Into The Rift

Foreign Soil (12)

~1022 Hours Military Time

For the moment everything was quiet with the exception of the Jaguars above. The small crowd eventually parts, revealing a delegation consisting of the General and his escorts.

"Desert—Four. Contacts approaching," Robert announces over comms.

"Spike—one. We've got them locked," the Jaguar pilot answers.

'This is it,' I muse, as the armoured group slowly advances.

They stood in place after stopping a reasonable distance away. Cooper and his volunteers rush ahead, filing out of the defensive circle. Richard soon follows through, pacing hesitantly at the rear. After thumping himself in the chest, he catches up with the delegation just in time to conduct what is likely the most important part of this whole mission.

First impressions mean everything. It definitely applies here, but to a much greater degree. Keeping the firm observation along the crowd, I note the presence of a few individuals that likely served in roles that are decidedly more domestic in nature.

If nothing else, it meant a good portion of the crowd was not an immediate threat.

Cooper went straight to introductions as Richard offered rough translations in what I assumed to be an approximation of their language. The words were smooth but carried hesitance. It still is incredible to believe he knew how to speak even after receiving the context.

His unexpected understanding is the latest in my list of things that fell out of the realm of possibilities.

Cutting through the anxious moment, Robert breaks the stalemate with a brief interjection over the shared channel, "Spike—One, Desert—Four. Front looks stable. Liaison team's engaged without problems, you guys can turn back." He looks up to the Jaguars still positioned above.

"Negative, we've still got three—zero mikes to bingo over," the Jaguar Pilot indicates.

"Save the gas, logistics will appreciate that. We'll handle the rest," Robert presses on.

After a few minutes, the same voice returns over comms, "Spike—One to all units, disregard our last. We're peeling off, Southeast bound. Golf Lima, out."

The Banshees move into a much tighter orbit after the Jaguars left. Their engines carried on stubbornly for another minute before falling out of earshot entirely. From here on out, we are on our own.

Turning back to face the Valor and her crew, I glide a hand up to the knob near my left cheek. A brief glance at the current frequency displayed on the visor's bottom left shows I am still on the shared channel.

I thumb the knob and speak, "Keep the Valor spooled just in case."

"We know," one of the pilots answers, "still got our hands on flight control."

One of Cooper's aids turns around, raising a hand at the large structure. After a moment of deliberation, he speaks, "We'll be escorted into that big castle, further dialogue will happen inside."

Douglas taps me on the shoulder, emulating a twisting motion at the knob on his helmet. Getting a quick read on his intentions, I join him on the fireteam's isolated channel.

"I'm in, what is it?" I look at him through the peripheral.

"We can't guarantee their safety if we go inside that place," Douglas remarks. "It'll be hard to react against possible threats in close quarters."