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While the verbal summary you pass to the ground team isn’t met with enthusiasm, both Carter and Popov have enough experience to assess the situation pragmatically: they know that leaving with a vague obligation and a mysterious benefactor was far from the worst possible outcome of that encounter.
Your force reaches the designated LZ after another fifteen minutes of flight time. The transport pilots throttle back their engines, neatly descending into a square-shaped clearing free of heavy tree cover
This area is marked as a small farm. A collapsing ranch-house sits at the clearing’s edge, overlooking the landing zone. Looking closer, you see evidence of worked fields – albeit now overgrown – and heavy equipment – albeit now rusted.
The transports touch down with near-perfect synchronization. Condensation cascades from their rotating airfoils, slinging water droplets into the surrounding grass. Nose-mounted searchlights struggle to stab through the all-pervasive mist.
The side-doors pop open, and Carter’s infantry dismount with practiced ease. At the same time, Popov’s IFV roars down the ramp, its turret rotating as it scans for targets.
“QRF-15 away.”
“QRF-5A deployed.”
As the transports take off to relocate to a safter landing zone, the two squads turn on their trackers. You count eight green diamonds for QRF-15 and a light vehicle marker for QRF-5A.
“Radio check complete. Advancing.”
Carter orders his operatives to space out, advancing towards the farmhouse – and the settlement center – in a loose screening formation in front of the IFV. With practiced calm, he gives a running account of his observations over the comm.
“…air is appallingly humid…visibility less than 150 feet…and look at this shit. It’s everywhere on the ground.”
‘What is?” you ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.
