2200 Hours – Rebel Camp
While the Splinters continued engaging the rebels, the engine of an enemy APC roared to life. Two rebels jumped inside, and the door slammed shut. The convoy sped off into the jungle under the cover of chaos.
The Splinters opened fire, but their rounds pinged harmlessly off the armored plating. The rebel convoy vanished into the darkness.
Enrique Gomez had escaped.
Still in position, Mikhail hissed under his breath. "Damn it. They got away. This whole thing was a setup."
"I wouldn't place bets on those claims just yet, Sergeant," Andrew replied coldly.
Andrew keyed his radio. "Hometown, this is Pathfinder. What are your orders? The target escaped. Mission status: failure."
Static cracked before a voice barked over comms.
"This is all your fault! All of you!" General Almirez fumed. "Elite mercenaries, my ass. We should've handled this ourselves!"
Andrew clenched his jaw. They'd had Gomez in their sights, and it was Almirez who delayed the shot. Now they were taking the blame?
"Hometown, requesting clarification. Orders?" Andrew repeated calmly, hiding his irritation.
Colonel Gray's voice finally came through. "Pathfinder, disengage. Rendezvous with extraction. We're done here."
Mikhail sighed in relief. "Thank God. A sane voice."
"This is just the halfway mark, Sergeant," Andrew said. "We still have to get out of the mess our 'partners' created."
"Understood, sir."
Mikhail began packing up his SR-55.
Andrew, still kneeling with binoculars in hand, radioed the squad. "All teams—mission's scrubbed. Pull out now."
"Roger!" came the chorus of replies.
"We'll regroup northeast of here. Drone Operator—scan the route."
The operator deployed the drone. Its thermal feed painted the terrain in red and black. Enemy signatures clustered along the intended path.
Andrew narrowed his eyes. "Too hot. We'll need a safer exit. Rerouting now."
"Don't deviate too much from your intended route, Lieutenant!" Gray recommended.
"Roger that, sir. We won't take a scenic tour this time!" Andrew replied.
"I trust you... I apologize about earlier." Gray said to Andrew.
"There's no need, sir. We are just following orders from our partners. We just can't deviate for the sake of rewards." Andrew replied.
"I agree, lieutenant!" Gray returned to his composure.
"We will head out now, sir!" Andrew said to Gray.
"Best of luck, lieutenant!" Gray replied to Andrew and then the radio chatter ended.
After the talk and deciding in which path to take. Andrew's team departed from the scene. The firefight between the splinters and the rebels still continued. Radio noise from Cornalian Defense Forces operatives could be heard.
"They deserve this... mayhem. I hope it will teach them a lesson of taking credit from someone's hard work!" Andrew commented as he continued his path.
2300 Hours – Jungle Foothills, Near River Bend
The squad had moved several kilometers from the camp, finally halting at a concealed location near a riverbank. Large rocks provided cover, and the river's current was too strong to cross easily. A good defensive spot.
"Roll call," Andrew said, crouched low with his rifle ready.
"Here," Tanya replied first. Mikhail and the others followed with quiet affirmations.
"Think we can catch some shuteye?" Peter asked, trying to lift the mood.
"Not now, Corporal." Andrew smirked faintly.
"Still got jokes, huh?" Tanya remarked.
"Of course. Always."
But the lightness evaporated quickly.
Andrew suddenly noticed a flicker of movement near the treeline. He motioned to the drone operator. "Get eyes in the air. Now. Everyone stay quiet."
The drone climbed silently into the sky. But moments later, the screen on the pad flickered and went dead.
"Drone feed's gone!" the operator reported.
"Jamming?" Tanya asked, her tone sharp.
"No, ma'am. No ECM signatures. It was shot down."
Then they heard it.
A howl—deep and unnatural.
A chill ran through the team. Andrew tapped his visor, switching to thermal.
Faint heat signatures. Dozens. Closing in.
"What the hell are those?" Mikhail muttered, eyes wide.
Andrew's voice was cold and steady. "Masks on. Now. We're dealing with biological weapons."
The squad moved fast, donning their Model 45 masks—gear designed to protect against airborne biohazards, a response to years of irregular warfare involving chemical and biological attacks.
Using the rock formations as natural cover, the team braced themselves.
The howls turned into guttural growls.
Then the first wave came—bioweapon hounds, sleek and mutated, charging low to the ground.
Andrew raised his rifle. "Wait until they hit 400 meters… Fire!"
The team unleashed precise bursts. One by one, the hounds dropped—each round fired with economy and discipline.
Tanya's voice cut in. "Flank! They're circling from the river!"
Andrew turned. Emerging from the dark waters were massive humanoid figures—eight feet tall, their glowing eyes fixed on the squad.
"Hometown, this is Pathfinder! Enemy bioweapons confirmed—multiple types!" Andrew barked into his mic.
Gray's voice came back fast, strained. "Get out of there, Rowley! Move now!"
"We're trying! We need air support or any allied exfil assets nearby!" Andrew replied urgently.
"Stand by—we're searching. Goddamn rebels are using bioweapons now?"
Peter set a line of portable mines by the riverbank. "This should slow them down!"
"Good work, Corporal. Go, go, go!"
As Peter rejoined the team, the squad climbed toward higher ground. An explosion rocked the path behind them—the mines detonated, blasting two hulking bioweapons into the air.
But others kept coming.
The hunt had just begun.