Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26399604-20151203055419

With yet another long story, I appreciate any and all feedback. Thanks in advance for your time!

I
Sergeant First Class Joseph Till felt his eyes water against the wind’s caressing breath. Even so, they retained their concentration – a gaze meeting the late afternoon sky. The colors resembled a crude canvas boasting dyes with a hint of tranquil orange, a blushing pink, and rather than red, the spew of lurid blood came to thought. Collectively, the firmament seem to exhibit an ill-fated wound, trickling the last of its essence outward for all to behold.

Gradually panning to the side, Till could see the thin clouds scornfully imitating the colors into their own gray forms. Below the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter, the Kenyan land was showcasing an alternating pattern of the rich and yet monotous green jungles between the bland fields.

Even after being in the country for a week, he already felt a sensation of detest towards the land. Sure he had faced the pernicious mountains of Afghanistan, the scorching winds in Kuwait, and even the cluster-fuck of cities in Iraq, but here in Kenya there was mainly only an abundance of jungles.

If need be, Till could easily navigate through the thick vegetation, which was not an issue. His main concern was on other matters. Who would want to deal with thick African brush teasing their faces, or the endless harassing insects among the other poisonous unseen vermin, all combined with humidity like that of hot ass in a poorly ventilated gym after New Years?

Yet, this has to happen though, he thought. This is my mission.

SFC Till was in charge of Ops Extraction, a team made up of five men including himself. One of his men even coined the name F.O.X. Tango, which reluctantly became an unofficial name even their Higher-Ups began to use. They were good at what they did, no, they were excellent – an elite team of highly skilled Soldiers. They were the go-to boys, the extractors, the escorts, with the guilefulness of a fox.

To top it all, they lived by the policy of ‘no questions asked ’, one they upheld effectively. No annoying inquires against Higher Command. No second-guessing gestures, nothing except the faultless cognizance essential of a Soldier.

So what did he owe the pleasure of plunging his life in peril for this time? This mission involved a rescue so-to-speak. Apparently, one of their choppers was recently shot down by enemy Somalian forces. Somalia was a cesspool for instability even after the intervention of United Nations in their little squabble of a civil war. A pointless move, but what do you expect when the world witnesses irrational minds aimlessly attempting to consume the other? The thirst for control, for power is coveted just the same as its cousin, money.

It was no surprise that in the past few months, Somalian Extremists began an up rise in their government in the Puntland state of Somalia – one of the few areas operating under such. Intel relayed the cowards took their assaults onto the general populace. In defense, Puntland deployed their paramilitary division, the Puntland Dervish Force to intervene but their efforts fell short against the Extremists. Vague word spread that an unknown benefactor was funding the Extremists, even providing powerful weapons.

These so called 'powerful' weapons just happened to catch their eye, ‘their’ meaning the U.S. They sent in an alternate team to extract a few of these weapons, but their aerial extraction went south. Sending in a team other that F.O.X. Tango? That in itself was a horrible mistake. The chopper was shot before crossing into Kenya, ultimately crashing deep within its jungles. It was able to send out a distress signal moments before the crash. Since then, communication with the crew could not be reestablished.

Based off the last known coordinates, Till’s team was being sent in to do what they did best and what should have been them from the beginning – just another simple extraction, right?

“Hey Sarge, ETA is five minutes!” A voice yelled out against the wind’s chilly howl.

The voice startled Till a bit reeling him back from the depths of his thoughts. His watery eyes felt relief upon pulling them away from the steady airstream. They fell upon the would-be owner of the voice.

The squinting blue eyes of Staff Sergeant Snow peered back into his own. Half of Snow's face radiated with a hue of green from the device in his hand. In the green lambency, Till could still see the thin scar extending across his face, from the edge of his jawbone up to his temple. It served as a visual reminder received ultimately when Snow had managed to save Till’s ass back in Afghanistan. If not for his efforts, the blade belonging to the Taliban turd wielding it surely would have reached its intended target.

Snow was his back-up, his voice of reason and a brother if there ever was one. The list of his attributes goes on. Hell, the two had seen more missions together than Snow had time to spend with his wife back at home.

“HQ says to expect a possible delay on the extraction bird!” SSG Snow continued, yelling in combatant against the wind.

“What the hell for?!” Till asked, annoyed at the update.

“They said they're short on birds, three in maintenance and the other two we’re sharing with 75th!”

Till sighed in discontent. “Aren't we out here to clean up 75th's shit in the first place?! And yet, they can't even guarantee a fucking bird?"

"Afraid so, Joe!" Snow replied.

"That's great! No fucking surprise!” Till replied. After a quick glance at his watch, he gave a gesture towards Snow.

Snow understood it. “Alright everyone, look alive! We’ll be hitting the drop zone in about three Mikes!”

At his command, the other occupants of the cabin began to move – helmets straps tightened, sharp clicks from magazine cartridges echoed in asynchronous clanks, along with rough tears from Velcro pockets.

Immediately sitting across from Snow was SSG Tinsley. His hulking figure counteracted to the calm scrutiny in his eyes. The giant sat quietly simply staring off into the sky. His weapon sat across his lap, a M240B, a rather sizeable machine gun believable for the hands of a giant. Yet in Tinsley's, the massive weapon’s appearance was more trivial. Tinsley was a man of few words, but was one tough son-of-a-bitch in the eyes of Till.

He was nicknamed GL for Green Lantern, John Stewart's version for his uncanny resemblance in attitude.

Next to him sat SGT Ryder, nicknamed Gerber for his young baby-like face and no future signs of facial hair. Despite his innocent appearance, he was a sharp kid, very intuitive and calculating, almost like a younger version of Till.

Ryder was aggressively jotting some notes into a notebook pausing only to adjust the strap of his weapon.

Leaning out the other side of the cabin was none other than SGT Jones, the wise-cracking jokester of the team. Other than being an annoying idiot and unofficial nominator of nicknames, Jones was a hell of a marksman.

His cocky demeanor in Sniper School which involved – insulting his instructors, or pulling pranks such as strategically hanging bags of shit and shooting them over selected victims from a distance of a thousand plus yards resulted in his eventual dismissal. However, his talents granted him a spot on F.O.X. Tango and a nickname as Crackshot. If not for that, it would be a true wonder on how long his career would be in the military.

The idiot quickly hocked a wad of phlegm into the wind, watching it concede to gravity. Jones felt the need to provide nicknames for everything. Somehow, despite the annoyance of them, the names always stuck. Except for Till, when Jones attempted to crown such an honor upon him, he was met with a swift jab to the stomach.

The only names Till wanted to hear for himself was Sergeant, SFC Till, or best Sarge.

"Hey Big Sarge?!" Jones called out.

Asshole, Till thought, biting his lip. He already knew Jones had a smart comment. He glanced over to meet his goofy half-cocked smile.

"Word of mouth has it you're joining the club for 40s." He said, tossing a thumbs-up.

"Is that what's going around?" Till replied, glancing over to meet the guilty smile of Snow.

"So...I was wondering what you had in mind?" Jones continued. "What's Big Sarge gonna do on his special day?"

The question seemed to draw the attention of everyone else, even Tinsley withdrew his mind from the clouds.

"Don't know, might just spend the night with a bottle of Jack," he replied reluctantly.

Jones issued a groan of disappointment. Surprisingly, everyone else complied with the same notion.

"Come on, Big Sarge, you can do better than that. Look, hear me out," he said, leaning in close for everyone to hear. "We all got Leave coming up after this mission. I say we do it big and hit up a great spot in Brazil called Muy Loco Calientes. They got the best drinks and most importantly, the best female strippers."

"Nope, forget it. I'm not hitting up a titty bar for my birthday. Most importantly, I'm not going to any of the ones associated with you," Till scoffed.

Everyone groaned in discontent.

"Come on, Sarge. I can't lie, that doesn't sound like a bad move," Tinsley protested. "You gotta do something fun for your birthday. You're only 40 once and in our line of work that means a lot."

Several other agreements followed around. Till's gaze slowly went around the cabin, peering into all the eyes trained on him.

"I'm game," Ryder replied when he met his.

Jones still had his goofy smile plastered across his face, nodding. Immediately, Till felt a hand on his shoulder from Snow. His eyes met to see an approving nod from him. After another minute, he gave a long sigh.

"Fine," he conceded. "But under one condition..."

In praise, everyone was passing around High-fives and fist pounds. The cabin gave a minor shake when the helicopter halted in the air, hovering above the ground.

"...I want hear less shit from your mouth today, Jones. Got it?"

II
The Black Hawk slowly made its decent to the ground. From there, the men quickly hopped out forming a perimeter around the bird in the dirt clearing. Clouds of dry earth was thrown into air by the propellers, forming a thick wall of dust. Immediately after vacant, the bird took off into the air. The steady tempo of its blades released a cadence echoing like an audience applauding gleefully in sync. Eventually, the clapping noise faded into the distance leaving the men to the calm sounds of the jungle around.

"Comms check, this is Till, how copy?" Till said, adjusting the small intercom piece in his right ear.

"This is Gerber, that's a clean copy,” Ryder replied soon after.

"GL, here, that's a good copy as well,” Tinsley said.

"Crackshot, I'm good and ready ladies!" Jones followed.

"Taskmaster responding, that's a green on all comms, Fox Lima!" Snow finished up.

"Copy that, Intel reports possible enemy traffic in the area. So let's keep chit-chat to a minimal. Target estimated at 15 miles due East. EENT is at 1900, so make sure we move with a purpose," Till responded. "Eagle Eye, this is Fox Lima. Toms have set, I repeat, Toms are set, how copy?"

It took a second before a deep voice distorted by static answered. "That's a clean copy, Fox Lima. You’re green to go."

Till looked over to Snow and quickly flashed three fingers followed by two. Snow nodded and spoke over the intercom.

"Okay, GL take point, Gerber and Ryder wedge it up. Jones you got six. Brush is deep so I want heads on a swivel.”

The team came together forming a makeshift triangle facing the jungle tree line ahead of them.

Although late in the day, the sun's presence still managed to blemish the air. The once deafening pleasurable wind from the ride was now but a dry whisper among the more darkened tangerine colored sky.

Chants and caws botched the air ever so often. The steady rhythmic tones of unseen insects could be heard with a quick rustling from brush here and there.

Before them stood the vast city of trees, acting as conveyors to an unknown world beyond. Their splintering wooden bodies varied in sizes with a few twisting in unnatural positions. Like a pet to one of the wooden giants, the glimmering eyes of a Bush Baby on one branch caught a glimpse of the men before climbing out of sight. Garnishing the jungle floor was the tall blades of ferns and foliage, acting as a veil.

Till gave a quick notion with his hands signaling the team to move forward into the thick vegetative world. Although moving with subtly, they could do nothing to hide their sounds against the branches or ferns when passing by or through – their noises playing in the air.

The humidity was unbearable among the heart of the montage of trees. Mosquitoes around teased an ear or two before being swatted away. A few times a foot among the group stumbled into a snake hole from the misleading ferns obscuring such. Even so, the team pressed onward. Two hours in, the sun's dominance began to dim, signaling the approach of dusk.

As the team grew close to the edge of the jungle, Tinsley threw up his fist as a sign for the rest of the team to halt. Immediately, everyone froze raising their weapons and assuming a position.

"What do you see, GL?" Till asked, leaning up against a tree.

"We got two Romeos ahead, facing away. Both are armed with light weapons – AKs,” he answered.

"Can you confirm they're Somalian Extremists?" Till asked.

There was a slight pause before he heard an answer. "Yeah it's them alright. And Sarge–"

Before he could finish, several men jumped out the brush, each holding an AK-47 yelling in Somalian tongue. The numbers seemed to be around seven maybe more, all surrounding Till and his men. The Somalians’ angry hollers seem to elevate, probably for them to throw down their weapons. Till had not given such an order. All his men had their weapons up, each trained on a target before them ready to fire if ordered.

Finally, Till spoke up softly. "Alright, Ryder, you're up."

At his words, Ryder let his weapon drop and hang from his sling. With his hands up in a surrendering pose and he began speaking out, matching the Somalian men in language. A few of the men exchanged confused looks at each other, no doubt surprised they had a translator among the group.

Till had no idea what Ryder was saying, but they always had the same criteria for dealing with these types of situations. Ryder was fluent in several languages and always had a way with words. He was a cunning bastard, again reminding him of himself minus the linguistic skills. The plan was always to get their assailants to call forth their leader.

If Ryder felt like the conversation was going well, he would keep his hands firm in the air. However, if he felt it was heading south, he would twitch his hands; it was subtle to the untrained eye, but to the team it meant open- fire.

Ryder’s hands remained firm for now. He continued to converse with the men, making slow steps forward to them. At every word he issued, the men would bark back an angry response.

The skinny bunch of Somalian men looked like nothing more than average townsfolk, men who probably picked up a gun no earlier than a week or so. Each of them had a chain link of rounds across their chest. All of them were sweating profusely with glistening faces and drenched wet shirts. Across the arms or even their heads was a red bandana, a symbol most likely of their organization.

Till had his weapon trained on the big one arguing with Ryder. He had a twisted snarl with eyes glaring like that of a bull, his weapon was pointed a mere feet away in the face of Ryder. He was ready to drop the man, but no signal was relayed.

Finally after another minute of the argument, the big guy called back to the others. Till could see the brush dancing and flailing from someone approaching. Emerging from the brush was a young man appearing no older than Ryder. With a confident stride, he made his way up to the big Somalian still holding Ryder at gun point. Immediately, he began talking to the man as if irritated at the request to being summoned.

He seemed to badger the big guy until abruptly holding up a hand to gesture silence. He glared quietly at Ryker before speaking out. "Who the hell is in charge of this pack? I know it is not this little mouse before me," he spoke with a heavy accent.

You're one to talk, Till thought. He walked up slowly lowering his weapon but still keeping it in his hands. "I am, SFC Till. I take it you're the man in charge?"

Several of the team took a glance back at the situation, but kept their weapons trained on the men around them.

"I am Odour, leader of the Twisted Bantu. This is my land. Tell me why you American Pigs are in my jungles and why I shouldn't slaughter you like such?"

"We're simply passing through?" Till answered.

"To go where? Why are you here?"

"Sight-seeing, heard the Kenyan jungle was a hell of a spot to tour. I had to see if for myself," Till mocked.

The man's face was solid like a statue before issuing a loud stalky laugh. Afterwards, he took out a pistol from his side, aiming it. Till immediately complied with his own weapon. The notion created a domino - effect forcing some of the Somalians to aim their weapons at Till. In turn, Tinsley adjusted his angle to a few of those men. Snow’s weapon remained in place.

"Do you think it is wise to mock the leader of the Twisted Bantu? My men could slaughter all of you right here and now."

"Is that so?" Till retorted.

Without warning, a red dot made its mark on the man's left shoulder. It flashed a few times in his eyes before settling back over his heart. The man glanced down at the dot.

"Just give me the word, Big Sarge," whispered the voice of Jones over the intercom.

"Hold that shot, Jones."

These Extremists thought they had Till's team ambushed, but Jones always kept a sharp eye ahead. It was not unlike him to purposely linger behind to post up. His signal had always been three blank receivers over the comms, a sharp beeping noise from turning the comms on and off. If they all heard sound, they knew to be on high alert.

"So, Odour, was it? I suggest you tell your men to stand down or I can promise you'll all be dead before you can flex your finger on that trigger."

Tinsley and Snow were quick when it came to firing their weapons. It would only take a few seconds from them to mow down the targets near them. As for Till, he had a choice between dropping the big guy or denying Jones a pleasurable shot on the self-pronounced leader.

The man flared his nostrils, glaring intensely back. Eventually, he gestured for his men to lower their weapons.

"So now what, Sergeant? Are you going to slaughter me and my men?"

"Why not, Joe? Serves these civilian killing bastards,” Snow spat.

This didn't seem to sit right with the man. His eyes gleamed even more so than before. "Who has told you this? We are the Twisted Bantu, the fighters of the people against the government!" The man erupted.

"Bullshit, you're the scum killing the people! You expect us to believe the government is attacking their own?" Snow shot back.

"Yes, those spineless cowards began taking our women, taking our children doing God knows what to them. When the people began speaking against it, they claimed we were trying to overthrow them and began firing on us. I witnessed their Soldiers open-firing on a group of unarmed protesters. After that, we knew what we had to do.

"We formed the Twisted Bantu to protect ourselves."

"Sarge?" Jones asked on the comms.

Till was quiet for a minute before lowering his weapon. "Stand down, everyone."

Tinsley immediately complied, lowering his. Snow was reluctant to do so but eventually conceded as well. The red dot faded on Odour's shirt.

"Odour, you said the government is the one attacking the populace?" Till repeated.

"Yes, I give you my word."

"You've crossed paths with them in a firefight?"

Odour gave a confused look as if his pride was on the line. "Of course, I have killed thirteen of those cowards."

"In these fights, have you ever come across any powerful weaponry you couldn't handle?" Till went on.

His eyes flashed with the utmost amount of subtly, but Till caught it. "I'm not sure what you mean," the man finally answered. “I know nothing of this.”

Till gave a quick glance over to Snow who returned a soft shake in disapproval. It was clear he knew what Till was going ask next. However, they were running low on time and daylight.

"About three hours ago, a chopper went down from Somalian Extrem- ...Somalian Soldiers. You tracking the whereabouts of that?"

Odour took a minute to converse with the giant to his side in Somalian tongue. Till in turn gave a glance at Ryder, who nodded his head. After conversing, Odour returned to English.

"My men did see such craft, American no doubt?"

"Yeah."

"So, that is why you are here. Your chopper should still be there, assuming the government filth hasn't reached them first. You need help to find this craft, yes?" Odour continued.

"No,” Till rejected. "We know how to find them. We just need to know if any PDF are posted up along the way."

Odour shook his head. "No no, it is easier to show you. It would be too difficult to explain Kenyan lands to those unfamiliar with her. I can show you, take you there."

"No, this is an American operation."

"Really, Sergeant? Well I cannot guarantee where the Soldier scum are posted then. I’m sure you're short on time."

Till glared at Odour as a thin smile grew on the man's lips.

"And what do you get out of this?" He asked.

The smile grew wider. "Oh I simply wish to help my new American friends."

"So now we're friends?"

"Yes, why not? How does it go? 'The enemy of my enemy, is my friend?' And if it isn't too much trouble, get a hold of some of these 'powerful' weapons."

"I thought you weren't aware of these weapons?" Till reminded.

Odour simply extended his smiled. "This is a chance to help each other out, the choice is yours, Sergeant."

"I don't know, Sarge," Tinsley said over the comms. "Do you really wanna trust these fools?"

"Snow?" Till questioned with a look towards his way.

Snow was silent for a minute before responding. "It's your call, Joe."

Till gave a long sigh. "Jones, make your way back."

"On it, Big Sarge. See in you two."

He looked up at the smiling Odour. "Take us, there.”

III
It was clear to Till that Odour knew more than he was portraying to him. More so, he was not completely sold on the idea that the Somalian government was behind the attacks on the civilian population. Sure it could be true as well, but in the event that it was not, Till was going by another saying, 'keep your enemies closer.'

Odour led them out the congestion of trees and into a relieving bare field. The field was vast, spotting arid soil verifying even nature could suffer from her own abuse of power just like people. The pale stalks of weeds that did exist managed to render a wave in the little breaths of wind. At a glance, it was if loneliness was another sentiment she underwent as company out here was less than none.

They soon came upon a village thriving with people - children running back and forth kicking a poorly inflated ball, women carrying baskets of clothes or food on their heads, while some elderly folk simply sat idle observing all.

The village itself was mainly made up of tall shabby shacks of wood heavily consolidated into one area. The mass cluster of shacks as a whole reminded Till of the cities of Iraq but with great reduction in quality. A few of their feeble frames held thin cloths acting as curtains or even doors. Like poorly constructed webs, clotheslines stretched to one another each heavily decorated with an assortment of garments.

A few chickens annoyingly scurried in between the heels of passing people, picking at treats seen only by their eyes.

"It is because of us, villages such as these can live their days in peace," Odour brought up suddenly. "We provide them with protection and food."

"And what do you get in return?" Till asked.

Odour smirked. "We ask nothing in return, except quarter for my men if we need it and information on the government cowards."

"Seems like a fair trade-off, almost too fair," Snow retorted.

"What are you saying? That my men and I have ulterior motives?" Odour spat.

One of the trailing Somalians casted a mean glare towards Snow. Till shot one as well.

"We are here for the people. We are the people," Odour continued.

"We understand that,” Till interjected.

"Do you?"

"Yes, we know you have the people in mind. That's also the reason why you want to get a hold of those 'advanced weapons' as well, right?"

Odour returned a twisted face in confusion. "I told you, I do not know what you speak of."

"Cut the shit. Your eyes gave you away twice already," Till retorted, getting impatient.

Odour scoffed. Tinsley and Ryder kept a close eye on the Somalian men who grew tighter in pace to Till. Jones remained in the rear with his own pair of escorts.

"Fine, we have seen these weapons, so what? I want the weapons to protect these people. Is that too much to ask?"

"I suppose not, but before I guarantee anything, I want to know everything – about the weapons, about what's happening to these people, the government, everything."

After another salty glare, the man eventually complied.

"About seven months ago, a young Somalian woman was walking home after fetching water from the river. The water was for her family – her two sons and her sick mother,” He said. “However, she never made it home that evening. When several villagers attempted to find her..." He began to trail off.

"Did they?"

"Unfortunately, they did, but not without discovering a horrifying truth. They found the woman lifeless and stripped of her clothing. She had been defiled – her breasts had been cut off, her hair shaven, and small stab wounds were all over her body. When asked around, nobody saw what happened to her," Odour went on.

"That's sick,” Ryder stated, overhearing.

"Sick?" Odour scoffed. "That is only the half if it. The same thing began to happen to more people, even small children."

"The people attacked, any chance there was a family or friend connection between them? It's possible someone had a grudge," Till asked.

"That is the crazy thing. This happened to random people sometimes villages miles away from each other.

"Like I said before, we tried to take our pleas to the government to help us solve what is going on. What did they do? They ignored us. After several more days, we stood out in front of the President's office hoping he would hear us there. What was his reaction? He had his Soldiers line up in front of his office as if we were terrorists or something. Then one day, they open-fired on us killing seven unarmed people.

"After that day, we swore to them that we would protect ourselves with or without their help. They took that as an act of rebellion stating that they would wipe out any who brought forward the same fruitless accusations. On that day, they declared war on us. We understood that this was the only true way to get our voices heard," Odour stated.

"And you've been fighting since then,” Till concluded.

"Yes, and those bastards have the nerve to say we are attacking our own people, calling us the cowards when they attack unfairly."

"Unfairly?"

Odour paused for a minute. "Yes – I've never seen anything like it. They began to use a strange weapon with enough power to blow a hole through a man the size of a guava fruit. It fits in the hands of a man no bigger than our own weapons here. When fired, lightning flashes as if the wrath from Allah himself, filling the air with a stench like fresh gunmudka.

"I do not know where they get these weapons from, but they are unstoppable. Because of them, we were pushed back out of Somalia and into Kenya."

Till’s brow furrowed with a look of incredulity in his eyes. “Lightning? Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

“Yes, of course. Do you think that I am lying?”

"Well it does sound a little far-fetched. It at least explains your presence here. Is that everything?” Till questioned.

"No, one of my men reported seeing something. He claimed it was bright lights in the sky during a shootout. He said the lights came down and literally reached out and snatched up our men as if it were alive,” Odour continued, illustrating the action. “Tell them, Abasame,” he said, gesturing to the big guy from earlier.

The man’s earlier scowl was absent. Instead, a face like that of a child was before them. “It is true,” he replied with an accent even stronger than Ordour’s. “They were there in one moment and gone in another. I only got away because – I fled." He spoke with his head down like a child in trouble.

Till was silent, unable to come up with a response.

"I don't know, Sarge. You buying all this 'bright light’ bullshit?" Tinsley asked over the comms.

"Yeah come on, Sarge. GL is right. Sounds like some concocted ET shit if you ask me. The dude’s probably just been getting his ass taxed by these weapons and instead of admitting he's been outmatched by real Soldiers, he wants to conjure up a ghost story, and have us crying over a sob one. Is it sad? Yes, but that doesn't mean we hand over whatever weapons to a bunch of pissed off villagers.

"Today's friend could be tomorrow's enemy," Jones said, piggybacking.

Till could not believe Jones was actually saying something worthwhile. Even so, what if the things Odour said were true?

Odour came to halt. "I know this may be hard for you to believe, but it is the truth, I swear. I need to know if I can rely on your word. You promise that we can have these weapons and I will guide you to your aircraft.

"Know, that I am not lying. There are many Soldiers posted in the area, heavily armed with these weapons. The same Soldiers that shot down your aircraft because of what they do not want your country to know. They are the enemies, not us. If you run into them, they will surely gun you down no matter how skilled you think you may be.

"We are your only hope."

Till exchanged a look from Odour to Snow.

"Go,” Odour said. "Talk it among your men. I will wait." He gestured for his men to pull away, leaving Till to his thoughts.

Till made his way to Snow signaling the others to keep watch. For a minute, Till remained silent. He started to open his mouth to speak but Snow spoke first.

"You remember that one mission back in Afghanistan? It was a simple Intel gathering mission, reconning the nearby village. It was you, me, Casey, Shepard, and Garcia. We spent all day out, until we got to the village and not a single soul was willing to tell us anything, too afraid to speak.

"We were all tired and pissed off, you especially," Snow started.

Till was unsure why Snow was bringing this up, but he remained silent and listened.

"And then out of nowhere, we got hit by an on-passing convoy of Taliban. They had us pinned down in a firefight. One of the houses you took cover behind had a mother and her eight-day old daughter inside. In the midst of all the bullets firing the mother got hit, but the daughter was untouched.

"I remember what you told me. Before she passed, you said 'even though we didn't speak the same language, you knew just by her eyes what she wanted.' You knew she wanted you to get her daughter to safety. Despite everyone’s better judgment, even my own, you took the girl with you.

"After a long strenuous fight, and by the grace of God, we managed to kill – Every –Last - One of those bastards. After it all cleared, there it was. It was you and that girl. The other villagers either fled from the scene or were shot in the crossfire. The girl was a quiet one, but somehow even she knew and simply stayed by your side.

"You gave her water, hell even bits of your MRE when she was hungry. You even carried her when she couldn't walk anymore until we finally returned to the refugee camp outside the base. And as if the story wasn't strange enough, you were able to reunite her with her father, who by some miracle was already there trying to make future arrangements for his family.

"My point, Joe, is that despite what others think, you’ve had your moments. All from what I’ve seen, you seem to always know the right choice. Your gut instinct has served you fine up till now. We’ve been through hell and back together, and I’ve never walked away from your decisions, and I don't see that changing any time soon." Snow finished.

Till was still speechless, he even felt a few tears tease his eyes, but immediately choked them back. He gave Snow a simple nod, placing his hand firm on his shoulder.

"What's it going to be, Big Sarge? Taskmaster has 'me' tearing up over here, and I'm catching mostly static,” Jones interjected.

A smiled formed on Till's lips as he shook his head at the comment. "Everyone bring it in, we need to be sure Mr. Odour is on the same page as us."

Snow smiled back, rendering a nod of approval.

IV
"There are several enemy encampments, here, here, and here," Odour noted on the map.

The contorting mesh of lines of the map on the crumbled paper seem to radiate under the red lensed flashlight. Like a weary soul drained by time and heat, it nestled weakly in the hands of Till – the penciled-in coordinates gradually fading, abiding its time from being but gray smudge.

The sun's thin aura was treading above the horizon, taking its last breaths before submerging into the black abyss. The cruel heat from before was now a forgiving cool breath. In welcome to the coming evening, music from night critters tickled the air.

"Under the veil of night, we should be able to move undetectable," Odour stated.

"We got five miles to cover and a lot enemy traffic. NVGs (night vision googles) on and keep noise to a minimal," Till added. “Odour have your men remain in the rear since none of you will be able to see."

"I will only bring one of my men, Absame,” Odour replied, gesturing to the big Somalian from earlier. "The less movement from us, the better."

"Sounds good,” Till agreed. "Ryder, when we get closer, I want you to try and establish radio contact with Sierra Five team."

"Tracking, Sergeant," he replied.

"I don't wanna sound pessimistic, Sarge, but it's been four hours since the crash, and we haven't heard a word from Sierra," Tinsley brought up.

"And? Regardless what we think we’ll find out there, we have a mission to complete," Till replied. "You're the last person I'd think would back out now."

"I'm not backing out, Sarge."

"Okay then, let's move out. We got brethren out there waiting for us."

From there, the team made their way out. The sky was all but black except for the glimmering company of the stars.

With Odour's guidance, they remained close to the tree line of the jungles only entering when applicable. They passed by several areas containing PDF post sites – spotlights from their roadblocks scanned the perimeters about.

When they were about a mile out from the area of the crash site, Ryder attempted to make radio contact.

"Sierra Five, this is Fox Tango, I repeat, this is Fox Tango, how copy?" Ryder relayed.

The radio only returned an eerie streak of static. Ryder attempted the call again with more firmness, but the same results were received.

Regardless, they pressed forward, entering the tree line again. Through their greenish vision, the branches appeared as veiled twisted fingers reaching out. A few skittering creatures rustling through greenery kept the men on edge.

After a tedious and seemingly endless trek through the darkened woods, a faint light began to appear ahead of them. The light was flickering poorly like a weak pulse.

"Sarge, I got eyes on possible crash site,” Ryder said over the comms.

"Copy that, approach with caution. Maintain concealment until we're all on line," Till responded.

"Tracking."

"What is it?" Odour whispered.

"We might be coming up on the crash site," Till responded.

The men pushed forward until they all came upon the supposed site. Crouching in the trees, their eyes glanced ahead.

Before them, they saw a vast clearing of trees from the aftermath of the helicopter crash. Several trees lay crushed or toppled with a large gaping hole revealing the initial entry point. The bird itself was in a twisted heap of metal split in three pieces.

The cockpit’s nose was buried deep into the ground where it managed to press a large mound of dirt up against the front windows. The second piece, the cabin, was split from the cockpit, but sat flat directly behind it. The tail had snapped off completely. The remnants of the rotor hung by a thread, the edges appeared charred from where it received fire.

Small fires kindled around the site, providing minimal lighting to the carnage. Spilling out near the cabin and around the site was several metal cases.

"Good Lord,” Jones managed to say. It was the closest thing anyone had to say at this moment.

"I got no eyes on any of the crew. There’s zero movement," Snow brought up.

"Ryder?" Till started.

Ryder nodded and attempted the comms again. "Sierra Five, this is Fox Tango, I repeat, this is Fox Tango, do you copy?"

There was no response, but the static voice of Ryder could be heard echoing near the cabin wreckage.

"There's a radio in there somewhere," Till stated. "We need to get a closer look."

"Those cases? Those must be the weapons, yes?" Odour brought up. "Now is our chance."

He quickly began to stand, ready to rush the area until he was harshly yanked back down by Till.

"What are you doing?" Odour quickly spat.

"You don't do anything until we're sure the area is clear, got it?" Till snapped.

Odour returned a harsh glare before looking away in discontent.

"Okay, Snow you're with me. Tinsley and Jones keep eyes out," Till stated. "Ryder, keep an eye on Odour. Make sure he keeps his head down."

Odour flashed another glare.

With their weapons ready, Till gave the command and Snow bounded forward first. He quickly reached the cabin, posting up in it. After a second, he gave the clear for Till to move next. He immediately assaulted forward, joining Snow near the cabin.

"We're clear,” Till rendered back to the team. “Snow what you got inside? Any signs of the crew?"

"Negative, there's nothing in here. It's completely empty."

Till peeked inside for himself. When he looked, the scene appeared as Snow relayed. The cabin was empty aside from the clusters of dirt and bits of cracked metal inside.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked. "Ryder, try the comms for them again."

Ryder compiled, issuing the same statement from before. From their new angle, they could now hear exactly where the radio signal was receiving. The signal was coming from one of the weapon cases next to them. Till slowly reached over to it, unhinging the lock, and raising the lid.

Immediately, a foul smell forced its presence into the air. The putrid odor caught both of the men off guard. With eyes watering, they forced a look inside, viewing a horrendous sight. Inside, they found the mutilated remains of a man. Holes could be seen plastered throughout his body. At first, they looked to be stab wounds, but on closer inspection, the holes looked to have a more clean incision, almost as if they were drilled. They appeared to only exist in vital areas too.

The horror did not end there. The man’s genitalia had been removed along with what appeared to be both his hands. His hair had been clean shaven too, allowing for a clear sight at his twisted face. His eyelids were also missing, showcasing a disturbing and endless glare matching his wide-open mouth, frozen in scream of terror.

"What the fuck is this?" Tills mouthed, covering his nose with his sleeve.

The voice relay from Ryder continued, revealing the radio mic sitting next to the man's head.

"Jesus, they're all like this," Snow retorted opening up a second case to the side.

"What's going on, Sarge?" Jones asked over the comms.

"Yeah what you see?" Ryder added.

Till was speechless painfully ogling the body with horror. His hairs prickled up, the more his eyes traced across the mutilated features. Despite the inflictions, they looked as if they were conducted in some manner of care. The amputation of his hands and even his genitalia did not look like it was torn in a vicious manner by talons or fangs. No, the cuts were clean almost surgical. This thought sent a subtle shiver through him.

"This isn't right, Joe," Snow started. "Someone did this and put these men here."

On cue with his words, heavy gunfire suddenly erupted from behind – the tree line directly across from the team. The chopper’s metal hull reverberated from the sparks of white crashing into it. Immediately, Till and Snow took cover behind it. In response, Tinsley and Ryder returned fire to the opposite tree line.

Jones peered through the scope of his rifle to the other side. "Sarge, we're looking at heavy PDF, about ten or twelve! I don't wanna sound drastic, but y'all need to get your asses out of there ASAP!"

"Thanks, Jones! We'll try and keep that in mind!" Till yelled out against the metallic composition playing in the background. One shot made a quick ricochet past his head.

"Don't worry, Sarge. We'll clear you a path in a minute!" Tinsley stated.

The giant crouched high and let his M240B machine gun go wild into the tree line. Several opposing figures dropped instantly after being hit from the barrage of bullets.

Jones caught sight of one of the Soldiers hiding, attempting to aim at Tinsley while he was still firing. He made a quick adjustment on the scope of his weapon and eased back on the trigger dropping the assailant.

"Woo! One down!" He bellowed out. He quickly adjusted for another target and fired. "Down goes another!"

"Almost clear, Sarge!" Tinsley barked, pausing to reload his weapon.

The enemy shots seemed to lighten up. Till took the time to glance back at the enemy tree line to confirm it. He gave a nod at Snow ready to provide cover fire. However, a strange rumbling began to occur.

The ground began to vibrate – it almost felt like the entire floor was going to collapse. The vibration began to escalate, shaking the air around as well. Till felt his entire body quiver. A low hum eased into the air growing louder with the trembling.

Before he had time to think, a blinding light tore through the sky. The intensity of it forced him to instantly rip his night vision goggles from the blinding green blur. From his side, he could tell Snow did the same. At first, he thought it was just a spotlight, a flare maybe. Yet the light was abnormal. It looked different, it felt different.

It gave a pulse like a steady cadence of a heartbeat. The hum from earlier now had morphed to a sharp whistling noise as if something was being spun around with immense swiftness. He held his hand up to the sky, hoping to obscure any of its blinding gaze. It was like looking at the sun. It was completely overshadowing the night sky. He forced his hand away to witness the spectacle in its entirety, inviting all consequences – he desired to see it.

When his eyes made contact, his first thought was of a star. It appeared as such like one of the many glimmering diamonds from above had fallen and was now gracing them with its presence. The sonancy of the world slowly drifted into a calm mute. The effervescence of the light grew in sync, greedily swallowing the world. Nothing else mattered, but its fluorescent presence.

Now under its radiating spell, Till could see that the source of the light was from a simply orb. The pulse rendering from the meager ball of energy would dim its blaze of light in cadence to its rhythm.

He was frozen, standing in admiration at the blazing spectacle with his mouth a gape and smile forming on his lips. He felt warmness inside, a true feeling of pure euphoria. His arms lightened, allowing his weapon to fall carelessly to the ground.

His legs found the means to move without his will and began carrying him forward. As they did, he felt a yearning dwelling inside, a yearning to be blessed more from the beaming comfort. He craved to wholly swathe himself in its fervency. He took a step and levels of happiness grew inside him. With another step the euphoric levels elevated even more.

He anticipated more until he was abruptly tackled to the ground by Snow. Immediately, the harsh tones of world screamed its way back. Bullets ricocheted off the metal wreckage just moments from where he was standing.

"Joe?! Joe?! Are you alright?!" Snow hollered to Till. His voice gradually fought against the dull ringing in Till’s ears. Eventually, the ringing did fade. "Come on, Joe. Get a hold of yourself!"

Till’s eyes slowly adjusted, his vision dimming from the once consuming white blindness. His eyes slowly focused until they met with the ridged edges of Snow’s face. The first thing to catch his sight was the scar on his cheek, teasing him of yet another moment his life was in the balance.

"I-I'm good,” he managed to squeeze out rubbing his eyes.

"Sarge, you good over there?" Ryder asked over the comms.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he repeated once more.

He looked over to see his team still holding down suppressive fire.

"If you're up to it Sarge, we got your back!" Tinsley hollered.

"Or not, it's your choice," Jones joked. "Take you time, I'm getting my body count–"

Before he could finish, the orb above shot down a beam of light over Jones. He immediately froze in midsentence. The smile from his lips was gone, and his entire face appearing emotionless. Jones stood up calmly. He appeared unaware of anything around him anymore.

A few bullets whizzed dangerously close by him. Yet, he remained frozen in place. Finally, he began walking out, stepping into the open. The entire time his eyes held a glaze look. Tinsley noted this and attempted to reach his location, but the bullet storm increased their presence around him, forcing him to remain behind cover.

"Jones what the hell are you doing?! Get behind cover!" Snow yelled. "Jones? Jones, Dammit!"

Till had lost his voice and simply watched in horror. He had an idea of the feeling Jones must have been experiencing from that light. The embodiment of its warm touch. It was something truly indescribable, a feeling only comprehend-able if under the same spell. To be detached from it felt in comparison to detaching one’s own arm. It was like parting with energy that made him feel whole.

Jones was now completely in the open. For a second, it appeared to Till as if he had shifted his gaze onto him. It was hard to tell under the brightness but he thought he caught a slight grimace of fear in Jones' eyes, as if he knew his coming fate.

Without warning, there was an ear-deafening screech in the air. What followed next was the near complete eradication of Jones’s body. Several gaping holes exploded in streaks of light over his figure completely tearing him to shreds.

"It is them! It is the weapons!" Odour's voice bellowed, but it was faint up against the screams of this newly introduced menace.

Abasame shook his head in fear in reminisce of his earlier encounter and immediately took off into the darkness. The notion surprised Odour.

"Where are you going?!” He yelled out at the man. "You coward! Get back here, now! Coward!!!!"

Till was still in a daze and lying without strength. He was ready to close his eyes and drift off until felt his body being torn from the ground.

"Let's go! Move your ass, Till!" Snow barked at him.

Pushing him forward, the two of them scrambled from the wreckage, no longer adhering to the rules of bounding. With these new fond weapons, it did not matter anymore. Branch-like streaks of screaming light continued to whiz past their heads appearing like the wrath of a cloudburst. Thunderous crashes echoed into the air when the attacks met with trees in a spark of fire.

With the tree line a mere feet away, Snow shoved Till forward while leaping into cover. Tinsley managed to run over to the two, dodging two oncoming blasts.

"Sarge, we need to get the hell away from here now!" He barked.

Till was still a bit incoherent. Before words could leave his lips, the beaming orb sent down another ray, this time subjecting Ryder.

"Ryder!!" Till yelled out.

Snow and Tinsley spun around from his cries to meet the horror. Ryder stood up in the same way as Jones, but instead of the blank stare, his face twisted into fear. He began screaming out loud no longer afraid but in horrifying pain.

He threw his head up against a tree, repeating the action over again. Even through the chaos around, they could still make out the sickening cracking being produced. After a moment of shock, Tinsley and Snow rushed in to subdue him, but the light enveloping Ryder was like a cloak burning their skin upon touch.

Ryder continued to bellow out in pain. His vocal chords began to crack from the intensity. Tinsley could not take it anymore and made another attempt to subdue, embodying the pain of the light. He managed to bear hug Ryder’s feeble form. His skin began to singe, forming large boils, burning away bits of his flesh, but regardless, he held on tight. Even so, Ryder fought back with a strength unlike his own in the giant's arms.

Ryder's pain-driven cries sounded inhuman. Abruptly, he managed to slip free. Before anyone could react, he reached for his weapon on the ground, aimed it into his mouth and pulled the trigger. A loud pop went off and the lifeless form of Ryder fell to the ground.

V
There was no time for them to mourn as the light appeared to morph from just a gleaming curtain to a claw-like appendage. Reeling away from Ryder's body, it snaked its way over to its next victim. It moved with such a swift fluidity eyeing now the surprised Odour. Till attempted to push Odour out the way, but the light expanded, swallowing them both.

He felt the burning grip on his skin from the beaming spectacle. This experience had changed from before. The sweet euphoria that melted his heart earlier and plunged him into a joy beyond measure was not present this time. Instead, the fiery pain gnawing at his face and arms was excruciating, he could literally feel his skinning peeling off his bones.

In response, his mouth opened to scream out his agony but his voice was absent – stolen from him. Instead, he felt his lungs consumed in a fiery haze of heated needles jabbing at all angles. He could feel eyes start to roll back against his will.

From there, a rapid image was present in his mind and then it dissipated. It was too quick to comprehend, but then it appeared again. Then again for another second, but he was able to see it this time. More flashes came after, each slowly meshing together providing a full distorted picture.

He found himself kneeling in a chamber glowing in the familiar bleachy color he grew to now loathe. He was not alone though. He was surrounded by strange figures. Their forms were dark and obscured by the light, almost teasing an illusion of their presence, but they were there indeed.

Although their faces were empty, he could feel their unseen gazes upon him. It was like they were glaring at him, detesting him. It felt like their raw emotions had taken form. He could literally feel the embodiment of their hate – it gave off a rather heavy pressure and stung like talons etching slowly over his skin.

Although no words were spoken by the beings, he could perceive their thoughts within his own. They were reeling his mind with images. He was subjected to horrendous sights – he saw people, many screaming frantically and in agony as metallic instruments penetrated or carved without mercy into their flesh. He saw images of Somalian officials in suits gazing into their own spectacle of light from orbs above.

There was images of Soldiers attacking villages and transporting villagers with children and women among them into warehouses. Another set revealed a strange metallic case opening up in a claw-like manner – inside was stacks of oddly shaped armaments being taken by Soldiers. The images escalated in rate all the while, the illumination around grew brighter, consuming everything.

Till had lost all notion of anything else around. He could feel his very essence reeling from his form. What was to become of him? Would he now only exist in a vast pool of nothingness, an imprisonment orchestrated by his bright tormentors until his very form cease to exist? He did not know. Regardless, he was powerless.

Unexpectedly, the white blindness was torn was his sight and reverted back to the dark jungles. He found himself on the ground with an arm gripping his shoulder. Upon rendering a confused gaze, he recognized its owner to Tinsley. The rest of Tinsley was laying over an unconscious Odour. The way they were on the ground suggested he must have tackled them and somehow the notion was enough to release them.

The perpetrating snake-like ray of light made a slow retract upward until it faded with the orb. Till felt a fire erupt within. He immediately rolled to the side and began vomiting uncontrollably. This notion brought him minor relief. Afterwards, he began to feel the pain surging across his face and arms. It felt as if he literally had been roasted alive.

"Joe, are you alright?" Snow asked running up to him.

Till felt very weak. His eyes shifted over to the grinning face of Tinsley.

"Sorry, Sarge. I couldn’t let them take you too," he said.

Till returned a feeble smile back, but their celebration was cut short due to the enemy Soldiers still firing around their area. Their numbers appeared to have increase and they began to push forward now that 'aerial’ support had abandoned them.

Till could barely stand after Snow helped him off the ground.

"We are leaving now!!" Snow ordered.

"What about him?" Tinsley gestured to the unconscious Odour.

"Is he alive?" Till asked weakly.

Tinsley gave a quick pulse check. "Yeah, unfortunately."

"Then bring him. We don't leave anyone behind."

Tinsley picked up the man, slinging him over his shoulder. Immediately after, they retreated from the site. Their pursers remained vigilant, trailing them and firing blindly. Till passed out a few times along the way until eventually blacking out for good.

When he slowly opened his eyes, he found himself lying in a bed. The steady rhythm of a beep was lingering in the background. His eyes traced around the room. It was fairly small, showcasing only a single chair. The walls even the ceiling was a bland white color. Why did it have to be white?

He noticed his arms had been heavily bandaged. The tight constriction around his face gave the assumption that it too was in the same predicament.

The door to the room opened and a middle-aged with thin spectacles and neatly combed hair walked in. He was sporting a white lab coat and held a clipboard in his hand.

"Good afternoon, SFC Till," he said with a warm smile.

"Afternoon? It's the middle of the night," Till managed to cough up.

"Indeed it was when they brought you in. You slept most into the next day, today that is," the man replied, checking the clipboard at the end of the bed. He began jotting notes onto to his own.

"Where am I? Who are you?"

He attempted to sit up, but was met with a sharp pain that seemed to pulse everywhere without a clear origin.

"You shouldn't move," the man brought up. "Here try this."

He pulled out a remote from his pocket and clicked a button. In response, the bed's higher portion began to rise. About a quarter way up, it halted.

"I'm Dr. Keller and your safe. We're at McCarthy - Eisenhower Base," he finally answered.

Safe? Till's thought. Immediately his mind sparked with worry. "Where's Snow and Tinsley?!"

The doctor held up a hand. "Relax, they're here as well, recovering just the same."

He gave off a sigh of relief. "What happened? How did we get here?"

At that moment, the door opened again, this time a man fully dressed in uniform entered. The man wore a sharp suit, crisp in its edges. His chest was decorated with ribbons and metals that met to his shoulder – the shoulders themselves held three golden stars across them.

He had silky gray hair neatly combed to the side. His beady eyes in the midst of wrinkling face lightened when he drew closer.

"General Irons, afternoon, Sir," Till said, issuing a weak salute.

"As you were, son," he said in a firm voice. "SFC Till, I understand you and your men went through quite a lot out there and I'm glad you were able to return to us safely."

"Thank you, Sir. I'm sorry to say that the mission was a failure."

"Don't worry about it. There will be plenty of missions in the future. Right now, I think it's important you just get your rest," the man said behind a false wrinkle smile.

"If you don't mind me asking, Sir? What happened out there?" Till inquired.

"Why, your men, SSG Snow and SSG Tinsley, was it? They were able to haul you over to a neighboring Kenyan village. The villagers hid you there and from there they we're able to call for a MEDEVAC. We came as soon as we could."

"What about Odour?"

"Who?" The General inquired with a confused face.

"There was an unconscious Somalian in our company. He was helping us."

"Oh?" The General replied, giving the doctor a quizzing glance.

"Yes, the Somalian I'm afraid did not make it," the doctor spoke up. "He suffered from massive three-degree burns and severe cerebral trauma. He died an hour after bringing him there. I'm sorry."

"Yes, that is very tragic. Along with Sierra Five team, I understand that we lost two fine Soldiers out there from your team as well."

Till's felt an unseen weight befall his eyes. He was almost hoping their deaths had been a part of some twisted nightmare and they were alright and recovering in another room like the others.

"Well, I'll let you rest now," the General said, heading for the door.

"There's just one more thing, Sir."

He halted returning a subtle face of irritation.

"What happened out there?"

The elderly eyes of the man squinted hard. "I just told you what happened. What's the confusion, Sergeant?"

"Not about that, Sir. I meant...we saw something out there, something unnatural," Till started. "Whatever it was, it did something to me, to all of us. And the weapons we saw, they - they weren't of this world."

The General’s eyes lit softly before easing into a confused annoyed look. "Son, I think you should really rest up now."

"No, Sir, I've rested enough! Our Intel was wrong. The Extremists aren't the enemies, the Somalian government is! They're somehow in league with some…some unknown beings, not of this world. I don’t know. Look, I know how this sounds, but you have to believe me, Sir!"

"SFC Till, do you have any idea how idiotic you sound right now? Would you believe you? I’m going to pretend these crazy accusations are in response to your medications," the man said behind glaring eyes. "Hell, you should be more concerned with your condition, son. Then -"

He stopped abruptly when he noticed the confused look upon Till’s face.

"You do know of your condition, right?" He inquired. "You didn't tell him yet?!" He shot at the doctor startling him.

"I-I was going to, General before you arrived."

"Tell me what?" Till asked, feeling an eerie chill fall down his spine.

The doctor cleared his throat before answering. "I'm sorry, Sergeant but you have cancer."

"Cancer?"

"Yes, Stage Four, I'm afraid."

"I have cancer?" Till repeated, unable to swallow the distasteful news.

"Yes," the doctor confirmed again. "You all do. Although, SSG Snow and SSG Tinsley only have Stage Two. You, I'm afraid have skin, lung and a large mass in your frontal lobe. Not to mention, you suffered from two- degree burns over seventy-five percent of your body.”

"How long do I have?" Till asked without looking up.

"I'm afraid I don't know. Could be months, could be weeks. We’ll need your permission, but with it, we can start the chemo therapy now and hope for the best."

Hope for the best? Such words never sounded so – empty and deceitful. When he glanced back over to the General, he found that he was gone. Somehow he had not noticed his discrete exit. He was not surprised though.

He did catch the look in his eyes when he mentioned the ‘beings’ and the weapons though. It was same subtle expression Odour had given before. The General knew about what was going on - how much he did know or for how long was undetermined. There was also the way his words were phrased, 'there will be plenty of missions in the future.'

Out there, a foreign nation was offering up their own people to being experimented on in exchange for advanced technology. The American government whether they have their own involvement or not caught wind of this trade-off. They wanted to get a hold of these weapons and God knows what else for themselves. That's just like America, never wanting to concede to being second, to being out-classed.

He and his men were mere pawns in a bigger unseen game. His team obviously was not the first to be deployed in cause of such a game, and they certainly would not be the last. There would be plenty of hot shots, plenty of fresh bodies to fill their place, all abiding by the same three worded phrase, ‘no questions asked’. 