Freedom Day

Chapter 1 - "Team Rainbow"

Bartlett University, Cambridge, Massachusetts
1530 hours

...

Mission time was two hours and thirty seconds. Thirty one, thirty two, thirty three...

Emmanuelle "Twitch" Pichon felt uneasy sitting in the Blackhawk. Her bulky, grey MOPP suit made it more cumbersome to shift in her seat. The gas mask gave her tunnel vision, and the imaging goggles on her forehead were slightly disorienting. Top that with all the rifle mags, flashbangs, and other miscellanies on her chest rig, her body felt completely burdened. But any discomfort she felt was irrelevant, nor was it worthy of her attention. The clock was ticking. She rested her fingers on the FAMAS F2 on her lap, as her lips murmured childhood lullabies and prayers to keep herself calm. Her eyes were closed, her mind was focused.

It was rather gloomy and quiet inside the cabin. The doors were shut tight, so nobody knew what awaited them on the ground. A rather fitting metaphor, given the amount of 'actionable intelligence' the team had for this mission. Yet all throughout the flight, she didn't hear a single complaint from anyone in the cabin. The scale of the situation was too great to gripe about poor planning, lack of preparation, and whatnot. This was not the time to point fingers; many lives were counting on Rainbow to act now.

Would there even be any survivors to rescue? The flight from Fort Bragg had burned a lot of time. Two hours, in fact. It might already be too late.

"Twenty seconds to insertion.", the pilot announced to his passengers. "On final approach to the LZ."

The words were like a command prompt for Emma's brain. Upon hearing them, she opened her eyes and pulled the charging handle on her rifle's top receiver. The audible click told her that the Clarion was loaded with a fresh bullet. She then checked the reflex scope, to see if the reticle was on and properly zeroed. Turning to her left, she saw the rest of Alpha Team doing the same steps, arming their weapons and checking their gear in silent fashion. Gilles Touré. Miles Campbell. Shuhrat Kessikbayev. The Frenchwoman followed their example and took another look at her suit's pressure gauge and oxygen readings. Dying from asphyxiation would be an incredibly bad, and frankly stupid, way to go.

It was game time. Seamus "Sledge" Cowden, Alpha's team leader, finally rose from his seat.

"Oi, listen up!", he spoke in his Scottish drawl. "I want a five-meter spread, diamond formation once we're on the ground. Eyes on yer sectors. We're gonna leg it to the building together, clear?"

Everyone bobbed their heads in response. The plan was simple: Alpha will take Liberty Hall, Bravo will proceed to the adjacent Dormitories, and Charlie will follow closely and set up triage for any survivors. Since they had reports of explosives in the campus, each team was also entrusted with an electronic bomb defusal kit. Emma was carrying the one given to Alpha. By the simulation's estimates, it would probably take less than twenty minutes for the teams to accomplish their objectives. Mission notes, floor plans, and entry tactics occupied their heads.

Alpha-One gave one last reminder.

"I'll be making our entry. Montagne will take point. Castle, you'll have rear security. Fuze, explosives. Twitch, keep the drone and the defuser ready."

"Roger that, sir.", she responded.

Then, the pilot turned to the cabin and spoke again. "Five seconds...",

Before they knew it, the helicopter was nearly above their designated landing zone. Using nothing more than hand signals, Seamus ordered the Blackhawk's cabin doors to be opened, immediately showering the compartment with bright and blinding sunlight. The crew chief then gathered an armful of rope and tossed it outside of the fuselage. A standard helicopter insertion from a height of 20 meters, give or take. Beyond the gaping door was the point of no return.