FORT BENNING, GEORGIA | DECEMBER 21, 2005
The sharp crack of rifles firing on the range echoed across the base as Bravo Company gathered on the parade grounds for the weekly formation. The morning sun hanged low in the sky which cast long shadows across the polished concrete as Lieutenant Colonel McKenna, the battalion commander and a twenty-year veteran of the Rangers steped to the front of the formation who greeted him with a military salute.
"AT EASE!"
The platoon shifted their weight, but stayed rigidly aligned. McKenna scans the faces before him, his gaze lingering for a moment on William near the front of the ranks.
"Rangers—you've pushed harder these past two weeks than any unit I've commanded in ten years. Your scores on airborne operations, direct action drills, and urban combat scenarios are the highest this battalion has seen in over a decade. You've earned this."
He pauses, letting the words sink in before continuing.
"Block leave starts at 1700 hours today. You'll have twenty-one days to rest, recharge, and spend time with your families. Be back here on January 12th—0600 hours sharp. Late arrivals will spend their first week back in extra duty and remedial training. I don't want to see anyone on that list. AM I CLEAR!?"
""SIR, YES SIR!!"" the platoon echoed.
A low murmur of relief and excitement ripples through the formation. After weeks of brutal training—four-mile runs before dawn, back-to-back airborne jumps, and eighteen-hour days in the urban complex—everyone is ready for a break.
"DISMISSED!"
The platoon broke its formation, soldiers happily clapping each other on the back and making plans for their time off. Reyes slings an arm around William's shoulders as they head toward the barracks.
"Alright Lennox—you coming with me and the guys to New Orleans? We've got a spot picked out on Bourbon Street, and trust me, you've never seen anything like it."
William shook his head, already planning his course of action for the next two years. He turned to Reyes as they walked. "Appreciate it, but I've got family business to handle in Jordan. Been planning it since before RASP ended."
Reyes raises an eyebrow. "Jordan? Man, that's a long way from home. You sure you don't want to trade desert sand for Cajun food and good old music?" The Latino in him was probably acting up as he showed his silly dance moves.
"Unfortunately, I've got some loose ends to tie up. Besides, desert terrain training might come in handy down the line."
Reyes nods slowly, then claps him on the back again. "Fair enough. Just make sure you're back on time or Sergeant Martinez will skin you alive. And hey—bring me back something cool, will ya? Maybe a dagger or something."
"Will do," William answered with a small smile, splitting off from the group to head for the admin office where he needed to file his leave.
'Paperwork...' Even as a teacher, the Akira in him hated the cumbersome and repetitive paperwork usually required by the government or any company in general. Now with his enhancements, the burden eased to a mere inconvenience.
'In a few years, everything will be printed and edited except for the signature. Sometimes even the signature. That's convenient.' William thought while walking through the maze of cubicles and filing cabinets, the air thick with the smell of printer ink and stale coffee.
The admin clerk, a southeast Asian woman with thick glasses and a perpetually frazzled look—looks up as William steps through the door. Reading his badges and name in his uniform, the man is a Specialist with surname Chen.
"PFC Lennox—what can I do for you?" Chen asked after reading William's name and rank.
"DA Form 31 for block leave, ma'am. Destination is Amman, Jordan. Departure date December 23rd, return January 10th."
Chen pulls up his file on the computer, typing quickly. "Jordan… that's a foreign travel request. Did you submit the advance notice?"
"Submitted it three days ago, ma'am. All security clearance paperwork is up to date."
She nods, pulling up the documents and scanning them. "Everything looks in order. Your leave is approved—though I've got to say, Jordan's not exactly a typical vacation spot for a Ranger fresh out of training."
"Family tradition of visiting the area," William says smoothly, his enhanced mind crafting the cover story flawlessly. "Haven't seen them in years. Figured block leave was the perfect chance."
"Fair enough. Here's your approved form—take this to transportation to get your ticket sorted. And remember—if your travel plans change for any reason, you've got to notify us immediately. No exceptions."
"Understood, ma'am. Thank you."
William takes the form and heads straight to the transportation office where he picked up his e-ticket for a Delta flight departing from Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport the next morning at 0845 hours. He uses his hidden access to military funds to upgrade to business class to get fewer questions about why a PFC is traveling to the Middle East.
Back in his barracks, William packed his duffel bag with meticulous care, aside from civilian clothes he did not bring any gear that could compromise his trip. As for weapons and gear, he did not bother. With his enhanced abilities, he can breeze through groups of trained humans and let him bypass security without leaving a trace.
He looked at his palm once again, the only visible change from his assimilation are these small black circles at the tip of his fingers and a bigger one on his palm. Which sort of reminded him of Naruto somehow. Whenever he discharged electricity, it would arc from these circles.
'I'm like Killua or Genji... Nah. More like an eel or something.'
As he ziped up the bag, Martinez entered into the barracks, carrying a stack of training manuals.
"Lennox—heard you're heading to Jordan."
"Sir—Sergeant. Yes, sir. Family business."
Martinez sets the manuals down, leaning against the edge of William's bunk. "I've been to Jordan. Spent six months there on a joint ops mission back in '99. Beautiful country, but it's got its share of trouble spots. Be careful out there."
"Will do, Sergeant. I've done my research—sticking to tourist areas mostly."
Martinez studies him for a long moment, his scarred eyebrow furrowing slightly. William can tell the platoon sergeant is trying to read him, but his enhanced abilities let him keep his expression perfectly neutral.
"You're a good soldier, Lennox. One of the best I've seen come out of RASP in a long time. But I know when someone's holding something back. Just remember—whatever you're dealing with, you've got a platoon that's got your back. Don't forget that."
William stands up straight, meeting Martinez's gaze directly. "I won't, Sergeant. Thank you."
Martinez nods, then claps him on the shoulder. "Get out of here. Enjoy your leave. And make sure you're back ready to train—we've got big things coming down the pipeline. I can feel it."
ATLANTA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT – DECEMBER 23RD, 0730 HOURS
William moved through the airport like a ghost, his enhanced senses letting him navigate crowds and security checkpoints with ease. He'd already scanned the entire terminal before he even left the parking garage, mapping out every camera, every security guard, every possible exit route. Which is pretty much more of a habit due to his enhanced processing and logic abilities.
At the gate, he connects to the global network, running one final check on the coordinates for the Tomb of the Primes. His processor cross-references satellite imagery from multiple sources—military, civilian, even a few private companies he'd hacked into—confirming the exact location in the Jordanian desert, near the ancient city of Petra.
According to the files, the tomb is hidden beneath a sandstone formation about twenty kilometers from the nearest road. The area's sparsely populated—mostly Bedouin tribes who avoid it, saying it's cursed. Which is kind of perfect for what he needed to do.
The boarding call echoed through the terminal, and William stood up, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. As he boards the plane, he looks out the window at the runway stretching ahead, disappearing into the morning mist.