0100 hours, October 18, 2532 (Military Calendar)\ Lambda Serpentis
System, New Mongolian Desert, Jericho IV.
Two silver moons cast pale light along the stretch of chilling barren desert, illuminating the whisps of sand that were being blown off the numerous 10 meter dunes. A faint scuffling sound accompanied the sound of the shrieking wind. Quite suddenly, an individual materialized at the top of one dune, casting off the now visible cloak that had been disguising his progress from other living beings. The moonlight served to illuminate his pitch black armor. Bulky, with spikes and curves reminiscent of the armor of the ancient samurai. The individuals helmet encased head quickly glanced to his left and then his right, before he came out of his crouch, bringing his rifle to bear. A barely audible squawk emanated from his radio.
"This is Bishop. Looks like were clear, feel free to discard the cloaks."
As suddenly as he had appeared, two more armored individuals, similar to the first, appeared alongside him. The one to his right shifted uncomfortably, a barely noticeable gesture.
"How much farther to the encampment?"
Bishop craned his neck, and in the distance could barely make out faint purple lights on the edge of the horizon. He brought his rifle to bear, and instantly the scope magnified the image.
There were about a thousand of them.
Grunts and Jackals milled through the camp, all needlers and energy shields. That was not a good sign. He sighed.
"Looks to be about three kilometers, if not more. And it looks like intel was wrong."
"How wrong?"
"They underestimated the enemy's strength by about five hundred percent, and it looks like they're expecting us."
"And-?"
Bishop glanced though his scope again. And saw various purple craft circling the airspace above the camp in lazy arcs. Below the aircraft, more vehicles encircled the perimeter of the encampment, the dull light of their antigrav pods illuminating their undersides.
Bishop let out a dark chuckle
"Well, Rook, your gonna love this. They have several banshees and 'bout six ghosts."
Rook let out an inaudible curse and bought an armored hand up to his faceplate.
"And why are we not using the cloaks to get in there?"
Bishop sighed
"Because, Rook, as you know, the Frodo's give off a huge heat signature. Even if, we tried sneaking in using them, we'd tip off their sensors and show up like a fucking Christmas tree."
"So I guess that means were going in loud?"
"We can't, you know we have to extract the objective, anything less than a stealthy approach would jeopardize that."
Another sigh.
"So what's the plan then?"
Bishop once again took another glance through his sniper scope. After a few minutes he spoke.
"There's two ghosts that are coming farther out in their patrols than the others. I'll take them out. That'll leave a hole and you and Pawn can slip in."
"Sounds good, but what about you?"
I'll stay here, and spot for you, and if it hits the fan, I'll cover you to the EZ."
"So just get in there and grab the package."
"Yeah, but make sure to leave the bastards a little going away present before you leave."
Bishop tossed Rook a small object a little bigger a football. he caught it, and after examining it, let out a low apprecitative whistle.
"A shiva? And just how did you come across this little number?"
"Section 3 deemed it a "viable tactical asset" for the mission."
Rook smiled behind his visor.
"All right then."