Shit, shit, shit, where the fuck are the others? French's heart pounded as he zoomed his map out as far as it would go. His was the only location marker he could see. It had been ever since the drop. Blind panic meant that he'd missed every single guide marker and ended up way off course. Blind luck had seen him landing nearer to the objective than planned. Much to his terror. Just before him was the objective. It looked quaint, a typical French village that you would have seen on a postcard back when those were still made.

Tucked into a towered building next to what was labelled the 'airborne museum'.

How fucking ironic, he thought as he scanned the details on a large sign stood just outside. Something, something, World War 2. History had never interested him. From his position he had a good view of the town square. A large A-55 MBT, the ChinKor’s most popular battle tank, was parked on the square, crewmen lounging around it as a mechanic fiddled with a box on the turret. Other enemy soldiers strolled through what could only charitably be called a market.

The locals bartered over the most common items, often approaching soldiers for help. He'd marked each of those, as the villagers would only approach true avatars, not ‘scripts. Not that 'scrips weren't dangerous, the AI was as good as it could be, but real soldiers tended to be far less predictable, and he wanted to make them hurt as much as he was hurting.

Fucking getting rid of the century, what sick fuck thought of that? A number of the soldiers stopped by a fruit and veg stall, buying as much food as possible and loading it onto a cart which he thought looked cobbled together. Frowning, he scanned his sight across the rest of the market. Soldiers were buying up supplies from every stall that they could, the stall owners looking as happy as Larry as money was exchanged.

What the fuck is going on? The advance through France was fast. Maybe they’ve over-extended their supply lines?

A commotion broke out, the locals screaming and running for cover, the soldiers dropping whatever they were holding and going for their weapons. Quickly he panned left, towards where the soldiers were looking and where the locals were running away from. A 3-metre tall ECAF BattleBot, its right arm missing, sparks and smoke rising from various points of its body strode into the square. It paused, speakers roaring out white noise that ended in 'Query'.

Before anyone could answer, panels on its shoulders flipped up and a score of miniature rockets from each raced away, smoke trails allowing French to follow them easily. All of them were aimed at the tank. There was a ripple of explosions, and the limp bodies of the crewmen and mechanic were flung into the air like unwanted dolls. Another barrage raced away from the bot as the soldiers in the market opened fire, bullets and pulses ricocheting uselessly away.

French followed the rockets as they rose sharply into the air just before reaching the tank. Rising to 50 metres, they reversed direction and plunged down, racing through the still-open hatch. There was a pause, longer than French was expecting, and then the tank exploded. A wall of fire, smoke and shrapnel rolled over every bit of ground within 30 metres. Flicking his visor to IR, French watched as enemy troops flailed about as they were wreathed head-to-toe in flames, their screams drowned out by the sound of the tank's ammunition detonating.

Screeching once more, the bot raised its still-working arm and opened fire with the flechette machine gun attached to it. The small projectiles ripped through any surviving enemy soldiers, none of whom were wearing body armour.

Must have thought this area was pacified, thought French smugly.

The squeal of tyres and roar of diesel engines signalled the arrival of the Quick Reaction Force (QRF). An IFV skidded to a halt in the town square, its turret opening up on the bot with a dull thud, thud, thud. The heavy shells slammed into it, each strike making it take a step back, armour plates glowing where they had been struck.

Troops spilled out of the IFV in two files, four men around the side nearest to French, four on the other. As they did, a priority mission tasking exclamation mark appeared in his visor.

SUPPORT THE BATTLEBOT

Shit! Shit! Shit! He opened it, quickly scanning through the brief, Save the bot, kill the troops, get the bot as an assist until it's killed, DP, blah blah blah.

Get my own bot. The thought of having a battlebot to distract the enemy, to have them shoot at it rather than at him was too much. He'd take any chance offered to reduce his death count and get home to Suki and the kids. Just the thought of getting back to them was enough to over ride his fear.

The dismounts were starting to add their fire to that of the IFV whilst two of them prepared to aim and load a man-portable tank-killer. A timer appeared in his visor counting down from 10.

'Fuck it, time to earn my pay.' His first shot took the loader, who was the rearmost dismount, in the head; spray-painting the IFV's armoured sides with bone and brain matter.

+10DP

+1SP – PULSE RIFLE

The gunner didn't notice, concentrating instead on lining up a shot at the bot. French's next shot opened a fist-wide hold in his side, spinning him to the right. Dead before he hit the ground, the gunner reflexively pulled the trigger on his launcher. A bright laser lanced out as he turned, the beam cutting his team mates in half with ease. Before the battery pack had time to deplete, the beam lanced into the IFV's reactive armour and deep into its interior, flashing out the other side and hitting the church.

Laughing in disbelief, French watched as the IFV, exploded, destroying it and killing all of the other dismounts in a short-lived but vicious explosion.

MULTIKILL!

+110DP

VEHICLE KILL!

+100DP

NEW TITLE – WRECKER

MISSION REWARD - BATTLEBOT

His visor flickered, software downloading into his armour's computer, and then an interface to the bot opened up. Cackling, he scooted down and looked at the options.

*

'Well, at least someone is engaging the enemy!' Said Clark. The sound of combat from all different directions rolled across the French countryside as he led the men and women of 1st Battalion that he'd been able to gather towards the objective. Having spoken to Patterson, he had ordered the NCO to loop around the town as planned, whilst he led two companies' worth of troops directly into the town.

If we just slam into them, hopefully the element of surprise will enable us to push the bastards back long enough to find this bloody asset! There was another explosion, smoke billowing up from the centre of the town. Lungs burning, he pushed himself harder, leading his command in a dead run towards the town, gambling that all attention would be taken up with the battle that was occurring within.

A pulse shot burned past his shoulder and he instinctively flinched, causing the next shot to miss as well. Magnifying his visor, he spotted a single enemy officer. The woman was trying to shoot him whilst loading a flare gun. Without pausing, Clark snapped his rifle up to his shoulder, selected smart grenade, waited for the confirmation bleep, marked the target, and fired.

The grenade arced through the air. As soon as its small on-board computer confirmed it had reached the optimal distance, it deployed the fuel ordnance it was carrying, filling a 10m globe of air and ground before it, completely saturating the enemy officer. Just milliseconds later, the grenade detonated with a thunderous explosion, incinerating the officer; instantly turning her into a carbon statue. The buildings nearest to the explosion were set alight, windows turned into glass and doing little to stop the searing flames from igniting the insides.

+80DP

+1SP – GRENADE LAUNCHER

'Clark to all commanders, they'll know we're here now, split off and find that bloody intelligence asset!' He led his hand-picked team on as the other teams peeled off and head towards their designated entry points.

'Contact front!' Clark looked up and saw enemy soldiers pouring out of the building the officer had been stood in front of. Many of them were on fire and were desperately slapping at themselves or rolling on the ground. Others merely staggered a few yards, flames licking at anything they could find before they fell face forward, bodies twitching as they slowly died..

MULTIKILL!

+3DP

+3SP – GRENADE LAUNCHER

3DP meant that he’d killed mostly privates and lower-end NCOs. That was the one drawback of progressing through the ranks. Whilst a private killing a private got 10DP, an officer such as himself got none. He had to kill soldiers further up the ranks, or progress through carrying out successful missions, vehicle kills and such like.

'Form a firing line! Open fire! Take that group out!' He had marked soldiers who had leapt from a window clear of flames and smoke and who were now sprinting towards a blackened and sandbagged pillbox. He took a knee. Aiming at the lead enemy soldier, he placed his sight a few feet in front of the soldier and fired. The enemy never had a chance. Head down, arms pumping, he sprinted headlong into Clark's shots, crashing to the ground, and ploughing face first along the tarmacked road. Looking for another target, Clark grinned as he saw that the rest of the enemy soldiers were already out of the fight.

KILL!

+0DP

+1SP – PULSE RIFLE

'Good effort! Menefee, take five men and push up to the building on the left. We'll cover the one on the right to make sure no more of the buggers get out.' It might not have been sporting, but Clark wasn't about to allow anyone to stop his people from gaining the vital extra lives they needed.

*

Patterson stamped his foot in frustration as explosion followed explosion from inside the town. Contacts were starting to be marked all over his map as he silently cursed Clark for making him continue to tramp around the town in a vain search for someone who didn't want to be found by other people armed and armoured like he was.

'All those bloody DPs and we're missing out on them!' moaned a Corporal who should have known better. Patterson didn’t suffer fools easily, and it was well-know that he hated whiners.

'Think I don't bloody know that you twat? How about you go and retrace our fucking steps to make sure we didn't miss anything. Go on! Fuck off!' He jabbed his arm out straight, pointing back the way they had come. Shoulders slumped the Corporal headed off, muttering so low that the comm mic couldn't pick up what he was saying. It certainly sounded upset. 'And turn your fucking comm off if you're going to piss and moan like a baby!'

Patterson closed his eyes, taking a moment to bring the rage that was always just at the edge of his control back from the brink. He’d already earned a reputation for his quick-fire temper and even quicker fists. He didn’t think there wasn’t one member of his platoon who he hadn’t punched.

And not one of them made the same mistake again, he thought with satisfaction. He wasn’t a man who believed in the respect of his subordinates anymore. Now, he’d rather earn their fear. Fear got things done.

'Right, let's bloody well double-time around the rest of the perimeter then hook in. I don't want to miss out on what seems to be a bloody good ruck.'

He ran, convinced from the start that this mission was a Fool's Errand, one created deliberately to mislead.

Sure, there might be an intelligence asset, but I don't believe we'll actually find them alive, probably morph into a 'save x from the nuclear mushroom cloud'.

Bitter experience had taught him about Fool's Errands, and he had seen an entire platoon of his friend wiped out as they attempted a King-of-the-Hill mission that had been one. Convinced that they were holding the position in order to let their comrades escape, instead they had merely entrenched themselves in a position that had already been bypassed earlier and in which all of the bunkers had suffered catastrophic damage.

Bet the enemy laughed their fucking socks off, he spat on the floor in disgust.

'Cont..!' the warning trailed off in an agonised wail. Enemy fire raked his people, cutting them down before they had a chance to react. Wounded screamed in agony as they clutched at gaping wounds, tried to stuff their guts back into their stomach or tried to stop themselves from bleeding to death.

The ambush was perfect, the enemy soldiers hidden behind a hedgerow 30 metres to their right, with a machine gun position to their front. Whichever way they turned, they would take punishing fire. And if they tried to retreat, the machine gun would drill them whilst the rest of the enemy troops pursued them. If handled badly, it would be a massacre. If handled well, it be a massacre for the ChinKor troops instead.

'Ambush right! Fix bayonets and charge!' It was a well-practiced drill. Those that could turned to the right, activated their vibrobayonets and raced screaming at the top of their lungs towards the hedgerow, shooting from the hip. A series of explosions rippled across the enemy position as those with grenade launchers let loose, trying to force the enemy to take cover. More of them died as the machine gun got a side-on shot, many of the bullets punching through multiple targets.

It wasn't enough however, and Patterson ploughed on through the entwined branches, crashing through to the road beyond, right into the midst of the enemy soldiers. An entrenching tool cut down towards his head, forcing him to block it with his rifle. Both hands above his head he threw a rear stamp onto his attacker's knee, relishing the way it snapped under him. Wailing in agony the enemy soldier fell to the floor. With no thought at all, Patterson tracked him down, thrust his bayonet into the soldier's face and twisted it viciously before pulling it loose with a schloop, brain matter and blood jetting out of the wound.

+10DP

+1SP – VIBROBAYONET

Another ChinKor attacked him with their bayonet. For a few vital seconds they both thrust and parried, neither willing to take a shot in case they hurt their own people. Lunging forward, the ChinKor slipped on a pool of gore. Seeing his chance, Patterson parried the lunge, then swung his rifle butt into the woman's face, shattering her jaw with ease. Staggering back she clutched at the horrendous wound, crying out in agony, dropping her rifle to the floor.

It didn't matter to him that she was unarmed, nor that she was injured. All that mattered was that he had an advantage over someone who had tried to kill him. He thrust, ramming his bayonet into her exposed stomach, ripping up and spilling her guts out of the wound. Shoving her out of the way, he took a clear shot, blowing out the brains of a ChinKor that was trying to kill one of his people.

+20DP

+1SP – VIBROBAYONET

+1SP – PULSE RIFLE

Ducking under the wild swing of another soldier he was spared having to do anything as the ChinKor was bayonetted by a member of Patterson's team. Ignoring the two as they continued to fight, he threw his weapon over a soldier's neck from behind and tried to throttle him to death with his rifle.

*

Clark and his people pushed through the town. The enemy seemed to be disjointed. Twice now attacks that, had they been properly co-ordinated, would have driven Clark and his force out of the town had been easily repulsed.

It's as if they're leaderless, he thought as he gunned down a trio of enemy soldiers trying to dash across the road. He'd set up a command point in the cellar of an old house, the cellar windows giving him and his people perfect firing positions.

TRIPLEKILL! – 0DP

+3SP PULSE RIFLE

Looking across the way he spotted a flash at the top of a tower and saw an enemy soldier drop to the floor nearly two hundred metres forward of it.

'RSM, try to find out who that is up the tower. Looks like we've found some scouts!'

'Roger that sir. Osprey, with me, we're going on a little recce.'

Putting Menefee and his mission out of his mind, Clark turned back to the business at hand. The enemy seemed determined to get to one of the buildings just opposite them. He didn't have a clue why, but he had a sinking feeling that they had been tasked to do so by a special mission rather than because of any strategic or tactical genius. Two things which had been distinctly lacking in their response to his attack so far.

'If any of you have grenades left for your launchers, hit the pinkish building 150 metres to our front, the little fuckers are determined to get there for some reason!' Stepping away from the window he watched as the grenadiers set to with joyful gusto, catcalling each other and boasting when they got in a good shot.

Selecting his right-hand-man on his visor, Clark opened a private chat channel, 'Menefee, keep your eye on the pinkish house, I've noticed that the enemy seemed determined to get into it. Suspect they have a mission. Get our friendly scout onto the job instead eh?'

Hearing Menefee's acknowledgement he turned his attention back to the enemy's objective.

Something is really bugging me.

Calling up their mission brief he scanned through the text, trying to work out why he felt so uneasy. Halfway down, his stomach sunk.

'Ceasefire! Ceasefire!' Shoving one of the grenadiers out of the way he looked at the ruined building opposite. Half of the building's frontage had collapsed into the street and a number of the rooms behind that had lost floors and walls, 'Shitting fucking hell!'

'Menefee, the operative is codenamed Salmon. I have a horrible feeling they're in the building we just wrecked. Get in there and sort things out would you?' Cursing himself for being so slow on the uptake. It was the only pink building they'd seen it the entire town after all. As quickly and clearly as possible he issued orders to all of the various elements he could, pulling together a plan for simultaneous attack and defence.