Marco raised his hand, causing the truck to stop on the side of the road. Black smoke billowed ahead, curling over the building rooftops as gunfire echoed throughout the city. Luckily, this dungeon break didn’t have any flying monsters to deal with. Otherwise they would be watching the sky along with the road.

  The fires worried him. Cities and uncontrolled fires don't mix. Blazes can block routes previously open as much as it can block avenues of approach for the orcs. Marco checked his phone, confirming reported fires in the area. A firefighting helicopter has been dispatched and en route, arriving in a few minutes to service the fire as best as it could.

  It was just a plain fact; fights bring fire. Tracers break off of bullets, still burning. Pyro and electro mages deal with ignition temperatures whenever they cast their magic. That, along with the orcs, hobgoblins, goblins and other humanoid monsters having the tendency for arson despite lacking any fire starting tools, added to the problem. It was a testament to the firefighters that much of the Metro hadn't burned down.

  “Why are we stopped?” Eric asked from the backseat. Marco turned and winked just a burst of gunfire erupted up ahead.

  With fighting up ahead, they had no choice but to wait. Marco watched the flanks, trusting Jan and other recruits to cover their own sectors.

  He glanced at the two volunteers in the back. Eric, the skittish of the two, darted his eyes about as if monsters would come pouring out every corner and shadow. Roman was not much better, he clung to Marco and Jan’s words like gospel but still holding his cool as best he could.

  Marco couldn’t blame them. Only the brave and stupid would join them on supply runs without abilities to fall back on. The two were just looking to have broken through their 21’st birthdays. Their reasons for coming shone with altruism, but Marco could see it in their eyes. They had that look of someone with something to prove, and hoping for anything to change.

  Trying to get close to the portal and roll their chance on being a hunter? Maybe. Marco couldn’t fault them for it either. Even as dangerous a hunter’s life may be, the rewards are very much worth it. When you’re poor, you might as well risk it. Still, Marco wasn’t lying when he said he’ll make sure to get them back.

  They waited on the truck a few moments longer. Marco said to the radio as soon as the gunfire subsided. “Kilo Kilo 2-4, this is Sun 6-1, respond, over.”

  “Sun 6-1, Kilo 2-4, Receiving. over” came the reply.

  “Kilo 2-4, We are 100 meters south of known position. Interrogative. Is MSR clear? Over.”

  “Sun 6-1, go ahead. MSR is clear. Over.”

  “Kilo 2-4, acknowledged. Over.” Marco replied. He flicked his fingers forward. “You heard it, drive on.”

  Silence settled as the truck rolled on by, “How did you know that, sir,If you don’t mind me asking?” Eric asked after a moment.

  “The skill I got when I became a hunter.” Marco said. “Makes it so that nothing almost gets the drop on me.”

  “Almost?” Eric pressed.

  Marco winked. “No magic is infallible. If it were, the monsters out the dungeons would’ve long picked our bones long ago. Same goes for us too. A lot of hunters thought themselves invincible that were… proven wrong.”

  The truck slowed around a corner, revealing the blocking force up ahead; an open top Humvee, its M2 Browning .50 caliber machine gun mounted on a turret, its dull red glowing barrel pointed up the street, smoking. Six men stood behind barricades, brass case and belt links piled at their feet, eyes up.

  A Sergeant standing at the rear turned at their approach, waving them over. They were only meant to pass by, but at the soldier’s urging, Marco waved back. “Let's check it out.”

  The truck veered towards the squad, offering a clear view of the carnage. A dozen green hulking figures lay on the street, adorned with pelts, bones and teeth, secured on leather straps. Their bodies, tough against bullets and bombs but not immune, lay mostly intact against 7.62 and 50 caliber rounds when their flesh should have been shredded. Bullets worked. Eventually.

  The Sergeant jogged over as they stopped, lowering his half-balaclava to reveal a grizzled face.

  “What can I do for you, Staff Sergeant?” Marco asked.

  “Staff Sergeant Contreras sir. We’ve requested a supply for a while, is this for us?” he asked.

  “These are for Kilo 2-3” Marco tilted his head noting the Humvee’s open rear hatch, strewn with empty crates and ammo cans. “Ammo level?”

  “Concerning sir.”

  Marco shrugged. “Look. It's not up to me, you’ll have to contact your sister squad.”

  “Already did sir.” Staff Sergeant Contreras said. “They agreed we get half.”

  Marco nodded, then pressed the radio. “Kilo 2-3, Sun 6-1. over”

  “Go ahead Sun 6-1.”

  “Confirm Kilo 2-4 requests half your ammo run. Claims permission. Over.”

  “Sun 6-1. Kilo 2-4. Permission confirmed. Over.”

  “Acknowledged 2-3. Over and out.” Marco turned to the back. “Give them half the ammo.” Eric and Roman hopped out of the back and into the bed, handing over crates of .50 cal and 7.62 ammo. Staff Sergeant Contreras then ordered half of his men to assist.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Staff sergeant. Word on the ATAK is that you’re holding a stable line.” Marco asked as the men worked. “What do you think?”

  “We’ll hold on as long as we keep supplied.” Staff Sergeant Contreras replied, then glanced at the truck bed. His eyes widened. “Potion crates. You’re heading past the front lines.”

  “They need to be where they’re going to be needed.” Marco simply replied.

  “That’ll light you up like a Christmas tree.” Contreras warned. “They’re going to be on you like flies on shit.” Then barked at his men. “Hurry it up! Unload it first. Unpack it later.”

  “Was only supposed to deliver these straight.” Marco replied, “but we got roped into hauling some ammo for forces along the way.” Marco replied.

  “You got protection? I can spare some equipment if you need it.”

  Marco raised his AR, compared to the servicemen his was tricked out. “Got this. But the plan’s to run when trouble hits. Plus, we got a talking stick.” He thumbed at a green painted tube on the back window rack. Eric and Roman finished unloaded and climbed aboard, ready to roll.

  Contreras gave him a searching look. “God gives the toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.” He stepped back, giving him a salute. Marco simply nodded as they pulled away towards the next roadblock.

  To some, it might look like they were on a suicide mission; volunteers with no heaver weapons or hunter’s gear venturing beyond the front when even soldiers who had were held back. Hell, even Marco agreed. It was the reason there were very few logistics crews running mana and health potions to hunters operating past the front lines.

  If they could, they would have stockpiled the supplies near the hunters past the front line to retrieve at their leisure. The problem lay with the skirmishes, they were fluid, hit-and-run tactics that traded space for safety. Leaving supplies risked monsters sniffing them out with their uncanny knack for finding value, especially with mana-charge items. Just like Contreras said, flies on shit.

  That left teams like Marco crossing the potions through the hardened lines then track down the hunters wherever they may be. Finding them during a skirmish was easy, just follow the sounds of battle. The risks lay when the hunters are too busy to update their position or movement to the battlefield program, giving supply runners the chance of running into a horde of monsters themselves and the hunters missing.

  A lot of men and women died that way, cut off then cut down. It was a grim price to pay, because a lot more would if they didn’t.

  Marco lit a cigarette, cold sweat beading and he hoped that it was just his body looking for a fix. Today would be a bad time to catch the flu. A health potion would fix that right up for a normal hunter, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t even use a healing potion to save his life.

  “You okay man?” Jan said, eyes on the road but glancing over.

  “I’m good. A warm meal and a thick broth, and I’ll be fine.” Marco replied, a headache brewing. He fished out his medical kit and picked out a blister of ibuprofen, swallowing it dry. “Pick up the speed, this stretch should be clear the rest of the way.”

  Jan nodded, flooring it. The truck surged, rolling through rubble and damaged roads like it was nothing. They hit the checkpoint on schedule with Kilo 2-3 unloading their ammo quickly. Letting the team through, they swerved around bullet-riddled corpses. Blocks later, Marco’s ‘second voice’ spoke. “Turn left here,” he said.

  Jan obeyed. The moment they rounded the corner, a cacophony of gunfire erupted behind them, tracers zipping down the road they just left. Marco marked the engagement on his ATAK, eyes locked on their own location marker as it crawled towards the hunter’s last location, tagged ‘engaged’ for the last fifteen minutes.

  “Stop here. Keep it running.” Marco ordered as they got within a couple of blocks.

  Wind carried the sounds of battle up ahead. They couldn’t just roll right in the fight, but turning back wasn’t an option either.

  “Jan. You know this place?”

  “It’s a funnel, alleys tight, and a deathtrap if we’re spotted.”

  Marco looked up. This stretch was lined with old three story buildings containing stores. “Roof?”

  “Could work.” Jan said, leaning forward on the dash, scanning. “That one’s got a straight stairway access to the roof.”

  They couldn’t stay out in the open. Marco hopped out and grabbed the bolt cutters from the truck, snapping the lock on the rolling metal door. Inside was dark, the power cut since the evacuation to prevent electrical fires. With lights in hand, they headed deeper into the building and up the stairs, past off limit signs, they arrived at the rood.

  On top, the sounds of fighting were much clearer. They set the crates of potions down and took a minute to catch their breath while orienting themselves to the nearby fighting. It wasn’t moving. Either the hunters were holding, or worse, surrounded and unable to break contact.

  Marco tested the radio. “Hunter 2-6, this is Sun 6-1, we’re in the area with support equipment. Advise. over.”

  The radio crackled. Signal interference. Despite being equipped with the best radios and signal filtering, it couldn’t defeat hundreds of thousands of volts of electricity passing through the air.

  Marco turned to the team. “Here’s the plan, Jan and I will get as close and establish contact before handing the supplies to them. If we’re lucky, we can just throw it to them, but they’d need to know about it, else we could risk being mistaken and take a magic bolt to the face. Any objections?”

  There was none. The skyline grew quiet but distant gunfire persisted. In the distance, smoke and steam trailed to the sky. The gunfire, in a different situation, would count for worry. But here, it gave an odd assurance, it meant people are still fighting. There is nothing more worrying than a quiet battlefield.

  “You two stay here, keep an ear on our internal radios. Do not transmit, just listen. Got it?” Eric and Roman nodded. “Let’s move.”

  Jan trailed Marco as he led the way through the rooftops. They leapt gaps between buildings and climbed levels for vantage. Below, two hunter squids stood back-to-back, surrounded but still holding. Casters stood behind the line, hurling fire and sparks tearing gaps in the green tide the vanguards kept at bay with their shields and weapons. They were holding, but it wasn’t sure for how long.

  They’ve boxed themselves against a building to cover one of their flanks, problem was; they’re too far to reach. Drones would have been useful, but the little fliers just kept getting shot down with their supplies.

  A bead of cold sweat stung his eyes. Marco cursed, definitely a bad time to get sick.

  Jan met his gaze, determined. “I can do it.”

  “I’ll have to confirm it first.” Marco said, keying the radio. “Kilo 2-3, Sun 6-1. Interrogative. Hunter 2-6 is dire. Status to support. Over.”

  “Sun 6-1, Kilo 2-3, Capacity limited. Over.” Staff Sergeant Villega replied through the radio, his transmission filled with static.

  “Kilo 2-3, Sun 6-1, Roger. Plan of action. Bait 1, relieve pressure Hunter 2-6, check ATAK for proposed ambush location.” Marco said, dragging the icon to an intersection within their range.

  “Sun 6-1, Kilo 2-3, confirm plan of action. Wait 10 mikes for site prep. Over.”

  “Negative, Kilo 2-3, I repeat, situation is dire. Over.”

  A pause. Marco and Jan glanced at each other when the radio squawked. “Sun 6-1, Kilo 2-3, acknowledged. Moving to support. 2 minutes out. Over.”

  Marco nodded to Jan. “Go.”

  Jan vaulted the banister, dropping then hung off a balcony, down another level, then the street. Unnoticed, he whistled, swaggering towards the fight arms wide. Jan grinned as a portion of the green mass turned to him. The closest, a juvenile orc, bare of trophies, charged at him.

  The lead orc struck, a killing blow aimed at Jan’s neck, only for him to disappear in a puff of quickly fading smoke. Jan appeared ten meters back, laughing mockingly. He flashed a mana potion, shaking it towards the crowd. Eyes followed the object and he turned, sprinting away in the middle of the road. A couple dozen orcs trailing after him.

  He would then slow down, then blink ahead the moment they closed in.

  Marco frowned, he’ll just have to write that potion up as a field expense. “Kilo 2-3, Sun 6-1, Bait 1 is go, ETA three minutes. Rabbit is on foot. I say again Rabbit is on foot. Over.”

  “Sun 6-1, Kilo 2-3, acknowledged. Over.”

  The hunters adjusted, the mages focused their magic on the thinner flanks and cleared it up. Marco tried the radio once more but still no response. He fished out a laser pointer and aimed it at them, flickering the light between each one to get their attention. A caster waved. Marco, annoyed, waved back.

  “Hunter 2-6, use your fucking radio. Over.”

  “We hear you.” The caster replied, fumbling with his radio with one hand and his staff on the other. The signal came loud and clear.

  “Hunter 2-6, this is Sun 6-1, we have support equipment. Head down to grid D6-9 for resupply over.” Marco said as loud automatic erupted in the distance. It was joined with a few more lighter rips as Medium machine guns joined into a cacophonous din.

  “Uh, can you say that again?”

  Marco sighed. “Head down this road and take a left. Go up the building with a truck in front. Site is secure and can serve as a rest point. Over.”

  “Uh. Yeah. Roger that Sun 6-1, Hunter 2-6 will come after finishing up. Over.”

  “Hunter 2-6, Sun 6-1. Acknowledged, over and out.”

  Marco retraced his steps. Eric and Roman were likely terrified. Which was why he left them the other squad radio for reassurance. In the distance, gunfire still continued, but tapering until reduced to a few distinct pops.

  “Sun 6-1, Kilo 2-3. Ambush complete, over. Sun 6-2 reports no injuries and on the way to rejoin you. Over”

  “Kilo 2-3, Sun 6-1, roger that. Pass on message Sun 6-2. Rendezvous on truck. Over and out.”

  “Wilco.”

  Marco was one rooftop when the radio squawked. “Sir! Orcs are entering the building. Where are you sir? Over.”

  Fuck…