The landing wasn't dramatic.
No alarms. No scramble. Just a low descent through early morning light and a strip of cracked runway that looked like it had been fixed way too many times.
Wheels hit. Hard enough to feel it in your teeth.
The jet slowed, taxied, then stopped off to the far side of the base. Away from the main hangars. Away from eyes that had no business prying.
The ramp slowly glided down.
Heat rolled in first. Dry and oddly enough heavy. It carried dust and that faint burnt smell from tires on asphalt that never really leaves places like this.
One by one, they stepped off.
No formation or salute. Just boots hitting tarmac.
And over the next few hours more planes also made the same landing while parking relatively close.
___
Even with its silent arrival, it's hard to not take notice of multiple planes landing in such a short time.
Across the compound, word spread fast.
"New arrivals."
"Who?"
"No idea. However they are not regulars."
That last part mattered.
Because people here knew rotations, units and faces, or at least patches.
These men had none.
___
Guss's unit, what was left of it, sat near the motor pool. Some on crates. Some standing. Most pretending to do something so they didn't have to think.
Mercer was the first to spot them.
He squinted. "Who the hell are those guys?"
No one answered.
Because no one had an answer.
Eight men walking across open ground like they owned the space. Not fast or slow, but without a doubt professional.
It wasn't something common out in these parts, at least with no uniform that is.
Alvarez stood up without meaning to. His chair scraped loud against the concrete.
"No way."
That got attention.
"What?" someone asked.
Alvarez didn't reply. Just kept staring.
Because he knew one of them.
Maybe two.
And that didn't make sense.
___
By the time the rest arrived from different transports accompanied by staggered landings. The number climbed. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
Thirty.
No patches. No unit markings. No official record of them being here.
And yet command didn't stop them.
Didn't even question it, not out loud.
That alone set people on edge.
Near the barracks, a small group of Marines watched them pass.
"Dude," one muttered under his breath, "that's… that's not Geor-"
"Yeah," the other cut in. "I see it, and it is."
A name almost came out. Didn't.
Felt wrong saying it here.
Like seeing a ghost and deciding not to mention it.
Alvarez moved before he thought it through.
He stepped into their path.
Not trying to show aggression.
The group slowed.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then one of them. Tall, masked, eyes sharp, tilted his head slightly.
"You're in his unit."
Not a question.
Alvarez nodded. "You knew Guss."
Another pause.
"Yeah," the man said. "We did."
Did.
Past tense.
It hit harder than expected.
___
Command didn't let it linger.
At 09:10, orders came down.
"All senior personnel and attached units to briefing room three."
No explanation.
Just that.
The room wasn't built for this many people.
That became clear fast.
Chairs ran out. Walls got used. Some stood near the door, arms crossed, watching everything.
Different groups. Same tension.
On one side, Guss's squad. Tired, running on bad sleep and guesses that in some morbid way would be better left unanswered.
On the other side, waited thirty, with many of them showing focus on what is about to come next, more than usual.
And at the front. Company command.
Alongside them, a few faces that didn't belong to the base. Higher rank. Cleaner uniforms. The kind only show when something derailed at a bigger scale than allowed.
Major Voss stood near the center. Same stone-flat expression. Same eyes that missed nothing.
He didn't waste time.
"Alright. Listen up."
The room settled. Instantly turning into an almost deadly silence.
"You all know why you're here."
A few looks exchanged.
No one spoke.
Voss nodded once. "Good. Saves time."
He gestured toward a display behind him. A map flickered on. Sector lines. Dead zones. Markers that blinked in and out like they couldn't decide if they were real.
"This is the last known position of Rover's unit."
A small red circle pulsed.
"Two days ago, they entered this zone for recon."
He tapped the edge of the map.
"Comms dropped three minutes in. Drone feed went blind shortly after."
Someone from Guss's squad spoke up. Couldn't help it.
"Was it a predetermined ambush, sir?"
"We don't have an answer at this time." Voss said.
That answer didn't help.
___
One of the thirty shifted slightly. Adjusting his position in an already cramped room.
Voss noticed. He always does.
"Some of you are wondering who our guests are."
A few quiet snorts at that word.
"Off the record," Voss continued, "they are here on a volunteer basis."
He let that sit.
"No official ties. No record of deployment. As far as the system is concerned," he paused "they are not here."
That got attention.
Even from the ones trying not to care.
A hand went up from the back, Mercer.
"Sir… with respect, why them?"
Fair question.
Voss didn't answer right away.
Instead, he looked toward the group.
One of them stepped forward.
Price.
Of course.
He didn't rush. Didn't posture.
Just stood where everyone could see him.
"We knew Rover," he said.
Simple.
Clear.
That was it.
A murmur moved through the room.
Some recognized him now. Really recognized him.
Others just felt it.
That weight, just him standing there gave off an aura of someone you did not want to mess with.
Voss picked it back up.
"This operation is not standard."
Understatement.
"We are planning a limited strike into this sector." He pointed again to the red zone. "Primary objective—locate and extract any surviving members of Rover's unit."
A pause.
"Secondary objective—identify and disrupt hostile forces believed to be operating under the name 'Crimson Veil.'"
A short pause followed.
Alvarez leaned forward. "Sir… you think they're still alive?"
There it was.
The question nobody could shake.
Voss met his eyes.
"I think," he said, measured, "we don't have confirmation of death."
Not the same thing.
Everyone knew it.
From the side, one of the thirty spoke. Voice low.
"And if we don't find them?"
Heads turned waiting for Voss to answer.
Yet the answer didn't come from Voss but Captain Price
"There is no "If", we are finding them and bringing them back alive or otherwise."
Final, with no room for argument.
The room sat in that for a moment.
"Captain Price is correct we won't be leaving until they are brought back".
Voss stepped back slightly.
"Teams will be mixed."
That got an immediate reaction.
"Sir" someone started.
Voss cut him off. "You want answers? You work together."
No room for debate.
"Briefings will continue in smaller groups. You'll get routes, entry points, comm protocols."
He looked around the room once more.
"Move fast. Stay sharp. This goes wrong, we won't get a second pass."
Chairs scraped.
People stood.
Voices stayed low, but they came back.
Questions. introductions with names.
And through all of it.
One thing sat heavy in every corner of that room.
Not hope.
Not fear.
Something in between.
Outside, the sun climbed higher over the base.
Heat built. Shadows shrank.
And somewhere beyond the wire, past broken roads and dead comm zones.
Something waited.
Something far more troublesome than expected.
_____
_____
And that's it for today. Hope you enjoyed and if you like it so far leave a powerstone or two.
See y'all tomorrow hopefully.