-0142 Military Hours, 20th of April
-Visegrad Island, Western Coastline

Hunkered down in the deeper portions of the jury rigged base, I continue the work on repairing the last set of communications' hardware from the survivors of the Task Force.

The humid conditions within the limestone cave distorted my sense of time, making the last thirty hours feel shorter than it actually is. Being the only one with more than a surface level understanding of electronics, the tedious job naturally fell into my sphere of responsibility.

I left nothing to chance concerning the serviceability of the equipment, it was not difficult by any stretch of the word as much of the issues can be solved by replacing the damaged components. The spares within my utilities bag were more than able to supply the parts needed to go ahead with this approach, leaving much of my worries centered on the blonde-haired inhabitants of this archipelago.

Burned out electrical connections, the occasional diode being unable to resist electrical backflow. The latter points to probable backfeeding, something I can confidently say given my specialization in this particular field.

That is what the locals are capable of, compromising the integrity of our equipment. Whether it was intentional or otherwise is irrelevant, the fact remains we have no obvious means of countering them. It made their soldiers a... significant variable in regards to the operation ahead.

"1-3's in position," a soldier calls out to me, rounding a corner through the sizable cave system. Readied to move out in a moment's notice, he stops several meters away, tactical light beaming through the oppressive darkness to reach me.

My aching hands continue to throb with the dull ache as I stow away the torch stand and miscellaneous tools, the consecutive hours requiring precision movement from my fingers exacting its toll on the muscles.

"Good, there's no better time then now. You're back in business, should be working fine right now," I reply with a leveled voice, working out the kinks on my back as I stand up. Grabbing my weapon off the ground, I turn to face the Lance Corporal.

I prepare the device for a toss over to the expectant trooper, seeing his hand readied for the catch. "Here you go." Giving my arm a swing, I use the momentum to send it the rest of the way to him.

"Thank you sir."

"Don't mention it," I deflect the praise, immediately getting through to testing the device. "...comms check one, two, three. Are you reading me." I say, waiting for the soldier to discern the quality of the receiving audio.

Seating the headset back onto his helmet, he acknowledges the transmission. "Loud and clear, no degradation on receiving end."

"Good." I direct the Lance Corporal to follow me, intending to head outside. "What's our assessment on their ships and port." A deep resonating thunder echoes from the outside, breaking the stale silence that dominated my surroundings for the past three hours or so.

"Recon shows minimal activity, they're waiting the storm out. Their security level is still significant along the docks, with various patrols out as far as five Klicks inland. The drones have visuals on at least some of our people, concentrated towards the stern of the largest ship," he says, navigating through a collection of stalagmites along the way.

He continues on after clearing them, a nervous tinge bleeding through the tone. "It's... mainly these Behemoth types we'll be having issues with. We have to be careful about this one."

I think back to my encounter with those... things, stopping for a moment to recall the sheer amount of gunfire required to immobilize a single unit. InOps' decision to label these things as walking tanks is in no way an exaggeration.

"Don't worry much over them, that's why Strike Blue was prepped for long term." I nudge his side to shake him out of it. From a personal standpoint, I'm fully expecting their missles to make the difference if we get bogged by unforeseen circumstances.

"Definitely, but still..." he mutters, not willing disregard his worry.

I stifle the urge to sigh, knowing it is a valid concern. "We've already agreed to this timing at the start, it's the only feasible way."

This late into the night, most of the locals would be asleep at the settlement, leaving them out of this mess. There should be a minimal number of civilians caught in the probable crossfire if it does come it, a hostile confrontation right at their port.

"They still won't take this lying down."

"...It's a given." That was my greatest concern. The operation did not sit well with me, regardless of our intentions.

No matter the perspective, it will be us assaulting the port. My only wish is to see this through without casualties on either side, and the successful rescue of any captives we can find.

The both of us silently agree to end the topic on that particular note, our footsteps being one of the two things left to signify our presence throughout the overwhelming darkness.

Further up we pass by the two researchers, backs against the wall, expression barely discernible against our head lights. Given the lack of a response to our proximity, I decide to send them a quick inquiry on their well-being, if only to serve as a brief distraction from the upcoming mission.

"How are you doing," I ask, less of a question and more of a statement.

"We'll be fine, as soon as your mission ends. Just... waiting on the Jaguars to bring us back to base," one of them replies with a shiver, demoralized from the conditions here.

Turning to face them, I use a reassuring tone in an attempt to raise their spirits. "You'll be on the way back before noon, if things go accordingly." They have not been through something like this before, so I can understand their obvious show of dejection.

"Hopefully... we're counting on you."

I resume my advance after a short while, content with that slight show of concern, my companion sending them a parting look before continuing along. We make it to the entrance in under a minute, linking up with the rest of the men outside.

The relentless gale billows strongly against my helmet, its foreboding howls adding to the intensity of the weather. No longer sheltered by the cave, I brace myself against the heavy downpour as a wave of cold seeps through the armor's insulation.

"1-3's still holding position, nothing new from them so far. They've cleared us to proceed, the locals haven't caught wind of their presence." Robert informs me, yelling through the intense storm. Appearance slightly blurred by the curtain of rain, I opt to close the distance with him.

"What about the Jaguars."

"Weather's a little rough, but our pilots say it's nothing they haven't trained for. They'll take off for rendezvous once we're near the port."

"Good." I place a hand on his shoulder, sliding the NVD's over my eyes in preparation. Everyone knows explicitly their roles for this rescue op. "Tell them we're moving to Phase Two, updates for both stay as they are at twenty minutes."

He acknowledges, voice muffled against the rain. "Right away."

"Equipment check!" I sound out, directed solely at the troopers a fair distance away, knowing fully my team has already done so in my absence.

I give the Sergeant time to assess the readiness of his men, noting the specifics on how he conducts himself, getting a rough estimate on his confidence level. The sense of discipline is there, currently masking an underlying layer of uncertainty, the latter showing most prominently in the manner he keeps a constant all-around vigil.

Nothing in training ever really compares to actual field experience, it was one of the things that can never be fully emulated.

"Lieutenant, 1-4's good to go. Ready to proceed." The Sergeant pushes me out of my internal monologue, squad lined up at his rear.

I acknowledge him with a nod, "Phase two, Wilson you've got the front." Giving the order to move out, I direct the aforementioned soldier to lead the way.

The Lance Corporal issues me an affirmative, going to the front without hesitation. "Understood, taking point."

He leads off, assault rifle on the low alert position. The weapon's infrared laser grazes against the woodland brushes beneath, visible only through night optics as I trail behind the designated pointman, my own pointed further away at a collection of trees.

Pushing deeper into the forest, we make our way towards the focus of our mission, on alert for anything hiding within the thicket that now surrounds us. Attentive eyes focused ahead, I did my part to ensure nothing catches us off guard.

The canopy violently thrashes about, its wavering branches discarding their leaves every so often while the occasional thunder crackles overhead, the lightning casting a brief flare through the thick curtain of greenery.

The cold ambiance further envelops me as the torrent of rain continues unabated, rendering the forest floor a wet slog, my boots sinking with each step. By the time the sun rises, I fully expect them to be entirely caked in mud.

'Damn this weather...' I mask the complaint as a thought, sealing my lips to any unnecessary chatter. It is then the image of a young Catherine flashes over my thoughts, drawing a parallel to my surroundings based on a faded memory.

A tear stricken ten year old, caught off guard by a storm without our mother in sight, looking up to me for safety even as we endlessly wander the woods for an end to our plight. I had her back, keeping her spirits up no matter the cost.

I bring the reminiscing to an end, shaking my head clear over the sudden emergence of that memory. There is no denying it, I miss my sister.

Constantly in the fight to maintain body temperature, shivers begin to take place along my core muscles as the weather takes its toll. With my fatigues drenched in rainwater, there isn't much I can do to stave off the cold, much less rid myself over this pit of remorse.

Deciding to shift my attention elsewhere, I bring up my left wrist, opening the suit interface to bring up the time. True to my estimates, it is close to 0300 hours. This leaves around four hours to work with before the sun rises, a sizable window to do what we came here for.

We went on, fully aware of several Behemoth patrols nearby with the assistance of drone coverage. My pulse steadily increases as we near the ocean, knowing the increased detection risks from this point on.

The abundance of trees is noticeably reduced, not enough to consider the terrain exposed, but remaining an issue to me nonetheless.

Someone holds a fist up, immediately crouching low. "Got eyes on incoming, three of them." I relay the gesture to the men at the back, going prone against the dirt, squirming slightly as the wet mud sinks around my knees and elbows.

I stay motionless within the grass, keeping my breathing light as I apply the fundamentals of jungle warfare to the current situation.

Fully on edge with the rain dictating the stifling atmosphere, I keep my weapon on alert as the Behemoths come into view, switching the safety off.

The ground trembles periodically as they lumber through the foliage a fair distance away, their heads free to rotate in any direction, apparently not limited by any sort of joins, or more possibly the lack thereof.

After a few moments, I begin to realize these ones are different from the ones my men encountered in the past. Running my eyes from top to bottom, I take note of the significant differences, the larger ceremonial head crest and reinforced plating across its torso giving me some cause for concern.

The new variants continue on without stop, eventually trailing off into the distance. I give it a few more minutes to be safe before I get up.

"Cleared," I sound out via comms, looking for any signs of further activity. The density of their routes were noticeably increasing as we get closer towards the shoreline, requiring significant alterations to the original route.

Using the reduced visibility still afforded by the terrain and weather, we manage to keep our presence in the dark, bypassing several more patrols. With possible survivors of the Taskforce less than a kilometre away, I had every intention of getting myself to the front of the action.

Stepping to the front, I motion my forearm to my rear indicating the rest to form up behind me, relegating all my communications to hand signals. I carefully lead the way closer to the port, going around the small collection of buildings that directly led to it.

My eyes naturally finds itself drawn to that familiar sign with the image of a cup and bed, noting the building's barred doors and windows. I shift my head back to the front, curious to know what happened on the side of their civilians ever since leaving that place.

Bypassing all sources of light towards the shore, the sound of the rough waves covers the advance of the strike team as we tread over the hardened sand, the unpredictable waves lashing constantly over our feet.

With 1-3 tasked to recon the village's military response back up on the north east, the infiltration of the largest vessel will be up to my fireteam, and the UN squad alongside us.

Distorted lights flicker along the shore as the fleet of sixteen anchors down at the port, bracing against the stubborn waves as it crashes repeatedly against them, sails tucked away from the wind. Among them, dwarfing the rest of her escorts, is the probable flagship of their naval force.

This is where they are being held....

The ornamented vessel is akin to the magnetic north, and I was a traditional compass, conditioned to seek it out without fail.

"Strike Blue, this is the Advance Team are you receiving over," I call out to the helicopter pilots, wanting to confirm their readiness before going through with this.

"...Advance this is Blue One, read you five by five. We're directly south of you, maintaining positioning six Klicks out. Interrogative; what's the scope of local activity over." While taking in the contents of the transmission, I motion the rest to begin preparations for the assault.

"Sitrep follows; coast is clear of behemoth forces, local infantry and equivalents numbering in mid forties. Civilian presence at this time is negligible. We are in position and will now commence infiltration on target Atlantis over," I reply, making our intentions clear to the supporting pilots.

"Copy that Advance Team... Strike Blue will be on station for air support and extraction, over."

"Understood, Advance team out." I remove my hand from my temple, taking in several deep breaths as my eyes cast a predatory look over the Flagship.

Inspecting my GD-45, I did a final check to ensure the rifle sling is properly secured to the rifle, not wanting to repeat the loss of a weapon. There is still a lingering sense of shame every time I think back to it, to lose the assault rifle due to negligence no matter the circumstance... there is no excuse for it.

I won't make the same mistake again...

Thunder rolls overhead, arching throughout the midnight sky as I lead the way along the beach perimeter, eyeing the sentries stationed along the multiple piers for any indications of alert.

Positioning myself along the base of the pier leading towards Atlantis, I lead the way beneath it, guiding my fireteam away from the coast and into the ocean as 1-4 maintains their position on land. Waist deep in open waters, I grip the supporting pillars along the way to avoid being swept away by the rough waves, the strong chills uncomfortably seated on my lower body.

A glance back confirms the accompanying squad is roughly in position for the next step, spread out underneath the base of the wooden harbor out of sight of the prowling sentries on the walkways for the moment. The Sergeant looks in my direction for the cue, inciting me to drag a thumb across my neck in an obvious gesture.

"Lights, cut the lights," I whisper to him through communications, looking at the lamps strung along the docks at regular intervals.

"Roger, we're heading up..."

Offering a quick reply to the command, he leads his squad up along a flight of makeshift stairs, breaching the wooden complex with well rehearsed efficiency. Suppressed gunshots begin to fill the air as they take out the ambient lights across the docks, getting the attention of the local sentries.

From my position roughly fifty meters from them, I hear a collection of footsteps just above me, indicative of the ruse working. Distant howls echo across the now darkened harbor as I grip the edge of the pier, looking directly up as the torrent of rain pounds onto my visor, breathing in the cold the droplets brought with it.

In the midst of the confusion is a myriad of indistinct voices on alert, speaking in an unknown language as a pale glow makes its way through the gaps between the wooden platform.

With the element of surprise still on our side, I forego all notions of stealth, including my voice as I bring myself up onto the pier.

"Go go!" I voice out, spurring my fireteam up the wooden platform, intent on stopping whatever attacks the locals will use against 1-4.

Incapacitating attacks at the forefront of my thoughts, I position my weapon on the extremities of the local guards, currently unaware of my fireteam with their attention occupied by our companions on the harbor. Three meters away, finger only a hair's width away from making contact with the trigger, in that moment my frown solidifies.

The split-second spent in the midst of an engagement to decide between two courses of action could have been detrimental, giving them the time needed to cast whatever it was they were evoking. Fortunately, this is not the case.

Brows furrowed, I drown out the better part of my conscious, letting it fade away to allow my head a clearer picture, free of guilt or anything else. To do what needs to be done, just like I've done so far the better part of my adult life.

I take one of the sentries by the neck, placing him against my chest in an attempt to wring him unconscious, hearing his staff drop with a thud onto the pier in the process.

A pair of armored gauntlets stubbornly clings to my right forearm, desperate to pry them off its owner, failing to do so as I tighten my grip around his neck to the fullest for good measure. The sharp pair of ears jutting out the helmet flickers involuntarily as I feel his resistance crumble away, hands falling limp in surrender with the head following suit.

To my peripheral, a similar process unfolds with the two beside him, their voices a potent mix of desperation and surprise as my teammates adopts the sleeper hold, pressure points specifically placed along the major blood vessels of the neck.

The wheezing eventually stops and they immediately let go of their respective victims, kicking their weapons into the ocean.

"They're out."

"On Douglas, now." I direct the two of them towards the aforementioned operative, still waiting for us as he secures the path towards the flagship. We did not waste any time to check if we went overboard with force application, immediately forming up behind him with me being the second in line.

As we near the vessel a collection of soldiers come into view, heading down the ramp with weapons already at the ready, possibly being the flagship's quick response force.

From his position in front of me, Douglas highlights the ramp with a gesture, indicating the arrival of hostile presence with their numbers included through standard hand signals.

I respond appropriately to the newfound information, angling my weapon at to the upper portions of the ramp, tracking the silhouettes making their way down onto the pier.

Lining my infrared sight on their legs, I snap the trigger with the intention of neutralizing them as a threat, sharp cracks filling the air with my men contributing several more shots, accuracy on point without slowing our pace down.

We step over our targets regardless of the state of their injuries. Some of them were at a high risk of dropping off the edge of the pier, painful moans indicative of serious wounds. It barely registers on my radar as we reach the ship's portside deck, with several of its crew unarmed and looking straight our way.

Without delay, James immediately strides to the front with a menacing voice to convey our intentions, knowing words would fail regardless. "Down, down! Hands and knees on the ground now!" He levels his weapon at them for good measure in an act of intimidation.

While he secures their compliance with the assistance of Douglas, I order Robert to form up behind me to overlook the rest of the main deck. "Right side, check right."

"Do it, I've got the door." My communications specialist shifts to the front, taking my previous position as the rain offers my senses a respite from the heated rush of my blood.

"On it." I reach out to 1-4, understanding the vague request without him going into the specifics.

With that door within our area of observation, the two of us position ourselves for possible incoming through it as I attempt to establish contact with the UN squad back on the harbor.

The size of the ship necessitates the need for everyone to be onboard if we are to quickly sweep through this entire thing. "1-4, this is Desert Actual. Point of entry secure, get your guys up on the ship, breaching the lower decks shortly, over."

I receive a response almost immediately through local comms, picking up on their words. "Roger... we're already Oscar Mike, forty seconds out."

Given the need to continue the momentum, it feels disconcerting to wait for even a single second, especially so with the door right ahead.

"No time," I shake my head, turning back to the other half of the fireteam, "...form up breach positions now!"

The importance of naval boarding tactics places emphasis on speed and surprise, leaving no choice but to proceed without immediate support.

I line up beside the door, identifying the handle mechanism responsible for its operation. Leaning a portion of my weight against the wall, the sudden clamp from the hand on my shoulder signifies the readiness of everyone behind me.

With that reassurance I pull the trigger, chipping away at the locking mechanism, mentally prepared to head into the ship's interior. Even though its layout is a total unknown, I have to go through with this.

I shove the door wide open, heartbeat at my highest as I climb down the initial flight of stairs with my men following behind.

Several voices echo across the dimly lit corridor, out of sight, majority sounding male with a few undeniably female ones in the mix.

"Clear left," I sound out upon checking that particular section, moving the fireteam forward to an intersection up ahead, keeping my index firmly on the trigger.

Douglas calls out at the intersection, a sharp explosion ringing in the distance. "Eyes right, one right near that door."

I quickly level my weapon towards that direction, left hand out to convey my none hostile intentions as the young lady remains frozen in place. "You, out where I can see you!"

Reaching the limit of my patience, I repeat the order in a more hostile tone. "Out where I can se-...hey stop!" She darts towards the door, out of sight with her voice carrying the sheer weight of her fear. My words went misunderstood, which is to be expected.

I motion forward with my weapon trained at the door, getting my men in position to clear the room of any hostiles. With a series of quick strides I lead the breach, taking a large sweep to the immediate right as I clear the door frame, eyes taking note of the same woman from before and several others.

My eyes momentarily widen, not expecting in the slightest to see a group of what I can only accurate describe as a gathering of priests, all female and looking barely older than eighteen. Thick veils of white cover their features, reminiscent of a wedding gown with its intricate details.

What reason do they have being on this ship? The question remains seated in the back of my head as I observe them for any signs of movement, vigilant against anything they might pull against us.

"Clear right." I continue leveling my weapon at the group as a precaution, calling out the right side as secure as the rest of my men sweep the room for anything else of note.

"Clear left." Douglas states after opening the cabinets flushed to the wall, finding more of those dresses and the rare crystalline trinket.

"Crew quarters clear." James announces as he approaches me, motioning to the all female group to my right, the woman from before shooting a protective glare in my general direction.

"What about them?" He inquires with a guarded tone, caution evident even through the helmet.

"Let them be." I keep the answer brief, pacing back into the hallway as the local intercom crackles with a transmission from the UN squad.

"Desert Actual, this is 1-4 we are on Atlantis. We're heading down the lower levels, response forces closing in on us, including several Shield Bearer types. Charges detonated on the dock, so unless they can walk on water we've cut them off from reaching the ship."

I slam the door shut, feeling the urgency creep up my nerves as I cast my eyes back onto the hallway, advancing with my weapon in line with my sights.

"Understood 1-4, proceed towards stern via starboard side. We've got portside locked down. On the double, we don't have much time Desert Actual out," I relay the instructions to the squad, ignoring the odd pulsating crystals that seem to comprise the interior lighting of this vessel.

We stumble across more of the ship's crew, observing the rules of engagement with each and every sparse encounter, searching for anything resembling a brig in a concerted effort to find the missing personnel.

If there is one thing I would want to say to the locals, it would be to ask them why did it come to this.

======
-0411 Military Hours
-Sonarai Habor, Ship Of The Line Ethornai

The crystal statue glows anew with a soft blue, as it has done so since the fall of dusk. Its wisdom speaks to me of feelings and memories past, a gentle warmth coursing through me as I look up to the statue of the Herald Herself.

Still, a cold frustration lingers in the air. My thoughts are with my actions as I gaze back at the prisoners of the raid, no less closer to learning their tongue. I kneel before the one with the seasoned eyes, offering her a cup of Starberry juice to renew her spirits.

She thankfully accepts, and I relinquish my hold on the drink, watching the rest of her kin behind. Treated as well as we can provide, all remaining nine of them.

We have put them through so much of our curiosity, and yet they remain sturdy as the shore. Our green eyes against their deep black, like water and fire only destined to clash.

"Feros... you must let them be at rest, I doubt their patience is infinite," Claroy insists with a firm voice, worry embedded within her tired eyes. "Your questions about their language will sail over their ears should you continue forcing them awake, and you look no better."

The urge to justify my actions wells up as I turn to face the Pathfinder, temper flaring at this inconciveable time of night. "This is the swiftest way to unveil their reasons, it's like what the Head Bishop said."

I stop, pausing to nurse the headache. "Valerai has no love for this, though she understands enough to allow me to do this," I say, gesturing to the offshorers centered within the room, more alike to a Keeper's Shrine than an example of a seafaring abode.

The progress has not yielded as much as I had wished, but I manage to weave a connection, born of their will in touch with mine. They are not... Euralians, now I have proof. Shackled underneath the judgement of our Herald the statue radiates a soft aura, one born of a hope that perhaps, further violence might be swept aside.

I know this is not my way, but what choice do I have other than this.

"Leave this affair to the Capital Island, we depart at dawn regardl-" an aid insists with arms crossed, rudely interrupted from the rest of his speech by a loud thud outside the door, screams echoing through the wood.

Swords and staffs are drawn as the commotion continues, weary eyes renewed with focus as the guards draw closer to the door, longswords at their behest should danger be encountered.

The Cabal Guards Cavelier turns to face me. "Sire, the Ethornai may be under attack, they must know the consul ship is housing their brethren."

I step forward with my sword in hand, enchanted steel gleaming with power. "How many?"

"Presumably... enough to take this harbor." He reasons, placing on his helmet in anticipation of a battle. "With the storm as it is, it will take time to march the warriors from Sonarai."

"So the life wards were correct, they made Islandfall near the east..." I mutter underneath my tongue, praying to the Crystal Herald for her foresight.

"What of our defences? We have a sentinel division spread along the entire south, what of they?" Claroy questions with a fearful voice, placing her hope on the harbor's defendants.

"If the offshorers are onboard... than I fear they may have evaded them." It would have been a feat thought impossible, and it should have been.

They are on this ship, I weave a terrible image of those warriors roaming the corridors, thoughts running adrift to the sacred followers of Vierra sleeping within the communal quarters. Young woman, and girls... undefended from attack, it was enough for my blood to run cold with fear.

"Servants of the Church of Life, we have to get to them!" Lumina would have been among them had I not sent her to Vallen with my wife. This Island is not safe, not anymore.

"...cover left."

"Door left, closed!" I hear the firm voice, a deep watery tone of a warrior. Heavy footsteps line themselves just outside, marking shadows on the lingering gap between door and floor. There are many.

I face the door, prepared to defend those behind me. A primal fear grips me as I steady my sword in both hands, this may be a price we all will pay for blinding ourselves to our past.

The next few moments are vigorous, shouts from the guards, and screams beyond my sight. I remain focused, trusting my skills to guide me through this, bringing myself into the Oceanguard battle stance.

A bright flash of sunfire envelops my eyes, hearing now deafened to a constant chime as I attempt to regain my bearings, gritting my teeth with hands reaching to my sword beside.

"United Nations, United Nations stand down!" Dark shadows close in from the entrance, menacing forms of black, not a hint of warmth radiating from their aura. Cold, almost to the point of ruthlessness.

With little words and fanfare, they invade the room with unflinching discipline, swift aggression prevalent in their every move. Faces remaining unseen, they bring their deadly weapons upon us.

"Good ID, eyes on hosta...." I grasp the sword, preparing a defiant charge with all my effort, a wave of guilt chaining my heart. There is no time for hesitance, not when I can still protect.

If this is where I am fated to meet the ancestors, my only wish is for my beloved to have the strength to move on without me.

======
-0415 Military Hours
-Visegrad Southern Port, Target Atlantis

"Negative copy, say again!" I continue forward, clearing the latest intersection as my fireteam closes in on the stern, "I repeat, this is Desert Actual. Negative copy say again."

I give it a few seconds before expecting a response, only to receive total silence from our counterparts. The lack of anything on local comms amplifies the feeling that something is amiss.

"Gentlemen, on me." I break into a sprint, tracing the squad's IFF signals as a last resort to get their general location. Taking a glance at the relevant information on my heads up display, I take a left turn towards ship starboard, closing in on 1-4's last known position.

I gesture towards my ear and to the front, signaling my fireteam to acknowledge the gunfire in the vicinity. We cut across multiple corridors, skipping entire rooms, attempting to clear corners as best we can without reducing our pacing.

A transmission abruptly comes in as I make a right turn. "This is Sergeant Higgins, we've found them. Requesting additional support on our position."

"Understood 1-4 Actual," I reply, taking a deep breath to ease up on my worry, "...already on our way, hold fire from portside corridor."

We come onto a hallway, meeting two soldiers along a doorframe, weapons directed in the commotion inside the room. Reacting accordingly to new arrivals they turn around, weapons on high alert.

"Hold!" I shout out, getting them to lower their rifles our way. "Status."

"We took some hits from the locals. Two walking wounded, under control now."

"Hostages?" I ask, going past them for a view into the room.

"They're okay, we count nine."

I stifle the urge to wince. "Well..." The scene is a mess, though there were several motionless bodies on the ground, none were thankfully human.

Looking away out of respect, I shift my focus onto the others, hands on their heads in that universal sign of surrender. It was worth noting that gesture, seeing as it holds the same meaning to them.

"Whatever the case, we aren't here to stay you need to get moving!" a soldier cuts off a researcher, yanking her to his feet. "Jacob, secure the rest topside, help our wounded up to main deck now!"

"On it!"

"What's the holdup? The Jaguars are on their way to the main deck," I step in, more than a little impatient at the speed the woman is going. I draw closer, recognizing her as she faces me.

I rack my head for the name, digging through the relevant memories. "Julia Evans was it?"

"Yes, yes it is. When did we last meet?" A puzzled expression cements itself on her face.

"This is Strike Blue, in position over ship starboard. Multiple contacts swarming on the harbor, they're doing something recommend you clear Atlantis asap."

A massive tick of Irritation flares up as I try my best to keep it hidden. "It's irrelevant, Ma'am you have to get moving. We don't have time."

"We could reason with these people, they just misunderstood who we were," she explains as I help her to the door, stepping over a few bodies along the way. "It has something to do with Faction Alpha, that's my theory so far."

I stop to grip her on the shoulder, not exactly sure the topic of this discussion. "Where are you going with this."

"We just have to fully explain what we are to them, get them to understand. But after what you did, I doubt they'll liste-" Deciding it was enough, I stop her.

I shake my head in dismissal. "I don't think you understand, we're officially pulling out of this Archipelago. Threat classification for the locals have been shifted to S-1, all operations here are terminated permanently."

"It's too risky, not worth it," Douglas adds in, helping a wounded soldier over his shoulder. "Secure the topic and hurry up. Jaguars already topside."

I gently push the woman forward, getting away from the carnage behind. Sparing a glance back, the pools of crimson quickly makes that decision one to regret.

"Wounded and hostages go first. The rest of you on me, overwatch positions! Multiple contacts, eighty meters on that bridge." I hear the order as I make my way up the last flight up stairs.

The night sky fills my vision, storm giving a cold reign to my senses as the three Jaguars hover precariously near the ship's edge, barely a mater away from contact.

The intercomm relays another transmission from the pilots. "Advance Team, this is Blue Two. Be advised deploying missiles, jaguars well within target's engagement range, can't risk proximity danger."

The shrill of several launching missiles fill the air, the resulting streaks of light crossing the considerable distance to the harbor in only a span of a few seconds.

I get onboard, one of the last few to do, managing to work around the already cramp interior, making room for the final arrival as best I can.

"Last man in!" As soon as he says the words, only then did exhaustion catch up to me. The helicopter breaks away from the ship as I rest my eyes on the windows, observing the destruction we left behind.

The dying flames along the harbor, along with that destroyed pier served as the final reminder for our presence here.

We did what we came here to do, the remnants of the Taskforce were recovered. Silent Reception was executed in a quick and efficient manner.

But the messy encounters inside the ship made me question the morality of the Operation. I furrow my eyes, with a conflicted sigh parting my lips, a thought occuring to me.

The ship was less military, and more civilian...

===End===

Into the unknown where I've been hurled, let me experience life once more.

Send me to my beloved, where the wind echoes her flawless voice, where I proposed on my knees.

Across this rolling meadow where we first met, where she and I were as happy as can be.

As I glide upon the wind, watching the sun grow weak, know that my time is now.

Lay me to rest in the Herald's crystal embrace, as I join the ancestors within.

And the last I see is her beautiful face, that I always enjoy.

Into this, only know that like the waves upon the shore.

My love for you, is eternal.