For a brief moment, Isabelle felt panic surge in her chest; if she chose wrong, lives could be lost.
She knew what needed to be done, she just didn't want to be the one to make the call. She took a deep breath, cleared her head, and pressed the button.
"Consult Dr. Daringer." The radio crackled with an affirmation from the young private running the radio back on the transport before it fell into silence.
She gazed out into the red desert, observing an enormous dirt devil twirling and dancing in the distant wind, while she waited for the scientist to give her the proper coordinates to place explosives. In most other situations, Isabelle would have found the dirt devil beautiful, but now it was just an obnoxious creation that made her entrance into the satellite compound that much more difficult.
The minutes ticked away into eternity and she was beginning to think clearing the front door might have been as fast when her radio crackled back to life.
"Sgt Contreras, this is Dr. Daringer. I have the coordinates but listen closely, if you're even slightly off. . . I cannot stress to you how important it is that your team places the explosives exactly where I tell you." She rolled her eyes, as if she needed reminding, but listened intently to his instructions.
When she was done, she called over Cpl. Dawson. The young woman was somewhat of an enigma among her peers. While most of the bomb crew were male and had extensive training under their belts, she proved to be superior despite her gender and lack of training. Somehow, instinctively, she knew what to do every time. The jokes around the barracks was that her luck would eventually get the pretty blonde blown up.
After receiving her orders, she hoisted her pack on her shoulders and ran over to the big dish with two of her fellow Marines hot on her trails. Their boots left prints in the sand for only a few minutes before the wind kicked up and swept them clear.
Such a desolate hell, what could be here that would draw the attention of the government?
After about a half hour, Dawson came running back, her big, blue eyes twinkling with delight. The two lance corporals with her followed close behind, looking like little boys who just got a new toy. Isabelle felt her own excitement and fear swell up. Explosions were always fun, just so long as they didn't do any harm with it.
Once the area was cleared of any of their people, Contreras nodded her head and the perky bomber pushed the button. A small fountain of red flew up and the noise roared louder than the constant wind, but Dawson did her job well. It was tiny and controlled, and hopefully placed perfect.
Isabelle took the lead, ordering her Marines to fall behind her and they ran over to the top of the compound. Using proper procedure, she secured a repelling rope to the satellite and let the end dangle into the hole.
She shined her flashlight into the darkness and gave a sigh of relief. Asides from the pile of rubble on the floor, there were no other apparent signs of the explosion. Dr. Daringer theorized they would be dropping into the entry hall and as far as she could tell, the man was dead on with his calculations.
Never one to back down from a challenge, she insisted on being the first lowered down into the room.
At ground level, the entry hall took on a whole new appearance to her. Her flashlight made dust motes dance in the air, thick as snow from the explosion, but still lit up the room.
It didn't look good.
There was a long hallway directly in front of her that lead off into inky blackness and two closed doorways on either side of the hallway. Right next to the hallway, blood splattered on the floor and smeared against the wall, trailing into the darkness.
As the rest of squad landed on the rubble strewn floor, Isabelle knew she had a decision to make. Which way would she choose to explore?
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