girl. She’s got feelings too.” Mitch patted the aircraft’s aluminium skin like it was a living creature.
“The Pain Train?” Mirza asked.
“Yeah,” Ice responded. “PRIMAL’s specialist airborne platform. Looks like a run-of-the-mill air freighter, but Mitch has decked this baby out to do just about anything. She can jam radar, track aircraft, deliver bombs, drop supplies, and even launch drones. She’s an all-singing, all-dancing Special Operations support craft—state-of-the-fucken-art!”
“All that from one platform? That’s superb!” Mirza said as he inspected the aircraft.
“Well, if you like that, my good man, then you’re going to love this.” Mitch reached into the pocket of his grey coveralls and pulled out a small device. “This is a little piece of technology I custom-built myself. I call it iPRIMAL.”
“iPRIMAL?” Mirza said, staring at what looked like a large touch-screen phone.
“Well, actually it’s your combat interface, but iPRIMAL makes it sound sexier.” Mitch passed Mirza the device. “That little bad boy lets you harness all the power of PRIMAL when you’re not at home. It can access any information that we can feed over a satellite connection.”
Mirza turned the device over in his hand. It was a little larger than Bishop’s iPhone and the screen was flexible. He prodded it with a finger and it activated, displaying a number of menu options.
“Ice’ll teach you how to use it. He’s a bit of a boffin.”
Ice laughed. “Yeah, I’d make a great instructor. It took me weeks to figure out all the functions. Damn thing’s built for little midget hands.”
“You got it in the end, mate,” Mitch said.
“So, this is for me?” Mirza asked.
Mitch gave him a smile. “Of course. You’re part of the team now, squire. Right, sorry to be rude, Mirza, but I’ve a ton of work to do to get this old girl ready, so I’m going have to leave you chaps to it.”
Mirza held up the combat interface. “Thanks again.”
Mitch was already deep into the cargo hold. “Don’t mention it.”
Ice and Mirza climbed back into the buggy and they headed towards a large set of doors at the rear of the cavern.
“So what’s your background, Mirza? Bishop said something about the Special Frontier Force?”
“Yes, five years. I was in Special Group.” Special Group was an even more elite part of the Indian SFF, specializing in intelligence gathering and counter-terrorism operations. “What about you?”
“Me? Ten years in the Marines, five more with the CIA.”
“Have you been working with PRIMAL for long?” Mirza asked, trying to calculate Ice’s age. He guessed the big man was a little older than Bishop, probably around thirty-five.
“You could say that. Back in the company days I used to work with Vance.”
“Vance?”
“Yeah, you’ll meet the boss soon enough. By the way, I heard about what happened with you and Bish in Sierra Leone. Bold move, very bold move.”
“I had to follow Aden’s lead.”
“He’s one crazy cat, that’s for sure. But you didn’t have to follow him.” Ice turned his head to look Mirza in the eye. “Glad you did though, because between me and you, that’s what got you into PRIMAL.” Ice stopped the golf buggy in front of a pair of doors imbedded in the rock. He jumped out, activated a security panel and the doors slid open, revealing a freight elevator the size of a double car garage. It easily accommodated the cart.
“So you’ve seen the hangar, now we’ll take you down into the facility.” Ice activated another panel and the lift jolted slightly, beginning its descent. “We’ve got three levels. First is accommodation, mess, gym, pool, and all the comfort stuff. The second is where we’re heading: training facilities, armoury, workshops, etcetera—and the third is the Bunker.”
The lift jolted to a halt. “We have to be in the Bunker in a little over an hour, so we’re going to take this opportunity to get you
“The Pain Train?” Mirza asked.
“Yeah,” Ice responded. “PRIMAL’s specialist airborne platform. Looks like a run-of-the-mill air freighter, but Mitch has decked this baby out to do just about anything. She can jam radar, track aircraft, deliver bombs, drop supplies, and even launch drones. She’s an all-singing, all-dancing Special Operations support craft—state-of-the-fucken-art!”
“All that from one platform? That’s superb!” Mirza said as he inspected the aircraft.
“Well, if you like that, my good man, then you’re going to love this.” Mitch reached into the pocket of his grey coveralls and pulled out a small device. “This is a little piece of technology I custom-built myself. I call it iPRIMAL.”
“iPRIMAL?” Mirza said, staring at what looked like a large touch-screen phone.
“Well, actually it’s your combat interface, but iPRIMAL makes it sound sexier.” Mitch passed Mirza the device. “That little bad boy lets you harness all the power of PRIMAL when you’re not at home. It can access any information that we can feed over a satellite connection.”
Mirza turned the device over in his hand. It was a little larger than Bishop’s iPhone and the screen was flexible. He prodded it with a finger and it activated, displaying a number of menu options.
“Ice’ll teach you how to use it. He’s a bit of a boffin.”
Ice laughed. “Yeah, I’d make a great instructor. It took me weeks to figure out all the functions. Damn thing’s built for little midget hands.”
“You got it in the end, mate,” Mitch said.
“So, this is for me?” Mirza asked.
Mitch gave him a smile. “Of course. You’re part of the team now, squire. Right, sorry to be rude, Mirza, but I’ve a ton of work to do to get this old girl ready, so I’m going have to leave you chaps to it.”
Mirza held up the combat interface. “Thanks again.”
Mitch was already deep into the cargo hold. “Don’t mention it.”
Ice and Mirza climbed back into the buggy and they headed towards a large set of doors at the rear of the cavern.
“So what’s your background, Mirza? Bishop said something about the Special Frontier Force?”
“Yes, five years. I was in Special Group.” Special Group was an even more elite part of the Indian SFF, specializing in intelligence gathering and counter-terrorism operations. “What about you?”
“Me? Ten years in the Marines, five more with the CIA.”
“Have you been working with PRIMAL for long?” Mirza asked, trying to calculate Ice’s age. He guessed the big man was a little older than Bishop, probably around thirty-five.
“You could say that. Back in the company days I used to work with Vance.”
“Vance?”
“Yeah, you’ll meet the boss soon enough. By the way, I heard about what happened with you and Bish in Sierra Leone. Bold move, very bold move.”
“I had to follow Aden’s lead.”
“He’s one crazy cat, that’s for sure. But you didn’t have to follow him.” Ice turned his head to look Mirza in the eye. “Glad you did though, because between me and you, that’s what got you into PRIMAL.” Ice stopped the golf buggy in front of a pair of doors imbedded in the rock. He jumped out, activated a security panel and the doors slid open, revealing a freight elevator the size of a double car garage. It easily accommodated the cart.
“So you’ve seen the hangar, now we’ll take you down into the facility.” Ice activated another panel and the lift jolted slightly, beginning its descent. “We’ve got three levels. First is accommodation, mess, gym, pool, and all the comfort stuff. The second is where we’re heading: training facilities, armoury, workshops, etcetera—and the third is the Bunker.”
The lift jolted to a halt. “We have to be in the Bunker in a little over an hour, so we’re going to take this opportunity to get you
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