Chapter 1: Resolution
The deck of the *USS Thunderbolt* shuddered beneath Jager’s boots as the ship’s massive engines roared, pushing them closer to the black horizon. The night air was thick with salt and diesel, the scent of war already clinging to the back of his throat. Around him, soldiers moved like shadows, their movements sharp and efficient—checking gear, tightening straps, murmuring last-minute instructions, face paint being applied with practiced strokes. The ship’s deck was a symphony of clanking metal, the occasional burst of static from radios, and the low hum of helicopters idling in the hangar bay.
Jager adjusted the strap of his M16, the weight of the weapon familiar against his shoulder. He glanced at the chronometer on his wrist—**9 minutes to zero hour.** His cold blue eyes flicked over the scene, taking in every detail: the way the deck plates vibrated underfoot, the way the sea spray misted the air as the ship cut through the waves, the way the younger recruits—like Folly—tried to hide their nerves but their was no hiding it.
“Its almost zero hour” Jager said to Liz, who was leaning against the railing, in the glow of the red light that bathed the deck. Liz face was painted
with black and green stripes, her long black hair tied back in a tight ponytail. She was holding two mugs of tea, steam curling into the salty air.
“Thanks” Jager said, taking the tea and letting the warmth seep into his fingers. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
“this is the last cup of tea we'll be drinking for a while,” Liz said, her voice steady but carrying the faintest edge of something sharper—something that wasn’t quite anticipation, but wasn’t fear either. It was the kind of tension that settled in the chest, the kind that made every breath feel deliberate, every movement precise.
Jager took a slow sip, the tea bitter and strong, just how he liked it. He exhaled through his nose, watching the steam dissipate into the night. “guess this means enjoy it while we can” he said, his voice low, almost lost beneath the ship’s engines.
Liz smirked, her dark eyes glinting in the red light. “You always did have a way with words, Jager.” She took a sip from her own mug, then leaned back against the railing, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp. “You nervous?”
Jager let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’d be stupid if I wasn’t.”
Liz studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable . Then she nodded, as if confirming something to herself. “Fair enough. You’ve come a long way Jager . Remember that.” Liz said, her voice dropping to a murmur as she glanced over her shoulder at the bustling deck. “The kid’s watching you.”
Jager followed her gaze to where Folly stood by the helicopter’s open side door, his fingers nervously tapping against the stock of his M16. The rookie’s eyes were wide, darting between the soldiers loading gear and the dark expanse of the ocean beyond the ship’s ramp. He looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, trying to decide whether to jump or step back.
“He’s green, but he’s got potential,” Jager said, taking another sip of his tea.
The warmth of it grounded him, a small anchor in the chaos of the moment. “Just needs to stop thinking so much.”
Liz chuckled, low and dry. “Easier said than done. You were the same way once.”
Jager shot her a look. “I was never that bad.”
“Oh, you were,” she said, smirking. “You just hid it better.”
A burst of static from a nearby radio cut through their conversation. A voice crackled over the comms—“Five minutes to zero hour. All units, final checks.”
Jager set his mug down on the deck, the metal clinking against the steel. He turned to Liz, his expression unreadable.
“I guess this is where we part ways for now,” he said, his voice steady as he adjusted the strap of his M16.
“ Try not to get yourself killed,” Liz replied, her tone light but her eyes serious. He knew what she was saying even if she didn’t say it out loud. The unspoken promise between them, the one that had been there since their first deployment together: *I’ll see you on the other side.*
Jager gave her a small nod, just enough to acknowledge the weight of the words. Then he turned toward Folly, who was still hovering near the helicopter, looking like he was trying to memorize every detail of the moment. The kid’s fingers twitched at his side, and Jager could practically see the gears turning in his head—*What if I mess up? What if I freeze? What if—*
“Folly,” Jager called, his voice cutting through the rookie’s spiraling thoughts.
The kid snapped to attention, his eyes locking onto Jager’s with a mix of relief and embarrassment.
“S-sir?” Folly stammered, straightening his posture. His fingers fidgeted with the strap of his M16, the weapon looking almost too large for his slight frame.
“relax Folly theirs no need for worrying ” Jager said, his voice calm but firm. “You’re with me tonight. Just do what I do, and you’ll be fine.”
Folly swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Y-yes, sir. I mean—Jager.”
Jager smirked, adjusting the harness over his shoulders. “Just Jager is fine. We’re not on base anymore.”
A gust of wind whipped across the deck, carrying the scent of salt and fuel. The ship’s engines thrummed louder, the vibration traveling up through the soles of their boots. Somewhere in the distance, a helicopter’s rotor blades began to spin, the whirring sound growing steadily louder.