Countdown in the Cold

"I figured as much, Admiral," Alex said with a grin as he stood up. "I will gather the necessary munitions from the inventory."

"Alexander...one more thing, Morgan will be your handler for this mission."

Alex stopped as he turned around and faced Adm. Hawkins; he had a serious look on his face.

"Permission to speak privately, Sir."

Hawkins met his eyes; after a few seconds, he sighed and gestured to clear the room. Once the room was empty, Alex reached into his go bag and took out a small device. It was a bug. He looked at it for a moment, threw it on the floor and stepped on it. He heard a small whine outside the room. Morgan had planted the bug during transit, and Alex, even though he noticed it, pretended like he didn't... to see where this was going. But playtime was over.

"Was that really necessary, Alex?" asked Hawkins with a smile. "Curious little thing ain't she?"

Alex had a frown on his face after hearing that. 'That's one way to put it.'

"I work best alone." that response started another staring match. "And what is she... like 15?

"Ask what you really want to ask, Alexander," said Hawkins with a stern expression.

" What does she get point on the op?... This girl was obviously the handler for the D-squad, and the operation went sideways...her further involvement doesn't make any sense."

"Do you want the short answer or the long one, Alex?" asked Hawkins.

"The short answer is politics, she is legacy, and the long answer is... while no one else cared, Les Morgan spent months after this case, after a possibility so slim that it was improbable, but she persevered and found a threat that has potential to become the greatest enemy we could be facing, So yes she might have stumbled, but she earned her spot." 

Alex grunted but said nothing.

"As for the first question, she is a 23-year-old Harvard graduate with a Ph.D. in International Relations and History."

"You said she is legacy; she is not related to...?" asked Alex

"Yes, she is indeed related to Immanuel Morgan, so tread carefully ."

'Fuck.'

"Doesn't change the fact she stumbled the op," argued Alex.

Hawkins leaned against the table, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on Alex. "You were nineteen when you became a SEAL, Alexander. You were green, brash, and more than a little reckless, if I recall."

He knew where this was going, but he kept silent, letting the Admiral continue.

"You survived Hell Week, became one of the youngest operators in the history of the SEALs, and then went and got blacklisted after that mess in North Korea." Hawkins paused, giving Alex a meaningful look. "But you were given a second chance."

Alex's mouth twitched in frustration, but he said nothing. 

"Remember who gave you that chance, Alex," Hawkins added softly, a rare flicker of something almost paternal in his gaze. "You weren't an easy sell, but I backed you because I knew what you were capable of. You've always worked best alone, sure. But there comes a time when everyone needs a second chance, even if they don't realise it at the time."

Alex's eyes flickered downward as those words hit their mark. He didn't like being reminded of the blacklist incident. It was the one scar in his otherwise impeccable career. Hawkins was the one who got him out and cleared his Team's name. That actually mattered to Alex... a lot.

The silence between them stretched for a moment. Hawkins didn't push. He knew Alex well enough to let the wheels in his head turn.

After a few seconds, Alex sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it, Admiral," he muttered. "We've all made mistakes."

"That's right," Hawkins replied gently. "And Les Morgan may have made some mistakes, but she has dug deeper into this mess and has invested and gathered more details than anyone else. She will be an asset."

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly.

.

His instincts told him to refuse—he didn't like having someone in his ear, let alone someone young and untested. His abilities, heightened far beyond ordinary human limits, made it easier for him to navigate missions alone. No distractions, no liabilities. Just him and the objective. That secrecy was part of why Alex preferred working alone.

And for some reason, this girl pissed off Alex; he had an idea why but didn't want to admit it to himself. But the admiral wasn't budging. Hawkins's tone, his stance, the way he watched Alex with that knowing look—it was clear he wouldn't back down on this. The man's word was law, and Alex respected that. 

Alex closed his eyes for a beat, letting out a breath. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll make it work."

Hawkins gave a satisfied nod, but there was no gloating, no smugness. Just a subtle acknowledgement that they'd reached an understanding.

"Good," Hawkins simply said. "Time for carrots."

Alex raised his eyebrow. 

"Follow me." He said as Hawkins stood up.

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The admiral's boots echoed rhythmically against the concrete floor as they made their way deeper into the facility. He led Alex down a corridor, past rows of high-security checkpoints, each one manned by stoic guards armed to the teeth. They descended several levels underground via a freight elevator.

Alex didn't need to ask where they were going—he had an idea:  Vault X.

The elevator chimed as they reached the lowest level, and the heavy steel doors slid open with a hiss. The temperature noticeably dropped as they stepped out, the sterile chill in the air matching the solemn, isolated vibe of the place. Hawkins led him through another series of reinforced doors, each one requiring clearance codes and biometric scans.

Finally, they reached Vault X, the classified armoury.

A heavy metal door stood in front of them, looking more like the entrance to a bank than an armoury. Hawkins stepped up to it and placed his hand on the biometric scanner. A soft beep followed, and the vault door unlocked with a resonating thunk. It swung open with a slow groan, revealing the heart of the black ops arsenal.

Inside, Alex's eyes immediately fell on rows of weapons—customised rifles, sidearms, knives and explosives. There were also advanced tech gadgets and devices that most operators only heard rumours about. But what truly captured his attention was at the far end of the room.

Hawkins gestured toward it with a nod.

At the centre of the inner vault stood a sleek glass casing. Inside it was the armour—a menacing black Kevlar combat suit.

Alex stepped closer. It was streamlined yet reinforced in all the critical places, designed for both mobility and protection.

Hawkins moved beside him, folding his arms over his chest. "This," he began, his voice carrying a hint of pride, "is the MK-IV Tactical Suit. Made from triple-layered carbon fibre and thermally insulated. It'll keep you from freezing to death if things go sideways.

Alex nodded approvingly. "How heavy?"

"Light as a feather," Hawkins countered with a small smirk. "It's designed for agility without sacrificing protection. Here's the best part: The outer layer has an adaptive filament coated on it."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning—it can switch its texture and colour from light grey -black grey-black and blend with your environment."

Alex whistled. "Nice!"

Hawkins stepped forward and tapped a control panel on the side of the case. The suit's visor lit up faintly, and a diagnostic display flickered across the screen. "Built-in thermal optics and a full oxygen filtration system in case the air turns... unpleasant."

"Unpleasant?"

"You know, the kind of air that might make you grow a second head," Hawkins said with a smirk, though the humour didn't quite reach his eyes. After witnessing the events in the footage Alex had a feeling, the Admiral wasn't entirely joking.

Alex tilted his head, impressed despite himself. "Anything else?"

"The helmet is reinforced, too. It's not just for aesthetics," Hawkins added, patting the casing. "It's designed to withstand extreme impact and deflect small-arms fire.

Alex gave an approving nod, his hand resting on the edge of the glass. "Fancy. What about weapons?"

Hawkins stepped aside, revealing another compartment in the vault. "Take your pick. But I'd suggest going with the AK-105 ver. Carbine1, we've got pre-loaded for the mission. It's been outfitted with an extended suppressor and holographic sights."

"And no to mention... the go-to weapon for Russian special forces," interjected Alex.

"Yes, the mission will be black. If possible, I don't want any trace of us ever being there. " Hawkins admitted, "If you get captured or killed..."

"I know the drill, Admiral." reponed Alex" But I have to admit... the toys do ease my mind."

Hawkins chuckled, stepping back. "Considering you're about to walk into a goddamn nightmare, this is the least I could do." 

Alex smirked faintly.

He reached up and disengaged the glass casing with a smooth motion. It lifted with a faint hiss, and Alex carefully lifted the suit off the stand, feeling the weight—or lack thereof—in his hands. It was lighter than he expected, almost disturbingly so. He'd need to test it in the field to trust it.

Hawkins watched him for a moment, then clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Get suited up.

Alex deep exhaled through his nose, nodding. As much as he hated the idea of having a handler, he knew there was no way around it. Once on the ground, he will have to improvise.

Alex suited up quickly, fastening the plates, straps, and seals with precision. Once the helmet locked into place with a soft hiss, the HUD flickered to life in his visor, displaying a clean interface with his vital stats and an environmental readout. The thermal overlay adjusted automatically to the lighting of the vault.

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Inside the Lockheed S-3 Viking2, which was maintaining a speed of 400mph, Alex was staring at the countdown timer that Hawkins gave him. It read 14:32:11. 

<Flashback >

Alex had completed the missions briefing with the officers and Morgan regarding the infiltration, plant layout and exfiltration strategies and was about to head out when when Hawkins stopped him and handed him a timer.

Hawkins handed Alex the timer, the red numbers glowing: 15:00:00.

Hawkins said, "That's the limit, Alex. You've got fifteen hours."

Alex studied the timer. "And when it hits zero?"

Hawkins responded, "I will notify the President of the recording. Once that happens, it will go into public records, which means we will be on a direct crash collision with the Russians."

"It will be the first direct confrontation with Russia since the Cold War."

Alex's mission was pretty straightforward. Find what actually happened to the D-squad and retrieve their bodies

Hawkins's expression was grim. "If the Russians get a whiff that we're inside their territory, the fallout will be catastrophic. The President will have no choice but to respond, and so will Moscow."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "You're holding off on telling the Oval Office?"

Hawkins nodded. "I can legally stall for twenty-four hours from the time the footage was recovered. After that, protocol demands I report everything."

Alex exhaled. "Fifteen hours to get in, find out what happened to D-Squad, retrieve their bodies and get out. No evidence left behind."

Hawkins said, "Exactly. No bodies, no gear, no paper trail. If you don't come out before the timer hits zero, the game changes. It won't just be a clean-up mission—we'll be managing a geopolitical crisis."

Alex's jaw clenched. "And if something goes sideways?"

Hawkins responded, "Then improvise...get creative. Unfortunately, this will be one mission where there won't be any cavalry. But the mission remains the same."

"And," the Admiral added", Morgan will be staying on comms at all times. She knows the layout better than anyone. Like it or not, she's your best shot at making it out on time. So don't pull any stunts"

"Copy that, Commander."

Hawkins had a bad feeling he was going to pull something anyway, but he believed in Alex's skills more. Time and time, Alex had completed missions which were damn near impossible.

"Godspeed, Alexander."

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"Watcher to Huntsman, Do you read?"

"Loud and clear."

"We are arriving at the drop location. Get ready for Halo jump."

"Copy that Watcher."

"Altitude confirmed. 35,000 feet. You'll have a 90-second window to hit the drop zone and avoid radar detection. Don't miss it."

Alex leaned back against the cabin wall, his pulse steady as he double-checked his parachute and weapons harness. The AK-105 rested beside him, and his war bag had a combat knife, sidearm, and grenades—both conventional and flash varieties, among other stuff.

"You sound worried, Watcher," Alex said calmly.

"I prefer prepared. Big difference." Morgan's tone was clipped and professional, though Alex could detect the faintest hint of irritation.

"Twenty seconds to jump," the pilot's voice crackled over the comms.

Alex stood up, his pace steady as he stepped toward the Viking's ramp as it slowly began to lower. Cold air rushed in, biting against his armour. His HUD displayed environmental data—air temperature at -40 degrees, wind gusts at 18 mph. The frigid conditions wouldn't be forgiving. 

"See you on the ground," Morgan said in his ear.

Alex smirked. "Don't miss me too much, Watcher."

"Just jump already," she muttered.

With the timer reading 12:31:05, Alex leapt from the Viking into the freezing night, his body slicing through the air like a bullet.

Alex manoeuvred expertly through the wind, adjusting his body. His HUD confirmed the facility was now 8 kilometres away. Beneath him, snow-covered cliffs loomed like jagged teeth, ready to swallow anything careless enough to fall out of formation.

Once he was low enough, Alex deployed his chute, the black canopy unfurling silently against the night sky. He landed silently, with his feet sinking into the soft snow.

"I have a visual on your landing," Morgan's voice confirmed the body cam footage on his armour was working. "Proceed north by 300 meters. There is a steep slope there. If you climb through it, you can reach the station without detection.

"Copy that," Alex whispered, moving swiftly.

The silence of the tundra was oppressive, broken only by the crunch of his boots against the snow. His enhanced senses were fully alert—every shift of the wind, the faint echo of distant ice cracking, all filed away in his mind.

Once he reached the foot of the mountain, he took out his climbing axe.

.

As Alex climbed higher, the wind grew fiercer, howling through the cracks in the cliffside. Snowflakes stung his visor, limiting visibility, but Alex's enhanced senses compensated. He used Focus Vision, tracing the faint indentations in the rock face and mapping out the best route upward.

After a gruelling forty minutes, he reached a narrow ledge and pulled himself. He crouched low, scanning the terrain ahead. The station's dark silhouette loomed in the distance, just beyond the ridge.

"Watcher, I have visual confirmation of the facility," Alex reported, his breath fogging up the inside of his helmet.

Morgan's response was instant. "Good. You're right on track. Proceed along the ridge; you'll find an entry point through a maintenance hatch on the northern side. It's your best chance of getting inside without alerting anyone."

"Got it," Alex whispered, securing his climbing gear before moving along the ridge, his steps light and slow.

The ridge narrowed, the drop on either side sheer and unforgiving. He reached the northern side of the facility. There, partially buried under snow, was the hatch—rusted from exposure but still functional.