The Prologue

0007 hours when the exercise begins. M1 Abram tanks roll across the vast plain. Mock targets have been establish for the tanks to fire upon. The men make preparation against a mock invasion. Wheezing missiles from a MLRS (multi-rocket launcher system) vehicle can be heard all day long.

They repeated the mock invasion four times and the fourth time they continued the exercise, one of the soldiers got wounded from a misfired gun and a tank blew up it's radiator when it tries to climbed a very steep hill.

The wounded soldier was taken immediately into the infarmary. A casualty from a mock war. Captain Dewey thought, his grin trying to reach on his side ear. The damaged tank halted the mock invasion from half an hour before they proceed.

Captain Dewey looks at his watch. It is now 1200 hours. One last exercise and this will be over. The sun is bearing down on his sweaty camouflage shirt. The hot wind from the ocean is sticking on his skin. He inhales and felt the heaviness from the dry wind coarsing through his lungs. One last exercise and he can sip an ice, cold ice tea. One last mock fight and he can read his magazine all day long. Without interference. That's all he dreamed about while looking at the light, blue sky.

"Let's move!" One of the lieutenant gazes the troops marching towards the forest. This exercise involves a jungle manuever. Going through the forest then traveling around the ridge of the mountain. Ten tanks will await them on the other side and will assist them on going through the tough terrain. That's the plan. After that he can spend his time whatever he wanted to.

One hour has passed and he is dragging his gun and his ten pound bag. He looks at his exhausted men. If this is a real war the enemy will have dummy targets walking towards them. They will all be massacred in no time without a fight.

The sunlight is temporarily block by the passing cloud. The surrounding becomes cold for two minutes then the sun peaks again. Thirty minutes has pass and they notice a sudden drop in atmosphere. The birds starts to sing again. The morning breeze blows upon their exhausted body.

He tightens his grip on his rifle and felt the chill on his nape. Captain Dewey notice a fog approaching them.

" Bravo company, sir on the ridge ahead." His lieutenant said pointing on the silhouette of the war machines that's waiting for them. Captain Dewey scans the horizon and saw the gray shadows being swallowed by the fog. "Let's move." He said.

His men approach the ridge. Not knowing what's awaiting them. They push forward until they rendezvous with the tanks.

" Something's wrong." Lieutanant Glorin said. The fog grows thicker, shrouding even the nearest trunk of the tree. Moving towards the fog, a feeling of uneasiness sweeps the entire unit. The only thing they can hear is the tracks of the tank rolling against the ground and their footsteps.

" Contact the HQ." Captain Dewey commanded.

"No contact, sir." the tank crew said.

" What do you mean? try it again."

The tank crew squeezes the button. Static. He turns it on the other side. Nothing, only static.

"Sir, there's nothing on the radio."