A War On Two Fronts

“Steel Rain, This is Token Six! Call for fire, over!” Agusti shouted into the radio mic as he ducked down in his foxhole, the sound of rifle fire and machine gun bursts echoed from both sides of the hole that he and Private Guillermo currently occupied. The sky above was clear and bright, a countermeasure against Griffon Airship ambushes, the blinding midday sun glared down on the two soldiers as they took cover.

“Token Six, this is Steel Rain. Call for fire, over.” The radio replied, Agusti looked at his comrade for a second and smiled before he continued to talk into the radio.

“Grid, AQ Nine-Three-Seven! Five-Two-Four! Over!” Agusti bellowed, the sound of weapon’s fire seemed to intensify more and more as the time went on.

“Grid, AQ Nine-Three-Seven. Five-Two-Four. Over.” The radio once again replied calmly, so far things seemed to be going well. Agusti quietly peaked his head up out of the foxhole for a moment, looking down range at the target. Four wrecked Griffon tanks were parked out in the field around a thousand meters away, accompanied by several scarecrows in captured griffon helmets and uniforms. To his left and right were a couple rifleman and machine gun teams that were using the scarecrows as target practice. The minotaur ducked back down into his hole and picked up the mic again.

“Four G-32s and fifteen enemy infantry in the open! Over!” Agusti announced, looking up briefly as the shadow of their Staff Sergeant caught his attention. The man crouched beside the hole, listening in on their conversation with the artillery battery.

“Four G-32s and fifteen enemy infantry in the open. Out.” Was the calm reply.

“High explosive in effect, five rounds! Over!” Agusti looked at Turner, in addition to his usual stained uniform and now somewhat grimy helmet the staff sergeant was wearing a pair of mirrored aviators. He had gotten them by trading a few fresh caught fish to one of the local minotaurs. The man nodded quietly as he listened to what Agusti was saying, so far he was doing well.

“High explosive in effect, five rounds. Out.” The battery announced, several seconds passed. “Shot, over.” Several loud explosions echoed in the distance.

“Shot, out!” Agusti replied, Turner stood up and looked down range. Agusti and Guillermo stood up as well, the other training groups ceased fire and watched patiently. The tank wrecks, which had been set up in an unused field, would soon be destroyed… Again.

“Splash, over.”

“Splash, out.” Agusti replied, still watching the field patiently. Five seconds later the tanks and their scarecrow escorts were blown to kindling as the barrage impacted the ground. Each gun had fired five high explosive rounds, totalling twenty rounds in total. As Turner watched one tank literally tossed in the air he felt a bit of catharsis, it was nice not being the one on the receiving end of artillery for a change. “Good effect on target, Walleye. End fire mission. Count four destroyed G-32s and ten plus EKIAs. Over.”

“Copy Token Six. End fire mission. Count four destroyed G-32s and ten plus EKIAs. Out.” With that the radio went quiet.

“Outstanding, Private! Out-fucking-standing!” Turner stated loudly, Agusti and Guillermo looked up at the Staff Sergeant while he adjusted his helmet. After a few seconds he reached down and offered his hand to the men in the foxhole, pulling Guillermo up first, then Agusti. “I knew you guys had it in you.”

“Thank you, Staff Sergeant! I knew we’d make you proud!” Agusti stated proudly while snapping to attention, Guillermo seemed more relaxed if a bit annoyed. It had been a month since they had started ‘Turner Training’, which was the shorthand version of Intensive Remedial Field Training. In that time Agusti had maintained his very patriotic, almost brown nosing, affinity for trying to impress Staff Sergeant Turner. Guillermo, meanwhile, had been forced to get his usually unkempt curly locks of hair cut. It had taken two MPs to get him in the barber’s chair the first time.

“Pack up your gear and return it to the quartermaster when you’re done, afterwards you’re dismissed.” The Staff Sergeant said with a nod, Guillermo and a Agusti saluted before grabbing their gear and making their way down the sloping hill towards the Quartermaster’s truck. Guillermo would be happy to get the radio pack off his back, and Agusti seemed more interested in what would come next.

“I think he’s warming up to us.” Agusti said with a sigh while adjusting his helmet, Guillermo shrugged his shoulders and was once again made aware of the radio’s weight. He looked up as a few birds flew past, gliding low over the tops of the shrubs and rough soil that had been hidden the tall early summer grass. “Do you think it’s why he had us keep training?”

“That, or it could be it took this long for you to understand how to consistently make a proper call over the radio.” Guillermo said with a shrug, he briefly looked over his shoulder at the Staff Sergeant who was chatting with a few other officers near the firing line behind them. They stopped at the truck and returned the equipment they had used during the exercise, at which point they began walking along the dirt road back to Fort November.

“I don’t know what good it’ll do us back behind the lines, all the Quadrupeds are moving east while we’re here ‘recuperating’.” Agusti said with a shrug, occasionally he could hear the sound of the artillery battery firing a few rounds down the range. “Recuperating from what? We should be out their smashing those Griffs. We missed out, if we had gotten here before we could’ve gotten to fight.”

“Well, considering the casualties the division sustained…” Guillermo said with a shrug, rubbing his eyes while they took a right at the main road and continued walking closer to the Fort. Several larger trucks, cargo vehicles with canvas roofs over their rear beds, drove past them on the road from the east. They were marked with white placards that bore a red circle, indicating they were medical vehicles. “I have a feeling we’ll be moving out soon, though. Why else would the Staff Sergeant be riding us to get our shit together?”

The trucks stopped outside the main gate as Guillermo and Agusti were getting closer, a few MPs inspecting the driver’s documents and checked the backs of the trucks before allowing them through into the fort. Agusti looked at the sandy road the truck had driven on, noting large drops of brownish red liquid had apparently leaked from it.

“I think one of those things might have a leaky pipe or something.” Agusti mused as they approached the gate, the MPs briefly stopped them to check their IDs before allowing them to pass through the gates into the Fort.

What had started as a small camp was now a massive complex with tall dirt barriers and sandbags. Watchtowers looked out in all directions, tents and prefab buildings were everywhere, and a large motor pool had been set up for the vehicles belonging to the units stationed there or for passing vehicles that needed general maintenance. The fort was almost as large as the town it sat next to, flying on a pole in its center was the proud Equestrian banner.

The music playing from the loudspeakers would be occasionally interrupted by announcements or news updates, many of the soldiers penned up in the camp were part of the Second Division like Agusti and Guillermo. They spent their time either playing basketball, sparring, working out, or finding some way of passing the boring wait for something to happen. As the two Privates walked through the camp they noted that the trucks they had seen earlier had stopped near the motorpool. A pony climbed up with a bucket of water and splashed it into the back of one of the truck while another was removing the fabric roof.

Agusti and Guillermo stopped mid step as the water that had been tossed into the back spilled out, colored a deep crimson. Both privates came to the conclusion that the brownish red fluid they’d seen dripping on the ground was, in fact, blood. As the roof was brought down, the pony was handed a hose to replace the bucket, which he began using to wash the rest of the blood out from the back of the truck and onto the ground. The water ran down small troughs that had been cut into the ground, which in turn sent it somewhere else.

“You ever have one of those moments where you realize something is really bad for the first time?” Agusti asked quietly, Guillermo nodded. He watched as the other trucks were receiving a similar treatment, more bloody water splashing out onto the ground and down into a trough to... Somewhere. “I’m having one right now.”

“Let’s get going, eh?” Guillermo said while grabbing Agusti’s arm. The two of them gradually began walking again, occasionally looking over their shoulders as some mechanics began to lift the hoods so they could examine the engines. After a few more minutes of walking they happened upon their Squad’s tent, in order to make the most of space they had all been put in a larger twelve man tent. There was little in the way of privacy, the lines of cots were joined by supply crates and metal barrels which served as makeshift tables or chairs, depending on what they were needed for at the time.

Sergeant Gorka and Molotov were sitting on a pair of empty ammunition crates, using one of the metal drums as a table for a checkers board. Their other fireteam members, a pair of minotaurs named Renzo and Carmelo, were reading. Renzo was reading a ‘Major Murderous’ Comic, a particularly graphic comic series based on a fictional human commando. The current issue had the battle hardened biped punching Emperor Gustavo Von Adler on the cover. Carmelo, on the other hand, was reading an Equestrian translation of a human book titled ‘The War of The Worlds’.

“How’d you guys do?” Gorka asked when he noticed the two Privates approaching.

“I think we impressed him.” Agusti said with a smile, Gorka merely looked over at Guillermo who simply shrugged his shoulders.

“He did use the words ‘Out-Fucking-Standing’.... So, good, I think?” The minotaur said with a shrug while walking over to his bunk and taking a seat, Agusti meanwhile made his way over towards Renzo to see if he could get a peek at the latest ‘Major Murderous’ issue. “How’s that book turning out, Carmelo?” Guillermo removed his helmet and set it on the floor beside his bed, his eyes turning towards the minotaur who was quietly reclined on his bunk.

“Certainly interesting…” Carmelo replied casually, he was a bit of an oddity as his fur was more a golden brown than others. His horns were short, and rather than sharp he kept them somewhat blunt. “I was hoping it’d give me some insight into what human wars were like, but it’s actually about something else entirely. I’m near the end.”

“Well, don’t tell me how it goes. I want to find out for myself.” Guillermo said simply before he leaned under his bunk and withdrew a small wooden box. From within he took his own book, though it was a gift from one of the Locals. The minotaur sighed as he opened the book and began to read over the pages, his skill in his people’s language was still a bit rusty, but reading seemed to help dust the cobwebs off.

“Any word on when we’ll be moving out, Sarge?” Agusti asked as he gave up trying to peek at Renzo’s comic book. Gorka looked over at him with the same neutral expression he always had when asked that question.

“When I know, you’ll know.” He said simply before looking at Molotov, who was quietly regarding the checker board with a thoughtful expression. “It’s checkers, not chess.” The dragon looked up with an annoyed expression.

“I know is checkers.” Molotov mumbled, before picking up one of the pieces and capturing one of Gorka’s. “See? I move.” Gorka wordlessly hopped one of his checkers across the board, capturing three of Molotov’s and ending up on the opposite side of the board. “Chyort!”

“King me.” Gorka said with a smile, Molotov begrudgingly put another checker on top of Gorka’s piece.

“Hey, Sarge?” Guillermo asked, Gorka looked over with a raised eyebrow while Molotov not so subtly turned the board around so that the winning side was facing him. “You get anything on what happened to the Staff Sergeant’s old squad? He’s been kinda tight lipped about it.”

“I did…” Sarge said, his smile fading somewhat. “They all bought the farm during the defense of the town. Wasn’t his fault, but I suppose he doesn’t see it that way.” The tent remained quiet after that for a few moments. “I know one thing, he’s not fixing to let it happen again. Might be way he rid you all so hard.”

“When he said ‘Keep you alive’ he really meant it, huh?” Renzo asked, lowering his comic book. Unlike Carmelo, he was more a coffee brown with white splotches of fur around his eyes.

“Yes, he really meant it.” A voice announced from the front of tent, all eyes within turned to see that Staff Sergeant Turner himself was standing there with a neutral expression. Agusti began to get up to stand at attention, but Turner held his hand out. “Don’t get up, just listen. I just had a meeting with the other squad leaders, looks like we’re going to be heading out soon.” That got the attention not only of Turner’s fireteam, but Gorka’s as well. The other occupants of the tent all sat up to pay attention. “Word is we’ll get the order some time tonight, I want you guys to pack your stuff and give the Marshals a last minute overlook.”

“What’s our objective, Sarge?” Gorka asked, turning his crate turned seat to face the tent door. Turner walked inside, briefly pausing as everyone got comfortable.

“Us and Squad Baker are going to be assaulting and destroying a section of pipeline between Havarit and Harlobask.” Turner explained, removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket pocket. “Charlie and Echo are going to be hitting a section east of us. Crossroad’s is going to be sending Able Company and Charlie Company along the rest of the pipeline.” ‘Crossroads’ had become the official callsign for Lieutenant Colonel Clemons and his aides, for simplicity's sake. “The mission is to damage the pipeline in enough places that, if we’re forced to withdraw, will make repairing it cost considerable resources.”

“Put simply, we’re going to be razing this thing to the ground.” Turner stated bluntly, the man leaned against the door frame. “I’ll have a map for you to look over within the hour. Once we’ve destroyed the pipeline we’ll be patrolling up and down the service road that runs along it while the main assault force hits Harlobask.”

“We won’t be getting into the main fight?” Agusti asked with surprised, Turner looked at him for second.

“We’ll eventually be moving to Harlobask if they need additional support, but the location of this pipeline requires Rapid Infantry.” Turner said simply, he looked over the room quietly. “I know I’ve been hard on you guys recently, but I want you to know that I’m proud of you boys.” The man nodded. “Now, start getting your shit together. We’re gonna send those Griffs back to hell.”

Turner gave the men one last look over before he walked out of the building, he adjusted his helmet and put on his sunglasses while making his way towards his tent. He didn’t know how his troops would hold up under real pressure, but he’d trained them as best he could. Turner’s hopes weren’t just for their survival, but that they’d be able to get the mission done as well. He wasn’t going to let this mission be another blood bath. At least, not when it came to his troops… As usual, this was something that warranted a letter home to Sam, a habit he had gotten into whenever he thought there was a chance he might be killed in action… So far he hadn’t needed to send a single one of those types of letters, but he knew that could change any time.

A roll of thin and narrow brass was unspooled to the sound of sparks falling and shouting workers, the brass was being fed into a large machine, all part of the Double Ott Factory on the outskirts of Ponyville. As the brass was fed from the machinery it was molded and shaped by the metallic, measured mechanisms into its final shape… A shell casing. Not long afterwards, the shell casing was being filled with a concentration of Alicornium Propellant, and then topped off with an Arcane cap.

Sam watched as the newly minted ammunition tumbled down onto a belt where it was inspected by several ponies with clipboards, they would recycle those that were deficient in someway. Those that passed inspection were tossed down into a hopper for later packing and shipping, likely to the front lines. The woman adjusted her suit jacket as she looked back to her host, a young unicorn stallion with tan fur a slicked back mane. He wore a suit as well, but not as nice as Sams. Her’s had been custom tailored to allow for her now considerably larger abdomen.

“Certainly a nice layout…” Sam said as she sat up somewhat in the leather seat she had been provided. Between her and the stallion was a coffee table with several papers resting on it and, of course, a cup of coffee. Sam had chosen to drink ice water instead.

“I’m glad you approve.” The stallion replied, Flechette Shell was his name, the current and sole owner of ‘Double Ott Arcane Arms’, the largest producer of spellguns in the world. “Now, my assistant mentioned why you wished to meet, Misses Turner. I wouldn’t have believed it if not for your… Shall we say… Renowned status.” The stallion levitated his cup of coffee to his lips, humming briefly before setting it back on the table. “So, make sure I heard right… You want to buy ‘Double Ott’? In the middle of a war? During our biggest sales period?”

“For now.” Sam replied as she sipping her water. “I’m offering you a chance to get out before the bottom falls out, Flechette.”

“Is that so?” Flechette asked, Sam nodded quietly while adjusting the cushion of her chair. “Why would the bottom fall out? Is there some sort of secret armistice you’re aware of?” The woman quietly shook her head.

“The Equestrian Army will be switching over to Multi-Charge weapons soon.” Sam said flatly, Flechette leaned back in his seat with a neutral expression on his face. “They’ve already signed a deal with my company to use weapons designed, produced, and installed by us for their latest weapon… Also one of my designs.”

“Bullshit.” The unicorn said flatly. “They wouldn’t do that without consulting me. I’ve been their top supplier for years.”

“In peacetime, maybe. Not in war. I’ve seen your expense reports…” Sam leaned forward in her seat, prompting Flechette to lean back. Gwen had given her a refresher course on body language, so she had a good idea that he was perhaps trying to distance himself. “Between the money you take in and the money you spend maintaining or replacing your practically ancient equipment… You’re barely breaking even.”

“How do you know? Those reports are sealed, only someone with government… access… could…” Flechette trailed off, Sam sat there quietly. “You weren’t kidding, the Equestrians are throwing me under the bus, eh?” Once again, Sam remained quiet, watching patiently as the unicorn’s eyes darted back and forth. His expression remained calm, but she could see panic in his eyes.

“Up until now you’ve had a license to print money, you’ve survived by supplying the Army with your stockpiles…” Sam continued, taking another sip of her iced water. What she was attempting was probably the greatest trick she had ever pulled. It had been years since she’d needed to act the tough business woman, and now she was taking on a company that, on paper, was seeing major returns. “What happens when you run out? The report wasn’t good, two out of ten rifles have major defects. SMGs that jam on the third round, or worse, don’t stop firing after the trigger is released? Do you have any idea what will happen to your stock when that hits the news?”

“Why would you want my company then, if all my factories are obsolete?” Flechette asked curiously, resting one of his hooves near his forehead to mask the sweat that had formed. “Why buy me out?”

“Unlike you, I have vast amounts of capital at my fingertips, and different means of income. I can afford to do the work you can’t.” Sam said neutrally, she quietly reached into her jacket and withdrew a folded slip of paper from within. Silently she handed it to Flechette. “My offer.” Flechette tried to play it off as looking over the paper, but his poker face broke when his eyes went wide.

“A-Are you serious?” He asked in a surprised voice, Sam nodded quietly. “The company has been in my family for years, I couldn’t possibly part with it for such a paltry…” He trailed off as Sam took the paper from him, withdrew a pen from her pocket, and added a zero on the end of an already large sum before handing it back. “Sum…” He gulped, sweating considerably before finally sighing. “You drive a hard bargain, I’ll give you that.” He looked out at the factory floor, noting that more shells were being recycled than actually going to shipping. “For fifty million? Fine...”

Sam quietly looked around the office for a second, she could see Gwen standing outside the glass door and gestured for her to enter. The woman entered wearing a suit almost identical to Sam’s, she carried a black leather briefcase with her. When she reached the two of them she set the briefcase down and opened it, revealing several documents… Beneath those documents, in wrapped fat stacks, was Fifty Million Bits in freshly minted bills.

“Gwen here is my notary.” Sam explained as she took the papers from the briefcase and handed them to Flechette, along with her pen. The stallion levitated the pen and quietly signed the documents, his eyes flicking between them and the briefcase. When he finished Gwen took the papers and dabbed them with a stamp she took from within her coat. The seal marked the documents, it had barely dried by the time Sam had taken the papers and put them in her jacket. “I’ll give you some time to clear out your office.”

With that Sam stood up, she and Gwen departed the office leaving Flechette with his millions and the guilt of selling a company that had been in his family for over a hundred and fifty years. When they had closed the door behind them Sam was able to let out a deep exhale, Gwen put a hand on her shoulder to help keep her steady.

“I can’t believe he didn’t even check to see if I was right about the figures, how did you know he wouldn’t?” Sam asked, looking at Gwen as she walked to a nearby balcony that looked out over the factory floor.

“Flechette Shell, like many business ponies, is used to the safe and slow calm of peace.” Gwen said as she looked out over the newly acquired factory. There was a cold bluntness to her words, Sam could tell that this acquisition had been a long time in the making. “As cold as it may seem to say this, Ponies are prey by nature. In the presence of a predator, in this case a pregnant human woman, ninety percent of them will cut and run. All the tough ones are overseas.” She seemed a little upset by that last statement, Sam had a feeling that since the war had broken out Gwen had been trouble finding suitors as usual. “So, congratulations Misses Turner. You’ve just become the primary producer of firearms in the Equestria.”

“Great, now we can start retooling some of these factories.” Sam said, letting out a surprised yelp before quietly resting a hand on her stomach. “Oh… They’re kicking.” She said, prompting Gwen to look over at her friend. “I want us producing planes en masse by the end of the month. I want better quality control, and begin updating the older plants. Hire more workers if necessary.” Sam straightened up, sighing as she had to turn her head slightly to keep her balance. “See if you can get us access to those captured Griffon Tanks, we can use them to jumpstart our armor program.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Gwen said with a smile, helping to steady the woman once again. “You need to relax, you can’t win the war with one business transaction…” Sam nodded quietly as they began to walk down the metal staircase towards the bottom floor of the factory. “Speaking of stress, any word on Turner?”

“He’s sent a few letters, mostly telling me he’s okay, but the censors take out a lot of things.” Sam replied as they walked through the factory, passing several greasy workers who were checking one of the water feed lines. “When the censors get really bad it’s like opening an envelope full of confetti, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.” The two of them exited the factory, leaving the dingy structure behind while they walked towards their car. “Thank you, Gwen… For helping me do all this.”

“Don’t mention it, Samantha…” Gwen said as she opened the door for the pregnant woman, briefly she turned and looked back at the large brick factory. She closed the door when Sam had been seated inside and made her way around to the driver’s side. She climbed in, buckled up, and started the vehicle. “Consider all this one big wedding present.” With that, she put the vehicle in drive.

The outer areas around Fort November were congested with vehicles parked in a square formation, some were Marshals armed with machine guns or other weapons. Others were pickups, intended to serve as mobile mortar platforms and supply transports. Some had antennas for radios, and some were stripped to their bare essentials for maximum speed. They were all painted a mix of brownish grey and tan, as the terrain to the East was far more arid, bordering on desert like.

Standing ahead of the vehicles in their own square formation were the soldiers that would be driving those very vehicles. Dragons, Minotaurs, Diamond Dogs, all standing at attention. Turner and his men stood in the rear section closest to the vehicles, their eyes all on a Major standing at the head of the group, facing them. Behind him were other officers, including Thomas. The Major was a tall, old Minotaur by the name of Sixgun. He was gruff, tough, and he didn’t take any guff. When he spoke, he expected you to listen. Just behind the officers were several reporters, some filming while others wrote or took photographs.

“The Lunar Corps is a new branch of our country’s Armed Forces! We are the best of the best, we go where others dare not try!” Major Sixgun bellowed, his voice carrying over the fields in all directions. “It should behoove you to know, we have a new official title! Courtesy of our Supreme Commander!” The minotaur’s vein’s seemed to bulge when he yelled. “From henceforth, members of our illustrious arm of the service shall be known as ‘Troopers’! They will be fast, they will be mean, and they will scare the living shit out of anyone that crosses them!”

“Your Princesses are watching! Equestria is watching! But most importantly, Crossroads is watching!” Sixgun continued, his helmet trembling as he continued to yell. “Make no mistake! There will be no fuck ups! Troopers around this world would give just about anything to be where you are! Anyone not wanna go!?”

“No, Major Sixgun!” The battalion screamed back in unison, Turner and Agusti were among some of the louder voices. They were almost louder than the Major himself.

“Troopers! Kill on three!” The Major bellowed. “One! Two! Three!”

“Kill!” Once again, the battalion was almost as loud as the Major had been. A lot of them had been pent up in Fort November for a month and a half, licking their wounds and letting their anger fester. They were possibly one of the angriest units in the entire Equestrian military, Turner certainly believed that to be the case. He had been calm lately, but as he stood there with the Major yelling like he was, he could feel the old hatred begin to burn hot. Angry, tired, annoyed soldiers baying for blood like starving hounds. In a matter of minutes, Princess Luna would unleash those dogs on the enemy…

“Battalion! Atten-hut!” Major Sixgun shouted, the entire battalion snapped to attention. “Dismissed!” With that the soldiers rushed to their vehicles, some of them yelling loudly. Turner climbed into the passenger seat of his truck while Guillermo took the driver’s side. Agusti climbed in back first, he would take charge of the heavy machine gun turret cut in the roof. Renzo and Carmelo came next, sitting on either side of Agusti. Turner reached to the dashboard and flicked on his radio.

“Ghost Rider One-One, Ghost Rider One-Actual. Radio check.” Turner said as Guillermo started the engine, a loud rumble began to fill the area as more engines thundered to life.

“Ghost Rider One-Actual, Ghost Rider One-One. Reading you five by five.” Sergeant Gorka’s voice replied over the radio, Turner watched as the trucks ahead of them started their engines, briefly their tail lights flicked on before being flicked off thanks to a special switch on the dashboard.

“All Ghost Rider Victors, this is Crossroads. Mission is a go, move ‘em out.” Thomas’ voice cut over the radio, it was followed by several loud replies from the other vehicles in the battalion who followed up with their own radio checks. After the first thirty seconds the radio went quiet again, the trucks began to pull out onto the road east. “Be advised, use of tail lights and headlights is authorized until the hundred mile marker.” Several moments later every headlight and tail light was flicked back on.

“Let’s ride.” Turner said, gesturing ahead of them. Guillermo put the truck in gear and pulled out onto the road behind the other trucks, there had to be at least fifty of them, maybe more. It must’ve been a sight to see, a bunch of what looked like Ford Broncos armed to the teeth full of troops that looked like they belonged in a world war two picture… Turner hoped that one of the reporters had managed to get a few pictures while the light was good, he was honestly interested to see them.

“Hey, Staff Sergeant?” Renzo asked, Turner looked over his shoulder at the minotaur.

“I told you to go before we left.” He said flatly, Renzo shook his head.

“Not that, Sarge.” Renzo replied, being jostled slightly as the truck went over a large bump in the road. “What’s our order of watch?” Turner sighed for a second, looking at Guillermo and Agusti for a second.

“Agusti, Guillermo. You’re first watch. In about four hours, wake Renzo and I. We’ll take over from there. Hopefully by then we’ll be where we need to be.” Turner ordered, he looked back at Carmelo. “Next time you’ll be in the rotation and Carmelo will get to sleep in, and so on and so on. Seem fair?” There was a chorus of ‘Yeahs’ and ‘Uhuhs’. “Anything happens, wake me. Now sack out gentlemen, we got a long drive ahead of us.”

“Yeah, next stop Griffonstone.” Agusti added, Turner merely leaned back in his seat and pulled his helmet down over his eyes.

As Turner had predicted, several photographers did manage to capture pictures of the convoy as it left. Many of them would later go on to be used in newspapers and newsreels, some were a bit more sobering than others. One of the most was the long line of tail lights stretching into the darkness of the coming night. Whether those vehicles would be there the next day was in the hands of fate.