The Warfighter, the Storm, and the Moon

Chapter 13: Reasoning

'Reasoning'

27-Aug-2030, 0432R

Connor Stoll, Son of Hermes

Joint Operation with Hunters of Diana, Camp Half-Blood

Bald Mountain State Forest, Angelica, New York, USA

It frankly was just like a game of chess, only significantly more violent. After twenty years of damn near nothing, I had waded into battle and, while acting as a QRF—or whatever the hell Percy called us—faced off against a type of monster that even our resident oldies had never seen before.

But what broke my brain wasn't the crazy hybrid hydra, but the fact that we were led by a man I was so certain to be dead. So much so, I even bet money on it with my brother: Percy Jackson himself.

Speaking of, the legend himself sat before me, jabbering on his radio to the rest of the people in Task Force Socrates (I can't believe I actually started going along with it), requesting "SITREPs" and organizing "CASEVACs," despite having just announced victory moments ago. He worked with the speed and efficiency often associated with soldiers (or sailors, whatever).

As everyone with half a brain could tell, Percy had changed... a lot. He retained a sense of humor and the typical Big Three flair for the dramatic, but it was difficult to recognize him... literally and figuratively.

"Stoll? Stoll!" he barked from his place on the ground, snapping me back to reality. He looked up at me intently, his finger having released its pressure on his radio's push-to-talk button.

"Uh, what?" I dumbly replied, feeling like an idiot for zoning out when there was a situation to be dealt with.

"I said, I'm having all teams egress at this time. You need to handle the wounded here at our pos. Can you do that or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, I can handle it. Uh, you gonna need a hand?"

"Whaddaya think, Stoll?"

"Alright, alright," I assented, holding my hands up in defeat after I sheathed my sword. "Jamie, you and I are gonna carry Percy out. Everyone else, move the wounded back to the vans."

"Got it," the son of Apollo muttered before he finished his checkup on Percy's ankle, our brothers and the Hunters proceeding back to the vehicles around us. "Okay, boss. You're good to go."

"Knight, this is Rook 3," Travis called over the radio.

"Go ahead, 3."

"We've got Blackjack, but the medics are saying that he needs to be taken back to the camp pretty quick."

"Good copy, 3. Torch, you got any sort of CASEVAC option?"

"Knight, this is Queen," Annabeth suddenly interrupted. "Tyson's got a plan to get Blackjack home. He's asking for a minute to do it."

"Roger that, Queen. Torch, belay on that CASEVAC. Can you scan the clearing, see what the hell was up with that hydra? Maybe some forensics magic?" Percy asked.

"I will, but you have bigger problems. It appears the mortals have noticed the flames and explosions," Trivia—Hecate?—warned. "They will arrive in approximately half an hour from the south. You would be wise to escape."

"Good copy, Torch. All stations, salvage all arms and evidence and egress now. Anvil, can you find us a route out of here?"

"One moment, let me check this GPS..." Vulcan muttered (or was it Hephaestus? I had no idea what the hell was going on anymore).