Sergei Nemtsov listened to the rumble of the Herme’s engines as he guided the small commando vessel across the waves. He glanced around at his crew, watching as some of them outfitted for land recon, and other worked at the various consoles in the ship’s wheel room. The propellers of the Hermes churned the water behind her as Sergei began humming a traditional Russian tune, his mind drifting back to when he was young, and his home in Minsk. He remembered the Harsh winters, and the brief, balmy summers. He could practically smell his mother’s cooking as he thought of his small apartment home. Then his mind drifted to that fateful day, when he was selected to become part of the Ark project. Suddenly, his mind was forced back to the present when one of his men tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up to see the island, no longer a distant speck, looming before him. It was covered in a dense jungle, and capped off by a single mountain. He studied the coastline of the island, and found a small beach. He glanced at his men, then tugged his recon pack onto his back as he slowed the Hermes. He brought her gently up to the beach, and led the men out of her, into the ankle deep water.

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