The house was surprisingly tidy, especially in light of the destruction outside. The remains of a meal for one sat congealing on the table. An outdated holoprojector sat on an antique Welsh dresser, Hotston paused as he saw that it was tuned in to the battle outside.

Fucking hell, everyone's watching us, including the NPCs, his stomach twisted at the vision of Mel and the kids watching him, seeing him in danger, seeing him fighting for his life.

Seeing me puke my guts up, he thought as he spewed all over the parquet flooring.

'Hey, Hotty you sick?' Windsor rubbed his back awkwardly, not seeming able to decide whether to rub him, or pat him like she would a stray dog.

Bet they're fucking laughing at that!

'Split up, sweep the house,' he burped, straightening up he wiped his mouth, trying to regain some sense of decorum.

'Don't sweat it, Hotston, you just made me shit myself with that grenade stunt,' said a woman called Watson, giving him a wink and a thumbs up. Those soldiers still within the room laughed. Genuine laughs, not the two-faced bullshit 'heh, heh, heh' either.

Fuck me, they really are my people, he thought with a sudden pounding of his heart. It was scary. Their lives, their chances at returning to real life, would all hinge on the orders he gave. He gave a little burp as his stomach threatened to rebel. Then gave himself a mental shake. Get back into the game.

'Thanks Watson, at least I know it's not your breath.' The room erupted at that, and Watson's thumbs up turned into a twin set of Vs.

'We found her!' Two soldiers came into the room, a diminutive old lady thumping along with her walking stick behind them.

She paused, squinting around the room at everyone there. Seeing Hotston, she nodded and thumped her way over to him.

'You are the leader, it is clear. I'm the person you are looking for. Salmon' Her handshake was firm, and much stronger than he had expected. The callouses on the inside of her hand indicated a hard working life.

'Pleased to meet you. Your accent ...'

'Is Russian, da. I yam, how you say, sleepy agent. Here is the information you require. I stay.' She handed him a microchip. Taking it, he slipped it onto a data slot on his armpad. As soon as he did so, a chime sounded, and his visor filled with mission statistics.

'Bloody well done Hotston! Mission accomplished!' Clark said over the command comms, 'All units disengage and head to the extraction point marked on your maps.'

*

Hoffmeister grinned to himself as the mission completed stats popped up on his visor. Still more than a kilometre from the objective he was just close enough to get the mission reward. Another 500DPs.

RANK UP – NOW ELIGIBLE FOR – 1st LIEUTENANT

He gave a chuff of laughter. No Gorilla he was aware of had made rank higher than senior NCO. Not that he’d make a good officer anyway. You needed brains for that. And whilst he wasn’t stupid, he was honest enough to admit to himself that he’d never make it through officer candidate school. Not unless they gave him a brain boost.

MISSION REWARD: STEALTH SUIT

Dropping into a drainage ditch by the side of the road, he quickly opened up his avatar menu, immediately selecting the new Stealth Suit that had been placed there. Whistling, he quickly scanned through the stats. It was less armoured than he would have liked, 10% less than his combat suit, but the stealth functions granted him a 20% bonus on all STEALTH-related skills and the auto-aim giving him an increase of 25% to BATTLE RIFLE more than made up for it. It was fast too. Looking down he smiled as his body rippled and the stealth suit replaced his former combat suit.

COMBAT SUIT CHANGED

NEW TITLE – DIGITAL NINJA

'Bring it on Bitches.' Stepping out of the ditch he jumped as high as he could, deliberately trying to land as hard as he could. It felt as though he was jumping onto a pillow, with just as much sound. Even when he shouted he found that his voice was muted. 'Oh this is the dog's bollocks this is.'

Moving along the road he settled into an easy jog, heading towards the Extraction Point - EP - icon that had appeared on his map. Other friendly icons were moving in a similar direction. By the way they moved he could tell they were in a fighting withdrawal. Stopping and starting. Moving past each other, taking up a position and letting another past them. Clear fire and support manoeuvres.

Selecting the nearest one to him he ran, building up to a sprint that was far faster than he would ever have been able to reach before. The old combat suits allowed the wearer to hit around 20KPH. This suit had him running at 30KPH, and much quieter than before. Coming to a junction in the road, he leapt the hedgerow before him, laughing in delight as he tucked and rolled on the ploughed earth beyond.

The flash of weapons being fired could be seen at the other side of the field, the friendly group clearly outnumbered. Turning to his right, he ran parallel to the two units, placing himself in a flanking position.

'49ers, this is Hoffmeister, am approaching enemy from the south-south-west, FOF is off, repeat FOF is off.'

'Roger that. Thank God you're here, we can't break contact, too many walking wounded. Can't see you at all, how far out are you?' Patterson's voice sounded shaky over the comms.

'I'm wearing one of the new suits, looks like we're all going to be digital ninjas by the end of this mission, engaging now. Out.'

He was less than five metres from the enemy, the suit's enhancements reducing their detection range down to what appeared to be less than 30 centimetres.

Not that I'm going to get that close just yet! he thought, taking careful aim at a support weapon team who were blazing away at his people.

His first shot blew the loader's bottom jaw clean off in a burst of blood, bone and shattered teeth whilst ripping away his throat. Whilst the gunner was still trying to parse the fact that his comrade was dead, Hoffmeister was already firing, the twin barrels of his auto-shotgun spitting a hail of flechettes that flayed the gunner alive, his rib cage smashed into jagged shards that destroyed his vital organs.

It was specially designed for Gorillas. Normal humans would struggled to use the weapon if they were in anything smaller than a proper battle suit. Auto-shotguns packed a massive punch, but had a slower firing rate, kill power that dropped quite quickly at ranges of over 50 metres, and took a while to reload. However, the damage they did more than made up for that in his mind.

DOUBLE KILL!

+8DP

+2SP AUTO-SHOTGUN

The outgoing weight of fire from the enemy faltered as they reacted to the loss of friendly markers they would be seeing that marked their dead team members. Pushing forward, Hoffmeister prayed that he wouldn't fall victim to a blue-on-blue incident. Friend-or-Foe tended to stop that, highlighting friendly soldiers in blue, marking spotted enemy in red. However, it then meant you were broadcasting your position to all and sundry.

Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for the enemy, the hedgerow they were using for cover was dead straight. They were lined up like ducks in a shooting gallery. And completely oblivious to the fact he was there. He almost felt sorry for them.

Switching his weapon to full-auto, he dropped to the ground, took aim, and let rip on the enemy soldiers. The devastation that the twin-barrelled assault shotgun caused was horrendous. A mix of rounds meant that the enemy were hit by explosive rounds, razor-sharp flechettes, incendiary and solid shot. Limbs were sent flying, soldiers set alight, torsos shredded, gaping holes blasted in chests. No human could stand such a thing and the enemy broke, individual soldiers flinging down their weapons and running. Those that tried to surrender received no mercy, dying in a hail of shot.

+35DP

+8SP – AUTO-SHOTGUN

'Clear!' He stood up, sweeping the area with his sights, making sure that none of the enemy were playing at dead.

'Fuck me.' Came the breathless voice of Patterson. 'We couldn't see you even though we knew where you were! We're upgrading now!'

Hoffmeister blinked as the icons on his map changed, turning a shade of green he hadn't seen before. Looking to where he had last seen them, he saw vague blue outlines appear on his visor. It appeared the stealth suits left a trace, tricking enemy troops into going where they had been, not where they were.

'Can you see me now? I can see you,’ asked Hoffmeister.

'Roger that.'

Hoffmeister jogged over to Patterson's icon, the other NCO's outline becoming clearer the nearer he got.

'This kit is cutting edge, the sort of thing that only spec forces usually get. Where are the rest of your people?' Hoffmeister asked as they shook hands.

'Dead. Ran into an AP tank ambush. I was lucky to get away myself. I was on point.' Hoffmeister frowned, Patterson had looked down and away as he spoke, and the choppy sentences weren't normal for him either. ‘Picked up this lot when the mission was completed.’

I'll leave it for now, but I'm going to keep a close eye on him from now on. He and Patterson had a professional working relationship, but he had seen Patterson's treatment of Windsor, and knew just how the man felt about Gorillas. Every NCO also knew of Patterson's death wounds. He was one of the few who remembered every single death he’d ever suffered in the simulation. Still felt them sometimes.

'Strip the enemy and see if you can get any of the wounded back up to a serviceable status. Have a look for any intelligence as well. I get the feeling that we're going to need to know anything about the area that we can.'

*

'This is hound dog five, calling 49ers, evac inbound, ETA five mikes. Confirm beacons are on over.'

Clark sighed in relief as he heard the call come in. The 49ers he’d managed to gather had secured an evac point that gave good all round visibly whilst proving a defensive capability that would punish any attack. Stragglers were still coming in but so far the casualty rate for 1st Battalion had been pleasingly low, the element of surprise having put the enemy onto the back foot and keep them there. The loss of their command headquarters had also prevented them from organising a proper counter-attack or pursuit.

But even still, he had people out there still trying to make their way to the LZ. Opening his tacmap, he saw that the largest group of them, an ad-hoc platoon led by someone called Hotston was still too far away to make it in time. His stomach twisted at the thought of having to leave them behind, and could only hope that ECAF high command would give him a RESCUE mission to come and get them back.

Afterall, we’ve proven we can get in an out … so far, he thought. He realised he’d left hound dog 5 waiting for a response.

'Roger that hound dog five, beacons activated. LZ is clear, repeat LZ is clear.'

Beckoning Menefee over, he set the NCO about prioritising units for evacuation with all wounded being pulled back and assigned to the first wave of craft.

'People, I need everyone that hasn't switched to the new suits to do so now. Get any upgrades you might have activated, and make sure that your FOF is on. It seems that these have a closed-circuit version that allows us to see each other clearer.' He sent them all a snapshot of the sub-menu that enabled the feature.

Doesn't matter that the drop was an utter clusterfuck, my people did a good job, losses were light, and morale is high, he thought. The aspects of the mission that failed would be learned from. And then forgotten. Or used to demonstrate just how successful the mission was. The drop failed, but they still pulled off a high-risk mission with minimal casualties.

Reaching up, he pulled down a second visor that he, as a commander, had been granted with the suit. It gave a far greater magnification than normal, and also acted as a range finder and artillery support marker. Flicking through the different spectrums he paused as he reached IR. Roughly 5 kays out was a fast moving heat source flickering as it moved behind various obstructions. Others followed it. As he watched the sources spread out into an unmistakable v-pattern. The shapes of the objects were unmistakable too.

'Incoming enemy armour! AT units to the front, French, get that bot of yours deployed.' The scout had been far too reticent about using the bot, going so far as to hide the damn thing throughout the assault on the pink house. Clark was determined to find a way of getting the bot reassigned to his command so that it could actually do some good.

Bloody ridiculous for a sniper to have such a thing in the first place, he thought angrily. And he couldn’t think of a suitable threat to use to get the man to obey him. Putting him in prison would mean that he would live longer. And Clark wasn’t prepared to start using explosive collars on his people. No matter how much he disliked them. Battered as it was, the bot would still be very useful for the coming battle and if he was honest, he wasn't too fussed if it was destroyed, so long as it meant he could get his people out.

'49ers to hound dog five, enemy armour approaching, be prepared for hot LZ over.'

'Roger that, warming up missile racks, be prepared for hover loading instead of skids on ground.' Clark nodded, hovering would mean that the evac ships would be able to clear the area much quicker than if they actually landed. But it would make getting the wounded onboard a challenge.

'Acknowledged, priority cases ready to go.'

'ETA one Mike. Engaging enemy.' The sound of jets mingled with the whoosh of air-to-ground missiles racing overhead. The shots were good, reactive armour, bullet storm and chaff stopped some of the missiles, but enough got through to destroy some of the armoured column. Its ordered formation broke up as the tanks started evasive manoeuvres.

Switching to normal vision Clark tried to identify the type of vehicle that was approaching. A series of muzzle flashes had him diving for the ground as the armoured vehicles opened fire on the LZ. 'Incoming!'

The shells were hyper-velocity. Barely had the muzzle flash dissipated than the shells were ripping into the ground, huge gouts of earth rising into the sky, 49ers sent cartwheeling though the air. More enemy vehicles appeared before the first wave, missiles streaking through the air to engage the aircraft. His stomach flipped as one that was coming in to land was struck, nosediving into the ground before cartwheeling in along the ground like a demented Catherine Wheel.

His command interface showed an ever-increasing count of wounded and dead. The downed hog exploded, forcing the count higher. Flames licked into the air briefly, before dying out.

'Dammit!' The crash had opened up a break in their line and he quickly set about assigning other squads to close it, using the wreck as a potential strongpoint. Other craft were taking hits, some being struck by MG and pulser shots, the pilots swearing over the comm net, screaming at the 49ers to get on-board as quickly as possible. What should have been an orderly evacuation was turning into a chaotic rout.

A bright flash lit up the sky as another of the evac craft was destroyed. Burning fuel sheeted down, incinerating a group of wounded that had been waiting for pick up. Clark felt tears of frustration running down his cheeks as their screams rang out. Death icons appeared as the flames took their toll.

Missiles and rocket-propelled grenades streaked away from his AT teams, accompanied by the ptchooo of the mortar platoon. Flashes lit the sky as the gunners either hit their targets or the missiles self-detonated after missing. One tank suffered a catastrophic failure, the turret shooting tens of metres into the sky, trailing a column of fire as his people cheered its death.

Tracer trails and the garish red, yellow and ice blue of pulser shots filled the air in different directions, ricocheting away or striking home with a wet thwack in the case of the bullets, and the sound of steak on a hot pan in the case of the pulses. Men and women on both sides died in handfuls as the enemy drew closer.

Don't suppose it matters that we're wearing stealth suits if the bastard's are firing explosive rounds, he thought bitterly as a legless torso crashed to the ground next to him. All the enemy had to do was aim at the hound dogs. Even as the last of the original wounded were loaded, others were taken out of the fight. The light of dawn crept over the horizon, fortunately with the sun behind them.

'49ers, this is Hound Dog 3, the LZ is too hot over. You're going to have to get to Echo Papa Alpha Bravo. Let us know when you get close, and we'll be ready.'

'Negative! We have wounded and need extraction now!' Clark screamed into his mic.

'The LZ is too hot, repeat too hot, we've already lost Hound Dog 5, 7, and 9. We're down to less than 50% combat strength. See you at the alternative EP. Out.'

Clark hadn't even registered the different call sign until it was pointed out to him. Their would-be rescuers had lost their commander. Guiltily he acknowledged the order.

'Menefee. Triage the wounded. Get those that can be moved out of here now. Stabilise the others and leave them. Go here,' he marked the point on the map, a hill roughly 20 kilometres away, 'I'm leading the rear-guard. Everyone else will follow on in these timed stages.' The data was sent over in a squirt to all commanders. He just had to hope that the wounded would be well cared for by the ChinKor. They didn’t have a reputation for killing prisoners, but when someone’s blood was up there was no accounting for what they might do.

“Leave no man behind”, was all well and good, but if that meant the loss of his entire command, it wasn’t something he was prepared to follow, and he’d put up with whatever consequences came his way.