'Unexpected'

28-Nov-2030, 0217U

LCDR Percy Jackson, US Navy, Son of Neptune

Joint Operation with Task Force 101 and Legio XII Fulminata

Mojave Desert, California, USA

"Motherfucker," I groaned as I sat up, my head reeling from getting knocked on my ass by another cinematic-level shockwave—somehow without getting yeeted 15 feet up in the air. But I quickly regained my senses when I realized that Damasen was about to swing his sword. I raised my rifle and fired every round I had, all appearing to hit in the upper center mass and head, catching the 20-foot giant by surprise. But while it certainly diverted his attention, it didn't even scratch him, as most of the rounds impacted his armor.

"Good morning, son of Poseidon," he greeted. "I am pleased that you have decided to present me with a proper challenge."

"You sure about that? She's a goddess. I ain't."

"Your ridiculous grammar aside, immortality does not make one dangerous: simply more difficult to kill."

"Fuck," I cursed as Damasen began walking towards me, reminding me of Darth Vader in Rogue One: ready to slaughter like it was just another Thursday. But the Maeonian Drakon was a big problem, and so was the fact that Camp Jupiter and New Rome were under attack. As I scrambled backwards, trying to get on my feet, I made the call to finish this shit before it could get out of hand. "All Yankees, deploy nine-bangs."

"You heard the man. Nine-bangs out, go!" Reyna commanded from my left, pulling out one of her own flashbangs and hurling it at Damasen, with many others following suit—frags weren't the best idea here, considering we were inside the kill radius—but it worked, blinding the giant with bright light and consequential smoke while the rest of us ran backwards to a safe distance (thought I was seeing spots too, though likely to a lesser extent than Damasen). Reyna then gave another order. "Frags out!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Annabeth hurriedly called, but it was too late. Everyone tossed their fragmentation grenades, and those with M203s or M320s began firing 40-mm grenades for additional effect. Once nobody had any more frags or forty mike-mike, they transitioned to their long-distance cordless hole-punchers. Rifles, machine guns, miniguns, and even pistols in the hands of legionaries, gods, and Torrent Troopers opened up on the bane of Ares, determined to bring down the giant. Truthfully, I didn't want to kill him. But this was not the Damasen I'd met in Tartarus. He was possessed, or he'd simply been reborn with a new mindset: the same mindset of Polybotes, Enceladus, and every other giant that wanted us dead on their parents' behalf.

"Cease fire, cease fire!" Frank called, with the barrage quickly coming to a halt. The turret gunners fed new belts of ammo into their miniguns, others replaced the magazines in their rifles and pistols. A big cloud of dust and smoke was all that remained where Damasen once stood, now disintegrated after dozens of grenades and thousands of rounds... or so we thought.

"No... no fuckin' way he's still up," Leo gasped on the radio in horror as Damasen slowly emerged from the smoke, his armor severely dented and covered in burn marks from the impact of the bullets and shrapnel. But he was very much alive, and judging by the low growl, he was pissed off. "1-1, any ideas?"

Fuck it.

"All AFO teams, handle the drakon and other minions. 4-2 and I'll take care of Bowser here."

"The hell? You can't be serious!" Joker exclaimed on the team net.

"I'm not asking, 1-6. Break contact and go!" I ordered as I ran southward towards Annabeth, shooting at Damasen the whole time to get his attention... and miraculously, it worked, with the smoking giant lumbering towards me while the rest of Yankee, along with our supporting X-Ray guys, ran for the vehicles and began driving after the Maeonian Drakon. "Annabeth, get up!"

"Fuck!" she hissed as I yanked her onto her feet with her plate carrier, before dragging her southward as Damasen continued after us, still not running. "Percy, it's—"

"I know, goddammit, I know! But fuckin' run!"

"Do not make this difficult, Perseus Jackson," Damasen boomed as he quickened his strides, brandishing his drakon-bone sword as we ran southward. The current situation was comical: like Mystery Incorporated, we split up, with us diverting the big boss's attention while our teammates went to complete other objectives. And for some inexplicable reason, Damasen was still focused on trying to kill us.

"Percy, he's possessed!" Annabeth shouted. "It's the same thing that got Nico, remember?"

"It doesn't matter if he's possessed: he's still trying to kill us, and we don't have anything to beat it out of him with!" I shot back, getting on the radio to call Bossman 3: we needed some serious help. "Bossman 3, this is Yankee 1-1! We need fire support on a Priority Yellow Target, over!"

"Yankee 1-1, what is the target, over?" Bossman 3 asked.

"It's a fuckin' giant! Damasen, bane of Ares! Get me some fire support!"

There was a brief pause as the DCG-O contemplated my words, potentially trying to use his P-3's ISR systems to get eyes on my position. And finally, he responded.

"Stand by, 1-1."

"Fuck it. Go left!" I told Annabeth as I broke off, moving right, once again splitting up to try and divide Damasen's attention. And it worked... for all of ten seconds.

"Young fools," Damasen chuckled as he raised his empty hand and formed a fist. The ground shook—not as severe as before, but definitely enough to catch me off-guard—before sinkholes the size of Smart Cars formed around Annabeth and I, and angry-looking six-armed Earthborn crawled out of them. They weren't armored, thankfully, but they were still ready for combat.

"WHERE YAY-SON?! KILL YAY-SON!!"

"Slaughter these companions of Jason," Damasen ordered, pointing his sword towards me and his left index finger towards Annabeth.

"KILL FRIENDS OF YAY-SON!!" the Earthborn bellowed, with a handful each charging me and Annabeth. I had no idea why these weirdos had such a hard-on for murdering Jason, but I didn't care: they were still going to kill me since I was his associate, so it was time to fight. A small part of me wondered why Damasen didn't just kill us himself, since it would certainly end the fight quicker, but I supposed he preferred to delegate, working smarter, not harder.

Perhaps he could rival Minerva-slash-Athena as well...

At first, I walked backwards while shooting the charging monsters, dropping three of the five that first ran at me. But these guys were tough, requiring lots of 5.56 to kill. When my Noveske ran dry, I switched to my Glock, with the monsters' toughness, the stress of the situation, and the fact that I was now jogging backwards resulting in me magdumping in order to drop the fourth monster. The fifth was getting close, way too close, and he had transformed his arms into jagged stone blades, whirling them around like a mutated, rock monster General Grievous.

With no time to reload my primary or secondary, I drew Riptide, dropped to my knees, and stabbed the fucker right in the gut, making him roar and double over in pain. Rolling out of the way of his arms, I slashed the back of his left knee before scrambling to my feet and stabbing him again in the back, finally making him melt into a pile of clay.

Wait... I just used a pen to kill someone. But the pen had turned into a sword... so how does that fit into the whole "the pen is mightier than the sword" concept?

My hypotheticals aside, I used the moment to breathe, stow away my sword, and reload my firearms... just in time for two more Earthborn to emerge from the ground ten yards in front of me. Thankfully, they were stupid enough to be right next to each other. I flipped the giggle switch to full auto—or as CNN and LTG Mark Hertling (Ret.) described its civilian counterpart, "full semi-automatic"—and let loose with a precise and accurate 30-round burst, turning the short-lived dynamic duo into Swiss cheese (before they dissolved into clay, of course).

It's like General MacArthur said: "Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never encountered automatic weapons."

"Yankee 1-1, Bossman 3," the DCG-O called. "We have two platoons from Delta Troop pushing towards you at this time. Delta 2 is a scout platoon and lead force, Delta 4 is the MGS platoon. Patching you through now."

"Yankee 1-1, this is Delta 2-6," the scout platoon leader called. "Heard you could use some help. We're five mikes east of you. What's the situation, over?"

"Delta 2-6, Yankee 1-1. Friendlies are a two-man team marked by strobes! We've got Earthborn coming at us from multiple directions and a heavily armored giant one hundred yards and closing, all well inside danger close!" I replied, as more Gegeines crawled out of the earth, rushing me.

"Roger that. We'll reach a standoff distance and dismount. Just sit tight. Out."

"Damasen, why are you doing this?!" Annabeth yelled as she dropped another Earthborn with her rifle. "You're a peaceful giant!"

"I will not entertain your childish questions by monologuing!" Damasen replied. "You are my enemy, and my enemies shall be vanquished!"

"You're our friend, Damasen! Please stop!"

"SILENCE!! I have had enough of your nonsense."

Damasen then began stepping towards an increasingly overwhelmed Annabeth, making me break into a run as I shifted my attention and sights toward the irritated giant. I could only get off a few shots before I heard a battlecry behind me.

"KILL FRIEND OF YAY-SON!!"

"Fuck off!!" I shouted back, turning and shooting the son of a bitch dead, switching to my pistol to dispatch an additional monster before breaking into a run to assist my friend... who still seemed to be trying to reason with the evidently unreasonable Damasen.

Gotta give him credit, though: he doesn't want to do any dumbass monologuing... all his brothers could learn a thing or two from him.

"Hey, fuckface!" I shouted once I got close enough, taking aim and magdumping my Noveske into Damasen's back. It got his attention, but I had a new problem: I was officially out of 5.56, and I only had one mag left for my Glock, plus one in the magwell.

"So uncivilized," he grumbled as he broke into a run, charging me head-on with his sword and making me curse as I just barely dove out of the way, running for it. Now, I was trying to engage the literal war giant with a pistol... and I sure as shit didn't have enough skill to properly use Riptide against him. And the Strykers were nowhere to be seen.

"Yankee 1-1, this is Delta 4-6, approaching from the east," the MGS platoon leader suddenly called. "We have eyes on your strobes. Looks like a lot of infantry closing in from the north and south. We are fully loaded with sabot, HEAT, HEP, and canister shot rounds, over."

Now, I'll admit, I wasn't terribly familiar with these terms—this is some Army shit, and some Stryker BCT shit too—but from my prior understanding and what the Torrent Troopers explained, the sabot rounds (short for armor-piercing fin-stabilized discarding sabot, the most common modern kinetic energy penetrator munition) are meant for punching through heavily armored vehicles; the high explosive anti-tank rounds are also meant for penetrating armor (though they can't penetrate as much as a sabot round), while simultaneously taking out personnel inside the vehicles; the high explosive plastic rounds are meant for anti-structure and anti-fortification work; and the canister shot rounds are used against enemy infantry in the open or behind light cover.

"Delta 4-6, fire mission, danger close! Canister shot on infantry, HEAT on the giant! No mark, over!" I requested, just barely recalling the MGS platoons' capabilities.

"Copy. Hit the deck. Engaging."

"4-2, get down, get down!" I shouted as I flattened myself against the ground, bracing for impact as four shots rang out, rattling my eardrums yet again (I probably had low-grade tinnitus by this point). Many of the charging Earthborn furthest from us were suddenly turned into clay fragments, shredded by the canister shot. The closer ones, stunned by the sudden attack, halted in their tracks just long enough for me to begin crawling away from them, giving the assault guns more room to work. Damasen, meanwhile, was hit by two HEAT rounds in rapid succession, knocking him to the ground.

"Delta 4-6, Yankee 1-1. Rounds on target! Fire for effect, over!"

"Roger, firing for effect," Delta 4's leader acknowledged, with his Strykers continuing the barrage, firing additional canister shot and HEAT rounds. At some point during the volleys, the MGS platoon began focusing on the enemy infantry—as Damasen appeared to be down for the count after being hit by a total of six HEAT rounds—switching to their coaxial M240s. Joining the attack were the dismounted recce squads, spread out and keeping out of the assault guns' lines of fire. At what appeared to be 5 football fields away, the dismounted Torrent Troopers went to prone or kneeling positions and began opening up on the enemy infantry with small arms. Further behind them, the four Reconnaissance Vehicles of Delta 2 were similarly attacking enemy foot-mobiles with their M2s and MK19s, and were doing a fantastic job of clearing the area. And all the while, Annabeth and I were low-crawling towards friendly forces while trying to stay out of the way of their weapon systems.

But things started going from bad to worse when the ground shook yet again, and the Strykers started sinking into the ground. The earth erupted with Gegeines, who surrounded the dismounted Torrent Troopers in a close ambush. I looked back to see Damasen slowly standing, a low, animalistic growl emanating from him. His sword and shield had been obliterated by the HEAT rounds that hit him, though the spear on his back still seemed to be intact. His breastplate was burned, shredded, and dented, but still seemed to maintain some structural integrity. His helmet, however, was mangled beyond repair, so he ripped it off, revealing his furious expression. His black eyes seemed to glow, almost purplish like a crime scene investigator's blacklight.

"Seize the son of Poseidon," he ordered as he stomped forward, making a beeline for Annabeth. For a moment, she looked as though she wanted to try and talk to Damasen, maybe coax his old self out. But if my encounter with the possessed Nico di Angelo revealed anything, it's that talking didn't mean shit. The spirit had to quite literally be beaten out of the victim. And if half a dozen HEAT rounds couldn't do it...

Even more Earthborn proceeded to crawl out of the ground, this time right next to me so that they could lift me up and body-slam me face-down to the dirt before restraining me. After watching my takedown, Annabeth's countenance revealed that she'd switched from negotiator to fighter in an instant, but not fast enough: Damasen reached her first, kicking her MK12 from her grasp and pinning her to the ground with his left hand. His right hand unsheathed his dagger, which looked more like a goddamn machete. The blade was bronze and black, with the specific design looking oddly familiar...

Wait a minute... Killdeer.

But before I could process what was happening, he stabbed Annabeth with the blade, right in the gut beneath her armor plate. She let out a high-pitched gasp, probably because she had too much pressure on her chest to scream properly, letting out a second when he twisted the blade before yanking it out, leaving a massive wound leaking ichor like a busted dam. I fought the Earthborn holding me down, but the fuckers were too strong. It didn't matter that Annabeth was a goddess now: even immortals could be hurt, and that had the potential to seriously fuck her up.

Wait, can gods go into shock... why the fuck am I thinking this?

Damasen paused for a moment, seeming to consider whether or not to draw this out, before finally settling on finishing her off. But one of the MGS Strykers wasn't out of the fight yet, suddenly firing a shot right before the collapsing ground completely imbalanced and sunk the vehicle. The 105-mm assault gun fired, with the round colliding directly with Damasen's face, sending the bane of Ares back a few yards and flat on his back. Judging by the lack of an explosion and the sheer force that slammed into his face, I'm guessing it was a sabot round that hit him.

"HUH?! GENERAL IS DEAD!!" one of the Earthborn restraining Annabeth screamed.

"GENERAL IS DEAD?!" several others asked.

"WHAT WE DO NOW?!" one asked, leading to a moment of silence as the stupid-sounding behemoths tried to work out a plan.

"THEY FRIENDS OF YAY-SON!!" one correctly (and unfortunately) pointed out. "FRIENDS OF YAY-SON DIE!!"

"KILL FRIENDS OF YAY-SON!!" they bellowed. Seriously, why in the fuck did all of these weirdos want to kill Jason? What did the blond Grace do to them?

"WAIT, GENERAL SAID SPARE THIS ONE!!" one of the Earthborn holding me piped up. "BUT... FRIEND OF YAY-SON!!"

"SON OF POSEIDON ALIVE!! OTHERS DIE!!" the ugliest (somehow) visible one commanded. "KILL OTHER FRIENDS OF YAY-SON, THEN FIND YAY-SON, THEN KILL YAY-SON!!"

"KILL YAY-SON!!" they screamed in unison.

"HALT, MINIONS!!" a deep, strong voice thundered, making my heart drop. Damasen had been hit with probably at least 100 rounds of 5.56; miscellaneous 40-mm, .50-cal, and 7.62; half a dozen HEAT rounds; and a SABOT ROUND TO THE FUCKING FACE! But he was still up and alive. His face was horribly disfigured by the direct hit by the "dart ammo" (as I've heard some Army guys call it), with ichor leaking from his wounds. But he was definitely alive.

"GENERAL, YOU LIVE?!" one Earthborn gasped dramatically.

"Back away!!" Damasen ordered, picking up his dagger and slowly approaching the downed Annabeth. "I will deal with this goddess slime myself."

"God-fuckin'-dammit, Damasen!" I shouted, frustrated and desperate to the point of resorting to idiotic and dramatic actions. "You can't execute her like that, it's not who you are! She's your friend, for Pete's sake!"

"You are mistaken, son of Poseidon," the giant replied, almost somberly, not pulling his eyes from Annabeth while the Earthborn restraining me pressed me further into the dirt, even lifting my head up and slamming my face into the ground for added effect. "I was destined to kill Ares. Practicing warfare and inflicting death are part of me. And we were never friends."

At that moment, I braced myself as I felt my heart sink. I would have to bury yet another friend, and all I could do was watch as Damasen gutted her like a fish or potentially beheaded her. He raised his dagger to strike the killing blow, bringing an end to the young goddess.

"GENERAL, WHAT HAPPENING?!" one of the Earthborn suddenly shouted as he began sinking into the ground, with many of his compatriots undergoing the same problem, including two of the three pinning me to the ground. Quick as a flash, Damasen beheaded the two Gegeines holding Annabeth down with his knife and hurled it at the face of the monster gripping my skull, killing him immediately. The giant then pulled his drakon-bone spear off his back and threw it like a javelin at several Earthborn near the trapped Torrent Troopers. The Earthborn just happened to be perfectly aligned—if they were walking together, they would be like the Sand People trying to conceal their numbers—and the spear was thrown with such force that passed through all seven of them, making the last of the six-armed monsters melt into a pile of clay.

Raising both of his arms like he was using the Force, Damasen utilized his geokinetic abilities once more, this time freeing the dismounted Torrent Troopers and the Strykers from the earth, raising them out of the sinkholes. I slowly got to one knee, groaning from getting body-slammed by a big-ass monster, but my hand stayed close to my holstered sidearm. The bane of Ares was now acting in our interests, but it wasn't confirmed whether he was friendly yet.

"As I said, Perseus Jackson," Damasen began, looking me in the eyes. Any trace of the possessing spirit was gone, as the whites of his eyes had returned. "We were never friends, but we were allies. Annabeth Chase helped me change my fate and escape my curse—even if it did lead to my death, albeit a glorious one, at the hands of my father in his wretched domain—and as her brother-in-arms, you did too."

"Holy fuck... and here I thought you'd go neutral: you n' Bob saved our skins down in that hellhole, figured we were even after that, so you'd want nothing to do with us."

"Considering that I drew you into a war on multiple fronts and stabbed your friend, I believe it is only just that I render you some assistance."

"Oh, FUCK!" I cursed, hobbling towards my gravely wounded friend. "Annabeth!"

"There is no way you can save her. She has been poisoned by Theoktónos," Damasen explained. "The 'God-Killer': A concoction of the deadliest venoms and poisons ever known, in addition to some extra ingredients that enhance its deadliness. The alchemy is complex, but it is highly lethal, capable of permanently killing immortals in the most painful manner possible."

"That's great, but can you cure her?"

"Yes, but I lack the necessary equipment... I believe Trivia and Apollo will have the requisite items."

"Bossman 3, this is Yankee 1-1," I called on the radio as I pulled Annabeth's individual first aid kit off her belt and began working on stopping the bleeding. "Yankee 4-2 is down. I say again, Yankee 4-2 is down. Requesting CASEVAC and resupply, over."

"1-1, we are working on it. Stand by."

"Yankee 1-1, Delta 4-6," Delta 4's leader suddenly called. "You are in the line of fire."

"Negative, negative! Do not fire on the giant! I say again, do not fire on Damasen! He is now a friendly, he is now a friendly!" I hurriedly responded before using trauma shears to cut Annabeth's plate carrier off and shirt off, leaving her nearly topless apart from a sports bra. I mentally apologized to my old friend before continuing the mission.

"Say again your last, over."

"The giant is friendly, the giant is friendly, the giant is friendly! Disengage, over!"

"... roger, the giant is friendly. Passing it on, out."

"Yankee 1-1, this is Delta 2-6... how do you know he's friendly?" Delta 2's leader asked.

"3-6, I can confirm that he was possessed. The possessing spirit was knocked out of him by that sabot round to the face. We're all clear."

"1-1, there's an issue: eidolons cannot possess giants, over."

"Yeah, I know... but I've seen this before. It's not an eidolon, but it's something else."

"Phantasmata," Damasen suddenly said as he knelt to assist with treating Annabeth, using a chest seal to... well, seal the gaping wound in her abdomen. "'Phantoms,' sometimes called 'fures mentium,' or 'thieves of minds.' The spirits are ancient, birthed before the gods, before the giants, before the Titans... and can possess anyone and anything, short of Primordials and only the eldest and deadliest of lesser beings, unlike their weaker and well-known descendants, the eidolons."

"Wait a tick... that's why Trivia said they were unnamed spirits," I realized, recalling what the Titaness/goddess of magic told me after Hazel, Frank, Reyna, Tyson, and I took down the bloodlust possessed Nico in Nevada. "This shit predates her? How old are these fuckheads? And who the fuck gave birth to 'em?"

"That... I am not entirely sure. My memories are still blurred: I can recall the final battle alongside Iapetus and his pet against my father, our meeting in my home, and some of my past life... but there is much I am still unable to remember."

"Fuck it. Okay, focus on rendering aid," I said, before remembering a crucial detail. I switched to the AFO net and made another call. "All AFO teams, this is Yankee 1-1. Be advised, the giant threat is gone. Damasen is friendly. I say again, Damasen is friendly, over."

"Roger, 1-1!" Frank shouted over a storm of gunfire and explosions in the background. "Any casualties, over?"

"Affirmative, but focus on the drakon, 2-1."

"Uh... okay, understood! Yankee 2-1 out!"

"Sir! Prince Perseus!" a new voice called out, its owner running towards me: a Torrent Trooper from one of the recce squads, clad in DCUs and carrying what looked like a tricked-out M14 (what was it called, an M21?). "Sir, are you secure?"

"Yeah, we're good. Damasen's an ally," I assured. "Don't worry, we're good. Status?"

"Everyone is wounded to some extent, but most can continue the mission. We have nine crewmen that need replacements, though they are ambulatory and would be priority 'Delta' on a nine-line. The cav scouts can take over, but we'll need additional manpower to fill the gap."

"Okay, go ahead and help Damasen with Annabeth," I ordered before getting back on the radio to transmit a proper 9-line. "Bossman 3, Yankee 1-1. CASEVAC request follows, over."

"Yankee 1-1, Bossman 3. Send it."

First, I had to give my coordinates.

"Line 1: 11-Sierra-Papa-Uniform-5-9er-3-4-8-6-6-2-6-2."

Next, I had to give my frequency and callsign.

"Line 2: 1-0-1, Yankee 1-1."

Next, I had to list the number of patients and their priorities: "Alpha" for urgent (worst-case scenario), "Bravo" for urgent-surgical (worst-case scenario, but surgery needed upon landing), "Charlie" for priority (bad, but not worst-case scenario), "Delta" for routine (evac needed, but not life-threatening), and "Echo" for convenience (only come by if in the area).

"Line 3: Bravo-1, Delta-9er."

Next, I had to say whether any special equipment was necessary: "Alpha" for none, "Bravo" for hoist, "Charlie" for extraction equipment, "Delta" for ventilator.

"Line 4: Alpha."

Next, I had to list how many patients required litters and/or how many were ambulatory: "Lima" for litter, "Alpha" for ambulatory.

"Line 5: Lima-1, Alpha-9er."

"Roger that, CASEVAC birds are away," Bossman 3 called—only the first five lines were sent before the birds were transmitted, with the last being sent while the birds were en route and almost at the pickup zone. "Ozark 6 is pushing towards your pos, loaded for bear with CSAR team and speedballs for your small arms, light weapons, and assault guns. Patching you through now."

"Yankee 1-1, this is Ozark 6-1," the lead helicopter—in a flight of two CH-47Ds—called. "We're six mikes out. Requesting Line 6 of nine-line, over."

Line 6 referred to the security of the PZ: "November" meant no enemy present, "Papa" meant possible enemy present, "Echo" meant enemy present, and "X-Ray" meant an armed escort was required.

"Roger, Ozark. Line 6: November."

"I copy November. Sit tight, we're en route. What the SITREP on your circumstances, over?"

"Ozark 6-1, we have ten men down, and we need nine replacements along with the CASEVAC, over."

"Interrogative: vehicle crewmen or cav scouts, over?"

"Uh... that'll be actual cav scouts. The ones we've got can man the vehicles, but the scouts need replacements, over."

"Yankee 1-1, this is Ozark 6-2," the other Chinook called. "We copy your last. We'll unload part of our chalk to reinforce the ground units, over."

"Appreciate it, 6-2. Out," I replied before looking towards Annabeth. Her face was pale and sweaty, and her breathing was labored. Taking off her left glove, I gave her hand a squeeze, trying to be reassuring. "CASEVAC's en route. Just hang on."

"Prince Perseus, the seal is properly applied and we have stopped the bleeding," the Torrent Trooper reported. "But Lady Sofia requires proper physicians and surgeons."

"Okay, I got it. Damasen, you better get your ass to the CASH. Probably can't fit in the bird, so you're gonna have to hoof it there," I said, removing Annabeth's IR strobe from her helmet and tossing it to him. "Here, you better get this on your person. Strobes are no-shoots."

"Very well," Damasen acknowledged, carefully holding the strobe, which looked miniscule in his massive hand. "And what is this 'CASH' you speak of?"

"Combat support hospital. And yes, the acronym is a little goofy."

"Understood."

"D-Damasen?" Annabeth coughed, making the giant look towards her. "A-are you okay?"

"I am free of the phantasma, Annabeth Chase," he reassured, his tone and countenance somber. "And... I apologize for wounding you. But worry not: I can easily rectify this within an hour's time."

"Th-thanks for that..."

"Just keep breathing, Wise Girl," I urged, squeezing her hand. "You'll make it out."

"Seaweed Brain? D-did you cut my shirt off? I f-feel naked."

"Uh... yeah? What else was I supposed to do? Besides, you've still got your bra on."

"Heh... fuckin' perv. Got a nice look, did you?"

"Do not come at me with that, Wiseass," I shot back, not joking in the slightest with that reply... though she didn't seem to catch on, given that she let out a raspy chuckle. Granted, she'd lost quite a bit of blood and was loopy, but that insinuation was still a little too much

Can't blame her, though... she doesn't exactly know what I've been up to for the past two decades.

"Aw... don't think I'm cute, Perce?" she teased, not an ounce of seriousness in her voice.

"Annabeth Chase, shut the fuck up or I'll find a way to get your baby pictures from your father and blast them all over CJ, CHB, New Rome, Olympus, the Seven Seas, and the Underworld."

"... asshole."

Let's just say that it reached into a personal part of my life that I wasn't ready to discuss with her... or really anyone from the mythological part of my life, for that matter.

"Yankee 1-1, this is Ozark 6-1," the Chinook pilot called, making me breathe a sigh of relief. "We're two mikes out. Send the last three lines, over."

"Roger, Ozark 6-1," I acknowledged, activating my rifle's IR laser and lassoing it. For the seventh line, I had to mark the PZ: "Alpha" for panels, "Bravo" for pyrotechnics (flares), "Charlie" for smoke, "Delta" for none, and "Echo" for other methods (like a lassoing laser).

"Line 7: Echo, lassoing laser."

For the eighth line, I had to designate the patients' nationality and status: "Alpha" for US military, "Bravo" for US civilian, "Charlie" for non-US military, "Delta" for non-US civilian, and "Echo" for an enemy POW. Obviously, none of us (barring myself) were actual US military, but since we had formed up into a joint task force under a joint headquarters, all of us were effectively "Alphas." "Bravos" would be the noncombatants inside New Rome, "Charlies" would be any mortal military personnel/first responders that just so happened to respond to us (or, I suppose, any mythological warriors allied with us... such as Damasen, if he required CASEVAC, I suppose), "Deltas" would be any mortal civilians, and "Echos" were still enemy POWs.

"Line 8: Alpha-10."

For the final line, I had to say if there was any nuclear, biological or chemical contamination: "November" for nuclear, "Bravo" for biological, and "Charlie" for chemical (oh, and "None" for... you guessed it, none!). And no, I have no idea why there's no designator for radiological or even explosive threats, considering that both are underneath the giant CBRNE umbrella. But hey, what do I know about military doctrine? I'm just an O-4.

"Line 9: None."

"Ozark 6 copies all. We have eyes on your laser... thirty seconds out."

"Roger," I acknowledged before contacting the recce platoon leader. "Delta 2-6, be advised, Ozark 6 is thirty seconds out! Get your boys ready for CASEVAC!"

"Acknowledged," Delta 2-6 replied. "We're getting them ready."

"Delta 4-6, how're you doing on ammo, over?"

"Yankee 1-1, Delta 4 is pretty close to winchester on our main guns," the MGS platoon leader reported. "But we've got plenty for our co-axes and commanders' weapons, over."

"Roger, 4-6. We've got resupply coming in, so just hang on."

"Yankee 1-1, Ozark 6-1 is flaring for landing," the pilot called as the nose of the Chinook pointed upwards, slowing its descent and allowing it to attain a near zero-speed touchdown.

"Ozark 6-2, flaring for landing," the other added, as it too flared for landing around 50 yards to the left of Ozark 6-1. Not even five seconds after they touched down, a total of 50 Torrent Troopers poured out of the open rear ramps, a dozen from 6-1 and the rest from 6-2. Ozark 6-1's chalk split, with three cyclopes running towards me and the rest towards the Strykers. Half a dozen cyclopes from Ozark 6-2's chalk were also running towards Strykers carrying some body bags (the speedballs loaded with ammunition) and ammo cans, while the other 32 Torrent Troopers had established a wide perimeter around the LZ.

"Sir, I'm Allan, the CSAR team leader!" one of the cyclopes running up to me said. He briefly took a look at Damasen before assessing that he wasn't a threat and focusing on Annabeth. The other cyclopes began unfolding the litter while the first began assessing the situation at hand, then looking at me, with his raised monocular NOD allowing me to see right into his blue eye. "Prince Perseus, I need you to keep her spine aligned while John and I roll her onto the litter and Gaius moves the litter underneath her."

"You got it," I replied, having done this dozens, if not hundreds, of times before. I positioned myself so that I could keep her C-spine aligned and her head secured. "Ready."

"Three, two, one, go!" Allan commanded, and with no trouble at all, Annabeth was on the litter. Allan and Gaius began securing her while John appeared to check her pulse. "John?"

"Increased pulse due to the loss of blood... checking blood pressure," he replied before pulling a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff out of his bag. And after around thirty seconds of checking, he had made a decision. "Very low blood pressure. Initiate IV."

"Check," Gaius replied, pulling out an IV kit from his back and disassembling it with lightning speed nearly on par with battle-hardened corpsmen. If Doc and Patch could take a look at them, I'm sure they'd be impressed. John held the bag of fluids while Gaius pulled out the tubing, attached it to the bag and flushed the tubing. Meanwhile, Allan found a vein, disinfected the area, inserted the needle, advanced the catheter, and extracted the needle just in time to attach the preflushed tubing. They flushed the catheter once more, checking for signs of infiltration, before finally sealing and securing the catheter and its connection point with a clear film dressing.

"Ready?" Gaius asked, quickly packing up his equipment before moving to lift the litter.

"Ready!" Allan replied, ready to lift the other end.

"Ready!" John replied, holding the bag of fluids.

"Three, two, one, up!"

The trio began moving her rapidly towards the Chinooks, loading her aboard Ozark 6-1, where the nine wounded Stryker crewmen were also being loaded. I jogged alongside her, giving her one last thumbs-up before she disappeared into the belly of the metal beast. I then ran towards the Strykers with Damasen close behind, where the Torrent Troopers of Delta 2 and Delta 4 were currently restocking on ammo. One Torrent Trooper, having taken his share, tossed a mostly empty body bag towards me that contained eight more mags of 5.56 for my Noveske; two mags of 9-mm for my Glock; spare batteries for my headlamp, laser, and NODs; three 9-bangs and three frags; and one bottle each of nectar, unicorn draught, and water. I drank about half of the unicorn draught before storing the rest in my rucksack with the bottles of nectar and water, and I practically felt in top form.

Probably still look like shit though... oh well.

"Delta 2-6, Yankee 1-1. Do you have any spare room on your victors?" I asked on the radio.

"Negative, sir. We are loaded for bear with men and materiel, over," Delta 2's leader replied.

"Check. As soon as you're ready, start pushing northward. AFO teams are gonna need help with the drakon."

"Solid copy. Delta 2-6 out."

"Okay, Damasen," I began, looking up at my 20-ft tall giant ally (not friend, right?). "I have an idea."

"... why do I feel as though you are about to suggest something audacious?"

"Trust me. Trooper!"

"Sir?" one of the cyclopes in Ozark 6-2's chalked replied as I tapped his shoulder.

"Do you have the requisite equipment to carry a sling load to the CASH?"

"I believe so, but I would have to confirm with the crew chiefs."

"Go."

"Perseus Jackson, what exactly are you planning?" Damasen asked warily, glancing between me and the two Chinooks.

"Well... you ever felt like being a marionette?" I replied, grinning up at the giant.

"... what?"

"Sir, we have the requisite rigging for the task!" the Torrent Trooper reported, having returned from a quick powwow with Ozark 6-2's crew chiefs. "But transporting the giant will be problematic... assuming that is your objective."

"It'll get him there the quickest. How fast are your boys?"

"Very fast, sir. But once the bird lifts off, the hookup team will still be stuck here."

"Okay, we can just start running up north."

"Roger."

While a "hookup team"—consisting of a signalman to direct the helicopter, a static discharge man to protect against electrical shock, and a hookup man to actually attach the slings to the cargo hooks—was assembled, Ozark 6-1 lifted off with the ten casualties, hauling ass southward for the CASH (which was far outside of the AO). The detachment from Delta Troop began speeding northward to help take down the Maeonian Drakon. Damasen, meanwhile, was being prepped for a sling load operation as Ozark 6-2's cargo... and he wasn't particularly happy about it. But despite his grumbling, he cooperated with the Torrent Troopers that secured him to the sling pedants that would be the links between him and the Chinook. With enough thick ropes and knots to make an old-timey sailor cry—including slipknots for Damasen's sake, so that he could get loose from the helicopter in a worst-case scenario—Damasen laid flat on his back around 200 yards away from Ozark 6-2 as the hookup team made its final preparation.

"You good there, man?" I asked, trying my absolute hardest not to crack a joke at the disgruntled giant.

"I understand that I severely wounded Annabeth Chase, but this is slightly ridiculous: turning me into a marionette, Perseus Jackson? I would have rathered you behead me," he grunted.

"Sorry, but the CASH is too far away. This is the fastest way to get you there so you can save Annabeth... and anyone else that gets hit by this shit."

"Wait, I just remembered: Otis and Ephialtes have poisoned daggers like mine. They will kill the son of Hades if he is not careful. While their primary objective is to lay waste to New Rome and your Camp Jupiter, they will gladly deviate to kill Nico di Angelo... he indirectly resulted in their humiliation and deaths."

"Sir, back up! We're about to get going!" the signalman shouted as Ozark 6-2 lifted off, with all aboard apart from the three-man hookup team, Damasen, and myself. While the hookup team did their job, I had a message to transmit.

"Bossman 3, this is Yankee 1-1," I called. "Be advised, the giants on the deck in the valley have god-killing weapons. I say again, god-killing weapons in the valley, over."

"Roger, 1-1. Relaying that info now," the Deputy Commanding General-Operations of TF Redeye replied. "We've been monitoring the AFO net. Is it confirmed that Damasen is now a friendly, over?"

"Affirmative, Damasen is now a friendly, and he's marked with an IR strobe. He's being transported to the CASH to heal Yankee 4-2 and provide medical and intel assistance, over."

"Roger that. We'll get a team there to debrief him. I've dispatched a squad from Kilo 3 to extract you and the hookup team, so that you can assist with the drakon, over."

Hearing and feeling the intensity of the Chinook's twin rotors, I glanced fifty yards to my left to see Ozark 6-2 hovering low, obeying the signalman as the hookup man... well, hooked the sling load to the bird with shock protection support from the static discharge man. Once the signalman signaled that the load was hooked up, he motioned for the pilot to take the slack out of the sling legs, with the Chinook slowly moving upwards. After confirming that the load and rigging were good to go and the bird was high enough, the signalman gave the takeoff signal in the direction of the CASH. And just like that, Ozark 6-2 was away, with a very pissed-off Damasen slung beneath the heavy-lift helicopter.

"Holy fuck," I muttered, glancing at my watch. "You... you guys took care of that in nine minutes, from me making the call to now. Fuckin' incredible."

"Thank you, sir!" the 3-man hookup team replied simultaneously, the cyclops warriors giving me wide grins, reminding me of Tyson whenever I gave him an "attaboy." Seriously, the cyclopes get a bad rap, especially the guys under Tyson's command: a bunch of wholesome, peanut butter-loving goofballs that could shoot you, skewer you, blow you up, or just rip you apart with their bare hands if you were a target. Plus, they were able to quickly adapt to the ways of modern warfare, which made them even more impressive. That sling load operation just now? I dare say these guys could run with the elite within the 101st Airborne and 160th SOAR.

"Alright, boys... there's a squad coming to pick me up and get me back in the fight. Now I know you guys are technically the security element for the CSAR team, so I've got no real authority or right to order you guys to come with me... but I'm asking," I said bluntly. "So if you want to wait on the Ozarks to pick you up, you can."

"Sir, we're Torrent Troopers," the signalman said, his grip tightening on his M16. "General Tyson didn't draft us, we volunteered. We know what we signed up for. If there are seats, we will take them and join you."

"I second that," the hookup man said, grinning as he tapped his M79.

"Yup," the static discharge man concurred, giving me a thumbs-up. "As the mortals say... we're here to 'kick ass and take names... and we're all out of names.'"

"Yankee 1-1, Bossman 3. Kilo 3-3 is thirty seconds out," the DCG-O called. "Four Humvees from the east, loaded for bear. Is the hookup team coming with you, over?"

"That's affirmative, Bossman 3," I replied with a smile. "They wanna fight."

"Roger that. Patching you through to Kilo 3-3 now."

"Yankee 1-1, this is Kilo 3-3," a familiar voice greeted. "Get ready to mount up fast. We've got one spare seat per vehicle, over."

"Roger, Kilo 3-3. Which victor is yours, over?"

"If by 'victor,' you mean vehicle, jump in the second."

"Copy that," I replied, turning towards the Torrent Troopers before looking out at the approaching uparmored Humvees. "One man per vehicle. I'm in the second. Pick one."

"Yessir!" they replied as the convoy came to a screeching halt. We rushed to the vehicles as one door per vehicle opened up, with me jumping into the rear left seat of the second vehicle, with the squad leader in the shotgun seat being none other than Sherman Yang, all kitted up like his sister and brother-in-law. Torrent Troopers manned the driver's seat and .50-cal turret, while none other than Travis Stoll sat next to me in the back.

"Good to see you Jackson!" he greeted before turning towards his driver and getting on the radio. "Alright, let's go, let's go!"

"Hey, Perce!" Travis said, giving me a fist-bump and mischievous grin. "Good day so far?"

"Well, Annabeth and nine Torrent Troopers had to be CASEVAC-ed, but it looks like they're in good hands," I replied, making the son of Hermes shrug his shoulders. "You?"

"Eh, she's got plot armor. Not as much as you, but definitely enough. I helped establish a shitload of landmines and C-wire, so I've definitely helped fuck up the enemy's infrastructure... another successful sabotage. Hermes Cabin, three, Ares Cabin, zilch."

"Shut the fuck up Stoll, and focus up!" Sherman ordered before turning back to look at me. "Okay, looks like we got a detachment of the cavalry troop already en route. We're gonna be catching up with them pretty soon, then we can move in on the drakon together."

"I like it."

"So what happens if the damn thing's already dead before we arrive?"

"Then... we prosecute targets of opportunity."

"... gods-damn, it's good to have you back, Percy."

That wraps up the evil Damasen episode, with him getting hauled via sling load to the CASH so that he can save Annabeth's life and undergo battlefield interrogation... now, there's the issue of the drakon, Juliet Company's assault on Mount Othrys, and the attack on Camp Jupiter/New Rome. Seriously, does that valley even have a name? Because I can't remember if it does.

And as always, if anyone has any insight into anything that was discussed (Stryker tactics, cavalry scouts, sling load operations, gunfighting, direct fire support, and so on), feel free to let me know how it all sounds. Like I said, I'm just a Tier Zero Armchair Commando doing what I do.

Anyone seen the Black Ops 6 teasers? If you have, let me know what you think! For the first time in a while, I'm excited for a CoD title... not the atrocities that were Vanguard and Modern Warfare III (the reboot, of course). Seriously, the graphics are AMAZING, while the lore is GARBAGE. It's like how Rainbow Six: Siege was written by people who have no idea how military, law enforcement, or even the general principle of counterterrorism works... but they did one or two Google searches and that was enough. Seriously, stop trying to turn these games into fucking Fortnite.

Today is the 80th anniversary of the beginning of Operation Overlord (AKA the Battle of Normandy), more commonly referred to as D-Day. The Allied warfighters took the beaches of Normandy, marking the start of the campaign to liberate Europe from the greatest evil ever known, as well as the beginning of the end of the Third Reich. Remember and celebrate not only the fallen, but the living: the men, part of the Greatest Generation and the pride of their nation, who battled the Axis Powers and fought for freedom.

Know your history. Remember the past, learn lessons from it, and apply it to the present and future... for while we cannot let prior events drag us down, we must remember them as part of our history, and we cannot let the sacrifices of the warfighters be in vain.

https://youtu.be/07ovj1b-KMA

Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!

You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hope and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world.

Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened. He will fight savagely.

But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle, man-to-man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to Victory!

I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full Victory!

Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking.

- General Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Allied Commander