The helicopters raced over the surface of the desert and Harry was passively gazing out the window. The seat he rested on was an uncomfortable cold steel frame. His rifle rested between his legs, the barrel leaning against his left thigh. Harry’s head momentarily swiveled across the interior of the Blackhawk, the eleven other soldiers in the interior sitting on identical seats. They all sit in different states of tense relaxation, either slumping over their knees or resting their back on the seat.

Harry was looking at the shadows of the other crafts race over ditches and hills. The occasional tufts of grass whipping in the updraft generated from the rotary blades cutting through the air. Several tumble weeds were ripped up and sent blowing across the desert by their voyage, spreading their seeds as they did. At one point, Harry saw a small herd of Inglas, a blobby, featureless, mutant that were relatively harmless.

The Inglas were rolling along the desert, kicking up dust and sand as they did so. The few plants that crossed their path were absorbed by the leaders of the herd, to be regurgitated and divided later. When the helicopters passed over their heads, the Inglas panicked and rapidly changed direction, trundling towards the east. In their panic, one Inglas rolled over another and absorbed it. The Inglas that absorbed the other swelled to twice its size. It was… disconcerting to Harry, that they could easily eat each other, and not even pause or worry.

At one point, the platoon flew over the cracked and weathered remains of an old highway. Two parallel roads ran north south, curving around long abandoned houses in the distance. A road that ran at a 45-degree angle had once crossed over the highway on a bridge. The bridge collapsed long ago, pockmarked with bullet holes and impact craters from mortar shells. The twisted, rusted remains of cars and one tank lay a boned on the road, rotting for all eternity.

After a half hour of flying, the helicopters changed direction slightly, angling more towards the east. Sitting up, Harry looked around, before speaking into a microphone on his headset, “Sergeant Watson, why are we changing direction?”

Turning towards Harry and leaning out of his seat, a little Sergeant Watson replied “A radioactive area is between Foba City and the canyon. Unless you enjoy radiation poisoning, the pilots are going to take us around it.” Following the rather curt explanation, he leaned back into his seat, shifting side to side in an attempt to get comfortable.

Satisfied with the answer, Harry turned his head back towards the window. The sandy desert with little grass was gradually being replaced with sandy soil speckled with grass everywhere. There was also the occasional tree, all scraggly looking and barely clinging to life. While Harry was watching the landscape race by below, he thought about how Lieutenant Yorkshire had neglected to mention the radiation zone.

“Hopefully, he didn’t forget any other crucial details.” Harry thought, a small frown appearing below his mask. Banishing this thought from his mind, Harry returned to watching the ground below.

When helicopters rapidly shot over the transitioning ground a member of another squad, Specialist Jax, jokingly said, “And here, you can see the beautiful plains of Butè Village, named for a flourishing metropolis in the area. If you are lucky enough, look out the right side of the Blackhawks you may see the village square.”

Not long after Jax said this, the sandy soil gave way for fields of beans and wheat, some having the local villagers tending them. All of them looked up and seemed to glare mistrustfully at the aircraft. A few parents seemed to have ordered their children inside. When Harry looked a little closer, he could see dry, cracked irrigation ditches running between groups of crops. Harry could see potatoes, turnips, and maybe a patch of onions. They all looked wilted and dry, but that was to be expected when it was the hottest season of the year. The villagers were probably saving their water for themselves, and rationing out the bare minimum to the plants they grew.

Off to one side of the village was a pasture. The pasture had a small shed next to the entrance, and its fences were made of rusted steel tubes. In the pasture were several small, wooly, and horned animals. Harry had never seen or heard of these animals. Just judging from the materials most the villagers wore he assumed that they must be what the villagers used to make their clothes.

Harry turned his attention to the people, and observed that they all wore gas masks, varying from simple cloth and filter masks to far more complex masks like what Harry wore. All the villagers wore thin flowing fabrics over their bodies and moved as if they barely got enough food to live. As he watched one fell into a limp pile of flesh in a field. Several villagers made their way to the motionless villager. Harry did not see what happened after.

In one field a group of villagers was damming an irrigation ditch. They paused when the helicopters flew overhead, some flinching as they did so. One worker snapped rigid and turned towards the helicopter. Despite his face being covered in shadows from a wide brimmed cloth hat, his body language showed Harry that he was furious at something. Perhaps he had missed the root of a plant he was weeding.

Small numbers of the stronger, or perhaps better fed, villagers stalked into a stout mud building. Soon after, they emerged from the dark interior armed with AKMs and M4s. At least, that’s what it looked like they had. Harry doubted that those were originals, given it had been two hundred years since the last time they were stably produced. The group then formed a haggard line outside of the building, their heads tracking the helicopter’s path across the sky.

The villagers entering the stout mud building drew Harry’s attention from the inhabitants of the village to its buildings. Harry noted that there were not consistent building materials. A stark contrast to the identical steel and concrete hallways and rooms of Foba City. Several houses were made of wood, while many more were a mix of adobe and wood. There were also a few concrete buildings scattered about. A closer look revealed that there was one building in the center of the village that was a red brick, worn and weathered by years of exposure to the elements.

Harry was stirred from his thoughts when Derick asked, “Does anybody know, are these occultists that will try and sacrifice a member of their village to the Gas?” Derick asked, looking around the helicopter.

“No.” Thompson replied, “These villagers will always wear masks. They are not willing to risk the possibility of the Gas mutating one of their own. As far as I am aware, at least, from what I have learned, none of the villages in this area have ever tried to sacrifice or offer a fellow resident to the Gas. Of course, they may have once, but tha-“

Thompson was interrupted by Sergeant Ronald, “And we are going to be cautious no matter what, regardless of what the villager’s beliefs are.” After a moment of silence, the sergeant continued. “And try to minimize radio traffic. Mission related communication only.” After this announcement by the sergeant, the helicopter filled with a thick silence.

As Harry settled into the silence, he glanced out the window and noticed that just as quickly as the fields of beans and wheat appeared, they faded. The bounds of the village’s control rapidly transformed back into sandy plains. Not long after, Harry only could see grass and scraggly trees. Shadows of the helicopter shot over the grass, and the deafening sound of the blades chopping the air cut through the silence.

Not long after the village had been left behind, the trio of helicopters banked towards the west. As they did the lieutenant spoke over the radios, “In about 15 minutes we will reach the landing zone. As soon as the area is secure, I will tell your squad leaders how we will hike to the canyon. From there we will hike there, do recon, retrieve the package, and leave.”

As soon as the radio went silent the interior of Black Sun-2 was filled with the sounds of rustling fabric and clinking metal. Everybody in Blackhawk was checking their gear, making sure it was ready for battle. Harry checked his rifle, confirming the bolt worked. He removed the magazine from it and made sure it had thirty rounds in it. Sliding the pistol out of its holster, he moved the slide back and then removed the magazine. After reloading his weapon in one fluid motion, it was replaced in the holster. He then felt his knife and confirmed it was still there.

Soon the helicopters began to slow and approach the ground. As they did the radio once again crackled to life, with Lt. Yorkshire barking out, “We are approaching the landing zone, Black Sun-2 is landing first.”

Yorkshire had barely finished speaking when the other two of the helicopters banked off in another direction. While those helicopters circled the area slowly, Black Sun-2 descended to the ground. No sooner than when it touched the ground did the door flung open, and everybody sprang out of the Blackhawk. Hitting the ground in a crouch, Harry kept low as he sprinted out from under the blades of the helicopter. Once he was clear he made sure he was evenly spaced out from the other soldiers and began scanning the area.

As Harry slowly swiveled his head to confirm nothing was going to attack, the second Blackhawk landed within the circle Harry’s squad formed. The soldiers in this one repeated what they had done moments before, spreading out and filling in gaps in the circle around the landing zone. Once the second Blackhawk lifted off the ground and began to circle the third and final Blackhawk landed, disgorging a squad and the platoon command.

Once the squad had taken position, the final Blackhawk took off, circling the area once before falling into a Flying V formation with the others. The helicopters then raced away, disappearing over the horizon. As they did so Lieutenant Yorkshire called over the squad leaders. While the lieutenant and the squad sergeants discussed a plan of action, Harry continued to watch the area.

Eyes scouring the ground, Harry watched intently for anything that could be a threat. As he looked to side to side, he noted a short, wide bush that could conceal a person, and a hill that would have a great firing advantage over them. Once Harry identified those potential positions for threats, he watched the area, paying particularly close attention to those two spots.

Then his radio crackled too life in his ear, startling him a bit. From the radio the voice of Lt. Yorkshire could be heard. “The platoon will being moving over in a traveling overwatch formation. Sergeant Watson’s squad will be leading the formation, Sergeant Ronald’s, and Sergeant Berisho’s squad will be in the middle, and Sergeant Johnson’s squad will be bringing up the rear.”

“Understood” Harry chorused with twenty-four other voices. Walking to his squad lead, he took up his position to the left of Watson. Gerald and Derick fell in to the left and behind Harry, as they were both members of Harry’s fire team. Thomas and Thompson fell into formation to the right of Watson. Watson looked back to the Lieutenant and gave him a thumbs up. Lieutenant Yorkshire then gave the order to move out.

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Moving forward, rifles at the ready and searching the ground and sky in front of them, the squad began to walk towards the canyon. Once the forward squad was about 50 feet away the lieutenant gave the orders to the rest of the platoon to move out. As the yellow midday sun beat down on the desert soil the platoon made a slow, careful advance towards danger.