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Orders are delivered by text this time, instead of over the comm briefings. Helpful for you, because it even includes a brief map of the area.
You are given a grid map of 20 square miles, with 1 of those squares in the northeast being marked as suspected bunker location, and another square in the southwest being marked as deployment point. How helpful.
The map is rather light on detail. Not that there’s much detail to see, apart from terrain contours.
You adjust the Nail-pattern railgun you selected for the mission. It’s bulky, and the slow charging times make it less than ideal for dealing with many targets, but every hit will certainly deal damage to whatever finds itself on the other end, and leave minimal time for dodging by the more evasive units.
On your back, the rest of your power and focus goes to the Project Predator setup for amplifying and receiving signals, along with the Project Hive drone control system.
All of the extra back weight may slow you down slightly. Or maybe that’s just you being used to the extra strength of the Yi. This equipment may not be straight up speed, but it does give a great deal more options.
The blizzard doesn’t cease, but it does lessen enough for you to start getting a little bit of visibility. At least enough to begin moving swiftly across the snowbound hills.
You begin launching Hive drones, their spheroid bodies launching out of your back into the air far above. They aren’t terribly subtle, but they’re fast and nimble enough to be annoying to shoot down normally. And in this whiteout? They’re near-impossible.
The Predator array already proves its worth by picking up some far-off signal chatter. It’s garbled, but you already have a bearing for something which requires communication. Probably a roving patrol, starting or ending a route.
Now, time for some decisions. Options, options. Your attention briefly turns to your pilot, seeking if she has any input, but even though her thoughts are tired, she is still mumbling something rapidly. You recognize it as numbers, counting in some odd pattern.
“Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-four.”
At least she’s not shutting down this time. Maybe some reassurance is in order.
“Pilot. I will bring us to victory. Merely wait.”
She does not stop her inconsistent count, skipping every third number.
