The Balloon
The hot air balloon lay stretched across the emerald Swiss countryside like a giant, slumbering beast. The wicker gondola creaked under the weight of the burner, while the Dacron envelope billowed in the morning breeze, eager for flight. Fans roared to life, feeding super heated air into the massive envelope, forcing it skyward in slow, deliberate movements.
Aaron took in the scene with the keen eye of an engineer and the soul of an adventurer. The mission today was straightforward in theory—5000 feet, eyes on target, back before lunch—but he knew better than to assume things would go that smoothly. Nothing involving Sebastian Wolf ever did.
The compound on Le Chasseron’s slopes was growing—fast. Officially, it was just another development project, but Aaron knew better. The Order’s cutting-edge AI engine, ANNIE (Accelerated Neural Network and Intelligence Engine), had ripped through layers of dummy corporations, offshore trusts, and legal obfuscation, exposing Wolf’s fingerprints beneath them all. He was up to something, and it was their job to find out what.
Aaron, The Inkwell Orders’ quartermaster and master engineer, had commanded everything from fighter jets to submersibles—but today, he was riding the oldest form of flight known to man. The beauty of it? No radar signatures, no telltale engine hum—just wind, silence, and an unobstructed view.
The aeronautical lineup included Cindy, Judd, Jessie, and a last-minute addition—General Perl and his chief of staff, Saira. Perl’s aide-de-camp, Alfred, had insisted the General be present, and Judd didn’t ask why. He knew better.
The balloon lifted off gracefully, riding the warm thermals with practiced ease. At 5000 feet, Cindy set up their classified high-resolution cameras, their lenses capturing details so sharp they could count the bolts on Wolf’s rooftop installations.
“Blending in,” Judd had called it. The Swiss Alps were a haven for hot air ballooning, and on a bright, crisp morning like this, their floating gondola was nothing more than another tourist flight. To the untrained eye, they were just another group soaking in the stunning views of Lake Geneva.
But General Perl saw it first.
He leaned over the edge of the gondola, eyes narrowed. “What the hell are those?” he asked, pointing to the large parabolic structures sprouting from the rooftops below.
Judd adjusted his binoculars. “Comms satellites,” he muttered, his voice edged with something between concern and curiosity. “But I’ve never seen this many in one place before.”
Aaron exhaled slowly. This wasn’t a residential compound—it was a nerve center.
They had what they came for. Cindy packed the classified gear into their shockproof cases, while Aaron began descent maneuvers. The thing about hot air balloons? They weren’t built for precision landings.
As they approached the landing zone, gusts of wind shifted at the last moment. Aaron gritted his teeth.
“Brace!” he barked.
The gondola hit hard, dragging across the frost-kissed grass before grinding to a halt twenty-five meters off target. Judd exhaled and shot Aaron a smirk. “Close enough.” Aaron adjusted his flight gloves and grinned. “That’s why you pay me to keep you alive.”
Cindy was already unstrapping the cases, double-checking the precious intel they had gathered. The tension of the mission had settled into the familiar post-op quiet, but Judd knew what came next.
He reached into the gear crate, pulled out a bottle of chilled champagne, and flashed a grin. “It’s tradition,” he said, popping the cork with a practiced flick of the wrist. The cork shot skyward, disappearing somewhere over the Swiss meadow. General Perl arched an eyebrow but accepted a glass. Even spies, soldiers, and shadow operatives had to appreciate the little things.
Jessie, ever the historian, chuckled. “French aristocrats used to offer champagne to balloonists when they landed, so the locals wouldn’t think they were demons falling from the sky.” Aaron tipped his glass toward the distant compound on Le Chasseron, where Wolf’s empire sat brooding, unaware that Squid Squad had just pierced its veil.
“To not falling from the sky,” he toasted. Judd clinked his glass against Aaron’s. “And to making sure Wolf’s empire does.”
