"I am confident you and I will be fine, but I can't vouch for the other three. We've spent the past year training for these exact scenarios and were only a few days away from our first deployment. Now we are in the storm without our team or gear, and it's straight-up guerrilla warfare." Releasing an annoyed groan, Renton dropped onto Dad's bed and rubbed his temples.
"Ren, you need to remember they aren't Marines, only civilians; they didn't go through the same training and have only lived mundane lives, they simply don't have the experience we do for this type of combat, but it's fine; neither does our enemy."
"They are just normal people with guns who want to cause havoc. Which is fine; we will meet their full force and drop them all; that's what we do; we drop bodies, right? Now look..."
I showed him the drone control, and on the LED screen was the group outside. "They haven't moved; they are afraid, and their leader is trying to organize them. These men just threatened our lives, and what did we do? We showed them we weren't afraid, and they crumpled; they are just regular everyday people with no idea what they signed on for when they threatened us."
"Now, I won't bring morality into it because it's kill or be killed, but it will only be you and I fighting them, the Fairaday Brothers. Chase and his family won't participate because they will suddenly see it as "morally wrong" to kill people without hesitation."
"But what it comes down to fundamentally is if we do not kill them, they will kill us if given the opportunity. You and I can easily protect ourselves, so you better believe that's exactly what we will do. Now how do we do that? We can't just keep sniping them from my window; they will catch on. We need a semi-decent plan."
We sat in silence for several minutes, watching and examining the other group as they recovered from the death of their team members. And as they started to plan, so did we. However, we were one step ahead of them with the Drone.
But that was about to come to an end. The battery meter had started flashing in the top right of the monitor. "Damn it," I cursed. The Drone had been in the air for a solid two hours now, and it was time to bring it back. But how was the question?
The second I brought it low enough, the enemy would not only see it, but they would also hear the whine of its blades, especially since the sun was starting to come up. Either way, they would see it, so Renton and I decided it would be best just to fly it into my room and catch it.
They would find us eventually anyway; why not just get this party on the road?
The only problem was my timing had to be perfect. Launching it from my room was never an issue, but I never tried bringing it back into the apartment.
The margin for error was so small that I could easily take off several propellers or slam it into the wall with one false move.
Setting aside the logistical issues that came with flying it into my room, the trick would be making it look like it had disappeared.
For that, Renton would need to replace the barricade on the window quickly enough that no one would realize it had flown into our apartment and make it look like it was just going down a street.
With those thoughts in mind, I guided the Drone out of its final circle and set it up on a path straight for the window. For this to work, two things needed to happen.
The first was positioning; I'd need to angle it correctly to level it out after clearing the building across the street from us.
There is no doubt that the second step was the most challenging. In order to catch it without damaging the x-shaped arms and propellers, I had to fly it at top speed before suddenly reducing the throttle and pulling it up on the rudder stick.
Like this, not only would it stall out, but I would have enough time to grab the Drone.
In contrast, a sudden and drastic change in velocity was to clear everyone's heads and make it across the street before they realized what had happened.
Renton removed the cover from the window and stood preparing to reseal as I nudged the Drone into position. Instead of looking at the Drone directly, I used the remote monitor to line everything up correctly.
Expertly dipping the nose of the Drone down, it slipped off the lip of the building across the street, forcing the top of the propeller blades to face my direction, and unhesitatingly nudged the throttle to its maximum.
The Drone's servo motors whined as they spun as fast as mechanically possible, driving the device forward in response to my controller input.
"Only 20 more feet," I said nervously. However, my idiotic words had, like usual, JINXED ME! That's when everything went wrong. The thunder of gunshots sounded off; the thugs had spotted the Drone and wasted no time trying to shoot it out of the sky.
Fortunately, or rather unfortunately for me, it was too late for the thugs to take it down.
The reason I say it was unfortunate for me is simple. The instant I heard the gunfire, my attention was directed at the thugs, and the carefully thought-out plan I had devised for slowing it down before catching it went out the window.
With my attention on the thugs, the Drone shot into my room unhindered, only stopping due to slamming into my chest and knocking the wind out of my lungs.
With a loud "oof," I fell onto my back and out of the way, allowing Renton the space needed to close the window and replace the barricade. As soon as the room was secure, more shots rang out.
From the way I could hear bullets ricocheting off the brick walls of my apartment, I understood they had seen where the Drone had disappeared, and the thugs outside were beginning their assault.
Lobbing the Drone onto my bed and out of harm's way, I rolled toward my rifle, loaded a round into the chamber, and watched as bullets riddled my bedroom and embedded themselves into the wall behind me.
Searching for Renton in the dark was unnecessary because I could feel his presence across the room on the floor not far from my current position, so moving quickly and in sync, we both crawled out of my room and to the stairs, where we got back to our feet and crouch-walked down them.
Upon reaching the living room, we were greeted by the sight of a terrified Carleigh cowering behind the couch and whimpering with each round fired outside.
Meanwhile, Chase and Tristian had stationed themselves with rifles pointing at the stairs. If Renton and I hadn't shouted before making it into the open, where only the stair's handrail was located, they would have almost shot both of us as we came down.
Luckily I had the foresight to do so because once they realized it was us, they dropped their barrels, and with a simple glance, I spotted the tension in their eyes and Chase's shaking knees.
"How many are there?" Tristian shouted over the gunfire, which caused me to use my hands to hush him as Renton and I cleared the distance from the stairs to the living room, still crouch-walking.
"Keep your voices down. We don't want them to know how many of us are in the apartment." I said while tapping the antsy Tristian on the shoulder.
With a nod, Tristian rushed away from us and slid on the ground behind the couch to put his prosthetic arm around his mom to comfort her.
While I watched the oldest of us do that, Chase talked with Renton about a game plan in hushed voices. It looked like he wasn't holding any grudges for the attack earlier, which meant we could work as a team unhindered by personal feelings.
However, before either of them could devise a conclusive plan, the gunfire outside suddenly stopped, and the Walkie-Talkie resting on the kitchen table lit up, followed by a crackling sound indicating someone was holding down the button on their end and about to speak.
"So much for not hiding. It seems the little rats have scurried back into their holes like cowards. You killed three more of my men, and you won't even face me; how laughable." The leader of the thugs said, causing the people behind him to laugh.
Narrowing my eyes, I realized I could hear his voice echoing outside the apartment's front door, so I gathered the others close by waving my hands. I had a plan, not a good one but a plan nonetheless.