Trying to be Diplomatic

Captain Enrique Villamor sat crouched behind thick brush, eyes fixed on the fortified refinery in the distance. From their position on the ridgeline, the site looked like a small city—floodlights humming, soldiers patrolling in tight formations, and even watchtowers rigged with long-range scopes. Whoever these people were, they were serious.

And they definitely weren't part of the Philippine Armed Forces.

Behind him, his recon team kept quiet, their breaths shallow, fingers resting lightly on the triggers of their rifles. Villamor didn't need to say it aloud—this situation had just gotten far more complicated.

"Still no movement toward us," Private Diaz whispered. He kept his eye on the perimeter, watching for even the smallest shift.