Chapter 2: Orders and Resentment

"Enough! Knock it off, Greybell."

The deputy commander's voice cut through the tent.

"I'm not putting on a show, sir," Greybell replied, tone tight as steel cable.

"Oh? Getting bold now?"

"Bold? Sir, you outrank me. Whatever you say goes."

"You…" The major pinched his nose, then lowered his voice. "Look, I know you're frustrated, but this isn't up to me."

Greybell shrugged, took a slow drag on his cigarette. "I never said anything, sir. I just follow orders."

"Listen, Ghost Squad's fate in this op is anyone's guess."

Greybell looked up, silent.

"Your Ghost Squad isn't Gate Team, not in Command's eyes. Especially with this being joint ops with the Brits. We can't push too far."

Greybell's voice dropped: "Our record is clear. Last exercise, didn't we outshine Blades Team?"

"That was just training. If Gate Team were still active, I'd fight for you to get the 'Underground River—Roaring Flame' op. But Blades Team's reputation speaks for itself. The client picked them as point."

"Reputation? They get all the glory, we get the scraps?" Greybell spat.

"Your assignment isn't lesser. And besides, Southeast Asia is Blades Team's traditional turf. Command wouldn't approve switching teams."

I kept grinding out push-ups, arms numb, sweat pooling on the cold tent floor.

Greybell's temper flared: "You expect me to believe our target is even real? Smells like busywork."

"No one knows what's real anymore, not even the Brits. If you can tell what's what, you're better than MI6."

Greybell stayed silent.

The major sank back. "Get me some coffee, would you?"

Greybell barked out, "Private! Coffee for the major!"

The major shot him a look: "Can't even get you to do it yourself? Go, Greybell."

Greybell locked eyes, but finally stood up. "No."

"Go!" The major tossed his lighter, voice sharp. "Getting more insubordinate every day."

Greybell grumbled, picking up the lighter. "You're always chewing us out. Funny how quiet you get at Command meetings."

"Coffee!" the major barked, ripping off his cap.

Greybell stomped out.

I knew another mission was on the horizon. The tension said it all: we weren't getting the main target, Blades Team was. That's why Greybell was fuming. Anchor caught my eye mid-push-up.

I glanced at him.

"Eyes front, Soldier. Don't lose focus," the major snapped.

Anchor hurriedly faced down, grinding out more reps.

Only the sound of breathing and fists hitting canvas remained.

Greybell returned, setting a mug in front of the major.

"Don't get worked up. Operation Frostmind is still a priority, even if odds seem slim. No one can say there's no Extremis hiding out there."

"Extremis?" That codename echoed in my mind.

"What is Extremis?" I wondered.

"All right, break. Five minutes, then briefing," the major said after checking his watch.

Greybell exhaled. "Break. Five minutes. Then get back in here."

I collapsed to the floor, chest heaving. My arms were rubber after 1,930 push-ups; only the word "break" reminded me to stop.

Anchor helped me up. I nodded, left the tent.

Anchor caught up. "Specter, you should've stopped Castor's prank."

I nodded. "Next time."

"Where you heading?"

"Out for some air."

"I'll come."

"No need."

Outside, the cold was punishing. The mountain lake near camp never froze, no matter how cold it got. Tonight, steam rose off the black water, silvered by moonlight.

I sat a while, then heard steps behind me.

"Specter, what are you doing out here?"

Buzz. I didn't answer.

He threw a stone in the lake.

I asked, "How'd the mission go?"

"Smooth enough. Wouldn't want Ghost Squad's rep to slip." His laugh sounded empty.

He tossed a few more rocks, then sat down.

"We got another op coming. Who knows who'll get picked." I muttered.

Buzz smirked. "Bring it on. As long as you're in charge, we'll handle anything." His words felt like a front.

He leaned back, fell silent. I sensed some weight behind his act but let it drop.

After a minute, Buzz said, quietly, "If it weren't for Bolt, I'd have been done for."

I nodded. "Don't give him such a hard time next time."

Buzz grinned. "If I stopped, he'd think I was dying."

He snapped back to his usual self. I shook my head—Buzz's mood swings would drive a shrink mad.

"C'mon, briefing time."

Buzz trailed behind, muttering about Castor's earlier prank and the way Greybell reamed everyone.

We filed back into the tent. Greybell and the major nursed mugs of coffee.

Greybell looked around; the major nodded.

"Let's get to it," said the major.

Greybell flicked on the projector.

A drone video played: snowcapped mountains, silent and gray, a few British helicopters slipping through the fog. Suddenly, the feed cut—drone lost.

"Watch closely," Greybell said.

We sat in silence.

"These are British intelligence shots. South-western mountains, somewhere in Western Europe."

He switched to a folder of stills.

"Here's the real story—every local asset gone, our European networks knocked out over the last year. Nobody knows who's behind it. Even the British network's taken a beating. So—who's behind the hits?"

We watched, jaws set.

Greybell continued, "After all the investigations and intel sharing, we're left with one conclusion: a shadow group, maybe state-backed, maybe freelance. Their goal: dismantle Western intelligence. Codename 'Extremis.' Most files are classified. Today, we're working with the Brits. No confirmed locations, so every possible zone's a target. Ghost Squad's zone: these mountains. Any questions?"

"So we might not even hit the real base?"

"Correct."

"Are we operating alongside the Brits?"

"No. Just us. Blades Team and the British will hit Southeast Asia, Operation Roaring Flame."

I nodded. "Roger that."

Greybell said, "Chances are, eighty percent Extremis is in Asia. We've got the long odds. Doesn't mean we slack. Understood?"

We all nodded.

Greybell handed out folders. "Buzz, Bolt—medical first, then you get your briefing."

Buzz and Bolt left to get cleared.

Buzz called back, "Everyone going this time?"

Greybell nodded.

Big op or not, we were in for the long haul.