PROJECT: CAYRO

Sergeant First Class Helsing

October 19, 2025,

09:00 EST

Langley AFB Training Grounds,

Langley, VA

Climbing the steps of the observation tower, I entered the deck overlooking the training grounds. Captain Edwards stood at the large windows, surveying the area prepped for the demonstration.

"Good morning, Captain," I said, snapping a quick salute.

"Good morning, Sergeant," he replied, returning the gesture without looking away from the training field.

"Alpha Team is ready for their demonstration, sir," I reported.

For a moment, Edwards didn’t respond, his eyes focused on something outside. Then, without turning, he tapped a few buttons on the panel in front of him, bringing up a video feed of Alpha Team, waiting in formation.

"Tell me something, Sergeant," he said, still watching the screens. "How does an Army NCO with your background end up training a unit of experimental super-soldiers? Especially someone with your level of combat experience?"

I sighed, staring at the waiting drones in the distance, bracing myself for the memories. "I wasn’t given much of a choice, sir."

Edwards finally turned, his gaze sharp. "What do you mean by that?"

"After my team was wiped out aboard the Death Reckoning, the brass offered me two options: take on this training role or accept a promotion to Master Sergeant and a staff position." I paused, tension knotting in my gut. "They decided I was no longer fit for combat."

"I can see their reasoning," he said, his voice flat, clinical.

I shot him a glare. The coldness in his tone hit a raw nerve. He didn’t have to spell it out. Losing my team that day—it wasn’t just combat; it was family. The pain was still fresh, still real.

"That’s exactly why they made that decision," he said, almost as if he’d read my thoughts. "You lost people you saw as family."

"And what would you know about it, sir?" I bit out, jaw tight with barely restrained anger.

"Ashley..." His voice softened as he used my first name, something he rarely did. He turned to face me fully, then rolled up his sleeve, revealing a black memorial wristband.

I took a step closer, recognizing the date, location, and unit inscribed on it. The Second Korean War. Osan Airbase. I’d heard stories about the unit that held the runway.

"You were there," I muttered.

Edwards nodded. "I was a 2nd Lieutenant, and when the dust settled, I was the highest-ranking officer left. It was my squadron that held the runway. We lost three-quarters of our men that day. I wouldn’t have made it without a Staff Sergeant by my side."

I blinked, the pieces falling into place. "My apologies, sir," I said, my voice quieter.

"Don’t apologize." Edwards waved it off. "I’ve read your record—the unredacted version. Your unit didn’t fare much better than mine."

"No, we didn’t," I admitted, thinking back to the chaos and bloodshed. "The military lost over ten thousand in two months."

"Ten thousand four hundred and twenty-six," Edwards corrected softly, his gaze distant as he turned back to the window.

I clamped my mouth shut. The fact he knew the exact number by heart said more about the man than anything else. This wasn’t just some detached officer sitting behind a desk; he had been through hell, just like the rest of us. I made a mental note that Edwards wasn’t the typical officer I had pegged him for.

"So why were you chosen to command this unit?" I asked, curiosity winning out over my initial skepticism.

"The same reason you were chosen to train them," he replied simply. "Experience."

I nodded. "Fair point, sir."

Edwards looked back at me, his expression thoughtful. "I believe you’ll be a great asset to this unit, Sergeant. I’ve watched you with the trainees. Your background with the Rangers and Special Forces makes you a perfect fit. I’d like to recommend you for First Sergeant of this unit."

I nearly choked on air. First Sergeant? For this unit? This was an Air Force outfit, not Army, and definitely not a joint forces operation. There was no way the Army would let that fly.

"Uh, sir... I don’t think the Army’s going to allow me to be a First Sergeant for an Air Force unit," I said bluntly, the absurdity of the situation hanging in the air.

"On the contrary," Edwards replied, his voice measured, "the Army has no place to assign you where your skills would be fully utilized in a regular unit. That’s why they offered you a staff position back at Fort Moore or to stay here." He clasped his hands behind his back, adopting that infuriatingly calm officer stance. "If you take the Fort Moore post, you’ll never see the frontlines again. No field operations. You know that, the Army knows that, and so do I. Staying here gives you a chance to remain close to combat."

Damnit. He was right. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but going back to Fort Moore would have killed my career. The frontlines were where I belonged—where I needed to be. Edwards was sharper than most officers I’d served under; he saw right through me.

"We have two options, Sergeant." His tone softened slightly as he turned to me. "First, you stay assigned to the 3/75th Ranger Regiment, and we ‘borrow’ you as needed. You remain an Army Sergeant First Class, First Sergeant by title only, until the Army recalls you. Or..." he paused, letting the weight of the second option settle, "we transfer your contract to the Air Force. You’ll be promoted to E-8 and placed directly on the command track under this unit, which, as you know, is special operations in its own right. No time lost on your service record."

The second option hit me like a hammer. I hadn’t even considered a full transfer, let alone a promotion and no lost time. Honestly, it was the smarter option. Less red tape, and I’d have more control over my future.

"What would you do, sir?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"If I were in your boots, with your record, I’d take option two." He glanced at me, his eyes holding a hint of understanding. "I was in your position once. Stuck as a 1st Lieutenant after Korea. It was Colonel Sirnic who pulled strings and put me back on the command track."

I hadn’t known that about him. There was more to Edwards than met the eye.

As I approached the observation deck, I glanced down at the camera feeds. Alpha Team was just offscreen, their movements barely visible at the edge of the frame. What the hell were they up to?

"Sir, I’ll give you my answer tomorrow morning," I said, distracted by the team’s odd behavior.

"Take your time, Sergeant, but I’ll need to know soon. Now," Edwards gestured to the screens, "let’s see what Alpha Team has in store for us."

I hit the intercom, ordering Alpha Team to begin their demonstration. My eyes stayed glued to the feed, expecting them to move into position like they’d practiced. But instead... nothing. Their movements disappeared entirely.

An explosion rocked the observation tower. My head snapped up just in time to see another blast tear apart one of the attack drones, sending its smoking debris raining down onto the training ground.

"What the hell was that?" Captain Edwards barked, eyes wide in shock.

I didn’t need to guess. "Mark-19 grenade," I muttered, but something was off. There hadn’t been the distinct thump of the cannon.

Then I saw her—Raven Skitchatory—blazing past the observation tower on a skyboard, her black reflective sunglasses catching the early morning sun. She was moving fast, darting in and out of sight like a ghost.

"Where the hell did they get skyboards?" Edwards asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and irritation.

I grinned, the satisfaction of seeing my guidance in action bubbling up. "She listened to me."

Edwards arched an eyebrow. "And what exactly did you tell them?"

"Adapt, improvise, and overcome," I said smugly, crossing my arms as I watched Raven outmaneuver the drones.

Edwards huffed, half-impressed, half-amused. "Well... they certainly did that."

I watched as Skitchatory arched her arm back and lobbed something the size of a baseball at one of the larger, up-armored drones. The grenade spun in a perfect spiral, and when it made contact—boom. A massive explosion tore through the drone, sending smoke and shrapnel flying.

Well, shit. She wasn’t even using the Mark-19 cannon; she threw the damned grenade like a football.

As the smoke cleared, I caught sight of two more Alpha Team members on skyboards, both hurling their own grenades. The back-to-back explosions rattled the observation tower. Pieces of drone debris rained down like confetti from hell.

"Was this a tactic you taught them?" Captain Edwards asked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

"No, sir," I said with a proud smirk. "That’s all her."

"They’re doing a number on the drones," he observed, a hint of admiration sneaking into his voice.

"She reminds me of... well, me," I said, my eyes glued to the action.

"She does?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, this is something I would have done," I explained, watching as another explosion sent a drone spiraling to the ground.

He nodded approvingly as two more muzzle flashes erupted from the far end of the field, dropping two drones in quick succession. Snipers. Two more flashes followed, and another pair of drones fell. The precision was deadly, efficient.

And then, Skitchatory nose-dived straight for another drone. At the last possible second, she leapt from her skyboard, tucked, and rolled across the ground. Her board slammed into the drone, slicing it clean in half before disintegrating into shards.

Before I could even process that, she was back on her feet, dual-wielding M9 pistols. She fired off rapid shots, taking out another drone with deadly accuracy. A different drone fired a barrage of taser rounds at her, but she spun away like a damn ballerina, dodging every one. She closed the distance, grabbed the drone's arm, and wrenched it backward with such force that it crashed face-first into the dirt. Without hesitation, she ripped the arm clean off and used it to smash another drone into submission.

"Jeez..." I heard the Captain mutter, more in awe than anything.

Following his gaze, I saw Ray Oakland, another Alpha Team member, hurtling through the air, a long pole in his hands. He’d launched himself off his board, using the momentum to impale the pole straight through the top of a drone. With a swift flip, he ripped the pole free and landed gracefully on his feet, immediately whipping the pole into another drone, sending sparks flying.

He wasn’t even using his firearm, just his sheer agility and brute force. Another drone took aim at him, but before it could fire, its head exploded in a flash of sniper fire.

Before I could look back at Skitchatory, a loud buzzer rang out, signaling the end of the exercise. The last drones froze in place, and both Skitchatory and Oakland turned, running back toward the starting point. They met halfway, fist-bumping as they jogged back with smug satisfaction.

I spun on my heels and grabbed the binoculars sitting on the bench. Focusing in on the far end of the training field, I saw that the red flag, which the drones were supposed to be guarding, was gone. The three defending drones were little more than piles of smoking wreckage.

Then it clicked. The pole. The one Oakland had used to impale a drone—that was the flagpole. They had hidden the flag, turned the pole into a weapon, and used themselves as decoys while their third teammate stole the objective. It was a brilliant tactic.

Smart move, Skitchatory... smart move.

I turned to face the Captain. He stood there, slack-jawed, a look of pure astonishment plastered across his face.

"Are you okay, sir?" I asked, trying not to sound too smug.

"This was supposed to be a test to see what kind of training they’d need," he replied, still processing what he’d just witnessed. "I wasn’t expecting this to go so... well."

"Huh," I said, allowing a proud smile to creep onto my face. "I think we made the right choice for Alpha Team leader."

"I see that now," he muttered, finally closing his mouth.

"I’m heading down to the armory for a debrief," I told him, already heading for the door.

As I reached the exit, the Captain called after me. "We got that on camera, right?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, smirking as I pushed the door open.

"Good. I’ll see you after Bravo Team finishes their exercise," he said, already turning back to the monitors.

Descending the stairs of the observation tower, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride swelling in my chest. Alpha Team’s performance had been nothing short of spectacular. Unconventional, yes, but that was exactly what I’d been hoping for. They had adapted, improvised, and overcome the obstacles before them with style and efficiency.

Yeah, I thought, we’re going to need a lot more drones for the next test.