War of

Private First Class James Will had been standing guard at the main entrance to Key West Base for three hours. He had never seen anything like this before. An hour before his watch, an alert was sounded throughout the base. Half an hour later, an endless line of vehicles was leaving the base. The entire U.S. Navy garrison was leaving. All ships had left the harbor, and planes had taken off from the airport. For half an hour, the base had been silent. The only signs of life were the base security patrols walking along the fence and throughout the base. Sector commanders were driving around them in their vehicles, and additional forces were assigned to the guard posts.

In short, something extraordinary was happening at the base. Since joining the army, he had only experienced three one-day drills.

Suddenly, in the distance in front of the main gate, he saw a cloud of dust rising. He immediately raised his binoculars. A moment later, a military HUMMER appeared from the horizon, followed by a truck. Behind it, more trucks appeared. He immediately reported this to his commander.

A moment later, a JEEP carrying his superior pulled up to the gate. When James showed him the long column of vehicles, he was ordered to close the gate and not let anyone in without his permission.

"We have orders not to let anyone in, even if it's the president himself! We only let them in on orders from above. And I don't know anything about this transport."

The JEEP sped away towards the base buildings with a screech of tires.

After a few minutes, two teams from the reserve security ran up to James's guardhouse.

"What do you have there?" the squad leader asked.

"A column of military vehicles is heading towards us. They're about ten minutes away," James replied, handing him the binoculars.

The squad leader observed the transport closely for a long moment, then handed them back.

"Okay. It looks like ours, but an order is an order." He sighed. "Guys! We're covering the gate like we did during the exercises! And you stand there like nothing happened." He patted him on the shoulder.

The squad dispersed in the blink of an eye. Everyone hid in the surrounding bushes, and soon only the tips of their gun barrels were visible, jutting out toward the gate.

Meanwhile, the commander hid behind the guardhouse and radioed his superiors about the situation. In response, he was ordered not to let anyone into the base without the security chief's permission, even if it meant a shootout.

James retrieved his M-16 from the guardhouse and reloaded it. It always gave him courage, but now it didn't seem to help. The minutes dragged on like hours. Finally, the convoy arrived and stopped in front of the gate. James approached the gate, and a man in a sailor's uniform with high insignia stepped out of a HUMMER – unfortunately, James had no knowledge of sailor ranks, especially the higher ones.

"Can I help you?" he asked the officer approaching.

"We have orders to deploy to this base. Please open the gate!

" "Unfortunately, I can't open it. I'm forbidden to let anyone in without the security commander's permission.

" "What kind of order is this?!" the officer was visibly upset. "First they're taking me away from lunch, then they're making me trudge around in that damned HUMMER in the local heat, and finally they're not letting me into the base we're supposed to man and prepare. What the hell is this supposed to be?!

" "I'm sorry. Please identify yourself and show your papers. Then we'll try to explain this." James tried to keep his voice relatively calm.

"Son! I didn't get any papers! This was all sorted out faster than ever! The guys didn't even finish their lunch!" the officer yelled.

At that moment, the squad leader emerged from behind the guardhouse and hid around the guardhouse.

"Sir!" He recognized the rank immediately. "Don't get upset! Tell me who you are and who sent you here." Otherwise, you won't get in!" He spoke in a firm but composed voice.

The sight of the expertly aimed weapon in the gendarme's hands visibly cooled the officer's enthusiasm.

"1st Special Naval Engineer Regiment. Lieutenant Clerk. By order of the Commander of the US Navy, we are to occupy the Key West base and prepare it for the arrival of special forces."

The commander waved James to go and report this information to the higher-ups.

A minute later, the base security commander himself arrived at the guardhouse. He approached the engineer officer and spoke with him for a few moments. Then they saluted each other, and the security chief ordered the gate opened and the support unit withdrawn.

The column of vehicles entered the base.

...

"Admiral!" he heard a clear voice in his headphones. "The engineers have arrived at Key West and are starting to prepare everything.

" "Fine, thank you," Reg replied into his helmet microphone.

For an hour, he had been flying in formation with the plane carrying the rest of the staff. The autopilot kept him at a constant distance behind the right wing of the transport, which was undergoing constant work. Reports were coming in, they were being analyzed, and the conclusions were relayed to him by radio. He'd been sitting there for an hour, acknowledging receipt of the information. He was bored.

Why hadn't anyone invented a game for this onboard computer yet, he wondered. We should report this to our IT guys, he thought, and smiled to himself.

"This is Transport 1! 015 Alpha Alpha Foxtrot, come in!" the formation leader, the captain of the transport aircraft, called out.

"015 Alpha Alpha Foxtrot. Transport 1, tell me! "

"We're approaching Key West Air Force Base. We'll be entering the flight path in three minutes.

" "Understood! Get in first!" Reg said.

After a long moment, the formation began to turn. Reg disengaged the autopilot and switched to manual control. On the nav computer screen, he saw something resembling a running track around the football field and a dot indicating his plane. The transport plane next to him suddenly rose and tightened its turn. A moment later, it was on course for the runway. John checked in with air traffic control and waited for his turn to land. He was probably making his fifth circle around the nearby town when he heard:

"This is tower! 015 alpha alpha foxtrot, report in!

" "This is 015 alpha alpha foxtrot. Tower, speak!" he replied, jolted out of his lethargy.

"You have clearance to land on runway two. I've transmitted the approach data to your nav computer.

" "Thank you, I see. Please report to the ground."

The controller was silent for a moment, puzzled. This procedure had been discontinued several years ago. After a moment, he remembered and replied:

"The ground is clear, winds are light from the north. Runway temperature is 30°C." That procedure is obsolete!

"Indeed, I forgot. Don't bother me, tower! I'm descending!"

The navigation computer had just ordered a turn onto a course leading directly to the runway. Now everything is according to procedure. He quickly opened the book on his thigh. It's always better to have a cheat sheet; I don't do this every day, he thought.

Landing gear extended. Flaps down. Thrust to half. Three... to one-third. Two... to one-fifth. One... He's over the runway. Descend to one meter above the ground. Close the throttle.

The squeal of the landing gear grazing the runway startled him like a controlled gunshot. Throttle to zero. Reverse thrust. Airbrake. At taxiing speed, apply wheel brakes and thrust to zero. Retract the airbrake.

As it turned out, he remembered the procedure quite well.

"This is tower! 015 alpha alpha foxtrot, we're sending you a guide!

" "015 alpha alpha foxtrot, understood. Waiting!"

A moment later, a yellow pickup truck emerged from the side entrance to the runway, a sign warning to follow. Reg increased his thrust and followed the guide vehicle. They meandered along the apron for a while until they reached the straightaway leading to the hangar, where a transport with staff was turning around. When they reached it, the truck stopped, and a soldier with two yellow lollipops got out and steered Reg manually. Finally, he ordered him to stop and turn off the engines. He saluted, got into his car, and drove off.

When the engines died, Reg opened the cockpit and extended the steps for descent. With a few deft movements, he jumped down and began stretching his stiff muscles. Almost everything ached from being stuck in the plane for several hours. He

had barely managed to get himself back into working order when a soldier in a bomb disposal unit uniform ran up to him.

"Commander."

"I'm listening.

" "In this hangar," he pointed to the hangar in front of which the planes were parked, "will be the headquarters. It's the closest to all the key points of the base

." "Good. How long will it take you to get everything ready?

" "The additional generators and staff equipment will arrive in about an hour, but you can get to work immediately. All the communications and office equipment is ready.

" "Thank you.

" The sapper hurried away, talking on his radio.

Reg glanced at his men. They were a group of officers, unaccustomed to such feats. Many of them had special forces experience, but they had already forgotten much.

"Okay! This will be our headquarters!" Reg shouted, pointing to the hangar in front of them. "We're moving in and getting to work. I want progress reports as soon as possible!"

There was a bustle outside the hangar. Everyone was carrying computers and other equipment out of the plane. A moment later, everyone was in the hangar and slowly getting to work.

Reg stepped outside the hangar and went to inspect the state of preparation of the base to receive his troops.

Engineers were bustling around the base. They were preparing everything according to special forces standards, so that the commandos could get to work immediately when they arrived.

The last berths for boats and ships were being prepared in the harbor, and the first landing craft was already visible on the horizon. More planes carrying commandos and equipment from all over the country were arriving at the airport. A frantic unloading operation was underway. The base was slowly filling up. Reg stopped at the base parking lot, where he managed to rent a Jeep, and returned to the headquarters hangar.

...

"Okay, guys! Break's over, let's move on!" Gregs shouted to his men. "We only have two more hours of driving left."

The commandos slowly climbed into their trucks, and the column moved on. Since the alert had been issued, they had only had this one, several-minute stop. They continued their journey toward Florida. They had eaten their second breakfast and dinner from their marching rations, and now it was time for bed. Everyone, as best they could, settled into the truck and tried to sleep. One thought raced through everyone's minds: why? Why had they been ordered to leave so suddenly? Why hadn't they been given the required breaks? What was all the fuss about?

No one knew the answer to these questions. Not even their guardian and teacher, Greg.

Fortunately, sleep quickly interrupted these thoughts.

The screech of brakes woke them. A glance at their watches revealed they should have arrived. After a moment, they continued on their way. Looking through the back of the truck, they saw a gate and a guard shining a flashlight at the rear of the trucks. They entered a base.

After a few minutes of meandering, they pulled up in front of a barracks. When the trucks stopped, they heard their commander shout.

"From the trucks! Get your gear and assemble in two lines!

" So, the ride's over. With a final effort, everyone heaved their backpacks and formed a two-line formation in front of Gregs.

"Everyone here?" Gregs asked, shining his flashlight down the line. "Good! This is our quarters for who knows how long. The first room from the entrance is mine, the rest are yours. Share as you wish.

Wake up call tomorrow two hours later." Relieved, the line dispersed and collapsed into the barracks.

Gregs waited until everyone was inside and headed for the quarters himself. He'd love to go to sleep, but he still had to report to headquarters. Maybe at least he'd find out what all the fuss was about.

Base map in hand, he headed for the headquarters hangar .

...

The silhouette of the guard from outside the hangar appeared above Reg's screen.

"Commander. The commander of the 1st landing squad has arrived.

" "Give him, but quickly!"

Gregs entered the hangar.

"Hi, 'Reggie'!" he greeted Reg. "Long time no see!

" "Hi! Nice to see you again! Coffee?" Reg asked cordially.

"Sure! I thought I'd collapse in this truck. What's all this mess about?

" "All in good time. Sit down, I'll be right back," Reg said, and left the table.

He always scoffed at the formal style of conversation between boss and subordinate. He hated it. He found it too grumpy and bureaucratic.

A moment later, he returned with two mugs of coffee and a few sandwiches, which they both dug into immediately.

"Well, that's better now," Gregs gasped, swallowing.

"Now, let's get down to business. This is very complicated.

" "World War III?" Gregs asked ironically.

"Not yet, but almost. Someone hijacked the only unmanned vehicle control satellite from over this area.

" "It's starting to sound interesting..."

"The calculations indicate the satellite landed somewhere in Cuba, NASA says." We've been ordered to prepare for his rescue.

"Do we know anything specific?" Gregs was referring to the future location of the operation.

"Nothing. I found out about it myself this morning.

" "So we're stepping up our training and preparing for war.

" "Exactly. I declared martial law at the base. You know what that means.

" "Sure. I just let the guys sleep in a bit longer after that ride.

" "Good. I'd like you to focus on retraining for landing operations and taking over buildings.

" "We've been messing around with the buildings for a month now, and we'll need to refresh our memory on landing. But we haven't done things like that before.

" "I know. I know you old hands. That's all. Go to sleep and sweet dreams.

" "Good night.

" Gregs left.

Reg looked around the makeshift office. The people looked visibly tired. He glanced at his watch. It was almost ten o'clock.

"Enough of this good time. We're going to bed. I don't care that the barracks haven't arrived yet. I don't know about you, but I'm going to bed. There are backpacks with field equipment for everyone on the plane. You'll find sleeping mats and bags there. Good night!"

A sigh of relief rolled through the room. The staff officers were turning off their computers and stretching in their chairs. Individually or in groups, they were leaving the hangar.

Reg grabbed his backpack from the plane and, having left, began looking for a place to sleep.

I've had enough of the hangar, he thought. The plane will be uncomfortable, how about sleeping on the grass? The last time he'd slept like this was during a training exercise a few years ago. Right afterward, he was transferred to headquarters.

A dozen or so meters from the plane, the concrete apron ended. A large patch of grass began. The grass was soft and almost inviting.

He spread out his sleeping mat and bag, took off his uniform, and, in his light sleeping clothes, lay down in the bag.

Suddenly, the lights went out throughout the base. This is standard procedure at night and in war. Only the fences and gates are lit.

Reg looked up. He saw thousands, millions of stars.

How beautiful, he thought, and then his eyes closed of their own accord.

...

Throughout the week, transports from all over the country arrived at the Key West base, more troops arrived, specialized units arrived at the port, and more planes that could be useful in any landing operation landed at the airport. Reg and his staff performed miracles to put the entire machine back together and get it running again after being brought across the country.

All the while, more information about the cause of all this confusion, about the missing satellite, continued to reach the headquarters. The intelligence services painstakingly, step by step, delved into the intricate web of political and mafia connections in Cuba. A faint trace of their disappearance also emerged. The CIA managed to intercept a receipt for a transfer to a Swiss account belonging to a Cuban mafia boss, amounting to an astronomical sum of money as payment for weapons.

Finally, eight days after the satellite vanished from the sky, Reg was able to gather all the commanders of the various units in his hangar. There were officers in charge of assault and transport units, as well as those responsible for the entire operational support network. A buzz of conversation filled the room, but when Reg stepped before the assembled group, everyone fell silent.

"Hello everyone, we're all here now," he began. "This is the first time we've had so many of us in one meeting, which means this is extremely serious."

A murmur of interest rippled through the room.

"As everyone probably knows," he continued, "we lost an extremely important satellite, which crashed in Cuban territory. We've now determined that one of Cuba's high-ranking mafiosi accepted an unnaturally large payment for the weapons. The transfer was made approximately half an hour after NASA's estimated time of arrival at Earth.

"What are the consequences of losing this satellite?" a question came from the audience

. "We've now lost the ability to control any unmanned vehicles in the southern United States and over Cuba. This complicates the situation greatly. So much for the introduction. Now it's time for specifics."

For a moment, those gathered in the room discussed what they had heard, but the sharp voice of their superior brought them to their senses.

"Attention! Due to the current situation, I'm issuing the following orders: assault forces are to train and maintain constant readiness for attack using all available methods. Transport, evacuation, and rescue teams will repeat and prepare for all types of missions." The support teams will prepare to carry out their tasks without the use of all these toys, so all robots, drones, and other gadgets are out. The entire SEAL team is being put on high alert. This means we have to be ready to conduct any operation within two hours. We are to reach full operational readiness within the next week.

When he finished, he took a deep breath, tired of the official chatter, and asked in a normal, almost paternal tone:

"Any questions?

" "Yes!" A newly minted-looking officer stood up from the back of the room

.

"I'm listening." "Can we count on more information before we go? It's always better to know what we're going to do than to practice a bit of everything."

The question sounded rather idiotic in this professional circle, but Reg replied quickly and matter-of-factly:

"Of course. As soon as I have more information, I'll keep you informed. Anyone else?" Silence answered. He concluded: "That's all. Have fun and break a leg. You can leave. "

With that, he left the room.