The Setup
On a dull gray morning over the Chukchi Sea, a lone helicopter raced across the sky. The heavily modified Sikorsky MH-53 sported a flaking coat of black paint; the logo of the Janus-Hayes Corporation had been roughly stenciled on the tail, almost as an afterthought.
Over the drone of the engine and the faint thumping of Rob Zombie’s Superbeast playing out on a small, jury-rigged stereo, a group of men sat idle amidst well-secured crates of weaponry and supplies.
Though they dressed like civilians, their demeanor was anything but. Where others might have been amazed and intimidated by a helicopter ride over a raging arctic sea, it was little more than routine to them. Some read books, others checked their gear or sat idle, staring off into space.
A gaunt man sitting nearest to the cabin door abandoned his attempt to rest his eyes under a beanie, sitting up to face the others. The bag next to his feet had the name Trent emblazoned next to a small Union Jack. He grabbed a small headset from the nearby hull of the aircraft, and several of the others followed.
“So, any guesses? Severn? They tell you anything?”
The man across from him had begrudgingly rested Sebastian Junger’s Tribe across his lap, and was now giving Trent his undivided attention. The question seemed to disappoint him, and he shrugged. “Another experiment, sounds like.”
Trent shook his head. “Playing babysitter for a bunch of stark raving bonkers scientists again? Fuck me.”
One of the mercenaries, a balding man with thick stubble and a Russian accent, spoke up next.
“Hope not. Is shit job.”
From the other end of the Helicopter’s cargo bay, another voice called back at him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were communicating by headset.
“Why not? It’s easy work!”
The other mercenary paused, playing with a bracelet on his right wrist. An orthodox cross hung amidst a number of small charms. “No, Denis. Boring work - it is not easy work.”
The oldest of their number cut in, letting out a mean-spirited, joyless laugh, before prodding his comrade in the arm. “Oh, not enough action here for you, Mikhail? You don’t have fun unless you pop a few civilians yourself, huh?”
“Shut your mouth.”
The small man sitting between the two cradled a large hard case, and used the width of it as something of a barrier. He had only caught the tail end of the conversation, adjusting the headset back into position over his ears.
"Gerritt, come on. Don't.”
Gerritt and Mikhail had locked eyes, and seemed to pay little mind to the team’s drone operator, who had no path to extricate himself.
A sneer formed on Gerritt’s face, as he stared into Mikhail’s eyes. There was little life to be found in them.
“What don’t you like about it? You love a little mayhem, don't you?”
For a moment, the only sound was once again the hum of the engine and the antiquated stereo, which had by now switched to Dragula.
Denis leaned forward to catch a glimpse of his two comrades, before shrugging and producing a small bag from his plaid jacket.
“You know Mickey, Dutch. He loves doing, err, the mayhems, but he’s not like you man, he doesn’t wanna just watch.”
Gerritt turned to face Denis, incredulous. “Don’t you have any standards? Did no one tell the company what this piece of shit did?”
Denis grinned. “What do you think? Personally I don't give a fuck if it's true. I don’t know why you do. Like, look around you, man.” He popped a small green jelly candy in his mouth. “Just relax. It’s a little vacation. I’m relaxed, see?"
Without missing a beat, Denis ate another one of the candies. Noting this out of the corner of his vision, Severn sat forward suddenly, his book falling to the floor of the cabin.
“Denis, you’re seriously having those things, now?”
“Hahaha. Yeah.”
“You idiot, you’re getting high on the job?”
Denis tugged at his plaid jacket, before motioning towards the plate carrier sitting at his feet. “Are we on the job right now? Non? J'm'en calice, try it! Pssh. You guys have no chill.”
He held the bag out to the others, shaking the small, THC-riddled candies inside.
“Dutch? I thought you were our liberal conscience! Don’t you have this shit in Holland? Bishop, want a little treat? Don’t tell me you fly those drones sober. Mickey, you know you can unwind a bit, right? If Russian Jesus can forgive you for killing some kids or whatever I’m sure he won’t mind.”
Leaning to his right, Trent nudged the only member of the team who hadn’t put on his headset. “Hey, Oscar Meiyr.”
It took a few tries to get his attention, as the man was completely engrossed in a small graphic novel. Trent leaned in closer, and gave him another jab.
“Danya!”
Broken out of his stupor, Danya Meiyr flinched and hastily grabbed a headset from the wall.
Trent continued. “You and Denis are mates. He doesn’t talk this much on watch, does he? Like, bloke does shut up eventually, yeah?”
Danya smiled, and looked back at his comrade, who was still attempting to sell the others on the merits of cannabis edibles.
“It’s just how he is, you learn to live with it. It's different on the job. Denis is the best at what we do.”
The two marksmen shared a look across the cargo hold. Danya held out his hand, and grabbed a single one of the candies, placing it in his breast pocket instead of eating it.
“Aren’t you, Denis?”
Sighing, Denis stuffed the bag of candies back in his own pocket, rambling obscenities as he did so.
“Vous êtes les mercenaires les plus dull que j'ai travaillé avec, calisse! Esti, je suis un sex god comparé à vous. Tabarnak!”
“See, John? He’s fine.”
Before long, the men could feel the helicopter begin to circle the landing zone. Through the narrow windows of the cargo bay, the fading, colourful ruins of Serensk came into view, amidst the black volcanic rock of Severniy Norin. To some of them, it was an uncomfortably familiar sight.
Trent gently kicked Severn’s boot, and the other mercenary once again closed his book.
“You see that? Those tall posts around the base?”
Severn squinted out the window beside him, just barely catching a glimpse of the refurbished monitoring station on the island. Until now, he’d only seen pictures of the renovations. “That’s new equipment. I heard the chief and the director - wait, what’s his name again?”
“They all changed names. He’s Iain Sycamore this time.”
“Yeah, that guy. I heard him and Gardner talking. It’s like some kind of ADS. Lethal, better than the shit we had in Afghanistan. Sounds like we’re not going out much on this run.”
“Thank Christ.”
Severn shrugged. “Either way, at least we’re not bunking in a fuckin’ cargo hold. Did you hear that those lads on the ship have to-”
The door to the helicopter’s cabin opened suddenly, interrupting Severn, who immediately sat back in his seat.
In an instant, those on the team who weren’t wearing their headsets scrambled to put them on. A bearded man in a black denim jacket and baseball cap stood in the doorway, surveying his team. Adjusting a dial on his headset to their channel, he spoke to the group.
“Y’all copy?”
“Ouai, chef.”
Gardner briefly shot Denis a glare. The helicopter rocked slightly before leveling out, forcing Gardner to steady himself on a nearby rail. He carried on, his team of mercenaries now mostly obsequious and silent.
“Alright, listen up. Company man is gonna debrief you all once we touch down. You all know the rule with these people: You don’t know what something is, you don’t fucking touch it. Be nice. One of ‘em tells you to do something, you do it.”
Peering through a nearby window, he caught a glance at the monitoring station. A technician in a jumpsuit worked on a panel at the bottom of one of the monolithic pylons, while another watched and smoked a cigarette. Gardner shook his head, and continued.
“Now, y’all might see some shit while we’re here, but that’s par for the course for most of you. Maintain situational awareness, keep your eyes open, but - you only see what you need to. Soon as you know you don’t need it, forget it. Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter. All of this is strictly need-to-know, take it to the grave kind of stuff. I mean it.”
The men acknowledged Gardner’s warning with silent nods.
“We get paid to prevent the fuck-ups, not make ‘em. Boss-man has made it clear to me that they’ve only got a few ways to un-fuck this if it goes south. Not gonna lie, none of them are good for us. I’m talking worse than just not getting a bonus. So play it safe, focus on the job, and we make it home.”
As he finished his speech, the helicopter finally touched down.
For the moment, little else needed to be said.
Before long, the cold air of the arctic circle flowed into the cabin of the helicopter, as the team of mercenaries disembarked, carting their arsenal of small arms and body armor amidst suitcases of clothes, books, liquor and other distractions.
Patrick Gardner (Commander - Tactical Team)
Name: Patrick Gardner
Age: 39
Gender:Male
Alma Mater: Virginia Tech
Previous Assignments: [CLASSIFIED]
Assessement:
Patrick Gardner is an experienced operator and an invaluable asset to Janus-Hayes, and he has been on the company’s payroll for some time as a private security consultant. His expertise and discretion were essential in the recent refurbishment of the Janus-Hayes Research and Development Campus as well as the facility on Severniy Norin. I found his input essential in recruitment of the tactical team; many are previous contacts, and/or operators whose discretion can be reasonably assured. Gardner’s team previously supervised the previous Survival of the Fittest test and performed admirably under duress.
- Dr. Iain Sycamore
As the tactical team are officially consultants with Janus-Hayes, no pseudonyms will be used in this documentation.
Attached is Gardner’s personal notes on the tactical team and their responsibilities.
John Trent: Ex-SAS, my point man. Trent’s worked for me for years now, even back when we did consulting. Fantastic all-around skillset, keeps his cool. Talks too much on the job but keeps his mouth shut when the shit hits the fan.
Mark Severn: Trent’s pal. They knew each other from back in the service. He’s the quiet one of the two. Works out and reads a lot. Doesn’t have time for bullshit. It’s admirable. He's solid.
Mikhail Chernyshev: Ex-GRU, he was working in West Africa when we met. Brought him on as an Arctic Warfare Specialist for the last test, since he’d trained up in Siberia before. It turned out we really needed him, which is good because he’s not good company. He knows that we know his service record, so he’ll do what he’s told.
Danya Meiyr: New hire, ex-IDF. Actually a pretty funny guy when he opens up. Stellar service record, if you don’t think too hard about what he was doing. Putting him on the roof on day watch with Severn.
Denis Martin: JTF2, spent time fighting in Afghanistan and northern Iraq. Thinks he is funny, and will not shut the fuck up. Frustratingly good sniper. Night watch with Trent.
Allan Bishop:New hire, drone operator for our units. We don’t have eyes on the drones from the ship, but I cleared it with Iain to get a few of ours up in the air out there. Not having eyes on the island was what fucked us last time. Bishop knows what he’s doing, but he’s more of a techie than a soldier. Will keep him inside with the eggheads.
Gerritt Van Der Hoek: CBRN consultant, trained as a commando back in the Netherlands. Has only worked "clean" jobs. Best one of us with civilians, though. Babysitter for the scientists this time around, since I can't be sure he’ll want to get his hands dirty.
