"There isn't anyone else to go right now, sir," he responded. "The Twelfth Army is on its way back from Europe. We had two teams operational able to conduct a mission requiring well over a dozen teams and no supplies. Major Scroll's team was hit with an ambush an hour ago. We haven't heard back from them yet to know if there are any survivors, which means we have one team available: yours."
The words came as a blow. Brady had worked with Dan for fifteen years. Every mission overseas with the regular military, every PMF mission here. Dan had always been his second-in-command and most importantly, as good a friend as any of Brady's brothers.
"So the solution is to run away?" Brady snapped.
"The solution is to survive until reinforcements arrive from overseas."
Brady rose and snatched his weapons, snapping them into place on his body armor. He stuffed the small box of fresh chocolate into his cargo pocket.
"You're leaving my team with luck to survive?" he growled.
"Brade, it's Larry. Stop harassing the intel guy," Larry said. "We don't have the people or supplies to sustain ourselves on the regular army side. Your team is being dispatched on a new mission."
"Where did Dan last report in?" Brady asked, concern for his closest friend making his chest tighten. "If you won't help, I'll go to him."
"We can't help, Brade. Jesus, look around you! You may be accustomed to scraping by in some third world country, but this is our country. We can do nothing here without supplies and without more men to replace those that have died the past few weeks," Larry said, frustration in his voice. "Regrouping is our only option right now."
"Sorry, Larry. Give me Dan's last coords, and I'll see what I can do."
"You have a new mission, one that's got the feds screaming," Larry reminded him. "If they don't get it, they'll start digging. This isn't a good time to draw attention to your other activities."
Brady waited. Larry-and most other regular army soldiers-either joined or quietly supported the PMF. The people credited the PMF with saving them from the elite's Civil War while the elites tried hard to stamp out the PMF's existence.
"Fine," Larry said with a sigh. "I'll send his coords. Get that box to the feds; they're not far. Good luck to you. Larry out."
Larry was right. Brady had conducted many missions in austere conditions in other countries. Of course, no one had ever expected the nuke attacks to happen, even someone involved in the insurgent organization blamed for them. The regular military was in no position to help, not when the bulk of it was overseas.