Team Two was in a state akin to shell-shock as Alter hurriedly stumbled his way to their position behind the recently blasted stone. Riptide and Vangroover had been laid down on their backs atop the one patch of grass not studded by sharp flints. His lieutenant appeared to have woken up since the initial report, much to his immediate relief. While his eyes were glassy and stared blankly into the sky, his breathing was regular and his fingers drummed slow rhythms onto the ground next to him. The other casualty was more concerning. Vangroover’s eyes were closed, his chest rose and fell violently like waves crashing in a storm. Boozehound leaned over him, the picture of concentration with medical tools in hand as he fiddled with the far side of his neck. A large gash on his forehead had already been treated, but the wet blotches running down his left side showed there was plenty more damage to deal with. Finally, Whim was crouched nearby, rifle raised as his head desperately twisted to cover multiple approach angles as well as keep tabs on what was happening next to him. Alter slipped silently onto the scene before taking a knee and raising his own weapon to bolster security. He wanted an immediate update but with his medic so focussed on what they were doing he decided it was better to wait. Eventually, Boozehound was finished with whatever he was handling and let out a sigh as he moved onto the next task.

  “Good news or bad?” He asked without looking up.

  “Give me the good, I guess.” Alter murmured in response and wondered why people ever bother asking that question when you’re getting both anyway.

  “Rip’s going to be fine, no major injuries. But something about that blast messed with his vision, hearing, and balance. So, until he shakes those effects off then he’s out of action.”

  Alter fought the urge to let out an incredulous snort. That was the good news? The man might not fully recover for weeks. Boozehound continued.

  “As for Harry here, well, the fact that he’s bleeding should give you a clue. He was much closer to the epicentre, and while he was able to get clear of the explosion he still got peppered by rock shards. I’ve been removing the biggest chunks as I go, but he’s going to be a few grams heavier when all is said and done.”

  “How’s his neck? I saw you working on it pretty intensely.”

  “Ahh. It was a close one, one of the larger shards just managed to lodge itself in between two of his upper vertebrae. I was having to wrestle it out while avoiding his windpipe and what I think was a pretty important vein. Suffice to say he’s not moving at all until I say so.”

  “Don’t you have any Lifeguard Rejuvenators?” Alter asked. LRs were the most powerful healing item from the game, capable of bringing a person back from the brink in a flash.

  “Yes.” Boozehound answered uneasily after a second. “But we were on max difficulty settings so I was limited to just the one. I’m not using it unless it’s truly a life-or-death situation.”

  Further comments were interrupted by a sudden burst of gunfire that echoed between the rocks. The two men that were fully conscious and not performing impromptu surgery held their breaths and waited for a report. After a small eternity, the radio crackled and Boats’ voice rippled into being.

  “Engaged and eliminated two targets on the watchtower. High threat opponent not among them. Five and Six are working their way around to get a good arc of fire into the camp interior. I’m holding this position for now.” His voice had returned to its usual matter-of-fact tone.

  “Acknowledged, keep us abreast of the situation.” Alter answered.

  The sound of struggling coming from behind him caused Alter to turn. Riptide had seemingly decided that he had recovered enough to begin moving again, with great effort he was able to prop himself up on his elbows. His head flopped from side to side as he squinted at his surroundings. However, it was clear to see that his vision had not yet recovered as he spent a good five seconds staring intently at Alter before realising who it was.

  “Ooh, it's you. Hello.” His voice wavered and sloshed drunkenly, a strange lopsided smile on his face.

  “Hello there, how are you feeling?” Alter asked, a smile of his own fighting to the surface in response.

  “I … can’t hear anything. I’m sure you said something nice, though.” Riptide beamed before his neck decided it’d had enough of supporting the head and he slumped back down to the floor.

  “Marcus, did you give the man medical aid or half a bottle of whiskey?” Alter called over to the medic.

  “Busy. Go shoot at something.” Boozehound muttered in annoyance without looking away from his work.

  Alter nodded slowly and looked around for Vangroover’s equipment. Spotting it dumped in a pile nearby, he crossed over and began fiddling with the backpack. His object of desire was the olive-green tube strapped to the side, and the snug little explosive projectile it housed. Single-use launcher acquired, he moved past the others, signalling Whim to follow him. The rifleman cast a concerned glance towards the medic but decided to follow along. Together they picked their way further around the exterior of the base before settling on a spot to poke their heads up.

  The wall remained bare and defiant. The tower was empty, doubtless the enemy would have learned not to ascend it by now. The gate was almost indistinguishable from its surroundings, having been made from the same wood as the wall. All was quiet, and sickeningly still. The little knot of anger that had been bubbling in his chest grew in strength as a burst of machine gun fire lanced from the right side towards a target they couldn’t see. A response came moments later as again the thin green line heralded a sudden explosion from where the tracer rounds had originated. There was a moment of fear that briefly drowned the rage but Walross was quick to report that they had displaced the moment they’d stopped firing. Alter nodded to himself and began the process of readying the tube, this deadly game of cat and mouse could not be allowed to continue.

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  “Are you seriously considering using one of our AT launchers on a flimsy wooden wall? They’re only single use, remember.” Whim whispered.

  “Yes.” Alter growled.

  “Understandable, have a nice day.” Whim shrugged and wisely moved a short distance away before turning his attention back to the wall.

  With cold, calculated motions the launcher was primed. His teeth were hard clenched and his brow deeply furrowed as he hoisted it up to his shoulder and peered through the sight with malicious intent. The gate was placed firmly within view. The trigger firmly squeezed. A deafening roar and whoosh as if a steam engine had been punched in the stomach was violently emitted. A streak of stark white smoke tracked the rocket’s progress as it fizzed through the air to impact squarely into the wooden barrier. The subsequent explosion was enough to send both of them diving for cover as splinters rained across the surroundings. When they poked their heads back out to look, the gate was gone, along with a good five meters of wall that had collapsed under the force of the shockwave. Shots ringing out from Boats’ position told them that they had sent multiple men scurrying away from whatever boltholes they’d found, and were paying the price for their panic.

  “Did someone just waste one of the launchers?” A flabbergasted Walross asked over the radio.

  “Yeah, the boss is a little pissed off.” Whim responded awkwardly, wide eyes taking in the scene below.

  “It’s certainly got them riled up.” Boats cut them off. “A whole bunch of them fled towards the far side, I think I saw HTT among them but I couldn’t get a clear shot through the smoke.”

  “They’re abandoning the wall. Move up.” Alter ordered before throwing himself over the crest and charging downslope towards the cover of the now broken barrier. It took Whim a moment of stunned protest before he picked up the spent launcher and raced after him. There was no attempt at retaliation as they crossed the open ground and made it to the wall. Making no attempt to curb his momentum, Alter slammed his shoulder into the wood and pointed his weapon at the breach. He dared, willed, someone to come stumbling into view. Noone. Once Whim rejoined him he stalked along the wall, pausing before the interior came into view.

  “Machine gun team back in position, no movement at this time.” Walross reported.

  “Marksman reports negative on contacts.” Boats added.

  Ideal. Alter began inching around the corner, eyes scrutinising everything that stood beyond. The wall was nothing more than a simple palisade, with no walkway or steps to give defenders a position atop it. The legs of the watchtower were flimsy, with a ragged ladder running up the rear side. Two bodies lay at its base, their limbs contorted and splayed having fallen when Boats took them out. More bodies lay on the ground nearby, many of them sporting the gleaming weapons that had brought them out here. Out of the corner of his eye, Alter could see that one half of the gate had collapsed backwards, but not all the way to the floor. With a hint of grim satisfaction, he noted the limp wrist that poked out from underneath the shattered planks. Further in, three log cabins stood silently, their doors hanging open. Tents on both sides rippled gently in the soft breeze, all was quiet and still. With a quick flurry of steps he pushed through the gap and swept the rest of the wall to spy noone cowering in its shadow.

  “Well.” Whim whispered as he moved through after him. “We’re here now. What do you want to do?”

  “We check the cabins first. There are only so many hiding places on this rock, keep that finger of yours tight.” Alter responded firmly before taking slow, measured steps towards the cabin closest to where his squadmates were keeping watch.

  The interior walls were coated with bunks, all empty. A rough wooden table and four chairs took up the centre, the top of which was mostly empty but for a handful of small wooden cubes. It seemed a game of dice had been interrupted. Carefully, Alter leaned down and swept his rifle over the underneath of each bunk before stretching upright and calling it clear. The second, central cabin had much nicer furnishings, with only the single bed taking up a corner. Alter quickly identified it as the Kindler’s room, the presence of a desk and various scattered papers promised a splendid trove of intelligence. Collecting that would come later, there was harsh work still to be done.

  “Four reports possible movement, green tent beyond the far cabin. Permission to engage blind?” Boats asked over the radio.

  “Given.” Was the immediate answer and a pair of shots rang out.

  “No response to shots, keeping eyes on.” The marksman reported.

  Alter posted Whim on the corner of the cabin in order to keep vigil over the suspicious tents before he moved into the final structure. There they were. Opened and half empty, the weapon crates lay on the floor against the far wall. Clumps and single strands of straw from their interiors lay scattered across the floor as swords had been hastily grabbed during the initial exchanges. He nodded to himself, they had what they came for. An urgent burst of rifle fire caused his attention to snap back to the present.

  “Target down, far side cliff edge.” Whim called as Alter emerged.

  Together they crept forwards in the direction he had indicated, pausing only to clear the tents nearest their path. Having run out of ground to cover they tentatively leaned forwards to peer over the edge. A narrow stone staircase led downward towards a sea of head-high bushes that filled the rear half of the basin surrounding the bluff. Alter crouched down to examine the steps, confused. It was as if someone had pinched the rock and stretched it out. Natural material, unnatural positioning. The Sirrithae Kindler’s mark again, no doubt. Slowly, he moved his vision to the innocently swaying foliage, and backed away from the edge. If their enemies had doubled around to the right then the machine gun team would have spotted them. So, they were either hiding beneath them, fleeing deeper into the wilderness, or circling around toward where Boozehound was the sole capable fighter with twin defenceless patients.

  “Targets lost. Four, regroup with Three on the double, they could be flanking in that direction. Five, Six, get in here and set up overwatch. We’ve almost got this job tied up with a pretty bow, let’s not balls it up now.”