The Last Mission of the Living (The Last Bastion #2)(66)

Several of the Sci-Techs ignored two large containers, continuing toward the next one.

“Thompson and Grier, why are you ignoring those two containers?” Lindsey asked into the comm.

“They were contaminated the last three missions,” came the reply.

“We can’t afford to skip any containers in the real mission, Grier. Check them.” Lindsey glanced at Torran. “How many hours?”

“Fourteen straight. They’re tired and it’s affecting them.” Torran picked up a packet of water and tore off the top. “We have to let them get some sleep before deployment.”

“I wonder what the word is on that?”

Torran gulped down the water and tossed the packet into the recycle bin. “Damned if I know. Can’t you do your…” He mimicked her typing, insinuating she should be doing her hacks.

“I wish, but I have a job to do.”

Isolated in the training rooms, they weren’t privy to the news reports on the unrest enveloping the city. When Torran had awakened, the SWD had already restricted the feeds to his and Lindsey’s wristlets. It was common practice for when soldiers were on the battlefield so they wouldn’t be distracted by incoming messages from family and friends, or vids from the news or entertainment sites. It had annoyed Torran even further when he realized they’d done the same with his vid screen. The SWD Facility was on lockdown, and the communication blackout was unsettling.

“Initiate a Scrag breach,” Torran said to Lindsey.

“They’re tired,” she remarked.

“They’ll be tired out there, too.”

“True.”

Fingers sliding over the console in front of her, Lindsey modified the program. A minute later, the simulation altered as Scrags poured into the food depot. Instantly, the pilot of the tiltrotor (who was strapped into her own simulation) reported the breach. The soldiers reacted by activating their stealth suits. Small cameras within the lining of the armor filmed the surroundings then projected the images onto the fabric -- which was basically a malleable screen -- creating the illusion of invisibility. This time, the squad responded much speedier than before.

Torran pointed to the Sci-Tech team located near one of the containers. Their suits were working, but one of them was attempting to move behind the container. The pattern on the suit shifted and instantly drew the attention of one of the A.I. Scrags. It let out a screech, then attacked.

With a sigh, Torran killed the simulation. The hologram instantly vanished, leaving the soldiers standing in a large room with blank walls. Their armored suits flickered, then returned to their normal appearance.

“Shit!” someone grunted.

The Sci-Tech that had been attempting to hide covered his facemask with one hand as those around him let their annoyance be known.

“Okay, I will explain one more time. The suits are only useful when the Scrags are in close proximity if you stand still.” Torran set his hand on the top of the console and leaned forward to stare into the room. “Once they are up close and personal, your suits will not be able to properly stealth your movement because the internal cameras will also be recording the images of the Scrags. Since the program dictates that the suit is not to record life forms, it will struggle to delete the Scrags from the projection, which causes it to flicker. Which means...”

“You’re now a Scrag, Tech Harrigan.” Lindsey gave him a thumb up.

“Or a nice bit of paste in your suit,” Torran added.

Shoulders slumping, weapons dangling at their sides, the squad grumbled as they wandered about. The pilots stepped out of their smaller sim rooms on the second level and leaned over the railing.

“We going again, sir?” one called out.

“Negative, Scoggins,” Torran responded. “Let’s take a break. Protein shakes and water are in the mess hall.”

Torran glanced over at Lindsey to see her watching the playbacks of all the mission sims side by side on the screen stretching across the console panel. Below, the squad unhooked their weapons and pushed them into the armaments locker, where a robotic arm swiftly grabbed the firearms and tucked them into the racks.

Sliding his fingers through his hair, Torran exhaled as the last soldier exited the room, leaving him alone with Lindsey. “Bloody hell.”

“It’s not that bad. They’re doing better than they should be, considering all the distractions,” Lindsey said, not looking up. “We’re just having issues with actual coordination between the three divisions.”

“But they’re one squad.” Torran grunted.

“Not yet, but they’re getting there.” She gave him a quick sidelong look. “You should go get a protein shake, too. And bring me back one.”

“I shouldn’t leave you with all the work,” he answered.

That brought a smirk to her lips. “I like work. It makes my brain feel… happy.”

Torran scoffed playfully. “We can’t all be extraordinary geniuses with minds like computers. Yet, I do okay with my regular old brain.”

“Yes, you do. It’s lovely.” Lindsey paused the playbacks and pointed. “There is a direct view from the storage area to the outside once the loading door is open. In each simulation, the program extrapolates that this zone as a problem spot.” She specified a corner of the outer fence. “We’re in line of sight.”