Ender's Saga 13 - Earth Unaware (First Formic War 01) by Orson Scott Card

Author:Orson Scott Card [Card, Orson Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2012-07-16T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Tech

Captain Wit O’Toole moved through the forest under the cover of night. His footfalls were soft and silent. His P87 assault rifle was at his shoulder. His body was slightly crouched, keeping a low center of gravity. His helmet had no visor or eye slits but covered his face completely with blast-resistant metal. His body armor was lightweight and camouflaged for darkness. Beside him, six MOPs in identical gear, carrying identical weapons, kept pace with him as he advanced up the slope of the Parvati Valley in northern India, weaving through the pine and fir trees as quiet as the wind.

Inside Wit’s helmet, his HUD projected a 180-degree view of the terrain in front of him, as bright as if it were day, allowing him to see every detail of the forest. The computer helped further by flagging any obstacles in his path. A root, a low branch, a patch of uneven ground.

A female computer voice said, “One hundred meters to target.”

“Full stop,” said Wit.

The six MOPs stopped their advance and moved into a tight circle, dropping to one knee with their backs to one another, rifles up, covering their position from every approach. It was a simple tactical move, but it was done swiftly and silently, without hesitation or missteps, as fluid as a practiced dance.

“We’re a hundred meters from the target,” said Wit. “Now what?”

“Threat assessment,” said Bogdanovich.

“How?” asked Wit.

“Satellite feed,” said Lobo, “I’ll patch us in.”

A window popped up on Wit’s HUD showing an overhead view of their position taken from a satellite. Wit blinked out a command, and the satellite image shifted, scrolling upward over the treetops in the direction the team was headed. The tree line ended, and a wide meadow came into view. A concrete two-story building, with an almost bunkerlike appearance, stood in the center of the meadow. The Indian military had built it here for military exercises like this one. Several armed guards patrolled the perimeter.

“What a lovely mountain resort,” said Pinetop.

“The brochure said five stars,” said Lobo.

Tonight’s mission was a rescue operation. Calinga was acting the part of a foreign diplomat being held hostage by Islamist extremists. The extremists were actually fellow MOPs and Indian PCs eager to play the bad guys for once.

It was the tenth field exercise in as many days, and Wit had no intention of letting up.

He had devised all kinds of different scenarios: rescue operations, refugee protection, urban warfare, demolition, counterinsurgency measures—each with its own different cultural consideration, terrain, and enemies. One day he’d tell them they were being dropped into a dry mountain valley in Tadzhikistan. The next day they were being dropped at a beach in New Guinea with nothing but jungle as far as the eye could see. The idea was to train for every contingency and enemy.

“I count five guards around the perimeter,” said Chi-won. “But there are probably others we can’t see with the satellite. I say we go thermal from here on in.”

He meant switching their helmet cams to detect heat signatures.

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