From Hell to Sadera: The Bizzare Odyssey of Bravo Co, 1st Recon Btn

by dayanII

A Generation of Marines, growing up with video games, music videos, internet porn, anime and political division, is sent into Falmart. They are unrecognizable from their forefathers in previous generations, behaving differently from their ancestors in the Marine Corps. For some, they're more intimate with porn than with their own parents, and now, they will be the tip of the spear.

19. Chapter 16, Troublemaker

Upstream, 18 Klicks away from the destroyed Elven Settlement, Appia Highway/MSR Tijuana, Duma Mountains (1140)

"What the fuck is that stupid retard doing over there?"

"Motherfucker's going to war, one souvenir at a time like a match of Battle Royale." Everyone in Dow's team can only snickered at Nathan's comment, watching from afar as their eyes were firmly set on a figure in Marine combat fatigues strutting around the green fields to their right, watching the man's every move with a quizzical expression.

They watch in a mix of dismay and amusement as Lt. Superman bent down to pick up a sword laying on the ground, evenly spaced from its dead owner several feet to his left, whose body horribly mangled and colorfully mashed up in a mix of green and crimson courtesy of one of the many LAV-25s of RCT-5, the vehicle in question parked off the paved highway several dozens meter away from the unusually happy Third Platoon commander, hunting for souvenirs in amid an active warzone.

"Can you believe this shit?" Allie casually remarked, as he leaned back on his driver's seat before promptly turning his head in the general direction of his team, all of them had an amused expression splattered on their face. "This dumbass running around playing Egg hunt in an active warzone."

"Colossally retarded." Allie's remark earned himself a response from the blonde rifleman, his hair gleaming under the sunlight while his LWH helmet was neatly placed between his legs, within his arms reach just in case. He fumbled around his chest for a moment, grabbing a binocular before pressing it on his eyes, sluggishly observing the Lieutenant from afar as the grin on his face, barely visible before, widened in disbelief. "Check this shit out, this fucking boot thinks he's on a vacation."

"Hey," A voice chimes in from the 50. Cal turret just above his head, causing Allie to spin around towards the source before meeting Cortez's face, plastered with the expression of disbelief. "you got that shit on camera?"

He nods off towards the camera on the driver's left hand, the other, more dominant right one holding the stock of his M4A1 rifle currently on his laps. His question was immediately met by a mischievous smirk from Allie.

"Fuck yeah." He swiftly replied without hesitation, the smirk on his face growing wider every second.

"Caught this fuckin' shitbag in HD or something, man." Redman sneered from his seat, trying to fight the urge to just pick up his M249 SAW and gun the man down. Even the platoon's quiet guy can't seem to hide his disgust at the show of incompetence by the officer, busy lounging around the verdant fields to their left in search of war trophy from the dead legionnaires laying around it in grotesque manners. It would've been a good sight-seeing and picnic site, with all the mountains surrounding them alongside tall Alpine trees, if it weren't for all the colorfully mashed up corpses, still in their Romanesque gear.

"I present to all of you," Dow, who had been silent the whole conversation, burst out chuckling as he spun around to see his subordinates who were just as amused as he was. "the wonderful commander of our sister platoon."

Several sarcastic "oorah" can be heard coming from his team, followed by a hail of vitriolic snickers and amused chuckles. They continue to watch the relatively inexperienced and incompetent officer rummage his gloved hands through the dead body of a high-ranking foot legionnaire, as indicated by his different more fabulous-looking helmet.

Trailing behind Lt. Superman were Doc Miles and Sergeant John Hunts, both of them definitely doing their best to hide their contempt and disgust for their platoon commander

It continued on like that, for a moment, until a tap on Dow's shoulder snapped them out of their gaze. Everyone immediately spun around without missing a heartbeat, only to be met by the trademark aloof face of their superior, Sergeant Simon Williams.

"Team leader meeting, come on." He beckoned over to his assistant team leader with a voice matching his seemingly apathetic face, a gesture which Dow immediately heeded to. He quickly hopped out of his doorless Humvee, his M4A1 slung on his chest as the man promptly trailed behind Simon, their destination being Lt. Mistral's command Humvee.

Dow spun around for one last time towards his team with a weary face.

"Alright gents, take care. I'll be gone for a while so don't fuck shit up 'kay?" Everyone silently nodded at the advice of their team leader. Satisfied with the response of his subordinates, Dow immediately returned to his previous action of trailing behind his de-facto superior, despite both of them sharing the same rank of Sergeant.

Producing a box of cigarettes from one of the many pouches on his FLC utility vest, Dow swiftly pointed it in the direction of his friend, a gesture which was promptly met by a silent wave from Simon.

"No thanks," Simon politely declines the genuine gift from his friend, a smile accompanying his kind words of refusal. "I don't smoke, not too keen on getting cancer."

"Uh-uh," His friend briefly narrowed his eyes, looking at the brunette with a face currently plastered with an expression that screams mild surprise. "you got to be the first grunt I've met that doesn't smoke."

His remark swiftly earned him a brief glance from Simon, currently ahead of him. The brunette suddenly stopped his movement, an action that was quickly followed by a slight, smug smile that seemingly replaced his previously emotionless face.

"I'm not your average grunt." Simon spoke up, with a barely visible smile on his face covered with dust, as the two men immediately resumed their previous activity, marching towards the Command Humvee parked right next to the small stream moving, the water gushing downwards at a seemingly normal pace.

"Of course, you're different." His assistant team leader took the momentary lull in the conversation to jokingly scoff at his answer. "Other people smoke, you meanwhile, sucked dicks to get ranks."

"Yeah, yeah, just admit it already, you're fucking salty because I'm the one that gets to be the team leader." The brunette promptly snorted at the remark, shrugging off the accusation with a seemingly calm voice. Which he immediately followed by pointing an accusatory finger at Dow, currently walking alongside him. "Don't worry, I'll recommend you for promotion after we finally get out of this shithole"

His boasts were promptly met by a scornful look from his friend, seemingly annoyed by his words.

"You're fuckin' right." Dow quickly shot back, heaving a defeated sigh before talking yet again. "Nigga how the fuck did you become our team leader despite being a fresh Sergeant?"

"Probably because I've been in the Recon for quite some time," Simon uncaringly shrugs at the inquiry, seemingly smug about his service in the Reconnaissance MOS. "you should be thankful, I got you out of that hellhole in the middle of bumfuck nowhere that is commonly known as 29 Palms."

Dow's mind immediately drifted back a few years ago, reminiscing of the time they first met during a MEU deployment onboard an amphibious ship. Apparently, after returning home, he had somehow managed to convince the 1st Recon commander to let his friend into the battalion as his assistant team leader, earning him the title of Reconnaissance Marine after months of harsh training.

He momentarily smiled for a moment at the recollection replaying within his mind. The assistant team leader can't help but grin at the distant memory, an action that was swiftly followed by him flipping out an affectionate middle finger in the general direction of his friend.

"Fuck you, man." Dow sarcastically hurled a string of colorful sentences towards Simon benevolently, accompanied by a wide grin that seemed to show off his gleaming white teeth which were followed by a satisfied giggle from the brunette.

"Whatever." He merely waved off the profanity with his hand nonchalantly as they continued their short journey to the Command Humvee, visible from their position as denoted by its radio antenna attached to the bumper and the hood itself, the thin wiring pointing towards the sky above.

They slowly crept closer to the Command Humvee as they walked past the stream situated to their right. Immediately across the body of water, lined hundreds of M1A1 tanks, LAVs and other armored vehicles belonging to RCT-5 and another unit in the division can be seen parked off the paved rocky roads of the highway, their cumbersome turrets traversing left and right as they intently searched for any hostile figures that'd even dare entertain the idea of flanking them. All of America's finest war machines are facing towards their future destination, east, towards the capital city of Sadera.

Up front, the duo can clearly see within their sight that the meeting is about to begin, as indicated by the team leaders converging on the standard-sized hood of a Command Humvee. Lt. Mistral patiently awaits their arrival, leaning against the door of his seat alongside Clancy, also participating in the forthcoming briefing as he is the platoon's one and the only medical support.

Simon signaled his arrival by slowly placing his rifle on the hood of the Command Humvee, followed by whipping out a notebook from one of the straps on his utility vests as Dow mirrored his actions. Now that everyone had arrived, Lt. Mistral leaned on towards his seat inside the vehicle, snatching a folded map on the dashboard before promptly unveiling it, laying it on the hood for everyone inside the circle to see.

Due to the chilly-cold winds that frequently visited the mountain range courtesy of the peaks, everyone has been issued a neck-gaiter for warmth. Now, all of the team leaders in the small circle had donned the half-balaclava-like clothing, as they intently studied the map of their current area of operations.

Despite the sunny day and the green forests and meadows surrounding them, everyone seemed to be breathing out water vapor every time they spoke courtesy of the cold winds. Such thing also affects their platoon commander, leaning over his map as he exaggeratedly coughed several times, intending to earn the attention of his converging subordinates.

Everyone immediately turned their heads at the Lieutenant for a moment. With all eyes set on him, Lt. Mistral finally spoke, his gloved hands hovering in the air as it trails away from their eyesight, perhaps pointing at something else.

"Our current order is to link up with the RCT-5 on currently halting across the stream, herringboned on the highway. Combat engineers are building a bridge for us to get to the other side." He paused for a moment, nodding his head in the direction of a strange-looking tracked vehicle for emphasis, currently idly parked by the streambank, the engine turned off. On top of the lumbering mechanical monster, stands a seemingly folded piece of steel colored in a woodland camouflage pattern.

Not a moment later, its engine rumbled to life, the loud sound of the gas turbine starting began to break the natural serenity of the mountains, drowning the usually ceaseless chirps of the birds. Moving out of its initial position as it heads off towards the bank of the narrow stream, the group gathered watched as an M1074 bridge layer began unfolding the massive bridge that is carried on top of its chassis steadily, the large blocky piece of metal began materializing itself as a crossing point for the Marines of 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, currently separated from RCT-5 on the other by the small, narrow stream running to their right.

"Now that we're about to finish that objective, we'll be continuing on with everyone's favorite mission, movement to contact." With a dull, monotone voice that nevertheless managed to sound authoritative, the Lieutenant continued. As if on cue, the sound of metal clunking and rattling can be heard in the background at the bridge previously on top of the M1074 slammed into both sides of the streambanks, creating a crossing point for them. "We'll be assaulting and leapfrogging through hostile towns throughout the entire day until we finally get orders to stop, we're going to clear the valleys out of hostile forces before we can continue our advance to Sadera."

As their Lieutenant stopped for a moment, everyone quietly took notes of the briefing, occasionally stealing on the map laid out in front of them for reference, trying to focus despite the noise of a certain M1074 roaring ceaselessly in the background. Lt. Mistral then slowly leans on the map, clicking a red pen before tracing a series of crimson lines along the Appia Highway, steadily dragging it across the paper.

"All friendlies will be on the MSR, anyone off the road might be the bad guys." The officer paused for a moment, taking the lull in the meeting to turn his face upwards to look at his men. "Which means we might get to kill some Roman copycats today."

His answer was met by an audible snort by some in the circle, earning his attention as indicated by his arched eyebrows. In mere seconds other team leaders followed suit as they all spun around to shift their attention towards the grim-looking Simon and Clancy.

"Tch," The brunette merely scoffed at his superior's remark, followed by a glum chuckle that earned raised eyebrows. "must've been the bad guys all those women and children that got machine-gunned to fucking pieces this morning."

Despite his cavalier sarcasm and unfazed expression, everyone's face turned darker as their complexion turned grim, reflecting on the tragedy that had happened right under their nose several hours back.

"Yeah, all it took was one accidental shot, one fucking shot from a reservist with a bad trigger discipline who happens to run over a bump in the road," Clancy chimes in with his own remark, nodding in agreement with his team leader. He can only shake his head in resignation in recent memory. "and everyone blew up that village over nothing."

"Dawg, we can't control what happens and whatnot, whatever the fuck all the other motherfuckers in this big, fuckin' war do? It's none of our faults." Despite the tone of retortion in his voice, Dow seems to have a feeling of sympathy for his friend. "It's not your fault that you can't stop those weekend warriors from going all buck-fever."

"He's right, It's already hard enough keeping the platoon and the company together from all the higher retards. We shouldn't get involved with other unit's bullshit." Schmidt can be seen nodding with Dow's remark, before promptly stealing a glance towards the men of Hitman-3 for further emphasis.

"I know you all saw the Battalion Staff firing 40 mike-mikes into the forest like it's a free for all shitfest." Simon immediately retorted, still pissed and traumatized from the incident despite his seemingly emotionless facade on the outside.

"Nigga, they all fucking missed though."

"Really badly." Schmidt casually adds to Dow's initial remark, chuckling grimly at the incompetence of their commanders. Not only did they open fire at unarmed women and children, but they also missed the civilians badly due to their relative inexperience in the field.

"Look, Sai," Not wanting the meeting to deteriorate any further, Lt. Mistral sternly interjects with an audible slam to the hood of his Humvee, succeeding in shutting everyone up. "we can't live in the past. Let bygones be bygones. That incident was a mistake, but it's none of our faults, we couldn't have prevented those reservists from blowing shit up due to bad comms."

"Correction, a horrible mistake, sir." Unfazed by the interjection, Simon defiantly corrects his superior, whose grim face mirrored his own.

"But a mistake nonetheless." The Lieutenant stood his ground, trying to reassure the currently dejected Sergeant as his voice slowly trailed off. "Look, we still have a long day ahead. We can't let emotions and mistakes cloud our judgment and cause further unnecessary civilian death. We still have a platoon to take care of. Keep your heads in the game for the sake of our guys, can you?"

Simon silently contemplates his words, his green eyes unmoving. Maybe he has a point, they can't save everyone and do missions at the same time. Mistakes happen, sometimes unavoidable amidst the march of modern combined arms forces, unfortunately.

Letting out a breath of resignation as denoted by the vapor coming out of his nose. The Sergeant merely raises his head with a heavy heart before promptly replying to the request of his platoon commander.

"Yes sir…" He simply replied with a numb tone, the glum look on his face still plastered for everyone to see.

"I'll admit, we've been killing too many civilians around here during battles, all those dead bodies lying along the MSR makes me fucking nauseous." Gunny Mays also chimes in with his own opinion. Despite being a seasoned veteran of two conflicts, he had rarely seen the scale of brutality that is on the level of this current war, as seen by his sudden change of tone. "I'm not saying we shouldn't defend ourselves, don't get me wrong, we should. I'd trade a life of 10 Falmartian for a Marine, but that doesn't mean we'll get a pass that gives us the authority to go all crazy shooting people up. We're Recon Marines, the best in the whole Corps. We're supposed to be one liberating these guys. They've endured enough hardships under the Empire's rule with all the constant bullshit thrown at them, hopefully, we won't repeat that mistake again."

"Thank you for the talk, Alex." Despite the Lieutenant calling his second-in-command with his first name, it didn't faze him at all, receiving a nod of approval from the Gunnery Sergeant instead.

Despite the sudden change of mood, Lt. Mistral continued with the meeting. He whipped out a small piece of paper from one of the many straps on his FLC vest followed by him nonchalantly flicking the notebook, page by page in silence. The only sound that can be heard within the circle is the noise of papers rustling and crackling as everyone stays quiet, intently eyeing the Lieutenant, waiting for their young but savvy platoon commander to speak again.

"Cobra's air support is out of the question, we're out of their operational range." He spoke up once again, his eyes sweeping across his quiet subordinates as he paused to let the words sink in. "We'll have to rely on Airwing's Hornets and Air Force jets."

The remark provoked a "hmm" from the small group of team leaders around the Command Humvee, followed by a simple, barely visible nod from them as a result of the recently issued neck-gaiter obscuring their throats.

A raised hand amidst the crowd gained Lt. Mistral's attention, promptly shifting his line of sight towards the man as he awaits whatever question that will inevitably come next in slight anticipation.

"What is it, Sutherby?" In response to the Lieutenant's short inquiry, the bespectacled yet laconic team leader of Hitman 2-2 immediately cleared his throat, an action followed by the man pushing his glasses into the ridge of his nose. He was one of the two men inside Second Platoon that donned glasses, making him easily recognizable and discernable from others.

"What about indirect fire support by arty?" Sutherby laconically asked with an almost polite tone, sluggishly leaning on the edge of the vehicle's hood with his hands supporting his tilting upper torso. "Will they be available too?"

"Good question," The Lieutenant promptly replied, calmly flicking through pages worth of notes that he had possibly written during the countless meetings with their Company and Battalion Commander. With the sheet of paper that he had been looking for finally found, he meekly raised his head with a genuine, reassuring smile as he faced the bespectacled man once again, followed by him darting his eyes to others in the group. "looks like they'll be on and off throughout the day since they'll be moving with RCT-5 too."

"Alright then, we'll be egressing as soon as possible." With nothing left to tell, Lt. Mistral casually dismissed his subordinates. "Dismissed."

With that, everyone immediately nodded in silence before grabbing whatever gears they had placed on top of the Humvee, as everyone sluggishly snatched their weapons and maps perched on the vehicle's greenish-colored hood.

"Before you return to your respective teams, however, I want to remind you of something." Lt. Mistral, without any prior warning, immediately raised his hands in the air out of the blue, grinding his subordinates to a halt. The team leaders swiftly spun around to face him, their eyebrows arched in confusion. "Frankly gents, I don't give a fuck at all about other unit's fuck-ups and problems. But if I see any of you or your team opening fire on innocent civilians, I will personally put a bullet in your fucking skulls."

The Lieutenant's previous smile, which had been genuine before slowly began to twitch. That, together with the young officer's unblinking eyes, caused an unnerving sensation on his team leaders, not expecting the sudden remark and the unforeseen expression.

Not knowing how to respond, they simply reacted to the faux-warning by giving a nervous nod in the direction of their platoon commander. Their action was immediately followed by a slight, subconscious shiver throughout their bodies, perhaps as a result of the chilly winds sweeping down the valley accompanied by the unnerving smile from their usually cool-headed platoon commander.

Their officer unceremoniously responded to their nervous nodding by giving them one of his own with a stoic face, before quietly returning to his Humvee without uttering a single word, his ever-loyal Platoon Sergeant waddling behind. With that, the flock of team leaders several feet away from the vehicle scattered, not wanting to waste any more time standing around as they all returned to their respective teams in anticipation of their next move.

Simon nonchalantly returned to his previous task of walking back to his team, with Dow and other team leaders trailing behind before separating mid-way through as they all returned to their respective teams without speaking a single word. The only sounds that can currently be heard in the air are the cacophony of birds chirping and the gas turbine engine of the M1074 bridge layer, finally ending the tedious process of building 1st Recon's crossing point.

Finally arriving at his team's Humvee, he swiftly turned around to face his trailing assistant team leader as he gave him a slight smile without a single word spoken. His sudden friendly face was mirrored by Dow, followed by both men sharing a friendly fistbump before separating to go their own ways.

Naturally, he grabbed the handle of his door and pulled it wide open before promptly lowering his body to enter the cramped Humvee. The deed followed by a loud slam, an indication of him closing the previously widely opened door.

Without even taking a moment to properly settle down, he spun his around to face Evan, currently drinking his Rip-its in silence. The sergeant promptly tapped on the driver's thigh, earning Evan's attention as he simply replied to his action by blinking at him several times in confusion.

"Start the vehicle." He beckoned over to the driver in the direction of the steering wheel. Seeing this, Evan immediately threw out his empty can of energy drink outside in a sluggish fashion.

"Alright." Evan simply responded to the order by giving a slight shrug, before swiftly returning to the task at hand. With a spin by the driver's hand, the Humvee came to life as denoted by a loud rumble coming from the engine, waking up the sleeping journalist sitting behind the stoic Simon.

As if on cue, the 4 tanks of Centurion-1 roared to life, followed by the rest of the vehicles in the Battalion, as the venerable trucks and Humvees lined up before the metal bridge neatly placed just above the stream for their crossing to link up with the main battle force of RCT-5.

The five men inside Hitman 2-1's Humvee watched from their seat, as the lead M1A1 tank slumped down into the narrow but relatively sizeable metal bridge as Marine combat engineers and mechanics keenly observed from the other side of the stream standing by with an M88 Recovery Vehicle parked just by the bank, just in case something goes wrong.

The Abrams proceeded without any incidents, as its fellow brethren followed suit from behind, one at a time as they maneuvered through the bridge carefully with their turrets pointed straight ahead, the crew silently praying that it wouldn't break apart mid-way through due to their cumbersome chassis and heavyweight.

Their turn soon arrived as indicated by the 4 cumbersome tanks crossing safely to the other side without any major incidents, which gave Simon and his team some hope that the bridge would hold them. Evan softly gripped the steering wheel as he slowly pressed on the gas, jerking the Humvee forward as it slowly began to move out of its previously dormant state.

"All Hitman-2 Victors, this is Hitman-2 Actual, maintain speed at 10 kph when crossing, over." It was obvious to everyone that they shouldn't rush the crossing, less they want to invoke the wrath of Murphy's Law. Nevertheless, the Lieutenant felt the need to voice it over the radio.

The sound of metal clanking and rustling filled the cramped insides of Hitman 2-1's Humvee, as the venerable vehicle slowly waddled its way on the bridge towards the other side with Dow's and other team following behind. Simon watched as a mangled corpse of an unfortunate shepherd passed by his field of vision, the dead man slumped on the stream as his blood and organs gushed out, staining the previously crystal clear water that defined the scenery in a bright crimson.

The red-haired Corpsman morbidly snorted at the sight, suddenly finding himself subconsciously reflecting upon the Gunnery Sergeant's word.

"Won't repeat that mistake again my fucking ass." In spite of his cavalier and seemingly insensitive quip, the Traveler and Simon can clearly see Clancy's disgusted face staring down the stained water.

It seems to be that the man had been caught amidst an earlier skirmish 2 hours ago, where forward elements of RCT-5 stumbled across an Imperial Scout Team observing the highway which, unsurprisingly, caused a small battle to happen. The shepherd was unlucky enough to have received a high explosive 25mm Bushmaster shell in the ensuing firefight right on his stomach, as denoted by the man's gut splattered all over the river bank.

"Fog of war," Simon coldly remarked, silently trying to push out the memory of the village's destruction out of his mind as he tries to properly focus on the task at hand. The words were promptly met by a look from the distraught Corpsman. "nothing we could do."

"Damn sucker, the weekend warriors sure entered this war with a massive bang," Evan brashfully quipped with a sarcastic tone, his voice trailing off as the Humvee had finally reached the other side of the stream. His team, together with Lt. Connolly's tank platoon up front is leading the 1st Recon's convoy, as other vehicles and trucks lined up before the bridge for their turn to cross, moving slowly at a crawling speed to make sure it won't damage the narrow metal crossing. "what bunch of fucking dim-witted retards."

The Humvee swerved left at a junction, the rest of the Battalion following suit as they all began facing in the direction of their target, the Imperial Capital Of Sadera. The sight that immediately caught their eyes after crossing the bridge were hundreds of vehicles parked off-road greeting the men of 1st Recon, barely discernible amid the vegetation lining the roadside. Ranging from the venerable yet two-natured AAVs to the cumbersome yet dangerous Abrams.

At the front of the pack, the 4 M1A1 tanks leading the charge slowed down momentarily as several dozen LAV-25s, Humvees, and tanks from RCT-5 began moving onto the highway, taking the torch away from Lt. Connolly's platoon as the armor column maneuvered into a convoy line in front of 1st Recon's long queue of vehicles.

Luckily, the men of 1st Recon had struck gold when it was revealed that they will be moving with active duty elements of RCT-5 instead of the reservists. They all mentally breathed a sigh of relief within their minds, at least the chance of any tragic fog of war incidents occurring will be lower now.

Simon took the momentary slow down in the convoy's movement as a chance to steal a glance from his cumbersome BLUFOR tracker, the digital map highlighting the unit in front of them as "2nd Battalion 5th Marines" and "1st Tank Battalion", both of them happens to be a part of RCT-5. He intently watched on the screen as one by one, the several dozen tanks and LAVs began materializing out of the tall grasses lining the roadside before promptly moving on the paved highway, the only thing that differs from the flat terrain of the valleys are the mountains surrounding them.

Out of the blue, the Humvee jerked forward again as a reminder that the convoy had returned to its original speed, as the last armor off-road finally got onto the highway, resuming their deadly march through the Dumas to the heart of the Empire. The battalion moved through the cramped highway with caution, treading lightly as to not bump into the tanks leading the pack.

Up ahead, lies the scorched remains of an Imperial Scout and his mangled horse, horribly burned beyond recognition thanks to the barrage of 25mm autocannon and tank guns unleashed upon the poor's soul. The body was barely recognizable when Evan swerved the Humvee to the right in an effort to not desecrate the already disfigured corpse, whistling as the vehicle veered away from the bloody mess covering the road even though his breakfast is desperately trying to jump out of his throat at any moment.

"Shit man, Danny is going to be so fucking pissed that he missed this shitshow." The driver casually remarked in an effort to lighten the heavy mood inside the vehicle as the effect of his constant chugging of Rip-its began to rear its ugly head. The remark was swiftly followed by several nods from his fellow teammates, agreeing with whatever he had just said.

The Traveler however, simply looked at him with a quizzical expression, not understanding what he's trying to convey, perhaps thinking it as one of the many inside jokes shared by the Marines in the Second Platoon.

"Who?" The Traveler curiously asked with a perplexed expression, seemingly confused by Evan's out-of-nowhere remark. Hearing this, the driver quickly twisted in his seat, his head going back and forth from focusing on the road up ahead and at their curious Albino guest.

"Our old platoon commander." Up front, Evan enthusiastically replied with a wide toothy grin plastered on his face, before diverting his attention to the road ahead as indicated by their team leader suddenly interjecting amidst the conversation by faking a cough as a warning. But not before allowing Evan to finish his reply. "Fucking batshit insane too! In a good way, I mean."

"What happened to him though?" The answer did not quell the Traveler's thirst for information, his curiosity further fueled by the explanation much to the chagrin of Evan. His hands are already gripping on the notebook whipped out just now from his vest, his fingers cradling the vibrant blue pen. "Where is he now?"

"He got his arms shattered in Afghanistan." Clancy quickly spoke up, answering the question on behalf of his energetic friend all while keeping his eyes on the roadside, his M4A1 barrel protruding out of the windowless door pointed at seemingly no one. His immediate reply was met by the Traveler mouthing the word "ouch" quietly.

"Right, he got medically discharged." The driver nodded in agreement, before exaggeratedly raising his hands in the air in an attempt to gain the young journalist's attention. "But that's beside the point."

He twisted his body halfway through, maintaining a fair amount of attention to both the ever-curious journalist and the armor column right in front of him.

"Point is, had he been here, this would be the golden opportunity for that fag to unleash his psycho fantasies on all these knights in shining fucking armors. Shit! He could grab a motherfucking knight by the hair and forcefully mouthfuck that guy till semen starts leaking out of the poor dude's eye sockets and get himself a fucking Navy Cross plastered on his dress blues for doing that."

"Yeah, maybe we'll even get a whole-ass parade in our name once this whole thing is over, that's a lot better." The Corpsman nodded, clearly intrigued by the idea of a parade welcoming them home. His wishes however, were immediately met by a scornful scoff from Evan, the driver then swiftly spun around to face Clancy with a smirk.

"Man, fuck that! Miss me with that motarded shit, Doc. Think about how many pussies and panties we'll get to obliterate when we roll into Sadera guns-blazing! We'll be drowning in cunt liquid from the 'grateful' liberated locals so why the fuck not?" Evan promptly interjected, throwing an accusatory finger at Clancy accompanied by his large grin. His seemingly irreverent remark seems to be another round of sarcasm by the ever-talkative driver, as denoted by him mimicking the word "grateful" with a brash, mocking voice. "That'd be fucking cool don't ya think Sai?."

Already anticipating his inevitable inclusion in the conversation by the boisterous driver, the brunette silently nods in agreement, sarcastically acknowledging his statement.

"Mhmm, that's right," With a flat, spiteful tone laced within his voice, Simon nonchalantly spoke up while emotionlessly gazing outside in the direction of the vibrant treelines and viridescent fields dotting the roadside. "it would be quite a massive upgrade from fucking all those donkey-faced, morbidly obese, KKK inbred redneck retards that you refer to as 'siblings'."

The sudden unforeseen insult immediately generated several snickers from his fellow teammates, including the driver himself, in spite of him being the butt of the joke. It did not take long for Evan to recompose himself and fire back at his team leader with a suitable retort.

"Frankly speaking but uhh..." Evan arched his eyebrows, turning his head around to face the currently indifferent Simon, the brunette acting as if nothing had happened. Evan's voice soon trailed off, followed by him faking a cough. "Didn't your girlfriend dump you before we got deployed?"

"And Sergeant, aren't you a southerner yourself?" Immediately behind his seat, the Traveler inquired as he maneuvered his head into the armrest to get a better view of the front, his face plastered with a quizzical grin.

"Yeah, you can't call the kettle black if you're just as black." Clancy adds with a grin of his own, acknowledging the journalist's question with an idiom, subtly accusing the Sergeant of being a hypocrite.

"You see," With a slight hint of annoyance in his voice, Simon spoke up with his own retortion. "the difference is, at least I have the honor of fucking a girl that isn't related to my bloodline."

"Unlike our dear Evan right here." He spun around smoothly towards his driver, flashing a prideful victorious smirk at him. Evan merely replied by rolling out his tongue towards Simon.

Their little back and forth round of friendly insults slowly subsided, as several faint crackles echoed in the distance, slowly becoming louder as seconds passed until it was obvious where it originated from. Gunfire, everyone inside the vehicle quickly deduced that it was the familiar sound of Marine's weaponry opening fire. Several loud "thunks" hollered from up ahead, as dozens of LAVs began spewing their chainguns to their right flank obscured by treelines and vegetations, sending hundreds of crimson-red tracers dancing across the air towards their unseen target.

Everyone inside the Humvee casually watched as hundreds of machine gun fires erupted from the long line of RCT-5's convoy in front of them, sending geysers of dirt and grasses into the air as 25mm high explosive rounds raked the green fields off-the-road in an ear-splitting cacophony. Tensing within the confines of his seat, Simon intently listened to the garbled mess that filled the radio right now, trying to find out whatever the hell they were shooting at, hopefully not civilians.

He spun around once again towards his subordinates, his worry of collateral damages masked under the calm facade on his face.

"RCT-5's engaging forward enemy elements, wait one," He paused for a moment, focusing back on his headset as he closely listened to the remainder of the radio traffic. "looks like they came across a castle."

"Oh shit, we're gonna go rescue a fucking princess now aren't we?" Evan sarcastically quipped, smacking the shoulder of his team leader lightly all while focusing on the road up ahead.

Not a moment later, a bright silvery spark flashed before their eyes at a frightening speed, approaching quickly from the right. The duo barely processed what they had just seen when it struck a Marine AAV traveling in front of them, the object slamming into its hull at a fast pace that swiftly resulted in a brilliant amber explosion, sending pieces of shrapnel and plumes of smoke into the air from the now burning armored vehicle.

It did not take long for Simon to snap out of his previous gaze at the AAV to start issuing orders to his equally-shocked subordinates. As if on cue, the entirety of the convoy also screeched to a quick but rough stop

"Get out of the vehicle, they got RPGs." The Sergeant calmly orders, sounding almost serene as he quickly pulls back the charging handle of his M4A1, racking the rifle backward as it clatters, rounds ready inside the chamber as a result. He took one last glance in the direction of his Mark-19 gunner. "Kirito, stay there. Everybody else set up a defensive perimeter."

"Roger that!" A firm reply came from the turret position, followed by Kirito racking back the charging handle of the cumbersome death machine mounted on the Humvee's roof.

The gunner promptly flashed a positive thumbs-up towards superior while everybody else heeded to his orders including the young journalist, springing into action as they all swung their doors open before immediately forming up a defensive circle around the Humvee, not wanting to be a sitting duck inside their cramped vehicles. Behind them, other teams in the platoon followed suit as their occupants swiftly jumped out of their respective rides in a frantic but organized manner, taking up a kneeling position.

"Holy shit dude, the knights in shining fucking armors and their Roman overlords now have fucking RPGs? This continent just couldn't get any fuckin' worse couldn't they?" Evan merely shook his head in disbelief, his flabbergasted tone accompanying his amused smile. "Jesus fucking Christ, man."

The AAV up front continues to burn brightly, the noise of fire crackling and ammunition cooking off complemented the chaotic scene. Moments later, the rear and top hatches swung open as waves of Marines jumped out of the burning Amtrak. Miraculously, none of them seemed to be hurt despite the size of the explosion that engulfed the vehicle earlier. The same couldn't be said about their ride however, as the intense fire magic continued to savage the hull, melting off the paints and blasting their mangled tracks, the transmission smashed apart in a mix of molten metal and leaking diesel.

The fact did not reassure Clancy however, the Corpsman slowly getting restless kneeling near his team's Humvee, doing nothing in particular.

"Hey, Sergeant!" He called out to his superior with an annoyed voice that mirrored his apprehensive face. "Can I head over to treat those grunts from RCT-5?!"

The brunette blinked several times at his friend, before promptly hollering his answer amidst the cacophony of fires crackling and chainguns vomiting destruction.

"Knock it off Doc! They're fine."

"But-" Clancy barely let out his first sentence before Simon swiftly cuts him off.

"No, I don't want to write a report on how my platoon corpsman got his head turned into a smashed watermelon by some fantasy Romans." Simon once again ordered him to stand down, his head nodding towards the crew and the passenger of the burning AAV hiding behind another vehicle off the road. "Calm the fuck down, alright?"

The crew seemed to be unharmed as they lay down taking cover behind the tall grasses by the roadside. The Corpsman, witnessing this, let out a single weak, disappointed sigh, before merely nodding in defeat.

"Aye aye, Sergeant." With that, Simon simply nodded in acknowledgment at Clancy's remark, before returning to his previous task of observing the castle located up front, the structure firmly standing amid the viridescent grassy fields off the road to his right, as hundreds of machine gun and grenade rounds continued to savage the defenders holed up inside the venerable fortress.

Several footsteps resounded behind the Sergeant, slowly becoming louder before a tap on his shoulder spun Simon around, his face turning to meet the one of Lt. Mistral, looking at him with a wary expression as the Lieutenant kneeled down beside him.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" The Lieutenant merely asked as he popped his head several inches up from his shoulder, trying to get a better look at the armor column in front of them that had suddenly screeched to a halt. His efforts were fruitless however, as dust and smoke billowing from the savaged castle obscured the view of the paved highway up ahead, engulfing the convoy in a twilight-like state.

With an answer in his mind already composed, Simon simply glanced at the figure belonging to his apprehensive platoon commander, facing Lt. Mistral with a calm, almost serene facade.

"RCT-5's came across a large concentration of hostile forces." Without any hint of emotion in his voice, Simon promptly replied as he nodded off in the direction of the highway up ahead, crowded with a wide variety of armored vehicles. "Their forward elements got ambushed by Legionnaires in the outskirts of the town up ahead and the nearby castle."

Hearing the mention of a town up ahead. The Lieutenant daringly sprung his head up in the direction of the town in question with narrowed eyes. He could barely make out the unmistakable silhouettes of sprawling Romanesque buildings in the distance obscured by plumes of smoke and dust bits emanating from the ongoing firefight, the small metropolis decorating the mountain valley as it stretched for miles on end.

The thick black fog continued to be spewed out from the bombed-out castle, the breeze sending the smoke flying skywards. Lt. Mistral popped down, before turning his face towards Simon, preoccupied with observing the thick canopy of treelines paralleling the sole paved highway within the confines of the mountain range.

Simon soon lowered his rifle's ACOG sight, not picking up anything from the lush green fields and thick treelines to his right before glancing in the direction of his superior, his face mirroring the composed disposition of the Lieutenant kneeling beside him.

"So, what the fuck do we do now? We're standing in the open, going against our SOPs by stacking up on the road like absolute morons, literally asking-no, begging to be shot at." Simon merely stared at his platoon commander after ending his reasonable complaints with an exasperated sigh. He can see that the young officer is currently preoccupied, perhaps deep in thought as he ponders about their next course of action within his mind.

"Yeah, I think his concerns are reasonable." The ever-loyal assistant team leader of Hitman 2-1, Dow, chipped in from behind his Humvee, acknowledging Simon's remark with a nod of his own.

"Your orders sir?" The brunette spoke up with an almost whispering, soft voice as he leaned his head closer to the Lieutenant's.

It didn't take long for Lt. Mistral to form up a response, snapping his head in the direction of Simon with a steadfast expression, his determined visage reassuring the wary Sergeant almost immediately.

"Alright, push up the security to the roadside and establish a temporary perimeter." He slapped his hands on Simon's shoulder once to snap the Sergeant out of any thoughts that might distract him, before turning his fingers towards the grassy verdant fields covering the roadside. "Get your vehicles into herringbone. I'll be with Sutherby's team at the platoon's flank. Goodluck!"

With this, Simon swiftly nodded in acknowledgment while Lt. Mistral sets off towards the platoon's flank. Simon did not even show a hint of hesitation as he leapt into action almost immediately after receiving the orders. His subordinates trailed behind him, jogging over towards the roadside to their left while Evan climbed back into the the team's idle Humvee, starting the engine before promptly veering the vehicle towards the open fields to his left as the Humvee skirted past his compatriots, clearing the roadway of any unnecessary obstacles as other drivers inside the platoon mirrored his actions in an interlinked scheme of the herringbone maneuver.

The Humvee slowly rolled off the road, zig-zagging carefully to not hit each other. With the engine already turned off and the vehicle sitting idly by, the door swung open as Evan cautiously jogged back to his team several meters away, kneeling and crouching by the roadside in a small yet reasonably sized defensive perimeter.

He arrived back to his fellow compatriots just in time to witness a 120mm round from an RCT-5's Abrams smashed through a guard tower belonging to the castle up front, as the round tore apart the centuries-old bricks that made up the structure before promptly exploding mid-way through, tearing apart the defender's body part and spraying shredded human intestines in a gory mess, decorating the building's inside in a scheme of crimson red.

Up front, another Abrams roared yet again after traversing the turret to the right, its cumbersome cannon vomiting destructions in the form of heavy MPAT shells as the round blasted through the tall guard tower. Moments later, the shell erupted in a massive explosion, smashing apart the structure and tearing up the mage holed up inside, sending hundreds of meat chunks and ruptured organs flying as the castle slowly collapsed under its own weight, the unlucky defenders were promptly buried alive perhaps as a payback for the earlier destruction of the Marines' AAV.

The Marine armor column up ahead continued their destructive hail of fire unabated, letting loose streams of bullets in the direction of the obliterated castle as the collapsed tower proceeded to kick up a cloud of dust. For the men of Bravo Company 1st Recon however, they were grateful over the fact that the convoy of metal contraptions up ahead were from active duty units with much more professional troops, the memory of the Elven Village's destruction in the hands of reservists still fresh in their mind.

Much to the delight of the Recon Marines, they watched as the final 120mm round fired from an Abrams up front rammed against the remainder of the tall towers that once made up the castle's lawn. The shell ignited mid-way through after penetrating the bricks, followed by a massive radiant explosion, sending shredded body parts and crushed organs into the air as denoted by the massive pink fog, dotting the air alongside a variety of lethal shrapnel and fiery brimstone.

"Huuuu~ That was some fucking hardcore shit right there!" From his kneeling posture, Evan ecstatically remarked with a wide grin, lowering the binoculars away from his eyes as his mind tries to process the destruction currently unfolding. He then shifted his gaze towards the similarly gleeful red-haired Corpsman. "I wonder what do they think of us besides as barbarian retards."

"Probably calling us fucking cheaters or something from their comfy afterlife." A quick reply came from the currently smirking Clancy, chuckling at the image playing within his head. So far, they had steamrolled every single hostile force that had attempted to stand in the way of their charge to Sadera.

Simon meanwhile, stayed silent. He keenly scanned the smoky horizon through his ACOG rifle sight, observing the ruins of the now destroyed castle and the seemingly empty town lying abreast. Despite his calm exterior, the destruction of the Elven Settlement several hours ago in the morning had shaken him, as indicated by him taking further steps to prevent any needless slaughter of innocent bystanders. With the scope's reticle hovering above the rubbles piling just outside the town, he quietly deduced within his mind that no civilians were hit by the one-sided gunfight earlier, or at least, not in his line of sight.

He promptly lowered his M4A1 as he took in the beautiful but intense fire ravaging the castle's compound with his own eyes. In spite of his ever-increasing concern, he can't help but admire the sheer destruction vomited by RCT-5 armors, whistling at the ignited horizon and thick smoke consuming the entire structure.

"Good effects on target," The Sergeant remarked suddenly, followed by a sigh of relief as he slowly relaxed his previously tense grip on the M4A1. The rifle slowly lowered from his torso, the barrel pointed at the ground as he flipped off the safety switch. "no civilians in the area. Some good fucking news finally."

There was some truth to his remark, considering what had just happened several hours ago. Evan, who had been previously preoccupied with surveilling the damage together with Simon, merely shrugged at the statement.

"Dude, are you a fucking pussy?" The driver simply snorted at Simon with a cheeky smile. Despite the irreverent accusation, he did manage to earn a chuckle from the stoic Sergeant. "Go suck a dick you fucking hippie."

"Says the guy who 'accidentally' picked up a fucking ladyboy during our libo in Thailand." Simon promptly shot back with a spiteful tone, reminding him of their shenanigans during the MEU deployment several years past. "Hey, your white trash-ass has never seen an actual woman before? See, this is why incest is bad for your mental well-being."

The retortion quickly gained an audible chuckle from the now amused Clancy, suppressing a snicker with a Herculean effort together with the Traveler, quickly jotting down the conversation on his notebook. Needless to say, Evan wasn't pleased.

"Fuck off," He shot back, raising his right hand as threw an accusatory finger at the smirking Simon. "you're the one that hook me up with the 'girl' and you fucking know it, miss me with that gay-ass Navy shit, Sai. I don't even know she has a fucking dick, I thought she has an actual cunt."

"Then you should've noticed the dick's bulge already," Clancy chipped in from behind with a malicious grin, prompting both Evan and Simon to shift their attention to the Corpsman. "you spent too much time fucking your disabled redneck cousins to the point you couldn't even tell the difference between a trans girl with a cock and a mutated morbidly-obese whale with an overgrown vagina."

The driver merely shrugged at Clancy's jab with a seemingly uncaring face, not even mad at his friend's accusation.

"I dunno, I'm not a Navy Corpsman with medical knowledge to notice that it's a dick, I'm just a white trash farmboy who's so fucking desperate to get a pussy other than his cousin to even care." Then, a mischievous smirk crept on Evan's previously blank face, causing Clancy to raise one of his eyebrows in a puzzled state as a purposely exaggerated southern dialect slipped into the Corporal's voice. "But you will, won't ya? 'Cause you're a fucking gay-ass navy sailor."

"Oh, fuck off." Clancy immediately raised a dismissive hand in response to the remark, his previous calm tone suddenly getting hostile as he promptly waved off the sudden accusatory finger from Evan.

Just before Clancy could form up any kind of retort, their little back and forth was rudely interrupted by a rhythmic series of metal banging, loudly clattering as the obnoxious noise snapped them back to reality. The trio lightly flinched for a moment, before returning back to their senses as they squint their eyes in an effort to find the source of the sound, slowly scanning before stopping on a masked figure sitting on the turret cupola of their Humvee, his lower jaw up to the nose obscured by the issued neck-gaiter while his eyes stared at them, seemingly unamused by their series of friendly banters.

"Oi oi oi!" Kirito, which had been excluded from the earlier banter, loudly exclaimed from his turret position as he stared at his team with a pair of disappointed eyes. Finally getting the attention of his friends, he then raised his hands in the direction of the long convoy of war machines up front. "This isn't time for any fuckin' bullshit bruh. I got a couple of footmobiles approaching from 12 o'clock. Maybe 1000 to 900 meters out. Maybe armed but I can't see a single fucking shit."

The trio, hearing this, immediately clutched over their respective weapons, which had been ignored in the favor of the banter earlier, while the journalist tagging along merely shrugged uncaringly, leaning his head against the sides of their Humvee as he casually observed the Marines tensed up from their previous light-hearted and friendly state. With everyone now hunched over their rifles, they pressed their sights close to their eyes, cautiously surveilling the still dusty horizon.

True to the word of the team's turret gunner, the horizon is indeed smoky and dusty from the previous firefight. The billowing smoke from the now blasted apart castle obscured the town ahead, the silhouette of Romanesque buildings barely discernible behind the wave of man-made fog.

After minutes of ceaseless scanning, something caught their eyes within the thick black smoke. Everyone within the platoon trained their rifles on the anthropomorphic silhouette, slowly moving amid the dusty road up ahead. The movement appeared to be too sluggish to be a serious threat, but that didn't stop everyone, from the Recon Marines to the mechanized troops of RCT-5 from pointing their plethora of weaponry on the barely discernible figure.

They waited for the sluggish figure to come out of the sulfur-laced dust, the silhouette seemed frail as it continued to move. Minutes passed intensely, the Marines slowly getting reckless as their fingers inched closer to the trigger, despite using their thermal sight, they could barely discern if the figure was just carrying a harmless bag of everyday things or a spear, courtesy of the thick smoke. Finally, Clancy breaks the eerie silence by slapping the shoulder of his team leader, softly smacking it to gain his attention.

"Should we light it the fuck up? Looks like a sword or something the guy's holding," Clancy, now with the attention of the usually stoic Simon, asked the question that everyone had been waiting to be asked. The Sergeant merely blinked at his fellow comrade for a moment. "or it could just be the thermals acting funny, a lotta thick dust and smoke up there. Can't see shit for sure."

Seconds later, the Sergeant answered with a steadfast tone.

"Nah, just wait for the guy to come into visual sight. Not like he can hit anything with his homemade caveman spear. Just wait for the guy to come out of the smoke," Simon simply remarked, ordering his subordinates to stand down momentarily. They remain hunched on their respective weapons though, albeit in a less tense state. The request triggered a less pleasant reflection of the earlier memory of the Elven Settlement's destruction. "and I don't want our name to be featured in a fucking Marxist anti-war rally as guys who created the retarded sequel of reservists cutting elves apart with machine guns."

"To be fair, the Zulus did kick the British's ass during their war with them." Clancy corrected his superior, referring to his remark about cavemen spears. The statement almost immediately earned him a pair of puzzled faces from Evan and Simon. "Quite badly too, I heard, despite the other side having guns."

"Except the Brits didn't have tanks and shit manned by fucking 20-year-old motards who enlisted to shoot a massive fucking grenade launcher lubed with some oily MRE peanut butter with the intent of blowing the enemy's brains out." Evan chimes into the conversation with a goofy tone, his amused voice didn't exactly go along with his stoic face. His eyes meanwhile, were glued to the thermal sight firmly held on his hand, while his M4A1 continued to be slung on his chest.

"That and the fact that they lacked close air support and effective fire support besides a couple of peashooter cannons." With an approving voice, Simon remarked as he added into Evan's statement. Clancy meanwhile, promptly donned a shit-eating grin that gives off a smug aura.

"Fucking 'rah." Both the red-haired Corpsman the Traveler proudly muttered the Marine's age-old motivational cry in unison with a goofy smile, despite the fact that the former's a navy sailor that happens to be tasked with medically baby-sitting a platoon of aggressive ultra-violent jarheads in an active war zone, while the latter is simply a journalist that tagged along with the Marines in their adventure through Falmart.

Once again, a quick but audible whistled swept through the air, interrupting their conversation. The source of the noise was Simon's assistant team leader Dow, the black man hunching over his grenade-equipped M4A1, pointing it at the approaching figure now about to move out of the massive cloud of smoke ahead.

"Hey, got a motherfucker approaching us. 'Boutta come out of the smoke sooner or later." He jogged closer to his brown-haired Caucasian friend, his M4A1 close to his chest as he dropped low behind Simon with his finger hovering over the trigger. Close enough to fire but not too close in case of an accidental discharge. "Should we pop those guys?"

"Yeah, should we uhh, light them up?" Kirito repeated the question asked previously by his assistant team leader, which similarly requested permission to fire on the vaguely armed figure, minus Dow's trademark hood accent.

By now, everyone had returned to their previously tense state with their weapons cocked and gloved fingers on the trigger, ready to spit destruction upon the silhouette exposing itself from the relative safety of the smoke. Minutes passed like hours, as several figures, maybe 4 or 5 began inching closer to the clean air untouched by the dust which the Marines took as a hint to rack their rifles one last time, as everyone's guns clatter as a signal of a round inside the chamber while water vapors continued to be tensely breathed out due to the cold temperature of the mountains.

Soon, the silhouette finally exposed itself out of the smoke, walking into the sights of Marines weaponry, ranging from small arms to heavy tank guns, all of them trained on the figure. But just moments before they let loose a hail of lead, a voice interrupted the anticipated one-sided firefight.

"Whoa there buddy! Hold your fucking fire! Hold your fire and do not engage! Those are unarmed civilians." Simon's eyes immediately turned wide at the revelation as he called over to his turret gunner in a calm voice that nevertheless sounded urgent. He's not staring at a small pack of legionnaires led by a suicidally brave centurion but rather, a group of desperate civilians, walking on their last leg while their torso struggled to straighten, their arms malnourished and weakened from an entire week worth of ceaseless bombardment by coalition air forces. "Jesus fucking christ, those are fucking women and children.

Witnessing the sudden change of the Sergeant's expression and hearing what had just been reported by the man, everyone in the platoon turned away their previously ready-to-fire weapons away from the crowd of civilians walking alongside the highway. The group continued their march towards the Marines' line, struggling to stand straight from the constant fatigue of avoiding the otherwolder's flying machinery that spitted out shredded body parts, torn apart corpses with obliterated organs and destruction of entire buildings in its wake.

Not wanting a repeat of the morning's tragedy, the radio traffic promptly became garbled by time with hushed voices as reports began flooding in of the true identity of the figures that they had observed earlier, hopefully to prevent any trigger-happy grunt from ruining the moment by slaughtering innocent bystanders. Soon enough, the Marine Infantrymen from the much bigger RCT-5 in front of them swiftly lowered their weapons, pulling it away from the exhausted group of civilians in an effort to not scare the already frail and weakened column of women and children.

Luckily for the men of 1st Recon, their effort to prevent further needless slaughter of civilians paid off, as no shot ever came out targeted in the general direction of the group. The Marines merely gazed at the group for a moment, their fingers hovering over the weapon's respective safety switch as they simultaneously flipped it "on" in unison, their rifles pointed at the green fields that made up the roadside below.

But then, something peculiar within the group of refugees caught their eyes however, not their status, not their torn clothes or not even their exhausted body. But rather, their heads. Through their respective rifle scopes and binoculars, they watch as something plopped upwards from their messy and dirty hair, the fluffy oddball branching off the top of their skull.

"Are those fucking… catgirls?" Evan, not believing his eyes, simply inquired with a tone of disbelief. Immediately, several snickers emerged from their fellow platoon mates. "Holy shit man, am I going absolutely mental or what?."

"Nah, you're not hallucinating, those are legit fucking catgirls." To his right, Clancy swiftly replied with a similarly perplexed tone, further confirming the driver's suspicion. Simon meanwhile, stayed silent, his eyes glued to his ACOG as he closely observed the figures ceaselessly, despite being confirmed as posing absolutely no threat to them or other friendly units.

The frail group of women and children walked cautiously by the roadside, moving past an armada of tanks and other variety of differing armored vehicles warily with. Their body quivered from the cold winds of the mountains sweeping through the valley and perhaps, as a result from the colossal war machines crowding the highway leading up to their bombarded town, smashed and blasted apart by days of aerial attack from mysterious looking wyverns.

The Marines from RCT-5, both active and reservist, sitting and lying down haphazardly from their AAV's open hatches and the LAV's rear-entrance with plethora of weapons neatly placed upon their chest, merely eyed the group with a mixed feeling of pity and suspicion. Pity due to their frail and exhausted state, from years of oppression by the Saderans and now, the on-going war between their Romanesque overlords and otherworlders "barbarians" added itself into the ever-growing list of bad luck and trouble that had befell their people for centuries. Suspicion due to America's terrible experiences in the Middle East, where despicable things such as human shields and enemy hiding as refugees is considered an every-day thing.

Simon eyed the herd of civilians for several moments with a gnawing feeling of pity, walking past a plethora of armored vehicles as their crew and passengers simply ignored the group as if they were never there. A part of him wanted to help them, but he fought the urge nonetheless, staying still in his current defensive posture, watching the frail group of demi-human with his rifle sight as they advanced through their line unopposed without any help or aid given, besides a couple of polite greeting and wary stares hurled at them.

But soon enough, the swelling feeling of pity overpowered him as he finally relented to his emotions, as denoted by his prolonged sigh of resignation as he quickly got up from his previously relaxed posture of kneeling. Despite his usual calm facade displayed for everyone to see on the outside, his fellow comrades in the platoon also knew that he had developed a soft side for civilians after that certain incident that shook everybody, especially Simon and Clancy, the duo unlucky enough to be on the front seat of an accidental slaughter in the hands of nervous reservists.

"Fuck it," Simon heaved out, beckoning towards Clancy as he nods off towards their Humvee, parked neatly off the road in a herringbone formation together with the rest of Second Platoon. "Doc, get me a couple of humrats."

"Got it." The Corpsman promptly nodded in acknowledgement, before immediately heeding to the newly given orders as he got up and jogged over to their Humvee parked just off the highway. With his rifle slung to his back, his gloved hand gripped the door's handle firmly, before swinging it wide open in a lazy fashion.

Clancy weaved through the cramped inside of the vehicle in an effort to search for the box that contained humanitarian rations or simply shortened as "humrats.". Metallic bang and gear clattering indicated that the Corpsman is currently preoccupied with rummaging through the piles of equipment stashed at the back of the Humvee in a haphazard manner. Soon enough, Clancy finally found what he's looking for as his eyes stole a glance of a box with the name "humanitarian rations" on its side.

He immediately snatched it and brought it outside, his left hand carrying the box while the other kept his previously dangling M4A1 close to his chest. After jogging low to the ground for a moment, he finally arrived beside Simon, as he drifted to a stop with a satisfied grin on his face.

"There you go," With his hand rummaging through the half-full box, Clancy promptly handed over several dozen bags of ration to the Sergeant's hand, slowly piling his grip with tons of humrats in an urgent manner. "that's all that is left, there's no more Humrats in the Humvee."

"Don't worry, these are enough for those guys over there." Simon immediately pointed his head in the direction of the demi-human group followed by Clancy, the herd of civilians resting on the roadside after marching non-stop for a long time. He stole a glance towards their frail body, malnourished from years worth of mistreatment under the Saderan Empire. Their gaze however, was rudely interrupted by a snicker from Evan, also kneeling behind the duo.

"So, you two are gonna have your own knight in shining fucking armor moment or what?" The driver curiously inquired with a cheeky grin smeared over his face, his hands lightly tapping on the buttstock of his M4A1. The question prompted Clancy and Simon to look at each other for a moment with a blank face, before the latter finally turned his head towards Evan with a small grin, hidden under his half balaclava-like neck gaiter and LWH helmet.

"Yeah, now shut your fucking mouth and provide for cover us." Despite his seemingly hostile words, Simon promptly traded winks with the ever-talkative Evan. His previous grin, which had been barely visible under his LWH helmet, widened visibly.

"Roger that!" In response to the order, Evan immediately slid back the charging handle of his M4A1 without even a slight hesitation, replying to his request with a cheery voice that has a hint of his southern dialect. Before flashing a thumbs up at the duo as the two men began to leave their kneeling posture to walk towards the resting group of demi-humans. "Goodluck! Try not to get your dick bitten off by a fucking catgirl after your session of white-knighting."

The duo stopped in their tracks, as their heads spun around to meet Evan's grinning face before the brunette unceremoniously broke the momentary silence.

"Why thank you, Evan. For your not so useful piece of half-assed reassurance." He shot back at Evan's quip with his own sarcastic reply, earning a suppressed chuckle from the Corpsman to his left.

"But then again, thinking 'bout it, you two would make for a good trans with that kind of face." Evan simply shrugged indifferently, his remark earning him a middle finger from the now flushed Corpsman while Simon merely waved it off with a dismissive hand. Promptly ignoring his statement as they all returned to doing their previous task, with Evan and Kirito covering them from behind with the rest of the platoon while the duo continued on with their journey to the herd of civilians several meters away.

Approaching the apprehensive crowd, the two men slowly took off their helmet as a sign of friendliness, with their hands high in the air to indicate that they're unarmed. Through his ACOG rifle sight, Evan could clearly see the group of demi-humans by the roadside, which had been agitated by Simon and Clancy's approach, slowly warmed up to the duo after their LWH were taken off.

Children from both sides of the gender spectrum, no older than 12 or 13, approached the duo of sailor and Marine with the intent of feeding their growing curiosity, the tail wagging left and right in anticipation as the two men promptly handed over the pink-colored pack of humrats to a boy, his older brother standing behind just in case it's a trick by the humans. Evan can't help but smile at the scene, after weeks worth of rolling through Central Falmart blowing the hell out of everything that they came across in a gory mess, the scene of them helping civilians which had endured years of oppression under their Saderans masters has been treated as a welcomed change of sight from all the colorfully mashed up corpses and mangled dead bodies that they had come across during their lightning advance to heart of the Empire

Thus, Hitman-2 helped some demi-humans refugees along the way.

---

RCT-5 Command Operations Center (COC), 8 Kilometers away from the hostile town. (1335)

The day, which previously had been sunny in the morning, now turned dark in a twilight-like state as cloud cover began to increase in the area around the mountain range. Low, cloudy overcast hung over the afternoon's sky, threatening to pour rainwater over the area of operations. However, the commander of the 1st Recon had other things lingering in his mind, not even caring of the forthcoming rain as he casually walked into the bustling tent that acted as the forward command post for the massive battle force of RCT-5

Amateurs talk tactics, professionals study logistics.

The word had been repeated and drilled endlessly through Lt. Colonel Steven Garcia's mind ever since he started his career in the Marines Corps as a young Lieutenant just after the Gulf War.

Now, he is the current commander of 1st Reconnaissance Battalion commonly referred to by his fellow subordinates as Godfather. Today, he bore witness to America's Logistical Might as he walked into Regimental Combat Team-5's COC. The first noticeable change that Godfather noticed is the sudden change of temperature inside the tent. The warm, room-temperature air courtesy of the air conditioner set up outside was a welcomed change after days spent in the field outside in the cold valley of the Duma Mountains Range. All of this was done in a swift manner, from the flaps of the tent to the computers that decorated the tables inside the command center, again, a testament to America's Logistical Might.

Something else remained the same though. When compared, the difference between 1st Recon's and RCT-5's COC is that of the quiet border town of El Paso to New York. But the lively and chaotic feeling together with the constant non-stop buzzing indicating incoming radio traffic remained similar in both unit's command posts.

He weaved his way through the bustling tent, pushing through the crowd of the regiment's staff and radio operator haphazardly, moving at an urgent pace across the rows upon rows of tables complete with laptops and BLUFOR tracker to coordinate the movement of each battalion within the battle force. Though, gazing at them was not his intent as he continued to move through the chaotic room, before finally stopping at the sight of RCT-5's commander, Colonel Raymond Brady, his face betrayed no emotion as the man leaned on the surface of a map that shows the area of operation in detail. Around him, stands Godfather's fellow lieutenant colonels and other officers in a circle surrounding the man. Some worked as his staff while others commanded their own unit, ranging from infantry to armor to engineers, all under Colonel Brady's forces.

Everyone appeared tense, scanning the map intently with tired eyes, courtesy of the lack of sleep that had been plaguing the entirety of the 1st Marine Division. Just an hour ago, Godfather had heard on the radio traffic of the reports indicating that forward elements of RCT-5 had come across the first of the many hostile towns standing in their advance to Sadera. When they tried to make their way through the town by the outskirts, they immediately came under fire from a battalion, or in Roman terms, cohort-sized force; the unit fought their way back to friendly lines without any death, but they did earn several arrows in arms and thighs for the trouble, causing several bleedings and busted artery.

Now, everyone gathered around the map in a vague circle, debating over their next course of action as Godfather simply watched the meeting unfold, leaning his back on a table that had been decorated with radio devices and laptops. Some, more aggressive officers pushed for the entire regiment to punch through the town in a Italica-like thunder run, with armors and air support aiding the RCT-5 in their advance. But that decision would cause a lot of casualties for the boots on the ground while others, more cautious commanders, advocated to simply bypass and isolate the town, allowing for quicker advance through the mountain valley but it'd leave several hostile towns threatening their supply lines. To make matters worse, it's about to rain which makes reconnaissance by drones impossible.

Godfather however, had something else in his mind. A much more different solution for the unexpected cohort of legionnaires that dared to stand in the way of 1st Marine Division dash to Sadera.

"Why not both?" His hoarse voice swept through the moderately-sized tent, garnering several looks from the previously preoccupied group of officers in front of him.

"What?" The commanding officer of 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment (2/5) cocked his eyebrows as he merely gazed at the Italian-American that happens to lead the elite 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, apparently the bustling tent had prevented him from clearly hearing what the man said. "Say your last?"

"You heard me," Godfather answered with a firm tone, as he approached the table displaying the map of their AO on it. Accompanying the already large sheet are the blue dots indicating friendly units on the outskirts of the town, while halted, are also ready to move at the orders of their commanders. "my unit, 1st Recon, in their light Humvees will use the main MSR to punch through in a dash and run like absolute hell 'till we reach the other side of the town. While the RCT will simply bypass the hostile town through other routes looping around the city, before establishing blocking positions on the outskirts of the town to prevent the battalion sized unit of legionnaires inside the town from escaping."

While it does sound like a good plan, the audacity of the proposal flabbergasted some of the officers in the vicinity. Especially considering the fact that 1st Recon Marines mainly rode in lightly armored Humvees and supply trucks, the 4 tanks attached to the battalion notwithstanding, which would barely make any difference in the large town up ahead.

"That's a insane fucking plan." The Lieutenant Colonel who happens to lead the 3rd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment (3/5) promptly raises his hands to interject the proposal, his face bewildered by Godfather's plan that sounded more like a gamble. "You're literally asking to be killed by riding through that town in lightly armored Humvees, not even a much more armed and well equipped force like us dared to enter!"

While he does have a point, as everyone's mind reflected to the images of the bloodied and wounded figures of the infantry scouts belonging to the certain LAR unit that had been ambushed outside the town an hour earlier, which certainly is more armed than the tin-plated Humvees of the 1st Recon. But nevertheless, Godfather stood his ground with a determined face, staring down the silent commander of RCT-5.

"Exactly, which is why I want to request a company worth of tanks and LAVs to go into the town first, establish strongpoint positions on the road junctions so my infantry in Humvees and supply trucks can safely pass through to the other side of the town under the cover of armor. After we pass their position, your detached armor elements will bound back to follow behind, repeating the process." Godfather, finishing his lengthy explanation of his earlier proposal, promptly shot a quick but noticeable glance to one of the commanders leading one of the many armored elements inside RCT-5. Hopefully, the man's request of tank and LAR support will be granted by Colonel Brady, still intently studying the map in silence.

Not a moment later, he cocked his head up to face the bold and borderline reckless commander of 1st Reconnaissance Battalion with a perplexed expression as his eyes, sheltered behind cumbersome-looking glasses, eyed the man with a mild curiosity. His hands, which had been supporting his upper torso previously, were quickly moved to his hips.

"So to shorten it up, you're going to play a game of leapfrog through a hostile town crawling with a cohort worth of foot soldiers with the help of heavy armored elements detached from my RCT?" The question immediately garnered looks from his staff and other Marines inside the tent that made up the regiment's cozy COC. The change of mood inside the room did not faze Godfather though, as he promptly answered the Colonel's lengthy inquiry with a steadfast tone.

"Yes." Godfather, without any hesitation, immediately answered which swiftly earned him a nod of acknowledgement from Colonel Brady, as he gestured towards his S-3 Operations Officer standing on the edge of the room. The officer promptly took the hint and took off to inform the officers that led the armored elements of RCT-5 of the request.

"Sounds sound, I'll make sure you'll get whatever you need for your plan." Impressed by Godfather's firmness and bold decisions, he granted his earlier permission almost immediately after it was asked. But something still lingered within the Colonel's mind, not quite understanding the officer's motivation. "But why? Why risk getting an arrow to your fucking skull just to dash through one of the many hostile towns standing in our way to Sadera?"

Silence befell the tent for a moment, as everyone stopped whatever task they were previously doing to look at the conversation unfolding around the table showing the map of the AO. Watching in anticipation for an answer to arrive from the commander of the elite 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, currently pondering about the earlier question asked by Colonel Brady, patiently waiting for any reply to come as he stood alongside his staff and other officers. The only sound audible enough to be heard in the now empty air of the tent is the rumbling of the generators powering the electrical equipment inside the regiment's COC and the familiar noises of the gunfire coming from the outside, sporadically crackling once in a while, followed by the ear-splitting booms of artillery firing salvoes of rounds towards the front.

Soon enough, the answer came as a prideful smirk began creeping on Godfather's face, giving off a smugful aura felt by everyone in the tent.

"Frankly gentlemen, I don't like being told what to do by bunch of fucking copycat Romans with the ego higher than the mountains surrounding this valley." The previous smirk on his face, instead of slowly disappearing, immediately widened as it accompanied his boastful voice that broke the silence inside the tent.

As if on cue, several ear-shattering booms swept through the tent in a perfect rhythm, the thin fabric layer covering the COC not even doing anything to the loud roars of rows upon rows of M777 Howitzers firing their shells, lobbing hundreds of HE and white phosphorus munitions raining down on the town up ahead, sending scorched organs, squished up intestines leaking crimson-red blood and shredded human limbs high in the air alongside bricks blasted apart by Marines artillery and aerial bombardments.

Pausing for a moment to let the artillery finish its haunting orchestra of destruction, Godfather immediately wrapped up his last words.

"And I thought it'd be a good idea to cause some trouble for all those motherfuckers holed up inside that shithole town."

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S-3 and Operations Officer - S-3 (Planning and Operation) is the part of military command staff that, like the name implies, plans military operations. The Operations Officer is the guy that leads S-3.

29 Palms - A Marine Corps base in the middle of Mojave desert, home to the 7th Marine Regiment, 1st Tank Battalion, 3rd LAR Battalion and other variety of different units.

MEU - A Marine Expeditionary Unit, basically a quick reaction force of jarheads riding on a bunch of amphibious ships ready to respond to any kind of crisis. Usually composed of an infantry battalion with tanks, LAR, aerial and recon elements attached.

Libo - Liberty, basically a day-off for Marines.

Herringbone Formation - Basically a parking maneuver for convoys that suddenly stops, google it to see how it looks in real life.

Semper Sometimes - A mocking version of Semper Fi, usually used to poke fun at reservists Marines and their part-time nature.

Weekend Warriors - A mocking way of calling a reserve Marine.

Neck-gaiter - Basically half-balaclava that only extends half-way through, for cold weather.

3/23 - 3rd Battalion 23rd Marine Regiment, a reserve unit.

MCB Camp Pendleton - The home of 1st Marine Division in Southern California.

LAR and Infantry Scouts - Light Armored Reconnaissance, another way of saying Marine units that have LAV-25s. Scouts are infantry that rode in the back of a LAV.

MOS - Military Occupational Service. Basically what kind of job did you do in the military. Like for example : engineer, infantry, tankers, reconnaissance blah blah you get what I'm saying.

SOP - Standard operating procedure, basically how to do this and that. Different unit different SOPs.

COC - Combat Operations Center. A command post for units like battalion, regiment and above.