Checkpoint in Zone 4, southeastern flank of Hulmatu.
The sunset resembles a cooling furnace, pouring its last light and heat over this desolate hilly terrain.
The forward outpost originally flying the "Liberation Forces" flag has quietly changed hands. Heavy equipnt boxes marked with Thunder Defense's black-and-yellow lightning symbol are scattered like invading beetles across the tread-imprinted ground within the walls.
Several rcenaries dressed in top-tier MultiCam desert combat uniforms are skillfully setting up portable satellite communication antennas and remote ground sensor systems, moving swiftly yet exhibiting a hint of new arrival unfamiliarity.
At the highest point of the walls, sentries from Thunder Defense, holding M4A1 carbines fitted with various expensive attachnts, have replaced the once-present militia figures, vigilantly scanning the wilderness that is gradually being swallowed by dusk.
The main building of the checkpoint, which originally could comfortably accommodate a company of troops, now appears exceptionally hollow in the fading daylight, like a giant skeleton emptied of its insides.
It is a disturbingly clean emptiness.
Yes, clean enough to be maddening.
Like a plate thoroughly licked by soone hungry for three days.
Squad leader Hassan tightly clutches the wireless radio, veins throbbing near his temples.
The call from Samir, with its stern and undeniable tone, still echoes in his ears.
Despite the unbearable humiliation and resentnt about to erupt in his chest, he grit his back molars as he issued orders to the surrounding militia brothers whose eyes also blazed with fury:
"Retreat! Execute the order! Take everything that belongs to us, everything! A single screw, a single plank, take all of it! Do not leave these arrogant invaders anything useful!"
The order was carried out by the enraged militian dutifully, and even with a creatively destructive zeal, excessively executed.
They moved quickly inside and outside the building like efficient ants.
All locally hardwood-made bed boards, tables, and chairs in the rooms were swiftly dismantled and carried off; stockpiled food bags and ammo crates were loaded box by box onto pickup trucks; the old diesel generator that powered the entire checkpoint, its lines cut, was dragged off along with valuable fuel barrels; the massive, rusty yet perfectly sealed stainless steel water tank fixed to the foundation was forcibly detached from its cent base using crowbars and hamrs, toppled over, and rolled onto a truck.
It wasn't enough.
Soone started using a screwdriver and pliers to remove wooden window fras and fragnted glass that could still block the wind; soone ticulously pried off all usable hinges and screws from doors and cabinets; even the blackened charcoal pile in the kitchen corner used for boiling water and cooking was rcilessly shoveled into sacks by a young militiaman...
Amid the chaos, when the last pickup truck, loaded with "spoils" of bed boards, window fras, water tank pieces, and various bits, spewed clouds of dust like a mighty dragon and bumped away from the checkpoint, what was left for Thunder Defense was a true shell, with nothing but immovable load-bearing walls and an empty roof structure.
Sanders stood in the second floor room that should have been the command center, now left with only a few bare cent pedestals and a thick layer of dust, his blue eyeballs almost popping out onto the ground.
Surveying this "purified" wasteland, the flesh on his face twitched involuntarily.
The flavorless gum he had long chewed was fiercely expelled with his tongue, like spitting out a mouthful of resentnt, "pop" stuck on the dusty ground.
"FUCK!"
A curse burst from deep within his throat, sounding especially piercing in the empty room.
A squad leader walked up to him, his normally expressionless face now clouded over:
"Boss, these damn natives... they've cleaned this place out cleaner than a plate licked a hundred tis! Water, food, fuel, places to lay down and sleep... damn it, none left! Not even a broken window to block the wind! Tonight we'll have to deal with the biting wind in this hellhole!"
Sanders took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the fury coursing through him.
A few hours ago, he thought capturing this key outpost bloodlessly was a perfect show of force, a brilliant opening to establish dominance in this area.
But now, he felt like a foolish scavenger, jubilantly picking up what seed like a whole nut, only to find it infested and empty, left with a worthless shell.
"What are you panicking for!"
He barked severely.
"We're here for war, not a damn stay at a five-star hotel! If there aren't conditions, create conditions! Have the brothers overco for now, eat their own rations, drink from their water pouches! A Team, widen those eyes, manage periter alerts, ensure no suspicious elents approach! B Team, find a relatively clean corner, clear it, take turns resting and keep up strength! C Team, co with , we need to imdiately find a way, to procure the most basic supplies, especially water! Without it, we won't last three days!"
He clearly realized that his thirty-odd n, with top-notch individual combat abilities and team coordination, were now faced with the stark reality of their vital logistics being brutally severed.
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