10 AM, five hours after Jackals left the base.
"Hey! I need a bolt here." One soldier is attaching a heavy machine gun to the sand wall that surrounds the F.O.B.
"Alright, coming!" This one carries the red tool box and a lot more things on his back.
"Hey, quick question: have you ever laid your hand on this thing before?" The first soldier talks about the 2-meter-long rail-machine gun.
"Nope, and you?"
"One time."
"And?" the second soldier asked curiously.
"The recoil got me pregnant."
"Lmao."
Both giggle like little girls, but they're just dressed in an airtight suit, wielded together with the exoskeleton. This alone cost roughly ten times their salaries.
The moment of absurdity has come to an end as Lieutenant Owen gazes his death stare at both of them as if he were telling them to get back to work, muppets.
Dealing with the base renovation alone gives him a headache, not to mention that he also has to babysit 50 adult toddlers with a gun.
Put that aside, if you look at the base from above, you can see that it's surrounded by pre-dug trenches and foxholes, mounted with 5 45-mm machine guns in total. The forward operating base was successfully constructed within a day.
As such, the exhausted soldiers were begging for time to sleep.
"Get your time soldiers, dismissed."
They were hastily rushing into the airlock door, kicking dust everywhere.
Finally, they're able to take off their gas mask for once, except for the one who unfortunately got the first shift.
Lt. Owen also goes into the barrack, the quarter for five soldiers. He's got the message from Colonel on his bracelet that lay on the bunk.
They are moving into the second phase of the operation, which is finally the moment of realization for him and 50 recon-infantries. They will send down two companies of mechanized infantry as well as their heavy machinery, such as bulldozer, rovers, VTOL crafts, remote IFVs, and maybe one or two Bulwarks. The Colonel is also giving him his personal mission.
The thought of him blowing some steam off faded away as he needed to assist Capt. Jackals in his every action instead of just doing the office job. Thus, this news coiled up Owen's eyebrows and pissed him off, but not that much.
Laying down on the hard rubber mattress, he cleared his mind, as well as setting the notification on his comms to non. He's going for a good rest, because it might be the last thing he wants if he gets caught in dragging gunfire.
.
.
.
.
[Incoming comms] [Incoming comms]
The loudest screaming of the cortex interface was embedded in Owen's brain. The notification that shouldn't be set off by mean suddenly ringing in his brain, hard.
"What tha fuck was that?" He yells, which makes the fellow regulators jump out of their barracks.
"Something wrong, sir?" one private asks with his face, confused and panicking.
"You remember the captain?"
"yes sir??"
"Apparently he brought shit to our hands, got captured, and was interrogated." He was very pissed off right now.
"Oh....do we need to do something?"
"Yeah, Jarhead, tell your sergeant to get his man packed with gear and ready for the 20-kilometer ruck march." He answered Private's stupid question with a slightly less aggressive tone.
"Sheeez....Yes sir!" He ran out to another quarter.
.
.
.
.
.
A special rescue team, formed by Lt. Owen and led by Sgt. Jareth, consisted of six fully armored regulators camouflaged by the vegetation in the region. The group was divided into two firing teams: riflemen, anti-armor, and machine gunners.
Setting off early, 18 hours after Jackals had gone dark, the sound of seven men marching in the wet terrain echoed: [Gallop] [Stomp] [Kruk]. They moved carefully, avoiding disturbing the branches and leaves on their garments.
Sgt. Jareth released a reconnaissance insect drone to watch over their heads for hostile creatures and as well as natives.
Their exoskeleton suits hummed as they marched through the dense forest, keeping their eyes open with LiDAR and X-ray sensors combined. Instead of asking the machine gunner to check the map, Sgt. Jareth wanted to know how close they were to the SOS signal, which had just arrived.
A hundreds-of-meters-tall cliff loomed ahead, one that they wouldn't attempt to challenge... yet thousands of ropes still dangled, waiting for newcomers. But, as the wise one said, "The easiest path does not always lead to success."
"We'll go around the cliff using the zipper, with Team B first and also marksman." Jareth instructs the approach for the group: avoid what looks like a main entry point for the native's compound by going around the side using a zipline.
"Marksman, sir." He replied, waiting for orders. holding his EBR tight. His finger rested on the fire selector.
"Provide overwatch, connect your helmet with the drone, and if you see anything moving, tell us."
"Crystal." He acknowledged this, thus loading the thermal imaging from the drone hovering above. He positioned himself not far but not close to teams A and B, the cloak swaying as the cold breeze hit the torn fabric. He lay down flat, still pretending to be the brainless stone.
"Team B approach entrypoint, deploying zippers." B-Lead reported, as well as putting the mortar-like equipment on the bottom of the cliff.
"Firing." At the end of his sentence it followed by [Pouff!] as the projectile launched with speed provided by a pressurized gas engine, making little to no sound.
Weeping though air, the rocket is pulling rope meters by meters until it's run out of CO2. But in a mere second, the propellant blade pops out from the side and automatically tangle the climbing cable with the boulder on the top.
"Set and secure. Team B attached the hook." B-Lead whispers to the mic. The rest pile up in a stack, attaching the ascending device to the cable while team A waits near, keep their gun up at all times.
Within a press of a button, the machine shapes like a briefcase, pulling three heavily armed regulators flying at a speed of 40 kilometers per hour, sending a shock up their spine with absurdly high acceleration, making clicking clanking sound as the metal wheels are spinning at high RPM.
Approaching the native's compound with pace and silence is the first priority, as they don't want to alert anyone about their lurking presence. Suddenly, marksman's voice crackled over the comms.
"Natives spotted ten o'clock high, 200 meters at the compound entrance, looks like they're armed."
Sgt. Jareth nodded, processing the information quickly. "Hold your fire, don't make them alert and keep watching." Then he spoke to team B.
"B-Lead, you got company 9 o'clock 40 meters; are you up top?" his voice sweating.
"B-Lead, sir. We're up top, try to keep our head down from the searchlight." They were lying still on the gravel floor, flat. Pushing their helmet as close to the ground as possible, avoid the ray reflected by the big search mirror. No one dares to move a muscle.
Team B managed to keep their presence hidden relatively close to the logs wall, which temporarily relieved the sergeant. But now, if they have to use the zipper again, they will make too much noise and will be fucked.
His mind raced, yet suddenly formed a plan.
"Team A attached the anchor, on my mark." Hearing the order, they rush toward the cable without wasting no time, their gloves covered by sweat and anxiety, thus with the sergeant too.
"Overwatch, come with the team." Jareth shouted through the mic to the team A marksman.
[Galop] [Galop] [Galop] [Galop] Sniper running out from his post.
The tension between the unsuspecting native guard and regulator kept their minds racing in fear and excitement. The engagement is unavoidable.
"Team B loaded subsonic; at worst, don't shoot them dead; avoid complication at all costs." This puzzled some of his men, as they might be in imminent danger but didn't have permission to neutralize the threats. But thinking too much isn't going to help them much as soldiers; it's do or die.
"This is the plan. Team B will take down the guard by hand. Then, me and Team A will be climbing up fast, backing you up, rog? The drone will lasing most of the enemies' positions as we traverse. We go in the big tower fast, finding the captain, understood?" He formulated a rough plan for this situation fast and clearly. And with a reply in comms strong, hard, and united.
"Yes sir." B-Lead.
"Affirmative." B-anti tank.
"Crystal." B-machine gunner.
"Rogger." A-lead.
"Acknowledge." A-anti tank.
"Aye." A-marksman
Clear their minds and their brains for the real deal.
"Good, now execute." A green light, spoken by Sgt. Jareth. His men nod and proceed.
Everyone on Team B loaded their rifle with cold ammunition, 6.8x108mm subsonic. Inserting a new magazine and ejecting the previous round out for a new one, they pull the charging handle as slowly as possible, ensuring that no metal parts hit each other hard.
B-Lead peeks his head up for a better look, spotting two hostiles armed with a strange firearm almost identical to the one owned by Caelix. After determining their position, the team crouches and begins to circle closer to the target, step by step.
Their hearts beat fast like engines as they step cautiously through the grass, their heavy footfalls barely making a sound. With eyes trained on the guard, they circle closer until they're only a few steps away.
[Crunch!]-They accidentally step on the gravel a little bit too hard.
"Hm?" One of the guards, with feline ears, perks up and turns around, bolt launcher in hand. She walks toward the source of the sound, scanning the darkness with her predator-like eyesight, only to realize it's too late. Three figures, concealed in bushes and greenery, emerge with only the nine dimly lit shines from their visors are visible.
Their batteries are humming, intimidating. They crouch, still not even daring to move a muscle. Thus, she tries to scream, alerting others and raising her launcher. "Who are you?"
[Smack]
In a mere moment, B-Lead lunges toward her, stabilizing his stance with his combat boot, creating more noise as he's sliding on the pebbles. He slaps her weapon out of her hands with superior strength, then tugs her arm as if he was pulling a string, digging below her armpit and he's directly behind her. Both of his arms wrap around her neck, strangling hard.
She gasps for air, her eyes watering and mouth foaming. "!!!" She struggles, dragging her leather shoes on the ground until she starts go limp.
"Hey! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING-" said, the other guard with a horn. He comes charging toward them. His eyes was filled with furious.
[SWACK!]
Machine gun stock weighing around 6 kilos bashing on the bull's chin. [Thud] 'Thus' falls on his track, face down, and 'thus' the bull meets his downfall.
"Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite...stone bug?" Said, B-MG looking down at the fallen guard, with a sigh, and a chuckle.
"Nah, floor bug." B-AT suggests.
"Pebble, pebbugs." B-Lead speaks while his arms still busy with the task at hand, strangling someone.
The feline guard, her vision slow and blurry, witnessed her comrade's fall without a chance to intervene. Her eyes rolled up, mouth foaming, as darkness enveloped her.
.
.
.
Did you know that real-life jackals are known for their remarkable intelligence and adaptability? These cunning canines often form complex social structures and have been observed displaying problem-solving skills in the wild. Just like Capt. Jackals, they're masters of survival in harsh environments.