On a clifftop, somewhere 24 kilometers southwest of Petra, on the Israel and Jordan border, high above the desolate valley below, two disembodied shadows move slowly across a cliff's edge. On each side of the open canyon below, the mountains jut straight up like hard clay walls and then into jagged and sometimes flattened buttes above vast stretches of valley spread between them. The noon day sun beat down mercilessly, leaving the only shelter from the heat to be found in sparsely shaded areas.
High above two disembodied shadows on a rocky ledge, an invisible drone—the RQ-122 Global Hawk Terminator—prepares to dive. Sweeping downward, the Reaper-class craft gathers speed before pulling up sharply to level off at 150 meters. Its cameras roll, capturing a massive Russian and Chinese military cavalcade alongside their allied armies as they snake out of the canyon bend and stream into the open valley below.
Massive columns of soldiers marched in crisp, distinct rows. Some commanded armored ground vehicles while others piloted advanced aircraft that hovered overhead, brazenly dropping their cloaking devices as they descended into the valley. Bringing up the rear, antiquated transport trucks groaned under the weight of upgraded, precision-guided Scud missiles—far deadlier than those of earlier conflicts—ready to deploy at a moment's notice. This ominous force slowly blanketed the terrain. These refurbished war machines, retrofitted to run entirely on electric power, had become the backbone of the conflict; in this era, everything was salvaged. By late 2094, two grueling years of invasion had devolved into a brutal, no-holds-barred war of attrition, where the sole objective was total devastation by any means necessary.
On the high ledge overlooking the valley, two unattached shadows retreated toward the rear wall. They settled into the only available darkness, their cloaking fading to reveal two figures in desert camouflage and matching head masks. Motionless against the stone, they gripped their AI-powered AK337 rifles. Looking down at the valley floor, the sudden sight of the enemy army hit them with crushing weight.
Their own garrison, tucked deep within the butte below the lookouts, now faced a disturbing reality: their lands had been infiltrated by more than just rogue bands wreaking havoc beyond the front lines. The enemy had penetrated their territory with full fury. It was only a matter of time before the underground Israeli base was discovered—if it hadn't been already. Until this moment, the allied forces had not anticipated the colossal presence.
The intruders' open readiness for confrontation troubled the two members of the Israeli patrol. Oddly, the marching men showed no reaction as the shadow of the invisible drone rippled across their heads. Analyzing the scene below while keeping a sharp eye on the sky for enemy drones, the two soldiers gestured silently to each other, signaling a retreat into their hidden base.
In the face of danger, communication was stripped to the absolute basics. Their military-grade sunglasses offered radio relays, zoom, and night vision, but this blackout rendered the tech useless. To avoid detection by the audio radar equipped on every enemy drone, they stayed completely silent—cloaked or not. No radio chatter was permitted; if they needed to send a message, it had to be through line-of-sight hand signals.
Networked drones could not safely use cloaking technology in groups. Early test flights revealed that preventing mid-air collisions while invisible was nearly impossible; any cooperative positioning device added to help the onboard AI recognize fellow drones simply exposed them to advanced enemy radar. Without active location sensors, the cloaking fields were impenetrable—but activating those sensors turned the stealth drones into glaring radar beacons. The only viable strategy was deploying a single cloaked drone into neutral territory. If this lone unit bumped into an undetected target, it would trigger a GPS beacon, signaling a swarm of nearby, uncloaked drones to obliterate anything in the coordinates.
The pair moved like shadows against the mountain, communicating only in sharp hand signals. Slinking toward the hidden cave entrance, the leader located the lever disguised beneath a simulated stone plate. With a low scrape that made them both cringe, a heavy rock door parted. They slipped through the narrow gap and pushed the stone back into its frame until a slight click was heard, immediately whispering their codes to the omnipresent AI in the dark. Their flashlights flared to life, cutting circles of illumination over a jagged hole in the floor. They moved quickly down the stone spiral stairs, descending deeper into the earth. Off came the stifling masks and glasses, revealing a blonde woman and a curly-haired man, both tight-lipped and silent as they sank into the subterranean dark.
Lynn Marston, leader of a three-person tactical unit, had watched from the ridge as enemy soldiers hauled their weapon cache through the gulch. The encroaching war was creeping deeper into allied territory, but Lynn felt a familiar surge of purpose. Protecting people—whether helpless civilians or paying clients—was exactly where she belonged. Behind her, light footsteps echoed against the stone. Jacob "Griff" Griffin, her younger partner in the business of war, stepped into line as they descended deeper into the spiraling underground chamber. Lynn paused near a cleft in the rock, peering into a massive, brightly lit cavern. Inside, a teacher sat before a group of children. These were the Essenes, the peaceful tribe fleeing the enemy's advance. By now, the sight of children sitting cross-legged and casually levitating a few feet off the ground no longer surprised her. None of the civilians looked up as the two American operators slipped past the opening. A guard posted at the entrance offered a subtle nod. Lynn and Griff returned the gesture, continuing their downward pace.
Further down, they stopped at a control room entrance. Inside, operators manned transparent LED monitors flashing front and rear tactical views. Officers crowded behind the desk sergeants, following the screens in tense silence. Lynn and Griff realized instantly the monitors were already tracking the enemy's advance.
Allied commanders filled the subterranean bunker, easily outnumbering the regular personnel. When the perimeter lookouts entered, the eerie silence of the automated security system flagged an immediate alert—no AI greeting announced their arrival. Every eye in the room shifted to Griff. Then, a crimson flash washed over the command center, triggering a base-wide silence protocol. The room went dead silent. And for a moment, no one moved; no one dared breathe.
James Westphal slipped quietly toward his comrades, completing the unit known as the Holy Trio. The youngest of the three, Jimmy was a tall, lanky Black man with surprisingly broad, muscular shoulders. The trio silently bumped fists before the two sentries stepped over to the map table, whispering their observations to the elite soldiers who now encircled a table with a 3D map. Meanwhile, removing their body cams and attaching them to their docs to automatically sync to the central database, feeding real-time data to the next patrol bound for the escarpment. A full debriefing in their private quarters would follow the present command briefing. Once the meeting with the elites concluded, the Holy Trio slipped from the crowded command center and headed farther down into the dim stairwell.
"Why does the general always have sweaty hands? That is so...ugh!" Lynn whispered as she made a face of disgust, wiping her hand down her side, remembering the departing handshake.
"You didn't receive the full-on sweat factor with the first handshake." Griff whispered back with a sneer. "Next time you can be the first one to shake his hand, and then tell me about it."
"I'd rather shake a hundred sweaty hands than sit through a debriefing." Jimmy added, also whispering and then rolling his eyes. "You two just got through going over everything in the command center, and now you have to go through it all again. That is such bullshit."
"Well, there is bullshit and then there is necessary bullshit. THAT is necessary bullshit," Griff muttered.
"Well," Jimmy retorted, mimicking his friend. "Necessary bullshit is objectionable...like when you hired me. Remember that? My first day at work and I spent more than a month in jail."
The next opening led to the communal room, connecting the living quarters of the militia to those of the Essenes—the tribe the trio had been hired to protect. A distinct sect of the broader Jewish population, the Essenes had long been thought extinct, reportedly annihilated by the Romans thousands of years ago. Yet here a handful survived in the Jordan region – currently hunted by the Russian government – were found. Rumors surrounded this enigmatic community: some claimed they were an Arabic group endowed with unique powers tied to the spiritual laws of the universe, while others whispered they were descendants of the Magi and the true authors of the Dead Sea Scrolls.
In the heart of the Middle East, the tribe protected by the Holy Trio maintained a quiet existence. Known to possess the rare gift of shifting energy into physical form by aligning with a solid item's natural vibrations. Their minds were deeply interconnected; through a profound telepathic sixth sense, they could bond with any creature in the world, mastering everything from the smallest venomous viper to the largest wild beast. Many whispered of their capacity for mass hypnosis, yet few truly feared them, as the Essenes lived by individual truths and strictly avoided altering human reality. They coexisted peacefully wherever a stable community welcomed them, still, their mysterious abilities made them deeply misunderstood, transforming them into frequent targets for those who wished to hunt them down.
Crossing the vast shared space left vacant by the Essenes, the trio reached their quarters—essentially a cave hollowed out of the wall. It held three cots and a crude table surrounded by four mismatched car seats from abandoned vehicles. Filing inside, they dropped their packs by the entrance opening and propped their rifles against the dirt wall. They stripped off their heavy gun belts, leaving only their chest rigs intact and a hidden weapon within their clothing. The dugout was barely lit until Jimmy flipped on an LED lamp, throwing the jagged contours of the stone wall into sharp relief. In the sudden light, the food locker by the table stood out immediately.
The afternoon meal was always their first of the day, brought up by the garage soldiers who doubled as the kitchen crew. While the trio raided the food locker, the rest of the residents slipped into the common area. No one spoke. They moved like ghosts past the tables and chairs, grabbed their families' rations, and retreated to their dwellings, acutely aware of the light alert.
"You know," Griff continued to whisper, "all three of us spent over a month in jail." He had thought about Jimmy's last comment.
"Wasn't that our third year in business, Griff? ... and the first operation that included you, Jimmy. Two rich old ladies in an argument over a dog," Lynn said under her breath.
"Yeah," Jimmy snickered lightly. "It was that crazy billionaire lady that hired us. She had some kind of dog fetish."
"Yes, that one," said Lynn as she sat down. Gently cracking open her lunch tin, she continued. "She did some really ridiculous contract with us to rescue a dog and her puppies from a puppy mill. So we thought. Well, we did take the puppies and mama dog, but I was dumbfounded when we could not get that damn cat out of our vehicle." The men joined her at the table as she continued to whisper.
"The police came to our homes...they could have waited until we went to the office. I've never been so embarrassed, what with my neighbors watching me being arrested at my front door." She sighed a deep sigh.
"We went from a holding cell to county lock-up in forty-five hours, AND denied bail. That forty odd days in county was a fucking trip," Griff mumbled as he sat his metal container on the table beside where Lynn sat..
"Imagine what I thought when I just got hired with the company, worked my first day and ended up in jail...I still don't get it, I should have gotten less time than you two." Jimmy said curtly under his breath.
"Anyways," Lynn interrupted Jimmy's complaining. "After all that the court proceedings brought to light, we learned a valuable lesson on doing better background checks on people and what it is they want us to do before taking on a client. I will never be distracted by money ever again."
"Yeah," Jimmy gave a slight chuckle. "Turns out the lady our client hired us to extract the animals from was some other rich bitch who bought a dog that our client wanted. It was a shit show after that came out in court."
"I was scared to death the whole time," said Lynn, sniffing her food and then taking a tiny taste. She smiled in appreciation, it was edible. "I just knew I was going to prison."
"I was fine until the judge called us with our lawyers to his chambers," Jimmy said as he opened his tin and stirred the contents. "When he asked if we had anything to say for ourselves, I knew we were fucked."
The memory still hit Griff with the force of a live event. It was nearly five years ago, but he could still see the three of them crowded into the judge's chambers with their attorneys. He, Lynn, and Jimmy had stood straight-backed before the judicial desk, paralyzed by the quiet, terrified to shift an inch until the judge finally broke the silence.
"Well, do you have anything to say for yourselves?" The judge asked, his mood tepid and unrelenting as he glared at the defendants.
"Yes, sir," Griff began to say, "Your Honor, we did break into the lady's house and we did take all the puppies...and their mother. But I don't know where the cat came from."
"The reason we thought it was a puppy mill was because the house was so run down and filthy. We didn't know she had money. We thought she was selling the puppies to get money," said Jimmy, trying unsuccessfully to clarify the episode.
"You do realize break-in and entry are very serious charges? Right? You are in serious trouble. You broke into that woman's home and stole her cat, dog and puppies."
"Not the cat..." Griff cut in, trying to be courteous in manner
"I run this docket, and no one talks while I am talking," the judge roared. He slammed his gavel down, the crack echoing through the room. "I will tell you when you can speak. Sit!"
All three defendants nodded instantly, scurrying into the row of chairs. They sat motionless, waiting for his next command. Behind them, their lawyers remained equally paralyzed.
"I'll tell you what you're going to do," the judge continued in a booming voice. "You're going to pay five thousand American Cryptos restitution to the woman and then you're going to fix her house up...free of charge. Including the yard."
"Regardless." Lynn's quiet voice snapped Griff out of his thoughts. "It got us into government contracts. Our judge was a dick, but if it wasn't for his recommendations to clients who needed us, we wouldn't be here now."
The last words from Lynn echoed in Griff's thoughts. Besides the whispers between the trio there was total silence until the light alarm switched off and the AI announced the discontinuation of the alarm. Allowing the occupants to speak normally again.
"Can we talk about something else? I try to NOT think about all that anymore." Griff half-begged.
"Sure," Lynn said with a smile, stuffing a fork full of food into her mouth, "You did look a little dejected earlier. What were you thinking about?"
"Do you have to talk with your mouth full? I can't understand anything you say." Jimmy said with a sneer.
"Take me out to eat at a nice restaurant, and then I'll use proper etiquette," she said, swallowing before casting a scathing glare his way. "Sorry. Griff, please speak—maybe I can help."
"Why would Jimmy take you out to dinner?" Griff asked with a start.
"Like that would ever happen," Lynn said, shaking her head. She was determined to make it evident—mostly to herself—that she would never get involved with a coworker, no matter how much she struggled to maintain that rule around Griff. She had liked him since the day they met. Back then, her marriage was already crumbling, and Griff—whom everyone still called Jacob back then—had always been there to cheer her up, especially as she grieved her husband's eventual passing. Over time, her feelings deepened until it frightened her how often he filled her thoughts. After the funeral, she spent months trying to curtail those growing affections, constantly reminding herself that workplace romances were a bad idea. She tried her best to strike any romantic notions from her mind, or at least, she told herself she was trying.
"Why do the girls I like always end up with someone else?" Griff asked slowly. The question haunted him, a quiet background noise that was usually drowned out by his frustration with Lynn. He couldn't fathom why she kept pushing him away. He was nothing but a gentleman to her.
"Yeah, some of us have it...you know, some don't." Jimmy butted in. He leaned back in his chair and grinned at Griff.
"Fuck you," Griff spat at Jimmy. "I knew better before I even opened my mouth to talk about shit when you're around." Suddenly, Griff stood and unintentionally pushed his chair back. Jimmy immediately stood up to the challenge. His wide grin only increased Griff's anger.
"Escalation of hostile behavior in sector seven," the AI voice announced.
"Knock it off!" Sitting between them, Lynn was able to reach the hand of each man and pull them back down onto their seats. "No one needs to be called up to the principal's office." She said with exaggerated concern.
"Don't you have any weapons to clean?" Griff asked snidely. Both sat, flopping noisily into each chair.
"Hostile behavior averted," the AI announced.
"There are better places I can be than here with you GIRLS." Jimmy huffed as he stood again and then moved to retrieve his gear. After cinching up his gunbelt and grabbing his backpack and rifle, he walked into the common area and looked back at his teammates before entering the stairwell..
From their vantage point, Lynn and Griff watched Jimmy cross the outer room, heading toward the stone staircase. He hesitated at the entrance as a beautiful Israeli soldier approached him. As they spoke, she pressed the face of her watch against his to pass information. Jimmy turned, and with a sly grin, waved his wrist with the watch and put his hands to his ear in the phone motion as he eyed his teammates, and then planted a quick kiss on his watch. After flashing a "peace out" sign, he vanished down into the stairwell.
The common area stayed dead quiet long after the alarm finally cut out, the silence heavy with unease. Instead of gathering around the tables, the Essene families had retreated to their separate rooms to eat behind closed doors. Griff and Lynn picked at their food in silence, each trying to shut out the memory of Jimmy's foolishness.
Openings skirted the great room, each leading to a tribal family's quarters. The trio's assigned pod was the largest, boasting enough room for a private eating area where they could safely debate assignments and conduct their debriefings with the Israeli army. As part of the allied forces, their mission was to secure the base—a non-negotiable arrangement for everyone's survival. More eyes on the ground meant fewer surprises..
"Why do we keep him on?" Griff asked with a long ragged sigh.
"You have a better weapons expert to hire?"
"Can't we explore better options for change, what I mean is, change for the better? As it is now, I'm ready for a little less mouth." Griff shook his head slowly as he spoke.
"You shouldn't let him get under your skin. You realize he's purposely annoying you, don't you? Now that he's gone. What were you saying?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Griff muttered.
Air raid sirens wailed, screaming the evacuation alarm. An explosion slammed into the butte, rattling loose boulders and stones that rained down around them. Silty dust choked the air, triggering a chorus of coughing.
"This is a code red evacuation," the AI's voice boomed over the intercom, flat and terrifyingly calm. "Evacuation is imminent. Implement closure procedures immediately." Muscle memory took over. Griff and Lynn scooped up their packs and rifles, hooked their belts and swept every weapon and round of ammunition within reach into their packs. Sprinting toward the stairway opening they paused at the threshold, awaiting the civilian counts: the tribes were already surging into family clusters, hands raising in brief, urgent waves as each member was accounted for..
Lynn slipped through the opening first. Behind her came six young Essene adults trained to protect the group along with militia patrols, followed by Essenes families. The remaining six young warriors brought up their rear. As the group filed into the stairwell, Griff waited to go down last. He was joined a moment later by the two Israeli soldiers who had relieved him and Lynn at the top of the butte. Scurrying down the steps with their cloaking apps turned off, the lead soldier quickly called out the passcode to prevent a fatal misunderstanding.
Dropping from the stairwell into the massive motor pool, Lynn spun around to help the others down. They moved quickly into the underground garage, where Jimmy met the civilians and ushered them toward the escape vehicles. The group would board the reliable military hover trucks bound for safety, leaving the trio to claim a smaller flying craft for themselves.
As they neared the vehicles, the AI chimed a greeting. Lynn barked a bypass code, cutting off the facial recognition scan and silencing the automated voice. Outdoors, unprotected by jamming tech, the AI's active signal made them an easy target for enemy radar. The first airtruk's door hissed open. Lynn and Jimmy quickly guided the Essene families inside, and then to the next – until all were loaded into the flying transports before sprinting back to the smaller aircar. Once all three climbed aboard, they fired up the engine, trailing the airtruks as they taxied into the sunlight and tilted their blades for flight. Passing through the massive cavern exit, they spotted an Israeli soldier tearing the AI system from its stone-walled docking station. The mainframe link was being severed—everything would soon be dismantled or destroyed to ensure total radio silence.
Their company traveled above the airtrucks carrying the families, all air vehicles cloaked into invisibility. Hovering just above the tail end of the convoy to keep watch for drones. Colliding with even one would give their exact coordinates away. The Chinese, Russia's main ally, had outfitted all enemy drones with automatic beacons that deployed the moment power failed. This signal caused the hidden neighboring uncloaked drones to swarm the crash site. From there, the automated hunters would work outward from the epicenter, firing lasers at any shadow cast below until a target was positively identified and marked.
Another earth-shattering explosion brought down more of the cave ceiling, forcing the ancient anti-aircraft trucks to swerve past the falling debris. Choking clouds of gray soot made their line of sight difficult but not impossible. Once clear of the cavern, each aircar vanished into cloaked invisibility the moment it took flight. Deprived of radar, the pilots paced themselves directly above designated ground units, using the spacing of the convoy below to judge their own distance. In this total communications blackout, a single ping from a phone or watch GPS would instantly paint a target for enemy drones. Instead, they relied on raw focus, tracking shifting shadows by pure line of sight to maintain a safe formation as they flew the blind in the skies
Dust rained down as the final wave of soldiers fled the collapsing underground garage, pushing through crowds of personnel scrambling to secure the perimeter. Chaos reigned as the last evacuation units—both armored trucks and transport choppers—spun up their engines for a desperate exit. Overhead, the deafening howl of air-raid horns filled the sky. Looking up, the fleeing soldiers could see the distinct, terrifying arcs of Scud missiles burning a path straight toward them as a volley of Israeli anti-aircraft batteries fired up, their targeting lasers painting the rockets a split-second before blasting the missiles into harmless debris that fell like rain from the sky. With the immediate threat neutralized, friendly air support arrived to take over the airspace, allowing the ground troops a moment to breathe.
The successful defense stood as a beacon of freedom for the international alliance standing united against the Russian onslaught.