Chapter 3 (continued): Pre-Mission Shadows

After dinner, the mood lightened. We cleaned up our trays, cracked a few more jokes, and braced for the worst part of any mission: the pre-op checkup.

One by one, we filed through the med tent—body, mind, old wounds, the usual routine… and a few "secret" tests the docs wouldn't talk about. I'll skip the details, but it dragged on deep into the night.

It was nearly dawn when Greybell came back, face windburned but with a rare grin.

We were still getting prodded by the med staff.

By the time the last of us was cleared, the chow hall was already smelling like home cooking. Greybell had ordered the cooks to make real food this time—hot dishes, strong coffee, even some beer, and everyone's favorite snacks.

We showered, put on fresh uniforms, and filed into the main tent.

The table was set—bottles, mugs, and a spread you'd expect from a homecoming, not a deployment.

Greybell, already a little flushed, smiled and waved us in. "Come on in, Ghosts. We're gonna have a real sendoff tonight!"

I stared, surprised. Alcohol was strictly forbidden before an op. But Greybell just grinned at our shocked faces.

Buzz swaggered up first. "Boss, what's this, some kind of last supper? Or is it a setup?"

Greybell laughed. "It's a sendoff, not a trap. We never drank together—not as a full team. But tonight, you all earned it."

I took my seat, still suspicious.

Greybell nodded at Bolt, "Pop those bottles. Fill up every mug!"

Nobody quite believed it. Last time Greybell drank with us was after we'd survived two brutal years of selection and training, on the eve of our first real mission.

Tonight felt different. He was almost sentimental.

The beers started flowing. We toasted, joked, and told stories.

At some point, Greybell's personal stash—a prized bottle—disappeared. Turned out Buzz and Bolt had swiped it the night before the last mission, drank it, then snuck off for a nap. No one cared—it was part of the ritual.

The laughter ended abruptly when a staff sergeant entered, knocking on the tent post.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir."

Greybell, clearly tipsy, waved him in. "Out with it, soldier!"

The sergeant hesitated, glancing at me. "Uh… It's about Specter's neuro scan. There were… anomalies."

The tent fell dead silent.

Greybell blinked, voice softer, "What are you saying?"

The sergeant forced a smile. "Probably a glitch, sir. I just need to run the test again."

Greybell looked at me, then at the doc. "Alright. Do it."

I stood up.

Anchor cut in, "What's wrong?"

All eyes shifted to Anchor's face.

The sergeant shook his head. "That's classified, sergeant."

Buzz grumbled, "Man, you medics always hiding behind your 'classified' crap."

"Shut it. Specter, with me." Greybell barked.

I followed the sergeant out into the freezing dark, my mind racing.

"What's going on?" I asked as he hooked me up to the monitor.

He wouldn't answer directly. "Might be a false positive. Just need a more detailed scan."

He grilled me with questions—some normal, some weird. Word games, memory recall, even reading aloud. After what felt like hours, he finally unhooked me.

When I stepped out, Anchor and the others were waiting in the shadows.

"How'd it go?" Anchor asked, eyes sharp.

"What happened, man?" Bolt's voice sounded anxious.

Reaper stood off to the side, arms crossed, face unreadable.

"Should've drunk more of that good beer before they pulled you out," Buzz said with a grin. "I told Anchor to save you some!"

Anchor ignored him, just stared at me.

I looked up at the gray light. "No results yet. Get some rest, fellas—we roll out tonight."

I brushed past them, heading for the sleeping tent.

As I passed Reaper, he opened his mouth, then closed it. I walked faster.

"Shower before you crash!" Castor called after me.

"No thanks," I muttered, and ducked into my bunk.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, mind spinning. What was wrong with me? Nothing made sense.

I tried to shift my thoughts.

This mission—Operation Frostmind. I'd been to this country before, a year ago, during a training exchange.

Back then, Greybell had taken Ghost Squad and partnered us with the "Iceman" team—local special forces.

We were bodyguards, not operators.

Greybell and the Iceman's commander never met face-to-face, relaying every order through their best interpreters. That's where "Snow" came in—a female Iceman, our translator and their link to us.

She called me "Digits." I called her "Snow." She gave all of us nicknames.

She was funny, open, and never wore a mask—while the rest of us kept our faces hidden and our sunglasses on.

At first, we ignored her. No orders meant no talking, just standing like ghosts on the sidelines.

But she didn't care—she brought us snacks, told us stories, asked goofy questions about America.

Eventually, Greybell loosened up, and I was the first to really talk with her.

She called me "Digits" because I was always scribbling on maps.

She was beautiful—bright, smart, with a smile that felt like sunlight.

When we stood watch, she'd show up just to chat.

"Digits, are all American soldiers so serious?" she'd ask.

Buzz, always quick, piped up: "Nah, Snow, we're just quiet on the outside. Inside, we're all hot lava."

Snow would laugh, "You're funny, Buzz, but the others… not so much."

Buzz grinned, showing off his white teeth. "I go by 'Winter' around here. If you get too close, I might just melt your heart."

She blushed and tried her best to answer in English, "You very…funny, Winter."

It became a joke—Buzz was "Winter," I was "Digits," and Snow was just Snow.

She'd hand out little gifts—candy, small souvenirs from her country. She called Bolt "Eagle," Anchor "Rock," Castor "Fox," Nox "Shadow," and Reaper… well, "Ice."

When we left, she gave each of us a small present. Mine was a local figurine. Later, I found a message written inside the tiny jacket:

"Digits and Snow together make warm sunshine. Don't be cold anymore."

I smiled at that—how could someone I barely knew write something so simple, yet so true?

Maybe, deep down, I hoped we'd cross paths again on this mission.

I sighed, rolling over. My mind circled between the task ahead and memories of that strange, bright month.

At some point, I drifted off.

—

Later, we gathered for final mission brief.

Greybell's voice was sober as he set the new op order down:

Operation Frostmind

Location: A certain country in Western EuropeOverall Commander: Higher HQTask Force: Ghost SquadDirect Commander: GreybellMission Lead: Specter (me)Duration: Fifteen daysObjective: Locate and destroy the Extremis organization

So it began—Frostmind was a go.