======

The entourage of retainers stops us in our tracks. Douglas instigates a few light shoves against the servants, muttering as he marches through the entrance. They failed again to take the hint.

I stand strong against their aggression, unamused by their hospitality, "No, that's not going to happen, period. We can handle our stuff just fine, no need to go that extra mile."

One of the braver servants pushes back with a stern look, unwilling to accept the ultimatum. "It might be imprudent of me to say this but—"

From the side, Anja steps forward with a raised tone. "Noble as our intentions are, we must abide by their wish. They seek to carry their own belongings. It is their right, we are to accept it, even if the code deems otherwise."

"Idiots just can't take our hint can they?" Douglas shoots back with a cold glance. "No way in hell we're giving them our weapons."

The servants drift to our rear, some holding an offended look. They trail silently behind this time, giving everyone an unobstructed path ahead through the hall. "You're doing your jobs, I understand that. But we don't need any assistance, so save yourselves the effort."

"W—we... understand, it would be unbecoming of us to not honor your wishes."

The head servant steps up, forcing his way to my side. "Then, let us guide you to your rooms at the very least. This honour is ours to uphold if nothing else."

Considering his request, I wave him off to the front. It seems reasonable enough. "Go ahead, I won't stop you," I say, urging the man forward.

With a spirited nod, the head servant recalls his entourage to the front. They race ahead to take the lead position forming two files that mirrored our own. James catches up with the surroundings as we trudge through the palace interior, its halls forming a complex web of passages and junctions.

"They didn't hold anything back," he murmurs, then turns around, "half the damn walls are covered in something."

"Yeah," I admit, gaze touring across the ceiling. Murals loomed above, their abstract impressions an endless constellation of colours and shapes—and on occasions, people. "Something new everywhere you turn."

The murals showed advanced signs of aging, the kind that spanned over centuries. In some examples, it was almost impossible to formulate an interpretation because of how much was lost to time. That Warden really did mean it when he said the palace was old.

"Wonder what else they've got in store for us. At this rate, I'm half expecting bigfoot to serve us drinks," Robert briefly muses over comms.

I step in with a reply, slightly amused by the mental image of that famous cryptid in formal attire. "If that thing shows up, might as well start believing in mermaids."

"There's a chance they actually exist," James interjects with a scoff, "Hell, it wouldn't be a surprise. We've all seen the ecology report on New Eden. World's filled with tons of exotics."

"Of course you'd be excited over it," Douglas looks over with a dry tone, "Sometimes I wonder how'd you even make it through selection."

"Me too... not complaining though," James returns with no small amount of pride. "There's lots for me to be proud off, wouldn't trade it for anything."

After concluding the conversation, a warm silence takes over. With the promise of accommodations just around the corner, I was more than a little curious as to what the locals are able to provide—and to what extent.

Most would be tempted to lower their guard with the sudden rush of hospitality. Their veiled show of warmth seemed unnatural—and justifies continued suspicion. While tensions are cool at the moment, that did not mean it will stay that way. I have to keep that in mind.

These people are still the same bunch that took down an expeditionary team, and fired the first shot at us. Anything that might give us an edge over these people, we have to know it. In-depth information about their military capabilities will be at the top of my list.

Anything even peripherally related will be under the radar. Command structure, notable distinctions between different branches of their military, and level of technological sophistication—basically all the good things for the guys back home to come up with a complete threat assessment report.

As long as we have that, this mission will be worth the risk. The results justify the means.

===6 hours later===

After accommodations are settled, the servants ushered us back to the courtyard where the rest are waiting. The two Pilots loitered around, surveying our improvised landing site.

One of them glances our way and signals the rest with a yell. "Desert's back!" he turns around and waves us over.

"Something's got the rest spooked," Douglas observes, "there's a couple of new guys with Cooper's team."

"What do you think they want this time? These new ones are fully decked out," James points ahead. "I'm no expert on these whites, but they look military brass."

I shrug, preparing myself to jump right into the mess ahead. "Only one way to know. Let's go."

Going through with the momentum, I head straight to the commotion, trusting the rest of my team to follow along unconditionally. Wherever this takes us, I have their backs—and vice versa.

The hushed tones subsides as we draw close. I step into Cooper's visual field of view, standing a little too close to one of locals. The latter ignores my presence, shooting only a glance before shifting away.

"Accommodations are... settled," I break the ice, "Room's a little extreme for my taste, but it will do."

"You know that much comfort's wasted on us," Douglas drily adds.

The representative smiles, "As long as you guys are okay with it," he pauses, pendant working its magic. "Anyways, there's something you all ought to know. Intel pretty much is right about the war going on in the east. These guys refer to themselves as Euralian, and from the looks of things... they're on the backfoot."

He gestures to the General, "I was just explaining our incident back at base. Had a hunch that the one's that attacked us are the same guys they're fighting against. I was right."

"Our enemies are devious, cunning—and dare I say better at mustering forces around the battlefields. We have only their Grand Tacticians to thank for such unpredictability," the General proclaims, sternly offering his opinion to the gathering.

He turns to stare at us, eyes zeroed in with clear intent. "Perhaps men like you would know the value of silencing the enemy's head tacticians—and its hassles."

I ignore the remark and shake my head. Robert shoves his way through the small crowd, nudging an elbow at Cooper. "With all due respect, I have to remind you explicitly that any information relating to our operations is to be considered strictly classified. You can't just go around referencing our location."

He places a hand on the representative's shoulder for further emphasis, "Listen, if they somehow find out where we're hunkered down—it might just lead to another incident. We can't risk that."

Cooper pries his hand off, "I know... seriously I know. But if I can't say anything about us, they'll just return the favour. This is how we get the intel we need, there's simply no other angle around this."

"Now you sound like the assholes back at base," Robert points out.

"Only because they put me in this position," he counters. "And I agreed with their proposition, so we can't return empty handed."

A firm voice quickly interjects at the current pause, breaking the two men out of their discussion. Batting aside his annoyance, the General adopts a grim stance. "Your emissary is right, it is only fair to have equal exchange of knowledge. He may enquire about all the civic lore that he seeks, if we are allowed the same treatment. As for the likes of you," he gestures directly at me.

"We share a common adversary, so surely your thirst for knowledge must extend to them. I propose you join our cause for the benefit of both of us," the General adds.

Not liking the spotlight one bit, I return with a cautious tone. "What are you suggesting... General," I say, referencing his title to gauge how genuine the proposition was.

"Swear fealty for only a single quest, proposed by one of own. An endeavor behind enemy lines, where you may learn a great many things during your venture. We only ask that you commit to the slaughter of a single Grand Tactician. Again an exchange of equal measure."

"Oh for God's sake," I raise a hand to my temple, feeling the rising headache at his absurd suggestion. "Let me run this through with the rest."

The General nods, not a hint of humor present. "Do what you must, but be swift." He turns around, unfurling a scroll recently produced by one of his colleagues.

"You've got that pendant," I swing around to Cooper's side, "so what do you think?"

"Unexpected, really fucking unexpected," he answers, matching my surprise, "but this will give us unprecedented access to their war. Much more than our drones could anyways. Didn't think we would have the opportunity for something like this."

"Got to admit, I'm a little miffed the offer didn't extend to us," Gabriel walks up. Slung around his neck was his pendant, explaining the operative's sudden entry into the discussion.

"You shouldn't," I reply, going past him. "There has to be a catch to this."

"Still worth mulling it over," Gabriel comments before getting everyone together.

With both our teams listening in, I explain the General's proposition in full—giving them time to process it on their own accord. The reactions are mixed, but most expressed some level of astonishment—or in the case of James, outright amusement.

"Y—you sure they aren't messing with us?" James stifles a laugh, putting aside his spirited nature, "I'm all for knowing your enemy, or whatever that saying was. But why the hell would they put this up? We're practically strangers to them."

"Call me crazy, but I want to hear more of their plan first," Douglas muses, "there's got to be a reason why he's asking us, and not his own troops."

"I'm willing to hear it too," I say, "maybe we can work something out. It's probably our best shot at getting intel on the field... so to speak."

"So it's a yes then?" Robert surmises based on the lack of clear opposition. "Not against either, so I'll go with majority."

"I'll give him our answer," I conclude, swinging around to give the man our decision. A few soldiers break off to intercept, holding me back with a stern look. Their message is clear and I stop, patiently waiting for the General's attention to leave his scroll behind the bulwark of troops.

A soft rustle then breaks the stalemate. Abruptly furling the paper, he strides right up to me—an underlying smile hiding behind coarse lips, discernable for a brief moment. He passes the scroll to a soldier, keeping his attention in my general direction.

"What shall it be, masked one?" he asks, pushing aside his own troops.

A pang of uncertainty hung on my shoulders, but I trudge on. "We'll listen to your proposal. From there, then we can decide."

"Fair enough," he answers, retreating with his entourage. He beckons me with a hand. "Bring your cadre along. We head to the warring chambers this instant."

======

Candles flickered with a dim glow, casting a familiar orange against the isolated room. Centred around a large stone table was a gathering of officials, and us four. Several servants, dressed in their flowing silks loitered near the walls—skirting my peripherals every so often. They held refreshments—some form of wine if a guess had to be made. So far, only a few were called up. And in all cases, not from us.

A large map takes up over half of the table's surface. Positions of allied and enemy formations came in the form of miniature chess-like pieces, while topography information lay inscribed on the map itself, forming a decent image of the land on the immediate east—a sizable forest.

The General speaks up, tearing his eyes off the table. "You surely present yourselves as formidable, but caution still needs to be observed if you wish to undertake this endeavor."

I urge him along, "And why is that?"

"The federacy makes use of machines in war, more so than we would. But like us, they have an elite cohort of sorcerers. They are skilled trackers, hunters, and represent their very best warriors. They fight well in the dark, and have already slain countless of my warriors."

"They are the Silent Whispers," he pauses with a frown, studying the map with an intense gaze. "A single one of their sorcerers is a match for perhaps ten of my own. Not by skill, but by cunning. They will not thread lightly, so expect no mercy from the likes of them."

"So they're dangerous and unpredictable. And they can operate after dark," I muse, thinking back to the midnight incident. There might be a connection.

It might be speculation as of now, but there is a possible correlation between the General's description of these soldiers and the ones that attacked the base. They could belong to the same unit/formation. If it is the case, Intelligence will definitely appreciate any further details we can find along that avenue.

Finishing the thought, I relay the General's explanation to the rest of my team. All three listened and said nothing even after silence regains its footing.

"Maybe... maybe it's a worth a shot then," James starts with a nod, "might get us good intel on that other faction while we're at it."

"Yeah, that's the whole idea," I add to cement his point.

Sinking back to the map, I point towards a certain location. "You say the targets... these Tacticians are around this location—a military encampment just like the one we first met at. It's deep on the eastern end of this forest, with a large river situated to its immediate south," I pause, stringing together possible points of insertion based on topography data.

He urges me onward with a deeper frown. "Go on, I suspect you have more to say..."

I plant a finger on the closest possible drop point, a small clearing denoted with a subtle spray of ink. "Ideally we would drop somewhere near this area. Forest canopy will be sparse here, but should provide enough to cover our approach to the encampment."

Retracting the finger, I let curiosity take the front. "I'm guessing these guys are important to their command structure," I muse, opening the option for the General to further add on.

An uneasy silence follows in the wake of my words. Troubled looks were casted at me from several of his colleagues.

"Yhunian Grand Tacticians, they fill the same role as I when it comes to leading an army. As much as it pains me to say it, they are my equals in tactics and planning," he folds his arms, pausing for a brief moment. "They lead the conquest, and are the prime instruments of this unexpected war."

The General conjours a white orb on top of his hand. After a gentle push, it drifts eerily towards the centre of the table. Douglas takes a step back after watching the orb coast in his direction, stopping only after the entity settles above the map.

It begins to morph, its uniform white slowly being replaced by a multitude of colours, with the most prominent being a deep shade of blue. The once featureless orb slowly consolidates into a definitive shape, gaining the proportions of a humanoid figure.

"My spies indicate the presence of at least three of their Grand Tacticians in this encampment. That report is three days old, still fresh. Many good men died for this knowledge to grace our ears," he describes.

His description is now visualized by the floating entity, showing someone clad in ceremonial-type armor. Its design is an obvious deviation from these Euralians, and eerily resembles the ones that assaulted our base in terms of colour configuration and armor design. Barring the total absence of any form of headgear, the colours and general look are close enough that a comparison is not that much of a stretch.

"Blue armor, with gilded shoulders and leggings. In temperate regions, they sport this garb," the General explains with a pointed finger, a frown planted on his lips.

I hold out a hand to signal my intention to interject, "We'll drop in, and do what we can to take these guys down. No promises, but we'll try."

Douglas, Robert and James stood on the side. Upon hearing the affirmation, all three share a glance with each other. Unspoken thoughts were exchanged through a medium that required only familiarity with both sender and recipient.

Nothing else remained that needed to be discussed. All the things have been finalized. "If that is all, we can begin," I continue with a decisive tone.

Relenting with a nod, the General replies, "Very well," he briefly pauses, apparently deep in thought. "Know that with this sacrifice, our lore masters will provide all the knowledge that your emissary wishes. On my honour I will see to this."

===1800 hours===

The last remnants of daylight showers the courtyard with a gentle hue of orange. At the centre, a lone fountain glistens under the dimming skies. Water gushes out from the top through unknown mechanisms, fanning out to cascade down its marble-like tiers.

The trickles persisted throughout the team's preparation, a welcome addition if anything to the monotonous task of ensuring every single piece of equipment is working as intended. With only the wait on night-time remaining, that left ample room for boredom to take root.

"Why are you fighting on our behalf? We've done nothing that would warrant your help," an inquisitive voice remarks, its owner a recent newcomer to the list of those I considered genuinely harmless.

"We have our reasons. Many, actually," I reply from my vantage point on the Valor, tucked away in an empty seat. "Hopefully it's worth it for us—excuse me..."

I look beyond her figure, gesturing to the rest of team Desert across the courtyard, "We're dusting off in fifteen!"

"About fucking time man," James gushes with relief, trotting past Anja and and strapping himself onto the nearest seat.

He turns his attention inwards to his equipment, muttering the steps in sequence until he signals his readiness for the umpteenth time so far. "Armor systems' showing green. Same with the rifle, safety lock in good condition. Scope's clear—likewise with the feeding mechanism."

"Just like the last time you checked five minutes ago," Robert calls out without any inherent malice, "You've been cleaning that stick for over an hour, it's about as good as it can be."

James shoots back with a retort, clearing his throat. "Force of habit, but I really don't mind it. Not like there's anything else to do here anyways."

In the fading light of sundown, Anja steps a few paces back to allow the team clear access to the Valor. Douglas ignores her presence as he passes, eliciting a meeker demeanor from the already reserved women.

"While we're gone, I need you to do one thing," I break through her diffidence.

She gathers her resolve, eyes erupting with surprise at the request. "Very well, what shall you have me do?"

I shift my eyes to overlook her petite shoulder, gazing into the torchlit hallways. "If you really are trustworthy, I need you to say this without any dishonesty. I have to know directly, if our representative really is safe from your people."

She offers a protest, but holds back as I raise a finger, "Not denying that your people are welcoming. But it seems off," I pause to give a small shrug, reminiscing about their efforts to cater to our every none existent needs. "They've got nothing to gain, but they still did so anyways."

"You know little of my people, but I will not hold it against you," Anhj replies in a soft tone, gathering confidence with each word. "We are tied to traditions, what you have experienced is merely a single facet of our timeless devotion to these practices. They stretch back beyond written history, perhaps even to the time of Old Nul'ma. We uphold these practices to honor those who came before."

She beams up with a resolute expression, raising a hand to further accentuate her words. "With all my heart and soul, I say this with truth and unmasked honesty—your fellow kinsmen are in safe shores."

A flush of relief gathers overhead. "Good, I can believe that."

I grab the Pendent by the chains, registering the familiar whine of powered flight. The gem's pulsating glow diminishes, now inert without any form of support or power.

"Give this back to me when I return, I won't be able to talk to your people without it, I trust you will keep it safe." I say, hoping the gestures translated in the likely absence of understanding.

Depositing the pendant into her waiting hands, she returns a small nod. She studies me with an earnest look, responding in her own language. Though it was now incomprehensible in the absence of the pendant, I understood her gestures enough to know she was relaying her intentions on keeping the item safe.

I turn around and excuse myself with a short quip, bounding up onto the aircraft's dimly lit interior. "Last man in," I call out over comms, giving the pilots the headcount for their benefit.

"This definitely earns us hazard pay," James offers with hint of anticipation riding along. "Only God knows the shit that's in store for us out there."

"No Banshees on intercept, look's like their garrison's got the memo. We're off to a good run, vectoring eastward towards the red zones," the Lead Pilot announces. With a slight incline forward, the aircraft races ahead undaunted towards our destination.

"Don't think it'll stay that way once we cross over," Douglas interjects after the pause. "Their Banshees out in the field won't have any idea."

I look out the window, seeing the orange glazed clouds sinking below. The sun hid beneath the horizon, casting a fading glare that was about to retire. A few pioneering stars appeared on the far side—revealing a patchwork of previously unseen constellations across an evening sky.

"No species of dragons," I pause, reflecting on the mention, "should fly at this altitude. We're roughly a mile up, should be safe."

"Might be something out there that could," James retorts, falling off at the end as three pairs of eyes gained on him, "just saying..."

After awhile, the team opts for continued silence. As the sky transitions to a dark blue, there was only the monotonous drone of the engines to blot out any wandering thoughts and second guesses. We were in this deep, and there's no backing out.

"Co-pilot speaking, we're 10 minutes out. Airspace is clear—no signs of dragons, wildlife or otherwise," he says over the intercom, prompting a revitalized surge of anticipation running through the cabin.

"This is it," I say purely to psyche myself for the task ahead.

The cabin's tactical lights flicker on to cast a deep red, a scorching shade purely synonymous with the impending start of a mission. We will be operating on our own from this point on. The other three likewise gathered their wits, undertaking a process unique to their own. It was all done in silence, with the occasional tinkering of equipment and murmurs in reference to a procedure.

Douglas unlocks the door's mechanism beside him, fishing out the drones from his frontal pouches. "I'll toss these things out right now. Last call."

Robert continues on his behalf. "I trust the pilots on this one. The heaviest fighting's occurring right below us, this is our money shot. They've set been for orbital surveillance—passive sensors only, I'm not risking active scanning until we know more about these guys."

"Sounds good enough," I reply, "send them out."

At the signal, Douglas leans back—leveraging the door open with his weight. A strong gust rushes in from the small opening, growing louder as the operative continues with the task. With a hand firmly on an overhead railing, he extends a closed fist outside. 

"Black Viper drones away, all six," he calls out, retracting his hand and leveraging the door back to its previous configuration.

"All that's left is our proposed target," James reflects as the tension looms around us, "this'll be quite the tale if we make it back."

"We will," I pick up on his worries. "We won't be slugging it out with the locals—whichever side they might belong to."

"Visual on landing sight one. No movement detected, still advise caution," the Pilot announces, placing the Valor over the clearing. The descent and subsequent landing proceeds without issues, and soon I trot out past the door and come into contact with the eerie scenery ahead.

Trees and winding vegetation dotted the terrain—the dark outlines an eerie maze of branches and leaves. "Clear nine o'clock," I report, pulling down the night vision googles over the visor.

"Likewise on six," Robert announces similarly, as did the rest.

"We've done our part, good luck fellas." 

With that final entry the Valor races away, its comforting drone eventually overtaken by the forest's constant biophony.

It is almost like Earth, really it feels like it. But there was always the occasional sound that made that impression a stretch at best.

===2020 Hours Military Time===

"Visual on infantry, four total," Robert calls out with a raised fist.

I motion the rest to stop and hold position, allowing the vegetation to break up our silhouettes. "Got I.D?" Douglas whispers through his helmet, adhering to radio silence.

"Negative—too far out to tell," he shakes his head.

James whispers next to me, "They're routing northwards, doubt they'll notice us."

I keep my voice to a minimum. "Agreed, let those bastards pass."

The unknowns press onwards, eventually passing out of sight through the denser thicket of trees roughly a hundred metres ahead. After a few minutes of observation, the team resumes its advance at a noticeably lower pace. 

After that brief encounter, it seemed only natural skirt on the side of caution. Everyone sided well behind that line, it needed no verbal cue. In terrain like this, the vegetation will be extremely useful for concealment. That advantage goes both ways, and can be used against us at any time.

Further along the eastward route, more encounters pop up. Both sides were hauling across the wooded terrain much faster than I would have expected, adding to the list of things to be taken under caution. The units operated in teams of no more than six, and rarely loitered in the area—their presence easily signified by the harsh trotting of footsteps against the foliage and occasional light source.

Evasion of patrols—both Euralian and Yhunian was easier than anticipated. That was good news for everyone's bundled nerves. It may imply these guys have a distinct disadvantage in night operations.

The tight maze of trees gradually transitions to rolling grasslands as we advanced ahead. We fade into the tall grass, leaving the woods behind in our pursuit. So far there was nothing to indicate that our concealment was broken.

"Contact, multiple heat sigs' ahead. We're close," James recites before issuing the halt, crouching on a knee. "These are only the outlying camps, we're right on the margins."

A soft whine echoes from a particular camp. Drawn to the unfamiliar sound, I study the particular encampment. Soldiers draped in Yhunian military attire prowl the outskirts, behind them lay the sleek visage of a creature—several actually.

"These aren't Banshees," I remark, getting a read on their general morphology. "Only four limbs—no extra pair spouting off its back. Wing membranes on their frontal arms."

"Species might already be catalogued, science wing filed an extensive report on these types a few days before the attack." Robert interjects, then shrugs. "There were a few mentions about a domesticated variant, this must be it." 

"A few look like shit," Douglas murmurs, tone sinking an octave.

Studying the camp, the state of these creatures comes into clear view. A few appeared to have prominent injuries, specifically on their frontal limbs. The wing membranes were either torn, burnt or a mixture of both. These things were grounded—likely for the rest of their lives.

"Heads up, main encampment in visual. Eleven o'clock, I'm sure this is it," Robert announces, pulling the team back into focus.

"Sentries up on the ramparts, likewise with the gates," I observe. "Any visual on HVTs?"

"Not yet," Douglas replies, turning to me. "We need to split up—get a different bearing. We'll have better luck if we can get an overwatch over the ramparts."

"Definitely," Robert affirms, siding with our second-in command. "There's a small hill two klicks north, not much but it's the only elevation we have."

"Alright then," I pause, briefly considering the benefits and downsides. "You two go ahead, me and James will dig our heels here. Just in case our targets pass through that gate."

"Understood," Douglas replies, his visored glare an assuring sight. "We'll meet you both at point Foxtrot if things go to shit. Hopefully it won't come to that."

"God speed," James whispers at the tail end. He settles into position beneath the foliage, watching our fellow operatives fade into the terrain.

Planting myself onto the earth, I drag the weapon to my front, eyes now centred on the scope. This was a stance I was well acquainted with, and one I fully expect to remain in for at least a few hours.

"Now we wait," I murmur.

"Great..." James drawls, as expected.

===2150 Hours Military Time===

"Safety's off, can you confirm the I.D?"

"It's definitely the target, armor matches. Plus no headgear," I pull away from the lens. The visor picks up on the man's silhouette, outlining his figure in yellow—the standard for anything the visor's algorithm deems as being humanoid.

At a relatively close distance of six hundred metres, a well placed shot is well within reason. This person's life is the price we have to pay for Cooper's team to get their ticket. Whoever the man is, or what capacity he serves in this faction's military is irrelevant. That didn't mean I was lacking in regret.

 "I'll spot your kill, ready?" I sink back in line with the binoculars, prepared to read out the parameters given by the device.

James lifts his night optics away from the visor, hands firmly in position on his rifle. With a deep breath, he lines up with the scope. "Yeah, give me the numbers."

"Standby," I reply, running the math based on the external factors the device could provide.

"Final read?" James whispers under his breath.

After running the numbers one last time, I give James his read. "Target stationary, with three escorts. Distance—six twenty metres. Angle of elevation—plus four. Windage—1.5 knots blowing left to right. Negligible humidity. "

I breath in, keeping track of the Yhunian Tactician. So far, all variables are stable. "Fire when ready."

"Copy," James answers, now zoned out. In the moment that follows, there is nothing more imposing than the silence.

The anticipation builds up and all outlying thoughts dissipate. A shot finally echoes, soft and distant. It stemmed from the North. He still has yet to pull the trigger.

I add up the seconds that followed after setting aside the binoculars. 'Anytime now...'

Finally it came—the sharp crack associated with proximity.

"Nicked him—centre mass," James reports, "Not exactly a kill shot, but he's out. Won't be long before they sound the alert. I've got visual on more infantry types pouring out that western gate."

"That's our cue to leave then." I get up, turning around to establish a mental route. The outer camps were still a consideration, we had to be careful in our escape—the same goes for the other half of our team.

"We'll have to meet you both at Foxtrot—Baker and the others are too risky. There's a surge in foot traffic on our south side, too much active movement to skirt around them," Douglas announces over comms.

"Copy," James replies on my behalf, "See you guys at Foxtrot, out."

=======

The lights bleed into the foliage—torches and other forms of illumination. Distant shouts echoed as we retreat further back into the forest, masking ourselves within the thicket. We continue our hustle towards the rally point, trotting through several miles of rough terrain in quick succession.

I crouch down to one knee, monitoring our possible pursuers. "We're close."

James halts beside me, clearing our six. "Any sign of our guys?"

I reply with a tone of uneasiness, "Not yet, no friendly sigs' in visual."

A frown passes as I note the current time. "Their last check in's over twelve minutes ago."

James stands up from the crouch, taking the initiative, "I recommend we trail north, they might have run into trouble."

We navigate through the forest once again with a strong feeling of trepidation, carefully watching the shadows for movement—friendly or otherwise. Beneath the slight rustle of leaves came a distant twang, reminiscent of a gunshot.

"Picking up their tags," James hollers as he races ahead, "they're on to something."

"Desert actual, check your fire. We're on approaching from your south." I glare at the dim lights ahead, trying my best to make sense of the situation. All I know for certain, is that a firefight has transpired.

"Desert two," Douglas shoots back as another gunshot reverberates through the channel, "got some pursuers on our tail. They're tracking us somehow. Three targets at least, maintaining distance—three hundred meters."

"Copy, got a visual on you both," I reply, noting a pair of faint silhouettes through squinted eyes. Even with the visor compensating, they were barely discernable. Little more than blue outlines strung on the foliage.

"No concrete I.D yet, but we suspect Yhunian Special Force Analogs. The ones that the General mentioned," Robert interjects. "Warning shots won't do the trick, these assholes are here to stay."

"If they keep their distance, its fine by me," I reply, on edge at the thought of being watched. "But we're not staying around to give them a chance to change that. We took a bite out of their command structure, pretty damn sure we're on their bad side."

"No shit," James gestures to the south. "Foxtrot's a few Klicks south. We gotta move, pronto!"

With everyone on the same idea, we proceed directly towards our rally point. "Assholes really are persistant," I say, risking a glance back to register the unnerving figures still hot on our trail.

Pulling back ahead, disembodied shapes shimmer right in front just as gunfire erupts on the left. I pause—reassessing the terrain and grinding to a halt, almost tripping over a small pit in the process.

"Contact—front!" Robert yells out over the chaotic discharge. He backs away from a dark figure just as more creep in from the shadows—now only painted by the visor. The hunched shapes numbered a handful, and carried an ominous glow as they approached.

Reacting accordingly, I brush away the initial shock and hustle the weapon into position. Pulling hard on the trigger—the rifle answers my prayers with a violet sputter—its temper directed at the closest figure only a few meters away.

Backing away as I fired, the figure collapses into a heap of garments—still maintaining its roughly humanoid shape. More of its colleagues follow suit under the withering hail of gunfire as the others keep up their barrage.

Amidst the firefight, a voice yells. "Jerome, rear!" Just as I register the call out, a sudden force tackles me from behind, forcing out a gasp as the ground races to me. Pinned against the earth, I search in desperation for my rifle, only to find it nowhere within sight or reach.

The stabbing attempts continue against my rear as I fought against the weight of my assailant. I thrash to the side, meeting a translucent figure in lieu of anything resembling an actual person. It had no face, but its desire to injure or kill is easily represented by the harsh growl it gives as it stares back—its attack briefly stalled.

Continuing the assault, the figure drives the knife edge first into my chest, once again glancing against the plating. Struggling against the assault, I sink my fingers onto its limbs, pushing back hard against its attempts to administer a fatal stab.

Strands of fabric hung over me as the struggle continues, they fell away to reveal a glimpse of skin. Somewhere within the garment, was a person—also vocalizing their struggle for dominance. This only made it more personal.

"Piece of shit!" I squirm beneath my would-be assailant, spotting a brief opening as it shifts its weight. With my legs unable to leverage support, my options are limited but that is all I need.

Still pressing back against the knife, I register a sharp change in direction and evidently realize the new target of its assault—my neck. It was potentially exposed lying at the junction between the helmet and plated vest.

Trusting a single arm is enough to temporarily stave off a jab, I reach down in haste for my sidearm.

"Stay still," James hollers as he approaches from the peripheral.

"It's under control, wait—wait!" I roar back with a glare, aiming the pistol and firing at my attacker in quick successive bursts. Each shot represented my ire and resentment. The euphoria floods my vision as the figure collapses into a heap, dropping its knife in the process. 

James turns around to fire a few more shots into the distance as yells from our fellow operatives keeps the silence at bay. Douglas is closest to the body and springs into motion, hesitating only for a moment before producing a small knife from his pocket.

"Cover me," he points at me before shifting the body over to its back. With a reverse grip he cuts off the garment in one smooth motion almost like a hot knife through butter. The torn garments fall apart to reveal the smooth sheen of blue accented armor and skin strained with fresh crimson.

"What are you doing?" I frown, but nonetheless understood his motives.

"They're flesh and blood, not exactly ghosts," he muses before examining the tattered robes on a limp hand—its haunting glow still a latticework of blue markings. "This thing's some kind of disguise, which explains the appearance."

"That answers some questions, but we still have to move," James asserts as he fires several shots outward. "More are just gonna warp in—teleport... or whatever if we give them time."

"I'm done," Douglas leaves the corpse behind, resuming a hard pace westward to our extraction point. The rest follow his lead—occasionally administering a few shots out towards our pursuers.

I quickly glance around for my rifle, unable to locate the weapon in the few precious seconds that followed. Most of the surrounding foliage was at knee-level, which made it abundantly clear what my options are, or rather my lack thereof.

"Fuck," I turn around on a bitter note, deciding to leave the weapon behind. It stood against every fibre of my being to commit such an act, but it had to be done.

Anger and resentment rose again, this time directed inwards. "Fuck!" I yell, drawing a few glances my way. If the others had comments regarding the loss of a firearm, they decided against voicing it out.

For now, I have to let that infraction slide. Moving forward is the only thing that matters right now. I can deal with that mistake later.

===End===

"Our armies fought for the Queen and King Regent, but they still fought in the Empire's memory. The Black Hand Cohorts once marched in endless procession during the era of expansion.

The few legions that remained cling to the old ways, our only link to a time as an empire. They will endure, perhaps until the last days of our people."

-The Era Of Recent Antiquity, Verses Of Nirin'thia : From An Empire To A Kingdom

Transliterated from English to Nul'Kurai, the Linga Franca of the Euralian Kingdom.

It is meant to be read left to right, but bottom to top.