The Kabul Incident(4)

The reality of the situation was far more important than satellite connections and cellular towers.

Disembarking from the darkened interior of the massive MRAP transport and falling into line with the quintet from Project Hardwired, Brazier allowed the specifics to run through his head as the soldiers of Sergeant Height’s First Recon Battalion of the First Marine Division efficiently unloaded their gear.

Thirty-six hours earlier, US anti-terrorist intelligence agents had intercepted word that three high-ranking members of the Jabhat al-Nusrah would be meeting at an outpost ten kilometers north of Kabul. The Syrian-based terrorist were due to receive more than a thousand kilos of sarin gas and a BM-21 Grad rocket launch vehicle stolen from the Russian army in Lebanon. The large volume of chemical weapons being brought in caused the level of panic which hadn’t been seen in the intelligence community since the 9/11 attacks. If the Syrian branch of the al-Qaeda was able to gain control of an arsenal of that magnitude, they would be able to wage a war on the West the likes of which had never before been seen. It was Project Hardwired’s job to make sure that didn’t happen.

Brazier’s team was given an assignment in three parts:

First, gain control of the chemical weapons by any means necessary.

Second, liquidate any and all terrorist forces on site. There were to be no survivors, no witnesses, and no mercy. Scorched Earth was the order of the day.

Finally, gain any intel on who was selling the deadly nerve agents to the Syrians.

In order to guarantee all points of the mission were carried out to the letter and without fail, Executive Director Kiesling himself had chosen the unit assigned. Designates Gauss and Cestus were pulled from their respective missions in Sŏngch’ŏn Kun and Shiraz. Although their mutual dislike ran deep, the two Prime units were the most effective pairing Project Hardwired had developed. Gauss was to be the hammer and Cestus the scalpel. With the two cyborgs riding shotgun, no enemy of freedom of the United States had any hope.

Engineers Talborg and Brazier had been given their assignments, along with triple hazard pay, by the current heads of Project Hardwired’s weapon division, TJ and Jason May. For all intents and purposes, it was a dream assignment. The sort of high pay, high profile gig that resulted in promotions and more.

Dust, the rumble of tanks, and the smell of unprocessed diesel fuel battered Brazier’s senses to the point of numbness, forcing the man to reevaluate his choice in career for the umpteenth time.

“Over here, Scotty boy,” called Talborg, summoning her colleague over to a burgeoning crowd of soldiers with a backwards flick of her wrist.

Brazier wasn’t sure how she did it, but the woman could pile enough snideness in the words ‘Scotty boy’ to choke a horse. Being in tight quarters to Talborg for an extended period had quelled any attraction to her the engineer had built up in his mind. She was as much of an asshole as Height had proclaimed Designate Gauss to be.

Lieutenant Arias stood tall in the middle of the troupe of fourteen marines, two civilians, and quartet of cybernetic humans, looking as impatient as he was imposing. It was easy for anyone halfway paying attention to see that the soldier was not an even-tempered man.

“Our bunks are in the buildings there.” Arias nodded in the direction of a cluster of small, hastily constructed buildings covered in the digital desert camouflage paint that seemed to coat every inch of visible equipment in the camp—vehicles, buildings, tents…even the men were covered in camo dress. “Stow your gear and pull all pertinent data for a confab at seventeen-hundred.”

Grabbing a pair of tan and gray duffel bags massive enough to hold a man’s body, Sergeant Height barked out to the crowd of marines and their civilian guests, “You heard the El-Tee. Hit your CHUs and make yourselves pretty like. It’s all asses and elbows from here on out, boys.”

Falling in line with the rest of his team, Brazier chuckled to himself.

Turning to Designate Cestus, he quipped, “You feel like we’re on the set of ‘Heartbreak Ridge?’”

The cyborg stared at the small engineer blankly and pushed passed him, making a beeline for the containerized housing unit set aside for the four cyborg soldiers. None of the regular humans, not even those assigned by the powers-that-be of Project Hardwired, bunked with the cybernetic men. The policy of separate housing for the Designates and GMRs had been implemented early on in the project’s formation. It was unsettling enough to be around a bunch of testosterone-filled marines, but that was nothing compared to being forced to sleep next to a quartet of half-robotic killers with little connection to humanity left in them.