Shattered

George

He always shook before a mission.

Doctors, psychiatrists, and even a shaman had told him it was brought on by a mixture of fear, anxiety, and just a dash of PTSD.

But what do they know?

The truth though was that he was like a race horse at the starting gate: eager to start so he could get his reward.

He tried to steady himself by checking over his gear for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes.

Four extra clips, two battery packs, two pulse grenades, one fragmentation grenade, and my boots are tied.

He ran the diagnostics on his helmet and watched as one-by-one all systems winked from yellow to green. He recalibrated the iris tracking reticule and sent out a ready check to his team. He only had to wait a few moments before four status LEDs blinked green twice.

This is it. I can feel it! Just hold on a little longer PB, Daddy's coming!

After Percival, or Brian as he liked to be called, captured the western nest, research teams had discovered hundreds of years' worth of records. Most of it was trivial things like tax records, census reports, security reports; things to be expected of a small community. However there were also detailed documentation of military strategies, profiles on various monsters, the addresses of DGs who lived off site, and of course the locations of allies.

So when he heard that there was a group of female worshippers of G:AD operating out of a warehouse in Georgia, he was the first to volunteer to lead a team down to take them out.

Which was why he was currently standing in a semi-trailer on a Tuesday night surrounded by four of his best men. They weren't the only ones though, besides the truck they were in there were six other trucks currently getting into position all around the warehouse's loading docks.

He gently lurched forward when he felt the trailer connect with the platform.

He once again issued a ready check to his men and waited for Bors, Ywain, Dagonet, and Geraint to respond back.

God, these are stupid code names.

The four LEDs once again flashed green twice.

He pulled out the small detonator that controlled the charges that were set on the trailer doors. He held up his hand and began a count down with his fingers.

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

He closed his fist and hit the detonator. There as a slight POP followed by the doors crashing to the ground with a thunderous roar.

Bors ran to the front of the trailer to take point. Bors crouched down and did a slow sweep with his M-16 in hand, before signaling that it was clear. Geraint and Ywain hustled up to the mouth of the trailer just as Bors set foot on the loading dock.

Just as Geraint and Ywain set foot off the trailer, there was a sharp whistling noise and a moment later Bors fell over with an arrow sticking out his neck.

"Get to cover!" he roared. He pumped his legs as fast as he could. If he didn't get out of the trailer it would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

And he was the fish.

Geraint and Ywain raised their guns and began to fire off a few short bursts at something above them, as they strafed to the left.

He exited the trailer and had to blink to allow his eyes to adjust from the darkness of the trailer to the overwhelming light of the warehouse. He looked above to see what the two were shooting at and spied that there was a catwalk above them.