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n war. Gifts that allowed him to survive the battlefield. Allowing the brink of death to teach him every time. That is what made him a mercenary. These guys were better killers, but Troy was a better survivor.“They don’t pay us to figure things out,” Ralph got out the vehicle with his A.R in hand. “We just point and click.”The jeep rested as they marched the red sands in the direction of a small village ahead. They were about a mile and a half away from their destination, making Jeremy break a few sweats from the excessive walking. Jeremy was carrying the biggest weapon of them all though, a chain gun with a belt full of bullets strapped around his upper body, so it was only natural. Even so, he didn’t complain once.The sun sparked today, with not a single gust of wind in sight.There was silence between the three of them, with only the sound of sand shuffling and rocks being flushed by their boots. Troy found himself behind with Weasel, carrying a briefcase for Weasel. One of the rookies tasks the team would make him handle. In this case, was Weasel’s sniper rifle, again, keeping him cautious upon battle. Placing him at safe distances while he assessed the area for the rest of the team. To be honest, Weasel was an excellent sniper, and he had never once let anyone flank the team, so there wasn’t much to worry about. He also informed the team of every step the enemy took, so their task force always had the upper hand. Well, at least, this is what Troy read in the previous reports. Reports that were documented before he joined the team. Troy would constantly keep a mental note of his gifts, so he didn’t fear death too often. He was too familiar with death to misunderstand his situation. He learned in the few years of his duties that death was only feared by those that didn’t understand it. People feared the unknowing, that’s why no one wanted to die. Some days though…Troy welcomed it.The five of them reached the village, with Troy obtaining orders to watch Weasel’s back while the two of them took their place on one of the one-storied buildings at the edge of town, allowing them to scope out everything ahead of them. They did just that, climbing their way onto a flat roof top with a short wall for Weasel to position his sniper on.Troy watched the team advance through the lifeless town like they were normal citizens through his binoculars, seeing no one else in sight but the platoon. The townspeople seemed to be gone, with no signs of the population in the village in quite some time. The region the small village was in was known to be used for war. This was perfect, seeing as they didn’t have clear pictures of the threat that was expecting them. Whoever came into the team’s line of sight was shootable. They were indeed the enemy.Troy’s eyes followed the team as they shifted their path to the back allies of the town, not seeing anyone other than them yet. Weasel had his sniper rifle set up by now, so he scouted his vision further ahead of Troy’s.“I don’t see anyone yet,” Weasel spoke, confusing Troy because he didn’t know if he was talking to him, or the team through his earpiece.Troy took his eyes off the team for a second, looking down at his kneeled ally to verify who he was talking to. It was the team indeed, with Weasel not even placing focus on Troy. At this very moment, he was invisible to Weasel.Weasel needed absolute concentration if he was going to watch over their squadmates. Because of this, Troy was only allowed to talk if he was spoken to or he was giving out positions. That was the golden rule when Weasel was sniping, and Troy was on guard duty.“I’ve got eyes on a target,” Weasel informed. “Positioning, eleven o clock.”His focus never left his scope as he gripped his sniper, ready to fire. Troy used his binoculars to look for himself in the direction Weasel called out. He most certainly spoke the truth. Entering one of the homes that were only a few meters away from the team, were three men strapped with guns, two equipped with Assault rifles while one carried a submachine gun. From the look of the assault rifles, they were modified, with one A.R equipped with a dagger strapped to the end of the barrel, while the other rifle had some sort of launcher attached just underneath its barrel. This was bad. That barrel could only be a grenade launcher.The three men wore black bulletproof vests, just like Troy’s comrades. They were indeed mercs.Troy’s allies positioned themselves right behind the house the opposing team was in, ready to attack.“Hold on Ralph, let me get a good aim on the team first,” Weasel noted.The team didn’t move, remaining to be unseen by the soldiers in the one-story building.<p

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id="b6d9">“One of them has a grenade launcher,” Troy spoke up, warning Weasel and thinking he would inform the others.“I can see that damnit,” Weasel replied to Troy. “He’s the one I’m trying to hit first.”Troy could only assume that Weasel was trying to wait for the guy with the modded launcher to step in front of a window or something. Afterward, the team would rush in for a full assault on the remaining two, outnumbering them by one. Or better yet, they would probably toss in a grenade, flushing the last two out so Weasel could snipe them as well. Knowing Ralph, that was a safer option. Not putting his teammates in any unnecessary danger was more of his style, unlike Cramer who was a run and gunner.There was a red dot that flashed, but it wasn’t Weasel’s. The dot bounced onto Weasel, with very little time for Troy to warn him. Landing on his forehead, there was silence before he shouted, “Weasel move.”Troy was too late. It happened too fast. Weasel dropped to the ground, laying on his back as blood quickly gushed out of the spot, he was hit in. The spot where the red dot landed…his forehead.The projectile’s bullet sound was so faint, the shooter had to have placed a suppressor on the end of his or her sniper rifle barrel, meaning Troy wouldn’t be able to hear the direction the gunshot was coming from.He looked down at Weasel, whose eyes were still open as a puddle of blood formed underneath his head. By now, Troy had already dived next to his lifeless body, avoiding the unforeseen sniper. To his surprise, the sound of gunshots that he could hear had gone off. Semi-automatic shots were fired first, which Troy knew were not from any of their men. The only semi-automatic user was Weasel, which meant that their foes had attacked first.No longer concerned about his safety, Troy ran for it. Jumping straight up, he sprinted a short distance before diving off the rooftop. Troy landed on his feet, feeling a short length of pain before the pain completely vanished. He didn’t slow down one bit, taking the back alley like the team did in order to avoid the sniper and get to his team without any interruptions. Troy passed a ton of homes on his way there, hearing the onslaught of gunfire return back and forth between the two camps. Troy couldn’t see his allies from where he was, so he assumed that they made their way indoors. The only reason they would go indoors is if they were flanked. That’s what the burst of bullets were from, a flanker. Damn it. Troy thought to himself as he speeded past cover. If the team really was flanked, that meant that someone must’ve been hit. But who?The odds were not in their favor. The opposing team had an unfair advantage. This was all a trap. They had already positioned themselves around the town. Those bastards were probably watching us the entire time.Troy reached the house that the gunfire was sounding off at. The problem was, by the time he had gotten there, there were no more gunshots. Someone was victorious.Positioning himself against the wall, Troy peeked into the entrance of the home. The first thing he spotted through the open doorway, was Jeremy’s big body right at the entrance. He laid flat on his stomach in a puddle of blood, with the back of his shirt wet with his own blood. He must’ve been the target of the flanker, barraging him with bullets from behind. From the looks of it, Jeremy then pushed his way into the empty home to avoid further injury but collapsed once his adrenaline wasn’t enough to keep him going.Taking another peek, Troy caught a glimpse of Cramer, who wasn’t much further from Jeremy. He was stretched out on the floor, lying on his side in a puddle of blood.Last but not least… was Ralph. By this time, Troy was no longer peeking. He had taken cautious steps into the entrance of the home, seeing Ralph resting against the wall with his head down in a sitting motion. From the looks of it, he was bleeding from his neck.Approaching him, Troy got close enough for a better examination of what had happened to him, making sure to kneel down away from the windows so the sniper couldn’t spot him.Ralph had been cut across his neck by some sort of sharp blade. But it couldn’t have been the dagger that was on the assault rifle. The cut was too clean. This had to have been by some sort of sword. Or maybe even a machete.Troy didn’t have time to mourn over their deaths, someone was approaching the front door. Troy stayed in a crouched position, pulling one of his smaller swords off his back. He crouched walk towards the door the figure was coming towards, positioning himself behind it. Troy was going to strike as soon as the killer entered.</article></body>

Fantasia’s Dream

Part 1 of a 3 part prologue, resinating from an action Thriller novella

Prologue Pt. 1

“Not too much further before we have to get on foot,” Ralph yelled over the sound of the doorless jeep that the five of them squeezed in.

Ralph was their commander. Well, at least for this specific platoon.

Troy didn’t belong to any particular squad, just placed wherever he might be needed. Ralph was an alright guy though. The two weeks that Troy had been in his squad, Ralph always seemed to place his allies above him; making everyone feel equal to him, and less like a superior. Ralph was like a strong ally, rather than a dick with a loud voice. However, there was one member that acted his position of squad leader out more than Ralph, an ideal asshole you would think of when you thought of the term, squad commander. That was Cramer. Compared to him, Ralph was short. Cramer had a major height advantage over the four of them, being six foot five easy, and that was without his boots on. Anyone who lingered around him for more than ten minutes would see how much he used his height to call shots over situational things. Like he was practicing being the leader for when Ralph was gone. Whatever Ralph didn’t enforce, Cramer didn’t mind taking it upon himself to get the point across.

“The intel we got said that the group of mercenaries were in a small village not too far from us now. That means that we have to get off our lazy asses and march our way to the enemy to remain undetected; we don’t need the sound of the jeep giving away our position,” Cramer said.

See? He was trying too hard to let it be known that if Ralph was ever unable to fulfill his duties, that if Ralph was to leave if Ralph was even to die, he would be this strong leader that no one even asked for.

“Was there any more intel gathered?” Weasel asked.

Weasel was just that, a very scrawny small guy who was always trying to get one step ahead of the crowd. Believe it or not, he was a mercenary just like the rest of them. He lacked the physical attributes the rest of them had, so he used knowledge as power. However, Troy wasn’t sure if it was fear that pushed him to think this way or what. But he was always cautious, making sure to analyze every situation before making an effort to a task. He treated every situation like it could be his last and failure wasn’t an option. He had the highest mission success rate in the platoon.

“There were reports that the mercenaries were small in numbers, just like us,” Cramer answered.

“They’re trying to keep a low profile then, keeping their numbers small so they can draw less attention. The same thing we’re doing,” Weasel informed them. “Let’s be careful with this group.”

Weasel said that with every mission they had. Even so, everyone made sure to always heed his warnings.

“So, these mercenaries were sent to kill our government, therefore, our government sent us to take them out, mercenaries versus mercenaries?” Jeremy summarized.

Jeremy was a heavyset fella. Not too big to where he couldn’t maneuver, but larger than the rest of them in size. He was nearly as tall as Cramer and round as a balloon. But he was a heavy hitter. He carried the heavy artillery for when times got bad. He never really said much, just short sentences every once in a while. He was almost as quiet as Troy.

“Sounds about right,” Weasel confirmed. Gripping his chin, Weasel continued. “The question is, why? There hasn’t been a hit placed on a governor in three decades, so why now? Why devise a hit when our forces have only grown? What could be that serious?”

The jeep stopped, immediately forcing Troy’s palms to collect sweat. This normally happened for him before a mission. To a fool’s eye, he was as calm as a monk. Troy didn’t show a sign of doubt, weakness, or stress. When in reality, he held doubt. He knew everyone else had more experience than him. Years’ worth of training before they even touched a battlefield. Because of his…gift, he was automatically placed into the warzone without any preparation of any sort. The battlefield was his teacher. Literally, whatever didn’t kill Troy, made him stronger. He wasn’t like the guys that were surrounding the jeep with assault rifles in hand, sentry guns, and sidearms. He didn’t carry a gun. He didn’t need it. All he carried was three swords strapped in cases on his back, with one blade positioned in the middle of his back being wider than the other two. These gifts gave him an unfair advantage in war. Gifts that allowed him to survive the battlefield. Allowing the brink of death to teach him every time. That is what made him a mercenary. These guys were better killers, but Troy was a better survivor.

“They don’t pay us to figure things out,” Ralph got out the vehicle with his A.R in hand. “We just point and click.”

The jeep rested as they marched the red sands in the direction of a small village ahead. They were about a mile and a half away from their destination, making Jeremy break a few sweats from the excessive walking. Jeremy was carrying the biggest weapon of them all though, a chain gun with a belt full of bullets strapped around his upper body, so it was only natural. Even so, he didn’t complain once.

The sun sparked today, with not a single gust of wind in sight.

There was silence between the three of them, with only the sound of sand shuffling and rocks being flushed by their boots. Troy found himself behind with Weasel, carrying a briefcase for Weasel. One of the rookies tasks the team would make him handle. In this case, was Weasel’s sniper rifle, again, keeping him cautious upon battle. Placing him at safe distances while he assessed the area for the rest of the team. To be honest, Weasel was an excellent sniper, and he had never once let anyone flank the team, so there wasn’t much to worry about. He also informed the team of every step the enemy took, so their task force always had the upper hand. Well, at least, this is what Troy read in the previous reports. Reports that were documented before he joined the team. Troy would constantly keep a mental note of his gifts, so he didn’t fear death too often. He was too familiar with death to misunderstand his situation. He learned in the few years of his duties that death was only feared by those that didn’t understand it. People feared the unknowing, that’s why no one wanted to die. Some days though…Troy welcomed it.

The five of them reached the village, with Troy obtaining orders to watch Weasel’s back while the two of them took their place on one of the one-storied buildings at the edge of town, allowing them to scope out everything ahead of them. They did just that, climbing their way onto a flat roof top with a short wall for Weasel to position his sniper on.

Troy watched the team advance through the lifeless town like they were normal citizens through his binoculars, seeing no one else in sight but the platoon. The townspeople seemed to be gone, with no signs of the population in the village in quite some time. The region the small village was in was known to be used for war. This was perfect, seeing as they didn’t have clear pictures of the threat that was expecting them. Whoever came into the team’s line of sight was shootable. They were indeed the enemy.

Troy’s eyes followed the team as they shifted their path to the back allies of the town, not seeing anyone other than them yet. Weasel had his sniper rifle set up by now, so he scouted his vision further ahead of Troy’s.

“I don’t see anyone yet,” Weasel spoke, confusing Troy because he didn’t know if he was talking to him, or the team through his earpiece.

Troy took his eyes off the team for a second, looking down at his kneeled ally to verify who he was talking to. It was the team indeed, with Weasel not even placing focus on Troy. At this very moment, he was invisible to Weasel.

Weasel needed absolute concentration if he was going to watch over their squadmates. Because of this, Troy was only allowed to talk if he was spoken to or he was giving out positions. That was the golden rule when Weasel was sniping, and Troy was on guard duty.

“I’ve got eyes on a target,” Weasel informed. “Positioning, eleven o clock.”

His focus never left his scope as he gripped his sniper, ready to fire. Troy used his binoculars to look for himself in the direction Weasel called out. He most certainly spoke the truth. Entering one of the homes that were only a few meters away from the team, were three men strapped with guns, two equipped with Assault rifles while one carried a submachine gun. From the look of the assault rifles, they were modified, with one A.R equipped with a dagger strapped to the end of the barrel, while the other rifle had some sort of launcher attached just underneath its barrel. This was bad. That barrel could only be a grenade launcher.

The three men wore black bulletproof vests, just like Troy’s comrades. They were indeed mercs.

Troy’s allies positioned themselves right behind the house the opposing team was in, ready to attack.

“Hold on Ralph, let me get a good aim on the team first,” Weasel noted.

The team didn’t move, remaining to be unseen by the soldiers in the one-story building.

“One of them has a grenade launcher,” Troy spoke up, warning Weasel and thinking he would inform the others.

“I can see that damnit,” Weasel replied to Troy. “He’s the one I’m trying to hit first.”

Troy could only assume that Weasel was trying to wait for the guy with the modded launcher to step in front of a window or something. Afterward, the team would rush in for a full assault on the remaining two, outnumbering them by one. Or better yet, they would probably toss in a grenade, flushing the last two out so Weasel could snipe them as well. Knowing Ralph, that was a safer option. Not putting his teammates in any unnecessary danger was more of his style, unlike Cramer who was a run and gunner.

There was a red dot that flashed, but it wasn’t Weasel’s. The dot bounced onto Weasel, with very little time for Troy to warn him. Landing on his forehead, there was silence before he shouted, “Weasel move.”

Troy was too late. It happened too fast. Weasel dropped to the ground, laying on his back as blood quickly gushed out of the spot, he was hit in. The spot where the red dot landed…his forehead.

The projectile’s bullet sound was so faint, the shooter had to have placed a suppressor on the end of his or her sniper rifle barrel, meaning Troy wouldn’t be able to hear the direction the gunshot was coming from.

He looked down at Weasel, whose eyes were still open as a puddle of blood formed underneath his head. By now, Troy had already dived next to his lifeless body, avoiding the unforeseen sniper. To his surprise, the sound of gunshots that he could hear had gone off. Semi-automatic shots were fired first, which Troy knew were not from any of their men. The only semi-automatic user was Weasel, which meant that their foes had attacked first.

No longer concerned about his safety, Troy ran for it. Jumping straight up, he sprinted a short distance before diving off the rooftop. Troy landed on his feet, feeling a short length of pain before the pain completely vanished. He didn’t slow down one bit, taking the back alley like the team did in order to avoid the sniper and get to his team without any interruptions. Troy passed a ton of homes on his way there, hearing the onslaught of gunfire return back and forth between the two camps. Troy couldn’t see his allies from where he was, so he assumed that they made their way indoors. The only reason they would go indoors is if they were flanked. That’s what the burst of bullets were from, a flanker. Damn it. Troy thought to himself as he speeded past cover. If the team really was flanked, that meant that someone must’ve been hit. But who?

The odds were not in their favor. The opposing team had an unfair advantage. This was all a trap. They had already positioned themselves around the town. Those bastards were probably watching us the entire time.

Troy reached the house that the gunfire was sounding off at. The problem was, by the time he had gotten there, there were no more gunshots. Someone was victorious.

Positioning himself against the wall, Troy peeked into the entrance of the home. The first thing he spotted through the open doorway, was Jeremy’s big body right at the entrance. He laid flat on his stomach in a puddle of blood, with the back of his shirt wet with his own blood. He must’ve been the target of the flanker, barraging him with bullets from behind. From the looks of it, Jeremy then pushed his way into the empty home to avoid further injury but collapsed once his adrenaline wasn’t enough to keep him going.

Taking another peek, Troy caught a glimpse of Cramer, who wasn’t much further from Jeremy. He was stretched out on the floor, lying on his side in a puddle of blood.

Last but not least… was Ralph. By this time, Troy was no longer peeking. He had taken cautious steps into the entrance of the home, seeing Ralph resting against the wall with his head down in a sitting motion. From the looks of it, he was bleeding from his neck.

Approaching him, Troy got close enough for a better examination of what had happened to him, making sure to kneel down away from the windows so the sniper couldn’t spot him.

Ralph had been cut across his neck by some sort of sharp blade. But it couldn’t have been the dagger that was on the assault rifle. The cut was too clean. This had to have been by some sort of sword. Or maybe even a machete.

Troy didn’t have time to mourn over their deaths, someone was approaching the front door. Troy stayed in a crouched position, pulling one of his smaller swords off his back. He crouched walk towards the door the figure was coming towards, positioning himself behind it. Troy was going to strike as soon as the killer entered.