'Troubles'

02-Sep-2030, 1730R

LCDR Percy Jackson, US Navy, Son of Neptune

DEVGRU

Long Island, New York, USA

After sleeping in (which was hard due to my internal clock still being stuck on work mode), driving into the city, and returning the suit, I spent most of the day with Tyson and Mrs. O'Leary. Most of the year-round campers had begun their school year, allowing for a relatively quiet camp as we hung out together.

We played a lot of Mrs. O'Leary's favorite games—shield frisbee, Get the Greek, and keepaway—with Tyson and I ending up being incredibly sweaty despite the weather cooling down as we advanced into fall.

While we rested, Tyson asked me about my twenty years away. As I discovered, Father told him that I was working, though he never specified how. And since nobody wanted to ask Tyson or him (whether it be out of sympathy or fear), nobody else found out. It's kind of stupid, if you ask me, but I just shrugged and moved on.

Given this, I ended up going a bit more into depth with him than I did anyone else in the camp—more than Piper, Jason, even Annabeth. He was pretty hesitant on asking a few questions, particularly those involving the warfighting aspect of my job. Yes, while I still managed to convince him that I was strictly a diver and weapons tester (not a lie, since I'm in the Naval Special Warfare Development Group), he'd figured out that I had to have at least some combat experience. Because despite what I said about having skills because of LARPing and the Second Amendment, there were a few things that didn't make sense without me having at least some combat experience during my time in the Navy.

Folks, Tyson is pretty damn intelligent in ways that nobody else is—not even Annabeth.

Still, I only fed him small details and reassured him that I was rarely in big trouble—again, not much of a lie because not only was I surrounded by highly trained SEALs, but there were several circumstances in which we were working with other units: Army/Marine infantrymen, Rangers, Raiders, SF, EOD, CCTs, PJs, SARCs, and the like. Plus, we had some of the best combat support/combat service support personnel on the planet. For every door-kicker, there's at least ten support personnel behind him. Their job may not be as glamorous, but they're critical all the same.

For instance, remember Cinderella, Stinger, Pupper, and Spooky? Cinderella covers us from the TOC and ensures we know which doors to kick down. While we all handle our own personal gear, Stinger handles the logistics of everything else from resupply to troop level assets. With Brutus at his side to give the bad guys tooth hugs, Pupper will make sure—like the Mounties—that we get our man. And as much as we shit on Spooky for being in the CIA, he's still a half-decent shooter and does everything he can to give us solid target packages (seriously, one time some other CIA officers gave us intel and if it weren't for Spooky catching their errors, several of us would've died in a hole).

So yeah... don't disrespect our enablers. They're POGs (except for Pupper), but they're our POGs.

My cheesy, flared-up brotherhood aside, I did tell Tyson about different declassified pieces of equipment (i.e., big Navy stuff) through my explanations of my job—of course, mainly the diving, leading, and hardware testing part of it, not the combat part—his favorite being the submarine. He was so fascinated by it, I didn't have the heart to tell him that, even if he managed to work his way into the Navy, he probably wouldn't even fit onboard the vessel.

I also included an explanation why "military-grade" generally means "terrible," not "amazing." There were only a few counterexamples I could think of off the top of my head, with much of Europe being one of them. Why are military-grade firearms better than civilian-grade ones in Europe? Because the civilian-grade ones are mostly nonexistent (according to the Internet and some foreign operators I've worked with in the past).

"Yo, Tyson!" someone suddenly shouted, with that someone being an exhausted-looking Jake as he ambled towards us, giving Mrs. O'Leary a quick scratch behind the ears.

"Yes, Jake?" Tyson asked with his usual cheerful tone.

"We have a slight problem with Athena Cabin. Its door won't open!"

"Is there anyone inside it? Have you tried picking the lock? Are there any alternate entryways?"

"No, that's not possible, and no. We wanted to see if you could take a crack at it, considering that the door's been reinforced."

"I'll come too, see if I can give you a hand," I offered. And so we went, arriving at the sight of a small crowd outside the Athena Cabin, including the Little Three.

"Tyson, the damn door ain't opening!" Annabeth hissed, kicking it in frustration. "We tried every code we knew and it went into lockdown!"

"Wait, you do not know the entry code?" Tyson asked, eye wide in surprise.

"No! Someone was supposed to tell us what she changed it to," Malcolm began, glaring at one blonde girl who shrunk away from her counselor. "But she told us the wrong thing!"

"Well, why not go in through the windows?"

"They're reinforced and only open from the inside."

"Emergency exit?"

"This is the emergency exit."

Tyson ceased his questioning, pondering the situation silently while I looked around in shock.

"Uh, isn't there some sort of master key?" I proposed, with Annabeth rolling her eyes.

"Oh, wow! Why didn't I think of that? Oh wait, I DID! THERE ARE NO MASTER KEYS, PERCY!" she shrieked, pulling at her hair in anger and frustration.

"Damn, okay. Calm down. There's gotta be a solution that works. What's this thing made of?"

"Celestial Bronze, with a couple of steel components," Jake answered after a moment of thought. "It can take a pretty good hit."

"And the cabin itself?"

"Pretty standard build. Decorations on stone and wood, basically, but it's decently reinforced, especially after the Titan and Giant Wars."

"Huh... I've got an idea. Just wait a sec," I said, jogging over to the Poseidon Cabin. After a quick trip to my personal weapons locker, I found something that Vulcan had apparently put in some time back. After pulling out a few other components and putting it all together, I had a device the size of a dictionary assembled. Grabbing some ear plugs, I walked back to the Athena Cabin.

"Uh, what is that?" Annabeth asked suspiciously as I made my way to the door.

"Breaching charge!" I replied as I lightly pushed an Athena kid—Levi, I think—aside to attach the charge to the locking mechanism with some tape.

"A what?"

"Explosive," I sighed, hearing several gasps and footsteps behind me as I prepped the charge.

"A bomb! He has a bomb!" Annabeth remarked sarcastically before getting serious. "Why do you have a bomb?!?"

"Kick rocks, nerd!"

"You see this? You see this? He's not bluffing, he'll pull the pin and blow everybody up!"

"Relax, it won't detonate 'til I hit the clacker. You trust me, don't you?"

"No, I absolutely do not!"

"Annabeth, perhaps it would be wise to step back and let Percy finish," Tyson suggested as I made the final checks on the charge, standing and moving back for cover with the detonator while motioning for others to do the same.

"You are so sick!" Annabeth hissed as she backed up to the side wall of the Athena Cabin, covering her ears like everyone else huddled along the sides.

"Fire in the hole, fire in the hole, fire in the hole!" I warned before squeezing the clacker. The charge detonated perfectly, the shockwave of the explosion reverberating through the camp.

"COME ON!!" Annabeth screamed at me as the dust settled. "WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?! YOU NEED HELP!! I WILL PAY FOR IT!!"

"Relax, Wiseass," I chuckled, giving her a pat on the shoulder before walking out to the front. While the charge didn't blow the door off its hinges, it did loosen it and completely demolish the locking mechanism, allowing the door to easily swing open. "Okay, nerds! The siege is over!"

"My papers!" Levi shouted as he dashed in. While the charge didn't really cause that much damage on the other side (i.e., nothing appeared to be broken), there was a lot of dust, loose splinters, and displaced items. "Oh, it's not terrible... but this is gonna be a bitch to clean up!"

"Was that necessary?!" Malcolm asked, shouting likely due to the ringing in his ears.

"Damn right it was!" I answered with a thumbs-up. "You need any more help here?"

"Please, no! Just, just go! Please!"

"Why did I just hear an explosion?" Chiron asked, galloping up to the cabin.

"The door was locked, he blew it open!" Jake summarized, pointing towards me as I gave Chiron a thumbs-up.

"... I knew I should have retired years ago," Chiron sighed, turning around and beginning a slow trot back to the Big House.

"Why? Why me?" Annabeth was muttering behind me. "Mother, why? WHY?!"

"Brother... you could be a locksmith if you ever get out of the Navy," Tyson joked.

"I can see it now: Percy and Tyson, locksmiths with all the options... even explosives," I replied with a grin as we began walking back to Mrs. O'Leary. In my defense, we exhausted all other options, with the only one I could think of being to blow a wall open. But hey, I got to work a breach—something I haven't done once outside of training since I commissioned. Remember, officers are not at the front of a stack, and often don't even end up in a stack at all.

But that aside, we proceeded to play some more with Mrs. O'Leary in the field. As I threw the bronze shield frisbee again, I couldn't help but think of Brutus, my troop's MPC. That awesome Malinois was undoubtedly the goodest boy, but with Mrs. O'Leary as the goodest girl, they were tied for the position of top dog in my life. I often wondered how they would interact if they met—Mrs. O'Leary would be playful while Brutus would stare her down, unafraid and curious at the larger canine.

I smirked at the thought of the two somehow swapping places. A hellhound would make an incredible MWD and make any bad guy crap his pants. And of course, Brutus would make an excellent canine companion to anyone.

"Good girl!" Tyson praised as she rolled over, receiving belly rubs the whole way through. Her tail thrashed against the ground, causing a small earthquake in a ten-yard radius. If Brutus was a fur missile, Mrs. O'Leary was a fur tank—which is amusing considering that she could stand toe-to-toe with an M1 Abrams, or at least a Stryker (the Army has some nice ground toys).

"Aw, is you a good girl? Is you a good girl?" I asked, joining in on the headpats and belly rubs. "Yes, yes you is! You're such a fuzzy girl! You're such a fuzzy girl! Whoosha boosha boosha foozoo goolooooo!"

I never baby-talked Estelle when she was... well, a baby, simply because of how stupid it sounded. But I'll always baby-talk dogs, no matter how stupid it sounds.

"Huh, and here I thought you going away for twenty years improved your vocabulary!" Annabeth quipped as she walked up to us, receiving a lick from the goodest girl. "Ack, okay! Down!"

"What's up, Chase? Get over your little temper tantrum?" I mocked as she gave Mrs. O'Leary a quick scratch behind the ears.

"Hardy-har-har. No, I recognize now that your little 'breaching charge' was the only option... I still hated it."

"Oh well. Can't please everyone."

"You know how much she howled when you disappeared? Kept us all awake at night, barely ate, growled at anyone that wasn't Tyson."

"I figured," I sighed morosely as Mrs. O'Leary continued to pant and thump her tail against the ground in excitement. "Well, at least I'm here now. Speaking of, what's been up with the Little Three? Are you literally just Annabeth, Piper, and Jason, gods of CHB? No other names?"

"I can't believe we're actually called that... but no, we got some different names, though very few people actually use them."

"So what, they're just records in Olympus or on your temples? Wait, do you have temples?"

"Yep... though they're just little altars next to our parents'. It's kinda cool, though."

"Ah-ha... so what are your titles and domains and all that jazz?"

"Well, Piper's called 'Eleni,' goddess of persuasion, beauty, love, quests, and heroes."

"Makes sense," I reasoned, considering what I remembered. "Jason?"

"'Krateros,' god of lightning, thunder, flight, quests, and heroes."

"Lemme guess, the last two are linked with you as well."

"Yeah," she confirmed with a nod. "I'm 'Sofia,' goddess of architecture, intellect, handicraft, quests, and heroes."

"Let me see if I've got this right: you have perfectly serviceable names, but all three of you got singular names—"

"Mononyms," she corrected.

"Whatever! Your domains are basically offshoots of those of your parents and the last two were given to every single one of you?!"

"... yes."

"Wha—that's just—I—" I stammered out, not sure whether to laugh or cry at just how silly this was. Seriously, this is a level of weirdness and redundancy I'm not sure I've even seen in the military. Say what you want about Marine Raiders not having any unique skillset, but they still have a role in SOCOM. My old compatriots, however... "Aren't you guys kinda... redundant?"

"I wouldn't go that far, considering I'm the Architect of Olympus, Percy," she reminded me, a swell of pride in her voice.

"Yes, but beyond that... are you even your parents' seconds-in-command or anything like that?"

"Uh... not really. But at least we'll have a better idea of how to run the camp when Mr. D's gone, considering we've been through it."

"You have a better idea. Sparky and Hollywood on the other hand..." I noted, with Annabeth shrugging. "They were barely here."

"Jason was at least a praetor."

"True, but New Rome and the 12th Legion run a little differently than CHB."

"True," she assented with a nod.

"See? We can have a conversation without trying to kill each other!"

"Wait, you've tried to kill each other during conversations before?" Tyson interjected from the other side of our favorite giant fuzzball.

"Sarcasm!" Annabeth and I replied simultaneously.

"Speaking of, where's Grover at?" I asked, suddenly remembering my old best buddy. "He's gotta have some big-ass horns by now!"

"Ignoring the fact that that was your first thought, he's head of the Council of Cloven Elders. They're over in Vermont for some reason," Annabeth replied after a moment of thought. "They'll be back in a week. He thinks you're dead too, by the way."

"Ah, fantastic. Is he still with What's-Her-Name... June?"

"Juniper, and yeah. You're not gonna believe this, but they actually have a kid now."

"No joking?"

"Yeah, it happened a couple of months back: a son that he named after you."

"Percy Underwood," I sounded out with a nod. "Doesn't quite roll off the tongue, but it'll do."

"He's probably going to change the name as soon as he sees you. Seriously, he's gonna be pissed."

"Don't tell him, okay? I want him to see me in person, maybe take some of the heat off of you," I requested. Truly, I didn't want to know just how the old (er, young) goat would react to my sudden appearance, but if there was going to be a problem, I'd rather keep it between the two of us rather than any third parties. Plus, I'd rather not hear that godawful Pan scream again.

"Keeping him in the dark may not be a good idea," Annabeth advised.

"True, but just dropping my name outta the blue's gonna result in some crazy-ass hijinks. Just make sure people keep their mouths shut."

"Shouldn't be a problem, considering he keeps mostly with the nature spirits. Gleeson won't talk either, since he's heading out in a couple of days for Carthage, along with Mellie, Chuck, and Sylvester. We're also considering sending a team of fighters to stay nearby."

"Keeping tabs on Turner?"

"Yeah."

"... you can't stalk the kid, Chase."

"Percy, remember what we talked about?"

"I know, but let the kid live a normal life... at least, as normal as it gets. If you really want, get Hedge to name-drop CHB to First Sergeant Turner, then you can have Max under observation for those months and better explain this crap to him. But let the boy grow up," I insisted, almost pleadingly. "I don't want him to go through what we did. He needs his family."

"... okay," she relented, holding up her hands. "Okay."

We ended the discussion not long after, still in some disagreement over how to proceed with the apparently powerful son of... whoever his mother was. But I just let it go and moved on, focusing on my brother and the Fur Tank. Finally, dusk came, with us going to bed shortly after because of how tired we were. It was quiet with little action, but it was still a good one, with the following sleep being equally good.

At least, until a series of beeps woke me up. On instinct, I sat bolt upright and reached for the nightstand where my pistol, watch, wallet, and a few other items sat—with one being a sat phone, identical to the one I gave Thalia.

Yes, I can use a phone without attracting monsters, thanks to the loss of my scent (if that's even what it's called). Groggily, I snatched the sat phone and picked up the call.

"Thalia goddamn Grace, it's freakin' zero twenty-two. Why the hell—" I began admonishing her, halting as she began rambling. As she continued her explanation, I felt myself fully wake up. "Okay, okay, slow down! You're telling me... he's what? ... they're... dammit. Look, I'm not sure... okay, just stand by real quick, okay?"

As I put her on hold to assess the situation, my personal cell phone began buzzing. A glance revealed a caller ID I was 100% sure wasn't in my contacts: "Anvil."

"Ah, there you are!" the god of blacksmithing said as I picked up.

"What's the issue... sir?" I asked through gritted teeth, keeping my tone as civil as I could.

"I believe Lieutenant Grace just contacted you about the North McCullough Wilderness in Nevada, correct? And yes, I've known for the past-half hour. I was experimenting with some different mortal technologies when I discovered the incident. I have a selection of equipment you would find useful in this situation. They will be appearing in your locker in a few moments. Good luck."

"Thalia?" I asked, picking up the sat phone after Vulcan hung up. "Yeah, I'm on my way. Just... I don't know, work the damn problem! I'll be there in a bit!"

"Is there a problem, Percy?" Tyson asked, having woken up at the sounds of my conversation and me jumping around like an idiot, changing.

"Shit's hit the fan, Tyson. I gotta go to Nevada," I replied as I wrenched on my cammies (which were still out, dirty, and bloody from Operation Azrael) and reached for my plate carrier.

"Wait, what? I'll come too!"

"Bro, it's gonna be dangerous!"

"Which is why you cannot go in alone!" Tyson shot back as he began changing with me, throwing on jeans and a flannel shirt before grabbing his tool belt and a backpack—not unlike the ones he had with him on Operation Azrael and during CTF.

"Dammit, fine! Radio on the belt, button on your backpack!" I warned, tossing him a comms system—radio, push-to-talk button, ComTacs, and the necessary cords—that he caught and put on. "Get Mrs. O'Leary prepped for travel!"

"Okay!" he acknowledged, dashing for the door while I finished clothing myself and opened the footlocker. The throwables, small transponders, and comms systems made sense. So did the shotgun and grenade launcher. So did the weird-ass ammo and load-bearing vest with spaces for enough forty mike-mike to demolish a few city blocks. Not the behemoth of a pistol... which was apparently supposed to be my primary.

We in Blackbeard call it the Snake Gun. SOCOM calls it the MK23.

"The hell...?" I muttered before shaking it off. It's not like I hadn't been in situations where I used a pistol as my primary (Tier 1 is just like that sometimes; even ACE does it), it's just that I didn't want to be in those situations. Unfortunately for me, this situation called for it, so I adjusted my kit appropriately before shoving the rest into a duffel bag and my Glock into the footlocker.

"Percy!" Tyson hissed as I stepped out to meet him and Mrs. O'Leary. "Where are we going?"

"Okay, girl. You gotta get us to Nevada. North McCullough Wilderness, okay? You remember Thalia? We gotta go to her!" I explained. "Okay, find Thalia! The Hunters! Diana! You got it?"

The Fur Tank gave a "ruff" that I hoped was dog-speak for "affirmative." Giving her a pat on the side, I hoisted myself up with some assistance from my brother, holding on tight.

"Let's go, girl!" Tyson urged, Mrs. O'Leary obeying and charging for the massive shadows of Zeus Cabin. As for me, I braced for the gut-wrenching form of travel I hadn't experienced in two decades—transportation we had to use to save our friends' asses.

A SEAL, a blacksmith, and the Fur Tank... it's about to get busier than a three-legged cat covering four piles on a greased ice rink.

Eleni - "variation of the beautiful Helen"

Krateros - "one who is powerful"

Sofia - "means 'wisdom' in Greek; a wise woman"

(according to www.momjunction.com)

Percy may be a DEVGRU operator, troop commander, and twenty-year sailor, but he's a little cuckoo from time to time (at least, in the eyes of people that haven't seen him in twenty years). Except for Tyson, who just goes with the flow like a boss.

Didn't take Thalia too long to call in some gunfighting backup, eh? Seriously, you put the Hunt up against an equally sized modern force—not even SOF, but Army/Marine infantry—they'd get massacred. Teenage girls with bows versus a bunch of young men with drinking problems and machine guns (to paraphrase "The Fat Electrician" on YouTube)? Nope. I'm pretty sure the Hunt would get curb-stomped by Roman legionaries in a head-to-head fight too (discounting forest environments and some night ops).

Also, I can't say this enough, but the enablers are as critical as the operators! From cooks to cryptologists, from electricians to engineers, from supply to signal, the CS/CSS personnel keep the ass-kickers lethal!

Thanks for reading and make sure to leave a comment, good or bad! Coming up is something related to following the damn train (no actual trains, though. Sorry to all railway fans).

Until next time,

- ADF-2