Dust of Retreat 3

The wet leaves slid across my plating. Their moisture sticking to the cloth of my undersuit, leaving trails of sap and water across my exposed forearms. I advanced slowly, foot fall after footfall seeming to draw me deeper into the furnace. My heads up display flickered and wobbled as the multi faceted eye sensors of my helmet focused and whirred, attempting to gain a stable image. My body itched, hours spent adjusting my gear, tying straps, balancing weight all felt pointless. Sweat ran from my armpits, under my breast, bunched in my bandaged abdomen. It felt like there was a crowd in my clothing, pressing against me, pushing me towards an exit I didn’t want.

“Oi...this shite is fer the berds mate.” Whispered Dingo. His helmet bounced from his waist as we walked, making a slight tink...tink….tink. The customary pink fluffy dice around his sniper rifle now replaced with a poorly camouflaged set.

Ahead of us were the Africans. A strict 15 meter spacing laid between them. They were dead silent, spectres amongst the jungle. Small head movements the only sign of communications. We were the tails of the wedge. Blackie covering our rear, his shotgun always twitching and jerking back and forth. A small micro IV still stuck in his arm, heroin pumping one micro dose at a time. His ruck was still poorly packed, sagging to the side and clanking against his loops of shotgun shells. Our combat drone sat in the middle of us. Slowly and deliberately crawling over the broken terrain, avoiding branches and brush with an ungodly precision as to avoid noise. It’s large calibre shotgun hummed and clicked as it adjusted for the movement of birds and small creatures in the jungle. It’s baggage vibrating slightly against it’s hull, bags and extra boxes of ammunition strung out across it.

We had been advancing for close to two hours. Minimal communication, and complete radio silence. The 0-12 UN forces were less than a kilometer ahead, well within earshot. My rifle weighed heavy in my arms, a large camouflage net hung over my shoulders, sagging down my gear and rigging. Digitally enhanced binoculars looped around my neck. We had no idea of the force composition of our foes, only that they were mechanized, and battle tested if poorly trained. Our last communications with Priest and his operator had been 2:45 hour ago, and with Smith over 3 hours ago. Only to confirm the emergency contact point for support. This would be a 6 man operation. And every one of us felt the pressure.

We came to a clearing. Sun pouring in from the opening above, branches and crushed termite hills littered the area. Footprints led forward down a small rocky trail. The Africans were already prone, looking down the trail. I approached slowly, crouching my head towards my waist and hurriedly advancing. I unlooped my binoculars, but wouldn’t need them. Less than 300 meters from us were the Chinese.

Three large armored vehicles lay before us. Their squat hulls reminiscent of early Soviet designs. Two had extended crew compartments and large wire caged turrets riding on top. 25mm cannon barrels peered out of canvased gun mounts. And large automated gun racks housed twin 12mm heavy machine guns. They were covered in baggage and netting, with the central vehicle housing a large sensor dome on top. Arrayed around the two armored fighting vehicles were over two dozen Chinese soldiers. They were sitting on large rucksacks, eating pre prepared meals. A small fire burned in the center of one group, tin cans and other equipment were scattered around the group. They were clearly far from the front lines and had given up basic security for speed. The third armored vehicle sat farther from the twins. It’s hull of similar design, but its turret housed four large 20mm chain guns. Racks of missiles sat on each side, each as long as a man. A radar dish lazily spun in circles on top of the AAA piece. On it’s rear hung a containment unit with an armored gear unit. An older model it seemed, of Soviet origin. The overall force was clearly reservists, with outdated equipment. Another half dozen crewman sat around the AAA piece, with one wearing a modified uniform for gear operation. At the rear of the convoy sat four all terrain motorcycles. Their rough wheels weighed down under multiple bags of stowage.

“Fahkkkkk…” Dingos rotten mouth was right next to my head as I turned his breath washed over me. Motion drew my eye to the larger African putting his finger over his helmets mouthpiece “Shhh”

A small group of Chinese stood away from the troops. One clearly a senior ranking official despite the ubiquitous blue UN helmets. I raised my binoculars, the lenses hissed as they compressed and enhanced the image on my heads up display. The officers rank badge was much more ornate than any of the others near him. I panned towards the others. Small differences were noticeable, with four of the soldiers standing ramrod straight, and gripping late stage Communist Chinese assault rifles. While the last two members of the group seemed to lean, and rock putting weight on one leg. Neither carried rifles, only side arms. And the one had a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Targets” Fatimas voice slithered into the space between us. My binoculars feed uploading to all of our teams huds.

I thumbed my helmet camera, and with a whining noise the hard drive began to spin. I re observed the forces arrayed below us, zooming in on key targets. Fatima tagging the key targets from her backpack computer, and uploading them to our heads up displays. The two profile targets now being outlined in bright pink, an odd choice. And every other figure being immediately lit up in bright amber.

“Ey, les ditch this shit…” Blackies voice hissed through the silence.

With a shared nod, our team began retreating back from the trail into the bush. The Africans being the last to retreat.

I pushed aside a large fern leaf, it’s branches heavy with the recent rain, and propped my rifle against a small mound of dirt. I began to crawl forwards, dragging my elbows and knees, attempting to keep my rifle pointed straight. Everything was wet, and it had only gotten hotter as the sun rose over the jungle planet. We had reached our ambush point 38 minutes earlier than expected, and still had over an hour before the UN forces reached us. Our initial contact point lay over 100 meters down the road.

“This is Go’, ahm in position. Ready fer yeh mates”.

“Bait set, all green”

I continued crawling to my position. Hand over hand, my body dragging through the underbrush creating a visual for our exfiltration route.

“Psst, rih’ here” Blackie motioned for me. I stood and walked the last few meters, doing a visual on my body route.

“Dat tunnel yeah? LIke a click, we jus’ run like fuck yeah?” I nodded, turning towards our tunnel access to a nearby town. A quick exit route for our high profiles.

Blackie let out a low whistle.

“Real tight yeah, biggest hit yet yeah.” I nodded. Blackie was clasping the detonator in his hand, large shotgun in the other. The detonator was a simple cell phone on a cord around his neck, laying right next to his rosary. His large white eyes scanned the small clearing ahead, his heads up display glowing blue over his left. The combat drone sat to our left, branches laying on top of it concealing it from the front. It’s sensor suite rotating and clicking over and over.

“We set.” The third African keyed her microphone, her voice a low growl. Blackie and I exchanged glances, he shrugged.

“She freak, nice ass though.” His teeth reflected the over head light.

“Alright, this is what you’re being paid for. We’re on hand, exfil callsign is Vanilla Sky. Two second comm burst for outbound. Stay alive, so you get paid out there. Also don’t hurt the package.” Smith sounded calmer than usual, but out of breath.

I leaned against the mound of dirt in front of me, and closed my eyes.