Chapter 6: First Skirmish (1)

Mr. Adrenaline is the slickest fuel the world has ever known. He shows up like a hero when danger corners us, then lets us crash and burn once the threat slips away.

Sure, we should be grateful to this belated savior. But I can’t lie to myself anymore: my legs feel like solidified lead after extreme heat, every step a struggle. The paratrooper uniform I once wore with pride now sticks damp against my skin, soaked with cold sweat and the lingering mist of the forest. My chest feels raw, as if someone just sanded it, and even breathing has become a fight.

We’ve been walking for kilometers, and the rumble of airborne traffic is fading, a sign that the drop operation is almost over. Yet no matter how far we go, this green expanse gives no hint that we’ll ever get out of it. It's going to be a very long early morning.

I can’t help but envy Caspian, still full of energy, carrying the SCR-300 that sleeps silently without a trace of static like before. Not just him since when I glancing back, I see Ashton has shifted positions to behind me but still carries almost a full energy tank.

Looks like I’m the only one starting to show signs of real exhaustion.

But of course, I couldn't possibly let Lieutenant Bulgers know. I refused to sacrifice the unit's mobility just for my sake, so I had no choice but to embrace the exhaustion. Every time we stopped, it was as if we were hand-delivering our location to the enemy.

"Dust!"

"Ashes!"

On our journey, we had been lucky enough to cross paths with other survivors. Our group's total had now grown to nine.

Two of them weren't even from our company. In fact, it seemed they were from a different jump battalion altogether. We were part of the 1st Airborne while they belonged to the 2nd. Of course, no one cared about those details right now. Regardless, they were just as brave as the rest of us.

"You alright, Elise?"

"Fresh as a recruit out of the barracks. Thanks for asking, Ray."

The third man was Private First Class Raylan Albourne, a young man of about nineteen from our company’s first platoon. He had an incredibly soft-spoken personality for the military, especially considering paratroopers have a reputation for being hard-headed. Honestly, he wasn't like that at all. He was friendly and quiet. To be fair, that was exactly why I felt so comfortable around him.

It wasn't just his personality, though. We shared the same hobby and interest, which was baseball. He didn't just like the sport; he was an actual professional athlete from one of the clubs in the Arken pro league. Even though we were in different platoons, we were close enough that we would often play catch back at boot camp.

I owed all of this to Lieutenant Bulgers. Back when I was awkward and friendless at camp, he tried to fix that. Once he realized I had an interest in baseball, he introduced me to Rayland immediately.

"Elise, you owe me a massage. I got word before we jumped. The Raveners beat the Fire Eagles," Rayland whispered to me the moment we met here in the forest.

"Dammit!"

We occasionally placed bets like this on upcoming games. B-but, the Raveners lost!? No way! Was their second-string team really that bad!?

Even with total war raging, it seemed the major baseball leagues in Arken were carrying on as usual. President Clarence G. Sterling had personally sent a letter to the league officials urging them to continue the season. He reasoned that it was vital for public morale. Of course, the ones playing for the clubs now were mostly substitutes and senior. On the bright side, it gave the benchwarmers plenty of playing time.

As usual, we paused during this meeting to exchange information and update our formation tactics. We also used this as a brief moment of respite, especially for me, since I was utterly exhausted. To avoid dehydration, we took quick gulps of water from our canteens.

​Just like our previous encounters, we introduced ourselves and engaged in light banter, occasionally cracking jokes to boost morale.

​Then, once again, we resumed our trek. I told myself to get used to this, because it was clear that in war, most of your time is spent marching. The rest is for fighting.

​It was no secret that my physical capacity was lower compared to my comrades. Unlike the others here, most of my training was dedicated to controlling the magical energy within my body, which took months to master. My arrival at the paratrooper boot camp was also much later than the rest. My physical conditioning was rushed so I could head straight into jump training, the very foundation of this unit.

The small joy from that baseball score evaporated as quickly as the dew on a bayonet's edge the moment we entered a denser thicket. The air, which had previously only felt stifling, now began to carry a scent familiar to every soldier: the metallic tang of blood and the sharp aroma of cold gunpowder.

Suddenly, a voice tore through the silence.

​"Please... please spare my life!"

​The voice was hoarse, high-pitched with agonizing pain, and filled with pure desperation. It wasn't the sound of a soldier in combat; it was the sound of someone begging for mercy.

​Pat dropped low without needing a command. The entire unit, now nine strong, spread out in a circular formation and vanished into the shadows of ferns and tree roots. We crawled forward with agonizing slowness toward the source of the voice, about twenty meters ahead of us.

​Through the gaps in the foliage, the sight before me made my blood freeze. An Arken paratrooper, likely from another regiment based from the symbol on his helm, was hanging miserably from a massive oak tree.

His parachute was snagged on a high branch, leaving him swinging about two meters above the ground like a broken doll. His legs looked mangled, probably from flak fire while he was still in the air, and his uniform was already soaked through with his own blood.

​However, what made my stomach churn wasn't just his condition, but the dozen or so figures surrounding him.

​They weren't wearing the signature dark grey uniforms of Varexil. Instead, they wore dull green uniforms with different insignias. They were a unit from Dretonia, a Varexil puppet state with a reputation for being even worse than their masters when it comes to humanity.

​One of them chuckled while twirling his bayonet. He didn't kill the hanging soldier immediately. Instead, he slowly sliced into the paratrooper’s abdomen, savoring every plea for mercy that escaped his foaming mouth. A few others leaned against trees while smoking, occasionally offering suggestions in their harsh-sounding language about which part to cut next.

​They weren't even asking for information. They were simply playing with a dying life.

​I felt Ashton’s hand on my shoulder, his grip so tight his knuckles turned white. Behind me, I could hear a suppressed snarl from Scarface. For the first time, his anger wasn't directed at me, but at the disgusting spectacle in front of us.

​"We're circling around..."

​Lieutenant Bulgers’ whispered command reached every soldier in the group. I could hear the regret in his voice, knowing there was nothing he could do for that poor paratrooper.

​It was a tough decision, but as anyone could see, we were completely outnumbered. There were at least twenty Dretonian soldiers enjoying their twisted show with lit cigarettes in their mouths. Lieutenant Bulgers' mission for now was to get his subordinates to their designated objective, not to commit collective suicide.

We slowly backed away, trying our best not to alert the pack of psychopaths ahead. The tension was suffocating. Seeing a fellow paratrooper reduced to that state made everyone desperate to avoid a similar fate.

Even Ashton, who was right beside me, gripped my arm to guide me. He seemed to realize I was too stiff with terror to move. It was incredible how he could control his fear and witness all of that at such a young age.

Creak!

Suddenly, the snap of a trodden branch rang out, making me flinch violently. To my surprise, the sound I had been dreading didn't come from beneath my own boots, but from Scarface behind me.

Defying Lieutenant Bulgers' orders, Scarface abruptly stood up. He walked casually past Ashton and me, leaving us wearing masks of pure confusion. From my position on the ground, I looked up at his face; it was cold, etched with absolute resolve.

He came to a halt. From where I sat, I could only see his back, held straight as he took a stance we all recognized from boot camp.

"What the fuck—"

I froze, trying to find my voice, but I was instantly cut off. A rhythmic roar, like a string of heavy firecrackers, shattered the silent tension. It was Scarface. He had leveled his Sekhen gun at hip-height, unleashing a full-auto torrent of projectiles toward the Dretonian soldiers.
When I glanced at Lieutenant Bulgers, I saw shock written all over his face. He wasn't the only one; every member of the group looked exactly the same.

The shock didn't last long. Lieutenant Bulgers finally found his voice and roared, "Fire!"

"ҚШҦ!?"

Immediately, the other paratroopers rose from their hiding spots, surging forward with their semi-auto rifles. Even Ashton, who had been at my side just a moment ago, moved to join his seniors. they stopped their advance only when they were level with Scarface’s position. They showed no sign of slowing the volley of fire they were pouring into the enemy line.

"Die! You sick fucks!"

In the midst of this chaos, I was the only one still crouching, staring at the backs of my comrades and listening to the curses they hurled at the Dretonians. The forest, once swallowed by darkness, was suddenly illuminated by muzzle flashes that birthed a frantic, flickering light.

“Ҁтх қш!”

"Ԋөғ... Ӂө ӄө!”

From where I was, I could hear the laughter the Dretonian patrol had displayed earlier turn into screams. It was either from catching hot lead or from pure, sprinting terror. The sounds bled into one another. One thing was certain: they clearly hadn't expected an ambush like this.

"4... 5... 6..."

Further ahead, amidst the rapid fire, I faintly heard Ashton’s voice. He was... counting? The light from his own shots illuminated the curve of his lips. It looked as if he was actually enjoying this.