Lynn slipped into the aircar's back seat with Jimmy beside her, while Griff rode shotgun. The journey began with a flight to an aircraft carrier, the first stop before they were smuggled toward the northern Mediterranean coast. Near Rhodes, they would trade their high-tech transit for a low-profile disguise: a large fishing trawler. Blending in as local crew, they would navigate the Aegean islands and the Dardanelles Strait into the Sea of Marmara. After putting ashore at Yenikapi Feneri, they would slip through the bustling metropolis toward Istanbul to extract the refugees.
Before leaving the base, Lynn had studied the aerial shots of Istanbul, aching at the ruin of the beautiful city she had visited as a child. It had been her favorite of all the places her father had taken her. The warm, vibrant people she'd fallen in love with were likely gone now. If only her parents had made more time to travel. She wished she knew Europe as a living continent, rather than just the pockets within Greece and its isles where they had spent six years. She sighed, letting the weight of her thoughts settle over her.
Silence hung heavy. The grim reality had set in: there was no guarantee of survival, and no cavalry coming. With Russia and China closing the gap between Turkey and Bulgaria, any rescue attempt would be suicide. The plan had to work perfectly. No mistakes. No hesitation. Just get everyone out by any possible way.
The transport hummed beneath them, carrying the silent trio toward a waiting battleship. Lynn stared at her palms, weighed down by the sheer volume of life she'd traded for work. Her days were an endless blur of business proposals and contract negotiations. Even her weekend routines felt like obligations. Sundays were for volunteering at a Denver soup kitchen—a vital attempt to balance the fortunes they amassed from their work, even if she never made it there as often as she should. The rest of her off-hours belonged to the gym, a grueling necessity to keep up the strength and stamina needed for their operations. They were the best in the business at retrieving lost assets and stolen people, a career that began with high-stakes kidnappings and shifted to lucrative government contracts after a brief stint in jail. But looking at her hands now, she didn't feel accomplished. She just felt tired, wishing she had saved some part of herself just to have fun.
Griff felt a quiet relief knowing his family had joined the exodus to Brazil. His mother and her husband had moved south long before his father's side, but it made him smile to realize his parents were finally on the same page, unified by a single directive: stay ahead of the war. Too bad they didn't share that same unity regarding his career. Of all the paths he could have chosen, he'd dropped himself right into the center of the conflict. His mother was the most vocal, demanding he come to his senses and flee to safety with the rest of them. To her, he had no business risking his life for a "god-forsaken" company and the woman who had sucked him into her void of death. The smile lingered on Griff's face as he peered out the window into the inky darkness. Let them talk. He was the family maverick, and he was damn proud of his independence.
Jimmy glanced at his teammates, envying their apparent peace. Their chests didn't ache with the crushing weight that made him feel like he was suffocating. He just had to survive this contract, get back and hold Avril again. When he made it back, he would talk to her about a life together; he'd pull her and her family down to Brazil with his own folks, far away from the violence. He tapped his watch face, bringing up a miniature 3D hologram of her. The tiny figure beamed, blowing him a kiss and mouthing 'I love you' on a loop. A stray teardrop hit the glass, distorting her light, and Jimmy stiffened. Was he crying? Hell no. He shot a quick look at Lynn and Griff, but they were still staring blankly into space, consumed by their own ghosts. Relieved, he sank back against the headrest. The naive kid who had first deployed to this war was dead. He had changed too much to ever go back—but looking down at the fading blue light on his wrist, he knew his life finally had a living purpose.
The aircar touched down on the flight deck, and the three travelers immediately engaged their cloaking apps. Light bent around them, leaving behind nothing but three distinct shadows cutting across the metal expanse. Moving in a tight, single-file line to avoid losing track of each other on the unfamiliar carrier, they sprinted toward the superstructure. Slipping through an access hatch, closing it they sealed out the ocean air, where they dropped their cloaks. Waiting for them were two Navy police officers, who silently escorted them down a maze of corridors to their quarters. There they would wait for their rendezvous with a fishing boat near Rhodes. Outside, the aircar lifted off, and the entire carrier cloaked, vanishing back into the sea mist.
Everything had to go perfectly. Capture wasn't an option. Disguised as crew members aboard a Mediterranean fishing trawler, Lynn, Griff, and Jimmy would be given a moment to breathe. Still, the risk was high. Their military gear would be buried deep in the hull beneath layers of stinking fish and shrimping tackle out of their reach completely. Stripped of their real tech, they had only used burner phones filled with fabricated data to protect their cover.
"Welcome aboard, mateys," the captain said, his voice a theatrical pirate drawl. He didn't get the reaction he wanted. Instead of laughing at his clowning, Lynn simply stared. Griff and Jimmy, however, looked ready to fall for it hook, line, and sinker. They were clearly eager to play pirates with their new, childlike associate—even if they were currently being smuggled into enemy territory by an American spy. Lynn knew this was quickly turning into a game all three men intended to play. Susceptible to overthinking, she chose not to try and make sense of it until after the rescue. For now, she would ignore their antics and focus on rounding up the refugees before the area became the front lines. Thinking about it too deeply would only overwhelm her with anxiety. It was better to leave them be; she would rather share a boat with three happy man-children than four miserable teammates.
The dark-haired gentleman, standing in rumpled clothing and wreaking of fish, huffed away Lynn's reaction and then continued in a Russian accent. "Welcome aboard comrades. Let's get you dressed for fishermen. We stow your gear and supplies in ship's hold."
"Wait," Jimmy asked, "Are you Russian? At least you're a good Russian, right?"
"I ain't no Russian," the captain said with a strong Texas drawl. "I'm as American as you are. You're American, right?" He asked, mocking Jimmy.
"Yeah," he answered the captain after feeling somewhat dejected.
"Let's get you dressed like Russian fishermen," the captain continued in his Russian accent. "And you," he referred to Lynn, "you will be the captain's hussy."
"What?" Lynn protested as her teammates chuckled at the idea.
"You think I put you with men in bunk area?" He smiled in amusement and continued. "No, you stay in captain's cabin."
"And where will you stay?" Lynn asked suspiciously.
"In here," he said, pointing at a cot near the map equipment and loose tackle scattered about the back wall of the boat's pilot housing.
"You! Quiet man," said the captain as he looked Griff up and down. "I hope you know how to cook."
"I'm pretty good," Griff answered. He was actually starting to enjoy the captain's company—there was something inherently likeable about the man. Especially his plan for Lynn. The idea of her acting like a total floozy was thoroughly entertaining. Griff could easily pull off playing the cook, but Lynn acting loose and wayward? Unbelievable. From what he'd seen of her dating life, she hated being touched and rarely saw the same guy twice. How in God's name was this going to fly? A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he fought to keep his face straight.
"What do I get to be?" Jimmy asked, curious about his own role.
"You are on fishing boat," the captain answered flatly. "You are fisherman. Do you know how to handle fishing nets?"
"Not a clue," Jimmy answered the captain, hoping for something less strenuous.
"Well, we have crash course for you," he informed his new crew mate. "Come, we get all you peoples dressed properly and you, fisherman, you have videos to watch." He referred his last comment to Jimmy.
"My part sounds like a lot of work," said Jimmy, somewhat concerned, following the captain and his mates down the steep stairs to the ship's hold.
"No," the captain said happily, "it will bring muscles."
"I have enough muscles," Jimmy retorted.
"Nonsense, every man could use more muscles."
Jimmy stood in the cargo hold, arms crossed, staring down his friends. The sheer amount of grunt work ahead made him resentful. Ignoring his glare, the weathered captain led them to an open container at the front of the bay and hauled out stacks of fabric. He tossed everyone an outfit and gestured toward the makeshift changing stalls. Griff was the first to step out, smoothing down his new cook's apron that covered well worn attire with an approving grin. Beside his stall, Jimmy poked his head from a curtain that doubled as a door.
"These clothes smell like fish," he protested.
"You're a fisherman, stop whining," Griff chortled. When Jimmy walked out he looked rather fetching as a fisherman, even the hat looked good on him. "You look amazingly realistic."
"I smell authentic as well," Jimmy said with a frown.
"Ms, what are you doing?" the captain called out to Lynn.
"I look ridiculous!" Lynn shouted through the cloth curtain. "I'm not coming out in this."
It took a few minutes of coaxing before the men finally lured her out of hiding. The moment she stepped into view, Jimmy burst out laughing. Griff tightly bit his lip to stifle his own reaction.
Lynn stood frozen, shifting awkwardly. She wore glittery golden spandex leggings and a microscopic green silk halter top that barely covered her breasts. Untanned, pale patches of skin peeked out past the fabric, but did little to ruin how surprisingly stunning she looked.
"You look scrumptious," the captain said with a grin. "Now, hopefully you can act the part convincingly." He had dropped his Russian accent and let his southern drawl loose when he saw the shapely form of his acting love interest.
"I'm not too sure about this," Griff said, covering his laugh with forced coughs. "I doubt she has it in her to act like a successful tart."
"Oh really," Lynn accepted the challenge and walked over to put her arm in the captain's arm. "This is my man for me to please," she said in an unpracticed Russian accent.
"Maybe you shouldn't talk," the captain suggested as he patted her hand. "Just give me cow eyes and paw me a lot."
"I have to do something else besides that all the time," said Lynn. She yanked her arm out of his. "That just doesn't feel real."
"You could get half naked and sunbathe on the deck," Jimmy said, trying to pull Lynn's chain. "You're nearly there now."
"Kiss my ass, Jimmy," she spat.
"Oh, and you're going to have to remember your new names. Your team has gotten pretty popular on the war front. You are Natasha. And you, cook, you are Boris. And you, funny man, are Mohammed. I found you in need of work after you left Turkey." He said directly to Jimmy.
"What's our back story?" Griff asked, referring to Lynn and himself.
"You and Natasha are brother and sister from Mother Russia."
"I don't speak Russian," Griff objected.
"Then don't speak," the captain suggested. "Just look at everyone like you're mad all the time."
"I don't speak Russian either," said Lynn.
"Don't worry," he smiled at the scantily clad woman. "I will make sure to always run interference with anyone who approaches you. Just make sure you stay near me when you're not in the cabin or sunbathing on the deck." Lynn opened her mouth to complain and then let it go.
"I knew that was a good idea," Jimmy responded smugly. He liked seeing Lynn squirm uncomfortably, she never seemed to mind when he was in a situation he didn't like.
"Now that everyone knows what to do, let's get your shit secured and out of sight," the captain smiled, speaking in his native tongue, and then led them back to the upper deck.
Grabbing the first load of gear, they followed the captain belowdecks into the cramped bow. The captain pried open a hidden bulkhead panel and threw a heavy metal lever. With a low groan, a section of the deck slid aside to reveal a yawning, pitch-black crawlspace. They hurriedly stowed everything that could betray them—tactical gear, military-grade watches, and anything else that screamed "soldier." The moment their final bags were jammed into the dark cavity, the captain slammed the lever back. The deck sealed shut with a loud thud. He punched a button on the panel, and a hiss of rushing water flooded the space, washing away any trace of their true identities.
"Hey!" Jimmy said with alarm. "Some of that stuff can't get wet."
"Nothing in that floor space is going to get wet," the captain assured him, "but I have to make it look like the water level covers anything suspicious."
"Nice," Griff said as he watched the water run up to where they stood and encompass the floor.
"We'll visit Rhodes in afternoon," the captain informed them, returning to his Russian accent. "I pick up my crew there."
"Thank God," Jimmy said, relieved. "I thought I was going to have to do the crew part all by myself."
"That would have brought on suspicion," the captain said, looking at him sideways. His southern draw was tempered with sarcasm. "Everything from here on out is authentic. Now Mohammed, get up to the pilot house and start watching videos. I need you to be one of my best fishermen. Boris, the galley is just beyond that door." He pointed outside the bow just beyond the cargo hold.
"Aye, aye, sir," the new crew members said heartily. Griff smiled and nodded as Jimmy climbed back up onto the upper deck.
"Where do you want me?" Lynn asked.
"Natasha, you will need to find the shortest pants on board," the captain answered. "You need to start working on that tan. That farmer's tan is not going to work for this operation. You need to look seasoned."
"I don't know what that means," Lynn said snidely.
"You need a real tan," Jimmy said with a grin, leaning over the railing just above them. "You better get started when the sun comes up."
As morning light broke, the three crew members made their way to the pilot house to meet with the captain. Griff had cooked up a breakfast of powdered eggs, ham slabs, and beans, carrying the food up for everyone. He passed a covered plate to each person, and they gathered around the table near the captain's cot. Once everyone finished eating, Griff stacked the plates while the captain outlined their upcoming route. Afterward, Lynn stood to help Griff clear the dirty dishes. By the time they returned, the captain greeted her with a heavy, frowning look of disapproval.
"Did you not find anything shorter than that?" The captain asked her when he noticed she had not changed into shorts.
"No, everything to choose from is about the same length as these."
"Hang on a sec," Griff said as he pulled out a kitchen knife he had tucked in his belt loop and pinched up a part of her spandex. Ripping the knife into the material and cutting off the leg at the top of the thigh. He did the same to the other leg.
"Jesus, I barely have the crotch left," Lynn protested.
"I believe that's the idea," Griff muttered.
"I like it," the captain said in his natural tongue. Lynn looked at him suspiciously. It felt like he fell into his Texas accent every time she bared more of her flesh. She followed Griff out the door, stopping him to talk only when they were well out of the captain's earshot.
"Don't leave me alone with him," she whispered to her teammate. "He gives me the creeps."
"He's a professional spy," Griff chided her. "He's not going to jeopardize his job. He has a cool job."
"But, then," the captain said as he walked up behind her. "I'm still a man." And with that he slapped her bottom playfully, walking past her to climb below to check the bow area.
"I don't have to take that?" She asked angrily.
"On the other hand," Griff said cautiously. "I've got your back."
"I know," Lynn said thankfully. She looked at her friend and partner and appreciated him more than ever.
With the new crew boarded in Rhodes, the captain barked out his standing orders in a harsh mix of Russian and Arabic. First, they were to steer clear of his personal property—namely, Natasha. Second, the galley was strictly off-limits to everyone but the cook and Mohammed, who would assist in feeding everyone between pulling nets. Mohammed was also to serve as temporary first mate until they sold their haul of fish and crustaceans at the Russian market, where the permanent first mate would finally board. Shore leave would only be granted once the cargo hold was full and they returned to sell the load. At that point, the men would receive half their pay to spend as they pleased, with the remainder held until the end of the fishing season.
Upon reaching their destination, the Holy Trio would disembark for Istanbul with their gear and supplies, while the rest of the crew took shore leave. To prevent suspicion until the mission was complete, the captain would report the trio as having abandoned ship; their forfeited pay would then be divided among the remaining crew.
Griff and Lynn weren't surprised when Jimmy took to net fishing so naturally—the man was full of talents. While the men endured long days of grueling labor, Lynn lived a life of luxury on deck. It seemed almost unfair as she lounged half-naked in the sun, soaking up the heat on brilliant afternoons. The captain waited on her hand and foot, always ready to slather her in sunblock and lotion. No one could fathom how he managed to smuggle bonbons and gourmet treats onboard just to place them at her feet. Before they had cleared port in Rhodes, he had even returned with a new wardrobe of provocative clothes, which she wore with some reservation.
"Are we close to being there yet?" Lynn said to Griff as he walked into the galley rolling a barrel of beans that would be prepared for the evening meal.
"Jesus, Lynn," Griff said with a start. "You scared the hell out of me. I didn't know anyone was in here."
"I can't take much more of that man's attention."
"Oh, boo hoo," a voice mocked from the shadows. He spun around. Jimmy was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his face twisted in a scowl. Griff hadn't realized anyone was waiting for him. "I'm killing myself out there while you two get cushy jobs," Jimmy hissed, stepping forward. "And that's Natasha to you, Boris. Don't use our real names."
"Right," Griff agreed, setting the barrel upright. He pried it open, scooped out a measure of the contents with a large plastic pitcher, and dumped them into a massive pressure cooker. After tossing in seasoning and adding distilled water, he sealed the lid tight and switched it on. He set the timer, wiped his hands on a nearby towel, and turned to his tense friends. "Look, we've got to play this out. It's probably going to be a lot easier than when we have to rescue the refugees. Just be glad we've got this chance for a breather before we're back in the thick of bullets and bombs."
"I, for one, do not want to be here," Jimmy said heatedly. "Next time you get the manual labor and I get to be the cook."
"Fine, now go away," Griff said as he pulled out a bag of prepared bread flour and measured the needed ingredients to start cooking bread in the bread maker."
"Are you really cooking anything?" Jimmy asked as he noticed all the gadgets around, observing that Griff was only adding ingredients to be prepared by the appliances.
"Yes I am," Griff said placidly. "Who do you think grills the meat?" Jimmy gave him a doubtful glare and marched out of the room.
"Griff...Boris," Lynn continued to complain. "You've got to do something about the captain. He keeps touching me."
"Where?" Griff became instantly concerned, his eyes locked on hers. "He isn't touching...private parts?" He asked, trying not to look at her breasts.
"No, my arms and my feet," Lynn whined. "He keeps massaging my feet."
"Get out," Griff said hotly. "When he starts touching...vital parts, then tell me. I'll put a stop to it."
"It's unwanted contact," Lynn protested. "Isn't that illegal?"
"In regular situations, yes," Griff huffed. "But this isn't a regular situation. Just don't harp on it, we'll be out of here before you know it."
For the two complainers, the trip through the Dardanelles Strait was excruciating. Lynn had to constantly find excuses to lock herself in the captain's cabin to avoid his attention and Jimmy had blisters on top of blisters on his hands even with the use of leather gloves to tend the nets. However, Griff found comfort in cooking and enjoyed his stint on the boat. He was the only one who would be a little regretful when their trip ended.
The captain released the crew for recreation in Yenakpi, where a small Russian base had set up camp. The base catered to visiting fishing crews looking to regain their land legs—while separating them from as much of their hard-earned income as possible. This distraction allowed the captain to sail on undetected with Griff, Lynn, and Jimmy. He dropped the trio and their supplies off on the coast near Kumkapi before doubling back to berth at Yenakpi. From there, the three would travel by land toward Istanbul. Until darkness they hid in the rubble of a destroyed city; it was imperative that they waited to depart on foot for the rescue, tracking the coastline around the bombed-out city.
Silently, they hauled their gear from the water's edge and slipped through the bombed-out ruins. They made their way to the safest vantage point they could find, planning to lay low until the danger passed. Settling into the upper skeleton of what was once the tallest building in the area, Lynn, Griff, and Jimmy waited. The enemy soldiers were closing in—an approach warned of via coded radio before the trio had abandoned their fishing boat.
Hours of silent vigilance dissolved when a column of Russian forces and allied troops tore through the debris-strewn streets below. Their loud, arrogant advance made it clear they considered any local resistance inconsequential—they didn't even bother activating their invisibility cloaks. Safe within the heavy shadows of a destroyed rooftop, Lynn, Griff, and Jimmy kept watch. Jimmy tracked their movements, realizing this wasn't a standard patrol; they were hunting for something specific. He melted deeper into the darkness, shifting his cloaked drone eliminator into the natural camouflage of the ruins. Weapon ready, he scanned the gray sky above. He knew restraint was his best weapon; he would only fire if an enemy drone or scout threatened to compromise them.
"I'm going to see if I can find out what it is they are searching for," Griff whispered. He felt around to establish Lynn's head before bringing himself close to her to keep his whispers to a minimum.
"No," Lynn whispered back, grabbing in the direction of his voice and finding his arm before he could depart. "Just let them do what they need to do so they can move on."
"It could be us," Jimmy whispered, joining the conversation. He looked down into the city street through his binoculars. Among the rubble, his bodiless shadow stretched out, its shape stranger than the ruins surrounding it with his strange weapon in hand. He noticed the men who seemed to be in charge focusing their attention on an electronic notepad. "Maybe they have wanted posters for us."
"Nobody cares about us," Lynn shot back, realizing she nearly spoke aloud. "We're as expendable as the next person."
"You, maybe," Jimmy commented quietly, mostly to himself. "I'm not expendable. I have skills people pay big money for."
"You're not getting a raise," Griff whispered flatly.
"We'll see what happens when it's me who's saving everyone's ass, again."
As the footsteps drew closer, the trio stopped whispering. No one made a sound, nor did they dare move. Breathing in shallow, light gasps, they huddled in the shadows of stone and broken brick while the enemy searched the floors below. When two Russian soldiers climbed onto the rooftop, the group slowly pivoted their rifles into position. Lying breathless and invisible against the debris, they watched the intruders scan the area for anything out of the ordinary. They pressed flat against the concrete, waiting. When the soldiers finally retreated, a collective sigh of relief escaped their chests, though each remained riveted to their setting.
Thick clouds blotted out the full moon, plunging the area into a deep, functional darkness. Using the cover to his advantage, Griff slipped away from the group, returning hours later with a thick bundle of salvaged wires. The long night bled into dawn, revealing the opposing brigade finally on the move. From their vantage point, the militia team watched the enemy thin out, save for two Russians arguing furiously over the hood of a broken-down vehicle. Nearly left behind by their own retreating forces, the pair frantically flagged down the last remaining hovercrafts, climbing into separate vessels as both ascended into the sky to catch up.
Hours after the combatants evacuated, the three finally crawled out of hiding. Griff marched to the remaining electric jeep, jammed the wires back into the steering column, and twisted the ignition. The motor purred to life. They were stuck on the ground until they could commandeer a hovercraft, but as they rolled out of the village toward their first destination, they finally felt safe enough to breathe.
"Our genius," Lynn cooed with a wide smile, slapping Griff's cap so hard it flew off his head. "You're the best." Jimmy watched them out of the corner of his eye and shook his head. Nerds, he thought. As the vehicle rolled into action, Lynn and Jimmy jumped inside and activated their cloaking devices. Griff hit the accelerator, remaining visible, speeding toward the point where they would separate for their individual reconnaissance before meeting back up with their charges. Driving slowly through the streets past the bombed city buildings, they finally felt safe enough to talk. They had to rely on manual stealth since they couldn't get the jeep's cloaking apparatus to activate. To anyone watching in the distance, it would look as though Griff was riding entirely alone. The two unseen riders kept their weapons trained on either side of the jeep. Ready to fire at anything coming their way.
Lynn leaned forward from the backseat toward Jimmy. "So," she began, bringing up Avril—the girl Jimmy called his 'love for the moment.' Lynn was genuinely starting to like her and doubted Jimmy's intentions were noble enough to match. He lived like a textbook bachelor back home, juggling multiple girls at once. If Avril truly fell for him, someone was going to get hurt, and Lynn didn't want it to be her new friend.
"So, Jimmy, you really like Avril?" asked Lynn, pulling at the passenger seat as she leaned forward. "She sure likes you."
"Yeah, I like her," Jimmy turned towards Lynn's voice. "While I'm here it looks like we're going to really have a good time together."
"And when we're not here?" Lynn asked. She pulled the invisible blowing strands of hair off her face and held them down with her other hand. They annoyed her even in their unseen form. "When we go back home, you think you'll see her again?"
"Depends..." Jimmy answered. It was apparent in his voice as he yelled back at her over the blustering wind between them. None of this was any of her damn business. And he sure wasn't going to admit his feelings for Avril to anyone, especially his boss. "She's gotta like what I do. You know, the real me. If she can accept me for who I am. Yeah, I see her coming to see me. If she doesn't like my lifestyle, well, then I guess not."
"And...you're okay telling her what a scrounge you are with women?" Griff asked loudly over the gusts of air blowing past them, not believing for a minute that many men would tell a woman that he shared a relationship with, about the others...that she wasn't the only one. Not unless unattachment was the main objective. But then, that was Jimmy's motive operandi.
The Holy Trio bounced along the road in their jeep, surveying the area as they traveled toward the outskirts of the city, a cloud of dust rising in their wake. On the horizon, the first signs of life appeared after hours of boiling temperatures baking the earth. Just beyond the rubble of the buildings, encroaching on what looked like the center square of a small village, they spotted an intact water fountain where a mule drank. Griff parked right beside it, causing the animal to bray and run off. They slid lazily from their seats, stretching and grateful for the solid ground beneath their feet, the two invisible now visible. As the blood rushed back into their stiff legs, they scooped up the water with their empty canteens, drinking and pouring it over themselves. They looked around, scanning the houses surrounding the square. There was no sign of occupancy, yet the entire block looked as though it had been evacuated only moments prior. Doors flapped in the wind and window shutters joined the clatter. Suddenly, the Holy Trio froze. Down the heat-shimmered road they had just traveled, a figure emerged, walking closer and closer.
"Someone's coming," Griff mumbled, barely over his breath.
"I didn't see anyone on the way," Jimmy muttered, his throat tight. They had all been on high alert, scanning around all the buildings and the empty road for any sign of movement. Where had this stranger even come from? Without a word, the three of them stiffened, moving in sync as they retreated to the vehicle to retrieve their rifles. Griff took the lead, guiding the trio toward the approaching figure.
"You're militia?" the mercenary asked, stopping a safe distance away. He was a man of average height with a ruddy, sunburned face. Removing his hat, he slowly wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, keeping his eyes locked on the three people in front of him. His dark brown hair was cut close to his scalp, blending evenly into a slight bush of curls at the top. His expression was stern and cautious, but his hazel eyes caught Lynn's attention immediately. A spark of delightful curiosity pricked at her as she stared back. She recognized his uniform as marine.
"Who are you?" Jimmy asked harshly, making sure to give the impression there would be no niceties. Neither knew who was on what side. And ignorance was not bliss here.
"Stop," Griff cautioned Jimmy and then turned back to the mercenary, "You're American?"
"I'm American. I'm helping a nomadic tribe to get out of Istanbul. We've gotten help from the Jordanian military that are here with us. They told me how to find you. We need the help. We've got Russians and Chinese surrounding our camp. We really need your help, right now."
"Buddy, we've got a mission of our own to secure." Jimmy fumed. What in the hell made him think he could commandeer their forces?
"Hurry, get everyone else you have here to come with us, before it's too late," said the mercenary helplessly; he had left his group to get help and he found it, time to get back. Jimmy looked behind himself and then back at the mercenary, "We're it, the Holy Trio, come to rescue refugees." He said in an animated voice that the mercenary did not appreciate.
"You're kidding," the stranger said in half-disbelief and disappointment. He was astonished at the lack of support before him.
"We're evacuating about four groups for the Jordanian and Israeli militaries," Griff said, the sudden tension in his voice making him stiff. "Last-minute stuff. Contract extensions, you know?" Lynn gave him a sharp, curious look. She wasn't sure what he was playing at, or why he was talking so freely in front of a stranger.
"I'm not with anyone," the mercenary answered. "I was hired by a tribal leader a few months ago. I met them when I was leaving Turkey during the last Russian invasion." He paused, looking directly at Griff. "Do you know how much Russia has advanced?" Slowly raising one hand, he reached into his vest pocket with the other. He stepped forward and gingerly extended a folded piece of paper.
"As you can see, our camp isn't that far away." He continued as he stepped back again.
"That's one of the camps we're supposed to be helping," said Jimmy, peering over Griff's shoulder, watching as he unfurled the paper to view a map. "How did you get here, really?" Jimmy grew more suspicious of the stranger's presence the longer he watched him
A streak of fire cut through the sky just over the horizon. An instant later, a deafening blast tore through the valley, shaking the earth beneath their feet. All four turned toward the hills, watching a thick pillar of black smoke churn into the air.
"No," the mercenary caught his breath, mortified. "Please, can we get back to the camp now?" His eyes filled with remorse when he turned to Griff. The group scrambled into the vehicle. Jimmy dove into the driver's seat, Lynn claimed the passenger seat, while Griff and the mercenary piled into the back. Jimmy slammed the vehicle into gear, flooring it across the hilly terrain toward the rising smoke plumes.
Cresting the final hill, the blackened crater came into view—the grim remains of what had once been a bustling campsite. The electric jeep veered off the road and rolled to a stop. Inside, a heavy silence fell as they stared at the devastation, stunned by the realization that such senseless slaughter was still happening. With every passing day, the Russian invaders seemed to show less mercy. All four climbed out of the vehicle, navigating a wasteland of scattered clothing, personal belongings, and human remains. Death hung heavy in the air, and as the sheer scale of the carnage pressed into Lynn's mind, she felt the chilling, unmistakable presence of the dark angel.
Without a word, Jimmy pulled out his iPad and started filming, documenting the escalating Russian threat. Griff unzipped his equipment bag to sample the soil beneath the scattered shrapnel. Following the men's lead, Lynn snapped on rubber gloves and began collecting metal shards—carefully avoiding those embedded in human remains. The Jordanian military would handle the grim task of body recovery later, logging GPS pins for every casualty before shipping them to forensic labs and prepping them for DNA profiling. Looking around the wreckage, all three noticed Jordanian soldiers among the civilian dead.
"Jesus," Jimmy said in a low voice, "they took out everyone ...everyone. Does that mean, all rules of war are off?" He stopped and looked at Griff helplessly.
"I don't know what we're up against," Griff said. Had the rules of war vanished entirely, leaving the innocent exposed? Or was this just a raw, eternal bloodlust for land—fought by men who died defending it and men who died to take it away? The world was fracturing overnight, leaving everyone scrambling to adapt just to survive. The thought unnerved him. They never should have taken this job. They should have pocketed their money and headed home the second the main contract was fulfilled. But it was too late now. The only way out was to grab whatever survivors they could find among the refugees and save their own skins. No matter how close they cut it, the mission always ended the same way: Operation Homecoming.
"We've got to get to the rest of them," Griff said with alarm as he turned to Lynn. "Everyone, take the last three camps and get them to the meeting place. Merc, you go with Lynn." Griff called out and Lynn nodded and motioned for the mercenary to follow her to the jeep. She pulled out the extra firearms and ammunition, handed them to him and checked her weapons. He loaded himself up and then followed Lynn on foot into the deserted streets of the tiny village and beyond. Both triggering their cloaking devices and disappearing into two lone shadows against the ground. Each taking one side of an invisible ammo locker.
It was some time on the road heading for the farthest refugees when half-way through the trip Lynn stopped, made herself visible and turned on her i-Pad to triangulate their presence with that of the nearest cell towers.
"What are you doing?" the mercenary asked with alarm. "I hope this won't interfere with our cloaking apps."
"Not at all," Lynn said, pulling out her canteen. She took a quick drink, then handed it over to the mercenary. "It's bouncing our signal in a loop through the surrounding towers. It keeps our exact coordinates a moving target. Better yet, the Jordanian army units stationed at those towers have orders to drop any drone that enters their airspace. If things go sideways, they'll radio us. Until then, stay sharp."
"No thanks," he said with a half-smile. "Got my own." He pulled out his canteen and drank. Lynn led the way down the route mapped by the GPS she momentarily accessed and then shut down. They would reach their destination within the hour. As they neared the end of their trek, they crawled cautiously toward the refugee camp. She and the mercenary froze. Russian soldiers were already surrounding the perimeter, preparing to invade. The dark outlines of their bodiless shadows stretched against the trees and foliage, giving them away. Lynn quickly counted the shapes; there were far too many to take on alone. She deactivated her cloaking app and turned to signal the mercenary. No one was there. He had vanished without a sound. When she looked back toward the tree line, the shadows of the nearest soldiers were disappearing. One by one, the shadows seemed to fall into the brush. Her eyes searched the darkness in vain for her companion. Suddenly, shadows on the far side of the clearing began to fall into the same unnatural silence. Dropping to a low crawl, Lynn slipped into the camp to find the refugees. At the buildings she stood, walking as just a shadow.
A Jordanian soldier stood guard at the entrance of each building, weapons drawn to protect the civilians inside. Their cloaking was offline to avoid friendly fire. Tense and alert, the guards aimed their rifles at the approaching shadow.
"Halt!" one soldier barked, stepping out to block the shadow's path. Lynn uncloaked, her face coming into view. Instantly, the tension broke and weapons were lowered. The Jordanian army had been briefed on the Holy Trio. While this American militia team was somewhere between civilian and military, their reputation preceded them. They held the best contract success rate on the market, and everyone in the military knew it.
"Good to meet you, Marston," the Jordanian who had stopped her said, offering his hand. Marston stared at the open palm, a flash of disdain crossing her face. She hated the archaic ritual—why did people always insist on touching everyone? Forcing her lips into a tight smile, she swallowed her annoyance and shook his hand.
"Thank you," Lynn muttered. Before she could relax, the soldier threw his pistol up and aimed it in her direction, although not at her. She turned around quickly to see Merc frozen in place, his arms full of weapons and other trinkets as three other Jordanians raised their rifles at him.
"He's with me," Lynn said quickly and put her hand on the soldier's shoulder to stifle his reaction.
"Hey," another soldier walked up to them. "He's the mercenary that was sent to get the Holy Trio. But it was too late, Ruskies found the camp and destroyed it...and everyone in it. High casualties there. We lost eight soldiers."
"You were there?" the mercenary asked. He was confused about the intelligence information involving them. "You were surveilling us?"
"More like bringing up the rear so you don't get your asses blown to bits," an American soldier said from behind the crowd. Walking into view, he saw that it was a general in the United States Marines. "It didn't go as planned. We regret the outcome."
"Much appreciated, sir," Lynn said graciously. The actual survival of this operation was looking good. "Are the others under surveillance? My people, that is."
"Yes, they are making better time than you are," the Marine general said as he read his iPad. "It's time for us to go now that you're here. Everything is ready at the pickup. It will be a dark and cloudy night tonight so lay low until after sunset."
"Well, we're on schedule," said Lynn with optimism as she walked up to Merc. "We should be back to the base by breakfast tomorrow."
"You'll find a troop of Russians who are knocked out on tranquilizers around the perimeter of your camp here." The mercenary said bluntly and then turned after dropping a load of items taken from their foes which included their watches, guns, belts and media devices. He then walked toward the refugees that came out of hiding and began talking with them in Arabic.
After resupplying and catching a quick breather, Lynn and the mercenary led the outcasts out of camp in a single-file line. On their way out, they watched the allied soldiers round up the remaining Russians, securing them as prisoners of war. Lynn guided her ragged band of civilians down the path mapped out for her meeting with the others. The lull gave her a chance to study the mercenary. He had traits she respected—sharp instincts and a calm demeanor. If she could figure out the exact depth of his skill set, he'd make an invaluable asset to the Denver Militia Recovery Company.
Lynn smiled as she approached Jimmy and Griff at the reunion site. No one had cloaked after picking up their wards; cloaking was a tool of war, and civilians were strictly forbidden from carrying invisibility tech. The three executed their usual fistbump ritual before turning their attention back to the task at hand. Relief washed over them—after the catastrophic failure of their first rescue attempt, seeing this group safe was a massive victory. Once the sun went down, the massive crowd moved out toward the extraction point. Ready to move, the Holy Trio fired a green beam into the night sky to signal their rescuers. One by one, the cloaked dinghies approached the shoreline, materializing only as they hit the beach. Jimmy stood out in the shallow water to hold the glorified rafts steady while Griff, Merc and Lynn loaded the refugees inside.
"So, why did you tranq the hostiles?" Lynn asked as she moved to help the people into the next rubber boat that floated up to the shallow waters and revealed itself. She smiled at the mercenary, "it made it more stealthy, right?"
"I don't like killing people," the mercenary answered as he pulled a younger child from the ground and placed her into the raft. "No one really has the right to take the life of another. At least I don't have that right."
"What?" said Jimmy suspiciously. He cocked his head and looked at the mercenary's uniform closely. "I know that outfit you wear is from the US military, the marine branch if I'm not mistaken." He handed the last of the supplies to the man in charge of the dinghy as he grappled with the tow lines on the raft.
"I am no longer in the military," said the mercenary as he turned away from Jimmy. "I hire myself out to help people. Just using my old uniforms until they are so worn they are nothing but rags I throw out with the trash."
"So you say, and you met these people in Turkey before Russia took it over..." Jimmy muttered, trying to trip up the stranger with his own story.
"That's enough," Griff said firmly. He walked down to the beach with two rolling chests of ammo and supplies. "Let's just get along. We have to get these poor people to safety, not to mention the Essenes, before we can even head back home. Can't we keep it light between us while we're here?"
"God, yes," Lynn huffed. "Can we please find solutions to problems without creating new problems we don't need."
"I won't be going stateside," the mercenary said ominously. "There's nothing there for me. I'm better off if my family doesn't know where I am...they are safer in the long run."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Jimmy asked with objection. He needed to know who this clown was and the sooner they found actual documents on him the better. That was his plan when they were back at the base.
"Cool down, Jimmy," Griff said evenly, stacking the last of their equipment where they would wait for the next raft. "Push off this boat," he ordered, before flagging the pilot to leave the beach.
"Well, this is where I say good-by," the mercenary said as he stepped away from the three remaining people on the beach, the Holy Trio.
"Wait," Lynn protested, "at least let us take you to safety and then you go on your way. It's not safe here."
"I know what I'm doing," the mercenary smiled for the first time. "Just want to check something out. I'll see you on the other side, away from rival ground." The stranger's smile caught Lynn completely off guard as something inside her stopped. It had been a long time since she felt that twang of emotion, and it made her stare at Merc curiously.
"You won't find us," said Jimmy smugly. "Top secret and all."
"Yeah." With a widening smile, the mercenary offered a half-hearted salute to the trio before turning on his heel toward town.
"So, what's your name?" Jimmy called to the mercenary.
"Merc will do," the mercenary called back. "I like it."