The Elven caravan, now led by Lorian Yellowbranch in the DAGOR, began their journey toward the Kingdom of Loyta-Nal. The convoy moved forward, leaving behind the dusty field where camaraderie between the Beastkin and Elves had briefly flourished.
As the caravan rolled into the distance, Corporal Thessa Brightclaw approached Lt. Rader Tarfire, who was standing near his command truck.
"Sir," she began, her voice low but urgent. "I’ve got the Elven family ready to board Archer 2-8-3. They're stable for now but need immediate medevac to Runshilla Military Medical Center."
Tarfire turned, acknowledging Brightclaw with a nod. Together, they walked toward Archer 2-8-3, the tiltrotor humming with readiness.
"Paul, I need a favor," Tarfire said as they approached the aircraft. He gestured toward the emaciated Elven family, who were standing nervously by the ramp. "Four passengers for medevac: three females, one male. All suffering from critical malnutrition and dehydration. They’re on IVs and stable for now, however they need to get to Runshilla Military Medical Center ASAP. They’ll also need an Elven translator, I think Major Leafrune can help with that."
1st Lt. Paul Windfire, the pilot of Archer 2-8-3, glanced at the family, then back at Tarfire with a raised brow.
"Mid-flight contact, no problem," he said, his tone light but professional. "But you know the Brass is going to give you hell for this, right? Unscheduled stops aren’t exactly protocol."
Tarfire smirked, brushing off the concern. "I’ll take the heat. Just make sure they get there in one piece."
Windfire grinned, giving a thumbs up. "Alright, Chief, lock 'em in," he called to the crew chiefs.
The crew chiefs moved quickly, assisting Thessa as she gently led the weak and fearful Elven family aboard. Lythia, holding her young siblings close, hesitated for a moment, but Tarfire offered her a reassuring smile.
"It's going to be alright," he said softly, switching to Elvish for a moment. "You’re safe now."
With that, Lythia nodded and guided the children onto the tiltrotor. The crew chiefs secured the family in their seats, giving Windfire and his co-pilot a thumbs-up as they completed the pre-flight checks.
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As Archer 2-8-3 powered up, its engines roared with life, sending ripples of wind across the field. Sergeant Targzon, who had been reloading the RWS, paused in his work to wave goodbye. He was cleaning the dirt off the GUA-21 heavy machine gun, still caked from their journey to Mirra.
The tiltrotor lifted gracefully into the air, engines cutting through the atmosphere with a low hum, its departure a final symbol of the alliance between the Elves and Beastkin. Targzon, with a satisfied nod, returned to his task, cleaning and readying the weapons for whatever lay ahead.
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Meanwhile, the other tiltrotors, Archers 2-8-1 and 2-8-2, were preparing for a different mission. The crews moved with practiced precision, loading ordnance and completing system checks. In the distance, Kyle Thompson was performing his own final inspections with the Hostage Rescue Team.
Kyle, with a confident stride, approached Lt. Tarfire, who had just finished overseeing the last of the preparations.
"Rader," Kyle greeted with a nod. "Appreciate the help. We’ll handle the situation at the Red Tower. Once we’ve got the hostages and that facility is nothing but rubble, we’re making a straight shot for Mya. Hope you're there, because walking home going to be rough." He smiled slightly, but the gravity of his words was clear.
Tarfire returned the smile but with a serious undertone. "We’ll be ready. Mya’s a long way, but we’ll meet you there, sir."
The two exchanged a firm handshake, a shared understanding passing between them. The Red Tower mission was vital, but it came with risks — risks neither could predict.
"Just hope we don’t pick up any extra company on the way back," Kyle added with a chuckle, his hand resting casually on his rifle.
"Be careful out there, Sir" Tarfire replied. "We’ll see you in Mya."
With a final nod, Kyle turned and rejoined the Hostage Rescue Team. They boarded Archer 2-8-2, and the tiltrotor engines soon roared to life. As both Archers 2-8-1 and 2-8-2 lifted off the ground, the heavy atmosphere of impending battle settled over the Beastkin convoy.
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Back at the FARP, the convoy began its slow roll toward Mya, the destination now even more uncertain.
As they moved, a sudden alarm cut through the hum of the engines. The JCVAIL screen in Lt. Tarfire’s command truck began flashing, signaling an incoming message.
Before Tarfire could reach for the mic, a voice blared over the speakers.
“BREAK, BREAK, BREAK, Alpha One Actual, Alpha One Actual, this is Base One.” The voice came through with a mix of urgency and tension. “ISR overflight has picked up major Austorian Units in and around Mya. Mya is overrun, I say again, Mya is overrun. You are ordered to engage and destroy any Austorian units. How copy, over?”