It took longer than he first would have thought. By the time that the drivers gave the five minute warning, the sun had begun to crest over a long row of hills which surrounded the road. The soldiers were checking their armor and their weapons, making sure everything was where it should have been. Atlas, on the other hand, fell in and out of sleep. His head fell from one side to another, only waking when the transport van jerked.
Captain Sorenson leaned forward to Atlas and tapped him on the shoulder, saying stiffly, “Sir, it’s time to wake up. We’re nearly there.”
He couldn’t even feel the captain’s hand because of the armor. What woke him was the transport van jerking back and forth, finally moving so violently that it pushed him into the door. Shaking his head, he looked up at the captain and replied, “How much longer until we’re there?”
“ETA is five minutes, sir.”
Atlas nodded, though he wasn’t sure if the captain had even seen it. The darkness inside the vehicle was still staggering. The limited radiance which came from the dimmed blue lights was barely enough to check their weapons and armor, then again the men around him had become accustomed to checking their equipment in the dark.
From his peripheral vision, Captain Sorenson saw Atlas as he reached for his sidearm. He checked the chamber and the magazine, making sure both were ready. Unlike the men around him, however, he wasn’t as prolific in the complete void of the lightless van. His helmet’s communicator began to fizzle as he went through and checked everything. After a moment or two of bewilderment as to what the sound was, he realized it was Captain Sorenson.
“You’re using a baby of a gun, aren’t you?” he asked. “You might as well throw a rock at them.”
“When you judge an item purely on its size, you will ultimately find the power behind it to be far more important than the strength it takes to carry it. I don’t need artillery strapped to my hand to be effective at my job, captain.”
The captain let out a deep laugh and moved forward from his position, staring into the faceplate of Atlas. “I only have to shoot my target once,” he said. “I wonder, if they have more than normal BDU’s, if you’ll even kill a single one of them. I’m not speaking ill of your accuracy, sir. I am just taken back by the size of your sidearm.”
Atlas could hear the others laughing through his communicator, but he left it alone. He had grown worried over what Helios had told him of Sorenson. Already was he was becoming a different person. He had gone from being entirely respectful of Atlas to openly mocking him. It was a bad sign and Atlas saw little good in his new disposition.
With a sudden and jolting thud, the transport van ran over what felt like a log. Immediately the men became quiet and they finished checking their gear as quickly as they could. It was almost here and they knew it. Their senses were keenly developed to thrive on the anticipation of battle, making the conflict that much more fun. Even when he was in the 10o5 he couldn’t help but shake the feeling of being little more than a ravenous dog.
“You move as the hand of the State,” Commander Helios had told him after the conflict in Ensenada, once he had unwittingly joined Black Sun.
With another abrupt thud, the transport van stopped and Captain Sorenson took to his feet, though he could only stand half way up. The doors unlocked and after a second or two of waiting, the passenger who road with the driver opened the door and ushered the men out. One by one they lurched from their caves and into their standard formation. Without words, the group split up into three groups, each with eight members except for the captain’s.
The church was barely a mile away, though as the men began to run up the grassy hills around it, they suddenly came to the realization that the Bolivians had heard them. The sound of men shouting in the distance could be heard down in the valley below them. Trees, newly planted by the State, clogged their view, though they also gave them a perfect way to sneak up on the Bolivians.
The three groups split and all went into different areas of the hillside. The captain’s group, to whom Atlas was stationed with, began their descent from in front of their transport vans. Thankfully, the hills were sloped but not to the point of absurdity. Slowly they slid down half and began to walk as quickly as they could, sneaking around the trees and past the rather large rocks. Eventually, all three groups made it down to the same level, though their positions were still elevated. They hid behind the rocks and placed their rifles down on the ground, aiming carefully at the church.
It stood before an open lake like a statue before a cathedral. The roof had nearly been blown apart and the walls stood by the grace of their God. Around the perimeter sat large boxes alongside old transport trucks dating backing to the twentieth century. Around all it, however, was the constant presence of the Bolivian insurgents, whose numbers were far higher than Helios had told them. Under his breath, Atlas cursed violently and readied his pistol. From his position, nearly a hundred feet away from the church itself, he could see the AnR snipers setting up a little further up the hill.
“Twenty and go,” Captain Sorenson said over the communicator.
Slowly he counted each second as though they were of the upmost importance. The morning was nearly upon them and the surprise they held over the Bolivians was all but a charade. The sky was now blue, coating what looked like the entire world in a same hue. Between the trees, he looked through to see a yellow sky burgeoning in the horizon just beyond the water and the hills and all those just about to wake up to try and enjoy a peaceful day. By the time he took his first breath, his mind still busy with counting, he was already at ten seconds.
“Ten and go,” Captain Sorenson said.
Atlas began to think of his days in the Southern Front. When they would raid enemy bunkers or locations by making the first offensive move, they were to chose a target and kill them first. And, as he counted down past seven and then six and so on, he found a young man in his early twenties. He was no different than those he fought seven years prior. His dark complexion and black hair sat neatly, both reminding him of the countless men he came across in Mexico during those years.
“Go now, go now!” the captain shouted, immediately alerting the guards who were close.
