These stories are not told in a specific order.
The sky was painted with gray clouds, only to be interrupted by the smoke emitting from the ground. They whispered back and forth making a paint-brush like pattern that stretched across the sky for as far as the eye could gaze. Something about it was eerie, but settling. A distant storm could be heard, but it was far enough away to just be a background noise. Jaxon decided he finally finished his turn of staring at it and focused back onto the ground. Surrounded by him were the rest of his squad, the 32nd Platoon. This was his family, he would never say that out loud, however they all thought it. For the last three years, the 32nd was on station here. ‘Irene’ they called it. Not only were they tasked with keeping control of this station, but it had become their ironic home and took care of it as such. Looking back over to Irene, Jaxon chuckled to himself. Year 3 of their 6 month station. Clearly someone had messed up scheduling he thought to himself, sarcastically. Returning home wasn’t even a thought to the 32, this had become their home and they had no want to move somewhere else just to miss it.
Nulland: “Get green and mean Jaxon, the hell ‘ you’re lookin at?”
Jaxon: “Nothing sir, just admiring the, erm. Clouds”
Nulland was the 32nd’s Platoon leader, he was an older trooper with monochrome hair and his face was rough like sandpaper. He was, indeed, in charge. However, the 32nd respected him almost like a father to everyone there.
Nulland: “Alright, let me know when you’re finished daydreaming. We ought to get the rest of these sandbags lined up on the east wall.”
He sternly pointed over his shoulder to the eastern side of the compound. They were a little ways away from Irene, possibly 6 or 7 kilometers. Despite this, and the weather, you could still faintly make out the shape of the base. Jaxon looked over to Irene a final time.
Jaxon: “Aye. Finished, on it”
Another one of his squad mates walked past Jaxon and clapped him on the shoulder.
Peterson: “Hearts and minds right? Heh, come on, let's get it over with.”
Jaxon sarcastically saluted Peterson and followed him over the wall. Shouldering his rifle into his sling to his back, he kneeled down and started moving the bags. There were already a couple troopers here, moving the already existing bags.
Mcknelly: “Anybody else smell- hrg. that?”
Mcknelly threw down a large handful of bags with a grunt.
Tyoph: “Smell what Mcknelly? The sand?”
Putting down the crate he was carrying he took a breath and wiped the dirt off his pants.
Mcknelly: “No, no. It’s like salt. Or something. The sky smells like salt.”
Mcknelly panted, swallowing the lump in his throat, and pointed up towards the clouds.
Jaxon and Peterson both looked up and shrugged.
Peterson: “Sure, whatever.”
Throwing several more bags onto the pile, he reluctantly sat onto a finished pile of them.
Mcknelly: “I swear, it smells like salt. As if I took a whiff from table salt. Seriously”
Tyoph: “That’s probably sulfur man, look at all the smoke blooms.”
Tyoph without taking his hands off of the sandbag, nodded towards the open field.
Peterson: “I smell salt, but i'm pretty sure that’s just Burham cooking some good shi-”
Mcknelly interrupts Peterson.
Mcknelly: “No. Burham is out with Dunley and Cormick.
They went with the local dudes to check out an abandoned car on the south road.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked over to Mcknelly like he was insane.
Mcknelly: “What?”
Peterson throws a rock at Mcknelly.
Peterson: “Hopeful thinking. I'm hungry.”
Typoh and Jaxon slapped down the last couple of sandbags, dusting their
hands off and rolling their eyes at the conversation.
Jaxon: “As far as I care, the salt smell could just be sulfur or it’s almost monsoon season.”
He re-shouldered his rifle and looked past the wall they just finished building onto the very gray horizon. By this time, the remaining members of the squad had finished setting up the sandbag wall on the opposite end of the outpost. They didn’t have to come out here often, but with the amount of missed communication and bad weather for aircraft, they had to make do. Despite being in the field for much longer than promised, they were oddly okay with it. Most of these troopers had nothing to come ‘home’ to, not to mention the riots and political disagreements back home. In their eyes, this was better. Without hesitation, Tyoph joined Peterson and took a seat on one of the walls. Nulland had finished checking on the opposite wall and approached it.
Nulland: “Well boys, another storm is rolling in, so no aircraft again. Tomorrow morning we will leg it back to Irene, and swap out with Charlie Team.”
A loud crack is heard in the distance that disturbs birds in the trees, causing a halt to sound. Everything fell loudly silent and the only audible sound was the light wind and the booming echo of the sound. The entire squad immediately kicked into action like gears in a clock. Everyone had a place and function to turn the handle of time. In a textbook perfect wedge formation, everyone gathered behind a piece of cover and looked around in the field adjacent to them. For several seconds, it was quiet. Then a bark came out of Nulland. Pressing his Push-to-talk button on his radio mounted to his plate carrier, he spoke into the microphone.
Nulland: “Status? Anyone hit?”
Beckley snored in the commander’s seat of the tank while Rove and Checkis sat in the gunner and driver seat just waiting. The hum of the battery powered ac barely span as its setting was low. It wasn’t hot but it was a white noise the crew settled on. Their MBT-7 tank had been sitting in the dried mud for almost a day now waiting for further orders. Not stuck, but entrenched to be sure. The first order they got was to secure a crossroad between the city of Belak and the countryside leading into where Irene was. Since then, nothing. They hadn’t seen a single enemy or a living creature for that matter, for days. Despite the tank having thick armor, the interior cabin was reasonably spacious. The crew would occasionally exit throughout their trip to take a leak or get fresh air, otherwise it was just more waiting. Rove looked into his wrist watch that read “03:29”. He scoffed and looked out the viewport of the cannon knowing damn sure his watch was wrong. It had to have been a little past dinner time and certainly not 3 in the morning.Checkis glanced over his shoulder at Rove tapping his helmet asking for the time. Rove sighed and shrugged, tossing the watch at Checkis sarcastically. Checkis smirked and took the watch, trying to guess the time outside. Surely, they could just power on the tank’s computer to check the localized satellite time, but the Commander was, conveniently, asleep. Checkis quietly glanced through their driver’s window just briefing looking around at the sky and shadows and set the watch for 17:30. Giving a smug grin and shrugging, he harshly threw the watch at Rove snickering. He managed to stumble and catch the watch, glancing at the time. Once again, peering through the cannon sight, he gave a nod of approval as his lips flattened and raised his eyebrows.Beckley had finally woken up from the snickering and glanced around, his face puffy and red from the nap. Wiping his face and fixing his glasses he looked down to the other two crew members. Rove nodded to the commander and Checkis held a thumbs up. Beckley sat up straight and looked through the viewport of his hatch. Turning the seat, he looked around the muddy and groggy plains with trees sprinkled briefly around like oregano on pasta. Wiping his eyes, he glanced down at his watch. It read 17:41. The mid silence was broken when Checkis sat up abruptly to peer down the road at a single soldier walking. He had a side, but subtle limp and was carrying what appeared to be a large suitcase. Slapping the leg of Rove, they responded by quickly affixing the coaxial gun to point towards the road. He prepared to fire and let out a long breath, his finger waiting over the trigger.
Slamming a door open, several members of the 3rd Reconnaissance group reached the roof of the building they had been climbing. Frantically looking for their objective, they were sweating, tired, and clearly pissed.
Douglas: “Where the hell is it? Data said it would be on this roof, no question.”
Slamming the door shut again, the dust around the door fell off like an artist finishing their sketch.
Aronim: “Intel was no good. Again. Nice”
Aronim removed the lower bit of her facemask to look around again on the roof. The third and fourth of the fireteam came back from searching the opposite side of the roof, also glancing around at nothing.
Wecknilli: “Maybe one of the locals took it? Not everyone has been evacuated yet.”
Looking over to the trooper next to him he gave a hopeful shrug
Warren: “No chance. What civilian would come rushing up to this specific roof to take a drop-off item. It wouldn’t do them any good anyway. It’s just a bunch of stupid files”
Giving an annoyed stomp, he paced off looking into the small city around them. Douglas thought for a moment, and unreluctantly reached for their radio and pressed the button.
Douglas: “Warhawk, Kilo 3 Actual, Intel is a negative, package is not present. Please advise, over.”
For a brief pause there was just static, then a faint but audible reply came through everyone’s headset.
RADIO: “Kilo 3, Warhawk, wait one.”
Douglas rolled his eyes and let go of his radio and looked around. Pointing to the edges of the building, the other three setup quick points to take cover while they awaited a response on the radio. The sky had started to dump rain as the storm finally reached the city. Taking shelter under some boxes and rooftop air conditioning units, Wecknilli, who was usually the most optimistic of the team, was clearly also upset.
RADIO: “Kilo 3, Warhawk, package location is identified being on the road returning to station Irene. Checking with 32nd now. Get your team to the eastern edge of the city and await further instruction. Over”
Douglas hesitated, but then reached for his radio and replied.
Douglas: “Kilo 3, copy all, out.”
Looking over to the rest of his team who already heard the order he sighed and nodded back towards the door. Warren exclaimed and kicked an old vase off the roof of the building.
Warren: “Son of a - bitch!”
It was a room coated with screens like icing on cake. They all illuminated the floors like floodlights and displayed so much information that one would have trouble even focusing on one. A short, but stern looking man came rushing into the room slamming a briefcase onto the table adjacent to a center console. Before he could gasp for a breath and speak, someone else outfitted in a distressed button-up and dress pants put out his hand.
Donavel: “Easy. What are you rushing about?”
He glanced over at the two military contractor guards standing by the door who appeared to care less that someone just ran into the building. One shrugged, and the other just continued looking out the window. Donavel shook his head. Finally, the man spoke.
Rumiwell: “Sir, “
He gasped for air.
“The structure the scouting party found, well..”
Donavel: “What?”
Rumiwell cleared his throat, swallowing.
Rumiwell: “It’s correct, the Republic from the north setup a forward operating base. They're housing Brachovisk Soldiers there and are working in unison.”
Donavel: “It was obvious this would happen.”
He gave off a shrug.
"Now what is with the case?”
Donavel gestured over to the briefcase which had knocked over a pencil case.
Rumiwell at this point was so nervous he was shaking, he knew not to piss off the bossman and it was starting to get there. Knowing better, he quickly opened the case.
“Sir, this was recovered from one of the Brachovisk outposts. We’re not sure if it’s from them or from the Republic, but they had it.”
Donavel glanced down at the open case and looked into the contents. The case was a cold-blue metal and shined in reflection of the screens going around the room.
Donavel: “So? We lost a whole assault squad to a fucking rock?”
Rumiwell flinched and shook his head, trying to turn the case closer to Donavel.
Rumiwell: “No Sir, this.. This is pure Terbium. Just this amount is worth hundreds of thousands.”
Donavel’s eyes widened, glancing into the case.
Rumiwell noticed this and stuttered back into speech.
Rumiwell: “And! And, this is refined. Meaning that there is a facility here somewhere that makes this stuff. Tons of it! This was packaged up in this case like it was some kind of gift. Probably for some General or something. We thin-”
Donavel put his hand over Rumiwell’s face, slowly glancing up at the screens.
He walked over to a screen, reading it closely, looking up and down a Map’s gridlines.
Donavel: “This factory here.”
He pointed to an orange circle drawn on the map.
“Is this the structure we are referring to?”
Rumiwell: “Yes sir. That’s where the Chovik man claimed he was working during questioning.”
Donavel glared at the map and placed his hand over the screen’s edge.
Donavel: “Well hello... Send Gamma Team here.”
He pointed to the orange marking and nodded over to the guards by the door. One grabbed a radio and pressed it, making a buzzing sound. He murmured something through it and then nodded back over to Donavel.
It was one of those shopping malls you would see in your average suburbial area. Not luxurious, but not conservative either. The Dosna had to have been over 50 stores to shop at and you knew it would have been an ideal public area. Would have been. I kept telling myself that. What this could have been, what was it? Who cares? The walkways here are littered with trash and broken glass. Anything the stores sold here were either stolen or removed before being abandoned. Me? I didn’t mind it. It had been my home for a few months now. We got escorted out of our own neighborhood by armed men who claimed to be governmental troops. At the time, I had trust in them. Figured they were saving us from danger. Maybe they were right? Maybe they did save us? Doubt it. All I know is what’s left of my house is a pile of wet wood and debris. I wish I could say the wood was wet from rainwater. I can’t get that image of red out of my head. Anyway, whoever you are reading this, I'm leaving to find a camp that I believe some relatives are at a few miles west of Dosna. Whatever I left here, you can have. I couldn’t take it with me.
Little advice; If you plan to stay here, the men in green do standard patrols around 9 PM.
“Heading 130 at four-five-zero, lock altitude for six-two-zero-zero.”
Changley did his usual airliner-captain voice over the radio.
Rivermann: “Copy,”
Rivermann cleared his throat
“Heading 130 at four-five zero, altitude six-two-zero-zero.”
Rivermann slowly banked his aircraft slightly to the right as he rolled away from flying south. They had been flying close to half their flight hours worth of fuel. It was a pretty normal-routine flight patrol for Dire Squadron over this area and they planned to play a game of pool when they got back to the airfield. It would have been their turn around point if an unexpected alert hadn’t popped up on their Radar-Warning-Receiver. It flashed for a brief second and made the familiar tone they knew well.
Rivermann: “Bogey, Bogey, 5 o’ clock. Low”
Rivermann straightened out his aircraft and turned on his targeting screen.
Changley: “Yeah I see him, moving on your left wing”
It had to have been less than a second when a large crack of thunder was heard, startling Rivermann to the point where he shook his joystick, making his fighter wobble. To his horror, he watched as Changley’s aircraft spiraled away from him in a fireball, bluming out black smoke. It wasn’t thunder he heard, an enemy aircraft roared out from underneath him, just barely missing his right wing.
Rivermann: “Shit!”
Rivermann slammed his fist into his left side, striking the red button marked FLARE as he dove off to his left, banking towards the ground.
It was by this time, the enemy aircraft had enough time to rebuild energy back into a dive towards Rivermann. The contrails ripping off the wings like haze during a foggy morning. With his heart pounding he frantically looked around for any signs for a chute. He didn’t want to believe Changley was gone, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Despite being in the open, he switched on his transponder radio.
Rivermann: “Control Control, Lieutenant Arrin Rivermann, Dire 2-2. Changley’s hit! Possibly KIA. Requesting IFR at current location, how copy?”
He dove closer to the ground as he helplessly watched his wingman’s plane smash into the surface, creating a fireball that continued forward with the plane corpse’s momentum. His radio had no response. Just a low rumbling tone. He flew low and fast, filled with anger and distress. The enemy fighter’s engines screamed behind him as it chased him closer to the ground. Clasping the joystick, he pulled it into his body, pushing his breath back into his lungs. He watched as this smoke continued in his mirrors.
South Brachovisk, 2053
The last strengths of Brachovisk fight for survival against Rila occupation.
(Driver) Eurav: "Blin!"
The Engine of reversing Chovik TB-90 tank '102' had exhaled its last breath, leaving the crew and the tank stuck on the edge of the road.
(Gunner) Ranov: "Ah. Not good."
Ranov rotated the turret south down the road ready to fire.
The very tired and discouraged commander took off his helmet and looked out his parascope.
(Commander) Arran: "We're going to need to buy time for the transports up the road."
The Gunner looked over at the commander.
Ranov: "Sir. We're a sitting duck. All we are doing is being a target."
Arran: "We still have the gun."
Grabbing his headset he orders the driver to exit.
Arran radios to the infantry a few hundred meters north of him.
Arran: "TB102 to all comrades. Mobility is no more. Continue to withdraw. We will hold the road."
(Radio) "Understood. It's been an honor to have you with us. Good luck."
Eurav exited the tank and climbed onto the turret to speak with the commander.
Eurav: "Sir my service to protect this road is as much as yours. I will stay with my rifle."
He thought for a second then agreed.
Suddenly a shell screamed past the tank's hull impacting a wall adjacent to the tank. Eurav was thrown off his feet, breaking his leg and making him dazed.
Ranov scrambled to grab his optic to locate the enemy tank, finally spotting it behind a parking building up the road.
Without preparing, he fired the cannon.
The shell shattered through two car windows and impacted the enemy tank, destroying it immediately.
The engine of several more tanks and armored vehicles roared as dozens of Rila Infantry poured into the area.
Arran yelled over to Eurav.
Arran: "EURAV! AHHG!"
Rotating the commander's gun, he began to open fire onto the infantry and vehicles.
Eurav struggled to sit upright to grab his rifle.
102's autoloader finished with a loud audible 'clunk'.
Ranov fired again at an approaching tank. The shell hitting the front hull and immediately ricocheted upwards with a loud ringing sound. The autoloader immediately started cycling again.
Ranov: "No!"
Arran had managed to take down several infantry and damage one of the approaching vehicles with his machine gun, once again looking over at Eurav with guilt.
Eurav had bled out and stopped moving.
Taking a second to compile, Arran returned to firing with anger.
The autoloader finished again.
Ranov wiped his goggles then fired again, the shell hitting a building sparking a fireball with glass shattering everywhere. Nearby Rila infantry were caught aflame by the fires.
Arran continued to fire until his ammo box clicked empty. He quickly opened the box of ammo to replenish it.
Before he had time to load the next belt, Rila Infantry had already approached less than 100 meters.
He took out his commander's sub-machine gun and opened fire. He took out two, then three infantry before a well placed shot hit him in the neck.
Arran dropped back into the tank of his commanders seat, looking down at the floor. He choked on his air and then died. Ranov saw his motions in dismay and quickly rotated the turret downward at the Infantry on the road. He fired instantly, the explosion sending two of them launching backwards at an abandoned truck.
The mechanical loader spoke again as the next round loaded.
A Rila Infantryman kneeled atop the hill next to the road and equipped an anti-tank launcher.
Ranov saw this out his viewport and struggled to grab his rifle while the loader was still working.
The Infantryman recoiled backwards as a tracer passed through his chest.
Several Chovik infantry had stayed behind and were with 102 on the road.
"We are with you comrade! Keep fighting!"
The loader had finished. Ranov sat back into his seat and moved the cannon to another tank.
The Rilan Tank fired a shell, missing 102 and destroying another abandoned vehicle on the road.
Ranov fired and the shell went through an armored truck and impacted another, destroying both.
The Chovik infantry were quickly outmatched and outgunned as Rilan Infantry were only a few meters away from the tank. With the autoloader still working, Ranov raised himself out of the hatch again, firing his rifle at nearby enemies. He managed to kill 2 and injure one before a short burst of rifle fire hit him in the shoulder and head. He died instantly and dropped back into the tank, sitting next to Arran.
More Rilan Vehicles and now Helicopters approached the road, causing the remaining Chovik Infantry to begin to retreat.
TB-90 102 sat on the road unmanned as Rilan Infantry Ran past it. With a shell loaded. Still ready.
Unknown Region, 2053
A large, hangar-like room is filled with cargo and various vehicles.
?1: "Three more shipments of fuel should arrive within the next hour."
2 armed personnel escort a third who is wearing a suit.
?2: "Good. See to it that the shipment is inspected and the truck is dismantled."
?1: "Will do sir."
?3: "Not many preparations left before we ship out, we are awaiting a window and the opposition should carry from there.
The man in the suit wrote something down on a tablet and handed it back to one of the armed personnel.
?2: "Preparations should continue until the window arrives. Ustal and Rila have formed a pact so the window has just been made wider."
The two armed personnel walked out as two more arrived.
?3 had placed down the packet of papers they were carrying.
?3: "And our relations?"
?2 lights a cigar and gives it a single intake before replying.
?2: "Not of concern, same interests."
?3: "Understood."
Camp King, 2053
UHR - Republic Ground Forces
8th Expeditionary Unit, 1st Battalion
TUESDAY - 0320 HOURS
LCPL MaDunnely:
"Hey, Ravmann. Wakeup, your watch."
LCPL Ravmann throws his empty soda can at MaDunnely, slowly sitting up.
MaDunnely laughs and walks out of the tent. Ravmann stands and fixes his gear, yawning and exiting the tent. His breath created a vapor cloud that puffed out as if he was smoking.
Watch shifts had been shortened and increased in cycles due to increasing cold weather and lowered visibility.
MaDunnely climbed the stairs up the watchtower, giving an arm bump to the exiting watchman, LCPL Donovan. Reaching the top, MaDunnely adjusts his helmet and lowers his night vision, taking a panoramic look around the terrain.
Yep. Trees are still there - He thought to himself.
What seemed like only a few minutes, before MaDunnely knew it, his shift was over. He heard someone calling his name at the foot of the stairs.
MaDunnely: "What?"
CPL Javirrn: "MaDunnely, 31 minutes. I'm your relief."
MaDunnely: "Oh. Rad."
The two swap places and the cycle continued throughout the night.
TUESDAY - 0640 HOURS
MaDunnely sipped on his ration coffee looking at the approaching rain clouds from Charlie Team's tent.
He had never been fond of the "bean juice" but it was warm and it was caffeine.
Charlie's Lieutenant poked his head in and called for brief.
Everyone stood and exited the tent, walking over to the headquarters building.
Bravo had just returned from a patrol and was making "polite" gestures to Charlie.
Lt. Falat: "Alright. Routine. Standard patrol, 5 clicks out, 5 clicks back."
The Lieutenant placed down a map on the table pointing to a Ridgeline east of the camp.
Lt. Falat: "Here's the catch. Colonel Moroway thinks this south ridge has an hostile lookout. Suspected reason why they were able to intercept supply last week."
Falat tapped the ridge with a pen, tracing along the shape.
Lt. Falat: "At our 4th click mark, we will egress south west up this ridge, using the trees as cover, perpendicular to the river. From there we will assess and neutralize if necessary, if not- bag up and bag home. Yeah?"
Charlie all mutually agreed. Anything to get them moving in this cold.
MaDunnely was given a encouraging slap on the back of his shoulder as LCPL Davis and CPL Jarvirrn walked past him.
TUESDAY - 1032 HOURS
No Radio Transmission
Contact with Charlie Team was lost approx. at 1000 hours, Tuesday south of Camp King.
REPORT:
DEVICE FOUND
LEVEL: CRITICAL
LOCATION: EAST BANK CANAL, SERVICE TUNNEL A-3
FOLLOW MAP MARKED WITH ENTRY CODE AND CROSSROADS.
He kicked the wall of the tire, cursing the vehicle.
"No way man."
Pacing around the engine block, he continued.
"Radiator, fried."
"Crankshaft, toast."
"Belt, I don't fuckin even know WHERE that shit went."
Sighing he looked over at the other two who were already expecting the worst. One was missing his helmet and the other was on his third and last cigarette.
Lighting his cigarette, he gave his reply.
"Leave it. We'll find another transport. Lucked out with that truck's gear but that streak is gone."
He nodded over to the one missing his helmet.
"Let's see if we have an attic in our new BnB."
The three had stored their trashed vehicle in the blown-out garage of an abandoned office of some kind. The enemy occupied this entire area and they had no contact with friendly forces for a few weeks now. It was a miracle they were still alive let alone safe for the time being. To say they were lucky was incorrect. The team originally had 12 personnel and they were down to three. Some were killed in action, some were captured. They knew they were just prolonging their death at this point but no one wanted to admit it.
Atuex Ocean
Jan. 2054
H: I've told you already don't leave your mug unsecured. Look at this! Coffee! All over the wall!
T: Hey I'm sorry alright? I'll clean it up. I'm still new to being at sea. I saw some cool birds and I got up to see.
H threw his hands up and walked back outside, brushing his beard. They had been out at sea for almost 2 weeks now, but T was still a rookie. H wasn't sure what he saw in him when he hired a first mate, but he decided to let it pan out.
T worked to clean the spilled coffee off of the Galley wall, ensuring to wipe down the cleaner residue with damp towels. When he stood he looked at the wall above the siding boards. In a framed photograph stood a young H, aboard the RNV Dakker. T was baffled as he examined the photo, looking to every detail in the image. H interrupted by slamming on the window with his hand.
H: "I don't pay you to daydream! Get out here and help with the winch boy!"
T flinched and quickly stumbled out the door, putting on his cap to help H with the fishing winch. They worked for a few minutes before T finally built the courage to ask the burning question.
T: "I didn't know you served. What was it like?"
H was surprised by the question but didn't react. He continued to align and fix the winch cable line as he stopped for a moment to examine one of the fasteners. He sighed and looked over at T.
H: "There ain't nothing like it kid."
He continued to setup the winch line as he resumed working, ignoring the now fascinated T who was watching H as he helped the other line, expecting him to continue talking.
T: "That's all? Did you enjoy it? What made you join?"
H threw the finished winch into the water, starting the cable guide box and watching the depth meter.
H: "Damnit boy you talk too much."
T sat back and fixed his shirt, trying to move his attention to the lowering winch.
T: "Right. Sorry Sir."
H looked over at T who was now death staring at the water and attempting to not look off.
He looked back at the depth meter and continued.
H: "I loved every second of it. Nothing about it was easy."
He paused to adjust the winch to the left, continuing to lower it.
H: "I didn't give a rat's ass why I was there neither."
T looked over and was intrigued at the comment.
H: "All I knew is the friends around me had my back when shit hit the fan. They were a-"
He grunted as the winch hit the bottom with a 'clunk' and he stopped lowering the line looking at the depth meter.
H: "The hell?"
T looked over the side, the water being too dark to see.
T: "Sir, did we hit the sea floor?"
There was a pause where neither said anything.
H: "No way in hell we did."
H reached for the device mapping their location at sea.
It clearly stated they were in the correct spot at the correct sea depth.
Dosna Harbor
Dec. 2053
Belan set down his rifle on the table of the scattered papers and stretched his arms.
Belan: "I'm down to less than half a magazine."
Lidmir entered the room, still trying to catch his breath. He showed his service pistol to Belan and shook his head, holding his balance on his knees.
Belan looked out the window, watching a few patrols in the distance search buildings and radio around to each other. It had to have been 4 or 5 days since they had been fleeing this patrol and he was sure he would give up before they would.
Lidir, who finally caught his breath, let out a wheezed cough and looked over to Belan.
Lidmir: "Our best chance is to make it to the harbor and find a way onto the abandoned cargo ships. I doubt they would suspect there."
Belan replied without removing his sight of the approaching squad.
Belan: "We should be careful. There are Rilan ships approaching."
Unknown Location
Feb. 2054
Paytin: "Hey pass me a light will you?"
Kyle handed Paytin his lighter.
Kyle: "I thought you gave up smoking?"
Paytin took the lighter and removed the spiral primer.
Paytin: "I did. I just need the metal sprall."
Pushing it into radio's microphone slot, the radio's screen flashed on and then off again.
Paytin: "There. Christ. Now I can use my PTT."
Reconstructing the lighter, he handed it back to Kyle.
Kyle inspected the lighter and nodded in amusement.
Kyle: "Huh. Nice."
Kyle pressed his forward assist, checking to ensure he still had a live round loaded. Not that it mattered, he had checked easily over 20 times in the last 10 minutes. Nonetheless, it passed the time.
Paytin signaled over to the other sentry who nodded and took out a tablet, pressing some buttons.
In a few seconds, 3 micro drones flew into the hallway and down the corridor, relaying information back to the tablet. Reading the information, the sentry took a bite out of a cracker as he scrolled through the telemetry.
The sentry signaled back to Paytin.
Sentry: "Solid. Charge detonation read is clear, thermal could use adjustment but it's fine."
Paytin: "Sweet. We can get a few more boxes of that and we'll be set."
Nodding, Kyle looked over at Paytin.
Kyle: "We're supposed to be getting an entire container of those no?"
Paytin: "Four containers. Yeah, but we get a box here to mess around with to blow up some rocks or shit."
Kyle laughed and threw out his cigarette.
Kyle: "Ha. Sweet."
Chevnia Crossing consists of roughly a 300 square mile grey area in between Chiva and Brachovisk that does not belong to either country. Absent of civilization, there are some attempts to live here to avoid the global conflict on either end of the crossing. A road runs through the area connecting the two countries making it possible to travel between the two, however, the journey in either direction is an unsafe one. This area is controlled by illegal trading, private contractors, and disgruntled civilians. The military jurisdiction over the zone is agreed by multiple nations to not be recognized as in either territory as it acts more as its own entity without a governing body. Despite what would sound like a separation from the war, this small area represents some of the most gruesome and intense fighting including contracting units turning on each other, false flag operations, and many other illegal trafficking. In October of 2052, the Republic planned to send a response team into the region to establish a foothold as a supply route into the eastern coast of Brachovisk. Despite the plan, the operation was canceled when Republic Troops were redirected to Belak.
Many other regions in the world share a similar description as a result of failing nations and collapsing economies. Republic Politicians continue to debate the outcome and solution to these "Borderless Zones"
The wreckage of the Brachovisk fighter still smoldered as clouds of black smoke billowed into the sky, cutting through the otherwise pristine view of a tropical island. Donss groaned, pulling himself from the cockpit, his body aching with every movement. His radio was dead, his comms silent, and he was alone on an uninhabited island—at least, he thought so.
He stumbled toward the beach, his vision blurred from the crash. His mind raced with thoughts of survival—food, water, shelter—but his instincts screamed something else. He wasn’t alone.
A movement caught his eye near the treeline. Instantly, he dropped to the ground, scanning the surroundings with the sharp focus of a fighter pilot. Emerging from the jungle was a figure, and as it came into view, Donss’s heart sank.
A Rilan.
The enemy pilot was limping, just as battered as Donss. He wore the distinct blue/purple-and-silver insignia of the Rilan Air Force, the very sight of which set Donss’s blood boiling. For a brief moment, the two locked eyes—hardened gazes filled with distrust and war-hardened instincts.
Vond’s hand twitched toward the knife strapped to his thigh. Donss’s fingers brushed against the grip of his sidearm.
But neither drew.
Her team erupted in applause, their excitement palpable. Yet, amid the celebration, Elara felt a weight on her shoulders. The launch of the Phoenix Grain was set for next month, but she knew that even the best technology couldn’t address the immediate needs of communities currently facing famine and strife.
The aid team quickly formulated a plan. Heartex would use its advanced drone technology to deliver food supplies, clean water, and medical aid to the most affected regions. Their drones, equipped with advanced self-flight technology, could navigate treacherous terrains and deliver supplies to areas unreachable by traditional means.
As they finalized their strategy, Elara received an urgent message. A natural disaster had struck a small island nation, leaving thousands stranded without food or water. The government was overwhelmed, and international aid was slow to arrive. Without hesitation, she and her team mobilized.
The Heartex drones were airborne within hours, carrying essential supplies to the beleaguered island. Elara monitored the operation from the observation helicopter, her heart racing as the drones relayed real-time data. Each successful drop was met with cheers from her team, but the situation's urgency hung heavily over them.
After hours of intense work, they received word that the island’s residents had received their first shipment of supplies. But the joy was short-lived; the International Trade Federation had captured the drones, seizing the supplies and blocking access to the most vulnerable communities.
Despite the valiant effort, the team was ambushed upon arrival. The crew, brave and determined to help, were killed before they could even set foot on the island. The news sent shockwaves through the Heartex team, their initial excitement now overshadowed by a stark reality.
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