Predator: Desert Heat
"State your name, corporal, as well as the date and time of this interview," the dark figure said, as he pushed a button on a tape recorder.
"My name is Corporal Jesse York. It is June 7th, 2006. The time is 1300 hours," York said quietly.
"My name is Agent Gerard Buss. I was sent here to Iraq to investigate the events that transpired during June 2nd, 2006, in the abandoned village of Khubar Sar, 350 miles west of Bagdad," Buss said. "Now I want you to be thorough as you recant the events. Please make sure they are in chronological order. You are not being held as a prisoner, and you are here by your own will. Is everything I said perfectly clear?"
"Yes," York said.
"Alright. I have read over your official report you have wrote and, well, quite frankly, it seems very unlikely that it is based on any form of fiction. But, after the initial investigation done three days ago by the United States Marine Corps, it has been determined you and the seven privates under your command were, in fact, ambushed by an undetermined enemy or enemies, as well as another scout group sent earlier to Khubar Sar. The enemy you described to your superior officers seems quite strange, and that is why I have been sent here to conduct another thorough investigation by the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Buss explained. "It seems as though my supervisors have taken a special interest in this case, so let's begin."
"My men and I had just returned after a routine scouting mission of the local villages surrounding the city of Muhyawir. We had intercepted radio transmissions telling of a few operating guerilla forces operating in the area. We had not been back to base for too long before me and my men got the word to reinforce a scout group that had came under fire by unidentified soldiers…"
York set down his M-4 Carbine next to his cot. He took a seat on his cot, and stared at the desert ground below his feet. He hated the heat, he hated the sand, and he hated this war. He had questioned his true intentions of joining the Marines long ago, but there was no point in dwelling over something that is irrelevant. He looked over at the stand next to his bed. On the table laid a picture of a beautiful young female. He leaned over, obviously sore; the pains in his side erupted as he grabbed the picture. He held it in his hand and he felt a tear run down his face. He missed his young wife.
"I will be home soon, honey," he said as he wiped the dust and sand off of her face. "Fuck this hell hole."
He set the picture back on his stand and picked up his weapon. As he disassembled his weapon to clean the dirt and sand, he heard the flap opening on his tent flutter. He turned sharply, feeling the pulled muscles tense up. It was Seargent William Strait.
"How are you doing York?" he said, standing perfect form.
"I'm doing as well as I ever will," York said with a chuckle.
"I know that you and your men have just returned, but I have orders for you to reinforce a scout group 12 miles west of here. They have been blocked off by a suspect guerilla force. If you can follow me I can give you a more thorough briefing," Strait said.
"Alright, give me five," York said.
York and Strait were standing in a dark room as the table in front of them illuminated. It was a large map of Iraq.
"We have received a transmission from Corporal Jenkins that he and his men have been blocked off by enemy forced in a village called Khubar Sar. They were on a routine scouting mission to seek out enemy bunkers existing in abandoned villages. As the entered the village, the enemy used fire power to disable the vehicles. From what me know, the scouting team seems to have reinforced a large building, and they are waiting for support. I hand picked your group. Your group will be accompanied by an UH-1N chopper. Are your men ready?" Strait asked.
Routine my ass, York thought.
"Yes, I will get my men together and we will be ready at 1500 hours," York stated.
"Thank you corporal," Strait said. "Bring those men home."
Is this what this asshole considers home? York wondered.
"I will sir, you have my word," York promised.
York walked into the tent where his men had lived for so many months. He stood at the entrance, looking them all in the face one by one.
Sitting to his left was Private Hess. This young man came from the deserts of New Mexico. He spoke little of his childhood to many of the men, including York. He only confided in his best friend, Private Kleinert.
Kleinert was one of the bravest of the group. York had witnessed Kleinert save three men that were ambushed by 12 Iraqi soldiers. Kleinert never once talked about the experience, but York only could suspect Kleinert was responsible for killing most of the enemy soldiers that day.
To his right sat Private Sanders. This man was one of the most remarkable snipers York has ever been witness to. He lived and breathed the sniper role, and never once was he seen without his M-24 sniper rifle.
Next to him was Private Miller. He went by the nick name Gunner, because he refuses to use any other weapons besides his trusty M-240. He was also the cockiest, loudest member of the group. He had no problem in voicing his opinion whenever he felt it was right.
Private Paulson seemed to always put him in his place. Though the two were equal ranking, Miller seemed to fear Paulson. Whenever Miller would pop-off, Saunders would do the work; York trusted Paulson to keep his men in line when he was not present.
Finally, to York's left sat Private Branas and Jackson. These men where your standard gung-hoe jarheads. The Marine Corps was their lives. These two had formed a special bond with each other, ever since they were bunk mates through boot camp.
They all stared into York's eyes, seemingly awaiting good news.
"I just got orders from Strait. We are heading out in an hour," York said.
A wave of grunts and groans roared from his men.
"Settle down. This won't take long. There is a possibility of combat. Corporal Jenkins got his dumb ass stuck in a sticky situation, and he needs out help. No one has been killed yet, but there is a heavy possibility that his men are being held down by a number of Iraq soldiers.
"How many, sir?" Miller asked.
"That is not known. But they are armed; they have disabled the group's vehicles so they have no way of escape," York explained. "So saddle up, were moving out."
York finished assembling his gear and fitted himself with the proper equipment. As he fastened the helmet onto his head, he looked over and stared at the picture on his stand. She was all he thought about.
"Soon baby," he muttered to himself.
York walked out side of his tent and down a stretch of path he came upon two Marine M1114 Humvees. He walked up along side of the second one and opened the door. Inside sat Jackson (driving the vehicle), Miller, Paulson and Branas.
"You boys ready?" York snapped.
"Oorah!" the men shouted.
"Carry on men," York said.
He proceeded toward the next Humvee, threw the passenger door open and climbed inside. To his left was Hess, driving the Humvee. Behind him sat Kleinert and Sanders.
"Okay guys, lets move out," York ordered. And at that instant, the wheels began to turn and the groups were on their way to Khubar Sar.
The humvee bounced along the rough terrain of the Iraqi desert. York could hear the chopper above them. No one spoke in the vehicle, and the tension was tight. York could feel his men had been becoming more and more drained, and the general consenses among his men was negative. They did not want to be here. No one did.
"Corporal York, I have Khubar Sar in sight. Would you like me to scout it out a bit? Over," the chopper pilot radioed to York.
"That's a negative Hillman. Keep your distance. If they have weapons they would most likely open fire on you. And if this shit gets hairy, you could be our only choice. Over," York replied.
York looked back at his men. Their faces were as stiff as stone. They were scared, and York could feel it. He just turned back over and stared at the village only a few clicks out.
The town was barren. No sign of life. The first humvee pulled into the center of town. This was a fairly small village, with only one entrance. The buildings themselves seem to be some sort of barrier. Across from the entrance of town, there was large building, used as a large school house when the town was operating. As York's humvee entered town, he immediately keyed in on the two humvees that had been parked in the center of town.
"Hillman, do you have anything?" York asked.
"That's a negative, sir," Hillman replied. "Not a damned thing is moving."
"Where the fuck is everyone?" Hess asked.
"I've got the slightest clue. Pull up over there, about 20 yards from the other humvees," York ordered.
"You got it sir," Hess replied.
The two humvees came to halt in the center of town. The men exited the vehicle, eyeing everything that seemed suspicious to them. But what was really eerie, was that nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Alright guys, set up a parameter!" York ordered. "Hess, stick with me."
The men dispersed, setting up a large circle inside the center of town.
York made his way around towards the humvees, his gun read for fire. Resting the butt of the M-4 in his right shoulder he inspected the interior of the first humvee. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Everything was in his place, nothing had been stripped from the vehicle like he had suspected. He looked up at the engine of the vehicle, and he was at a loss for words.
"Hess get up here!" York barked.
The two found themselves staring at a giant crater in the center of the hood of the vehicle. The metal and pieces of engine had been burned and melted.
"What the hell could have caused this?" Hess asked.
"This whole god damn mission seems fishy. I have the slightest idea," York replied. "Go on and check the other humvee."
"Yes sir," Hess answered back.
York looked around, having many questions running through his mind.
"Hillman, you got anything?" York radioed.
"No sir, I don't see a sign of li-"
From somewhere behind him came a loud, dull, firing sound. York quickly turned to his left and witnessed a large, blue streak cutting through the sky as it cut into the helicopters cockpit. He could see the windshield had been sprayed in blood as the helicopter came spinning wildly toward the ground.
"Everyone, fucking move it!!" York yelled, seeing that Jackson and Branas were in the helicopters path. The two men got up from their kneeling position and went into a dead sprint. The two men leaped for cover as the helicopter came crashing down onto the Iraqi desert, exploding into a large cloud of fire and debris.
"Where the fuck did that come from!?" York yelled as his men all began moving inward toward York and Hess.
As the cloud of fire had settled, two more streaks of blue cut through the sky, crashing into the unoccupied humvees, sending their engines into bits of fire and parts.
"It came from our 2 o'clock! Up on top of them buildings over there!" Hess yelled. The men regrouped and opened fire on the roof tops of the buildings to the right of town.
York knelt down and observed as he fired in short intervals. Nothing. He could see no one. Not a god damned thing.
"Hold your fire!" York yelled. "Sanders, you got anything?"
"Not a thing sir. Not any motion from the windows either sir," Sanders replied as he scoped the area with his rifle.
The area was silent, no shouting from any enemy soldiers, besides the crackle and burning sounds coming from the ruined vehicles.
"Kleinert, get on the radio and get some air support, get another chopper out here!" York barked.
"On it," he replied.
"Sir, I think I see something to our 4 o'clock," Miller said.
"What was it private?" York asked.
"Not sure boss, a glimmer or something," Miller replied.
"Keep an eye on it," York said.
York stood, dumb founded. Why hadn't the enemy continued to open fire? Why aren't we dead yet? What type of weaponry are they using?
In mid thought, Miller's booming voice cut through the air.
"Over there!" Miller shouted as he sprayed a distant building with his heavy machine gun. As he began to fire, York caught something out of the corner of his eye. A small object had cut through the air, flying on a straight path towards Miller.
"Private, move!" York shouted as he opened fire in direction the object had come from.
In a split second, the object cut through Miller's chest cleanly, almost perfectly. York's world slowed. Miller was dead. His men where firing at nothing. Chaos had erupted. He seemed to hear as every shell from all the weapons exiting the chambers. His men were shouting, and moving back in some sort of retreat. York looked at Miller's cold, dead body. Next to him, stuck in the ground was a large circular disk. What was it? As York looked up, he caught the glimpse of another blue streak as it blasted through the helmet of Paulson. Blood and bits of helmet sprayed behind him, leaving a large mark on the ground. York was in over his head, and suddenly, he was snapped back into reality.
"Everyone, in that building! Now!" York ordered as he moved backward towards the large building at the end of town.
The soldiers laid down some cover fire as they moved backwards towards the building. York through his weapon onto his shoulder and kicked the door in. He and his men, one by one, made their way into the vacant room, slamming the door behind them.
York stood and observed the large room they had entered. It looked like a disaster zone. The windows had all been shot out, and the walls had all been riddled with bullets. On the floor, nice layers of empty bullet casing were strewn about. Not a single body could be seen, but the room had also been coated in sprays and pools of blood.
"What the FUCK is going!" Sanders said, with his back pressed against the door as he loaded more bullets into his rifle. "Miller and Paulson are dead! And we got no fucking clue were the hell they were coming from!"
"Control yourself, private!" York ordered.
"Fuck this. I didn't sign up for this shit!" Sanders barked back.
Ignoring Sanders rambling, he turned to Kleinert and said, "Get back on that radio and get a chopper back here. Tell them to light up anything that looks suspicious, and lay down some fire on them buildings out there. Tell them it's urgent."
"Yes sir," Kleinert said.
"…we are all gunna fuckin' die…" Sanders muttered.
"Sanders! If you do not get your head screwed back on I'm going to kick the living shit out of you!" York yelled.
He looked back. The rest of his men were scared. He could see it. I could see their nervousness in their fingers and hands.
"Okay everyone, I want you to reload your weapons, keep your eyes pealed. I want everyone at a window. We are gunna lock this place down tight. No one comes in or goes out till reinforcements arrive," York said.
"Pardon me sir," Hess said, "But it looks as though it did not work for the last team."
York stood, not sure about how to reply. "You guys have orders now, move it."
York turned toward Sanders, who still had his back propped against the door.
"Private, I'm gunna need you to step away from the door, we need to barracked it," York said, calmly.
"Yes sir," Sanders said. The second Sanders began to walk forward, York felt his face and body sprayed with blood. He took a step back, and saw that Sanders had a long, spear-like weapon protruding from his abdomen. Everyone was in shock, no one fired.
York was lost. He looked Sanders in the eye, and could see the pain and agony burning. As soon as the spear shot through the door and into Sanders, it was yanked out of him, and Sanders crumpled to the floor.
"Now! Fire!" York yelled as he began to drag Sanders lifeless body out of the way.
Gun fire ripped throughout the building, echoing violently. Shells sprayed all over the floor as chunks of wood and building material flew through the air. Each man had emptied a clip just as York yelled, "Cease fire!"
No one moved. Nothing could be heard rustling behind the door as well.
"Did we get 'em?" Hess whispered.
"Branas, check it out. Hess, get over hear and help Sanders," York whispered back.
Branas loaded another clip into his machine gun as he crept toward the hole-ridden door. The floor boards beneath him creaked and cracked and he took one tiny step at a time. As he finally reached the door, he leaned forward and through it open and took a step back.
York and Hess carried Sanders body over to the center of the room and set him down gently onto a table.
"Have you reached anyone yet, private?" York asked Kleinert.
"No one sir," he said with a worry in his voice. "No one is replying. My equipment is fine, no damage at all."
York shook his head. He looked down at Sanders. He was shaking violently, and pale. "Can you do anything, Hess?" York asked.
He shook his head. "He doesn't know what is going on, he has lost too much blood."
"Sir! No one is out here," Branas said as he took a step outside.
"Private, get the fuck back in here!" York ordered just as Branas' lifeless body was picked up by an invisible entity. The others scrambled for weapons as York pulled his pistol out and fired off 6 shots. As he readied to fire again, something astonishing was happening. The enemy suddenly came into view. York could see Branas dead body hanging from two knives that seemed to come from some sort of devise attached to the attacker's wrist. They suddenly shot back in and Branas' body fell hard to the ground. The attacker was in full view now. He stood nearly 7 foot tall, and had plate armor covering his chest, groin, lower legs and thighs. His face was protected by a dull silver helmet, and long dread locks covered the rest of his head. He had wrist devices and his left one was sparking and hissing. His body was covered in a fishnet-like material. Around his neck was a necklace that seemed to be made of bone and other things. It also had some sort of mounted weaponry on its right shoulder.
York did not know what he had been looking at. Who was this? He looked at the enemy's feet, which appear to have long, sharp toenails, an inch long at the most; the nails on its hands were the same as well. What ever this was it, it was surely no human. It did not appear to have normal skin; this thing's skin was tan, almost orange colored skin. With every step it took closer, the floor board's shook. York looked back, and he could see the fear and anger in the eyes of his men. He witnessed Private Jackson raised his weapon.
"FUCK YOU!" Jackson yelled as he squeezed down on the trigger.
York did not know what to do, but he knew he and his men needed to get out. The approaching enemy fixed a laser site onto Jackson, but it was too late. Bullets pierced the creature's skin, spraying green, glowing blood. Sparks sprayed off of the armor form the bullets, which had also struck the shoulder cannon, sending more sparks and cables hissing a white gas. The creature bellowed as it staggered back, landing hard onto the floor beneath it.
The four did not know what do to.
"You guys reload," York said, not taking his eyes of the creature.
The four slowly approached the fallen enemy. His chest had not risen as though it was breathing. The cable hissing the white gas had stopped. It lay in a pool of its own blood. Jackson was the first to approach the creature. The room was dead quiet. Jackson pushed the barrel of his rifle into its body; no response. He knelt down for a closer look. Jackson stared at the creature for a few moments, and then looked up.
"I'm pretty sure it's fucking dead," he said assuring.
Just in that split second, the echo of metal on metal broke through the air and then, before anyone could react, the double blades on the creature's wrist cut through Jackson's neck, sending the severed head rolling across the floor.
York swung the gun around to finish the creature off, but after he pulled the trigger down, he suddenly realized he was out of ammo. He began to move backward as the creature began to gain its senses. His men had left; ran off out of fear. Before York could successfully find a clip and reload, he found himself staring at the creature. It seemed like a wild-west showdown, good guy versus bad guy. Who ever had the quickest draw would win.
York did not move as he continued to slide another clip into his M-4. As he did so, the creature began to remove some sort of cable fastened to his face armor. After releasing the cable, the creature placed both of its hands on the armor and gently lifted off the mask.
York was amazed, and scared shitless. He did not know what he was looking at. The thing was hideous. Staring back at him with its beady eyes, it let out a deep roar. It had an elongated forehead, dark orange in color. Its face was horrifying; four finger-like mandibles covered its mouth. A few scars littered its forehead, including a deep one that ran over it's right eye, reminding York of the movie Scarface.
This thing could not be from earth, York thought.
York did not know what to do. The creature stood there, ready to challenge and counter anything he had to throw at it. He knew he would be dead before he could raise his weapon. He knew he only had his side arm, a few grenades as well as a gas grenade. He then thought of his men, what would happen to them if he had been killed. Who would lead them to victory? Those guys had only been in the service for a few months. They weren't REAL soldiers yet. They needed him.
York reacted. He drew the gas grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and dropped it. The can hissed as it released a thick gray fog. The room was filled in seconds. York could here the creature bellow in anger as he found his was to the back door. Coughing up a storm, he somehow managed to find his was out into the dry coarse desert. Not any better, really. He observed the area. He seemed to be on the outside of town. Taking his gun off of his shoulder, he proceeded to search for his men. Searching building after building, peering into window after window and found nothing, know the creature could be just behind him, ready to finish him off. Just when he thought they had completely deserted, he could barely see the combat jacket of a Marine. He found his way around the building and reached the door, which had been sealed from the inside. Stepping back, he gave it a hard kick.
After the door swung open, and a wave of rotting flesh filled the air. He covered his mouth as he entered the building. It had a high ceiling, just like the last building. He looked up toward the top, and his arm slowly dropped. Above him, hung ten to eleven skinned human bodies, decapitated. On a table not to far from York sat the skulls, perfectly cleaned. In the corner of the room sat a pile of bloodied army clothing.
York realized he was staring at the lost scout group. They did not stand a chance against this thing. This had been the creatures work shot, it's lair. This thing needed to be stopped. Just then, he felt a presence behind him. He brought up his weapon slowly, and swung to retaliate.
It was Hess.
"Christ York…What the fuck happened here?" Hess whispered, staring up at the ceiling.
"I don't know Private," York said. "Have you seen Kleinert?"
"No, sir. He ran off, and I took off after him," Hess answered.
"He is probably hiding some where. We need his radio, get some air support out here. That thing is still out there. Its resources are numbered. It's turning this into a game. So we gotta' play its game too. It's killing us for trophies. It used some sort of invisibility shield, that's why all these guys couldn't pin-point what was attacking them," York said, pointing toward the ceiling.
"We're not gunna make it," Hess said, with a scare in his voice.
"Yes we are private. Let's go, we gotta get somewhere safe.
York sat crouched by a window in the second story of a building on east side of the village, watching the center of town like a hawk. Hess slowly entered the room, keeping low as well.
"I got the C4 charges placed around the bottom floor, didn't see anything either," Hess whispered.
"Okay. It's waiting for us, somewhere out there. Any sign of Kleinert?" York asked.
"No sir. I assume he ran off into the desert," Hess replied.
"Probably," York said, just as a loud roar came from somewhere in the village.
"Where did that come from?" Hess asked as he too found his way to a window.
"Across town, I'm assuming," York said.
Suddenly, a window broke out of a building across from them, and something small was chucked out the building, hit the ground and rolled a few yards. York pulled out his binoculars, and focused in on the object. He slowly lowered his hand, and looked across the room at Hess.
"What is it?" Hess asked.
"…Kleinert's head," York said.
"Fuck…" Hess said, lost for words.
"That thing will come looking for us, I'm assuming. It'll wait till night fall. Then it'll strike. We'll fight it off, but if we begin to slip, blow the charges and bury all of us along that thing in ruble," York said.
"Yes sir," Hess said.
Night soon fell over the small village. York scanned the area with his night-vision binoculars, searching for the slightest of movements, ready to fire off at anything that moved.
"You got anything, sir?" Hess asked.
"Not a god damned thing," York said, as he continued to search the landscape. "You barricade the door down stairs?"
"Shit, I didn't," Hess said. "I'll go jam it shut."
Hess did a quick scan of the village before slowly finding his way toward the door.
"Hess…" York whispered.
"Yes?" Hess replied.
"…Be careful, Private," York said.
"Will do, corporal," Hess said, before sneaking out the door.
Hess crouched his way down the stairs, into the open-roomed first floor. The door was open, kicking back and forth, letting out a small cracking sound. He looked out the window, not seeing a single thing. He clicked his gun off safety, and slowly made his way across the room. Peering out door, he quickly grabbed the handle and shut it, just as the sound of metal-on-metal echoed through the room. He felt the pain in his back and the heard the rip in his clothes. He felt immense pain in his stomach and tasted a hint of blood. He looked down, seeing two blades sticking out of his stomach. Everything around him got even darker, and his muscles relaxed. He dropped the gun to the floor, and let out a sigh. He was dead.
The creature let out a small grunt as his retracted his blades and let the body fall to the floor. He looked up at the ceiling, knowing York was waiting.
York heard the sound below, and knew something was wrong. He turned towards the door, waiting for Hess or the creature. He slowly crept toward the door as the floor in front of him exploded into chunks of wood and splinters, sending York stumbling backwards. The creature leaped through the hole in the floor, landing a few feet from him. It began marching its way toward York.
This is it, York thought.
The creature grabbed his jacket, and sent him flying across the room, slamming into the wall. His body ached; he could feel blood coming from his nose. He found his way back to his feet, just as the creature grabbed him again and slammed him back into the wall, letting him fall once again. Hurting with immense pain, York wanted to lay there, to die.
The creature grabbed him by the neck and raised him up into the air, staring right into his eyes, examining him. He could barely breathe; the creature's grip began to tighten. He reached into his pocket, and extracted something. York began to chuckle slightly. The creature seemed to be in a bit of amazement. He looked down, seeing the C4 detonator in his right hand.
"End of the line, motherfucker," York said as he squeezed the detonator.
The bottom floor exploded into pieces. The creature dropped York and staggered back. The floor below them gave out, and the wall crashed around them, and the ceiling came crashing down on top of them.
York opened his eyes. He was alive, but barely. He could feel pain in his sides as well as dried blood on his face. He lay under pieces of wood. He moved his feet, checking to see if they were broken. They weren't. He turned and threw the wood off of him, and tried standing up. He was able to after a few tries, but it still hurt. He found his way off the pile of rubble, but something caught his attention. Something was moving in the rubble.
He slowly walked his way toward the pile of debris and came upon the moving boards. He threw a few out of the way, reveling the creature. It had become impaled on a piece of broken board. It let out a groan as it coughed up the green, glowing material. It was dying, but that wasn't good enough for York. He checked to see if he still carried his side arm; he still had it.
He pulled out his pistol, and pointed it at the creature. His hand was trembling, from the pain. With every bit of anger and rage, he pulled the trigger. With every bullet that collided with the creature's forehead, every face of York's men flashed in his eyes. He did it for them. And it had to pay. Every bullet hit its mark, turning the creatures head into a mush of glowing green liquid. After he finished the 15 rounds off, he lowered his arm. Staring down at the dead enemy, he felt a tear run down the side of his cheek.
"That's quite a story, corporal," Buss said, putting out his cigarette.
"It's the god-honest truth," York said.
"I believe you. That'll be it, corporal," Buss said as he got up from his seat.
"That's it?" York asked. "Didn't you find anything? I left his fucking body laying there in the rubble!"
"Well you are describing an enemy not of this world, Corporal. We have obtained evidence from the US military that seems to collaborate your story," Buss said.
"…and?" York asked, confused.
Buss leaned forward and shut off the recording machine.
"I believe you. The US government believes you. I have an interesting proposition for you," Buss explained, "I can promise you that after this interview, you will be honorably discharged from the Marine Corps, with full benefits for life, but you have to agree with my terms."
"What are they?" he asked.
Buss picked a briefcase up from the floor, gently laid it on the table and opened it. He rifled through a few folders before extracting two pictures. He laid them out in front of York.
"Who are these men?" York asked.
"Their names are Dutch Schafer and Mike Harrigan," Buss explained, "And they too have come into contact with this alien. They both used different strategies to defeat the creature. They are now working for the US government, trying to rid this planet of their kind. They pop up sporadically, generally in tropical climates, as well as areas of heavy conflict."
"So how am I involved?" York asked.
"Well I guess what I'm getting at is, would you join our team?" Buss asked, as he pulled another cigarette out of its pack.
To Be Continued