The Alpha Chronicles Read Free Page A

movement?”
    “No, sir. I’ve not seen any sign of life other than a few birds.”
    Nodding, the Brit turned to the men and announced, “We’ll hold up here until dark. You’ve got two hours. Make the best of it. Red, you’ve got the first watch.”
    No one wasted any time dropping packs and removing chest rigs and harnesses. While the team had to stay in thick bush to provide cover, occasional patches of sunlight penetrated the canopy overhead. Bishop had to laugh as he walked by one such island of solar warmth. Four pairs of white, prune-wrinkled feet protruded into the pool of brightness, the smarter men knowing healthy feet improved their chances of surviving. Bishop wasted no time in joining the foot-drying party.
     
    There was a half moon rising over the African landscape when the scouts moved out. Bishop lagged back, joining the main group, glad to be rid of the responsibility associated with walking point. It was a stressful job in so many ways. Besides being the first guy available for target practice, the scouts were responsible for detecting tripwires, ambushes, and other threats. A higher level of focus and concentration was required to do the job properly, that stress exponentially increasing a man’s mental and physical fatigue.
    In the open ground, the two scouts stepped about 150 meters in front of the main cluster of men. While every operator was equipped with night vision, the two point men worked their devices hard, scanning not only the ground immediately in their path, but checking all access points to the formation.
    Each shooter was equipped with glow-in-the dark Velcro panels. These small patches could be placed anywhere on a contractor’s load vest or hat. While the night was bright enough for the main body of men to stay together, the scouts utilized the patches so visual contact could be maintained.
    As the group progressed down a gentle slope, Bishop could see both of the glowing green patches off in the distance. The ghost-like visual of two seemingly suspended, green dots was enhanced by a spooky bobbing motion as the point men tread. If the ghoulish specks disappeared, the main group would stop - a signal that something was amiss up ahead. If a scout heard or saw a potential threat, his first move was typically to go prone and thus the patches’ phosphorescence would vanish. He could also cover the glowing cloth with his hands, a signal informing the men behind to be alert.
    Three hours later, the point men both disappeared at the same time, but the action was anticipated. According to the maps and satellite photos, they had arrived at the abandoned village. Stoke gave the hand signals, and the team flattened out to form a skirmish line. The boss then trotted off to the nearest scout to have a look for himself.
    Bishop took a knee and waited, the adrenaline of pending action competing with the exhaustion of a long, physically demanding mission. The man to Bishop’s right whispered the order to “Move to the ridge,” which Bishop then repeated to the next in line.
    A small rise bordered one side of a cluster of mud huts, partially intact fences, and worn dirt paths. Most of the thatch roofing was missing from the skeleton of support poles rising into the night sky. The place smelled of damp earth, burnt wood, and something even more unexpected… cordite.
    Scanning the area with his night vision, it quickly dawned on Bishop that a battle of some sort had taken place here. The green and black image displayed through the scope didn’t provide as much depth perception as normal vision, but the evidence was clear – this place had suffered either an artillery shelling or a mortar attack. Bishop guessed it was the latter.
    Circular indentions about four meters in diameter were detectable through the compound, the rows of blast rings running in almost perfectly straight lines. While the impact zones weren’t exactly craters, the vegetation was less dense inside the affected areas. If a