“Quiet as a crypt, Sarge.” Burke didn’t look away from his sight. “Munoz is catching some shut-eye. Kid was wound tighter than a spring.”
“He’s not the only one.” Torres climbed onto the hull, settling beside the loader’s hatch. “You good?”
“Been better. Coffee’s cold, can’t smoke on watch, I’m out of Zyn, and my back’s killing me.” Burke finally glanced over. “But yeah, other than that, I’m good. You?”
Torres chuckled, but didn’t answer immediately. A few kilometers to their front, the forest ended at abandoned farmland. Beyond that, somewhere in the darkness, lay Belarus. And beyond that… a lot of people with guns and armored vehicles.
“My sister called yesterday,” he said finally. “Said our parents are scared. News is talking about Taiwan, about Russian and Chinese ships massing in the Sea of Japan. She asked if I’m in danger.”
“What’d you tell her?”
Burke shrugged. “I lied. Said we’re safe, that I’m where I want to be.”
Torres eyed him. “And if it all goes sideways… both theaters at once?” He thought of the classified briefs, the movement of Russian forces, the Chinese “training exercises” that looked more like invasion prep.
“I don’t know, Sergeant. I guess we’ll see what happens,” Burke finally replied.
They sat in companionable silence, watching the darkness. Somewhere to the south, a Ripsaw’s thermal camera detected movement and flagged it — another boar, according to the algorithm. But every alert tightened nerves already stretched thin.
Torres’ radio crackled softly. “All Assassin elements, this is Assassin Six. Be advised — Polish infantry platoon will be moving through approximately one klick to your front in the next twenty mikes. They’re conducting their own border patrol. Do not engage, they are friendlies. Acknowledge.”
“Assassin Six, Two-Seven copies all,” Torres acknowledged.
Twenty minutes later, Burke whispered, “There they are. Movement, bearing zero-seven-zero. About nine hundred meters.”
Torres tracked them through his thermal sight: a full platoon of Polish infantry moving in a tactical column as they advanced through wooded terrain. Their movement was purposeful but unhurried — a routine patrol, not a combat operation.
“Our allies are out earning their pay,” Burke observed quietly.
“Yeah, just like us.” Torres watched the Polish soldiers continue their patrol, disappearing and reappearing between the trees. Soon, they were just heat signatures again, then nothing. The forest returned to its empty vigil.
“You know what I’m thinking about?” Burke said after a long pause. “My kids’ summer vacation. Wife wants to take them to Disney. I told her I’d think about it.”
“Disney in July? You’re braver than I thought.” Torres allowed himself a smile. “Mine want to go camping in Colorado. Real camping, not this tactical bivouac nonsense.”
“Think we’ll make it back for summer?”
Torres considered the question. They’d been here six weeks already. The rhetoric from Moscow and Beijing came in waves — sometimes threatening, sometimes conciliatory. Meanwhile, soldiers on both sides sat in the woods, watching each other across invisible lines.
“Yeah, I think so. This feels like… posturing. Both sides are showing teeth, but nobody really wants to bite.” He adjusted his thermal sight, scanning the empty forest. “Few more weeks of this, some diplomatic breakthrough — everyone goes home with stories about that time we almost started World War Three.”
“Stories and without a combat patch,” Burke added.
“Yeah, I can live with that.” Torres thought about his kids, about mountain trails and campfires without tactical significance. “Besides, armies are expensive. Keeping us all out here, burning diesel, wearing out equipment — someone’s going to run the numbers and decide talking is cheaper than posturing.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear, Sarge.”
They settled back into silence, watching the darkness. Somewhere out there, Polish infantry continued their patrol. Farther east, Russian and Chinese forces probably sat in their own positions, having similar conversations. Everyone waiting, watching… hoping cooler heads would prevail.
Torres allowed himself to imagine it — flying home, hugging his kids, complaining about the heat at Disney World or the mosquitoes in Colorado. Normal problems. Peaceful problems.
“Three more hours until shift change,” he said finally.
“I can make it three more weeks if it means we all go home,” Burke replied.
“Roger that.” Torres continued his scan, but his mind was already halfway to summer vacation. Sometimes hope was all you had on a dark night in Poland, waiting for a war nobody really wanted.
