Field of Vision

Chapter 9: Children At Play

Wilson's eye twitched with irritation. He had been assigned to a mission with Jona- Patrick. ... And a small infantry unit to re-check the village and then scope out the pass. Patrick clapped him on the back heartilly. "It's been a while since I was in the field! An entire week! Can you believe it?!" Wilson's former colleague laughed.

Wilson strapped his rifle across his back as he crumpled the slip of paper he'd been given, tossing it away. "Great..." he muttered as Patrick skipped along beside him with his full-auto rifle. The new batch of recruits, each with a semi-auto rifle or some flesh grenades (bombs coated in a fatty, rubbery gel that explodes like bubble gum, trapping whoever it seals in a air-tight 'blanket' of mush). No, wait, those were flash grenades. Nope, both.

Patrick grinned. "Kunden's been preparing some mech suits for the next gen, they're gonna surpass that plasma tech Nara's been toying with."

The traitor shook his head, smiling. "What good are mechs if plasma bolts eat right through it."

He grinned a little. "If they can land a hit."

"Mines."

"Sensors."

"Jammers."

"EMP."

"Electro-magnetic pulses would render our own suits useless."

Patrick growled. "There's no way they'd prepare to that length for something they don't even know exists."

Wilson shrugged. "With that mentality, it's no wonder they cut you off early."

"I left," Patrick raised his voice.

Wilson stared at him with dead eyes. His partner's anger was getting old, quick. He couldn't even try to keep up with his rapid-fire commentary. Nicholas attempted, and was younger, so he had an excuse to be so ignorant. Patrick was just annoying though.

His adversary sighed, clenching his fists and keeping his head faced towards Wilson. Speaking fluently (without clenching his teeth, impressively enough), he spoke, "Listen, let's just do our best to keep each other alive during the recon, got it?"

"Our best," Wilson nodded, extending his hand as though he expected Patrick to forget what just happened between them.
The redhead scoffed. He observed the clouds as if they would tell him his future. "Nara's going down."

Wilson, Patrick, a pent-up robot of a soldier, and a communicator. Everyone else believed that they weren't going to see more action for another week or so, so they revelled in their newfound liberty. The four that were sent weren't exactly moaning, rather, aloud, but Patrick kept his attitude up throughout the entirety of their mission.

Wilson's black hair had grown so long that he had to brush it a little in order for it to stay out of his eyes; Patrick's freckles had disappeared; the communicator had gotten a prototype, tinier radio that he kept in his boot; the other got a mech suit, so, that's good.

The only reason that they were silent as they brushed through the bushes and forest was that, technically, by rules of the land, this was Nara's territory until they could retake the pass.

Patrick hissed occasionally about how he was eager for some action, but really he was only making them think about how likely it would be an ambush. Wilson stopped some meters away from the edge of the tree line, slowly unstrapping his regular rifle (as they'd taken his sniper away for practical means).

He checked his ammo packs, smiling at the ancient weapon in his hands. It was semi-auto, no, not even. It was a snap-fire mechanism, from the Oil Age, when they didn't use warp tunnels or add air/gas-efficient engines to their vehicles.