Think

The silence that followed the klaxon was more startling than the alarm itself. Across the field, hands raised to temples in unison. On Eli's HUD, a small orange dot cast a beam of light up towards the heavens from a point in the east. The destination was nestled in a distant nook between two peaks of the Kurd Mountains. The orange dot represented a strategic position – not a true objective, simply a stepping stone towards another target.

It would almost certainly be occupied territory. Deep in the mountains, the resistance was dug in. The highly defensible position slowed oncoming forces with sheer faces and craggy valleys. BUG held up an open hand, stemming the chatter that simmered among the Osterley Rifles' First Unit. 'This won't be the farming mission some of you were expecting, but those of you who've awoken today looking for a full-scale assault will be disappointed too.' Small murmurs of discontent confirmed the suspicions held by all. Several members of the unit turned and walked back towards the barracks. BUG noted their tags and continued unabated. 'Those of you who don't think you're above this should know this road leads somewhere. I can't say where or what it will be worth. But at least you'll be there...' Eli had little time for a pep talk, understanding all too well the implications of the mission. But he could see that many of the junior members listened intently, their ardor unsullied by the news.

The gathered forces were forming up, pockets of specialism taking shape and ordering themselves ahead of the assault. Strategy would be key in this battle, and each unit would come with its own approach, playing to the innate strengths of the division. Black Death had already set off, hurtling towards the northeast. Eli knew better than to accept the maneuver at face value. But the feint sent a few aspiring divisions scattering in the same direction. The Black Death would be out of sight of any hangers-on within minutes. Being less dependent on the element of surprise, The Rifles deliberated. Though their units were prepped for departure, the strategy would be defined en route. Adaptability would be key to storming a fortified position, as would patience.

Already, based on the traditional structure the units were taking, Eli could tell this was considered a long-term movement. He gave a fleeting thought to Mirth's End. But he couldn't foresee the objective of the mission lasting longer than the 30-day window Red had given him for payment. But then, as the saying went, nothing was certain in Syria.

With the sun high and the temperature rising, Eli took on water. One had to set schedules for this sort of thing. Before long, warfare dulled basic instincts, and responses became attuned to Pavlovian stimuli. Those schedules became a part of existence in war. The morning's maintenance, the afternoon's drills, the evening's tales – all part of a rhythm that cascaded back and forth to the time of distant and unseen conductors. The swell of anticipation that attended each new offensive was an overture. The fervor of first contact, an exposition. Death, the finale. Then it would all begin again.

BUG placed waypoints on the visors. One pink, one blue. Blue, 11 kilometers out; pink, 34 clicks. At such a short distance, the first checkpoint was probably a water point. Troops began to walk at a casual pace towards the first marker, and Eli filed into position at the back of his division. The crawling pace meant he could see the directions of every other company, with only the Osterley Rifles taking a direct route to the target.

Among the men were a few he knew by callsign. Hogarth8seven was a journeyman, well-liked for his reliable service, and a strategist gaining some renown. Eli slotted in alongside him. 'Well met,' 8seven said in his Thames estuary accent. Eli was glad to see him, understanding the value of experience in these situations – it came with a calming influence that slowed the pace to give the mind some space in battle. 'Well met, 8seven' he responded. 'Any news?'

'Nothing of note, though the rumor mill is grinding away.' Hogarth tossed a look at Eli, probably just to underline his pun. 'What do you know?' Eli pressed.

'Nothing. But I hear there's another objective behind this one.'

'That what you're here for today?' The longer the conversation continued, the more Eli felt like an interrogator. 'Oh, you know me. I'm out here rain or shine.'

'Ha!' Eli laughed at the thought of a downpour in the desert. 'Chance would be a fine thing.'

'What about you? Looking for a big win?' Asked the tall figure, striding coolly on.

'I'm like you. Prefer to be here than not.' Eli half sighed, glancing to his left and noting that the Black Death was already out of sight. 'It's a hell of a day for it.'

'I imagine they prefer the assault to take place under cover of night.'

Eli turned the corners of his mouth down, at this distance, a layover at camp would have been feasible, but there was clearly an intention to strike within a timeframe. 'Must be a rush on.' He stated, continuing his thought aloud.

'About time, way this war is dragging. Thought about reassignment?'

Eli smiled, 'I'd rather earn it.' Hogarth scanned the horizon, a flicker of thought flashing across his features. 'Hmmph,' he grunted – astutely. 

In the heat, soldiers typically preferred to savor their thoughts and keep the chatter to a minimum. Conversation slowed progress and distracted minds. But today, a gentle flutter of banter bounced around the group in waves, adding to the energy. A series of conjectures: the objective, the next offensive, the enemy. Eli and Hogarth listened – as did many of the more experienced ears – dismissing the guesses and marking the consistencies. Nothing of note, just as Hogarth8seven had said. The last words had just settled when Eli spotted a glinting in the distance, close to the destination. A scope, perhaps.

'What do you know about them, 8seven?' Hogarth's features darkened before he responded, a symptom of the years, Eli was certain. 'Probably no more than you. It's more like a hive mind than a force, from what I've seen. Patches of resistance seem to spring up from nowhere, pepper us with bloody murder, then disband into nothing. And they never leave anything behind. I sometimes wonder if they're even human.'

'I've wondered the same,' admitted Eli. 'Is it wrong to admire their persistence?'

'Not at all,' huffed Hogarth, 'there's a commitment that I wish we commanded. Seen them pour in endlessly in search of the victory, body after body hitting a wall of machine guns.'

'Have you seen what they do with the bodies?' Asked Eli, immediately realizing how naïve he sounded.

'Has anyone? It gives me the chills.'

'It's their top priority,' Eli's eyes narrowed, 'they reclaim the dead before they take the objective.'

'They're easy to admire. Stark contrast to our process, but winning this war means no more death, no more bodies – there's a reason we do what we do.' Hogarth nodded to his own point. Eli wasn't sure who 8seven was trying to convince – himself or Eli.

By now, the squad had fallen into a pattern of pace that suited the majority. It was a touch pedestrian for Eli's liking, but the progress was clear, and his colleague's estimations seemed accurate. They would reach the first objective within the scope of a nightfall raid. Much like the metronomic crunch of feet in sand, this place's beat had become comfortable to Eli. Quickly, he had become accustomed to the early heat, the soft escalation of the morning, the crushing bake of the early afternoon, the simmer of dusk, and the cliff of nightfall. But the temperature told roughly five percent of the story. As they neared settlements, earthy spices and pungent fumes caked the air in an intoxicating musk. This place's smells, just like the people, were steeped in tradition and born of the land. At night, the silence of the desert gave way to wild calls that carried on the wind. And the sift of sand became a soundtrack to life that queried any haste. After a certain time, this place welcomed you. Soon, it felt more like home than anywhere else, and Eli couldn't bear the thought of the war coming to an end. He hated himself for feeling that way but accepted the truth of it. 

Noon had risen before the troops stopped to take on water and rest ahead of the longer share of the journey. Under the searing midday sun, the remaining 23 kilometers seemed like a trip across an ocean of sand, but before long, the destination would feel close at hand. The gathered force clustered beneath a colossal sand-colored tarpaulin whose loose edges cracked like a whip in the warm wind. It was an oppressive environment that forced respect from those who dared to brave it. But it created value in other things too. The cooling fluid coursed deliberately through Eli, cascading through passages and making him aware of his innards. Scarcity created a value. It was in the vacuum of power that people craved a leader. It was the lack of leadership that led to chaos. And it was in the rare opportunity of chaos that the rebels had spawned their cells. But who they were and where they came from was anyone's guess. It was impossible to tell by looking, as their leathery skin was the same rich bronze as anyone in that part of the world. And they left neither men nor mention behind. It's a blind war, Eli thought. 

The wait under the makeshift tent was welcome. Some tended to weapons. Others sat and shared tales. Many slept – a diversion Eli couldn't bear to consider. While 8seven busied himself with maintenance, Eli decided to walk in search of a conversation that caught his attention.

The tent covered a space roughly the size of a football pitch, with large steaks urging it upward at regular intervals. On one side, the tarpaulin had been affixed to the ground, preventing the sand from whipping in under the torrents of wind. The chatter hadn't ceased, and Eli found his ears pricking up at the mention of legendary Elites and strategies.

'It's obvious.' Claimed one soldier. 'They're here for oil.' Eli had heard it all before, especially this one, but it was too simple a solution for such a nuanced problem. The history of the region was one of Western interventions and Eastern discontent that wove a tapestry centuries old. Still, even with the context of that rich history, the narrative was hard to pin down. On both sides, it was hard to identify the unseen puppeteers that poured resources into unknown stores to power the unfathomable machine. Eli dismissed the childish perspective and proceeded to another corner.

A more promising group comprising of OR veterans sat huddled, and they spoke in hushed tones rather than braggadocious bellows. Eli stayed on his feet, propping himself up against the nearest beam. In his HUD, he selected the near-field microphone he knew they were all using to pick up the whispered words of an unseen lecturer.

'… the timings match. Not a good sign.' A handful of quiet affirmations followed, making Eli confident he had tuned into the right frequency. 'It's just too much of a coincidence, with everything else happening on the peripheries.'

'You're not wrong. Saw something just like this in the Philippines. Whole thing went to hell. I hope they know something I don't.' Eli scanned the group to see if he could spot the speakers, but many wore sand masks that covered their mouths, affording them convenient anonymity. 'You're talking about Mac01, aren't you? Were you there? I hear it was a nightmare'

'It was worse than that. We walked straight into purgatory. Four sides. No alliances. And one goal.'

'Four?'

'Four. The Union arrived first to find the locals dug in, the Chinese landed with a proxy force under a bevy of banners, and the whole lot was swept up by an army I'd never seen before. God, I pray they've got nothing to do with this.'

'You're talking about The Hand, aren't you?' Eli looked urgently across the group, turning his side away from the group as he tapped the side of his temple to launch his capture device. 'You said it. Not me.' Replied the source. A spray of static clicks met Eli's microphone array as hands shot up to close their microphones. BUG was approaching, prompting the rapid end of the conversation. Eli's mind swam – The Hand? At the end of this offensive, something lay in wait. But how much of it was truth, and how much rumor? It explained the numbers amassed that morning, perhaps they'd heard just a snippet. Like Eli, enough to whet the appetite but nothing concrete.

'We're moving out in 10, boot up.' BUG bellowed, and the whole tent swilled with motion. Eli tapped his temple, closing the capture device. He hoped he had enough to spot the source, but he couldn't be certain. 

'Ready to move?' 8seven queried, casting a measuring gaze on Eli, whose demeanor must have suggested a pensive state. 'Sure, let's go.' Eli returned. Perhaps it was the volley of a response, perhaps the incredulity worn uncomfortably by the young soldier, or perhaps just the smell of something wrong, but Hogarth's gaze lingered a moment longer before he headed towards the scorching daylight.