No Turning Back

Two days and two nights had passed since Bogi's company joined forces with Oliver's, setting off toward the location Oliver urged them to investigate. The journey had been uneventful so far—almost too uneventful. Bogi sat in his seat aboard the desert truck, allowing himself a rare moment of ease. Maybe, for once, luck was on their side.

Then Luke's urgent voice cut through the radio.

"Captain! Trucks behind us!"

Bogi's relaxation vanished instantly. His eyes sharpened as he gripped the armrest. "How many?"

"Twenty-four, closing fast."

They were cresting a large desert dune when Luke spotted them. Their convoy was exposed.

"Lazar, Michael, get ready for a fight," Bogi ordered, his voice like steel. "Luke, connect me to Oliver. Now."

A second later, Oliver's voice crackled through the comms—calm, firm, and carrying an edge of resolve.

"I see them. We'll climb the dune at full speed and take position at the top. Prepare for battle."

Bogi didn't hesitate. "Full speed ahead."

Engines roared to life as both companies surged up the dune. Seven desert trucks aligned at the ridge, forming a defensive line. Oliver stepped out, scanning the formation before turning to Bogi, his sharp blue eyes narrowing.

"Why aren't your two trucks in formation?"

Bogi met his gaze, unflinching. "Their cannons are down. They're useless."

Oliver's expression darkened. He exhaled, then spoke with careful deliberation. "Alright. Here's the plan: We leave a portion of our men to stall the enemy. You and I take one truck each, retreating with the rest of the force."

Bogi's jaw tightened. His blood boiled at the suggestion.

He stepped closer, meeting Oliver's gaze with a glare that could cut steel.

"That. Is. Not. Happening."

Oliver didn't budge. His voice was just as firm. "That was an order, not a request. Choose how many men you'll leave behind—but they must know what that means."

Bogi stared at him for a long moment, then turned to Michael, standing behind him.

"Gather the men. We need to talk."

Michael nodded and moved swiftly. Bogi turned and walked away, his steps heavy but certain. Oliver, meanwhile, departed to do the same with his own soldiers.

A few minutes later, Bogi's 43 soldiers stood before him, their expressions grim but disciplined. The desert wind howled, carrying fine grains of sand through the air. He took a deep breath and addressed them.

"You all know the situation. The enemy is closing in, and we don't have the firepower to hold them off forever. Our desert trucks have a full capacity of 32 men, which means…" He let the words hang for a moment. "…some of us must stay behind."

Silence followed. The weight of reality sank into the men like a heavy stone. They glanced at one another, sharing unspoken words through their eyes.

Then, after a tense moment, ten soldiers stepped forward as one. Their voices rang out in unison.

"We are ready to die, Captain!"

Bogi looked at them, his heart tightening in his chest. For a moment, he simply stared, memorizing their faces. He exhaled slowly, then nodded.

"Thank you." His voice was low, almost reverent.

His gaze shifted from soldier to soldier until it landed on the last man in line. He locked eyes with him.

"Duke…" Bogi's voice carried a solemn weight. "I will drink to your name when this is over. We all will."

Duke nodded firmly, no hesitation in his stance.

Bogi turned to the rest. "The rest of you, prepare to move. We leave now."

On the other side of camp, Oliver faced an even harder task. Unlike Bogi, he had far more men under his command. He needed to leave behind forty soldiers. Yet, if the burden weighed on him, he did not show it.

By the time Bogi and his group approached the waiting desert trucks, Oliver was already there, standing tall, his expression unreadable.

As they neared, he spoke quickly, urgency in his voice.

"We need to move. The men staying behind will buy us time, but we must take full advantage of it. We have a head start—let's not waste it."

Without another word, he climbed into his truck. Bogi cast one last glance at the soldiers standing their ground, their figures unwavering against the desert backdrop. Then he turned away and followed.

The engines roared to life.

The retreat had begun.

As they sped away, the deafening roar of desert cannons erupted behind them. Each truck fired two shots, their blasts shaking the very dunes beneath Duke's feet. A split second later, massive explosions thundered across the battlefield, kicking up clouds of sand and fire.

Duke stood tall atop the dune, gripping his rifle in one hand and a grenade in the other. His comrades mirrored him, weapons ready. His voice rang out with iron resolve.

"Don't let them take you alive. Kill as many as you can—then blow yourselves up!"

Without hesitation, he pulled the pin on his grenade, his fingers clenching tight around the trigger.

"For the Captain!"

With that, he charged down the slope, leading the others in a desperate, fearless assault.

As he descended, he caught sight of them—the Blue Ones.

They stood at the base of the dune, watching with eerily cold, lifeless eyes. Not human. Not truly. Puppets, empty husks controlled by something unseen. But Duke didn't care. If he was going to die, he would take one of those monsters with him.

A sharp crack echoed through the desert as the first shot rang out.

Meanwhile, Bogi sat in the passenger seat, his knuckles white as Lazar drove their truck across the shifting sands. The engine roared, tires skidding slightly as they tore through the desert. Dust clouds billowed behind them, partially masking the battlefield where they had left their men behind.

His radio crackled, and he grabbed the receiver.

"Oliver, talk to me. Why the hell are we heading toward the site instead of detouring to Red Rose's base?"

A brief pause, then Oliver's voice came through, calm but firm.

"We don't have time for a detour."

Bogi's brows furrowed. "What do you mean 'we don't have time'? We've got the enemy at our backs. If we circle back to base, we can regroup."

Oliver's voice remained steady. "And let them dictate our movements? No. We were heading to that site before this ambush, and now they're trying to push us off course. That tells me one thing—whatever is there, they don't want us reaching it."

Bogi exhaled sharply, gripping the radio tighter. "You're saying this was meant to delay us?"

"It's possible. If we turn away now, we lose the only advantage we have."

Bogi's jaw clenched. He didn't like it, but Oliver had a point.

The radio crackled again, Oliver's voice cutting through.

"Stay on course, Bogi. Whatever's waiting for us, we need to get there first."

Bogi exhaled, nodding to himself before replying.

"Understood. Full speed ahead."

With that, he tossed the radio back onto the dashboard, his focus locked on the road ahead. Whatever lay at their destination, they were about to find out.

And there was no turning back.