"130 seconds ETA to insertion, GH-24. Ready yourselves."
The voice crackling over the radio belonged to the pilot, steadily flying an Overlord chopper to a clearing in the vegetation. Inside of the passenger seats of the helicopter, three young men sit unsteadily, cradling an assortment of weapons in their laps. The lads are all wearing a gray-green digital camo shirts and green khaki pants, and from there the gear becomes more personalized, some of them wearing black body armor, one other wearing a lightly kitted mag carrier.
Across from them sits a grinning older fellow, seemingly their leader. On the shoulder of his solid green shirt lies the words WRAITH - JULES R. #22, a ranking and name, his gear and blue jeans distinguishing him from the rest of the soldiers sitting in the Overlord. Still grinning maliciously, he pulls the mouthpiece of his radio headset closer to his face, and says, in a seemingly sympathetic tone, "Hey, how many of y'all are carrying 7-6-2 by 39? I'm going to need it when you get your asses kicked," holding up his RPD.
One of the men, with the name SPECTER - WILL F. #882 written on his jacket laughs and says, "You know, Jules, you chew through that stuff way too fast, spraying blindly at every frog that chirps." SPECTER - JONES K. #637, checking his 590A1's action, winces slightly, and jokingly says, "Yikes, Will, you'll be the first to get shot in the back, just be careful."
The third Specter, SPECTER - HOWARD L. #979 seemingly new to the experience, turns pale and moans, "I think I'm gonna be sick..." to which he's met with several exclamations demanding that he doesn't throw up anywhere near them.
The helicopter slowly lowers itself into a clearing, and all of the men quickly jump out, shuffling through the heavy winds thrown down by the blades of the chopper to gather together. The Overlord quickly raises itself up again, taking off towards the northwest.
The men slowly gather themselves, grouping together, and Jules withdraws a folded map that he opens, holding it out for the group.
"Alright. We make our way to this riverbank, where Howard and I will locate the crashed drone and snatch the black box out of it. It's optional to take anything else out of the thing and if we can, we will. Once we reach the river, Jones, Will, both of you will scout out west to find an extract point. There're stories of local hybrids here, so it's a good idea to keep an eye out. Might be primitives, so watch your back, poison's a nasty thing to deal with. In all fairness, though, interactions with locals hasn't been recorded in a while, so we should be alright in that department. Just carry a loaded gun. Once we get to extract we can get out of here. Any questions?"
There's no response from any other of the team beyond a nod from each, and they set off, deeper into the jungle.
