"Be careful with Thomas," Westcott asked meekly, his cheeks turning a slight crimson.

"What?" I asked, largely ignoring the kid, as I continued to run through my final checks on the little robot. The movement and camera controls seemed to be working. It was disorienting trying to control both at the same time through the tablet, but I was sure if this became a habit, then I'd get the hang of it in time.

"Thomas the Tank Engine." Westcott clarified, "He needs a name."

Robinson scoffed, "I always call my motorbikes the same thing - 'Bitch.' They make a lot of noise, I ride them hard and fast … and always let me down when I need them most."

"You have issues, all the issues," I muttered in response. Personally, I didn't care what it was christened. The droid was a tool for a job, intended to take risks, so the rest of us didn't have to. That was the important thing.

"It's time." Sarge cut into the conversation. Killing it instantly. As always, his only focus was the mission at hand.  “Thomas, will go out first. When we know the area is safe the rest of us will move out behind him.” The grizzled veteran looked sharply at Westcott, “Remember the droid is a weapon, not a person.”

Nodding in response, I sent 'Thomas' rolling towards the door.  We watched from the far back of the room as the droid made the slight drop over the doorstep and into the landscape beyond. The cart swayed slightly as it landed upon the dirt floor outside the room. Then the door closed once more, and all we had to track its progress was the tablet display. 

The view blurred as the camera lens adjusted to the bright sunlight. Then the glare went away, and I panned the camera around, taking in the scene. There wasn't much to speak of; it was desolate scrubland as far as the eye could see. There was a single hill a couple of miles ahead, but very little else. There seemed nowhere to hide, the only fauna being a few tufts of grass that poked stubbornly through the dry dirt. 

Releasing a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, I turned to Sarge, "Where are we heading?"

"That's the objective," Sarge reminded me, simply pointing to the lone hilltop in the area.

The howling of the wind across the plain gave an eerie soundtrack to proceedings. Apart from that, though, everything was silent. 

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Here in the room, we crouched around the controller. There was no conversation. Everyone was tense. There was no sign of the Orcs, but out there somewhere, we knew they were watching. 

The cart rolled through the scrubland, the eyestalk twitching left and right as we tried to take in everything. Hoping to spot the Orcs and eliminate them before they had a chance to react. It was the military way, do unto others before they can do unto you.

We hadn't gone far when Robinson barked a warning.

"Movement at nine o'clock," 

Still a civilian at heart, I did the mental calculation. Nine o'clock, it's on the left. The camera panned around painfully slowly. I didn't see anything at first, then there was a flash of light in the distance, and a split second later, dirt erupted from an explosion. It was well short of us. They were still finding their range.

"Shit!"

"Keep moving. Make yourself a hard target; be erratic."

It was incredibly frustrating. The trolley was slow and steady, intended for delivering food without spillage, not agility. I kept it moving, heading slightly away from where I'd seen the flash.

More flashes of light appeared, spread out across the area. Two more explosions rocked the cart in quick succession. These were close enough that dirt landed on the camera, obscuring the view slightly.

There was a whirr from somewhere above the microphone, and then the heavy beat of gunfire as our turret opened up in retaliation. I couldn't see what it was targeting, but the recoil rocked the little vehicle wildly from side to side. It was nearly impossible for me to guide at this point.

I was still wrestling for control when suddenly, without warning, we were flying through the air. The short flight ended with a sickening thud, and we rolled head over heels several times. The camera wasn't responding to my control now, partially trapped under the remains of the vehicle. All we could see from our jaunty angle was part of the dented cart and the empty plains we had traveled across.

The turret's continued firing for several seconds, shaking the camera with each shot. Then there was a huge cracking sound, and it went silent.

Seconds later, large booted feet stepped in front of the viewport, and a  green, tusked face became visible as the camera swung abruptly into the air. The Orcs lips contorted, I had no idea if it was a smile or a grimace. 

"Nice try, hooman." It stated, then the camera dropped to the floor, and the display went dark as it was crushed underfoot.

I sat up from the tablet and looked at the others.

Westcott sniffled slightly, he seemed to be in a state of shock or perhaps mourning. The rest of us just stared at each other blankly for several long seconds, as we each took in what had happened. 

Then Robinson summed things up succinctly.

"Fuck.”