They had to walk to their destination with a drone buzzing overhead as their reluctant guide. Rus glanced at the compass projected in his vision, no red dots, no immediate threats. This power that he had, whatever it was, kept him steady, made weapons feel like extensions of his arms, and let him operate just about anything without a second thought. Like how in games your character can magically wield any weapon or drive any vehicle — you just know how. It even gave him this 'cone of vision' when sneaking around, a handy estimate when he was trying to be stealthy.
The area was crawling with pests. Stray Gobbers and Orcs lurking about. When one got too close. He slipped around, jumped on its back, and locked it in a chokehold like a snake, his armored arms crushing its neck. Berta and Foster found him mid-strangle.
"Didn't know choking was your kink, Wilson," Berta quipped, smirking.
Foster, oddly more pragmatic, asked, "Think there are more of these bastards around?"
"No clue," Rus replied, snapping the Orc's neck like a twig and shoving it off before its drool or vomit could get on him. Berta placed a boot on its head and pressed down slowly, muttering, "Just to be safe."
"Could've just stabbed it, Wilson," Foster said, kicking dirt on the corpse.
The rest of the unit arrived. Stacy, Amiel, Kate, Gino, and Dan covered the remains. They managed to sneak closer to where the thermals lit up, and by God, it was massive. An entire village, no, hundreds of war tents with a whole army of Orcs. Fascinating and grotesque, it was clear that despite seeing them as dirt beneath their boots, they had their own customs and way of life. Some were even using wooden wheelbarrows to cart goods into a cave entrance.
Dan went prone next to Rus. "Guess that's the place. No way to get through that without causing a ruckus. Call for the big guns?"
"Might as well."
Rus gestured at Berta, who signaled Amiel to note down the coordinates. Rus told everyone they might as well dig foxholes and stay low until they bombed the hell out of them. Facing an entire wave of Orcs without support was asking to be overwhelmed and torn apart.
Thankfully, they agreed. They started digging, quietly keeping watch while others set up a machine gun nest just in case.
Gino asked, "How'd we miss something this big?"
Dan, serious as ever, said, "A lot doesn't make sense lately. Maybe they've found ways to fool our satellites."
Foster chimed in, "About three years ago, the UH finally got control of the satellite station in Arvania so there might be still some problems."
Hearing them, Rus feel rather ignorant about this world, making him take mental note to study a map sometime. Avoid not having anything to say that made him look like a retard to his squad.
Hours passed. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the landscape. They maintained their positions in their fox holes, listening. The distant sounds of the Orc encampment drifted toward them. Gruff unintelligent voices, the clanking of metal, the occasional guttural laugh.
Berta broke the silence. "You ever think about what these bastards do when they're not trying to kill us?"
"Not particularly," Rus replied, keeping his eyes on the camp.
"I mean, look at 'em," she continued. "They've got families, routines... hell, probably even hobbies."
"If you call pillaging and murdering hobbies," Kate interjected, her tone dry.
Berta chuckled. "Fair point. But they clearly had some bit of brain."
Dan shifted slightly. "Regardless of their personal lives, they're a threat. We can't afford to humanize them."
"Doesn't mean we can't acknowledge they're more than just mindless brutes," Berta countered.
"Maybe," I said, "but right now, our job is to eliminate the threat."
The conversation died down, each of them lost in their thoughts.
As dawn approached, the distant rumble of aircraft signaled the arrival of their air support. They hunkered down, bracing themselves for the onslaught. The first explosions rocked the ground, flames illuminating the early morning darkness. The Orc encampment erupted into chaos, their once-organized village now a scene of destruction.
Through the smoke and fire, figures scrambled, some attempting to mount a defense, others fleeing in terror. The cacophony of war filled the air — screams, explosions, the rapid fire of UH gunships.
Berta watched with a grim expression. "Guess they won't be having breakfast today."
"Or ever," Foster added.
They remained in their positions, ensuring no stragglers made it past. The assault continued for what felt like hours, though it was likely only a fraction of that. When the dust settled, the once-thriving Orc village was reduced to smoldering ruins.
Cyma squad stayed hunkered down a little longer just to be sure. Even with the smoke curling upward and the stench of roasted flesh wafting over the ruined field, no one moved until the buzzing of the drones confirmed what the satellite feed already told CP.
There were no survivors.
"Proceed to rally point Cyma," Commander Reed said again, voice just as dry and tired as the air in their filters. "And make sure you take care of any stragglers."
Rus stood up, brushing soot and dirt off his knees. His legs felt like rusted joints trying to unstick themselves. He glanced around the makeshift foxhole and saw Berta already climbing out of hers like she'd just taken a nap instead of lying under enemy observation and bombardment for hours.
"Well," she said, stretching her arms above her head, "that was boring."
"Maybe for you," Rus muttered. "I had the privilege of smelling Foster's fart for half the goddamn night."
Foster, overhearing, gave him the finger as he pulled himself up from behind his dugout, brushing twigs off his helmet. "Better than your breath, Wilson. I swear I thought something died in your mouth."
"You talk like a man who never flossed a day in his life," Rus replied.
Berta chuckled, shouldering her LMG. "Boys, boys, please. Let's save the domestic for when we're back in the barracks and Wilson is trying to convince me again that oral hygiene is a turn-on."
"I don't have to convince you of anything," Rus said flatly. "You're already thirstier than a cactus in July."
She winked at him. "Touché."
As they gathered themselves and started the walk back, the terrain shifted into a broken path of scorched earth, twisted metal, and scorched tents. The destruction was surgical, too precise for humans, which meant the planes and drones did their job. That cave they'd seen earlier was now a smoking crater. Whatever the Orcs had going in or out of it, smuggling, logistics, some weird fungus-based cult activity, it was now ash. Well, there might be some left, but they had to wait for others to dig through.
Amiel jogged up next to him and turned to the others too. "Wilson. Everyone. CP wants us to do recon on the outskirts of the blast zone before we head back. Think they're worried some of those green fuckers might've slipped out."
Rus sighed. "Of course they do. Because God forbid we get a full day without something trying to stab us."
Berta was already checking her gun, flicking a half-spent cigarette away. "Recon it is. Maybe we'll find a few survivors I can interrogate with a bullet."
Kate snorted from behind them. "That's not how interrogation works, Ma'am."
"It is if you're not interested in the answers," Berta replied, cheerful as hell.
They moved through the rubble cautiously, staying in formation, eyes sharp. His ability highlighted every possible red dot and filtered out the noise, rats, birds, a couple dying Orcs who didn't make it far. One tried to crawl away, dragging what looked like half his guts behind him. Berta didn't even flinch. She just stepped on his neck and kept walking.
"I thought you were gonna interrogate them?" Kate asked.
"Yeah," Berta said. "He told me everything I needed to know. Like where his spine isn't."
They kept moving until they reached what had once been the outer perimeter of the Orc camp. A few tents had partially survived, and the smell of something rotting was strong enough to punch through even their filters.
Gino poked at one collapsed shelter with his rifle. "Looks like some of them had livestock. Weird mutated goats or something."
Dan came up beside him. "Probably food. Maybe a breeding project."
"Don't say 'breeding project,'" Rus said. "Not this early in the morning."
Foster nudged the remains of a cart. "So what now? We've got a crater, some roasted Orcs, and zero survivors for the freaks from the Recovery Unit. CP gonna send us on another wild goose chase?"
As if on cue, Reed's voice crackled over comms again. "Cyma Unit. You're to remain on-site. New orders inbound. High Command wants a full sweep of the tunnel network."
Dan groaned. "You gotta be fucking kidding me."
"Didn't we just blow it up?" Kate said, pulling her helmet off for a second to wipe the sweat off her forehead.
"Guess that's not good enough," Rus said. "They want to make sure we blew up the right horrifying Orc-infested underground hellhole."
Amiel pointed to a nearby slope of blasted stone. "There's another tunnel mouth over there. Looks like it survived, Sir."
Of course it did.
Berta pulled a fresh mag from her belt. "Well, let's go see what's inside, kids. Could be a treasure. Could be death. Either way, I get to shoot something."
Rus turned to Dan. "Remind me why we signed up again?"
He shrugged. "For the honor, the camaraderie… and the thrilling scent of Orc shit and guts at sunrise."
They then formed up and moved toward the entrance. The air grew colder the closer we got. Rus's helmet HUD flickered for a moment from the signal interference coming from underground. Rus thought if they'd lose drone support there. He turned to Berta and gave a signal.
Berta took point, flashlight slicing through the dark. The tunnel walls were damp, covered in some weird bioluminescent moss that pulsed faintly as they passed.
"I don't like that," Amiel muttered.
"I really don't like that," Foster echoed.
"Too late to turn back," Berta said, grinning. "Besides, if we die in here, Wilson can finally stop whining about how shitty everything is."
"I'll have you know I plan to whine well into the afterlife," Rus said.
Berta laughed. "That's the spirit."
They pressed deeper. The air got thicker, the moss brighter. And then, faintly, they heard it.
Drums.
The kind of sound that tells their lizard brain that tells them some of the Orc survived.
Dan whispered, "Please tell me that's just echoes."
But it wasn't.
Because the drums got louder.
And they were walking straight into them.
"Well, time for the usual, everyone."
They did what they always do lately.
They gassed the place.
Standard drill now. One of them pulled the pin on a fire-extinguisher-sized canister, tossed it into the dark, and they backed off just enough to let it hiss. The mustard gas seeped through the chamber like a creeping fog, slow and yellow and full of quiet death. Everyone double-checked seals and tapped the side of their helmets as green lights across the board. Then they moved in.
They swept the place methodically, like exterminators with assault rifles. Two shots in the chest. Two in the head. Anyone still writhing got a third for good measure. It was clean, clinical. No screaming. No yelling. The gas made sure of that.
Fifteen minutes in, the last body dropped.
Rus wiped the condensation off his visor and stepped further into the main chamber.
That's when he noticed the shapes lining the far wall. Not guards. Not warriors. Not even civilians.
Beds. Nests. Carved-out divots in the stone floor with rags, hides, and bundled straw.
And Orcs.
Female Orcs.
Pregnant.
Dozens of them.
Some were still twitching, barely. Most weren't.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. Even their squad held off the usual banter. That's rare for them. They joke about everything from dead bodies, burn victims, pissing themselves in combat, but not this.
No one spoke.
Rus stepped closer. One of them had her hand over her stomach, like she died trying to shield it. Her eyes were open, glazed with a kind of horror he wasn't ready to deal with.
Foster stood next to him, his rifle slack in his hands. "What the fuck…"
Dan muttered, "These were… breeders."
Berta didn't say anything at first. She just walked through the rows, slow. Like she was trying to process it. She kicked an overturned stool, hard, sending it clattering against the wall.
"Fuck," she finally said.
No quip. No flirting. Just that one, sharp syllable.
Kate crouched near one of the bodies, checked for a pulse. Didn't find one. She stood up, wiping her hands on her thighs like she was trying to get the weight of it off her skin.
"They weren't fighters," she said.
Amiel added, "They didn't even try to run."
They were in the Orc's maternity ward. That's what this was. A makeshift one, sure. Primitive. But it was something.
Rus leaned against the wall. His mouth felt dry, even through the hydration feed. "They were bringing stuff in here. We saw the wheelbarrows. I thought it was supplies… or the ores"
"Food. Water. Blankets," Dan said grimly. "For this."
Silence again.
Berta lit a cigarette with shaky hands, took a drag, and stared at the ceiling. "You think they were preparing for something?"
"You mean like a new generation?" Rus asked as he plucked the cigarette off her hands and tossed it aside.
She nodded.
"Yeah," Rus said. "Looks like it."
"Great," Foster said, his voice hollow. "So we just murdered a maternity ward and called it a victory."
Rus didn't say anything.
Because Foster wasn't wrong.
Berta walked to the middle of the chamber and sat down, just like that. Cross-legged on the blood-slick stone. She looked tired. Not physically, but somewhere deeper.
"We don't talk about this, do we?" she asked, not looking at anyone in particular. "We just file the report, say 'chamber neutralized,' and move on."
"That's the job," Rus said. His voice felt like gravel.
She nodded. "Right. The job."
For the first time in a long while, he didn't want to do the job. Sure, they see them as nothing more than dirt on their boots… but even they kinda understand how shit this was.
Kate tapped her helmet. "Commander Reed's asking for a sitrep."
No one moved to answer.
Rus sighed, tapped his. "Chamber cleared. No survivors."
There was a pause on the other end.
Then Reed's voice, filtered and cold. "Copy that. Secure the site. CP wants a scan of the lower tunnels. There might be another node."
More tunnels.
More warbands.
More gas.
More silence.
Berta stood up slowly, pistol dangling from her gloved fingers. "Well. Guess it's time to kill some more unborn children."
"Berta," Rus said.
She looked at him, and for once, behind the mask her face didn't have that smug twist. Just emptiness.
"I'm fine," she said. "I'm fine."
Then she walked past him, stepping over the still, swollen bodies like it was just another day at work.