War in the bitter east. The deserts have become a breeding ground of hostile activity. Enhanced soldiers rule the battlefield, though few could afford the costly upgrades. My squad was sent in to quell the rebellion against them, but nothing went well.
My name is Kyle, an elite soldier who has also been enhanced combatively, but not near as much as the ones they called “The Six”. They were demons, though I have managed to survive against Charred Rose. Her revolver now remains attached to the side of my leg, in a rough cut holster I made out of some of my uniform that had been cut up in the fighting.
I stand at attention in the command tent, awaiting new orders from the residing general, complete with the hopes of reinforcements from HQ. Our meeting had been short, one with a field promotion quietly added in. I now ranked as a commander of a squad, having been the only survivor from my previous detail.
“You’ll be liberating the south end of Bacarra, recently having been captured by the Six. If we can detain any rebels from this mission, do so but only if you can do so safely. Our main objective is to gain control of the towns main media station.” A map lit up, detailing the station. I quickly memorized the layout, noting key objective markers I would need, as well as other small details.
“One word of caution. There is rumored to be a member of the Six residing in that station, believed to be codenamed “The Devil.” He is very dangerous, and if he is located, do not hesitate to call for an aerial bombing. Understood?”
The small crowd formed up in full formal attention, saluting and shouting in unison “Yes Sir!”
Two days later. I stand behind a closed door, my squad mates taking positions around the small house we claimed as our base of operations. The other guys in my crew served themselves a protein bar or water, rationing as best we could. I sipped from my own canteen, one I claimed from a burnt out village a few miles back towards the main base. When we were all set to go, I opened the door slowly, eying what laid beyond.
The fighting in the town had kept the streets cleared, most people having fled into the mountains to the west. There were only two militants ahead, so I signaled the sharp shooters to take them out. Two silenced shots later, both were down. I opened the door fully, my rifle raised as we cleared out, heading into an alleyway across the way.
The media station was supposed to be located a few blocks to our west, according to the tactical map I was handed after the breifing. We cleared the street with relative ease, heading down the alleyway in a single line, with one man keeping rear watch. When the alley broke into another street, I’d glance down both directions, keeping my field-repaired visor locked on hostile movements. Cleared.
When we finally reached the outer walls of the station, we began lining up on the walls, all eyes open for enemy movement. Several hostiles stood guard within the courtyard, my readout confirmed, and I signaled three men on point with me. The rest I signaled to lay low and provide cover fire. We may well need it at this point. My selected team and I began to move forward when my readout started blaring brightly. Something was coming this way, and the confirmed hostiles all turned towards the wall itself.
“Barging in, are we, mites?”
The voice crackled over my radio feed. This was definitely not going to plan.