of thirty men each. You should already have your designations. Squad leaders will be the decision-makers on the ground when I'm not present. Is that clear?"
The formation answered crisply in unison — "Sir, yes, sir."
"Good." Smirnov read the list aloud, names clipped and final: Hunter-1 Lt. Sergei Vasilev; Hunter-2 Lt. Alex Montiel; Hunter-3 Sgt. Sajjad Hossain; Hunter-4 Sgt. Gary Hunter; Hunter-5 Sgt. Alexis Sanchez; Hunter-6 Sgt. Mikhael Shevchenko; Hunter-7 Sgt. Elina Parker; Hunter-8 Lt. Nagi Wataru; Hunter-9 Sgt. Ivan Volkov.
"All squad commanders, lock your radios to the base's primary frequency on the secondary channel. These nine will take direct orders from me." He fixed each leader with a look. "Any questions?"
The men answered in a single, crisp voice: "Sir, no, sir."
Smirnov let out a breath that might have been a smile. "May the Lord be with you. Be victorious, boys. Briefing over."
As the soldiers dispersed to secure their kit and finalize loadouts, Smirnov turned back to Mei. The weight of what lay ahead tightened his expression. "If the intel holds, what you attempt today could alter the course of this war. For better or worse. My men will support you however possible. End this war for us."
Mei inclined her head, the briefest seal of agreement. She looked to the rest of her team — Annabelle, De Luca and Arina — who were already moving toward the Athena, boots clacking on concrete in a steady, purposeful rhythm.
They climbed the ramp and boarded the giant VTOL, the mobile base that had already altered dozens of operations by its mere presence. Inside, advanced systems hummed; AURA's interface flickered across consoles, ready and hungry for directives. Outside, the SNA ground squads filed into their transports and helicopters, the hangar dissolving into a ballet of engines and movement as the entire base prepared to push out.
Charlie team strapped in, faces set. The mission that had been a map on a wall a moment ago had become men and fuel and noise and the hard geometry of forward lines. Task Force 7's shadow hovered over the day's plan like a blade; the nine hunter squads would form the teeth to bite into the FNA advance. The Athena's promise of firepower and AURA's watchful eye tipped the balance, but nothing in the world would guarantee success.
Mei glanced at Annabelle and De Luca — the old rhythm of a squad, the tacit promise that they'd move as one. She breathed in, taste of metal and rotor wash in her mouth, and said, simply, "Let's go."