Текст книги "State of Alliance"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter Three

When I open my eyes, I forget where I am. Am I home? Why isn’t my alarm clock going off? Has Dad left for work already? Did I oversleep?

I sit straight up, confused and disoriented.

Wait. I swing my legs around and place my boots on the floor.

I’m not home. Dad is MIA. The Capitol Building was bombed. I am a Commander and a Senator. I have responsibilities.

I stand up and open the closet. I pull out my spare uniform – basically a carbon copy of the torn and dirty combat fatigues and jacket I’m wearing – and head to the bathroom for a quick rinse.

While I am getting ready, I reflect on everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours.

My friend Angela Wright is dead. The Capitol Building has been destroyed. Dozens of officers have been wounded. Dad is missing in action. And Chris… well, that’s not important, now.

I get dressed, comb the tangles out of my curly red hair and look at myself in the mirror.

“I can get through this,” I say aloud.

I leave the hotel room and slam the door shut behind me. I’m not just tired. I’m angry. Omega has crossed a line. Killing Angela, potentially killing my father… I have been fighting all this time for my friends and family. For the people that I care about. If they are gone, what am I supposed to do?

Fight harder, a little voice says. Hit them back twice as hard.

I step inside the elevator, exiting at the lobby. Morning sunlight is streaming through the glass windows, casting a heavenly glow on an otherwise gritty scene. Soldiers move around, rotating watches and patrols, acting with purpose and focus. I scan the crowds for familiar faces. There is nobody here that I recognize.

I reach the lobby doors and step outside, coming face to face with a young woman in a National Guard uniform. Her dark, honeyed skin blends with black hair and eyes. I stop dead in my tracks, staring for a minute, and then a smile spreads across my face.

“Sophia!”

I throw my arms around her neck and embrace her. Sophia Rodriguez. The friend who helped me survive an Omega POW slave labor camp. The friend who joined the National Guard and fought against Omega with me… and also the friend who claimed Chris was a traitor and refused to help me rescue him from Omega’s POW Holding Center in Los Angeles.

My shock and surprise at seeing her here overcomes the anger I felt the last time we were in the same room.

I pull away, noting Sophia’s pained expression.

“It’s good to see you,” I say, my smile fading.

She clears her throat.

“You survived,” she replies. There is no smile on her face.

“Yes. Operation Angel Pursuit was a success. We brought Chris back, Sophia. We did it!”

She shakes her head, not meeting my gaze.

“I was talking about the Capitol Building, actually,” she says.

“Oh.” I blink. “Yeah, I was outside when the missile hit.”

“Missile?”

“Yeah. Chris says it was probably a cruise missile.” I shrug. “He’s right. Nobody could have gotten inside the Capitol and planted a bomb that big. There’s way too much security.”

“Well. Chris would know. He always knows everything,” Sophia replies, and there is a note of sarcasm in her voice. “That’s why you rescued him from Los Angeles.”

“Sophia, what is with you?” I demand. “Chris has never done anything to you, and neither have I.”

She doesn’t answer.

So I switch tactics.

“Alexander Ramos is alive,” I say. “He was in Los Angeles. He’s here, now.”

She stares at me, and for a brief moment, I see a flash of the old Sophia. The spunky, optimistic young woman who helped me survive enslavement and countless guerilla warfare shootouts. And then she says,

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Go to Headquarters and see for yourself.”

“But that’s impossible,” she replies, and this time, her tone is unsteady. “Alexander went MIA weeks ago.”

“Well, he’s with us now.”

“I would have known about this.”

“No. You wouldn’t.” I fold my arms. “Because you chose Colonel Rivera and the National Guard over Operation Angel Pursuit.” I shrug. “That was your choice, and now I’m just telling you what you missed.”

“If you’re lying, Cassidy—”

“—I’ve never lied to you before,” I frown. “I’ve never done anything to hurt you, Sophia.”

Her lower lip trembles.

“I need to get to Headquarters,” she mutters.

She pushes past me, leaving me alone on the sidewalk, staring after her. Dumbfounded by her behavior – and the shock of seeing her here – I barely remember how to move my legs and keep walking.

Sophia will heal, I tell myself. She just needs time. The stress of warfare just affects people in different ways.

The Headquarters Building has been moved from the Capitol to the Sacramento Convention Center. It is several blocks away, but walking in the cool morning air does a lot to clear my head.

By the time I reach the Convention Center, I am alert and centered. The long, gray building is lined with glass walls and doors. A security perimeter has been established around the block. I spot several familiar figures near the front entrance, an ornate box office with the words, Sacramento Convention Center above the entryway. An empty water fountain is sitting on the concrete, pathetic and lonely.

“Uriah,” I say.

He is clean, dark hair combed back against olive skin. He assesses me as I approach, sadness in his coal-colored eyes. “Cassidy,” he replies. “You’re okay.” I raise an eyebrow. “Where is everyone?”

Alexander Ramos and tall, blonde Derek are not here. “Alexander is inside,” Uriah explains. “Derek is at the hospital.”

“Is he hurt?” I ask, alarmed.

“Just nicked. A support beam fell on him yesterday. His arm might be broken.” He sighs. “Another one bites the dust.”

“His arm is broken,” I say. “He’s not dead. Thank God.”

“Vera is inside the Convention Center,” Uriah continues. “She’s… different. Her mother’s death. It affected her more than she would like to admit, I think.”

“Understandable,” I say.

Angela Wright is dead. Yet another one of us dies at Omega’s hands.

It infuriates me.

“They’re waiting for you inside,” Uriah says, standing straighter.

“Me?”

“You’re a Senator now, remember?” A slight smile spreads across his lips.

“How could I forget?” I gesture for him to follow me. We walk together toward the entrance of the Convention Center, entering through the doors. A huge, carpeted foyer and escalators that actually work can be found here. Doors line the walls, each one an entrance to a different floor.

“Where were you last night, Cassidy?” Uriah whispers.

“At the hospital.”

“Why?”

“I was looking for my Dad.” I shake my head. “I’d rather not talk about my father right now. I need to be calm.”

“Okay,” Uriah continues. “Let me rephrase that: why weren’t you with Chris at Headquarters last night? The officers were meeting. We needed you.”

“I had an obligation to make sure my father was alive,” I say.

Uriah closes his mouth. He understands. He always does.

“Well…” he pauses. “Is he?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “He wasn’t at the hospital. He’s still missing in action.”

He says nothing. There is a gathering of National Guardsmen in uniform at the end of the foyer. We follow them into a huge room – gray floors, gray walls, and huge skylights above our heads.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you.” Andrew jumps up from a chair. He is tall and lean, short dark hair cropped into a military buzz. He is a good man. Our so-called “tech guy.” One of the most valuable people in my platoon.

“Andrew,” I say. “What’s going on here?”

“They need you,” he replies.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” Uriah points out.

I look to the front of the room. I recognize Robert Lockwood – the Pro Tem Speaker of the House. I’m glad to see that he survived the bombing. Manny is seated on a chair, watching the gathering of officers with an annoyed expression on his face.

Good old Manny. Completely anti-political.

Chris is standing with his arms folded across his broad, muscular chest, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, his jaw taut. He is talking with Vera Wright. She looks upset, her usually pale cheeks colored with splotches of red. Chris shakes his head and gestures to the door. She fists her hands at her sides and marches away, in our direction.

“Vera, what’s wrong?” I ask her.

She doesn’t answer. She glares at me as she exits the room, never pausing to speak to anyone else. Chris looks up and catches my eye. He nods slightly and turns back to the rest of the officers.

I walk over. And then I see why Chris is so tense. Colonel Rivera – a big, blundering man with a cigar wedged between his teeth – is speaking. This is the man who denied the militias backup during a fight with Omega. This is the man who refused to send a rescue unit into Los Angeles to rescue Chris when he was captured by Omega. This is the man who will hate me for the rest of my life for disobeying his ridiculous orders to abandon Chris and deny me a rescue mission into Los Angeles, Operation Angel Pursuit.

This man is no friend of mine.

“Senator Hart,” he sneers as I enter the group. “Where have you been?”

I don’t answer his question.

Instead, I say, “Commander Young.” I nod respectfully at the love of my life, then face Robert Lockwood. He is a tall man with dark brown hair and a deep, baritone voice. “Speaker,” I say. “What’s the situation?”

“The situation,” Manny interrupts, “is that Omega launched a cruise missile from a ship just outside of the San Francisco Bay, hit the Capitol Building twice, and injured several hundred people – and killed dozens. But we already know this. The question, boys and girls, is what we’re going to do about it.”

“We double our defenses and hit back,” Colonel Rivera booms. He looks directly at me as he speaks. “Unless the Senator objects.”

I glance at Chris.

“The Senator is still a Commander, Colonel,” Chris slings back. “Don’t forget that.”

Chris’s glare is lethal, and the Colonel shuts up.

“We don’t have the resources to attack a ship in the San Francisco Bay from here,” I say, stating the obvious. “But the Alliance does. If California is going to survive, we need to join the Alliance as soon as possible.”

“Negotiations are beginning in two days,” Robert says.

“Where?”

“Monterey, California.”

“The coastline?”

Chris replies, “Monterey is heavily fortified with elements of the United States Naval Forces. Omega wouldn’t try to breach the steel ring around the bay area.”

“Omega will try anything,” Uriah points out.

“Where will the negotiations be?” I ask. “Because if Omega finds out, they could just send another cruise missile to wipe out all of the representatives from the Alliance.”

“The Naval Post Graduate School,” Chris answers. “It will be safe, trust me.”

I trust Chris. But I don’t discount Omega’s ability to screw everything up.

“How will I get there?” I press.

“By train.”

“We have a railroad?”

“It’s safer than traveling by plane right now, with Omega’s air activity getting more dangerous,” Andrew says. “We can get you there with a security detail in less than two days. You’ll be there in time for the meeting.”

Surprisingly, knowing that I am being sent on a desperate mission to save California from the devastation of Omega’s invasion doesn’t frighten me. I am no longer afraid. I am simply angry that Omega has managed to do this much damage, and I am ready to help put a final stop to it.

“You mentioned a security detail,” I say.

“Yes. When Omega finds out that we’re joining the Alliance – if they haven’t found out already – they may attempt to stop the Negotiations,” Robert answers. “And they will do that in any way they can.”

By killing the representative: Me.

“Has anyone here given any thought to the fact that there’s another traitor amongst us?” Manny interjects. “Have you told everyone what you found, Colonel Rivera?

The Colonel takes his cigar out of his mouth.

“Optics. Laser optics on the roof of a building a couple of blocks away from the Capitol,” he replies. “Someone was designating a laser at the dome.”

Ah. Manny was right.

“Are there any clues to the person’s identity?” Andrew asks.

“Nothing. Only whoever did it was most likely a good shot.” Colonel Rivera looks at me again. “You never know who you can trust in days like these.”

Please. I’m not the enemy here, Colonel.

“We’ve had traitors before,” I say, “and we’ll have them until this war is over. We have to move forward and make sure that something like this can never happen again. The first step in that strategy is getting me to Monterey so that I can negotiate with the Alliance.”

There is a pause before Chris replies,

“I agree. Our number one priority is taking care of the survivors from the bombing and getting Senator Hart to Monterey.”

“The Senator will need to leave immediately,” Robert says.

“I’m ready to go,” I answer.

“I volunteer for security detail for Senator Hart,” Andrew volunteers.

“So do I,” Uriah agrees.

“And I’ll fly overhead security,” Manny offers. “I’ll keep you updated while you’re on board the train.”

“Thank you,” I smile.

“I’ll accompany the Senator,” Chris says. “The Naval Academy and I go back a long way. I’ll be able to help.”

Robert replies, “It will be dangerous for both of you to go. You’ll make for a bigger target.”

“It’s a necessary risk,” Chris says. “I know Monterey better than anyone here.”

Robert seems to accept this. “Get the security detail ready,” he answers. “Tell the National Guard to fire up the railroad. We’ve got two days to get to Monterey Bay. And God willing, we will successfully join the Alliance before it’s too late.”

Before Omega destroys us all.

Chapter Four

When I was a child, I rode on a train at a theme park. I don’t remember the name of the park or how old I was. I just remember the train, and I remember sitting in my father’s lap as the wind tossed my hair and billows of smoke from the locomotive filled the sky.

It was magical, riding a train. It’s a memory that is ingrained in my heart. One of the few happy moments in my life before the EMP. Before everything was destroyed.

I’m standing at the window in my hotel room, overlooking the street below. The National Guard is getting the train ready – the train that will take me to Monterey Bay… and to the Alliance’s negotiation table. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this kind of thing. I’m beginning to wish that I hadn’t been nominated as a Senator.

I turn away from the window and sit down at the table. There is an old tourist booklet near the lamp. I flip it open and look through the pictures. Bright, colored photographs of families enjoying “quality time” together as they visit the city. Old Town Sacramento, Capitol Mall, The Stanford Mansion, The Governor’s Mansion… such beautiful places. And, for the time being, we have managed to preserve the city. Unlike Los Angeles, which is an empty husk – the aftereffect of a chemical weapon Omega unleashed on the populace.

I close the book.

There is an abrupt knock on the hotel door. I straighten my spine and stand up, snapping out of my reverie. I open the door. And there is Sophia. She looks uncomfortable. I am surprised – I had no idea that she was working with our militia again. When did this happen?

“Cassidy,” she says. “They’re ready for you.”

I nod slowly.

“Okay,” I reply. I grab my backpack and leave the room. I don’t look back.

Goodbye, Sacramento. Hello, Alliance.

I close the door. Sophia is standing there, tense, and I wonder why they sent her to fetch me. Surely that could have found someone else.

“Cassidy,” she says.

I meet her gaze. The hallway is quiet, empty.

“I…” she begins, then trails off. “Come on.”

“Sophia, we need to talk about this,” I say.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She pushes the call button for the elevator. “What happened, happened. We can’t change that now.”

“I just want us to be friends again.” I offer a hopeful smile.

The elevator doors slide open, and Sophia steps inside. I do, too. The doors close, and there is a heavy silence between us. She never responds, she just stares at the wall. She moves her lips a couple of times, like she’s thinking about speaking – but she doesn’t. The elevator doors open.

“Commander Young and your security detail is waiting for you at the station,” she says. “There will be a convoy to take you there, and from that point, you’re under the protection of the militias.”

I tap the gun holstered on my hip.

We reach the bottom floor.

The doors open once again.

She nods and takes off into the lobby. I shake my head and wonder how in the world things could have gotten so messed up with Sophia. My friend. My partner.

I guess people can only take so much tragedy. Sophia’s family was living in New York at the time of the EMP, and they were killed when the city was nuked. Sophia fell in love with Alexander Ramos, who went MIA. She also loved Jeff Young – Chris’s younger brother – and he was killed in action. Sophia has had her fair share of disappointment and despair.

So have I.

Maybe I just handle it differently. I haven’t gotten to the point of no return.

Yet.

I step outside into the loading area. There are Humvees and up-armored Suburbans here. I see Vera Wright, platinum blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She is waiting by an idling Humvee. I approach her, the roar of engines and chatter among the troops creating a curtain of noise.

“Vera,” I say. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

She stares at me, blue eyes vacant.

“Welcome to war,” she states coldly.

“I was with her when she died,” I continue. “She told me to tell you that she was sorry.”

Vera looks surprised – but only for a moment. She sets her jaw and opens the car door. “Everyone’s waiting for you at the station,” she says.

I exhale. Vera and I have never been friends, but the pain of losing someone that you love is not to be taken lightly. I don’t necessarily like Vera… but I understand what she is going through. It is the same thing that I went through when I saw Jeff Young die. I get a flash of my father’s face in the Capitol Building, just before it collapsed. I shudder, feeling sick. Feeling suffocated.

DO NOT THINK ABOUT HIM.

NOT UNTIL THIS IS OVER.

I inhale. In, out. In, out. I shut it down.

I briefly squeeze Vera’s shoulder and get into the front seat of the Humvee. It is a familiar spot for me. I close the door and Vera gets into the backseat. The driver door opens and Uriah climbs behind the wheel.

He looks at me, serious.

“Are you ready for this?” he asks.

“It’s just another level in the game,” I shrug.

He smiles faintly.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he comments. He hands me a stack of papers, written by hand. It is a mission roster. I skim through the names of the people on my security detail… Chris, Uriah, Sophia, Andrew… but I do not see Alexander Ramos.

“Alexander isn’t on this mission,” I state.

“Apparently not.” Uriah replies. Then, quietly,

“That won’t be easy for Sophia.”

“Welcome to war,” I say, echoing Vera’s words.

“Where is the station from here?”

“Just a couple of miles,” Uriah answers.

“Where’s Manny?”

“Ready on the flight line.” He smiles. “He’s dependable like that.”

Good old Manny.

I trace my finger along the door handle as we wait for the all-clear signal to move out. We roll out in convoy formation. Ever since the missile hit the Capitol Building, it has been painfully obvious that Omega has the ability to breach our security whenever they want. I don’t know what’s stopping Omega from leveling this entire city to the ground. The knowledge that they might strike again is frightening.

“Your security detail will be on the train with you,” Uriah explains. “If Omega finds out that we’re sending a legitimate senator to negotiate California into the Alliance, they’ll try to kill you.”

“They’ve tried to kill me plenty of times before,” I comment.

“This is different. You’ll be a bigger target.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” I bite my lip, thinking of the repercussions this will have on the rest of my life. I’m already known to them as a Militia Commander… but this is a different level of fame, so to speak. With fame comes a higher spot for me on Omega’s kill list. And people like Harry Lydell will be all too happy to try to take me down.

“Don’t worry,” Uriah says, seeing the look on my face. “You’re going to be fine.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” I reply.

And that’s the truth.

I’d rather be killed than lose this war.

I’m worried about our survival, not mine.

We wind through boulevards that have been secured and blockaded. I watch the buildings roll by, empty edifices now turned into part of the massive National Guard and militia fortifications. The boulevard dips under a huge underpass and we pop up by the Sacramento Courthouse, a large skyscraper with blue windows. To the left is a large, antique brick building.

The sign out front reads, Amtrak, and beside it, a new sign has been erected:

UNITED STATES MILITARY

TRANSPORTATION CENTER

We pull up through the parking lot – a maze of barricades and militia patrols. We stop at the front. Taxicabs used to sit on the curb here and wait for passengers who needed rides to their hotels. Now it is a military loading zone.

I open the door. Uriah and Vera exit with me. I cast Vera a glance, gauging her mood. She is as steely as ever.

I walk inside the station. The ceilings are huge, and every footstep and word echoes in the hollow chamber. Rows of old, wooden benches line the room. A huge mural of the breaking of the ground for the first transcontinental railroad is painted across the far wall.

I see Chris with militia members in the far corner of the station. He sees me enter and says a quick few words to the men around him, then walks toward me.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, gesturing to the vaulted ceiling.

“Yes,” I agree.

“Hey, boss,” Uriah says.

“Lieutenant True,” Chris nods. “Lieutenant Wright.”

Vera doesn’t respond. Both Uriah and Vera head toward the other side of the building, leaving me alone with Chris.

“What was she arguing with you about this morning?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Chris shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” he says.

“It does to me.”

“Cassie…” He sighs.

“Is she being a pain?” I demand. “Because I’ll tell her to knock it off if she is.”

“Her mother just died. Cut her some slack,” Chris answers.

“I know that. I held Angela’s hand while she was bleeding out on the sidewalk.” I take a sharp breath, realizing that my words came out harsher than I had originally intended. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m a little nervous, I guess. This whole negotiations thing has me wound tight.”

“You’re not the only one,” Chris says.

The thought occurs to me then that I should ask him right now about his wife. His former wife? His current wife? Whatever she is or was, I need to know the truth. Manny told me not to worry about it, but…

“I couldn’t find my father,” I say instead.

Chris’s expression conveys shock.

“Did you search the whole hospital?” he asks.

“Every room,” I answer. “Every bed. I didn’t see him. He’s not listed as a patient.”

For the first time in a very long time, Chris looks genuinely sad.

“I’m sorry, Cassie,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

I blink back tears and stare at the ground.

“It is what it is,” I state, hollow.

“If I could fix it—”

“—But you can’t.” I swallow a lump in my throat.

“Nobody can.”

I tighten the strap of my backpack and nod toward Uriah and Vera, standing in the corner of the train station. Andrew is waiting there as well, and Sophia has popped up, too.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Chris says nothing. He merely nods and studies my face. So I stay in front of him. I don’t want him to see the hot tears burning in my eyes. Not today. I’m the Senator now, and I have to maintain the appearance of being totally calm and in control.

To me, that is irony at its cruelest.

The back of the building opens to a sprawling parking lot. Across the lot there are loading platforms for the Amtrak trains, but the directional signs have been removed, replaced with National Guard instructions and warnings. There are old Amtrak cars on the track, painted muted shades of brown and green, blending with the earth. There are anti-aircraft guns mounted to a flatbed car and men with machine guns and RPGs.

“This locomotive survived the EMP?” I ask.

“Not entirely,” Andrew explains. “Most diesel engines are hybrids – a combination of electric and diesel – and this one wasn’t any different. The National Guard retrofitted some of the locomotives to make them entirely diesel. This is one of them.”

The engine is a dull brown with dark green patches. By the time we reach the loading dock, the engine is roaring to life and the National Guard is busy assigning troops to the train.

“We’re in the middle car,” Chris says. “Your security detail will be spread out throughout the train.”

I nod, understanding.

My security detail is made up of Uriah, Andrew, Chris, Vera and almost two dozen other militiamen and women who have volunteered for this mission. It’s intense, knowing that all of the people here are risking their lives for this mission– but I know it’s not for me. It’s for the safekeeping of California as a whole. For the survival of our country.

If I think of it like that, I’ll be able to get through this, I tell myself.

The doors on the train open. I step up inside the train. The flooring and the walls are gray. The tables are gray. The seats are gray. In fact, everything looks gray.

“I don’t like the windows,” Vera comments.

The windows have been reduced to small gun ports with steel plates welded over them. The roofs of the train cars have been covered with sandbags and armed men. There is a rail car ahead on the track loaded with guns and soldiers. I peek through the small slit of a window and search the skies for Manny’s biplane. I can’t see him, but he is up there somewhere. Nearby.

“We’ll keep her away from the windows,” Chris replies.

Her, of course, means me.

“It’s all we have right now,” Chris offers, as if reading my mind.

I sigh. “Where should I sit?”

“In the corner.” Chris cracks a wry grin. There is a large table in the corner of the car, away from the windows. “Try to stay seated the whole time, if you can. The less movement there is, the less chance of anyone being able to see where you’re sitting.” He’s right.

I sit in the far seat in the corner, surrounded by more sandbags. There are papers and documents here, notebooks and pencils. Maps, outlines and mission rosters. I pick up a pencil and scan the items. I need to assemble my strategy for the negotiations, and the long train ride to Monterey is as good of a time as any.

“I want to get familiar with the layout of the train,” Andrew announces.

“You can do a recon,” Chris concedes. “Take the others with you.”

Andrew, Vera and Uriah slip out of the car, checking the other parts of the train. I stare at the emergency map on the wall, getting familiar without moving from my seat.

“I know what’s bothering you,” Chris begins as soon as we are alone. “And you need to understand that what happened in my past has nothing to do with you.”

I don’t remove my gaze from the wall. Hearing Chris talk about his past like it’s a secret, inaccessible thing makes me sick to my stomach. I’ve told him everything about me… he’s told me almost nothing about himself. I only know what I have seen.

“It has everything to do with me,” I say softly, “because I’m a part of you now.”

At this, Chris’s expression changes. He’s always so good at maintaining a poker face – never letting his true emotions shine through. But for a brief, surprising moment, he looks taken aback.

Completely surprised.

“Hey boss,” Uriah says, popping back into the car. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Chris composes himself immediately, and the flash of emotion is gone.

“Sure,” he replies. “Coming.”

I fold my hands in my lap, clenching my jaw. After a good half an hour of getting ready, the doors on the train car slide shut and the core members of my security detail return to the train car that I am sitting in.

I wonder, briefly, what the outcome of this mission will be.

Will we fail? Will we survive?

Will I do my job correctly?

Go with your gut, common sense tells me. Plan your goals and objectives just like you’re planning a mission. Just like Operation Angel Pursuit. Know the game, and you can win. Be strategic. Be tactical. Use that pure instinct that you have on the battlefield.

Pure instinct, eh? I’d be way more comfortable staked out on a roof with a rifle. It’s what I have become used to. It’s what has become routine. But this? This is a whole new ballgame.

A lot rides on me. I know that.

I just hope I can live up to California’s expectations.