TRACK OPS: 'REFLECTION' LOG #22: It had been a while since my people were sent on one of these babies. I haven't seen one of them in a good month or two and I damn sure didn't want to see one again. Every time I got on one I ended up walking another cold trail, wasting the time of my partners and the pilot. I wasn't chasing them off of paranoia, though, I had a lead. We all had a lead. How far we could trust that lead, we didn't think too much about that. Why waste time tumbling over sources with Kelly still away from home? As BAD we're bound to follow whatever we have and retrieve her by any means necessary, but man, I gotta tell you, this is is some bull shit. I'm not the only one who thinks so, either. We all had it hard, all 4 of us, including me. I don't remember the last time I had a good night sleep without being woken up by some outside source. Yesterday was the alarm clock. This morning was the phone. If we found Kelly tonight or not, which I doubt we would, I would probably be waking up to someone else bothering me about what I haven't got done yet, what I need to get done, or some other pestering shit. Now that I think about it, being on this baby isn't such a bad thing. And by "baby", I mean this c-130 that's gliding thousands upon thousands of feet above the ground. I get to be alone with my thoughts for a while until we get the call to go. We can't get the call without the confirmation from Reflection. We always have to wait on that bastard. We are being good little law enforcers, following his every direction, keeping silent and erasing all the tracks of the internet to keep him hidden, and still, no Kelly. No Kelly.-Marce Spec Ops #14 July 18th, 2002 "If I could pick any way I'd want to die, it wouldn't be like this, man. Not in this weather." Marce barely lifted his head to acknowledge Bryson Waters who was yammering on and on about the cold in different ways and formats. He knew he was annoying everyone around him but the cold kept making his speak about it, as if talking about the cold was going to make it less cold. Bryson was the boy to the far corner of the ship, closest to the passengers bay where the passenger, a chocolate man by the name of Bowe had went to sleep, and probably the warmest spot thus far. Marce was his opposite, hanging to the far left next to the open cock pit that blew in centuries of crisp, icicle air. Still, Bryson was only acting the way he normally did. He was the youngest of them all, 23, and the one who needed the most attention by Marce's assumption. Scared of anything that could potentially be dangerous, Bryson's output was always openly discussing problems and tactics in compensation for his rising fear of dying or getting hurt badly. That is why he made the perfect recon. "So free falling would be how you would prefer to go?" Alex asked to the side of him. She was the only girl on the team and Marce thanked heavens for that. One problems is enough problems. Not that she couldn't hold herself, no. Sitting with a Steyar AUG A1 on her lap, she made quite the impression. Lips full and pink and black hair cropped under her white and grey sported helmet, she gave Bryson the slightest of nudges. "I would go anywhere if you'd come with me." "Do not go down that road with me."she laughed in return. Marce dry heaved in his throat. He didn't know why the two didn't just rent a hotel room after the mission and stop playing with each other's emotions. Alex had gave him the 'no-go' signal too many times. Either Bryson was hard headed or Alex was in denial. Whatever the case, he wished they would keep it out of mission lines. "Instructions." he snapped, trying to get the two of them to focus. Of course, he didn't mean to be a sour grape about their love-hate game of tug-of-war, but there was a time and place for everything. Being in the cargo bay of a c-130 in -12 degree weather at 2:47AM was not the time nor place for any of that. Bryson snapped a small chip off of a strapped proto-pad that was tied to his wrist. He kept it close to him to listen to any instructions that could have been coming in by silent transmission, even if it was set to vibrate. A small buzz originated and Bryson's ear was soon smothered fully against the device, listening to every word and detail he heard from Bob. Bob Public was the name the boss had to go buy, simply for security reasons. With a name like that, the Merenzo's would never find any trace of him. "Coming in....dock 6 minutes off of the timer clock... coordinates now set below...Sandman's transmitter sounded with no response...wind compensation adjusted for on landing pad..."he said, almost mechanical before the buzzing stopped and he turned his head to Marce's. "We have 10 minutes." "Strap for preparation."he ordered, taking all the necessary precautions of making sure his shute was secured. He didn't need to be in the BAD to know what will happen if his shute was not working properly. 10 minutes until the jump into the air with icicles whipping across their helmets in hopes for finding the tiny orange strobe lights from their last comrade, Sandman. That closer to landing and that closer to finding Kelly. For once, Marce hoped Reflection's directions were right.