Evacuation

The trucks moved slowly, weighed by numbers they werent meant to carry. Faces, half
starved, stared out of the gaps in the fabric. The bridge on which they crossed,
miraculously intact, shook beneath the rumbling wheels. Following behind were another
truck and a battered jeep carrying about a dozen armed men. The sound of gunfire was
becoming more frequent and a muffled bang could occasionally be heard in the distance.
Once the last vehicle was across the jeeps driver reached for the radio in the back.
Sentinel-3 to King Cale. We have rounded up as many chicks as we could and are
returning to the nest, over. He waited for the brief acknowledgement before heading for
their destination.
It was almost three months since the Platinum Order had begun its operations in Punt.
Although they had been a small presence within the country for a number of years, its
continuing unrest had prompted a recent influx of personnel and equipment in order to
protect their interests. When it became clear that central authority was collapsing and
civil war was imminent, it was decided that a complete with-drawl was the best option.
As preparations were being made, intelligence began filtering through that one of the
strongest factions, the Sulayman Brigade, had begun indiscriminately killing every
member of the small elvish community they came across. Unwilling to allow a massacre
to take place in front of their eyes, the order was given to evacuate as a many as they
could.
Making their way through the remains of a once prosperous settlement, many of those
that the convoy were transporting gazed intently at their surroundings. The wrecked
vehicles and equipment full of bullet holes, debris strewn roads, ruined infertile fields and
the burnt out shell of the compound in the distance struck a melancholic cord with those
able to comprehend their situation. The others could only watch in bewilderment and fear
at what was happening.
Only one of them was troubled by the faint, malign presence following them.
While they could not be certain, the order members were vaguely aware they were being
shadowed. Most were experienced combat veterans who had learned to trust their
instincts, and the hairs on the back of their necks had been standing on end since they had
started this journey. The lieutenant leading this last sortie recalled rumours among the
local populace of one warlord had the allegiance of spirits as well as men and couldnt
help fingering the fetish he had acquired recently. Nevertheless, there was little he could
do about it and there were more pressing concerns.

While the fact that escorting such a large number of civilians had left them as a highly
visible and vulnerable target already had him worried and on edge, the fact that they had
yet to encounter any sort of hostile opposition was the most troubling sign. For the past
few weeks reports had been trickling in that the increasing tribal schisms and riots were
the prelude to something much bigger. In the last few days that trickle had turned into a
torrent; by all accounts they were now on the cusp of a full blown civil war.
Driving through the eerily deserted and quiet landscape, the air thick with anticipation
and dread, it appeared that they were already tipping over the precipice.
-----------Terminal 30 did not have the most auspicious of histories. Originally conceived as a sub
site to Mugaral Airport, it was meant to help deal with increasing air traffic and showcase
Punts prosperity and prowess. Instead its descent into a complete mess provided a
completely different kind of example, one that was perhaps truly emblematic of the
countrys current fortunes.
Almost as soon as work had begun to prepare the site there were problems. The outfit
awarded the contract to build the runway was rumoured to have won the bid due to strong
ties with a member of one of the ruling families. Nearly a year later work had barely
progressed beyond preparing the ground while most of the machinery lay idle.
Coincidentally, acting president Sihads nephew completed an enormous palatial villa in
the same time period; no questions were raised of where the money came from.
There were similar stories across the board. While the control tower was completed
within 18 months problems with the wiring and equipment meant that it would be another
year before it was operational. The power station that was supposed to supply its
electricity was out-dated and barely maintained, the increased demand leading to frequent
blackouts in the area. One of the two hangers collapsed during construction, and the
airline that would have operated out of them was put under investigation. By the time the
coffers were starting to run dry, it was decided to cut any further losses; the new terminal
was left as a ramshackle collection of buildings with a massive dirt runway used by the
occasional cargo plane, left to rot.
That was until a certain military order needed move large amounts of personnel and
assets out of the country, fast.
------------

Sentry duty at Maintenance Gate 1 was not the most welcome of assignments. As the
only entrance in the fortified perimeter that had not been blocked or booby trapped it was
considered to be a primary point of attack from the increasingly hostile militias; the burnt
out wreck on the side of the road a reminder of the latest incident. Visible about 9 feet
beyond was a crucified naked corpse; a crude symbol carved into its chest as both
message and bait. Combined with the heat and need to be on near constant alert, this was
considered to be one of the most stressful duties.
Currently there were three men stationed at the gate. Two paced behind torso high
makeshift barriers while the third sat in a makeshift guardhouse. Their camouflage
uniforms were covered in dust & dirt, their markings obscured save for an emblem of a
grayish white sword on their right shoulder, a sign of the three days they had been on
duty here. With no major incidents in that time, it was inevitable that minds would begin
to wander.
Am I the only one here who thinks we should have just dropped everything and left
town?
Voicing his thoughts was Mark Holt, from one of the recently arrived reinforcement
platoons. Alongside him was Jan Yalda, a recent recruit from of the former colonies to the
west.
Yalda responded with an irritated sigh. This was now their fourth time on sentry duty
together, and one thing he had learned about his comrade was that he liked to add his own
take on everything when possible, asked for or not.
Given that our holdings here now consist of this partially built airport, I think thats
generally the idea.
Not that its much of a downgrade anyway he added under his breath.
Unfazed by the obvious irritation of his conversation partner, Holt continued his running
commentary. . Im saying that were out here without any official backing or
recognition; our resources are limited as it is, and were deep in hostile territory. So why
exactly did our new commander deem it feasible to mount a rescue operation.
From what Ive seen, he doesnt want to be here any more than we do.
Reflecting for a moment, Yalda still wasnt sure what to make of the man. Going by what
he had heard in the cook-tent the current commander had only been appointed shortly
before he was recruited, the latest in a succession of officers that the gold crests at The
Citadel had inflicted upon them. The difference was that this one was a lot more capable
than the usual refuse.

Their weapons were the same TM-38s that had flooded this region in recent years, which
had become the armament of choice as supplies began to dwindle. Not having to worry
about making every shot count when you could re-supply from the enemy was a small
blessing, no matter what others said. That and their versatile sturdiness had left their old
CA70s as a secondary option.