Reign of Fire

[Circa 9]

"I didn't see anything last night on my sweep before lights out. If we follow this road north we'll hit this community in a couple of days," came the voice from behind Eric.

It was none other than Connor Stihls, the lead scout for the Slayers and a close adviser to Canter. He was older than most of the other Slayers, but more experienced as well, and behind a scope Canter had yet to see a better shot. He knew that Stihls would be by at some point to give him his field report, as he did every morning after their sweep. He had hoped to hear of a dragon sighting, but instead he received more of the same leveled bad news. By now Canter and Stihls found themselves next to a humvee parked on the outer ring of their camp, overlooking a good portion of rolling hills where the fog was starting to lift. Canter motioned for the map before Stihls continued, and he spread it out across the hood using what was left of the watered down coffee in his cup to hold down one corner.

"I could be ready to move with my squad inside an hour." There was a slight pause, an indication of something Canter wasn't going to want to hear. He turned to face Stihls as he carried on, now in a lower tone. "I don't want that one on my reconnaissance sweep this time around," he said with a gesture to Abel, "He's a hothead and an idiot to boot. He'll give us away in no time. He needs this time to cool off."

Canter declined to say anything at first, and instead studied the map for a moment. He was sure they could cut the time in half if they pressed through the night, which at the moment wasn't necessary. Satisfied, he then took a moment to look around their camp, at the vehicles and equipment that was held together in some places by a cathedral full of prayers. Some of it wouldn't last much longer, especially what they'd had to scavenge that wasn't military grade. He also took the opportunity to look his men over in the process, noting how the morale had been down as of late with so few dragons. Some, like Tony Collins who was exercising, had their routines, but others weren't nearly as thoughtful, which caused problems over prolonged periods of drought.

Then, of course, there was taking their stress and mental fatigue and compounding it with the million possible variables that was a community in this god forsaken existence that was their lives. They could be just a colony of survivors clinging to life, which meant they would have women, something that Canter didn't like his men around on short fuses. Then again, they could be cannibals, they'd run into those before, which meant they were just survivors gone a step farther, putting Slayers on the menu. On the other hand, they could also be bandits, which Canter personally preferred since that simply meant rolling through and taking what they needed rather than bartering for goods. Sure, they could take anything from anyone, but Canter wouldn't let the Slayers devolve to mere bandits themselves. Finally, after giving it what he felt was due thought, he turned back to Stihls.

"I don't like it, but we need parts. And if there's any dragons around then whoever's behind those walls will know about it." He pointed to a spot on the map that was in the direction of the community, "move out and hold here until we rendezvous. And an hour's no good, half it. We need to move with a purpose." With that he folded up the map and downed the rest of his drink, handing the map back to Stihls. "As for the kid, he goes with you. We were all that way once, and leaving him behind isn't going to show him anything. Keep the channels clear unless you spot something."

With that Canter moved back to the rest of the camp, where the men were starting about their various shifts of cleaning, inventorying, and maintaining their equipment like they did everyday. There was always something to be done and never much down time with the Slayers, something by Canter's design. He walked over to where their mechanic, an Irishman, was working on the humvee Canter and Stihls hadn't been next to earlier.

"Ah, bollocks," Canter heard the man scream as he slammed a socket driver into the raised hood. Canter held back a laugh with all his might at the man the Slayers referred to as Mic'O. It was a running joke, and while some gave him a new name like McElroy or O'Connelly every time they saw him, Canter preferred Mic'O. Mic'O didn't seem to mind, despite the man's awful temper, but he was more on edge when something already had him upset. "What are ye on about," he screamed at a few guys laughing at his most recent outburst, "I'm after fixing this arsewise cunt all mornin'!" Canter had to force another smirk away, just as Mic'O started trying the tool he'd thrown.

"Alright boys, shows over. We haul out in an hour," he said loud enough that everyone could hear him, but just for added emphasis he slapped the top of the humvee a few times. He didn't need to say anything else to get the show moving, they were already getting things ready to move it. He did, however, need that humvee working.

"So what is it now Mic'O?"

"The effin' and blindin' jack, chat's what!"

Canter looked over at the hydraulic jack they normally used for lifting the heavier equipment, only to see that one side of the cylinder had blown out. There was no fixing it.

"And without the jack I-"

"I know Mic'O, I know," Canter interrupted, not rudely but Mic'O was pissed already and Canter didn't have time to waste. He started over to the front of the humvee and put his back to it, placing his hands on the brushguard rails. "I'll lift it while you fix it," he said with a slight squat as he straightened back up, taking the front of the vehicle along with him. "Just don't throw anything at me."

[iByaah]

"I don't like it, but we need parts. And if there's any dragons around then whoever's behind those walls will know about it." He pointed to a spot on the map that was in the direction of the community, "move out and hold here until we rendezvous. And an hour's no good, half it. We need to move with a purpose." With that he folded up the map and downed the rest of his drink, handing the map back to Stihls. "As for the kid, he goes with you. We were all that way once and leaving him behind isn't going to show him anything. Keep the channels clear unless you spot something."

Connor accepted the folded chart back and nodded to Canter. "Understood." The sniper glanced at the younger hunter and sighed. Christ, this is gonna be a long sweep. He did have to hand it to Canter though, despite the difference in their years, experience was something that the two of them were in good supply of, though Canter kept his perspective a little more intact. In the end, he agreed, that leaving the boy behind on the morning scout run would do more harm than good. They would be less efficient, for sure, but the training would be invaluable. Not to mention the fact that he'd be focusing on a goal rather than picking fights.

"Alright, boys." Connor said evenly, coming to a halt in front of the other three members of the scouting squad, Abel included. "We're going to sweep up this road here," he continued, laying the chart out between the four of them. The other three members pinning down the corners with empty magazines, a rock, and a cup. "Two man teams, either side of the road. Abel, you're with Giera. He'll scope, you spot. No mistakes, you hear?" Connor said, focusing a little more on Abel than Alonso.

Next he turned to the fourth member of the squad. "Marqui, you're with me." The French tracker nodded and slapped the magazine to his FAMAS home. "We move to this spot here and hold," Connor went on, pointing to the spot where Canter had directed him just minutes prior. "Keep the radio channels silent unless we see anything, just bring water, weapons, and ammo, leave everything else in the trucks, and we move in thirty. Any questions?"

There was a collective shaking of heads and Connor dismissed the scouts. "We form up on that road. Abel and Giera you two take the west side. Stay within sight of the main road. Go."

Alonso Giera smirked and slapped Abel on the shoulder. "Let's go, buddy. Time to get ready. Best not to let 'Gramps' get upset." It was his nickname for Connor though not quite out of disrespect as it was genuine deference. Stihls had taught much to him over the years from marksmanship to tracking. The Spaniard finished his breakfast and hoisted his rucksack over his left shoulder.

With that, Connor turned towards his own small pile of belongings: a single rucksack and a beaten and battered ammo box, all packed after his morning weapon cleaning. From the ammo box, the sniper retrieved extra magazines for his Barrett and Jericho as well as a Mr. Goodbar from his rucksack. Finished, he loaded the two containers onto the back of the Slayer's transport truck.

Along the way, the sniper passed Tony Collins, who'd just finished his daily routine and was currently busy cycling the magazines for his weapons. Connor nodded as he passed the elder soldier. Collins was the oldest of the Slayers, and by far the most experienced. Many times in the past, Stihls would consult with Collins and Canter on various anti-dragon tactics. Really, the only true weapon we have against these beasts is experience mixed in with a healthy portion of luck.

Thirty minutes later saw Connor and his squad formed up on the northern road. "Remember, stay within sight. Radio any sightings, but other than that is silence, yeah?" The squad nodded and they set off. Giera and Marqui both had binoculars out and at the ready, a pair of excellent finds from two months prior. One of those, Giera handed to Abel and hefted his sniper rifle easily up to bear. They set an even pace, only stopping at a few intervals to check the surrounding tree lines for movement. One of the many needs for an advanced vanguard was that the beasts tended to attack larger groups rather than isolated patrols. Then again, if one does ambush us, worst case we'll only lose the four of us rather than the whole company. It was a grim thought, he admitted, but it was the harsh reality of their current situation.

[Gunther]

Anthony returned to his bergen, packed up his fart sack and poncho and fastened the hooked bungee cords to the frame. He heaved the pack onto his back and headed to the lorry. There were metallic loops on the side of the bed he was able to run the shoulder straps through and fasten the burden to the side of the lorry.

"Alright boys, shows over. We haul out in an hour," Cantor commanded loud enough that everyone could hear him, he slapped the top of the humvee a few times.

Anthony's position during the move was to man the .50 Caliber Machine gun mounted in the ring mount of the two and a half ton lorry. Dennis Atherby drove, while Anthony watched the skies for dragons. After securing his bergen, he opened the door and climbed inside. He pulled a pair of goggles, sun, wind and dust over his head and settled them in place. Anthony stood up on the folded down seat; passenger seat on the left side of the cab and looked skyward. The fog was beginning to burn off. He could not see any of the tell tale silhouettes of a flying monster above the clouds.

Connor's scouts were getting ready to make a movement. Tony considered at least providing an overwatch for them for a short distance After a hundred meters or so, they would be out of sight anyway. Maybe watching for the devils from above would be time better spent.

"Dennis!?" Anthony yelled to the driver. "What's the deal?" Dennis didn't know anything more than what he knew. "Just what ah thought; bloody 'shrooms; kept in the dark and fed shit." Anthony found it best to just keep his mouth shut and do what he was told. It didn't matter what he knew before, what he did in the Army, in the paras. He helped the occasionally slayer with packing his gear and setting up his kit; maybe tips on light and noise discipline. But his job in this troop was that of a grunt. At some primal level, Tony was satisfied with that. His mind was clear and focused. He wished he could go for a run, but at least he was focused.

Tony looked skyward and then down the trail that Connor's recon team would head down. From where he was sitting, the trail was clear. He kept the pig pointed in that direction just to be prepared. Canter said they were moving out in an the hour. Since hurry up and wait was the standard, Tony was ready and waiting. He was fine with that.