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Clipping the last buckle on Max’s borrowed blaze-orange vest, Halo checked his collar with its tracking and comms units affixed. “All’s good, Max.”
Ryder came over to sit on the bumper beside them. “You’re going to need the three Gs here, mate: goggles, gloves, and gators.” Ryder opened his pack and pulled those items out. “They’ll hand you a can of bear spray as we set out. Powerful stuff, you want to make sure it doesn’t leak on you or Max.”
Halo opened the loaner pack and pulled out a pair of gators. Just like in the Commandos, every item in the ruck was essential and organized into specific spaces. No matter what went down—no matter the field conditions—an operator could grab up anyone’s pack, reach in, and through muscle memory, put their hand on the lifesaving piece of equipment.
Problem was, Halo hadn’t trained on the configuration. Handed this pack on the way out to the site, he learned a lot about what he might expect from today’s mission just from the equipment inside. Almost all the weight came from the water bladder and climbing ropes. Each tool could serve multiple purposes, and all were special forces quality construction. The wraparound goggles and the thickness of the leather gloves were a bit of a mystery.
Max watched with interest as Ryder and Halo attached the gators to their boots, pulling the thick, water-repellent cloth up over their pants legs, tightening them with the pull cord under their knees. This addition might help to protect from snake bites. More likely, though, they’d be serving to guard against ticks and a bug the Americans called “chiggers.” They were “scrub-itch mites” back home, and Halo would go a far piece to avoid those nasty buggers.
Goggles around his neck, gloves slipped into his belt, he squeezed the pocket on the left thigh of his borrowed gunmetal gray tactical uniform pants to double check his first aid kit, then to his lower leg pocket for his emergency sleeve with fire starting materials and signaling backup. With a sat phone in his right pocket, sealed safe with hook and loop fastener, Halo stood and pulled the rucksack over his shoulders as he saw the team heading toward the team leader, Ridge.
With a tap of his thigh, Max plastered himself to Halo’s side, and they set off together.
With his K9 Zeus at his side, Ridge had been conferring with the sheriff, but now he strode a distance from the building, and the team formed a horseshoe around him to gather the necessary mission details. The dogs sitting between their handler’s feet were ready to spring forward and get on task.
“Gentlemen.” After Ridge lifted his phone and swiped, each man reached down to retrieve the pinging phone in their pocket. “The first picture is our lost person. Gloria Haze, female, eighty-one. The only name she will answer to is Grammie. Diagnosed with dementia, she is, for the most part, non-verbal and non-responsive. She’s a new resident at this facility and has no history of wandering from here, so there are no historical search finds to check out. She’s not from this area, so she won’t be trying to return to a place from her past. Five foot two and a hundred pounds, Mrs. Haze is frail. Her carers last saw her in blue striped cotton pajamas and tennis shoes this morning. The camera that monitors the delivery door isn’t functioning. A hall camera last recorded Mrs. Haze at zero-five thirty. That means she has a two-hour jump on us. Now, frail and elderly does not always indicate the ability of a missing person.” Ridge turned to catch Halo’s gaze. “Last year, we were on a search for a man with dementia who was remembering his days on the cross-country team for his university. And every member of special forces knows that the brain can make the body do astounding feats. In that case, he was thirty miles down the trail when our ATV caught up with him. My understanding is that in her youth, Mrs. Haze was an avid hiker, which means we’re changing up our search protocol.”
Tripwire asked, “Only Mrs. Haze? The other residents are accounted for?”
“When they found the door ajar, they did a census,” Ridge said. “Mrs. Haze was the only one unlocated. We’re fortunate we aren’t looking for more.”
“Any information about a shoe tread?” Ryder asked.
“The sheriff is working on that for you.” Ridge looked toward the family huddle that had just grown by another carload. “The granddaughter is going to the store when it opens to see if she might recognize the style. If they get anything, they’ll send a picture of the tread to our tactical operations center, and you’ll get it on your sat phones.” He posted his hands on his hips. “On the subject of tracking, in this area, they’ve had rain showers off and on for the last three days. This might make for good track traps, so while you’re watching your dogs, keep an awareness. The ground, being wet, however, poses a threat should Mrs. Haze sit or lie down. With little fat or muscle protection, the ground will quickly wick her body heat away. I want each of you to grab a hypothermia bag from the duffle.” Ridge turned to Halo. “Wool socks, fleece hat, four hand warmers, and an extra mylar blanket.”
Halo nodded his affirmation.
“Since the time of disappearance, there’s only been a light breeze. The scent cones should have held close to the ground for your dogs. Your search areas.” Ridge handed out maps, marked in yellow highlighter, to all but Halo. The men looked down at their task sheets and then off into the distance, getting their bearings.
“There are no high-hazard areas in our search perimeters other than the terrain and the weather,” Ridge said. “Make absolutely sure that all structures and heavy brush are thoroughly investigated.”
“Sir,” the team said.
Ridge turned his attention to Halo. “I’ll talk to you about your duties momentarily.”
“Sir.” Halo had assumed he’d be trailing one of the others to learn their methods.
“A Virginia land navigation team is en route. They’re about two hours out. They’re also mounting an equestrian team. It’s going to be an all-hands-on-deck event. We’re running against a clock. In three hours, the weather front we were talking about on the way here this morning is going to make Mrs. Haze’s survival tenuous. I just got an update from our command center that we should expect sustained, heavy rains that will significantly limit our visual field. The temperature will drop into the lower fifties. So, let’s get on task. Blaze orange beanies, team, small game hunting season has begun in Virginia.”
Tripwire jogged off toward one of the vans while the others held tight, dropping their maps into silicon sleeves that hung from their packs. Arriving back in the circle, Tripwire handed Ryder one of the duffels. Ryder distributed the hypothermia packs while Tripwire handed out the promised bear spray. After storing the additional support pack in his ruck, Halo clipped the pepper spray on his left, ready for a quick draw.
Tripwire nudged him. “Hey, in case you’ve never experienced this level of capsaicin, pointing downwind is your friend. If you spray into the wind, and it dowses you, the bear just thinks he’s having gourmet for dinner.”
“Fair warning,” Halo said.
Tripwire caught Halo’s gaze. “It’s fat bear season. They’re getting their last bites in before they settle in for a long winter’s nap. They’re out looking for food. Keep an eye on your dog.”
“Yeah.” Mental note: research American bears and survival techniques. There were lots of deadly critters in Australia, but bears weren’t on that list.
Ridge did a comms check, and the team each took their compass direction and headed out.
Max looked up at Halo expectantly. He got a hand signal that told him to sit and wait.
“Typically, we have our two bloodhounds, Whisky and Chaser, out on a trail,” Ridge said. “They weren’t available today.” Ridge sent a glance down to Max. “Reaper was impressed with Max’s stamina while trailing, especially for such a young dog.” Reaper was the Cerberus chief training officer. If he was impressed, that was good news. “While the others are air scenting, I want Max working nose to the ground.”
“Sir.” Max was going to love that. Trailing was one of his favorite things to do.
Ridge bladed his hand toward the building. “The sheriff is beside the door they found open, which he believes was Mrs. Haze’s exit point. He has a plastic bag with the subject’s scent source—a nightgown she wore yesterday.”
