NoveLight ™
"A drone platform?"
"The official name is Drone Deployment Platform Plan No. 52, or DDP-52. There's one in each city on a straight line across Connecticut—New Haven, Hartford, and Windsor Locks. It's the only remaining defense preventing a full-scale war."
A day had passed since the operation in New London.
Crow, who had finished his meal and was now in the middle of an interrogation, added this information in a calm tone. There was no sign of deceit. While the threat from the nanomachines implanted in his neck played a part, he had also essentially let go of everything.
McKenzie, the branch manager, continued the interrogation, unfazed by the torrent of classified information, while Harmony and I observed through a glass window.
It could have been mistaken for a cutscene.
"A defense mechanism, you say. Are they secretly spraying erectile dysfunction meds over the Russian army?"
"Funny joke. But let's put it this way. Imagine giving each of two people a knife, then blindfolding both of them. Do you think they could fight comfortably?"
"...You’re saying they’re blinded through the drone deployment platform? How?”
“Jamming signals, GPS confusion, manipulating terrain data, and disrupting coordinates. Is there anything we can’t do? Although the Russian army is also affected. If both sides are annihilated, then there's no point to our existence as a middleman."
"In other words, it's a war deterrent. Whether that's fortunate or unfortunate, I'm not sure. Now, tell us any specifics you know."
A brief silence.
Rather than saying what could or couldn't be done, he went straight to what was needed.
"A laptop with fingerprint, iris, and voice recognition that can store a large amount of data should suffice. Accessing the Artemis network requires quite a bit."
"Let's see if just the gear can solve this."
Within twenty seconds, someone brought in a laptop. McKenzie's wrist scanner sent a light across Crow's body from head to toe. It didn’t take long for the laptop to boot, and Crow carefully placed his fingers on the keys to type.
After downloading a specific program from the headquarters’ site and inputting biometric data obtained through the Icarus gear, it only took about a minute for the Artemis network to display on the laptop screen.
He glanced down.
And his gaze fixed on his wrist.
"Damn, I would kill for one of these. If I had this watch on my wrist from the start, I wouldn’t have been stuck in that shithole in northern New York."
"Well, since they've known about that personality data for a while, that’s probably why you didn’t make it onto the backup operator list, Crow."
"Utility over ideals. Reality over grandeur. But, as it turns out, ideals and grandeur are way more damn persistent than I ever imagined. Who could've thought those Slav bastards would show up here?"
He stopped typing. The drone deployment platform data gently appeared on the laptop’s storage, and the Icarus gear connected to it glowed brightly, projecting a hologram of the data.
McKenzie muttered in disbelief not a minute later.
"These days, a drone that can disrupt signals, confuse GPS, manipulate terrain data, and screw up coordinates can also self-destruct with an EMP and even shoot bullets. I guess Artemis only picks the worst possible shit to manufacture. No wonder they helped develop the Icarus gear's skills."
"Thanks for the compliment."
Crow’s answer was infuriating. For a second, McKenzie looked like she was about to smack him, but he continued.
"Like I said, each Drone Deployment Platform is stationed at New Haven, Hartford Airport, and Bradley International Airport in Windsor Locks. The master control is in Windsor Locks. Each platform can recon and strike within a minimum 100-kilometer radius."
"Shut your mouth for a moment."
She started thinking quickly. And I already knew the final answer.
A highly detailed reconnaissance drone platform, operated by a company that had ties with Russia, with its master control in Windsor Locks.
If we could secure control of this system—
"...With a bit of luck, we could pinpoint the locations of all Russian fleets and landing force headquarters around Connecticut."
"If you need it, I can even give you the coordinates of Yasen, Akula, and Oscar-class nuclear submarines. They roughed me up pretty good under Russian torture, so maybe sharing a bit of info with you executioners will be worth it."
"Appreciate it. I’ll make sure the noose for your hanging is made of something softer."
"Look, I’m cooperating because I hate the thought of it. Don't you think it’s a bit harsh to change my codename from Crow to Hangman when I love my life so much?"
Typical Crow. There’s a reason the old team used to joke that only his mouth would stay above water if he ever fell in.
But that wasn’t the point. While the drone deployment platforms were formidable assets, they wouldn’t be enough to inflict decisive damage on the enemy.
Simply put, the strength of modern military power lies as much in its equipment as in its people. Running thousands of drones wouldn’t take out tanks, artillery, aircraft carriers, and submarines.
Unless they were armed with railguns instead of drones.
Yet in modern warfare, the direction in which firepower is used matters as much as the firepower itself. Hence the talk about coordinates.
"Let’s blow it all up with cruise missiles."
"What?"
"The remaining Navy forces are gathering in New Jersey, about 320 kilometers away, and in Norfolk, around 800 kilometers away. They probably have at least a hundred, maybe up to 350 missiles. With the drones confusing Russian radars and providing coordinates to our forces, it could be quite a show."
Though it was me speaking, it was not entirely me.
As the cutscene progressed, my mouth moved naturally. If Harmony had been the squad leader, she would have spoken these words instead. Whether or not it looked ironic on the surface was a secondary concern.
Meanwhile, McKenzie was now in deep thought after hearing my voice through the interrogation room's microphone. Naturally, there was no way it would be denied.
This was the very plan we’d executed under Operation Northpierce.
"800 kilometers? Even the minimum range of a Tomahawk exceeds 1,200 kilometers… Damn, it could really work. With accurate coordinates, we could wipe out most of the Russian forces in Connecticut in one fell swoop."
"A fireworks show. That’s more than I imagined. Last time, you wiped out the entire Artemis PMC at a nuclear power plant with some outlandish tactics, so now I know where you get these ideas from."
"Alright, assuming this plan is feasible, let's start drafting the next steps."
And thus began an intense strategic discussion.
The plan that emerged was straightforward, as always: ride a stealth helicopter to Bradley International, secure the master control at the airport, and send the coordinates of all hostile forces near the platform to Central Park HQ.
Once the HQ received the info, it would relay it to the naval bases in New Jersey and Norfolk, where an array of Tomahawk missiles would finally be put to use.
Naturally, as soon as the plan draft was submitted through the Icarus network, a secret communication arrived in less than a minute.
[ISO: This… This is astounding. If executed as planned, we could neutralize the northeastern threats completely. The operation has been submitted to upper management, so expect a quick response.]
[ISO: Standby.]
True to ISO's word, within about five minutes, Operation Northpierce received its final approval, with Adrian B. Solomon, the current Icarus Director, signing off.
McKenzie called the stealth helicopter pilot, getting busy with planning the flight path and rallying all active operators nearby.
The surroundings had changed from the interrogation room to the outdoors.
With a click, McKenzie unlocked Crow's handcuffs and handed him a thick bulletproof vest, tactical vest, and a rifle. They exchanged looks, but it was no joke.
"Get to work. With the nanomachines in your body, don’t even dream of attacking us. Try to escape, and you'll be trapped in an endless nightmare on the streets. Since you were a high-ranking Artemis team leader, show us what you've got."
"I have to earn my own bail money?"
"Depending on how many Artemis members you recruit or how many enemies you kill, I might have more to say later. You used to be a PMC, so I bet you can calculate fast."
He chuckled as he added,
"I’ve always been good at making money. It’s gloriously shitty that I get a second chance."
"Enough lip. Get on the helicopter."
And with that, McKenzie’s warning ended. She turned to Harmony and me with a soft look, patting us on the shoulders as she added,
"If he doesn’t listen, use the butt of your rifle. Call me if there’s a hearing later."
"Sure, we’ll handle it."
"Of course. I was initially worried when only two of you showed up, but you two are doing great. I'll treat you when you get back. There’s a new bartender at the camp. Stay safe."
As McKenzie walked away, a notification appeared in the air.
"...Uh, what now?"
"Well, shouldn’t be hard to find some."
With that, I opened the friend list.
Images of Bear and Shark flashed through my mind.
"Hehe, nice to see you all. I didn’t think over a hundred thousand people would be watching our newbie stream. Just call me Specter."
"Call me Logan. Don’t ask about anything other than my callsign."
"Ugh, stop pinching my cheeks."
The chat erupted.
The helicopter was bustling. And the chat window even more so. Eugene, usually poised, was sandwiched between two users, getting his cheeks and hands squeezed, proving their claims of familiarity.
Outwardly, it looked like that, but in the unseen places, secret conversations were unfolding.
In the private voice channel, a discussion only Eugene, Laurentina, and Logan could hear took place.
"To think I’d be retracing Operation Northpierce inside a game. What on earth have you been up to, Eugene?"
"...Even if you ask me that. But it’s reassuring with you two here. It feels like we infiltrated an international airport with this group before."
"Yes, I’ve been waiting for this."
"I’ve been eagerly waiting too. Hehe."
The further they delved, the more their past memories surfaced.
Meanwhile, Eugene had opened yet another private voice channel, this time linked to Harmony.
"...These are my former teammates."
"I figured. Is it okay to ride along?"
"I’ll have to warn them not to let you get overshadowed."
"No, not that!"
Finishing whatever that was—either a threat or a word of care—Eugene projected the airport blueprints as a hologram. Harmony grimaced at the numerous infiltration routes and details marked by McKenzie.
But the three of them seemed unfazed, diving into a discussion filled with jargon about the impending battle strategy.
Harmony, though, soon realized she was about to receive a full briefing of the operators' conversation, leaving her with an expression somewhere between laughing and crying.
Time passed.
"We’re landing. Return safely."
The side hatch opened.
With their night vision engaged, the four of them, including Crow with his four-eyed goggles, descended from the stealth Black Hawk.
In the pitch-black night, which would typically make any structure seem bright, the place was engulfed in darkness, like a giant coffin.
Then, word reached Eugene that other operators nearby had completed their infiltration preparations.
She exhaled lightly, checked her weapon one last time, and spoke.
"Operation begins. Radio silence."
Nothing more was said.
The five silhouettes vanished into the shadows.