“How many are there?” the captain asked, this time hoping for an actual answer.
Helios walked back over to the table and shrugged.
“For all we know,” he said “they’ve got a thousand people hiding in that basement, but something tells me they don’t. These men are fanatics and they are not afraid to kill. They’ve been attacking soft targets near Mexico City for the past three months, killing politicians and kidnapping the children of highly influential individuals. Then again, they’re little more than Bolivian thugs sent on a mission by some zealot who thinks John Haley is actually God incarnate,” Helios suddenly stopped as the men all let out a chuckle. “Our mission this evening, gentlemen, is as simple as they come: kill the Bolivians – no prisoners will be taken – and capture all Adventists.”
“Are we to kill them as well?” the captain asked.
“No!” he replied forcefully. “Every single Šero Adventist will walk out of that church unscathed. We are to treat them as though they truly are the children of God.”
“And why do we have to favor them?” one of the other soldiers asked.
Captain Sorenson took to his feet and with a horrid look on his face he said to the man, “You will not speak to Commander Helios unless given permission by not only myself by him as well, do you understand, Corporal Szekely?”
Szekely nodded, saying nothing more.
“We’re not here to kill, we’re above that,” the captain continued, his voice full of confidence and pride. “Our orders in regards to the Adventists is to keep them alive so that I.O. can gather information that they would not be able to obtain otherwise. After we bleed them dry we’ll have them executed.”
For a moment, as Helios took a long look over at the captain, who stood as though he were the commander, Atlas found himself holding in his laughs. The suit helped, he found. After a few seconds passed and Captain Sorenson saw the smirking gaze of Helios, he quickly sat back down.
“Thank you,” Helios replied to his action. “The stereotype of the Bolivian insurgents is somewhat true: they aren’t very well trained and they haven’t the greatest armor. However, they’re heavily funded and backed thoroughly. These men are effective in their vocations, to say the least. In the past two weeks alone we’ve lost seven Black Sun soldiers, all of whom were wearing their R5290′s, to a group of guerillas. Unlike us, they’ve got the entire Vatican and every zealot, extremist, and loon supporting them.
“Captain Sorenson, you are to take point and head the main assault. Ackley will take the left flank, Donaldson will take the right. As for your escort, Investigator Atlas, he’ll tag along with you, Captain Sorenson.”
“I am aware, sir. I’m proud to have him with us, we’ve all heard of his excellence in the field.”
Helios was quick to respond, saying, “Captain, Atlas is not here to lead the charge. We have sent him along with you so that we can continue an ongoing investigation. Killing any Adventist for any reason will harm that investigation, so if Atlas says jump I don’t even want you to ask how high… just jump.”
It sounded so strange to Atlas. He had no real abilities other than a keen aim, but even then he wasn’t the greatest shot. He used no specialized Atom, his statistics were average at best, and he had lost much of his strength over the years as he began to exercise less. For the prior two years he spent under the command of Helios, he did very little in terms of fighting. The scratches on his body, his bruised skin, and even his broken bones were all caused by climbing through the half destroyed and often times burnt churches and communes once used by the Advent.
As soon as Helios saluted, the soldiers reciprocated before racing down and into one of the vehicle depots. Even though he knew exactly what to expect, Atlas still figured he’d see something new or in the very least something absurd. Instead, he stepped into the depot and found little more than normal transport vans, sedans, SUVs, and trucks.
“Five groups,” Captain Sorenson shouted to his men.
They immediately lined up, though the last group was missing one man. Atlas stood as though it was his first time. During the Southern Front, after the major conflicts ended and he began working for special operations, he found himself in a type of war which did not require standing at attention. Instead of acting confused, Atlas ignored the captain and walked past the groups. His rank saved him from a violent tirade at the hands of Captain Sorenson, whose admiration stretched far beyond his discipline.
“Sir,” the captain spoke up, “please line up.”
Atlas turned and with a smirk on his face he replied, “We’re in a hurry, yes? Shouldn’t we start to move before it’s too late?”
Sorenson let out a groan and began to walk to each unit, tapping their leader on the shoulder and pointing to their van. Oddly enough, the vans themselves were quite different, but only in that they were only vans because they had an open area in the back. The truth was they were built more like tanks, but then again they were used to transport State Guard from point A to point B. At the back of each, ten men lined up while two others took positions in the front. As they did this, Atlas stood back and watched, trying to hold back his laughs. The back doors opened and the men climbed the step ladder, piling in like bees in a hive.
“Usually they don’t have twenty-five men,” said Helios, who had wandered in and next to Atlas. “Captain Sorenson is fairly new at all of this, but he’s preformed quite well. The unfortunate issue with him is his disposition during battle.”
“Does he get scared?” asked Atlas.
“No, though I almost wish he would. Instead, I think he becomes too confident and begins to forget proper strategy. Nevertheless, he’s done a decent job and he’s up for a promotion in two months. While you two have different career paths, you come into conflict when it comes to promotions. If you finish this mission and we find Evelyn through one of the Adventists, you’ll be granted that promotion. If not, you’ll be waiting another year.”
It hit him like a brick to the chest. Though, he kept his cool and he stood calmly. Instead of replying, he nodded. He watched the soldiers get into the van, one by one, and thought about the 5o5. It was so long ago that he actually drove one, let alone sat in the back.
Impulsively, Atlas turned to Helios and asked, “Why doesn’t Captain Sorenson have a title such as myself? We are of the same rank, aren’t we?”
Before ambling off in his typically odd manner, he replied, “If he dies today, we can replace him with somebody else without much trouble. If, however, you die today, we’ll have lost someone irreplaceable. Don’t let that go to your head, though. Virgil is impressing Apollo.”
The sound of the communicator inside of Atlas’ helmet beeped and with a sizzle turned on. He could hear every breath and every movement of his new teammates, though unless they were speaking it was somewhat muted. He turned around, noticing Captain Sorenson standing on the edge of the rumbling second car, all the while ushering him forward.
“When I was in Mexico seven years ago,” Atlas said over the helmet communicator “we walked everywhere.”
With a chorus of laughs ringing in his ear, he climbed into the vehicle and sat down across from the captain, who closed the hatch. The sound reminded him immediately of the jet door unlocking and locking, like all the air was being sucked out and the final goodbye was little more than an unsympathetic thud. As it closed, the darkness grew in scope and the only light came from a small window up near the drivers. Soon, as he waited, he began to see little blue lights flicker below and above them.
“All this machinery and they still can’t afford a normal light bulb,” one man joked.
The transport jerked and the rumbling of the engine grew heavier. Soon they were moving, or at least Atlas thought he was. Every inch of the vehicle vibrated thoroughly, quickly numbing his legs. Though as they passed through the first gate and began up the ramp, the tremors grew calmer until it became a fly in Atlas’ peripheral vision.
He began to close his eyes and take the ride as a reason to fall asleep. There was none to be had the night before. Even the Atom which inhibited insomnia was unable to force him into a slumber. Instead, as he sat in the plane heading down to Mexico City, he read a book Thom had given him. Every page was read, yet he did not remember a single word. His mind was set entirely on the image of Elizabeth MacArthur. And now, as he sat with his eyes closed in the transport van, he could only remember the face of Thom as he stood there and heard the news of his wife. He did not cry, but instead he cleared his throat and took the holy bible which sat as a constant reminder of her.
“I don’t need it anymore,” he said, giving it to Atlas before meandering back into his apartment.
When he arrived in Mexico City he was immediately shuttled to OC:3 by Helios himself, who said little during the drive. The day went no better than the night prior – his hours were spent pouring himself over the bible and reading every verse until he memorized them. Yet, somehow and beyond his comprehension, as he sat in that transport the only one he could remember was the one written on the very back page, Psalm 23:
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me besides quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for
his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the…
His attention, which was carried so heavily on the psalm he recited in his mind, was then averted as another voice crept into his head via the helmet communicator. His eyes broke open and he let out an audible sigh, much to the chagrin of the captain, who said vehemently, “I respect the hell out of Commander Helios.” He paused a moment before continuing on, saying, “However, if you come into direct harm from a member of the Šero Advent, I give you full permission to kill them. We are to follow the orders of Helios, but your safety is number one above his approval of our mission status.”
