"So here's what we are going to do," Albert said, still panting from the earlier scuffle, and then continued. "We are going to get our supplies replenished and then we'll egress in thirty minutes through a chopper."
He looked at Claes who were also panting from the fight just now.
"Do you have any objections?"
"How can I object? We realize it's not like we can leave and return to our country," Claes said. "Okay, I'll be playing with you."
"Good, don't worry. If you don't like it that much, this might be your last operations since the pros are going to handle it?"
"Your pros?" Claes swept his gaze on the Atlas soldiers. "You're saying this bunch of gun-for-hire soldiers are better than us Marines?"
"I'm the one who picked my soldiers and they are from a respectable forces around the world. Some of them are MARSOC too so yeah, how about that."
"Let's get this over with," Claes said.
With that, the two forces rested and waited for the MH-53M Pave Low Helicopter to arrive in the Aldo Village.
As it neared the location, the people in the village looked at the sky with awe.
"Mama…what's that sound?" a little girl asked, clutching her mother's dress as a deep rumble rolled across the sky.
The villagers froze where they stood. Farmers, hunters, women with water buckets, all turned toward the north as the distant hum grew louder. It was unlike anything they had ever heard: a rhythmic, thunderous beating that made the ground tremble beneath their feet. Chickens scattered, dogs barked and hid, and a few villagers dropped their tools, staring wide-eyed at the heavens.
Harvin shaded his eyes with a trembling hand. "By the Goddess…" he whispered. "Is that…a dragon?"
"No dragon makes a sound like that!" Rowan shouted, grabbing his spear. "Everyone, to arms! That might be another attack!"
Before panic could take hold, Albert stepped into the village square, his voice cutting through the noise.
"Stand down! That's ours!"
The villagers hesitated, confusion flickering across their faces as the sound grew deafening. Then, through the clouds, the massive silhouette of the MH-53M Pave Low broke into view—rotors churning the air like a storm, kicking up waves of dust and wind that swept across the square.
People screamed and covered their faces. Straw roofs rustled violently; buckets and baskets rolled across the ground.
"Get the villagers back!" Ward shouted, waving his arm as the Atlas soldiers hurried to form a perimeter.
"Move them to the edges!" Claes barked to his Marines, his voice nearly drowned out by the pounding rotors.
The two choppers came down hard, its landing lights piercing through the dust cloud. The wind hit like a physical force—coats flapping, dirt swirling into the air. The villagers clung to fences and each other, watching in utter disbelief as the metallic beast lowered itself into their world of wood and stone.
Children cried, mothers prayed, and even Rowan, the ever-skeptical guard, stumbled backward, eyes wide.
"What kind of monster is that?!" he shouted over the roar.
Albert smirked slightly, turning toward him. "Not a monster. A machine."
"It's like a wyvern but more bigger," Rowan said.
"Wyvern? You mean like a dragon or something."
Rowan nodded. "Yeah…like those…"
"Shit so you have a dragon here in this world huh? Fantastic," Albert chuckled.
The ramp at the back hissed and began to lower, revealing the cargo bay lit with harsh white lights. Inside were crates, gear, and two crewmen in flight suits wearing tinted helmets. One of them stepped down, waving to Albert.
"Commander Spencer!" the crew chief called over the deafening rotors. "Here's the resupply package ammo, and some chow."
"Keep your engine hot, we'll be leaving momentarily," Albert turned and beckoned the men to come and replenish their supplies.
"Copy that!" Ward yelled over the roaring engines, waving the Atlas operators forward.
The soldiers moved fast, their movements crisp despite the chaos of the rotor wash. Crates thudded down from the chopper's ramp, each one stamped with the Atlas insignia. A few Marines rushed in to help, stacking ammo boxes and passing them down the line.
"Open those up!" Albert ordered.
Atlas soldiers pried the crates open with combat knives. Inside were belts of 7.62, boxes of 5.56, and sealed canisters of 40mm grenades.
"Ammo check—full resupply on rifle rounds!" one of the operators shouted.
"M240 belts and Browning cans confirmed!" another called back.
"Good," Albert said, slamming a fresh mag into his SCAR-L. "Top off your gear, and double-load your mags. We're burning through a lot once we hit that temple."
Claes crouched nearby, his Marines doing the same. "You heard the man! Grab what you can carry!"
Within minutes, both Atlas and MARSOC teams were moving like a well-oiled machine, rifles laid beside ammo crates, hands working fast to fill magazines and repack boxes. Shells clinked, belts snapped into place, and the smell of gun oil mixed with the dry wind.
Villagers stood at a distance, shielding their faces from the dust, whispering among themselves. To them, it looked like a ritual of war, men in black armor calmly preparing thunder and fire.
"What are they doing?" a boy asked in awe.
Rowan knelt beside him, still gripping his spear tightly. "They're… feeding their weapons," he said uncertainly.
"Feeding?" the boy repeated, confused.
Rowan nodded slowly, eyes fixed on Albert loading his rifle. "Aye. And when those weapons are full… gods help whatever stands in their way."
Ward finished loading his last mag and gave Albert a thumbs-up. "All set, sir. Everyone's topped off."
Claes stood, checking the chamber on his M4. "Same here. We're ready for the go signal."
Albert gave a curt nod. "Good. Mount up."