He flicked to the next screen. The scarred face of Second Lieutenant Casey Franks appeared. She had been HAWC Special Forces for a number of years. Standing five foot ten she was the most ferocious HAWC they had for hand-to-hand combat, and spent her time training her body – ripping it and punishing it – until she looked like she was assembled from whipcord and iron. With ice blue eyes and a snub nose, her face may have been called attractive once, but a cleft scar running from just below her left eye down to her chin pulled her cheek slightly to one side, giving her appearance a permanent sneer. If you ever needed someone to kick a door down and go through it to Hell, she’d be your first choice.

Hammerson selected her for the mission and moved to his last team member. The next image made him smile as the broad face of Sam Reid stared back at him. Sam was a two-legged tank, standing at six foot eight.. He was older than the rest of the team by a few years, and a man who exuded total confidence and calm. He was as laid-back as they came and was “Uncle Sam” to the team. Sam had been personally recruited by Hammerson himself – he was an ex-Ranger, 75th Regiment, just like he had been.

A previous mission to the Amazon had ended badly for Sam, with him shattering his L1 and L2 spinal plates, and worse, severing the cord. But fortuitously, advancements in bionics and battlefield armor had moved to field-test phase, so a few years back, Hammerson had authorized Sam for a trial of the new MECH suit – or part of it. The Military Exoskeleton Combat Harness was designed as the next-generation heavy-combat armor. On Sam, the half-body synaptic electronics were a molded framework built onto, and into, the unresponsive lower half of his body.

The hyperalloy-composite exoskeleton framework was light, flexible and a hundred times tougher than steel. Sam could now do anything he could before, with a few small advantages like being able to run at fifty miles per hour and kick a hole in a metal door.

Hammerson selected him for the mission. Sam also had another role. He was the closest thing to a friend that Alex Hunter had. If Alex suffered one of his fury-episodes and things started to go bad, then Sam was probably the only guy able to talk him back down.

Three top HAWCs was all Hammerson needed. The team was small enough to reduce chances of detection, but each member was the equivalent of a platoon when it came to skill, experience, and lethality. Working on foreign soil came with added risk. And when it was a war zone, that risk was magnified a hundredfold. They’d need local Intel.

Hammerson laughed softly. “Better the devil you know.” He lifted his phone. “Margie, get me General Meir Shavit.”

*