Kevin took the offered seat, aware that every eye in the mess hall remained fixed on him. The RTD bar continued its slow climb toward full, and he could feel the energy humming beneath his skin, ready to be called upon again if needed.

  So much for keeping a low profile.

  Chapter six

  BACK TO THE BASICS II

  "Don't worry about Vex," Duncan said, sliding a tray in front of him. "She tests every recruit. You're just the first one who's ever put her on her ass."

  "Not exactly keeping a low profile," Kevin muttered, examining the food. It was a stew of some kind, thick with root vegetables and chunks of unidentified meat. It smelled savory, surprisingly so.

  "Too late for that," Duncan replied, a hint of amusement creeping into her usually stoic expression. "Word's probably halfway across the fortress already."

  "That you move like a fucking blur?"

  The new voice came from across the table. A woman leaned forward into the harsh overhead light, her single visible eye sizing Kevin up with undisguised interest. It was wolf-like, amber-gold and unnervingly focused. A matte black eyepatch covered the other eye. It didn't look medical so much as technological, with faint blue circuitry patterns etched around its edges.

  Her black hair was chopped in uneven layers, pushed back from her face by a faded red cloth headband that had seen better decades. But it was the ears that drew Kevin's attention. Two triangular, fur-covered wolf's ears poked through her hair, swiveling slightly toward sounds in the mess hall with animalistic keenness.

  "Sergeant Valerie Cox," she said, extending a hand across the table. "Call me Val. Everyone does."

  As they shook, Kevin caught the subtle flick of something behind her. It was a bushy black wolf's tail emerging from a custom slit in her uniform, the tip twitching with what seemed like barely contained energy.

  "You're staring at my tail," Val said matter-of-factly, not the least bit offended. "Fifth-gen mutation from my ancestor's Redz40 exposure. Works great in firefights, as it provides extra balance. The ears help me hear Redz coming from three hundred meters." She tapped her eyepatch. "And this little beauty connects directly to my scope. I can shoot around corners without exposing myself."

  Duncan cleared her throat. "Val's our long-range specialist. Best shot in the UAC, though she'll never let you forget it."

  "Only because it's true," Val replied, leaning back.

  Kevin nodded, taking a bite of the meat. It was gamey but good. "Green Berets worked with snipers on every op. Good to have overwatch."

  "Green Beret," Val repeated, testing the words. "Old World special forces, right? The ones who trained insurgents behind enemy lines?"

  "That's us," Kevin confirmed. "Unconventional warfare specialists."

  Duncan leaned forward, elbows on the table, her posture military-straight but with a subtle shift toward Kevin. It was a tilt of her head, a slight angle of her shoulders that pointed directly at him. It wasn't overt, but to someone trained to read body language, the interest was unmistakable.

  "Since we're going to be working together," she said, "let's introduce ourselves properly. Captain Abigail Duncan, UAC Special Operations. Five years commanding this region's rapid response team." She adjusted her worn baseball cap with its operator headset. "I handle tactics, infiltration, and making sure Val doesn't shoot civilians for fun."

  "One time," Val protested, rolling her eye while her wolf's ears flattened slightly. "And he wasn't even a civilian; he was a raider."

  "He was surrendering," Duncan countered.

  "He was reaching for a knife," Val said, then turned to Kevin. "The captain here is our resident ice queen. She thinks every problem can be solved with proper planning and protocols." Despite her words, the fond tone revealed the comfortable rhythm of old partners who'd survived hell together.

  Around them, the mess hall's industrial ceiling fans circulated recycled air with a constant mechanical hum. Metal trays clanked against tables, boots scraped on concrete, and hundreds of voices created a wall of sound that somehow made their conversation feel more private, not less.

  "So," Kevin said between bites, "I know we have the plant to secure, but is there anything leading up to that we can do to build chemistry and teamwork?"

  Duncan glanced around, then lowered her voice. "We've been greenlit to handle the Waste Mob that's threatening Fairville."

  "Fairville?" Kevin asked.

  "Trading post about twelve miles outside Fort DC's perimeter," Val explained, producing a small tool kit from her pocket. She removed her eyepatch and began cleaning its lens with deft motions. Without it, the empty socket was visible, scarred but long-healed. "It's one of the few places that trades fresh water for goods outside of Fort DC."

  "The Mob?" Kevin prompted.

  "Raiders. More organized than most," Duncan said. "They've hit three supply convoys in the last month. Intelligence suggests they're planning to move on Fairville directly."

  "If Fairville falls," Val added, testing her eyepatch's connectivity with small adjustments to its wiring, "we lose a critical resource hub and our early warning system for Gulf Confederacy movements." She shifted in her seat, agitated. "Plus, there are about seven hundred civilians there who'd be slaughtered or worse."

  Kevin nodded, processing. The world had changed, but military objectives remained familiar: secure resources, protect strategic positions, save innocent lives. "And we're the solution?"

  "Small team can move faster than a full squad," Duncan confirmed. "Get in, neutralize the leadership, destabilize their operation."

  Val snapped her eyepatch back into place, the blue circuitry illuminating briefly as it powered up. "Three of us against about forty raiders," she said with a wolfish grin. "Should be fun."

  "You sound confident," Kevin observed.

  Val shrugged. "I was, even before I saw you throw Vex across the room like a rag doll." She leaned forward suddenly, serious now. "Whatever they did to you in that pod, it's exactly what we need out there."

  Duncan pulled out a small datapad, displaying a rough map of the area surrounding Fort DC. "This is our first real op together, so consider it a trial run." Her eyes met Kevin's, appraising but not unkind. "We need to know what you can do, and you need to learn how we operate."

  Kevin studied the map, feeling a familiar calm settling over him. It was the focus that came with having a clear mission, clear objectives.

  "When do we start?" he asked.

  Duncan offered a faint smile. "Already have."

  She zoomed in on the map display, her finger tracing a glowing blue line that cut beneath Fort DC's foundation. "We'll take the Underground Highway," she said, voice dropping to a briefing cadence. "The tunnel system runs for five miles in each direction from the fortress. We'll exit at Charlie Vent, driving the remaining ten miles to Fairville." The route appeared straightforward on the screen, a clean line through mapped territory, but Kevin knew from experience that no plan survived first contact with reality.

  "Tell me about these tunnels," he said, studying the subterranean pathways marked in blue.

  Duncan nodded. "Four lanes wide, reinforced concrete, built during the early days after the collapse. They're our lifeline to the outside world since the surface immediately surrounding the walls is a death trap." She expanded the image to show a cross-section. "Regular patrols keep them relatively clear, but we still encounter Redz that find their way in occasionally."

  "They're not just tunnels," Val added, her wolf's ear twitching at some distant sound in the mess hall. "They're full highways. Constant movement of supply trucks, troop transports, civilian vehicles with special clearance. Noisy as hell, but safer than walking through that sea of Redz outside."

  Kevin nodded, assessing. Underground movement made tactical sense when the surface was swarming with hostiles. Controlled environment, defensible choke points, protection from the elements. But tunnels also meant limited escape routes if things went south.

  "The Vents are fortified bunkers where the tunnels reach the surface," Duncan continued. "Each one's staffed with about a thousand soldiers and has enough firepower to hold back a medium-sized horde. We'll gear up at Charlie, then move overland to Fairville."

  "What's our timeline look like?" Kevin asked.

  "Five days to prepare," Duncan said. "You need to familiarize yourself with our signals, calls, and weapons. We have some prewar firearms you might recognize, but most of our arsenal is energy-based now. More efficient when ammunition manufacturing is limited."

  "I also need to get a read on what you can really do," Val interjected, leaning forward. "That trick with Vex was impressive, but I need to know if you can shoot as fast as you can move consistently."

  Kevin considered this. Five days wasn't much, but he'd operated with less prep time in more hostile environments. And despite the century and a half gap, combat fundamentals didn't change: assess, plan, execute, adapt.

  "I'm in," he said simply. "What's our loadout?"

  "Standard strike team package," Duncan replied. "I carry a mid-range energy rifle with EMP grenades. Val handles long-range with her custom sniper rig. You'll be equipped based on your preferences after we assess your skills tomorrow."

  Kevin nodded, processing the information. He glanced around the mess hall, noticing again the demographic reality that had struck him earlier. A question formed, one not directly related to the mission but crucial to understanding this new world.

  "Mind if I ask something else?" When Duncan nodded, he continued. "I've been noticing the gender balance since I woke up. Seems heavily skewed toward women. Is that normal for this era?"

  Val snorted, a sharp, barking sound. "He's observant, this one."

  Duncan nodded slowly. "It's a valid question. Yes, the post-collapse human population has a roughly seventy-five/twenty-five split, female to male."

  "Redz40 hit the Y chromosome harder," Val explained matter-of-factly. "Males exposed to heavy concentrations either died outright or mutated more extremely than females." She gestured to her wolf's ears. "Like our lovely Lieutenant Vex and her crimson squad. Most heavily mutated survivors are male, but there are fewer of them overall."

  Kevin digested this information. "So the mutation spectrum runs from minor to..." He nodded toward Val's obvious wolf characteristics.

  "To full deviation," she finished for him. "I'm mid-range. Got the ears, tail, enhanced senses. Vex is further along the spectrum with skin alterations, bone density changes, and claws. Some went even further." She gestured vaguely behind her. "There are people out in the Wastes who barely look human anymore. Some of them kept their minds. Others didn't."

  "The survivors adapted," Duncan added. "Social structures shifted to accommodate the new reality. Military leadership is predominantly female now, though no one cares much about gender these days. Survival ability is what matters."

  Around them, the mess hall was beginning to empty as soldiers finished their meals and headed to evening shifts or barracks. The ambient noise level dropped, making their conversation less private, forcing them to lean closer together.

  "What about you?" Val asked, her single blue eye fixed intently on Kevin. "Captain says you were some kind of elite soldier. What's your specialty?"

  "Weapon-wise?" Kevin considered the question. "Proficient with most firearms: assault rifles, shotguns, handguns. Expert in close-quarters combat. But my primary skill was training and leading indigenous forces in hostile territory."

  "The AI in your head mention anything about compatibility with our current weapons?" Duncan asked.

  "AIDA says I should be able to adapt quickly," Kevin replied. "Principles remain the same even if the technology has evolved."

  You're being modest, AIDA commented silently in his mind. Your enhanced neural pathways allow you to master new weapon systems approximately 78% faster than when you were an unmodified human.

  Val leaned back, satisfied. "Good. We need someone who can handle themselves up close. I'm shit in tight quarters, as I can't see depth worth a damn with one eye."

  "Val's our eyes from a distance," Duncan explained. "I handle tactical command and mid-range combat. Sounds like you'll fit the CQB role perfectly."

  As the conversation continued, Kevin noticed Duncan's eyes lingering on him whenever she thought he wasn't looking. They were quick, assessing glances that carried more than professional interest. She tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, the gesture oddly vulnerable from someone who otherwise projected such careful control.

  "The Waste Mob has approximately forty fighters," she said, returning to mission parameters. "Mostly armed with scavenged firearms, some energy weapons. Their leader, they call her Bloodbath, apparently has some GC military background."

  "Any particular reason they're targeting Fairville?" Kevin asked.

  "Water," Val answered. "It's the only reliable trading hub for fifty miles in any direction. Whoever controls it controls everything."

  "The town itself has basic fortifications," Duncan added. "Concrete walls, a few gun emplacements. But they're traders, not soldiers. If the Mob hits them in force, they won't last long. They can handle basic raiders and such but anything above thirty to forty raiders at a time will overwhelm them. We don’t have the manpower to continue to fully defend Fairville and other settlements like it."

  The mess hall had emptied considerably now, with only a few scattered groups remaining at distant tables. The hollow echoes of their voices bounced off the concrete walls, giving the space an almost cavernous feel. Kevin noticed how Duncan shifted closer to him as the room quieted, the gap between their shoulders narrowing by inches.

  "The most important thing," Val said, seemingly oblivious to the subtle dance beside her, "is that we take out their leadership quickly. Cut off the head, and the body dies."

  "Classic insurgency doctrine," Kevin agreed. "Some things never change, I guess."

  "While others do," Duncan said quietly, her eyes meeting his with unmistakable meaning. Her gaze dropped momentarily to his hands, then back to his face, a silent acknowledgment of what she'd witnessed earlier: speed and strength beyond normal human capability.

  Val rolled her eye. "Christ, just measure his tactical abilities already and save the rest for after the mission," she muttered, just loud enough for both to hear.

  Duncan's cheeks colored slightly, but she didn't back down. "Five days to prep," she said, eyes still locked with Kevin's. "Think that's enough time to get you combat-ready, Warrant Officer?"

  "More than enough," Kevin replied, feeling a strange electricity that had nothing to do with his Redz40 enhancements.

  "0600 hours at the training field," Duncan said, gathering her datapad and tucking it into a pocket on her thigh. "Wear something you can move in. We'll be running combat drills most of the day." The words were all business, but her eyes held Kevin's a beat longer than necessary, that same unspoken assessment lingering between them.

  "I'll bring the prototype scope attachment," Val added, already collecting her tools and slipping them into various pockets with well-worn efficiency. "Want to see if it works with the energy rifles or just my custom rig."

  Kevin nodded, watching the interplay between them. They moved around each other with the unconscious grace of long-term partners, anticipating movements, respecting space, communicating through micro-expressions and half-gestures that outsiders weren't meant to catch. It was the same unspoken language he'd observed between veteran Green Berets who'd survived multiple deployments together. The shorthand of people who'd seen each other at their worst and still chosen to fight side by side.

  Val rose first, stretching with a distinctly canine arch to her back. "Don't be late," she said to Kevin. "Captain here gets her panties in a twist if we're not fifteen minutes early to being early."

  "Standard military protocol," Duncan countered, the rote response suggesting this was an old, comfortable argument between them.

  "Yeah, yeah." Val adjusted her eyepatch, the faint blue glow of its circuitry catching the harsh overhead lights. "See you tomorrow, Old World. Try not to throw any more officers across the room before then." With a casual salute that bordered on insubordinate, she turned and headed for the exit, boots silent against the concrete floor despite her size.

  Duncan remained seated, watching Val's departure with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "She's the best shot in the UAC," she said, turning back to Kevin. "And she knows it. Makes her impossible sometimes, but there's no one better to have watching your back."

  "You two been working together long?" Kevin asked.

  "Three years. Pulled her out of a bad situation with some raiders west of here." A shadow crossed Duncan's face. "She doesn't talk about it, but she earned those scars. Not just the eye."

  Kevin nodded, understanding the implication. The wasteland bred its own horrors, human and otherwise.

  Around them, the mess hall had emptied almost completely. The clattering din of hundreds of conversations had faded to the soft hum of air circulation systems and the distant clinking of kitchen staff cleaning up. The institutional lighting cast long shadows across the concrete floor, turning the vast space into something more intimate and isolated.

  Duncan stood, gathering the last of her things. "I know this is a lot," she said, voice softening slightly. "New world, new team, new mission. But for what it's worth, I think you're exactly what we need right now."

  She stepped closer, and then her hand was on his shoulder, the touch firm but with a warmth that transcended professional courtesy. Her fingers lingered a moment too long, the pressure communicating something words couldn't, or wouldn't, say.

  "Get some rest," she added, voice dropping slightly. "Tomorrow will be intense."

  Kevin felt the weight of her hand, the deliberate pause in its removal. He'd been in combat zones long enough to recognize when someone was testing boundaries, offering possibilities without commitment. In his time, fraternization regulations would have made this a complicated proposition. He wondered what rules governed the UAC, or if survival had rendered such concerns obsolete.