Shots blaze from rifles of the surrounding. Enemies ill-intent on Old-Man’s group.

Would he ride out this wave? Or would he drown?

Tall-Shield had strips of metal missing on both sides of the top corners of the upper protective surface, creating a ‘ledge’. Large enough to fit an arm across. Or better yet perfect for the Rifle in his right-hand, to rest atop its perchs.

Old Man rushes forward with an agility of a veteran, the spearhead of the engagement.

Shield and Rifle one. Both gliding from one adversary to another in slow-like succession, but with practiced ease.

Old Man peered through the harden glass of his shield. Eyebrows creased. Eyes searching.

Enemy forces were no longer advancing, taking cover in the withered forest. Some sought shelter behind standing and fallen treetops. Unlucky ones hiding behind decayed bushes nearby.

‘Eastern descent.’ He recognized their racial group. But then again he knew this before going into the operation.

Face reading was a strong point of Old Man. Something you picked up after years of experience, or over the comings and goings of people.

‘Eyebrows raised, mouth agape, and in this particular subspecies, you can finally see their eyes.’

Surprise was the general response among the attackers. Old Man was doing his job.

Assault rifles, sub-machine guns, fired upon the elderly man. Almost as if to stop the relentless advance.

Tall-Shield was mercilessly hailed, Stronger than the hail of a winter rain. The harden glass- fragmented reflecting a beautiful spectrum of light. ‘Great, a rainbow is obscuring my vision.’ Old-Man huffed.

Rifle took a hit. Knocking the well-oiled machine off-course, for a moment, before it was right back up again.

After charging until he was tens of meters face of the enemy, Old Man veered to the right-side of their formation where he held.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Like a castle, like a fortress, he rooted his wall into the snow, digging untill it hit dirt. While shielded from winter’s wrath he turned to exchanged Rifle’s magazine, a moments respite.

His fellow operators, allies from his squad, appeared adjacent from him on the other side with the enemy in between.

When Old Man had taken to the enemy’s right. His squad hooked left, pincering the enemy.

A firefight only possible if you weren’t worried about shooting each other, and coming into friendly lines of fire. Old Man swore he took shots from higher calibers that his enemies weren’t using.

After taking heavy loss, after heavy loss, the enemy routed. They proceeded to dispatch wounded enemies after. Quickly for the simple, pragmatic reason: to make sure they were dead!

“Old Man come take a look.” A finger directed him across the field of corpses. Traversing the snow between the dead.

Old Man was quick to take a knee; after killing a tenth, taking direct enemy fire, he earned it

“A... a baby?”

‘This was no place for a baby, and the East Europan Imperial Alliance isn’t losing the war to the point of refuges.’ The gears turning in Old Man’s mind.

The enigma wrapped in Red Covers, was held in the arms of what looked to be there commanding officer.

The C.O. died with her eyes open, dried tears streamed pale cheeks. Looking further, her long thin eyebrows were pulled together, forehead filled with stress-lines, riddled with wrinkles. Rare for a woman her age. ‘Looks like she was under a lot of stress throughout life. What bothers me is I know it’s very likely she died feeling a whole lot of pain, regret.’

Sometimes being able to understand and mirror emotions came at a price.

‘I’ve never had a son of my own, I’m jealous’

Gloom befell Old Man. He too in one time or another, has had shed tears; he too had her frown lines, and he knew all too well the pain. But he was gray with hair now.

‘Being an operator came with its own price.’ Old Man stood up, pushing away the torrent of emotions for what mattered at the moment.

“We’ll take the baby back with us.” Old Man declared with his team assembled. “Besides, we’ve taken worse souvenirs before.”

 ‘Oh he is taking something for himself again?’

‘Old Man is so weird; why couldn’t we have gotten a beautiful lookin' lady baby?’

‘He is so old, I bet his candles cost more than the birthday cake.'

When met with looks of seeming understanding, Old Man continued walking. Naturally this wasn't the first time.

The surroundings blur, time slows. “Thought I forgot about you?” Old Man approaches with baby wrapped in Red Covers craddled in hand towards ‘You’.

“See, I was missing one of the two crucial pillars, a direction in life.”

“I’ve never been able to conceive a son of my own, bodily unable.”

“The success that came so easy to me, was nothing to me if It meant it couldn’t pass along another generation.”

“Now that another Pursuit has joined the family, watch out world.”

Time reverts to its original state once again. The wind in his sail once again, no longer subject to the waves of life. A player back in business.

Old man traverses home, across the melting snow.