Free Web NovelChapter 125: Loadout
The royal letter remained important.
But life inside Atlas did not stop because kings wanted meetings.
Work continued.
Contracts continued.
And more importantly—
Problems continued.
Three days after accepting King Aldric’s invitation, Marcus sat inside the operations room reviewing deployment schedules when Elaina entered carrying a thick folder.
The moment he saw the size of it, he already knew it wasn’t good news.
"Please tell me that’s not another noble." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
Elaina shook her head.
"Better."
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"Better?"
"An actual mission."
Now that got his attention.
Across the room, Tomas immediately looked up from the training reports he had been reviewing.
Even Rolf, who had been pretending to organize equipment manifests, suddenly became interested.
Elaina placed the folder onto the table.
"A merchant consortium from Berm."
Marcus opened it.
Several documents immediately slid into view.
Trade manifests.
Witness statements.
Route maps.
Guild reports.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Marcus began reading.
The room gradually became quiet.
The mission wasn’t glamorous.
No dragons.
No kingdoms.
No politics.
At least not directly.
A merchant caravan had disappeared.
Completely.
Not delayed.
Not attacked and escaped.
Gone.
Twenty-seven wagons.
Nearly eighty personnel.
Drivers.
Guards.
Workers.
Merchants.
All vanished.
Rolf blinked.
"How do you lose twenty-seven wagons?"
Marcus continued reading.
"Apparently very carefully."
The caravan had departed Berm twelve days earlier.
Its destination was a trade city further west.
The route itself wasn’t considered especially dangerous.
A few monsters.
Occasional bandits.
Nothing unusual.
The caravan should have arrived six days ago.
It never did.
Several search parties had already been dispatched.
Nothing.
No bodies.
No wreckage.
No abandoned wagons.
No survivors.
Nothing.
Tomas frowned.
"That’s strange."
Marcus nodded.
Very strange.
Because large caravans left evidence.
Even total destruction left evidence.
Broken wheels.
Blood.
Tracks.
Abandoned cargo.
Something.
This caravan had left almost nothing behind.
Elaina pointed toward one section of the report.
"Read that part."
Marcus did.
Then his expression changed slightly.
Because one survivor existed.
One.
A young trader discovered wandering near a forest road three days ago.
Barely conscious.
Severely dehydrated.
Terrified.
According to his statement, the caravan never encountered bandits.
Never encountered monsters.
Never encountered an army.
Instead—
People disappeared.
One at a time.
The first driver vanished during a rest stop.
The next day, another worker disappeared.
Then a guard.
Then another.
And another.
Until panic started spreading through the caravan.
The survivor’s testimony ended abruptly afterward.
He remembered hearing screams during the night.
Then running.
Then nothing.
Rolf slowly lowered the paper he had been reading.
"...Okay."
Nobody disagreed.
That was creepy.
Very creepy.
Marcus continued reading.
Several Adventurer’s Guild teams investigated.
No results.
Local guards investigated.
No results.
The merchant consortium was now offering a substantial contract.
Not because of the missing cargo.
Because they wanted answers.
The room remained quiet.
Marcus closed the folder.
"Thoughts?"
Tomas answered immediately.
"Ambush."
"Maybe."
Rolf shook his head.
"Too clean."
Marcus agreed.
If bandits destroyed the caravan, where was the evidence?
Where was the loot?
Where were the wagons?
Twenty-seven wagons didn’t simply disappear.
Elaina folded her arms.
"The guild classified it as an active threat."
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The guild rarely used that classification.
Marcus stood and walked toward the regional map mounted on the wall.
He quickly located the route.
Dense forest.
Rolling hills.
Sparse settlements.
Limited traffic.
Good terrain for an ambush.
Bad terrain for search operations.
He traced the route carefully.
Then stopped.
Something caught his eye.
The Forest of No Return sat farther east.
Not directly connected.
But close enough to make him uncomfortable.
Tomas noticed immediately.
"You thinking monsters?"
Marcus didn’t answer right away.
Because honestly?
He didn’t know.
The Forest of No Return had already proven that this world contained things far stranger than ordinary monsters.
Living trees.
Flying predators.
Creatures capable of threatening aircraft.
A disappearing caravan suddenly felt less impossible.
Rolf leaned back in his chair.
"So when do we leave?"
Marcus looked toward him.
"You’re assuming we accepted."
"We’re obviously accepting."
Actually—
He had a point.
This was exactly the type of mission Atlas should take.
High importance.
High uncertainty.
Regional impact.
And most importantly—
Interesting.
Marcus looked toward Elaina.
"Contract value?"
She flipped through several pages.
Then answered.
"Eight million kinah."
Rolf nearly choked.
"Eight million?"
The room became quiet again.
Because that was serious money.
Not Falmouth money.
But still substantial.
The merchant consortium clearly wanted answers badly.
Marcus nodded once.
"Accepted."
Elaina wasn’t surprised.
Neither was anyone else.
The mission fit Atlas perfectly.
Unknown threat.
Missing civilians.
Potential regional instability.
Exactly the sort of situation that required reconnaissance capabilities beyond what ordinary adventurers possessed.
Marcus turned toward Tomas.
"I want a deployment package prepared."
Tomas immediately stood.
"Size?"
Marcus thought for a moment.
Not too large.
Not too small.
This wasn’t a siege.
This wasn’t city defense.
This was investigation.
"Two infantry squads."
Tomas nodded.
"Sixteen personnel."
"Correct."
Marcus continued.
"One Black Hawk."
That immediately increased the mission’s capability.
Fast transport.
Aerial observation.
Rapid extraction if needed.
Marcus wasn’t sending ground teams blindly into unknown territory.
Not anymore.
Rolf grinned slightly.
"I like helicopters."
"No kidding."
Elaina opened another document.
"The merchants specifically requested answers, not recovery."
Marcus nodded.
That was important.
Because it changed mission priorities.
The objective wasn’t simply retrieving cargo.
The objective was identifying the threat.
Understanding what happened.
Preventing it from happening again.
Much more complicated.
Marcus looked toward the communications room through the glass partition.
An idea was already forming.
Actually—
Two ideas.
The first involved the Black Hawk.
The second involved something much more useful.
Marcus walked toward the radio station.
"Get me UAV operations."
The operator immediately reached for the headset.
Several seconds later:
"Connected."
Marcus picked up the microphone.
"Predator Team."
A voice responded almost instantly.
"Predator Team here."
Marcus smiled slightly.
Good.
The drone crews remained one of Atlas’s greatest advantages.
Nobody in this world even understood reconnaissance aircraft existed.
Which meant nobody expected them.
Marcus pressed the transmit button.
"Prepare MQ-1 Predator for operational deployment."
A brief pause followed.
Then:
"Recon mission, sir?"
"Yes."
The operator sounded excited immediately.
"Copy that."
Marcus returned the handset.
The room watched him carefully.
Rolf finally grinned.
"Now we’re talking."
Because everyone understood what that meant.
This mission wasn’t just infantry.
It wasn’t just a helicopter.
It was Atlas reconnaissance.
Modern reconnaissance.
The kind of capability that had already destroyed the Black Hollow.
Marcus returned to the operations table.
The mission suddenly felt different now.
Not because the danger decreased.
Because the information advantage increased.
And information won battles.
The rest of the afternoon became preparation.
Maps were reviewed.
Supply lists created.
Flight routes planned.
Communications frequencies assigned.
By evening, Atlas had assembled a complete operational package.
One Black Hawk.
Two infantry squads.
Command team.
Recon support.
MQ-1 Predator.
Everything ready.
The base itself seemed more energized now.
The soldiers liked training.
But actual missions were different.
Actual missions mattered.
Near sunset, Marcus walked across the landing zone where ground crews prepared one of the Black Hawks for deployment.
Fuel lines connected to the aircraft.
Maintenance teams completed final inspections.
Flight crews reviewed navigation routes.
Everything looked familiar.
Comfortably familiar.
This was Atlas at its best.
Not sitting in conference rooms discussing kings.
Not navigating politics.
Missions.
Operations.
Problems requiring solutions.
Elaina approached from behind.
"You seem happier."
Marcus glanced toward her.
"Happier?"
"A mission appeared and suddenly you’re in a better mood."
Marcus looked back toward the helicopter.
Maybe she wasn’t wrong.
The mission felt tangible.
Understandable.
People disappeared.
Find out why.
Simple.
At least compared to diplomacy.
Elaina stood beside him.
"The king can wait a few days."
Marcus nodded.
"Good."
She smiled slightly.
"I thought you’d say that."
The sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon.
Floodlights activated across Atlas Base.
The Black Hawk sat ready beneath the growing darkness.
Tomorrow morning they would leave.
Tomorrow morning they would follow the missing caravan’s route.
Tomorrow morning they would begin searching for answers.
And somewhere beyond the forests and hills west of Berm—
Something waited.
Something capable of making twenty-seven wagons disappear without a trace.
Something that had already defeated adventurers, guards, and search parties.
Marcus stared toward the darkening horizon.
Then toward the helicopter.
Then back toward the horizon.
Whatever it was—
Atlas was coming.
And unlike everyone else who searched before them, Atlas wouldn’t be looking with just eyes on the ground.
This time, the sky would be watching too.
The next morning began before sunrise.
Atlas Base was already awake when darkness still covered the surrounding countryside.
Floodlights illuminated the compound while cold morning air drifted across the landing zone. Mechanics moved between equipment carts carrying toolboxes and maintenance kits while infantry squads assembled beside the helicopter pad.
The atmosphere felt different from previous deployments.
Falmouth had been straightforward.
Protect the city.
Defeat the enemy.
Hold the line.
This mission wasn’t like that.
Nobody knew what they were looking for.
Nobody knew what happened to the missing caravan.
Nobody even knew if the eighty missing people were alive.
That uncertainty hung over everyone.
Inside the operations center, Marcus stood before a large map mounted on the wall.
The caravan’s route had been marked in red.
The last confirmed sighting sat near a small crossroads west of Berm.
Beyond that point, information became fragmented.
Witness reports.
Rumors.
Guesswork.
Nothing concrete.
Elaina stood nearby reviewing final deployment paperwork.
"Fuel loaded."
Marcus nodded.
"Medical supplies?"
"Loaded."
"Communications?"
"Checked twice."
Good.
The operation would be moving far from Atlas Base.
Any mistake would become expensive quickly.
The office door opened.
Tomas entered first.
Behind him came Rolf carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder.
The moment Marcus saw him, he frowned.
"What’s in the bag?"
Rolf looked down.
"My stuff."
"Define stuff."
"Important stuff."
That answer immediately raised suspicion.
Tomas grabbed the zipper and pulled it open before Rolf could stop him.
Inside sat three packs of preserved food.
A blanket.
A deck of playing cards.
Two bottles of alcohol.
And a pillow.
The room became silent.
Marcus stared at the contents.
Then at Rolf.
Then back at the contents.
"Why?"
Rolf looked genuinely confused.
"It’s a mission."
"Yes."
"What if we’re there for several days?"
Marcus pointed at the pillow.
"The pillow."
"What about it?"
"The pillow."
Rolf thought about it.
"...Fair."
Tomas immediately removed both alcohol bottles.
"No."
Rolf looked heartbroken.
"You can’t do this."
"I just did."
The bottles disappeared.
Rolf sighed dramatically.
"Morale is dead."
Elaina covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
Marcus shook his head.
Somehow Atlas continued functioning despite this man.
By 0530 hours, the deployment team assembled at the landing zone.
The Black Hawk sat ready beneath the floodlights.
Its engines remained silent for now, but ground crews had already completed pre-flight inspections.
Nearby, the infantry squads stood in formation.
Sixteen personnel.
Most were veterans of Falmouth.
The rest were newer recruits selected specifically for reconnaissance operations.
Every man carried an M4 Carbine.
Body armor.
Ammunition.
Medical kits.
Night vision devices.
Everything needed for extended field deployment.
Marcus walked down the line.
Nobody spoke.
The soldiers simply watched him.
Good.
Focused.
Professional.
Marcus stopped in front of the formation.
"This is not a combat operation."
Several soldiers exchanged brief glances.
Marcus continued.
"At least not yet."
That got their attention immediately.
Because everyone understood what he meant.
Unknown situations became combat operations very quickly.
"Our primary objective is investigation."
Marcus pointed toward the west.
"Find the caravan."
"Determine what happened."
"If survivors exist, recover them."
The soldiers nodded.
Simple mission.
Complicated execution.
Marcus folded his arms.
"Do not assume this is bandit activity."
The formation grew quieter.
"Do not assume this is monster activity."
Even quieter.
"Do not assume anything."
That was important.
Too many people approached unknown situations with expectations.
Expectations got people killed.
Tomas stepped forward afterward.
"We move carefully."
His voice carried across the landing zone.
"We move professionally."
"No heroics."
"No wandering."
"No shortcuts."
Several infantrymen smiled slightly.
Because everyone knew exactly who Tomas was looking at. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
Rolf pointed toward himself.
"Why are you looking at me?"
Nobody answered.
The silence itself became the answer.
Minutes later, the Black Hawk’s engines roared to life.
WHUMP.
WHUMP.
WHUMP.
The massive rotor blades began spinning overhead.
Dust and loose debris blasted outward across the landing zone.
Ground crews moved away from the aircraft.
The infantry boarded quickly.
Years of military procedure condensed into seconds.
Seats filled.
Equipment secured.
Weapons checked.
Marcus climbed aboard last.
The side door remained open briefly while final confirmations came through the radio.
Then the pilot’s voice echoed through the headset.
"All stations ready."
"Ready."
"Ready."
"Ready."
Marcus looked toward the cockpit.
"Lift."
The helicopter immediately rose from the ground.
The familiar vibration returned.
The landing zone fell away beneath them.
Atlas Base shrank rapidly as the Black Hawk climbed into the early morning sky.
Sunlight was just beginning to appear on the horizon.
Golden light spread across distant hills while shadows still dominated the valleys below.
The view was beautiful.
Marcus ignored it.
His attention remained on the mission.
Inside the cabin, Rolf leaned toward one of the windows.
"Never gets old."
A younger infantryman beside him nodded.
"First time I’ve flown."
Rolf grinned.
"Then enjoy it."
The soldier looked nervous.
Reasonably so.
Flying remained unnatural in this world.
Even after months of Atlas operations.
Several hundred kilometers away, another aircraft was already moving.
Far above the landscape.
Far beyond visual range.
The MQ-1 Predator sliced through the sky.
Its engine produced a steady drone while advanced sensors continuously scanned the terrain below.
Inside Atlas Base, the drone crew monitored everything.
Live video feeds.
Thermal imaging.
Navigation data.
Search grids.
The Predator reached the target area nearly an hour before the Black Hawk.
And immediately began working.
Back inside the UAV control room, multiple screens illuminated the dim workspace.
Operators sat before consoles while live footage flowed across the displays.
Forests.
Roads.
Hills.
Streams.
Nothing unusual.
At first.
The lead drone operator adjusted the camera slightly.
"Grid One clear."
Another operator checked thermal imagery.
"No activity."
The search continued.
Methodical.
Precise.
Thousands of acres of terrain passed beneath the camera.
Then something appeared.
A road.
Old wagon tracks.
Several operators immediately focused.
The lead technician zoomed in.
Deep ruts.
Recent movement.
Interesting.
The Predator followed the trail.
Slowly.
Patiently.
The tracks continued deeper into the wilderness.
Away from the main route.
Away from civilization.
The operator frowned.
"That’s strange."
Very strange.
Because large caravans normally stayed on roads.
They didn’t suddenly leave established routes.
Not voluntarily.
The camera continued following the tracks.
Several minutes passed.
Then the feed reached a clearing.
And everyone inside the control room became quiet.
Because there, partially hidden beneath trees and brush, sat a wagon.
One wagon.
Abandoned.
The operator immediately keyed the radio.
"Predator Actual to Black Hawk."
Static crackled briefly.
Then Marcus answered.
"Go ahead."
The operator swallowed.
"We found something."
The helicopter cabin became silent instantly.
Marcus leaned forward.
"What?"
The operator zoomed further.
The image sharpened.
Broken wood.
Collapsed wheels.
Dark stains.
No movement.
No people.
No animals.
Just silence.
The operator took a breath.
"Looks like one of the missing wagons."
The Black Hawk continued flying westward.
But the mission had just changed.
Because for the first time since the caravan disappeared—
Atlas finally had a lead.
And somewhere below that endless forest canopy, the mystery of the missing eighty people was beginning to reveal itself.
