'Trickshot'

28-Nov-2030, 0229U

Jason "Krateros" Grace, Hero of Olympus, Son of Zeus

Joint Operation with Task Force 101 and Legio XII Fulminata

Mojave Desert, California, USA

"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," Percy suddenly called on the AFO net as we chased the rampaging Maeonian Drakon through the mountains within the Mojave Desert.

"Roger, 1-1!" Frank replied, shouting over a storm of gunfire and explosions as everyone tried to kill or at least stop the train-sized beast. "Any casualties, over?"

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

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

In the scramble to load up and chase down the Maeonian Drakon, we'd jumped into the nearest UTV, with Frank and I ending up in one together in the middle row, right beneath the turret gunner blasting away with his minigun as the monster shifted between charging northward and trying to attack our nimble Polaris DAGORs and Light Strike Vehicles. I was shooting too, but if the miniguns, heavy machine guns, and automatic grenade launchers weren't doing shit, my M4 was practically a peashooter.

"Hey, Percy and Annabeth took down Damasen!" Frank shouted over the roar of the engine and minigun.

"I thought he said he was friendly?!" I yelled back.

"Well, they exorcized him, then! Looks like another possession case!"

"That's fantastic, but what the fuck do we do about this drakon?"

"I'm thinking!"

"Think harder!" I shot back, getting on the radio to hail Reyna. "4-1, this is 1-2. Any ideas?"

"We don't have anything that can effectively neutralize a beast of this size!" she replied. "And Spooky 1 won't be back on station for seven minutes!"

"Fuck, what about Longbow or Basher? We need something, damn it!"

"Basher's dealing with armored scorpions attacking the sweep! Longbow's pushing our way, but they need three minutes!"

"Fuck, does anyone have any bright ideas?" Piper asked. "We don't have any grenades left! And the LSVs are running low on forty-millimeter ammo!"

"We're not out of throwables yet! All stations, toss whatever flashbangs, smokes, and thermites you got," Leo ordered, prompting everyone to hurl anything and everything they had at the rampaging drakon, showering it with bright flashes, thick smoke, and a little bit of fire courtesy of the thermite grenades... which seemed to piss it off, making it lash out towards the vehicle Reyna's team was in. But whoever was driving was maneuvering that DAGOR like a pro, putting distance between the UTV and the drakon's teeth as the turret gunner and shooters inside blasted away, putting at least two hundred bullets straight into its face.

"Yankee, this is X-Ray 1-2. We've come to a halt and have a TOW missile ready for launch," a Torrent Trooper called. "Just keep it still, over!"

"X-Ray, this is Yankee 1-2. You need to kill this motherfucker, fast!" I replied as my vehicle's driver just barely got us out of the way of another lunge by the drakon. The drakon, rather than run around, now seemed content to coil up in a defensive posture, lashing out at us with every chance it could. But while we could annoy it and maybe hurt it, we sure as hell couldn't kill it.

"Everyone, back away. Weapons release in five seconds."

"Get back, get back, get back!" Frank ordered, with the other drivers swerving away from the subway-sized-serpent, which began to start burrowing... but not fast enough, with the launched anti-tank missile flying directly into its face, exploding with a bright flash and a big puff of dark smoke. It let out a roar of pain that sounded like the whistle of a train out of hell, making my head ring like a broken doorbell. But of course, we weren't lucky.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" I grumbled as the drakon emerged from the smoke, charging right at the dune buggy a hundred yards south that was responsible for its pain. Thankfully, the cyclops driving that thing was a one-eyed Dale Earnhardt, evading the charging beast as his teammate made it falter with fire from his 40-mm grenade launcher.

"Keep hitting it, keep hitting it!" Frank ordered as the rest of us rejoined the fight, shooting everything we had. As I reloaded my M4, we hit a bump that nearly jolted me out of the DAGOR had Frank not caught my plate carrier and yanked me back it. "Jeez, man! Watch it!"

"This fuckin' thing needs seatbelts!" I shot back as I fired again.

"Wait a minute... everyone, there's a big bowl up north, between Pinto Mountain and Table Top! Can anyone see it?"

"I see it on my ATAK. What's your recommendation, 2-1?" Reyna asked.

"Funnel it into that bowl inside the mountains, keep it contained... the armored sweep is dealing with scorpions right now, and we don't need this thing making it worse!"

"Roger that! All stations start corralling the drakon northward into the bowl between Pinto Mountain and Table Top! We need to buy time!"

"Strong copy, 2-1! Let's go to work!" the probatio known as "Joker" replied. "C'mon, people! Hustle!"

"Yankee 4-1, this is 1-2. Where the hell are the attack helicopters?" I asked Reyna as the drivers, turret gunners, and seated shooters began working on funneling the drakon northward.

"They had to respond to a Priority Red fire mission," she replied after a moment. "Two minute delay, over."

"What? And this isn't Priority Red?"

"I called it in as Yellow. We still have our vehicles and enough ammo to hold."

"Bullshit, call it in as Red! Someone's getting killed, and it's not going to be us! You hear me?!"

"Copy that, Yankee 1-2."

By this point, I was getting dangerously low on ammo. I had two magazines left for my M4, plus two for the pistol on my hip, and I was willing to bet that the rest of the AFO guys were similarly low on ammo.

Wait... "the rest of the AFO guys?" I thought to myself, realizing that I'd forgotten about another asset at our disposal... I just hoped at least one of them could help us, if they all weren't already engaged.

"I've got an idea," I said to Frank as I got on the AFO frequency. "Mayday, mayday! Any Ghosts, any Zulus, this is Yankee 1-2. Come in, over."

"This is Ghost 1-1, send it," one of the cyclops snipers replied.

"We are approximately... one mile south of the Mid Hills Campground. Do you have eyes on us?"

"Shifting now... wait, you were those loud explosions, Yankee?"

"Affirmative! We need some sort of fire support to help us corral this thing into the bowl between Pinto Mountain and Table Top!"

"Roger that, stand by."

"Yankee 1-2, this is Zulu 4-3, responding to your mayday call," a cyclops mortarman called. "We have a one-twenty-mike-mike mortar in range and ready for tasking, over."

"Stand by. Yankee 1-5, call it in."

While the Torrent Trooper with the callsign "Yankee 1-5" (I think it was Nestor) began working on getting that mortar support our way, we were slowly funneling the drakon northward, pushing him towards the bowl. But before long, after a warning from Zulu 4-3, 120-mm high explosive rounds began dropping on the beast, hitting it right along its spine and making it shriek in shock and pain. And while it didn't kill the thing (which would've helped immensely), it definitely encouraged it to move northward. Plus, with Nestor calling for "shift fire" missions, the raining rounds only followed the serpentine monster, not giving it enough time to try burrowing its way out... because while it was certainly emboldened by the giants, it wasn't natural for it to go full-subterranean easily.

Eventually, we corralled it into the bowl between the rock formations. Zulu 4-3 continued to provide indirect fires while another element, Zulu 2-7, had joined the fun from a nearby mountain with a tripod-mounted .50-caliber machine gun. Ghost 1-1, having repositioned to get eyes on the drakon, was providing precise gunfire with a sniper rifle, trying to hit the drakon in the face. We just had to focus on keeping the damn serpent in place... thankfully, not for long.

"Yankee 4-1, this is Longbow 1. We're on station and ready for tasking, over," the lead Apache pilot called.

"Longbow 1, emergency fire mission. My position, six vehicles marked by IR strobes. Target position, the bowl we're in right now. Big fuckin' drakon in the open. You stop this thing before it gets smart and breaks out, over!" Reyna called.

"Tally target: one drakon in the open, over."

"Strafe with guns and rockets! Danger close, I say again, danger close!."

"Roger, thirty mike-mike and Hydra rockets ready, danger close."

"Longbow, you're cleared hot for danger close strafing run!"

"Solid copy, Yankee 4-1. Danger close fires inbound."

"Everyone, get away from the drakon!" Frank ordered, with our vehicles scattering as the Apaches swooped in, their cannons blasting 30-mm rounds as their rocket launchers... well, launched 2.75-in rockets. A hail of rockets and shells—enough to probably turn a decent portion of Camp Half-Blood into ash—hammered the serpentine monster... but when the smoke cleared, it was as rowdy as ever.

"No fuckin' way that thing still ain't knocked down!" Leo exclaimed.

"Longbow 1, this is Yankee 4-1! Repeat danger close fire mission! I say again, repeat danger close fire mission, over!" Reyna ordered.

"Copy that. Repeating danger fire mission," Longbow 1 replied. The Apaches swooped in yet again, strafing the Maeonian Drakon with their guns and rocket launchers. The latest attack seemed more effective, actually making the drakon stop and writhe with pain, apparently dazed, but we had a new problem. "Yankee 4-1, be advised, our guns and rockets are winchester, over."

Shit... they were providing air support to other teams before this, I realized. But they weren't completely out of munitions, or "winchester," as they said...

"Longbow, do you have any Hellfires left, over?" Reyna asked.

"We've got two missiles left, over," Longbow 1 replied.

"Interrogative: two missiles per helicopter?"

"Negative. Two Hellfire missiles between both birds, over."

"Okay, go ahead and prep those Hellfires for a repeat of the mission."

"Wait a second, wait a second," I interjected, jumping onto the net. "Longbow, this is Yankee 1-2. Do not launch your missiles yet, over."

"What're you thinking, 1-2?" Reyna inquired.

"I say we treat it like the Nemean Lion: get its jaws open, put the missiles down its gullet."

"1-2, even with a beast of this size, that's a small target... if we made it a circle, it'd have a diameter of twelve feet."

"Yankee 4-1, be advised the Hellfire missile has a circular error probable under three feet," one of the Apache pilots called. "We can make the shot... the trick will be getting into position, especially considering that we're trying for a flat trajectory. Reduced altitude and whatnot."

"Longbow, if you can get into position and fire the missiles, I can take it from there," I said. "Just need to guide 'em in with the wind."

"Dude, that is some "use the Force, Luke" shit right there," Leo chuckled. "But it's definitely worth a try, since Spooky 1 ain't back yet."

"I second that," Reyna agreed. "Longbow 1, which direction do you need us to point the drakon?"

"Yankee 4-1, need you to point him northeast, since we're going low," the Apache pilot replied.

"We'll make it happen. Longbow, get into your firing position. Break, break. X-Ray 1-2, prep a TOW missile if you've got it, over," Frank ordered before turning towards me. "Jason, can you do this? Those missiles apparently have a maximum speed over 1,500 kilometers per hour."

"It's worth a shot, right?" I replied with a nervous chuckle.

"Crud."

While our DAGOR began hauling ass to the northeast to help out the Apaches, Reyna led the rest of the AFO vehicles (with help from Ghost snipers and Zulu heavy weapons teams) in a vicious attack on the drakon, trying to make it face northward as well as open its jaws. And while they'd succeeded numerous times, the damn thing was squirming and moving around too much for the Apaches to strike the killing blow.

"Longbow, we're in position," I called as we completed our wide loop around the battling drakon and vehicles. The chopping of the Apaches' rotors had intensified, with them hovering very, very close above us... no more than two hundred feet. "Are you set?"

"Longbow 1 is set."

"Longbow 2 is set."

"Yankee 4-1, this is Yankee 1-2. We're ready to fire," I reported.

"Stand by. X-Ray 1-2, do you have any TOW missiles left?" Reyna asked.

"Affirmative," the Torrent Trooper replied.

"Set up a shot with your launcher pointed southwest, then hit it square on the face. Even if it doesn't go in, a swift blow to the nose ought to hurt."

"Roger that, Yankee 4-1."

This was going to be a tricky shot. I'd heard about Percy and Thalia's run-in with the Nemean Lion, and how the former had used space food to make it vulnerable, allowing the pair of Huntresses with them to make the kill shots. But a TOW missile to the nose wasn't exactly astronaut ice cream... so we were flying by the seats of our pants.

Is this what it's like to be Percy Jackson?

But I had no time to muse. Now, it was time to end this shit before it could get out of hand.

"Longbow flight and Yankee 1-2, stand by for the dinner bell," X-Ray 1-2 called.

"Longbow is ready... Yankee 1-2, ready to play waiter, over?" Longbow 1 asked.

"All ready. Let's do it," I replied.

"Sir, I'm almost winchester, but I can put my last rounds right in its eyes," Elias, our cyclops turret gunner murmured.

"Well... keep that minigun ready, man."

"Affirmative, Lord Krateros."

We waited, only hearing the hisses of the drakon, the cracks of the guns, and the chopping of the rotor blades above. It was agonizing, to say the least, just waiting for the opportunity. But it was on the cyclopes in the dune buggy to kick things off with their TOW. Without them, we had to wait with bated breath.

There was no warning when X-Ray 1-2 finally launched their last TOW missile, sending it hurtling towards the drakon at what appeared to be 700 mph. I didn't help them with the shot, as they had to do it themselves without interference. But by what I could only call the grace of the Fates, the missile hit the Maeonian Drakon head-on, right between the eyes.

"Missiles off the rails," Longbow 1 warned as the drakon's jaws were a quarter of the way open. I felt the Hellfires streak through the air above me, flying "at the speed of Mach Fuck" (to quote Leo, who was apparently quoting some podcaster/amateur historian he watched on YouTube). I manipulated the winds, focusing on the monster's gaping maw as it continued to screech like a very large banshee. The missiles were moving fast... so fast that the time it took for them to go from the launcher to their endpoint was less than the amount of time it'd take me to narrate this paragraph.

But the missiles went down the drakon's gullet perfectly, one Hellfire following the other just like Luke Skywalker's proton torpedoes or Rooster's bombs. A small margin of error, just like Longbow 1 said... with some assistance from me, of course, though it was just enough to put one missile in front of the other. To my absolute surprise, the twin explosions actually ripped the drakon apart from the inside, sending chunks of flesh from the ten-ish feet behind its head flying everywhere.

"Impact, impact impact!" Reyna announced on the AFO net. "Keep shooting until it doesn't get back up!"

We all opened fire yet again, shooting until the drakon was confirmed dead or we were out of ammo. Joining the party from right behind my team's position was, to our absolute surprise, what appeared to be Strykers from the cavalry troop, callsign "Delta." Half of them looked normal with heavy machine guns and automatic grenade launchers, while the other half were bearing cannons.

"Yankee 1-2, this is Delta 2-6. We are engaging the drakon now," a platoon leader called as their machine guns and grenade launchers began firing.

"Delta 4 is firing sabot rounds, danger close. Say again, danger close," another platoon leader—presumably the Torrent Trooper in charge of the Strykers with cannons—as they fanned out and began sending everything they had at the drakon.

"Don't forget about us, Yankee 1-2," a new voice called, being none other than the de facto second-in-command of the Ares clan: Sherman Yang himself. Four Humvees emerged from the dust cloud behind the Strikers, all equipped with .50-caliber machine guns. As the vehicles fanned out and got closer, the gunners began blasting away at the unmoving drakon, determined to earn their pound of flesh. Once the rolling bricks ground to a halt, several soldiers dismounted: CHB campers, Roman legionaries, Torrent Trooper, and, of course...

"Percy fuckin' Jackson, it's about time your scarred ass got here!" I exclaimed as the demigod sailor jogged up to my DAGOR, grinning all the way.

"Good to see you too, Goldilocks," he replied, sounding like we were meeting in a restaurant with soft background music, not a warzone with bullets and grenades flying past us. "SITREP?"

"We just chucked two Hellfire missiles down the drakon's throat."

"I sense a double movie reference at play here."

"Forget the fourth wall conspiracy theory for a second, Water Boy. That thing isn't moving, and we sent a bit of its mass flying, but still..."

"Well... you've got the glasses. You tell me what you think."

"I think it's down, but not out," I reasoned after taking another look at the beast.

"And our Apaches are just high-speed cheerleading at the moment?" Percy asked as he glanced at the attack helicopters that began circling overhead.

"Uh... they're out of ammo, if that's what you're asking."

"Shit."

"Yankee 1-2, this is Longbow 1. We are winchester, but will continue to provide ISR until we're bingo, over," the lead Apache pilot called.

"Longbow 1, Yankee 1-1. Negative," Percy interjected on the radio. "We've got ISR covered. Get to the FARP, refuel, and rearm. How copy, over?"

"Strong copy, 1-1. Longbow's buggin' out to Texaco. We'll be back in fifteen mikes, out."

"Man... even if they were out of bullets and bombs, it'd be nice for them to still be here," Frank remarked as the Apaches began flying for the FARP.

"Well... it's a good thing we've got a friend above," Percy replied with a cheeky grin, as the thunderous chopping of the rotors was slowly replaced by the faint drone of a cargo plane's engines. Or should I say an attack cargo plane's engine?

"Yankee 1-1, this is Spooky 1, hailing you on the AFO net due to a slight comms issue we're working right now. Break, break," the AC-130U weapon systems officer called in a calm, bass voice. "We're on station and at your service. Call the shot, over."

"Spooky 1, emergency fire mission. My position, marked by IR strobes. Target position, location 11-Sierra-Papa-Uniform-4-5-3-1-8-9-2-4-4-0. One drakon in the open. Marking target with laser now, over," Percy called, using a laser designator to mark the target, its beam visible when I lowered my NODs. Of course, the NODs only intensified all the other explosions occurring, but it was interesting to see the laser in action.

"Copy, Yankee 1-1. Tally target: one drakon in the open, over," the WSO said.

"Use one-oh-five and forty-mike. Danger close, over."

"Roger, prepping one-oh-five and forty-mike, danger close. Break, break. We've got your strobes and request permission to engage, over," the WSO called, noting the fact that we still had some friendlies on the light vehicles within 600 meters of the drakon.

"Spooky 1, you are cleared hot, danger close! I say again, cleared hot, danger close!" Percy confirmed.

"Roger, Yankee 1-1. Firing, firing, firing."

The 105-mm howitzer fired first, landing a direct hit on the drakon's head. The 40-mm cannon joined the fun with four consecutive shells pounding their scaly target, all seemingly within 10 yards of each other.

"Spooky 1, Yankee 1-1. Rounds are on target. Fire for effect!" Percy ordered after confirming the initial strikes hit the drakon.

"Roger, firing for effect," the WSO affirmed. True to his word, the AC-130U fired for effect, intent on turning the Maeonian Drakon to ash. According to Percy, the 40-mm cannon was shooting at 120 rounds per minute—which was apparently higher than the more normal rate of 80-100 rounds per minute (because... that's how the Torrent Troopers roll)—while the 105-mm howitzer was lobbing 10 shells per minute.

Scales, blood, and chunks of flesh went flying in all directions as Spooky 1 pounded the drakon, the impacts of the shells shaking the earth. I ceased fire, saving my ammo, and advised others to do the same. The drakon still wasn't moving and it seemed like the gunship was probably the best weapon against the beast. And finally, after nearly 90 seconds of continuous fire, Percy made the call.

"Spooky 1, Yankee 1-1. Cease fire, cease fire, cease fire!"

"Roger, ceasing fire," the WSO replied. As the smoke dissipated, a severely damaged carcass revealed itself, along with the cratered ground it rested on. The Maeonian Drakon was dead, downed by the Hellfire missiles it swallowed but finally killed by the AC-130 above.

"Damn... not sure if Flex Tape can fix that," Leo joked the radio, eliciting chuckles from the warriors around me.

"Yeah... looks like Ben Franklin's 'Join or Die' snake, 'cept it's in a lot more pieces and can't join because it died," Percy laughed. "Spooky 1, Yankee 1-1. BDA to follow on strikes on Priority Red target."

"Copy, Yankee 1-1. Send it," the WSO replied.

"Target destroyed. Say again, target destroyed, over."

"Roger, target destroyed. Break, break. Need to respond to another call for fire. Call us if you need us, over."

"Affirmative, Spooky 1. Have a good one."

"Well, that was exciting," Frank murmured as he watched the gunship break its circling pattern and start flying to wherever it was needed next. "Glad you made it, Percy."

"Hey, how's Annabeth?" I asked.

"She's beat up pretty bad, but things are looking up. Damasen's being hauled to the CASH right now for field interrogation and to treat her," Percy explained, cutting me off before I could ask my obvious follow-up. "And yeah, he's clean."

"You're saying what possessed him was the same sort of spirit that possessed Nico, forced him to attack all those people?" Frank asked.

"Yeah. Freaky shit... not like the eidolons that got me, Sparky, and Zippo. Apparently worse. On the bright side, we won't need Hollywood to negotiate 'em out, we just need to hit them in the head really hard."

"It took me, two goddesses not including Diana, the literal Hunt of Diana, you, and a cyclops to bring down Nico. How'd you take care of Damasen?"

"Sabot round to the face."

"I... don't know what that means," I said, holding up my hand to prevent yet another confusing explanation from the veteran sailor. "Tell me later, Perce. Now what do we do?"

"Well, the sweep's being supported by arty... Spooky's still putting rounds on the ground elsewhere, and the Apaches are makin' a pit stop. But those giant twins, the anti-Bacchuses, they've breached the valley. So we gotta make our way back."

"Well, our powers can let us teleport back to camp... but a handful of extra guns won't cut it. Maybe some heavy weapons, air support," Frank mused. "Though it'll be a problem trying to transport the cavalry Strykers there."

"Well, vehicles may not necessarily be the play here. Hazel can shadow-travel, so she could help to transport some items," I suggested.

"Well, yes, but she's not as good as Nico. She has to be physically in contact with the stuff she moves. Nico... heck, if there are enough shadows, he could move every vehicle here without touching it."

"Okay, so five of you teleport carrying all the shit you can, Hazel loads up into a DAGOR with some extra men and materiel, and you make the trip back. I'll consolidate the remaining AFO and cav elements to support the armored sweep," Percy decided. "That work with everyone?"

"I like it," Frank agreed before getting on the radio. "All X-Rays and Yankees, consolidate on my position, over."

"Well, we're gonna need more ammo," I reminded. "We're getting pretty close to... what's it called, 'winchester?'"

"Yeah, we've got a supply drop inbound. Ozark 6-1's gonna drop off a few speedballs, get you guys up and running," Percy said.

"Sick."

While Frank and I rallied the X-Ray and Yankee elements to figure out who was going where, a helicopter with two rotors (a "Chinook," I think, callsign "Ozark 6-1") flew overhead, with its crewmen shoving several body bags out the back. As it turned out, these body bags were packed to the brim with ammunition, water, medical supplies (including nectar, ambrosia, and unicorn draught), fuel, and even a few of those shitty MREs... I was beginning to understand why Percy laughed his ass off when people held "military-grade" items in high regard.

As we restocked on ammo and water, the Stryker cavalry units disengaged and went to support friendly forces in the northwest. The decision was made for myself, Reyna, Frank, Piper, and Leo to pick up as much equipment as we could carry and just use our godly teleportation to get back to Camp Jupiter ASAP, while Hazel and a squad of Torrent Troopers would cram into one of the Polaris DAGORs, along with whatever ammo and heavy armament we'd scrounged, then just drive until she could shadow-travel the whole vehicle, its crew, its passengers, and its cargo into the valley. As for the remaining Yankee elements, X-Ray 1, and Kilo 3-3, they'd all go off to perform whatever tasks were necessary for the sake of the larger operation.

Piece of cake, right?

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! Any station, any station, this is Charlie 1! We are surrounded and cut off! Does anyone copy?!" a frantic voice suddenly called, multicasting (apparently) his cry for help such that every single channel could hear him.

"Charlie 1, this is Bossman 3. Send SITREP, over," the Deputy Commanding General-Operations of the Torrent Troopers replied, his calm deep voice a total opposite of the desperate, high-pitched radioman of Charlie 1—who was definitely not a Torrent Trooper. Which just made the situation worse, because if a regular legionary or camper was manning the radio, then the actual cyclops radioman was down.

"Our position, 11-Sierra-Papa-Uniform-1-9-7-0-3-4-5-8-6-3! We're going to be overrun! You need to get us help or we're gonna fucking die!"

"Wait a minute... how'd an entire platoon get encircled?" Percy wondered, looking at me, Frank, and the others in confusion.

"Maybe they overextended," Reyna suggested. "Or perhaps there's some sort of sorcery afoot."

"Well, Trivia ain't available for that. She and Apollo are trying to save Annabeth's life right now. We better handle this now. Hollywood, Sparky, and Zippo, you guys back me up. RA-RA and Grizzly, get your asses over to Camp Jupiter right now, and Goldfinger's gotta shadow-transport the men and materiel," Percy decided, before getting on the radio to call it in. "Charlie 1, this is Yankee 1-1. Help is on the way. Just stand your ground, over."

"We need to leave, now," Reyna said, cutting off Frank before he could say anything else. "May luck be in your favor, all of you."

As Reyna and Frank teleported back to Camp Jupiter, Hazel jumped into the UTV loaded for bear with Torrent Troopers and equipment, with the driver gunning it as he drove for the darkest shadows he could see. With some help from Hazel, the vehicle, its occupants, and its cargo melted into the darkness.

"Charlie 1, all air support is already engaged," the DCG-O called grimly. "Be advised, it will take ground support between thirty-five and forty-five minutes to arrive, over."

"Dammit, that math sounds right," Leo grumbled as he looked at his ATAK. "They may not have that long."

"Okay, so we get backup over there now. Blondie, just fly over there and carry McLean and Valdez with you," Percy ordered. "The off-roaders can probably reach in thirty-five mikes, but the Humvees'll need closer to forty-five, otherwise their intestines are gonna be so far outta their assholes, they won't be able to do shit."

"I don't know what that means and I don't think I want to know," Piper groaned, disgusted by Percy's remarks.

"Fuck it, Blond Superman," Leo grumbled as he just walked behind me and wrapped me in a bear hug, unenthusiastic at the idea of having to "aerial bullshit without a ride or chute." "Beauty Queen, get your ass in this fool's arms and let's get this shit over with."

And so we took off, with me holding onto Piper as Leo got an "airborne piggyback ride, to quote him." Was it silly? Absolutely. But it was probably safer (even to a very miniscule degree) than them holding my hands... but of course, my best friend was very vocal about his displeasure at the situation.

"Jase, if we die, I'm going to kill you!" Leo shouted in my ear as we soared through the chilly night sky, searching for the lost platoon.

"SHUT UP, LEO!!" Piper and I screamed back, a little too stressed at the moment to hear Leo's complaining. And don't get me wrong, my best bro was my best bro, but he could bitch like no other when he wanted to. Thankfully, it didn't take long for us to find the lost platoon: four Strykers, all apparently disabled, though the vehicle crews had managed to remove their heavy weapons from the remote turrets so they could fire them. But there was Stryker that was actually smoking, while the other three set up in a loose perimeter around the most damaged armored vehicle.

But what truly shocked me was just how many monsters were attacking Charlie 1. There were scorpions, Laistrygonians, and even a few Earthborn assaulting their position from every angle. They even had some ballistae and scorpiones (the artillery, not the actual monster) manned by some enemy cyclopes backing them up. A full-strength cohort's worth had descended upon the platoon, encircling them and effectively sealing them off from the rest of the AO.

But how the hell did they disable the armored vehicles? I wondered.

"Holy fucking shit!" Leo exclaimed from my back. "Hey, Yankee 1-1, this is 3-1. There's a shitload of enemy all around them. You guys gotta pick up the pace, over."

"Roger, 3-1. Cobras and Spooky are already engaged, and Longbow is still at Texaco. Break, break. Is the airspace clear for Ozarks to perform gun runs, over?"

"Uh, yeah! Yeah, it's clear!"

"Roger, 3-1. We're trying to find a faster route. Get Ozark 6 on the horn and they'll provide CAS. 1-1 out."

"Guys, we're setting down, so get ready!" I warned as we began our descent as quickly and safely I could manage with two passengers, setting down right beside the smoking Stryker before scrambling for cover. The Torrent Troopers had established defensive positions and were shooting back, with injured campers and legionaries propped up against the sides of the vehicles, shielded by the Strykers' armor. A few non-cyclopes were shooting back with bows, slings, and a crossbow, but they were outnumbered and outgunned by a long shot. Piper got to work immediately, triaging the wounded, while Leo had begun sending bullets and grenades downrange to push the enemy back.

"Lord Krateros!" one cyclops—the only wounded Torrent Trooper I could see, with his left arm in a makeshift sling—exclaimed as he saw me and Leo join him behind his cover. Leaning around the corner of one of the perimeter Strykers, he fired a few shots with his pistol before ducking back behind cover. "There is one squad trapped inside the vehicle, but we do not have the means to extract them."

"The fuck are you talking about? There's nothing obstructing the doors! The only way they'd be trapped is... if..." Leo said, slowing his words as he seemed to realize something, looking over the damaged vehicle. "What the fuck... how the fuck are the hatches welded shut?"

"They were utilizing high-explosive rounds fired from their artillery, which appears to double as an explosive welding agent. They have also launched exothermic welding agents, which has ultimately resulted in all four Strykers' disability, with the center vehicle's occupants being trapped inside."

"Okay, we gotta get 'em out. Let's see... this thing's made out of hardened steel. I can work on it with an angle grinder, try and cut the catch off. Need an outlet though," Leo mumbled as he pulled the tool out of one of the pockets on his belt. "Yo, Jase! Need you to hook me up!"

"The fuck you want me to do, just hold it?" I asked.

"Dude, I don't care if you shove it up your asshole! Just give me some gods-damned electricity!"

"Dux Alexios, if I may... perhaps you can use your pyrokinetic abilities as a makeshift oxyacetylene torch," the cyclops suggested. "And I can use the angle grinder. My right arm is still fully operational."

"What's your name, man?"

"Samuel, sir."

"Okay, Samuel, let's get over there! Jase, with us!"

"Three, two, one, go!" I ordered, the three of us sprinting from the perimeter Stryker to the smoldering one in the middle of the loose ring. Leo handed me the plug, warning me not to fry it. Nodding, I held the plug with my left hand, directing current to let the angle grinder power on.

"Bossman 3, this is Yankee 1-2. Requesting emergency CAS, over," I called.

"Roger, 1-2. We do not have any air or other fire support assets available at this time, over," the DCG-O replied.

"Yeah, but can you get me Ozark 6 to give me some gun runs, over?"

"Stand by, Yankee 1-2."

Realizing that it would be a while until the helicopters got here, I shifted my focus to my immediate environment, drawing my pistol with my right hand and standing by to defend myself as Samuel got to work at cutting the hinges at the bottom of the Stryker's rear door.

In a moment of audacity, Leo climbed atop the smoking vehicle, kneeling over one of the top hatches that was welded shut. He summoned fire in his palm, his face contorting in concentration as he formed a knife-hand (like in those military movies), focusing the flame until it was as bright and hot as the flame that would come out of an oxyacetylene torch. Having gone full-Human Cutting Torch at this point, Leo began working on the hatch as Samuel ground away at the hinges of the rear door, undeterred by the sparks.

"Holy shit, did Leo just turn himself into one of those oxy-whatever torches?" Piper gasped as she glanced over at our position from her place next to a wounded legionary.

"Pipes, if you're done triaging and taking care of the worst, get your gun up! Remember: no medicine in a gunfight!" I reminded her, recalling one of the various lessons Percy and the Torrent Troopers taught us.

"Yeah, I know! Let me just finish this tourniquet!"

"Fuck!" Leo cursed from atop the Stryker, just barely avoiding an enemy ballista bolt. "Samuel, what the fuck is going on down there?"

"The hinges are tough, Dux Alexios! I need additional time!" the cyclops shouted beside me.

"Jesus, bro, the guys inside are gonna be smoking like ham and cheese if we don't step it up!"

"I require another grinding wheel, sir!"

"Okay, dropping it!"

"Fuck, contact!" I warned as a particularly fast hellhound breached the perimeter, its teeth bared and dripping with saliva as it charged me head-on. I fired five 9-mm bullets right into its face, bringing it down and turning it to dust within five feet of me. "Shit, that was way too close. Where the fuck is our backup? Piper, call Percy!"

"Yankee 1-1, this is Yankee 2-2! Where the hell are you?!" she shouted into her mic, frustrated as she began peeking around the corner of a disabled Stryker, shooting at the enemies who'd besieged Charlie 1.

"2-2, we are twenty mikes out. Send SITREP, over," Percy replied calmly.

"SITREP? SITREP?! You motherfucker, every gods-damned monster in the Mojave Desert has us surrounded! That's your fucking SITREP!!"

"Copy your last. Be advised, I've got Ghost and Zulu elements trying to get an angle on you to provide sniper, machine gun, and mortar fires. Break, break. Spooky 1 is still on a Priority Red mission, over."

"Urgh... understood."

"Yankee 1-2, I need a no-bullshit assessment: are you about to be overrun?" Percy asked.

The answer seemed obvious: an entire platoon was encircled, with one vehicle smoldering due to its doors being welded shut by incendiary and explosive ammunition—thus trapping its crewmen and passengers—and many of the platoon's troops were wounded. The perimeter was weak, with one hellhound managing to even breach it. It seemed like the perfect time to call "Broken Arrow."

And yet...

"Open, open, open!" Leo shouted as he finally cut through one of the top hatches, ripping it off. "I'm gonna try and cut it from the inside! Samuel, just watch out, okay?"

"Understood!" Samuel replied as Leo disappeared inside of the metal monster.

"We've got time, 1-1," I replied after holstering my pistol to press my push-to-talk button. "But we're still at Priority Red. I say again, Priority Red fire support needed, over."

"Solid copy, 1-2. Ghost 0-8 is maneuvering to provide sniper fires. He should be ready to talk to you soon, once Bossman hooks you up. Stand by. Out."

"Yankee 1-2, this is Ghost 0-8. Radio check, over," a new voice suddenly called: our sniper support.

"Ghost 0-8, this is Yankee 1-2. Good to hear your voice. We're surrounded," I replied, stating the obvious... which he could probably see even better than me, thanks to his vantage point in one of the surrounding mountains.

"I have eyes on, Yankee 1-2. You... wow, you really have a full plate down there. I'm targeting enemy artillerymen now." I could occasionally make out a gunshot in the distance—one reminiscent of the .50-caliber rifle some of the cyclops snipers carried. And every now and again, Ghost 0-8 would inform me that yet another one of his targets was destroyed. What made it even more incredible was the fact that the guy had to be at least half a mile away, sitting atop one of the surrounding mountains as he called out targets and shot others. But he was still one sniper against an army.

Things got even better when the chopping of helicopter rotors filled the air. As I looked up into the night sky, I could just make out a single Chinook bearing down on us: our air support had arrived in the form of a cargo helicopter.

"Yankee 1-2, this is Ozark 6-2," the pilot called. "In the air and at your service. Call the shot, over."

"Ozark 6-2, this is Yankee 1-2! Emergency fire mission on Priority Red targets surrounding our position! They're fuckin' everywhere! Shoot 'em with everything you've got!"

"Yankee 1-2, be advised, some targets are well inside danger close, over."

"Just get it in here! Danger close or not, we need you to take the heat off!"

"Roger that. Engaging targets in every direction around your strongpoint. Danger close, say again, danger close."

As the Chinook began flying in a wide circle above us, it unleashed a hail of bullets from two side-facing miniguns and a machine gun on its rear ramp, the rounds flying at the surrounding enemy forces like several swarms of angry bees. The sound was sweet music to my ears as the helicopter's gunners shredded several enemies while making others hesitate in rushing our position. But even with Ghost 0-8 sniping and Ozark 6-2 spraying bullets, the situation was dire. Even worse, it appeared that whatever machine guns and automatic grenade launchers we had were out of ammo, with the Torrent Troopers manning them having to switch to whatever handheld armament they had.

"Watch the door, watch the door!" Leo warned on the radio, making me motion for Samuel to shift his position as the rear door was slowly cut off by the Human Cutting Torch and the cyclops with an angle grinder.

"Yankee 1-2, this is Zulu 7-7," a new voice called on the radio—there sure were a lot of new voices joining the party—and if I wasn't mistaken, that was a heavy weapons team here to help us. "We've got an eighty-one-mike-mike ready for tasking, over."

"Ghost 0-8, I can't really see shit where I am! Requesting you provide direction to the mortar team, over!" I said, anxiously gripping my pistol with my right and the angle grinder's plug with my left.

"Solid copy, 1-2. Be advised, danger close fires will be inbound, over."

"That's good, that's good! Danger close is clear to shoot!"

"Roger, 1-2. Stand by. Out."

"OPEN, OPEN, OPEN!!" Leo bellowed as he finally shoved the door open with a mighty heave, with the injured Samuel helping to rip the rear door off its burned and grinded hinges. Smoke billowed out of the disabled vehicle as Samuel got to his feet and began to assist Leo with evacuating the occupants. I dropped the angle grinder plug, holstered my pistol, and raised my rifle as I dashed to the perimeter, assisting with the southern flank.

"Pipes, help 'em with the wounded!" I ordered, with my girlfriend giving me a thumbs-up as she ran for the smoking Stryker, dragging evacuated troops from the wreck in the event that the thing decided to explode like a Michael Bay set piece.

"Ozark 6-2, Zulu 7-7. We're about to begin the fire mission. Need you to clear out, over," Zulu 7-7 warned.

"Roger, Zulu 7-7. We're buggin' out. Break, break. Yankee 1-2, this is Ozark 6-2. We need to go off station, but we'll be orbiting close by. Good luck. Out," Ozark 6-2 called as the Chinook banked left, flying away to make room for the incoming mortar strike.

"1-2, be advised, rounds inbound north of your position, danger close," Zulu 7-7 warned.

"Roger that! Send it!" I replied, before turning to the scattered members of Charlie 1. "Incoming!"

The rounds hit the ground several seconds later, the impacts shaking the earth as some rounds were no more than a football field away. But the fire mission was nonetheless effective, with Ghost 0-8 even calling for a "shift fire" mission, saturating the surrounding area with 81-mm mortar rounds like he was drawing a circle with explosion craters.

"Yankee 1-2, we are winchester, say again winchester!" Zulu 7-7 called right after what seemed to be 45-50 rounds hit the area around us. The mortar squad was out of ammo, but Charlie 1 could take a quick breather.

"Roger, Zulu 7-7. We're okay for now. Thanks for your help. Out," I replied, grateful for the Torrent Troopers saving the day yet again.

"Yankee 1-2, this is 1-1. Radio check, over," Percy called.

"1-1, this is 1-2. We're good. Ozark, Zulu, and Ghost just saved our asses. We have casualties, but no fatalities, over," I reported.

"Good deal. We're ten mikes away from your pos. Call for CASEVAC if you need it. 1-1 out."

"Piper! Piper! Does anyone need to go to the CASH?!" I shouted behind me.

"Duh!" she screamed back from the other side of the perimeter. "Half the platoon needs a fucking doctor!"

"Jase, call the Chinook and get 'em to set down so they can carry 'em back!" Leo ordered.

"Okay!" I acknowledged, getting on the radio to hail our airborne savior. "Ozark 6-2, this is Yankee 1-2. Requesting immediate CASEVAC for multiple wounded, over!"

"Roger, Yankee 1-2. Requesting Lines 3 through 9 of nine-line. Say again, Lines 3 through 9, over," Ozark 6-2 replied.

"Pipes, call it in! And don't forget Samuel!" I said, focusing on securing the area since she was the actual medic.

"Ozark 6-2, this is Yankee 2-2. Are you ready for the last seven lines of the nine-line, over?" she asked.

"Roger, Yankee 2-2. Send it," the pilot replied, prompting Piper to rattle off the lines as she saw fit.

"Line 3: Alpha-1, Bravo-3, Charlie-8, Delta-9er." One in critical condition, three in critical condition that needed surgery, eight that were injured but not badly, and nine that were injured but not in immediate need of evacuation.

"Line 4: Alpha." No special equipment needed.

"Line 5: Lima-4, Alpha-17." Four litters needed, seventeen patients ambulatory.

"Line 6: November." No enemy present at the pickup zone.

"Line 7: Bravo." A flare—tossed by Leo a few moments prior—to the west of our position marked the PZ.

"Line 8: Alpha-21." All twenty-one patients were troops under Joint Task Force 12.

"Line 9: None." There was no chemical, biological, or nuclear threat.

"Ozark 6-2 copies all. We have eyes on your flare... one mike out," the Chinook pilot replied as he circled around to pick up the wounded. A brief glance at my watch revealed that the time was 3:21 AM, meaning our backup was 7 minutes away. I continued to hold security as a team of Torrent Troopers leapt out of the landing helicopter and ran to load and lead the wounded into the waiting helicopter. The team worked fast, getting all 21 men aboard and lifting off right as shit hit the fan yet again. Now, as we sat tight waiting for extraction, we had a dozen Torrent Troopers (the platoon medic and forward observer, the weapons squad, two 2-man vehicle crews, and the driver of the weapons squad) and 11 assorted legionaries and CHB campers remaining from Charlie 1.

"Oh, shit! Oh, shit!" a legionary screamed as the ground began to shake around our strongpoint, with half a dozen scorpions, each the size of a pickup truck, clad in black armor with golden streaks, crawling out of the earth 100 yards out in every direction. And if that wasn't bad enough, these bastards had an additional trick up their tails, as indicated by their glowing stingers. "Oh, fu—"

The stingers surged forward, launching several fireballs at our position. The central Stryker, already smoking, took a hit that made it go up in flames after a flashy-yet-small explosion. We not only had no cover, we had no concealment (and yes, I know the difference thanks to the lectures of Percy, the Torrent Troopers, and the Korean immigrant veterans). The legionaries had slings and some of the CHB campers had bows and crossbows, but their projectiles couldn't even scratch the armored scorpions, who used their pincers to protect their faces like boxers or MMA fighters.

Leo and a few Torrent Troopers fired 40-mm grenades from their launchers, which seemed to be the only thing that even made them hesitate—remember, the heavy weapons salvaged from the Strykers had already run out of ammo—while the bullets the rest of us fired only seemed to piss the scorpions off. Leo and I even tried throwing our own godly powers into the mix, launching fireballs and lightning bolts between gunfires. But these things were tough, with the armor only seeming to absorb their impacts. Even worse, an additional a dozen more scorpions crawled out of the earth a few hundred yards away, with a total of 18 of these "tank-scorpions" (as Leo called them) encircling us and getting closer. They didn't charge us head-on, just taking their sweet time in whittling us down.

For the second time that night, I considered calling "Broken Arrow." We were in danger of being overrun, and nothing we did seemed to hurt them significantly.

"Yankee 1-2, this is Spooky 1," a familiar voice suddenly greeted on the radio. "We're in the air and at your service. Call the shot, over."

"Spooky 1, this is Yankee 1-2. Boy, are we glad to see you!" I replied, relieved laughter bubbling in my throat. "We're fucking surrounded by Priority Red targets! My position, marked by IR strobes! Target position, all around us! Eighteen armored scorpions in the open, over!"

"Copy, Yankee 1-2. Tally target: eighteen armored in the open, over," the gunship's WSO affirmed.

"Hit 'em with everything you've got! Danger close, over!"

"Roger, all weapons free, danger close. Break, break. We've got your strobes and request permission to engage, over."

"Spooky 1, you are cleared hot, danger close! Please, just shoot them!".

"Roger, Yankee 1-2. Firing, firing, firing."

The 105-mm howitzer fired first, landing a direct hit on a tank-scorpion approaching from the north, obliterating the beast. The 40-mm cannon then fired four shells that hit a second tank-scorpion or the ground right next to it, "killing it dead" (to quote somebody). But the gunship's third gun wasn't left out this time: based on what Percy told me before the operation, a 350-round burst rained down on two tank-scorpions as the 25-mm Gatling gun fired at 1,800 rounds per minute. Looking up at the circling gunship, I could see a fireball coming out the side of the aircraft for around 12 seconds. And while those two tank-scorpions weren't quite dead, they were so badly wounded they couldn't keep fighting.

"Spooky 1, this is Yankee 1-2. Rounds are on target. Fire for effect on all sides of the strongpoint!" I ordered after confirming the initial strikes met their marks.

"Roger, firing for effect," the WSO affirmed.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!" Piper screamed as the AC-130 pounded the tank-scorpions from all sides of our strongpoint, occasionally firing two of its guns at once. The 25-mm Gatling gun could wound (and occasionally kill) the tank-scorpions, the 105-mm howitzer could kill them with one hit, and 40-mm cannon could both wound and kill (though the latter task required more than one direct hit). With some rounds impacting targets as few as 50 yards away, I was reminded of the tremors we felt when battling Gaea at Camp Half-Blood nearly two decades ago.

"1-2, this is 1-1. We're one klick east of your strongpoint," Percy called suddenly. "That's one helluva fireworks display."

"1-1, this is 1-2! Good to hear your voice, bro! You mind joining the party with some of your TOWs?" I asked.

"We'll prep the TOW now. Stand by."

"Yankee 1-2, this is Spooky 1," the gunship's WSO called. "Be advised, we are nearing winchester and three tangos remain, over."

I briefly wondered why they were so low on ammo before realizing a crucial detail: right before this, they'd been providing CAS for a number of Priority Red fire missions before they could come to us.

"Roger, Spooky 1. Just hit whatever you can, over," I replied.

"Copy, 1-2."

"1-2, this is 1-1. TOW missile ready, locking onto tango east of your position," Percy warned as the tank-scorpion in question launched another fireball, knocking a few legionaries off their feet.

"Roger, 1-1! Shoot it now!" I responded as I ran to drag the wounded men away before the tank-scorpion could reach them.

"Stand by... missile off the rails."

One moment, the tank-scorpion was there. The next moment, it exploded in a cloud of dust, sand, smoke, and shrapnel as the missile "went right up its asshole" (to quote Leo, of course).

"Yankee 1-1, this is Yankee 1-2. Direct hit, direct hit," I relayed. Coincidentally, the AC-130 fired its last 105-mm shell at the same time, blowing a second tank-scorpion to smithereens.

"Yup, we see both of 'em. Real pretty," Percy joked in reply.

"DIE, MOTHERFUCKER!!" Leo yelled as he threw a frag grenade at the final tank-scorpion's face, with two other Torrent Troopers following suit, resulting in three shrapnel-filled explosions that stunned the beast just long enough for Spooky 1 to target it with its 25-mm Gatling gun. The "Crowd-Pleaser" sang its song, the 350 rounds hailing down on the tank-scorpion like a swarm of militarized hornets, ending the monster's reign of terror.

"Yankee 1-2, this is Spooky 1. Be advised, we are winchester, over," the gunship's WSO announced.

"Roger, Spooky 1. BDA to follow: all tangos destroyed. I say again, all tangos destroyed. Thanks again for the CAS, over," I replied, stringing together the sentences with enough military lingo to (hopefully) sound authentic.

"Roger, 1-2. All tangos EKIA. We are also bingo at this time. We'll be back in the air in twenty mikes. Good luck. Out," the WSO called as the gunship banked right and began flying for its FARP. With the threat eliminated, the rest of the rescue column—to include the Humvees carrying Kilo 3-3—drove up to our position, with its members dismounting to establish a perimeter. One thing clearly evident was the fact that the members of Kilo 3-3 (the non-cyclops ones, I mean... considering just how fucking built the Torrent Troopers are) looked a little queasy.

"What happened to you?" I asked Travis Stoll and Sherman Yang as they stumbled towards me, looking nauseated.

"Never... again..." Travis groaned. "Thought I was gonna shit out my digestive system.

"I'm beginning to see why Percy said not to drive over fifty-five mph in that rolling brick," Sherman grumbled.

"Well, I'm glad to see you guys are still kicking, but what are we supposed to do about the remnant of Charlie 1?" Percy asked as he strode up to our little powwow. "There ain't enough room by a long shot."

"Already called in another CASEVAC!" Leo replied as he joined the conversation. "Piper's helping the wounded now. We've got another rescue column inbound to extract Charlie 1! Five minutes out!"

"What happens now, sir?" Probatio Joker asked, having eavesdropped on the conversation while holding security with his M16.

"Listen up and listen good! The rest of the sweep is still going strong, but we need to keep covering the southern sector! I know we're staying out here longer than expected, but we gotta do what's necessary! Longbow oughta be coming back on station soon, and we'll have priority for CAS!" Percy announced. "Take a piss, check your ammo, whatever you need to do. We hold here, wait for Charlie 1's extraction, then proceed to help mop up the rest of the AO! Clear?"

"CLEAR!!" everyone acknowledged.

"Jase," Percy said as the group split up to prepare for the continuation of the mission. "Hey, helluva job taking charge over here."

"Taking charge isn't exactly new to me," I pointed out, thinking back to my praetorship.

"I guess not... but we're livin' in a whole new world, Sparky."

"Not wrong there... Perce?"

"Mmm?"

"Don't tell anyone I said this, but... holy shit, gunfighting is ridiculously effective."

"And?"

"Well... kinda fun, too."

"Nice little adrenaline rush?"

"Or whatever I've got running in my immortal anatomy."

"Sure," he answered, handing me some full magazines from a duffel bag that had been passed to him. "Go ahead and load up."

"I hope everyone else is doing good," I remarked as I stocked up on ammo, thinking about Tyson's assault force on Mount Othrys and Nico's defense force in the valley.

"Tyson's Tyson. He n' his boys'll get the job done, no issue."

"And Nico?"

"You trust him, don'tcha?"

"Yeah, of course. Don't you?"

"There's a reason I put him on defense, Jase. He's where he's needed."

"Extraction's here!" Probatio Joker called as a group of Humvees and five-ton trucks rolled up to our position. Four weird-looking tanks—"armored recovery vehicles," according to the Torrent Troopers that manned them—had also arrived from the rear echelon to tow the disabled Strykers back to base. The remnant of Charlie 1 loaded up, with the wounded being hauled aboard alongside them. Once the last man was aboard the rescue vehicles and the four "M88 Hercules" were rolling with their precious cargo, Probatio Joker gave Percy a thumbs-up: it was time to go.

"Mount up, mount up!" Percy ordered, with the hodgepodge of AFO troops cramming into two Light Strike Vehicles, three DAGORs, and four Humvees. I jumped into the shotgun seat of one of the Polaris vehicles, with Percy as the driver—some roles had changed due to the departure of several Torrent Troopers with Frank, Reyna, and Hazel to support the defensive force.

"Well... shall we?" I asked my buddy as I lowered my NODs.

"We shall," he agreed, grinning as he lowered his own NODs. "Alright, boys. On me. Let's finish this shit."

Now THAT was fun! Kicking the Maeonian Drakon's ass? Epic rescue mission of a trapped platoon? And now going off to crush the remainder of the enemy skulking around the Mojave Desert? Operation Clairvoyant Trident's gonna have one helluva finale! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Let me know what you think in the comments section.

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the Torrent Troopers' assault on Mount Othrys or the rest of Joint Task Force 12's defense of Camp Jupiter/New Rome... those are going to be in future chapters. We just needed to reach a certain point in the Mojave Desert side of Operation Clairvoyant Trident first.

HAPPY BELATED INDEPENDENCE DAY!!

https://youtu.be/DHLlwiLebkc

This glorious video is probably representative of Percy and Sally celebrating the 4th of July "the true American way" (all while encouraged by Paul, who is filming):

https://youtu.be/DBw46lgdeMM

This meme reminds me of the brief banter between Frank and Percy in Blood of Olympus when Percy asked Frank to translate from commie lengths to Freedom Fractions:

And considering that Frank is rocking Old Glory on his MultiCam combat shirt, I should probably give Frank a moment like this:

And if you'd like to learn about the AC-130U Spooky II that's supporting JTF-12... have a look at this:

https://youtu.be/7lrfdzU8k4k

God bless you all, and God bless the USA.

https://youtu.be/-KoXt9pZLGM

Until next time,

- ADF-2