The Days After (Game Topic)

Liam slides a knife out of his built in sheath, that he made into his leather jacket, and plants it into the ground. He pauses thinking it through and then starts to cut shapes into the ground. when he was finished there were dimple marks in the ground symbolizing the mines in a almost rectangle shape following the road surrounding four squares representing tanks. there was an arrow behind the tank column showing where the tanks were coming from and the mines looked like they swallowed the tanks but allowed them to enter their deathtrap. "this...this is what i'd do.", Liam answered ," after they go into the box the lead tank will hit the back of the box and hopefully a chain reaction will happen trapping them with explosions"
Marcel looked on at the merc," and then we go in for the kill?"
"But they would see us if we attacked like normal troops...and thats why we cover ourselves with mud and place the vipers along the road; that way we only have to book it back and forth to each viper and fire one round into the tanks going from last then first and then the middle.",liam answers."and that is what i would do.", he finishes.

Snowwolf

Gaston turned to Liam and disapproved, "Have you ever seen landmines chain react like that?"

Liam thought about it, "Not in reality, no,"

"Because they don't. We also have eight mines to work with, it's not a lot."

"I know, I know," said Liam,

"Also, if they happen to just turn on the thermal imaging, covering ourselves in the foot of snow here is going to be useless,"

Liam was frustrated, "Well, do YOU have any plans?"

Gaston paused, "...give me a moment,"

"Might want to spread out the mines a bit," said Guillaume, "But it's just a suggestion,"

"Want to elaborate further Liam?" invited Marcel.

********

Destroyer, Westhybrid

Sarah laughed nervously, "Oh I'm fine, just trying to psych myself up," she leaned back in the seat, "I've just never been a part of anything like this, it's kind of...well, exciting,"

"You'll do well!" said Fierro, "Just stick with us, it'll all be good,"

Lights and sirens off as usual on approach, the motorcade maneuvered through downtown Boise and coming to a halt two blocks away from the target building. The police officers disembarked their cruisers, pulling pump action shotguns out of the trunks of their cars, and the Special Tactics teams jumped out of their truck. First things first, organize a plan.

“My team! On me!” called Darius, he leading them over to the head officer on this sting. The head officer was Sergeant Evans, notably audible by his coarse voice which sounded like a modulator.

Fierro jumped out with Sarah, followed by de la Fuente, Alvarez and Huerta. Another thing hard to get used to was jumping out the back of a five ton, which was six to seven feet off the ground, it was always a hard landing. Looking about, scanning their surroundings, and following Volke over to Evans, the group picked up the pace and adjusted themselves to be comfortable with their equipment. One of the properties that Volke could not stop noticing was that every man in that country looked angry, probably because they were.

“Mercs!” called Evans with his modulator voice, “Over here!”

Hustling and bustling, with police and paramilitary forces getting into position, Volke and his group waited for Evans to elaborate on the situation, “Alright, this is how it’s going down,” he unrolled a map of the building, “There are four entrances, a door on the north and south side of the building, the vehicle door on the east side, and another door just adjacent to that on the east side. Regular officers are taking the entrances on the north and south,” he pointed to Volke, “Your team will be entering with the Special Tactics groups through the east entrances. Once we get inside, we order everyone down on the ground after tear gassing the place, but anyone resists: You put them down hard, understand?”

The group nodded,

“Get on over to the Special Tactics, they’ve got gas masks for you,” said Evans, “Get a move on,”

The target building was a large warehouse, leased out to someone unaffiliated with the mafia who was probably threatened or bribed into lending it to them. It was only by chance that they were even tipped off to the structure, since normally the mafia’s intelligence network worked better than the local government’s. The Zetas suited up, taking vests, gas masks and reminded of the control that anyone assisting police has to have. Mercenaries were used to shooting first and asking questions later. Nobody can talk if they’re dead.

“Special Tactics is leading this; officers breach when you hear the door crash,” ordered Evans, the teams moving to the target building, “Positions!”

Warehouse surrounded, the police readied themselves, tear gas in hand. Sarah put herself last in the line and purged the air out of the gas mask after asking about it three times. The new life for her was exciting, action packed, with real life heroes instead of the action movies with improbable aiming skills and harmless explosions. How many times her father had told her that this kind of life was not as chalked up as it was supposed to be seemed to fall on deaf ears at how exhilarating the moment was. Her heart almost jumped out of her chest at the excitement, and a sweat rolled down her face underneath the mask as well. The Special Tactics team leader moved onto the door. First in line to enter, he pulled a grenade launcher from his back and waited for the man with the battering ram to bust the door.

“Have you ever done anything like this before?” asked Sarah, waiting in anticipation,

“Lots of times,” said de la Fuente, “This is all you do in Los Angeles, except that everyone inside without a doubt wants to parade your headless corpse around the city,”

“I thought you were a truck driver?”

“I was,” she said, “Doesn’t mean you’re exempt from infantry work,”

“Are women soldiers in Mexico just like here?”

“Well, they try to keep you out, but it happens anyway-”

A ST member smashed the door with the ram, the grenade launchers were fired, and in went to the teams. After the Special Tactics team entered, Volke went in, and the sheer number of police compared to suspects was overwhelming. Barely anything was audible beyond ‘Get down on the ground, Boise Police Department’ but the suspects choking on their own insides was enough to pacify them.

Sarah looked for any other suspects beyond the few standing in the front of the building, one came out from behind and aisle of crates, and she went to restrain him, but Volke stepped in front and instead just knocked him to the ground, putting his boot on his back. The open doors worked to ventilate the building while the officers found and arrested the remaining workers. An opening of a single crate revealed a massive amount of marijuana, but further investigation showed that most crates were filled with wood and other buildings supplies, and that the crates with contraband were few and far between. None the less, a bust was a bust, and about $700,000 worth of the drugs were found in the warehouse, dealing a blow to the local mafia.

“Well, that was easy,” said Alvarez, trying to talk through the gas mask,

“I expected them to put up a bit more of a fight,” said Sarah,

“It was going to be easy,” explained Volke, “Any of you try to function in a room filled with more gas than air and you’ll see. Granted, this little exercise should’ve gotten most of you a little more familiar with your weapons in your hands,” he turned to Sarah, “Mostly you, but we’re done here. We’ll be out when the police leave everyone,” and Volke saluted them.

********

Snowwolf

"So seriously, what's the plan? We've got a few minutes at best before those tanks show up," reminded Guillaume,

Liam got back on the ground, redrawing his image, "Plant a few on the road, hide in these ruts, and stand back..." he pointed back about fifty feet, "So we have a shot at their asses with the rocket launchers,"

"Plan B?"

"Well, I guess if they're traveling with an open top you could always hop in and do something with that," said Liam sarcastically, "Let's get to work,"

The four got to work laying mines in a line, spreading them a few car lengths away from each other on the road, the hope being that if a tank was hit with a mine, they'd try to veer off the road, probably running into the mine when they turned or something rather, but the reality of the situation was that there was really no way to guarantee a hit with only a few mines. Things were a gamble, and the men prayed that God smiled upon them that day.

They divided the launchers between themselves, each man taking three or four, and hid along the ruts in the ground digging themselves into the snow. They blended well against it in their white overcoats and caps which was ostensibly a benefit and waited, eager and nervous as their hearts raced for the approaching beasts. Guillaume and Liam sat on the south side of the road, while Gaston and Marcel sat on the north, and after only ten minutes of waiting, the low rumbling that always signified danger started to shake the senses.

"This is it!" called Gaston, "Get ready!"

The column rumbled closer and closer, what seemed to be hours was actually just minutes as the armor came within feet of them creeping along. The crews in the tanks were turned out, with their hatches open enabling them to see farther and freer at the expense of protection, a common tactic used by tank crews, but also easily exploitable.

As the tanks passed, Guillaume became jumpy, his stance becoming springy, and noticeably upsetting Liam, "Hey, calm down!" said Liam, "What do you think you're going to do?"

Guillaume remained alert, a tank passing by, then another, he waited, "Hey! Get down!"

He again ignored Liam, and when the last tank was about to pass, he jumped up out of the trench, trying to move quickly through the snow, and got up onto the road behind the tank. Marcel, Liam and Gaston did nothing to stop him, and were powerless to do anything but watch, so they readied the launchers in anticipation for Guillaume to be mowed down.

But the tanks didn't see Guillaume. He jumped up onto the engine of the M60 and then climbed onto the turret. He pulled his handgun and pointed at the surprised commander, who couldn't believe his eyes before he was shot point blank. The commander fell into the tank, and Guillaume followed him in, firing his pistol a few more times before going further inside and firing the main gun. The 105mm cannon of the M60 tore a hole through the weakly armored rear of the M60 in front of him, disabling it.

"What the hell..." Liam was frozen in astonishment as he watched what unfolded,

Guillaume climbed out of the turret, dropped a grenade into the turret and rolled off, which detonated and spewed a fountain of blood out of the top for a split second. Getting refocused, the remaining mercenaries began to fire their Vipers into the last two M60s, which were still trying to gather what was happening. Marcel on the north side fired into the lead tank, which landed into the left track, throwing it, and Gaston fired another into the same target, hitting the rear of the turret further damaging the tank. Liam began to fire into the other M60, which was disabled in the first shot, but destroyed with a violent explosion from a rocket on the other side of the road.

The last tank turned in their hatches, turning its turret to bear on the mercenaries on the north side. It fired its main cannon, hitting far behind in the fields and missing the mercs. The mercs in the ruts fired three rockets almost simultaneously at the last one, sending steel flying into the air and disabling it for good.

Liam relaxed in the ditch, taking a deep breath at the ordeal he just went through. Guillaume sat down next to him and did the same, surprised himself he survived his stunt.

"What's that they say?" asked Liam, "Don't mess with a man with nothing to lose?"

"I guess," he shrugged, "That's how it's gone for me,"

"Something to tell the kids I guess,"

Guillaume laughed at that, "I'm not sure I'd believe myself at that!"

********

"That was awesome!", Liam commented still astonished by what happened. he pat Guillaume on the back. "Alright now lets head back to report in.", he kneels down and picks up a piece of metal from one of the tanks and hands it to guillaume,"Now they'll believe you"

Kiwi

Safe landings awaited them all, in a strange turn of events where normally the best you could hope for was landing with malfunctioning landing gear or holes the size of a tree trunk in your wings. The F16 was beginning to grow on Morrison, who initially didn't like the feel of it, thinking it was too small and not strong enough. The obvious benefits it had in air superiority were evident, the few kills he had gained in it being worlds easier to pull off than in the Phantom, but at heart, he was still a Phantom pilot, and always would be. In a sense, he envied the pilots in Dog who dropped all of that ordinance, pulverizing a target into dust in a matter of seconds, reminiscing back to his days as a Wild Weasel pilot, but all good things must come to an end. Sometimes to begin other good things.

He stayed in his plane until Caron landed and parked up next to him, waiting for the ground crews to bring the ladders to help them out. One thing universal with any fighter aircraft was that they were universally cramped to sit in, especially with the thick G-suits which only made things worse.

He raised the canopy to talk to Caron, "Good flight man,"

Caron replied with a nod of the head, "Good flight,"

They disembarked their vehicles and went down to the commons, thinking about what the rest of the day held in for them. The new commanding officer bothered Morrison, who held no respect for an officer promoted behind clerical work. Not many did, but in situations like these, you couldn't be resentful because of something pretentious like that. These days, there was no room for these little competitions. Unity was the only thing holding them together in the last days, and not much else.

Martin approached the two as they entered the commons, "Major, Lieutenant, I hear things went according to plan?"

Morrison saluted, "Objectives completed in full,"

"Good," Martin saluted back, "Stay on station, you and I are going out here in a little and run protection for a U2. It's probably going to get hot, so bring your A game,"

"Yes sir," said Morrison, and Martin walked off again. Morrison didn't respect him in the least, he'd seen enough of his kind, and it showed. He didn't even have to say a word for the entire group to know there was heat at the top.

"You need to calm down on him, Major," suggested Caron, prompting a look of doubt from Morrison,

"Why?"

"You should know better than anyone that 90% of the time, people aren't promoted to higher ranks to fill in spots, like you. Most of the time it's because they're good at what they do, and being an officer is clerical work and organization,"

"And what are you trying to say?"

Caron got a disgusted look on his face, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, "He's the one who should be suspicious of you. Not the other way around,"

"Great leaders are born on the battlefield, wars are won from the frontlines, not a desk, and I may have to yield to someone who sat in a desk for twenty years to get where he is, but that doesn't mean I have to like it!"

"Being an officer then you should know full well that victory can't be secured without eyes, ears, and the like. That's the reason we're losing this war in the first place, it is because we thought we could just beat something with a stick long enough and it'd cry 'Uncle'!"

Morrison and Caron stood off at each other visually, until Martin came back and broke it up, "Something I missed?" he asked,

Both pilots backed off, and Morrison assured him that nothing was wrong.

"Good, there's no room for this locker room shit right now," Martin pointed to Morrison, "You're with me,"

"Aye,"

********

Mboddz

The operatives trudged through the snow slowly and clumsily, kicking up huge amounts of snow as they lifted their feet. With every step they sunk at least two feet into the soft drift snow, sometimes falling altogether into the drift.

"I can't wait for summer," said Reznor, falling into the drift face first and getting more snow into his uniform,

"If we last that long," reminded Crane,

"Keep an open mind boy, it'll get you far,"

"How far has that gotten us?"

Reznor pointed to his chest, "This far," and flipped his finger on Crane's nose, making him flinch, and Reznor smile.

"What is this? Primary school?"

"With you, sometimes it is!"

"Do you always like deadfalling off of a cliff?" asked Eckert,

"When it's necessary," said Crane with a smile,

"We really need to go home,"

"And I'm working on that!" said Boddy, looking out at the distance,

Reznor joined Boddy on the crest of a hill, looking into the fields ahead of them. So much emptiness, Boddy took a look through his binoculars to find a target of interest.

"I'm surprised those didn't break in the fall," asked Reznor,

"Can't say the same about my ass..." Boddy stretch a little, "If I didn't know any better I'd say I broke my tailbone,"

"We can crucify those pilots later,"

"I'll say, we would've never had to do any of that crap if it wasn't for them being trigger happy, dropping enough ordinance to level a village,"

"They did level a village,"

"My point exactly!"

Both men looked for different landmarks. Anything that could be useful later on, as in what they may encounter driving out of there, what they may pass, and the Dakota flatlands wasn't proving to be in the least bit informative.

"Hey that looks like a dust cloud, maybe tanks? To the east?" Reznor pointed to a white cloud kicking up.

"Unlikely, tanks don't kick up snow like that, it's probably just wind..." Boddy looked through with his binoculars, "Just wind, probably what we're feeling here,"

Reznor began to look again, "What about down there? East-southeast? What's that?"

"Um...armored jeep. Probably a HMMWV,"

"I wonder where he's going, he's heading towards us," and Reznor discovered their best lead, "Uh..."

"This is bad, I'm not seeing anything,"

"Captain," Reznor said again,

"What?!"

"Look,"

An encampment that the whether had pretty much taken back was right underneath them, snow covering near everything from tents, to the small shacks set up, to the supplies they had, and even the soldiers themselves. As he looked down, he then saw the vehicle driving earlier pull in to the camp, with some soldiers going to greet it.

"And there's out ride out," said Boddy, "Alright, a little grand theft auto goes a long way,"

*********

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

The recruits out on the line, tired and fatigued from running obstacles for the last hour, Desmond ran them through shooter qualifications to get them up to par. Most of the time in combat, a soldier will be fatigued, tired, and operating one step away from destruction, and one of the keys of survival is to operate efficiently at that peak, and operate 110% when not.

Rounds cracked downrange into steel plates, making a very distinct ring when hit, and the snow making a very distinct thump when not. Desmond walked the line up and down the troopers, critiquing them on their weak points and praising them on their strong.

“McKenna, aim higher, you’re hitting low,” Desmond knelt down beside him, “That right there is the difference between a miss and a hit, and you’re giving him a chance to down you, hit true,”

“Aye, sir,”

Desmond continued the line, next in the row impressed him, Frank Pedraza, with his aim, “That’s good shooting Pedraza, round after round on target, are you a shooter?”

“Used to…” Pedraza fired another three rounds in quick succession, “Used to shoot ground squirrels at the ranch in California; smaller targets than those plates,”

“You’re doing well.”

“Thank you, sir,”

The rounds continued to ring off the plates, and Desmond was satisfied with their marksmanship. He critiqued Masters on her shooting, resetting her hold on the rifle, but she improved afterward. At the end of twenty rounds for each participant, they stood up out of the snow, brushing themselves off, and slung their rifles over their backs. Corsican, on Desmond’s request, arrived at the training grounds to accompany him. He planned to show the new troopers a living example.

“If my words aren’t enough, you can talk to any of the veterans around here,” he began, “This boy was a lot like all of you a year ago, untrained, little knowledge of what was ahead of him, he could barely wipe his ass,”

The troopers laughed, but Corsican stayed straight.

“He may still be a boy in body but he is a man in personality, knowledge, and experience. Speak to any of the veterans of Bakken, they’ll tell you that at any time in the fight, this man had their back, without a doubt,”

“We all did with each other,” said Corsican,

“And the same will be expected of all of you,” Desmond stepped back to give Corsican the floor, “Go ahead Operative,”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. A year ago, I was in all your shoes, in fact, I was worse off. I was just dropped out of a truck, given a gun, and left to my own means…”

Desmond caught something in the corner of his eye, something that just ticked in his head, and he looked behind him, a figure, a colored person walking towards them all. Not wanting Corsican to be interrupted, he went to intercept the person, which attracted attention anyway. He knew exactly who it was.

“What’re you doing Alex? Why are you here?”

“Well geez James, I don’t see you in almost two years and the only thing you have to say is ‘What’re you doing Alex?’ I’m seriously beginning to wonder why I married you in the first place.”

“Why aren’t you in Twin Falls?”

“What? I can’t take vacation days? As much as I love to do clerical work for the military always on the verge of getting carpel tunnel from a typewriter, I do have to take a break every now and again.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“The 4th Division has been all but quiet in the newspapers, radio, television, everything. You guys are bigger stars than…” she played with her hair, thinking, “Well, I was going to try to find something to compare to but to be frank, anything. Some of the battalions were sent to Montana, I thought it was only appropriate to try and find you,”

“There are twenty battalions in a division, odds are against you, what if it was for naught?”
Alex smiled at the thought, “A girl knows…”

Desmond raised his eyebrows.

“I may have seen your name on the notice papers,” Alex admitted,

“There you go,”

“You’re no fun,” she smacked him on the shoulder,

Desmond cracked a bit of a laugh at that, “No matter what I say, I’m glad to see you anyway,”

“And I as well…”

They kissed, and Desmond showed her away. He wanted to wrap things up on the field before doing anything else, but by the time he returned, all of the recruits and Corsican were just paying attention to him, especially Corsican, who was surprised that any human contact besides assault, heavy lifting, and murder was possible with Desmond. He sure didn’t let on to it being possible.

“So that’s your secret!” said Corsican,

Desmond glared, and soon returned to his old self, “Dismissed, everyone,”

********

Into the Rising Sun

14 March 2216

Jagdgeschwader

The month of February that year yielded good results for the West, which gained ground farther east, but tribals and raiders in the West worked to cut off mountain passes and supply chains in Montana, ultimately bound for North Dakota. A military once superior in the region suddenly was knocked back post hoc; and its command had ordered it into a holding pattern across the front.

In a miserable little village by the name of La Passagne on the frontlines, a small garrison of soldiers stood sentinel, separated from the rest of their company located elsewhere in the area. Spring began the new year in full, and the locals which had stayed by their homes for this long were in no hurry to leave, instead planting their fields and continuing their daily lives as normal. The troopers in the village almost went unnoticed, living alongside the villagers as flies on the walls.

Desmond and Corsican sat on the porch of a friendly villager, known only to them as ‘Joaquin’. They leaned in their chairs balanced at just the point they would fall backwards. Desmond smoked a cigarette and rolled up his sleeves on his fatigues, some of the soldiers abandoning their long coats in light of the warmer weather.

Out in the hills, Zangre and Dawson patrolled the land around La Passagne, walking circuits and playing games with each other to keep their minds sharp. Monotonous walking can tend to make someone bored out of their skulls anyway.

"There's Mr. Thomas again," said Dawson, pointing to the old man who was driving his tractor. Both soldiers waved, and he waved back. The people here were friendly, which surprised the occupying soldiers who thought that they'd be hostile towards them. In the end, these people were so far from centralized government that they didn't care who was around, as long as they were kind.

Mr. Thomas drove his tractor over to the soldiers, slowing down to meet them, "Morning soldiers!" he said in a heavy accent.

"Good morning Mr. Thomas," said Zangre, "Getting quick to work?"

"Hopefully so," said Mr. Thomas, "How about yourself?"

"Could always be in better places, but the friendly people here makes in better than usual,"

"I'm happy to be of assistance!" and Mr. Thomas drove off again towards his barn,

Zangre thought of something to pass the time, "Want to play a game?"

"Like what?" asked Dawson,

"Let's play 'I spy',"

"Alright, I'll go first," Dawson looked around, "I spy with my little eye, something that starts with...'W',"

"White, as in on that cow," Zangre pointed to the cow in the distance,

"Wow," Dawson was completely caught off guard, "Not playing this with you anymore,"

Zangre saw something that alerted him, "I spy something that starts with 'I'!"

"Told you, I'm not playing this with you anymore,"

"NO! Those look like infantry!" he pointed to the hill top, hiding in a few trees, it looked like armed men.

Zangre and Dawson sprinted to Mr. Thomas on his tractor and hopped on, telling him to take them to town. They had to alert the rest of the garrison of the threat. Said people could be scouts, or a hostile patrol, but the garrison had to know. Hopefully the seven soldiers there were enough to handle it.

********

I'd like to again apologize for not posting regularly. Things may come up, I may not get time to write, or I may get writer's block, which is why I prematurely ended the previous chapter. I'd like to finish the story by the end of the year or not long into the new year.

Snowwolf

They sat in the ditch, waiting for the return of Marcel, who was out scouting locations. With the West halted in their assault, the NET government wanted to use this time to pull back into defensive positions, harass the West as much as possible and weaken them before they could pull it together again.

Rising East was more than capable.

They rustled in their positions when Marcel arrived, running crouched and dropping into the ditch with them to report to Krieger, "We've got screaming meemees up ahead, I saw them positioned in the southeast corner of the village," Marcel pulled his map out, "We're right here, northwest, and I'd suggest running the length of this hill first heading east, before heading south into the village,"

"Resistance?" asked Gaston,

"Not much, I counted four soldiers, but there could always be more walking about,"

"OK," Krieger pointed to the others, "Dashelle, take your guys and head to the top of this hill, I want you to suppress the soldiers down there as we make our run, don't fire until you hear gunshots OK?"

"Sir," Dashelle motioned his guys to move, and they climbed up out of the ditch and started up the hill,

"You guys are with me," said Krieger, "Let's get moving," Gaston, Guillaume, and Marcel followed him to the top of the hill as well, cresting it a hundred meters to the east from the other team. They positioned themselves in the trees, hoping to conceal themselves.

********

Volke:

Volke's team had been going on various missions for the past while, although Volke had been doing his own investigation on how to get back at the NET. Dimitri Durov's dossier was still stapled on the board on his office wall. Wooten's picture slid behind it. Currently Volke had been trying to work an angle investigating the whereabouts of one Mordecai Kreiger. If Dimitri was keeping a low profile, this man might know where to find him.

Westhybrid, Destroyer

The rubble in the road tripped soldiers as they walked into it, stepping around broken concrete, shattered glass, and the shell of a city. The story of Bakken was written in it, recent and the old days. One could walk down a street, and see the stories of small businesses down a main street, flanked by residential districts. There, a barber shop once stood, and across the street, a local clinic and right down the street, a grocery store, owned by a married couple who lived in a nice neighborhood where the community was closely knitted. Bakken had its problems. NET and Western soldiers liked to take their positions for granted, sometimes the locals were harassed, and it wasn’t the most convenient place to live with inflated prices and heightened taxes, but it was still a functional city, and that was a lot out in what was only thirty years before, raider territory.

Now though, it stood as not even a shadow of its former self. The story now was about the soldiers that battled here, from the dawn, until dusk, for more than a year. The soldiers that valiantly defended themselves, backed against a wall, down to the last man if necessary, and the soldiers that courageously fought them, knowing that the soldiers with nothing to lose would fight like the dogs they were.

Bakken served as the main hospital in the front now, the main ammunition depot, and main armor depot. Everything that was going to the fronts eventually came through here, then out, and only through this was the city reborn out of its ashes. Only through this it had gained a dot back on the map, and not remained a burn mark.

Termous and De la Fuente sat in the cast iron chairs of a café, tanks passing by, soldiers walking by, the spring sun shining down on them. They relaxed and eavesdropped on Volke and an officer they didn't know, and while she didn't understand what they were saying, it sounded angry.

"Esta podría ser mi única oportunidad de obtener estos tipos de nuevo!"

"No sé que pensabas que eras, pero no eres eso. Tienes suerte de que esta posición se le dio incluso a usted," replied the officer, "No eres libre de hacer lo que quieres, las reglas del juego. Ahora sé un buen soldado, hazme un favor, sino a favor más importante, una MISMO, y olvidarse de esta caza de brujas para este personaje Durov."

"Voy a perseguir esto, Comandante. Con o sin su ayuda."

"Haga esto sin autorización y sólo se puede iniciar una nueva vida mientras estás en ello. Parece que lo único que puedes hacer es hacer enfadar mucho más grandes que tú."

"They sound angry," said Termous,

"Do you understand what they're talking about?" asked De la Fuente,

"No, I don't speak Spanish,"

Volke walked out and onto the porch with the couple, closing the door behind him. He looked extremely angry, with a thousand yard stare that could pierce through a man's soul. The two women said nothing, not wanting to start a fire, and instead continued to smoke their cigarettes and not make eye contact.

After he left, Termous shuttered a bit, "He seems really pissed,"

********

Termous: "... damn it. I'll see you later De la Fuente." Termous puts out her cigarette, flicking away the butt and jogging after Volke. She catches up, falling into step with him and speaking up after a few seconds of decidedly awkward silence. "So, how bad?"

Volke:

Volke turned his head to see Termous walking after him. "Bad enough to that the Zetas aren't backing our hunt for Durov." Volke said, sighing. He sat down at a nearby bench. "Durov is the easiest target to find that links back to Wooten. To NI4. To the same people that shot my brother and your father." Volke said. "Worst case scenario is we go this alone. Maybe talk the squad into tagging along for the fun."

Termous: Sarah sits down bench as well and shrugs. "Eh, could be worse. We could be... I don't know, allergic to sunlight. Man that would suck." Sarah shudders. "Anyways, I might be able to convince de la Fuente to tag along; we're getting pretty friendly, and I think Fierro has a thing for de la Fuente, so if I can convince her he might stick around. Alvarez might tag along just for the fight, with him being, ya'know..." Sarah twirls a finger in a circle. "And Huerte..." Sarah pauses for a moment "honestly, Huerte creeps me out a little. No idea about him." Sarah takes out a cigarette, offering the pack to Volke.

********

Mboddz

When you work as a black op, everything is math. How many agents are needed to accomplish something, how exactly something is to be executed, and what will be needed to accomplish the task. When this doesn’t happen, when failure happens for any reason, the entire structure is called into question, but more importantly, the agents involved are called into question. When the process narrows it down to the reason, that reason is thoroughly investigated and when it is an agent, anything is possible.

Descateaux sat across the way, along with two other NI4 Colonels. The failure of an agent is one thing, but this failure was tantamount to treason. Eckert sat on the other side of the room, defended by her commanding officer Captain M. Boddy. They had been at review for two hours now.

“Sergeant Eckert,” said Colonel Descateaux, going through papers, “If I am hearing this correctly, you took the target to the town, but after seeing too much activity, decided against fulfilling the objectives assigned to you,”

“Yes sir,” she said, “I determined that the amount of activity would make it impossible to complete my objectives without being compromised, and instead decided to complete only the primary objective, the assassination of Darius Ico. I exited the village with Ico in hand and walked him half a mile out. I then shot the VIP three times in the torso, putting it up to his back to suppress the shot.”

“Eckert then reported to us on the fronts around Bakken one day later,” said Boddy.

“Timescale does not confirm your assessment, how would you determine that all three objectives, all three in different villages, would be impossible to complete without being compromised, especially when the given weapon to complete said objectives were cyanide tablets?” asked Lerox,

“It was my opinion that said targets were not important to operations in the area, and were only assigned to further hurt Darius Ico, who was being eliminated anyway. I knew that I would be deployed to the frontlines after the fact, and instead opted to go directly to that by negating the secondary objectives.”

“So it wasn't that you feared being compromised, you just decided you knew better than your superiors,"

"Not at all-"

"THAT IS NOT YOUR DECISION! Ico was not killed! He resurged only months later!”

“Why did you not confirm his death?” asked Descateaux,

“When I checked for vitals, he wasn’t reading,”

“But the character in question as we have said has returned to the field of play,” said Colonel Shore, “He’s changed his name to Adrian Volke, and now he’s embedded with a mercenary outfit, a branch of a drug cartel-of the same name-based in Mexico,”

“What do you ask, sir?” asked Boddy,

They deliberated for a few minutes and the council came to a decision regarding Eckert's failure. Descateaux began, “Colonel Shore, Colonel Lerox, and I have determined that your team is to pursue Darius Ico, gain a lead, and eliminate him by any means seen fit by the operatives involved. While Sergeant Eckert was the sole party responsible for him going back into the wild, it is the opinion of these officers that ma'am was not careless in fulfilling the primary objectives. However, the negation of the secondary objectives was negligent and if it weren't for these wartime conditions, you would be serving time after being dishonorably discharged. We’re showing mercy this time around Captain,” Descateaux pointed his signature glare at Boddy, “Do NOT fail us a second time,”

“Understood sir,” replied the Captain, reorientating his collar and looking at Eckert nervously.

They walked the halls together, talking about what had happened. If this was just another person under his command, he would be reaming her out for her failure, but she was a comrade, and he believed that there was probably a good reason for doing what was done. This time around, it wouldn't be slacked on. This was the last time this man would show up.

"I don't know why you didn't take this man out," started Boddy,

Eckert stopped, "I shot him three times!"

"...But it's alright, this time, he's not escaping all of us."

She relaxed her shoulders, and her furrowed brow recessed.

"Especially me," said Boddy, he thought to himself, "If you want it done you've got to do it yourself."

********

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

"So tell me about that woman," said Corsican, surprising Desmond. Desmond took a look at him in astonishment, surprised that he had remembered her, when he himself had almost forgotten.

"Who?" asked Desmond, knowing who he was talking about, or at least he thought he did. It's not like Desmond wanted to forget, he just found if he thought about her, he only thought of what might happen when he was gone. It only pained him further, so he found it best to blot her out.

"That colored woman that you talked to about a few weeks back when we were in Montana. I've been waiting for a while to pop the question, now feels like a good time,"

"Alexandra..."

"Yes, her, I'm curious about her,"

Desmond puffed his cigarette, "She's the daughter of a pastor, a man I looked up to when I was around your age," he pointed to him, "Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to be a pastor once?"

"Really?"

"I did," he took another drag, "When I moved Richard and Allison to Boise with me, we didn't have a home. Alexandra's father, the pastor at the Catholic church took us in like we were his children. I spent the next eight months reading my Bible, remembering scripture verbatim,"

"It doesn't seem like you,"

"It is," he assured, "God has a way of calming man down, of uniting him with his brothers. Through His teachings, you become wise,"

"I think a man has to make his own way," said Corsican, "I don't feel like I've benefited from God's influence,"

"But you have," said Desmond, "The fact that you have survived this long year, probably the longest year of your life, is in itself a miracle. The situations you overcame," Desmond turned to him, "Were overwhelming feats. Most men would break under such pressures, but you were strong,"

"But that's just me," said Corsican, "I did that myself,"

"You had the strength to survive it, because it was gifted to you. God works through our physical means, Corsican. They are His laws."

"But what about your wife?" Corsican wanted to continue on the previous topic,

Desmond returned to his normal position, "She's the daughter of the pastor I came to love, and she was fourteen at the time. I first talked to her the day after Allison, Richard and I came to her father's church. She woke me up with the nicest smile,"

"Go on,"

"Well, being a sixteen year old, I was tired in the morning and I slowly got up. She introduced herself to me, and I apologized for my rudeness and introduced myself. I don't know what she saw in me, but it's something about women, you know they like you when they give you that certain look. I can't explain it, but you may know what I'm talking about. Anyways, she made breakfast for us that morning, her father, and all of us, her mother being out at the time doing work with the church in Washington, and that's when we first started to really talk,"

Corsican leaned in to listen more.

"I minded my manners as well as possible, she has a lot of features of her father, and I could tell she was his daughter, if it wasn't evident already, so I kept my comments as polite and respectable as possible. I was the eldest, so I was almost the ambassador in a sense for the family, I was the face. I mainly tried to stay in conversation with her father, but the thing that was obvious was that she would laugh generously at any little remark I made that could be taken humorously,"

"I assume her father didn't take well to that?"

"He was fine, as long as I focused on him. That was just the first talk though. Alexandra and I would continue to talk anytime we could in private, she became a good friend to me."

"You didn't think more of her?"

"Not at the time, no,"

"What else is there?"

He put out his cigarette, "I worked hard for Father Padilla,"

"Padilla?"

"Her maiden name, Virgilio respected me thoroughly for my continuous hard work for the church, as I took lessons from him, I studied scripture with him, as I became his apprentice," Desmond became sarcastic, "Believe it or not, I've always been a loyal and faithful soldier, whether it be for God or for the government,"

"So you became respected?"

"As I said before, I wanted to become a pastor, following in his footsteps, but that wasn't the plan God had for me, as Father Padilla would put it,"

"Why not?"

"I never lost sight of the big picture. I couldn't with a straight conscious continuously live in the church with him and his daughter. He did the good Christian thing by providing for me in my time of need, but it was time for me to do the good Christian thing and provide for my younger brother and sister,"

"Join the military?"

"Yes. It was my duty as a man anyway to do so. With the money I could make being a soldier, I could help them get on their feet. I joined the military in the beginning of January the next year, a few weeks before turning seventeen,"

"How did Father Padilla and his daughter take that?"

Desmond paused, "Father prayed for me, so did his daughter, but not until later when I received a letter from my sister Allison that I found out Alexandra cried the entire day I left to train,"

"How did that make you feel?" Corsican laced his fingers and leaned back in his chair, putting a leg on his knee.

"Strange, to say the least. No other girl I had ever known had felt that way about me before. When I returned the next year, a changed person-and I was angry-she still was attracted to me."

"Why do you think?"

"Because she loved me,"

"What was your first guess?"

"My life before that was hard work, one day a crowded nest, the next, a child suddenly turned to orphan and upgraded to parent. I didn't have time for people, I had to work, and sometimes it wasn't the most honest work, but we had to leave Reno."

"God gave you a second chance,"

"God showed me love,"

"What happened next?"

"I married Alexandra in that church when I was twenty, and she eighteen. Her father married us, and ever since we've been happily married, although it's normally pretty one sided," Desmond removed his wedding ring, "You've never noticed this before?"

"Wedding rings don't exist in Alaska, I thought you just liked wearing that," Corsican thought for a moment, "What do you mean one sided?"

Desmond stared at him blankly, "I'm not happy,"

"Well that much is certain," said Corsican sarcastically,

"I was never jovial, but I could be happy once. Now, and this is going to sound very strange, but I just don't feel it. I don't feel happiness, and I know something is wrong, but I'm almost powerless to stop it."

"Didn't seeing Alexandra make you happy?"

He stared blankly. Contemplating.

"Lieutenant?" asked Corsican,

"I hadn't talked to her in two years and the first thing I said was 'What are you doing here?'"

"Were you happy?"

"No," he said. Desmond put his face in his hands and thought about the meeting, "I haven't had sex in almost three years now, I was indifferent to seeing her again, I don't have children, and..."

"Desmond?"

"I've killed children! I've burned down homes and killed mothers and fathers. I've killed one hundred and ninety seven men, and twenty four women, fifteen boys and two girls. What would my mother think of me if she knew that, what would Father Padilla say if he knew about that, what would happen if my wife knew what kind of man I actually am, and not the person I pretend to be-" Desmond began to speak faster, and faster, and faster.

"James! Stop!" Corsican stood up with him,

"The person I pretend to be is a lie! But I did it all for them anyway,"

"James!"

"Thousands of soldiers have stood up, but they're all gone now!"

Corsican pleaded, "Stop!"

"WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?!" Desmond yelled at the top of his lungs, straight into Corsican's face. They stared at each other, and Desmond started again, "See right there? I should be crying. Any other person would be, but I'm not."

They stood at each other, not speaking, but Desmond heavily breathing. He turned to lean on the porch's fence, looking out past North Dakota's rolling plains. With both at a loss for words, they remained silent, standing there for several minutes, before Zangre and Dawson arrived on the road.

"Lieutenant!" called Zangre,

Desmond returned to his professional self, "Yes, trooper?"

"Dawson and I spotted unknown individuals to the north of here, moving along the hills heading east. They looked suspicious, but I couldn't tell if they were armed or not. There were quite a few,"

"Probably a patrol," said Corsican,

"They may be a wetwork team to destroy the artillery in the southeast corner of the village," said Desmond, "Dawson, come with Corsican and I, Zangre, go find Dietrick and the others. Stay on that artillery piece, we'll deal with who we see,"

"Yes, sir!" replied Zangre, hurrying off to find the others.

********

Westhybrid, Destroyer

The two women looked on as he walked away, but Sarah's curiosity got the best of her as it usually did. She picked up her weapon, threw out her cigarette and told Camilla that she'd be back in a little while, picking up the pace to match Volke.

"Hey, watch it!" said one of the soldiers to her as she bumped into him. Sarah apologized, and got Volke's attention.

"What do you want?" asked Volke, continuing down the road,

"What was all that about?" she asked,

"What?" Volke couldn't hear over the M60 tanks driving, and the two walked away to somewhere less noise polluted. She repeated her statement.

"What's going on?"

"I'm pissed, that's what's going on," said Volke, "Not a damn one of these fools knows the first thing about respect. You don't let someone walk over you like a doormat, you got to kick back and show 'em what you're made of,"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm looking for a man, once it was for business, now it's personal. I don't care so much about him as I do the sons of bitches that defend him. The SAME sons of bitches that killed YOUR father and my brother,"

Sarah was silent.

"Business is one thing but family is forever. I've lost absolutely everything I once had, everything that was monetary in the world, but now I can't talk to my family, I lost my brother, my life is in shambles," said Volke, anger in his eyes, "I will have my revenge, or I will die trying. Are you the same?"

Again, Sarah was silent.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," said Volke, "To hell with all of you, I'll call you when I need you,"

Volke walked off, leaving Sarah alone. She looked at her feet, kicked some dirt around and readjusted her rifle before leaving to go back to Camilla, still relaxing in the cast iron chair. She leaned back in her chair and stretched while Sarah sat back down, "So what's up with him?"

"He's in a mood," explained Sarah, "To say the least," she sat down and put her feet up on the cast iron table. Camilla laughing under her breath.

"What?" asked Sarah,

"That's a load if I've heard it, but OK!"

********

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

Dawson, Desmond and Corsican headed west through the village, where the unknown men were reported. Above them in the skies planes had been fighting each other for a while, and not too long ago a plane had fallen out of the sky miles east. What now looked to be a parachute was landing close to the village on the southwest side. A situation that needed to be dealt with if the pilot was hostile. All pilots carried a handgun with them in case of said situation, so a hostile being allowed to roam freely armed behind them was not in the game plan.

As the troops ran through the village, they went into the field to meet the pilot, who was drifting closer and closer to earth. A few seconds after arriving, he landed and rolled in the field. The soldiers taking appropriate action.

"Hands are your head!" yelled Desmond, "Right where I can see them! Don't move!"

"Nothing funny, alright?" added Dawson, pointing his M60 at the pilot.

The man stood up, back facing the soldiers. He put his hands up and obeyed while they moved closer. "Turn around, slowly," ordered Desmond, the pilot again obeying, "Are you Western?"

"Yes," said the pilot, and it matched. Western equipment, .45 handgun holstered in his pocket, and he sounded like it. The soldiers relaxed and motioned him to follow.

"Good, we'll need all the guns we can get," said Desmond. The troops ran back into the village taking positions around a small barn. Dawson was a '60 gunner and would be the heavy hitter, while the rest assisted him with their rifles. The silhouettes that were reported by him and Zangre appeared again on the hill coming out of the trees, and the soldiers took no chances on it and began to fire.

*********

Snowwolf

"DOWN-DOWN-DOWN!" screamed Krieger, taking fire with the rest and immediately going back into defilade at the crest of the hill. Gaston laid down to the left of Krieger and opened up with automatic fire from his L1A1, with Guillaume and Marcel opening up as well.

"We need to keep moving along the hill, Dashelle and the others can keep these guys busy," said Marcel,

"He's right, let's keep going," Krieger led the others but stopped for a moment, "DASHELLE!" he called out.

"What?!" he yelled back,

"We're going east! Keep them off of us!"

Dashelle agreed, and they kept sprinting east, using the hill to cover. They would attempt to flank the men down in the village this way.

********

Desmond, Corsican and Zangre kept dipping in and out of cover, Desmond and Corsican behind a pile of hay for concealment, Zangre laying down next to them suppressing the armed men on the hill.

"A pile of hay isn't good cover Desmond!"

"There's nothing that's good cover around here, bullets will fly through all of this crap, at least this gives us visabili-" Desmond could hardly speak without being interrupted by splintering wood, dirt kicking up, or rocks flying. Every time a wizz was heard, or a crack shattered the air, they'd duck their heads. It was something you could never get used to, it always surprised you no matter what. "As long as we keep firing back, we'll be golden,"

"What about the others at the artillery piece? Should I get them?" Corsican multitasked talking and shooting,

"No," Desmond fired another two rounds, "We can't lose that, we can take them,"

Down below them, Dawson took a shot to the forearm dropping his gun and screaming in pain, "Bastard got me in the arm!"

"Move back! Move back!" yelled Desmond, putting more rounds down range,

"Going full!" called out Corsican, switching the M14 to full auto.

Dawson picked himself up and the machine gun, looking downrange for a moment, but then turning his back to take cover behind the barn. Not even a second after he turned, several rounds entered and exited through him, throwing bits of his trench coat in the air and he throwing his M60 into the pile of hay with his last movement. He crumpled onto the ground face first and started to bleed into the grass.

"Oh shit!" exclaimed Corsican,

"Pilot!" yelled Desmond, and the pilot came over to him. He threw him his M14, "You're going to need this!"

The pilot caught the M14 and the magazines for it Desmond had. Meanwhile, Desmond dove into the hay looking for the M60. If they needed anything, it was that gun, but surprisingly enough even a twenty three pound machinegun was hard to find in a haystack, not that bullets going through the haystack helped anything.

"Quit fooling around Lieutenant, the pilot and I can't hold these guys off forever!"

But Desmond couldn't find it for the life of him. He had to close his eyes to protect them and feel around blindly for it. The machinegun landed in the stack perpendicular which made it dive into it, rather than just cushion and fall on top of it as if it were parallel. It could literally be anywhere in the stack within a few feet.

********

Snowwolf

Cresting the hill northeast of the village, Krieger and his guys began their descent into the village, but were also caught with fire. The garrison in the village it seemed had divided in two. One to fight the second team, and one to fight them and defend their artillery.

"See anything Liam?" asked Marcel,

Liam looked through binoculars to get a better look, but was suppressed by the muzzle flash of several soldiers. He determined that there were at least four in this area, but there were still four of them. They had dealt with worse before.

"I can see the rocket artillery pretty clearly," as if in concert, as soon as Liam announced that, a soldier in the village fired his Carl Gustav launcher and hit the hill in front of them, sending Liam flying backwards, but otherwise unharmed.

"Are you alright?!" Gaston came straight to his aid, but Liam didn't need it.

"I'm fine!" he picked himself up and got back on the hill. The fireteam returned their fire but it was difficult to effectively suppress the spread out Western soldiers over a hundred yards away.

"We'll sprint on down to the buildings on the right!" ordered Krieger, "And get a little closer, it should be easier to fight down there,"

********

Liam starts to sprint for the buildings,"Follow me". It was the oil rig all over again, dodging bullets every which way and shooting as he runs. when he makes it to the buildings he leans against the building for a breath," holy shit, nothing like a little jog eh?"

Descateaux

The Captain and his subordinate had left, leaving the three to their own in the room. They packed up their papers swiftly to get back to work, but Descateaux, who had called the tribunal in the makeshift tribunal in the first place was skeptical about Eckert's explanation and this showed to the others.

"You look troubled Charles," said Shore, "Doubts?"

Descateaux looked to Colonel Shore and sighed, "That story was complete bullshit. She's trying to pull the wool over our eyes,"

"Why did you let her go then?"

"You already know the answer to that," said Descateaux, "This 'Volke' character is strange. I just know it's Ico,"

"I don't understand your concerns though over just one man," interrupted Lerox, "Not just that, but a wounded and crippled one,"

Descateaux leaned back in his chair, trying to find the right words, "There's no solid proof, no smoking gun, but I know it's the guy. Sergeant Eckert's story is fallacious. There's no way that she put three rounds into the man and he just came back," he pulled a cigar to light, "But not only that, she completely negated the other objectives. I'm telling you, she caved under pressure,"

"You want to get rid of her?"

"I'm putting her on trial again once the war is over, I don't care what I have to do, she will be court martialed for this. She didn't shoot him, he's still out there."

"You still haven't answered the question though Charles," asked Shore, "What are you so afraid of with this Ico man?"

Descateaux took a breath, thinking about his reasons. He knew them well, he was just afraid he would seem like a fool in front of the other officers. "Ico fell off the map. Completely fell off. But as soon as he fell off, this Volke character - Who we have no idea about, strange in a corporation filled with our moles- not even a week later, just steps onto the stage and starts pulling massive amounts of money out of accounts in the corporation! A month afterwards, we get word that said character is involved in Los Zetas as an NCO! We know what they do,"

"Bodies for hire so that the OFSA doesn't have to use their own guys, and so the West can throw bodies at their problems. They're not a threat. Some ramshackle gang isn't going to put a dent in us," explained Lerox,

"But that's NOT the problem, it's still Ico,"

"Again, what can that man do? Anytime he's presented a problem, we've thwarted him without so much as a fight."

"He's lucky, and he's determined!" said Descateaux, "And it's partly due to our negligence!" he exclaimed.

"So what's your idea?" asked Shore,

Descateaux raised an eyebrow, "I'm going to make it so luck can't save him any longer."

********

Mboddz, Cloakey

The next day, Colonel Descateaux's mission plan was in full effect. Captain Boddy and his operatives were combat effective already, not even taking two weeks off before going back into the fight. They gathered in a briefing room in North Point, being besieged with information about Descateaux's new move. It had seemed like anytime they weren't in the dirt with the grunts, they were hunting this man, or his assets, or his people. If anyone was devoted to the operation, it would be this team solely for the reason they wouldn't have to visit the man again.

Descateaux's planners stood at the front of the room, explaining in great detail about the movements, daily schedules, and locations of the people they needed to intimidate. They were three targets. Three names that were very familiar to Eckert, three names that haunted her right now.

"Emilio Gutierrez, Samuel Hawthorne, and Marisela Rodriguez," said one of the men,

That just caused the lump in Eckert's throat to become a boulder. This was an operation to redo what she couldn't not that long ago. Descateaux's men made it very clear that this wouldn't be an operation to neutralize these people, but rather intimidate them into hiding to keep them as leverage against Ico if the need came. Luckily for them, there were just as many ways to intimidate a person as there was to kill them, and the soldiers had their targets.

Captain Boddy and Lieutenant Reznor: M. Rodriguez

Lieutenant Crane and Sergeant Eckert: S. Hawthorne and E. Gutierrez

This time, it would be done correctly. No remorse. No second chances. No second guessing. Descateaux had come to trust this team with almost anything the higher echelon needed to be done, even going so far as surviving the impossible behind the lines, lost without a chance. Most men would fall at the feats they had accomplished, and with the loss of such role models like Gastovski, who could be called on for any reason and come out above the call for the most part, it was needed in the National Intelligence community. They needed the role models. People needed heroes.

********

Boddy glanced over at Eckertt as the briefing conlcuded, to see if she was alright. She looked aprehensive; but over all composed.

"Hey!" spoke the Captain.

Eckertt snapped her back up and quickly looked over to Boddy.

"Don't worry. We still take care of our own."

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

“Another group going to the east!” shouted Corsican, “They’re getting into the village!”

“Dietrick and the others will have to deal with them,” responded Desmond, taking his head out for a moment to breathe and dipping back into the loose hay. The soldiers began to move down the hill, advancing under a curtain of fire that Corsican and the pilot could lay down. The rounds continued to be traded, but in a small lapse Corsican steadied his sight and fired a few rounds at one of the men, who dropped to the ground and rolled down the hill with the wound.

“I got one!” called Corsican in excitement, not even a second afterward his helmet flying straight off his head and he himself falling to the ground.

Desmond pulled the M60 out of the hay, looking to his right and seeing Corsican on the ground. He shouldered the machine gun and fired automatically, bracing himself against the recoil to suppress the soldiers before going to examine Corsican.

“You alright?” Desmond shook the boy, but he seemed to be alright. A bit dazed, but alright.

“This is like a headache times ten!” said Corsican,

Desmond fired the M60 again, putting around thirty rounds downrange, then looked down to Corsican who to his dismay was still laying down, and kicked him as hard as he could in the stomach.

“OW!” he yelled,

“GET UP!!” ordered Desmond, screaming in the boy’s face before running dry in his current box.

They returned to their positions, Desmond found another box courtesy of Dawson, and the fighter pilot continued to be scared out of his mind in his baptism of fire. Now dealing with the dangers of urban combat, two of the soldiers were now in between the buildings, while the man who fell wounded continued to bleed.

“Soldier!” called Corsican again, quickly firing at the wounded man who now had a friend tending to him. His shots scared off the man helping the wounded one, but didn’t harm him. Shots rang out from the east, which reminded them that they were still being attacked on their flank, and that they had to hope the soldiers over at the rockets could hold them.

Now the tide of battle had shifted, and not for the better. Desmond and Corsican fell back forgetting about the pilot subconsciously, leaving him in the barn. The two retreated back behind another house, Desmond behind the wall, Corsican in a rut in the ground.

"Coming up behind you!" called a voice from behind. Desmond looked behind him to see Dietrick and another soldier hopping the yard's fence and joining up with them.

"We're trying to retreat, and you're trying to reinforce!" criticized Desmond, firing blindly around the corner, "I hope you enjoy joining us in our graves!"

Dietrick and the soldier collided into the wall and slid with their backs to the wall down to the ground, "We'll help you with that Lieutenant!"

"Why aren't you both on the artillery piece?!"

"Zangre and Peter have it handled," said the other trooper, "How are you guys doing?"

"Dawson is dead," reported Corsican, "I think we left that pilot too in the barn!"

"I think there's three of them, but there could be more, we don't know," said Desmond prepping a grenade, "Grenade!"

********

Snowwolf

Their comrades on the west side not faring so well, Krieger kept his boys in tight formation, nobody ever straying too far from each other. He and Gaston were positioned behind a house, behind Guillaume and Marcel who were up on another house, and they would use this formation to cover each other as they moved. Cautious, but quick movements were needed to close the distance on the Western soldiers who knew exactly where they were positioned as they saw them clearly come in from the hill.

Krieger and his team took constant fire and began to wonder whether or not there were more hostiles than they thought. They were well aware of the home field advantage, and even at equal numbers among both sides, the attackers were at a disadvantage. Dashelle was gone from the west hill the last couple of times Krieger had looked up there for them, and it made him wonder whether he had run or he had pressed further. A body in the field a couple hundred meters west would imply that he pressed, and so would the sounds of a firefight over there, but he didn't know what their status was, whether or not they were hurting, or if they were planning on leaving.

"Two of them are leaving the fight!" said Guillaume, pointing to two soldiers leaving the fight and heading west through the village. Krieger aimed at them and fired as they ran, but ultimately no shot could be made in the time allotted. If Dashelle led his guys down into the village, and he was down one, then that meant he was in danger of being outmatched. If that flank fell, the other soldiers would press on his team and there'd be no chance.

"We need to abort this!" called Krieger,

"If we report failure there's going to be hell to pay!" said Marcel, reminding Krieger of failure not being tolerated.

"If we die here it won't matter!"

"Why do you want to abandon?"

Krieger pointed to the west, "Dashelle is going to get overrun. When he does, they're all going to move on us, and we'll have no chance!"

"We haven't even been here five minutes!" said Guillaume, "Give him a little more chance than that,"

"He's got at least one dead, possibly more, I can see it right now! I'm telling you, we have to go now!" Krieger quickly fired a few rounds out of his rifle and dropped a man. The one with the AT weapon.

"Nice shooting!"

"That man was about to blast us into the next dimension with his rocket launcher. Let's go while we have the chance!"

"You've convinced me," said Gaston, "Let's get on out of here guys! Egress up this hill!"

********

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

Superior numbers helped press on the men in town, Desmond's group moving up slowly to meet them. Including Corsican's wounded man; three of the four men who came into town were down for the count, which left only one. The search for the last one was filled with tension, to say the least, as the man could be hiding anywhere and surrender may not possibly be an option. When it came to the pilot, he was still in the barn, a little anxious, but alright in health.

"Spread out, find that last man," ordered Desmond, still armed with the M60. Zangre went with Corsican to retrieve the wounded man in the field, while the rest followed their Lieutenant's lead. The hunt for the last man wasn't long, and the combatant was found in only a few minutes time of searching through houses.

Desmond entered the house of a local villager, who came to the soldiers telling them that there was a person with a rifle in his house, with his family. Desmond and Dietrick were on one door, while one of the other soldiers and the pilot covered the other. When the Lieutenant shouted, signifying to enter the house, it took only a moment to find the last member of the group, a woman with a rifle, standing in the kitchen of the house, trying to relax.

"Drop your weapon," ordered the Lieutenant, the other soldiers aiming their weapons as well. Compliance wasn't an issue with the woman, and Desmond grabbed her by the collar pulling her out of the house. Prisoners weren't treated well in the UGW ranks. In fact, if the woman was in the NET Army, she would have probably been told to commit suicide rather than risk capture.

Desmond approached the owner of the house, still pulling the woman, dragging her now on the ground as she tried to resist, "Do you mind if we use your barn?"

"What are you going to do with her, young man?"

The woman resisted, kicking and trying to get away, but Desmond overpowered her, "Interrogate,"

The man considered, "Am I allowed to oversee this?"

"No," said Desmond flat.

"Why not?"

"I can't allow any civilian to oversee a military interrogation."

"Can I refuse to let you allow my barn?"

"I can use your house instead if you'd like," threatened Desmond. The two men stared off at each other while the old man considered his options, which weren't many. He begrudgingly allowed the soldiers use of the barn, feeling without a choice, and the soldiers entered it. Dragging the woman inside, and closing the doors tight behind them.

Desmond dropped the woman finally and walked towards the other door, leaving the soldiers alone with her, "Do what you want,"

"Lieutenant?" asked Dietrick.

The door closed behind him. Locked.

********

Destroyer, Westhybrid

Nightfall came, but the activity didn't halt. This was interesting to Sarah; even though she had been the daughter of a military man, by the time she was around, it was out of the picture. As a child she, like any Western citizen, remembered the rolling convoys, the soldiers on patrol, the very noticeable presence of the military that was supposed to install a sense of security (although to her, it was more a sense of fear). This was completely different though. The full power of the Western military was on display out here in the east. Aircraft flew by breaking the sound barrier constantly, almost never ending lines of soldiers, tanks rumbled by, and the sounds of battle that echoed across the flat lands for miles helped to showcase its military might. It was stunning, but at the same time, it still instilled that sense of fear she remembered all too well. Doesn't matter how common you make them; all these guns can make any freshly turned soldier nervous, especially when all they do is go up in caliber.

"How anyone sleeps here is beyond me," said Sarah.

"Ah...this is nothing," replied Fierro, "You should've been there in Los Angeles! The gunfire never stops there. The sound of battle never ceases-"

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," interrupted Sarah. Silencing Fierro and closing the group discussion. Feeling awkward, she tried to start it up again, "So is combat just a lot of waiting like this?"

"Generally," said De la Fuente, "Just a lot of waiting,"

"And a lot of sitting," blurted Alvarez,

"Not anymore," Volke stuck his head in the doorway and called, "Everyone grab your gear, we're getting embedded,"

"Embedded?" asked Sarah,

"We get to bother Western soldiers, how fun is that?" replied Volke sarcastically.

The team walked out of the cafe into the night air, following Volke down the road to a nearby waiting convoy of trucks. "These trucks are heading to the frontlines," he said, "We'll hitch a ride with them, get where we need to go,"

"Sounds like a plan," Alvarez was the first to hop in the truck, followed by everyone else climbing in. The mercenaries settled in and made themselves comfortable, as comfortable as you could get in wooden benches in a five ton, and waited. What was next, action. Which as far as they were concerned was a lot more eventful than waiting in a broken city.

Apocalypse

Spoiler:

"I need you to hold him down while I try and pull the bullet out!" ordered Zangre, working on Peter who had taken a round in the chest.

"Alright, alright, I'll hold him down," said Corsican.

"On three, alright?" Zangre counted to three, pulled his knife and tried to open the wound. Peter had been losing blood consistently for a while, just barely holding on to his life, "One...two...THREE!"

Peter screamed. He screamed so loud the entire village could hear, but there was little to do. Zangre had determined that there was internal bleeding, and that he needed to find what was bleeding and clamp it. Peter was tough, but no man could bleed forever.

"HOLD HIM DOWN! HOLD HIM DOWN!" shouted Zangre, trying to get his fingers inside the wound, "Damn it, he's bleeding through the back again!"

"What do you mean he's bleeding through the back?!"

"Rifle round went straight through him! Put your hand behind him, keep it from bleeding!"

"I've already got both hands on him!"

"Well for Christ's sake, just lean on him or something then! Put your hand back there!"

Peter screamed louder at the pain, "You'll be alright man! Just try and keep calm!" Zangre tried to calm him down while poking and prodding his wound, "Calm down Peter! Calm down!"

"I can't find the wound!" said Corsican, "Wait, there it is,"

"Lean on him! Lean on him!" Peter couldn't stop moving from the pain. He kicked, writhed, and gritted his teeth, but nothing could stop it. The soldier tried to hold on as long as possible, he let out one more blood curdling scream, but then suddenly, he went limp.

Both men looked at him for a moment, "Did he pass out?" asked Corsican.

Zangre felt for a pulse, and none was felt. "No pulse!"

"Are you sure? Are you sure it's not faint?!"

"There's no pulse!" Zangre tried to revive him, "One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,"

Corsican couldn't do anything but look at the man. Zangre continued to try reviving him, but it wasn't working.

"Come on man, you've been through worse!"

In through the front door of the house, Bishop, Wells, and Pedraza entered the living room. Stunned at the sight. Zangre looked at them only for a moment, before continuing again on Peter. Blood started to run down off the bar and down the floor.

"Where have you guys been?" asked Corsican, still holding the wound.

"We just got here," said Wells, she laying her rifle against the corner of the wall, "Anything we can do?"

"How did you get here?"

"A jeep dropped us off-"

"Is it still here?"

"It left when we got out," said Pedraza,

"Go over to the Lieutenant's jeep and look behind the driver's seat, there should be a first aid kit in there, GO!" ordered Corsican, still holding on.

"One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand! COME ON!" shouted Zangre, but Peter wasn't responding. The blood loss just continued. The wood counter just became more blood soaked, and before they knew it the counter was almost pouring it as it seeped into the floor boards.

Corsican just shook his head and stood up. There was no point in trying to save him anymore, the man was gone. Wells and Bishop just looked, feeling useless at their inability to do anything. Zangre stopped trying to revive him, and upon leaning back off of Peter discovering that his clothes were soaked. The four stared at the body for what seemed like an eternity, and when Pedraza came back with the first aid kit in hand, he too joined in on the eternity.

"Could one of you guys come and help me bring him outside?" asked Zangre lowly. Bishop nodded his head, and Corsican left the house. He headed over to the barn on the other side of the village, wondering what was happening with the "interrogation".

The last thing he wanted to hear, screams, were emanating from the barn. His gut told him he didn't want anything to do with what was happening, but his conscious reminded him that if something he thought was wrong was happening, that he should stop it. Listening to the screams get louder and louder as he approached, he opened the locked door and saw exactly what he feared was happening.

"Feisty, aren't ya bitch?" yelled Dietrick on top of the woman, her pants down around her ankles, "You like this?!"

The sight just made Corsican sigh, as the other men just cheered Dietrick on, "Fuck her good, Mason!"

"You want a taste of this Danny?" said Mason. The woman tried to push Dietrick off, but he just pushed her back on the ground and smacked her across the face, "Don't try me, bitch!"

"I'm getting in on this!" said Danny, removing his coat, and undoing his belt buckle. The pilot cheered in the back, clapping as it went on, but Corsican wasn't amused. He just stayed quiet and tried to remind the girl, just through his eyes, that not everyone was like this.

"Hey, hurry up Danny, I let her go, she might start running,"

"Oh, I like it when they fight back!"

Dietrick got off of her and zipped his pants back up, before letting the other soldier on. He continued to thrust, laughing at the prisoner while Dietrick helped hold her down. The woman tried to the fight the whole time, but it was near pointless at this rate. Corsican wanted this war to end. He'd seen enough of it.

After letting Danny have his turn, Dietrick hopped back on. He continued to overpower her and take advantage, and something inside Corsican's mind made him wonder what made this morally acceptable in their minds. Was it because she was a prisoner? Or was it because they just could? Did they somehow see her as an outlet for their troubles?

In the time he was contemplating, Corsican didn't notice that the woman actually had taken the handgun out of Dietrick's holster and shot him with it until the gunshot woke him from his daydream. Ironically, he'd been shot in the groin.

Dietrick lay on the ground in great pain, for good reason, while the other men including Corsican put their guns to the woman. She aimed at them, standing up, pants on the floor, shaking nervously in a standoff as the two sides looked at each other. The pilot, who motioned to help Dietrick on the floor was quickly stopped as the woman threatened their lives.

"Any one of you move and I'll shoot again!" she said, voice cracked.

"That wouldn't be a good idea," said Corsican.

"What's going on in here?" asked Desmond, walking calmly into the room.

Nobody answered. The standoff just continued.

"What do you expect to gain from this?" asked the pilot,

The woman quickly turned to him, pointing at him, and Desmond used this time with her distracted to take the pistol away and pistol whip her with said pistol, knocking her out on the ground, and diffusing the situation. Dietrick still held his groin, bleeding well into the hay, but nobody really took it too seriously. The Lieutenant walked over to him and put his pistol back in holster, before walking back out of the room. He didn't take offense to the treatment of the prisoner, in fact, torture of POWs was common for Western soldiers to enact, as was rape of female soldiers.

"What's wrong with you people?" he said just outside the barn, "You can't even rape a woman without getting your balls shot off!"

Mboddz

The street was dimly lit by the streetlights, barely lighting the faces of two silhouettes. They stood in the shadows while scoping out the building the target was suspected to head to in just a few minutes. Boddy and Reznor studied their surroundings, looking for possible threats, and looking for escape routes in case things went south.

"The outpost is on the west end of town," said Reznor, "If we keep this quiet, we'll have a while to react to before the soldiers come poking their noses about.

"Uh huh," said Boddy, "Got your weapon ready in case things go south?"

"Locked and loaded," Reznor showed off the MAC 10 in his waistband, just in case things went south.

"Got your game plan?" asked Boddy,

"When the target arrives, I'll be there. Don't worry about me. You do what you need to with that clerk and find information about Volke. They need hard evidence."

"Don't remind me," he said, "By the way," he threw the solenoid to Reznor, "Hold on to that, will you?"

Reznor laughed a little under his breath, and Boddy went down to meet the clerk. Spies love schedules. They love timetables. When said target is predictable, this employee comes at a certain time, then this one, then the labor arrives, all in timely increments? The target does 90% of your job for you. All that is needed then is a little bit of charisma, a little bit of charm, or a little bit of force.

The clerk came out of the store for a moment and got into the driver seat. Cartel members are taught to get out of any car that doesn't start immediately because bombs armed by the ignition always set off the bomb first, then "start" the car. If the car doesn't start, it probably means you're about to end, but if you need someone to get out of a car and have all their focus put on to surviving only for a moment...

While not cartel members, they were still from Mexico, and removing a solenoid and not placing a bomb, can still wet everyone's pants.

The man jumped out of the seat and was caught by Boddy.

"Hey!" Boddy slammed the man's head into the roof of the car, "Let's have a chat,"

"Who the hell are you?"

"Shut your damn face and I won't open it. Open this door!" ordered Boddy.

The clerk opened the door and Boddy closed it. They entered in through the back, where all the records were held. If there was a place to find the documents, it would be here.

"I need you to cooperate with me and find anything you can about a man named Adrian Volke," ordered Boddy, "Do it quickly,"

"If I don't?"

Boddy pulled out his MAC 10 and aimed it, "I'll open your face. Don't try me by wasting time either. If you're a problem I'll just get rid of you and do it myself. I've done it plenty enough before."

The man complied and started to go through documents while Boddy watched the entrances. Anything to give him a tip that someone was approaching would be vital, and if the workers stayed true to the schedule, the actual target would be arriving in no more than ten minutes. Additional workers in no more than twenty.

Outside, the target was just arriving. Reznor's job would be to keep Rodriguez busy until his Captain was finished stealing secrets. Relatively easy if the target is a civilian who would just as soon wet their pants as scream if an unknown man were to target her.

Marisela stopped, put the vehicle in park and opened the door. She donned her reading glasses to read some papers in her car before putting them away in a folder to take inside. She stood up, closed the door, turned around and was greeted to a bulky looking man whom she didn't know.

Reznor was quiet, staring ominously, his silhouette outlined by the streetlight. Marisela was quiet, but extremely nervous. This didn't set right with her.

"Can I help you?" she asked,

"What're you doing here?"

"I'm...I'm going to work?"

"You shouldn't,"

She began to sweat, the tension rising, "Um..." she said, "Uh...why?"

"There are people in play that don't want you to. You should listen to them,"

"Who are you?!"

"Someone that found you once, and I can do it again. Don't go to work today. Go home."

Back inside, the documents started to pile up. Boddy had the man at gunpoint searching, and most people that aren't suicidal are well inclined to listen to someone with one. The clerk finished getting the documents and grouped them on the table, about forty papers in total, which Boddy took. As he left, the clerk gave him a dirty look, angry about the situation he was put in.

Boddy whistled to get the man's attention again, and as the clerk turned to look, Boddy shot the man in the throat. The whole point was to intimidate, what better way to put the fear of God in someone then killing a friend?

Marisela entered through the front door, shaken from her experience, but utterly shocked to see her clerk on the floor choking to death. In the back of the shop, a black man who quickly jumped out of the room through the rear door.

"Stop!" she yelled, "STOP!"

But it was futile, she instead went to the aid of her friend, who wasn't long for the world and died just a few minutes later.

********

Cloakey

In the next town, Crane and Eckert prepared themselves for the next objectives. These were more straight forward. No espionage was required, no personal encounters, but a strange phone call wouldn't be amiss. In the next town over, Crane was targeting Hawthorne, another man close to Ico. With Hawthorne and Gutierrez, the idea was to make an assassination "attempt" and purposely fail.

"Castle Two, this is Castle One, are you in position?" asked Crane, leading this portion of the operation.

Eckert stood out of sight outside the targets' place of work, waiting for them to arrive, "Affirmative,"

"The targets are arriving down the road right now, prepare yourself," Crane was in position in the bell tower of a church with a suppressed R700. He would fire and purposely miss the two targets in the dark of the morning and spook them, while Eckert destroyed their car, "Wait for the shots,"

Eckert hid behind the corner of a building down the alley from the road the targets were parking on. Once they left, she would sneak down to the car and plant it, detonating on Crane's mark. The sound of the engine became louder and louder, until it stopped and she heard the pair talking. They conversed for about five minutes inside the vehicle which only added to the tension of the situation, the pair of operatives on the edge of their seat waiting for the moment. These kind of operations were always adrenaline rushes.

Both the men disembarked the car and began to go towards the building, which meant it was time to move Eckert in. She crouched in the shadows, keeping a low profile and moved up to the car. Lying down prone, she began to crawl underneath the car and pull the explosives out of her pocket, until she heard the voice again.

"Oye, me voy a ir tirar el coche en el callejón,"

"Date prisa para arriba,"

Eckert looked over to the men, and one of them was walking back to the car. She crawled backwards as quick as she could, not wanting to be spotted, or worse, ran over if he was about to drive it again. She remembered the explosives again though and threw the brick into the chassis, just in case he was about to drive off somewhere. It fell out, but quickly thinking she put it back in.

Eckert then went crouched, leaning against the car and moving herself as the man moved to stay out of sight. She was sweating bullets, and Crane was unable to speak to her lest she be compromised because of him talking. The car started, and Eckert ducked back into the alley to hide.

"Castle Two, don't detonate, he's pulling around the back," said Crane, "Repeat, don't detonate, not yet,"

"On your mark," she replied.

Crane put the chevron of the scope on the car, following it while it pulled out. The car just moved around the building, than parked in the back. Crane figured this was as good as any time to start shooting.

"Putting the shot downrange," he said to himself. He pulled the trigger, he felt the recoil, and the round hit the top of the vehicle, which scared the man getting out of it like no other.

"Ha!" Crane said again to himself, "You going to wet your pants strong man?" he fired again, missing, and if anything Crane was getting a kick out of the fact he could make a man violently relief himself.

"Keep trying to run!" he said, "Go on," Crane fired another two rounds, and reloaded the magazine. With the man inside the building, this was as good as any other time to signal detonation.

"Castle Two, detonate,"

And with that order the car that once was turned into a fireball shattering every window in the block, lighting the town if only for a moment, and waking every man, woman, and child in the area.

"Good work Sergeant, this is the time to get going,"

No response from the other side, but a few seconds later Eckert responded, "Going to rally point,"

********

DJDimitri, Desert Sleepy

"You're leaving us all, aren't you?" asked Lisa,

Luna looked up to her for a moment while bandaging her leg, "That seems to be the plan," she said quietly, "The men from the West have been treating the workers kindly. You have no need to worry,"

Lisa sighed, wincing at the pain while her wound was wrapped, but thought about life again beyond the confines of fences and walls. It had been a long time since that life, but it seemed like it would be coming back again, "I have children, you know."

"Do you?" Luna asked, "I think you've told me about them before,"

"It's been so long since I've seen them...going on...almost sixteen years now,"

"Maybe you'll find them again some day,"

Lisa smiled, "Maybe some day,"

Durov came down the steps, worried, concerned, and agitated, "Luna," he said, "Hurry up with that, we've got to go soon,"

"Yes, brother," she said, "I'll be back," she mouthed to Lisa, who smiled at her back.

Luna approached Dmitri and stood before him. Dmitri had a look on his face of stress. He was stressed out because of how close the West had gotten. He was stressed out because of how close he was cutting it on leaving. He was stressed on waiting for Krieger and his men. He was stressed about the arguments he'd been having with Wooten lately. Things weren't going well for him. In fact, this was the low point of his career.

"Wait for the boys or leave?" asked Dmitri,

"What?"

"Wait for the boys," Dmitri clarified, "Or leave?"

"I think we've waited long enough," said Luna, "The fascists are at our doorstep. When they kick the door down, there will be no survivors."

"Wooten thinks the exact opposite," Dmitri paced angrily, "See, he wants me to wait on his guys from Rising East," he said, pointing his cigar.

"For some slack jaw mercenaries? For God's sakes! He can stay if he wants, we need to go. God only knows what the fascists will do when they come here. God knows what they'll do to me, you know how they REALLY like to rape women!"

"It's settled then, follow me."

Dmitri and Luna retreated up the steps. They were among the last holdouts at this slave camp, only a few loyal mercenaries remaining, the soldiers having left ages ago when their commanders ordered them out. A few slaves were out milling about, but being so weak, they hardly presented a threat. The two organized whatever mercenaries that were remaining to the center of the camp, and ordered them out and to head east to save themselves.

Out of this crowd, Wooten came out, "You guys are leaving?"

"We have to Wooten," said Dmitri, "We're out of time,"

"I'm with you, but we need to wait for my guys. They should be back any minute now,"

"Time is up Wooten," said Luna, "If we stay, we're done. We can't even give the fascists the tail lights!"

"If they're not back in the next..." Wooten was stopped by the sound of an approaching engine. He turned his head and smiled, knowing that he too wouldn't have to stay, "I told you!" he said to the brother and sister. He ran to the front of the camp to meet the truck, waving at the mercenaries, "Krieger!"

Krieger pulled into the camp and parked, the team hopping out, exhausted, tired, and fatigued.

"What happened to you guys?" asked Wooten,

"Opposition was more serious than we had thought, Dashelle and the others are dead or captured, and we barely made it out."

The circle was silent for a moment, maybe in solace, maybe in just an absence of words, but nonetheless, time moved forward. This was the time to leave.

"Krieger, we'll be riding out with you," proclaimed Dmitri,

"In our truck or in a convoy?"

"We have our own vehicle," said Luna,

"Very well," said Krieger, "Where are we headed?"

"Somewhere not here," said Dmitri darkly, heading to his truck.

********

KGBoom, Apocalypse

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Even after all of this process one may think that work would get easier, that the tolls on the individual soldiers would lighten, but it was quite the opposite. Even with the entire army halted, struggling to get supplies to soldiers and to the frontlines, the work didn’t cease in the least. The next morning, Hunter, tasked with lightening the burden on Desmond’s work, was leading a patrol of six around La Passagne, on the lookout for anything suspicious. This area was about to take the lead in gaining ground from nearby hostile locations, so it was being reinforced by half of Castle platoon, and some mercenaries which only recently started becoming more commonplace embedded in Army units.

Hunter led the patrol, walking in a line formation all side by side. Accompanying him was Corsican, Masters, Wells, Dietrick, and Kaminsky, Dietrick walking with a serious limp. Hunter took notice, and mocked him for it.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Hunter, “Son, I just got out of rehab and I walk straighter than you,”

“He got his balls shot off!” said Wells humorously, the other soldiers laughing with her.

“Screw you!” said Dietrick, and Masters continued to laugh, “And you too Cass, fuck off too!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t rape the girl next time,” said Masters,

“Maybe the bitch shouldn’t kill my friend next time!” exclaimed Dietrick,

“Which one?” asked Kaminsky, “Your nuts or Dawson?”

“FUCK YOU JOSH, you’re lucky I don’t knock your damn teeth in!”

“Simmer down Kaminsky, if your friend was killed you wouldn’t be laughing,” ordered Corsican.

Kaminsky was silenced for a little while, but ultimately did feel sorrow for his comrade, “Sorry about that Mason,”

“Fuck off, Josh,” quipped Dietrick. He didn’t want to hear it.

Hunter was still somewhat curious about that, since it didn’t seem to slow the boy down much. “Does that hurt?”

Dietrick took a second to realize that Hunter was talking to him. He grunted as he tried to get around the pain, “Yeah, quite a bit.”

“What do you have on that?”

“My dick’s basically in a tourniquet right now,” said Dietrick, “Hey, that rhymes! Maybe I could make a song about it and be like...uh...what are they called...OH! Those rappers, yeah, those rappers in the old movies!”

“Please don’t,” said Masters, she shivering from the image portrayed.

The patrol had been out for almost an hour now walking east to find positions. The terrain here got a bit more rolling with the hills, moving up and down constantly, so encampments were a bit harder to find, but not much. Almost an hour's worth of walking hadn't really tired the soldiers, but it had Dietrick and Hunter.

"God, can't we take a break or something for a moment? This is starting to burn!"

"How long?" asked Hunter,

"I just need to wrap the bandages again," Dietrick sat down, "AWWWW, that hurt!"

"We'll head up the hill," said Corsican,

"Who?" replied Hunter,

"Kaminsky and I,"

Hunter nodded, and the two headed up the hill further, the other soldiers hanging back. This gave Corsican and Kaminsky a bit of time to talk anyway.

"You shouldn't have said that," said Corsican,

"What? The quip about his friend?" asked Kaminsky, "It's whatever,"

"We've got to stick together alright? That's the most important thing. There's no room for getting mad at each other,"

"Listen kid," started Kaminsky, "I know you're some big damn hero or something, but as far as I'm concerned, it's because you're lucky. Nobody gets some sixth sense where they know if bullets are going to hit them or not, or whether to move out of the way just to dodge a rocket, it's all luck."

"I'm not saying I'm not lucky, I'm just saying it gives us a better chance-"

"And what I'm saying is, is that I know what teamwork is, I've shown enough of it, and I don't need some damn Eskimo telling me how to fight!"

Corsican just let bygones be bygones and let it go. They were about to crest the hill to get a look at the view, and when they did something caught their eye very clearly.

"Look at that," said Corsican, "Do you have binoculars or anything?"

"No," Kaminsky turned to Hunter, "Sergeant!" he yelled, "Got something you'll want to see!"

Hunter jogged up the hill, taking large strides, and reached the top, "Oh wow, look at that,"

"Look like anything bad?" asked Corsican,

Hunter pulled his binoculars from his belt and took a look, "Alright, let's see here..."

Several barracks, what looked to be two oil derricks, and a lot of people were walking about, but they looked weak. They didn't have the stature of soldiers, and neither were they armed. Hunter knew what it was, it was a slave camp, and the next strategy was to report it back to Desmond in La Passagne.

"Let's get back to the village, we need to report that in,"

"What is it?" asked Kaminsky,

"Slave camp."

********

Jagdgeschwader, Westhybrid

Major Burdick was checking in on the outpost in the meantime, seeing that things were aboveboard, and how the situation was with the previous day's attack. Desmond anxiously awaited the arrival of a group of mercenaries, who were going to be embedded in his platoon to reinforce. He was excited about it, in fact, he didn't didn't like foreigners in the Army in the first place, and questioned their loyalties. Mercenaries were only loyal to paychecks, not nations, and they obviously fought like it.

"Lieutenant," Burdick greeted Desmond disembarking his jeep.

"Sir," Desmond saluted,

"I see the art of shaving has eluded you," Burdick pointed to Desmond's five o' clock shadow facial hair.

"It attracts the women," he remarked sarcastically,

"I bet," said Burdick, "It's a shame you haven't had a stiffy in years,"

Desmond laughed. He was quite different around men of higher stature than he, and he had always been like this. When he was a child he enjoyed talking to his father and his friends more than his own, and he enjoyed the stories of his grandparents more as well. It had remained to this day in the fact that officers and older men could talk to him in ways that nobody below would dream of, and he not be offended. Whether this was a case of the fact he was intimidated by higher rank, or a sign of respect, was the spectator's cause to find. "Are you here to learn or just make fun of me?"

"Tell me what's what," the two began to walk, "What happened yesterday?"

"Unknown forces attacked the village in what I assume was an attempt on the artillery stationed here," he pointed to the platform, "A few casualties on our side, four on theirs, nothing too serious and nothing that can't be replaced."

"Do you have any idea who the attackers may have been or do you really not know?"

"Well," Desmond admitted, "I personally think they were mercenaries but that's also just me. They fought like it, and they didn't wear NET uniforms,"

"Like Rising East?"

"When we've seen them, yes,"

"That's good to know," Burdick looked forward, "Speaking of mercenaries,"

A five ton truck pulled up, dropping off a few soldiers and mercenaries, and then pulled in between two buildings. Desmond and Burdick stood at the side of the road, waiting for the leaders of said groups to meet them. Desmond directed the soldiers to rest, and then met the leader of the mercenaries.

"Are you James Desmond?" asked Volke,

"Lieutenant Desmond, to you," he replied.

"You know...you look familiar somehow, I can't put my finger on it tho-"

"Who are you?" asked Desmond sternly.

"I'm Adrian Volke, this is my crew," he pointed to the team members, "Franco Alvarez, Camilla de la Fuente, Stefan Fierro, Mark Huerta, and Sarah Termous,"

"You're awfully white for this lot," commented Desmond on the last one.

"I'm from the West," said Termous,

"How in the world did you end up with these part time soldiers?"

Termous remained quiet.

"And why do my troopers have to babysit your undisciplined, inept guns for hire?"

"Inept?!" said Fierro, "How about you say that to my face!"

"I just said it to SIX OF THEM!"

"Simmer down, both of you!" ordered Burdick,

"Yeah, call your dragon off," said Volke to Burdick,

"You haven't even seen me breathe fire!" insulted Desmond.

"Enough!" ordered Burdick again, "We're here to fight the same war, let's do that now. Volke, go and settle in with your guys."

"Gladly," Volke led his soldiers away, leaving Burdick and Desmond alone.

Around the corner of a house, the patrol returned, Hunter leading it. Desmond had sent them out a couple hours earlier to reconnoiter the land ahead of them and was eager to hear their reports. He and Burdick approached them, jogging.

"What's the news from the front?" asked Desmond,

Hunter caught his breath and elaborated, "You're going to want to see this..."

********