Paris, European Federation, February 2035

  Derek Parker's private security firm is in town for the biggest fashion week of the year. Celebrities, billionaires, and other VIPs are around and there seems to be no shortage of private security contractors to keep them safe. In a kebab store of all places, he still finds time for me to discuss his actions during the war.

  "Earth Liberation Front, Heaven's Gate Revivalists, whatever you might call them. When the DDS hangar was flooded, I felt the cold in my spine. We had just a few minutes to get to the base of the oil platform before we would be considered 'combat inefficient.' Another fancy word for being frozen to death and destined to fall to the ocean floor. That is all I had in mind at that moment. The cold. The USS Michigan's doors opened and my team leader, sitting up front in the SDV, gave me an OK sign which I tried my best to reciprocate despite the cold.

  'SDV?' I ask.

  'SEAL Delivery Vehicle, like a small torpedo but instead of an explosive charge you have four very angry SEALs driving it to the target. I held on for dear life as we swam out of it, its small engines behind me, reminding me that I could make the pain of the cold go away if I just let go and let my body meet its rotors. I focused by admiring the underside of the icebergs above us as I went through the plan again.'

  'Did you not know who they were?' I ask, as I wipe the Algérienne sauce from my mouth.

  'Not until the mission was over. Since the inside job at the protest in New York, the one with the suicide bomber. All the extremist pro-alien groups stopped saying who they were in a bid to make it harder for us to fall down on them. The Heaven's Gate Revivalists had been dismantled overnight, be it by law enforcement or drone strikes on US soil, on their compounds falling. We still were left guessing who it was exactly that had ventured so far north of the Atlantic Ocean and set siege on an oil platform. Oil from those was sent directly to refineries in France, Spain or Scandinavia to fuel our war machine. Prime targets. Drones had confirmed a ship had reached its small docks, that ten or so individuals had set out on the platform. Shooting and killing half of the crew.'

  'We were to insert ourselves through the dock by sea, make our way up as UH60 Sea Hawks would circle the platform. Armed with M134 miniguns and full of more SEALs ready to insert themselves once a window of opportunity was open. A few more Sea Hawks carried snipers to take out targets. But the rebels had forfeited their attire and put on the uniforms of the crew. We were to take prisoners. As my rebreather worked overtime, helping us reach the dock without the rebels seeing our bubbles rising, I saw a figure on it. It had been 24 hours. The guy was either shaking from the cold or his adrenaline had not set in yet. He was wearing a large jacket belonging to the crew of the platform, but I saw the rifle, some AR type slung under it. Just saw the barrel peeking out from the jacket. There was a hole on the dock, probably for pressure divers to go and maintain the platform’s long strong legs. I was still underwater. I signalled to my team leader on the other end of the platform to create a diversion. He understood what I meant and we both came out of the water, our heads and P226s secured by lanyards peeking out under the platform. I made my way to the hole slowly. Thankfully, the helicopters circling far ahead covered our noise. My team leader on the other end used his pistol and hit the steel dock twice. The man on the dock turned around. My team leader did it again and he moved close enough to the platform for me to reach him by the belt. He hit his head on the side of the hole, the noise of his skull against the steel platform resonating before it was drowned out by him falling into the water. He struggled for a bit before my knife met his throat. The water turned red and it felt good to feel something warm as I pushed his body down. Down towards the dark blue water. Could not see the bottom. His body drifted down as I went back out of the water. Diego grabbed my arm and I lifted myself out."

  "Up there I felt the cold wind even in my dry suit. I saw the second platform some kilometers away burning. The madman had not bothered to siege that one. Just sent another small team to plant charges and leave. That is why we were here. All the teams had EOD experts in their ranks. I am talking guys who were defusing IEDs or rendering RPGs stuck inside soldiers inert in Iraq and Afghanistan while I was still in school. The rebels knew how to hit where it hurts. Right in the heart of our war economy. If we could salvage the platform, losing some men, even highly trained operators who had cost the government hundreds of thousands of dollars in training, was worth risking."

  We walk for a bit before sitting down on a bench overlooking the Seine canal. The city is quiet this late in the evening, the streetlights casting gold across the water. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes lost for a second somewhere much colder.

  "Where was I? Yeah." He exhales, like the memory's still sharp enough to fog the air. "Took out my MP7 from its waterproof case before taking point. It was a long, long way up those metal stairs. Thankfully, my neoprene dive boots didn't make a sound. You wouldn't have guessed twelve men were making their way up those stairs. Half had stayed below, waiting for us to make it up while they covered the only door leading down."

  He pauses, glancing at the dark water of the Seine like it might echo back the distant thunder of rotors or waves.

  "Up there, I felt the cold wind even through my dry suit. The platform groaned under our weight, old metal shifting like it knew something was wrong. Off in the distance, a few kilometers out, we could see the second platform burning. The fire was just a smear of orange on the horizon, smoke twisting up into the sky like some indians trying to signal another tribe."

  "Sea gulls were circling over the flames, confused or drawn to the heat. They shrieked and wheeled in the air like they were trying to scream over the sound of the world ending. Between the icebergs drifting like giants at rest, you could see the shadows of our support. Frigates, hulls cutting through black water, turrets swiveling, lights sweeping. Helicopters orbited above us like angry wasps, Sea Hawks mostly, their rotors beating down the sea mist, guns cocked and ready. Snipers scanned every railing, every vent."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He glances at me again, brushing windblown hair from his face. “That whole stretch of ocean looked like a scene out of Revelation. Cold. Burning. Alive. The smell of diesel and salt and distant fire carried on the wind.”

  “We climbed in silence. One breath at a time. The higher we got, the more I felt the steel shake beneath us. Not from weight. From what was coming. I was about five feet from the door, close enough that I knew no one was watching that door anymore to prevent friendly fire.

  "Yeah, he's not answering his talkie, I'll go down and see what's up!" a voice from the other side of the door said before opening it.

  "British accent, guy was holding his talkie with one hand and the other was still on the knob. A rifle slung on his chest, Colt. Just like the ones issued to the fresh troops in Europe. He looked at me, as if he couldn't believe what he saw. And for the last time of my career, I froze.

  I froze because we had been fighting crabs for a year. Countless sea insertions in occupied territory, firefights right after we had coordinated airstrikes of Banshee fuel ponds or Beetles grazing zones. Countless crabs I took out. And now, I was back to my original training. Back to what I had signed up to do before the war. The armed left arm of the state, ready to face anything that put it in danger with government-mandated violence. And I froze because it had to set in. Sure, I took the guy down earlier, but now with someone looking me in the eye as he waited for his time to meet God, it was different. The guy who was now probably resting at the bottom of the ocean. I hadn't seen his face and neither did he.

  He dropped the walkie talkie as he reached for his rifle, lined up my MP7 and fired two silenced shots before he could lift his rifle. He collapsed on me. I did my best not to fall down the hundred meters of metal stairs, thankfully the guy behind me held me steady. I felt him trying to fight for a second. Bullets hadn’t taken him out outright, but he was still slumped over me as I tried my best not to fall.

  He wasn’t heavy. Once I had regained my footing, years of Krav Maga came in handy, and I spun him around as I kicked his shin bone. He was overlooking the handrail, and I spun him over it. Didn’t even bother seeing him fall down the hundred meters before hitting the water. The noise of his body hitting it like concrete was enough. Simply spun back towards the room he had come out of, MP7 lifted, and I entered as my team leader gave me the go.

  Past countless generators and machines I didn’t know the name of, past chairs, lockers, and the dead bodies of the engineers lined up on the floor, we moved deeper into the platform.

  The first real resistance we encountered came in the form of another guy descending from a different set of stairs. He didn’t buy my team leader’s English accent over the walkie-talkie we’d taken from our earlier victim. The guy wasn’t fooled.

  Three subsonic rounds later, and he dropped without a sound. The moment he hit the ground, everything kicked off. The door further up the stairs swung open, and the rebels inside started firing wildly. The room we were in exploded into chaos, bullets ricocheting off metal walls and machines.

  M134s roared to life, cutting through the air. The helicopters were in constant communication with us, but we had to be sure our fire was coordinated. It was risky shooting, no doubt. The helos were low enough to fire across the floor above us, picking off targets. But the danger was real. One wrong move, and we'd be caught in the crossfire.

  When the gunfire finally stopped, we knew the helicopters had heard our ceasefire command. The air around us was thick with the tension of what had just happened, but there was no time to dwell. We moved up, floor by floor, staying sharp.

  As we cleared the next level, we found what was left of the rebels. No hostages. Just their bullet-riddled bodies. Bravo team managed to stabilize one of them, a survivor who had somehow lived through the hell of two 7.62mm M134s firing at 6,000 rounds per minute. He was barely conscious, but he was alive. It was a miracle.

  We pressed on, moving quickly, stepping over the lifeless bodies of the rebels as we ascended the metal stairwells. Each step brought us closer to the heart of the platform, the floor with the oil pipes and the remnants of their sabotage.

  The tension in the air was palpable. We knew the stakes now, and the clock was ticking. As we reached the next level, we found the oil pipes snaking through the floor, large and ominous, their metal tubes running across the platform like arteries carrying the lifeblood of the operation. But what really caught our attention were the makeshift explosives strapped to them, poorly constructed but effective enough to do the job if they had been triggered.

  The bombs were amateurish, nothing like the precision work we were used to seeing. Wires were haphazardly bound to the pipes, timers set at random intervals, and some explosives were visibly damaged, failed attempts at detonation. It was clear they hadn’t fully succeeded in their mission.

  I crouched low and assessed the situation. The rebels had clearly been in a rush, maybe they were interrupted. Either way, they had left behind their death traps. One false move, and this entire platform could go up in flames, taking us with it. I motioned to my team leader, and we moved cautiously forward, checking each bomb. We couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

  Bravo team’s EOD specialist moved in carefully. He was an expert in defusing bombs, his hands steady despite the pressure. The rest of us formed a perimeter, eyes on everything and everyone. Every second counted. The faint sound of the helicopters overhead was a constant reminder of just how exposed we were, how vulnerable we were to attack.

  One by one, the explosives were neutralized, their threats rendered harmless. The relief was temporary, though. The platform was still crawling with rebels who hadn’t been accounted for yet. We still had work to do. Floor by floor. Platform by platform as more teams inserted in from helicopters. Fast roping into this frozen hell. Took out a few more. All either really young or old. As many girls as men. They didn't know how to handle weapons, how to conduct CQB. How to set explosives. It was a miracle they hadn't blown themselves up earlier.

  Guess those were the ones left as most of the boys had been drafted. Didn't give them any reprieve. Sure took some prisoners. But if they just looked at us funny we had ample reason from command to take them out. Past members of those groups who had been interrogated didn't give any real good intel. Mostly the same bullshit about how humans deserved to be wiped from the surface of the earth. That we should considered lucky a superior species had even bothered to look at us. All clear was given after 10 hours. Ten hours of clearing that platform, taking down contacts, searching every surface, corner or foot locker. Navy engineers came afterwards and they turned the machines back on before the dead bodies were even evacuated. "

  "Good thing about the cold, they don't smell as bad. The bodies take longer to rot."