The legionnaires march for more than an hour across the desert plain. The terrain is flat, the footing alternating between sand and a sort of gravelly pavement. The stillness is broken only by the sound of the paratroopers’ boots on the ground and the occasional lizard scuttling through a small patch of dry grass. The sun is a white disk in the cloudless azure sky, shining relentlessly on the marching men as the morning cool becomes a distant memory.
Sergeant Duval finally calls a halt and orders the men to take a little water. The jumpmaster motions to Vidal and takes the radio handset. “Trident, this is Hourglass.” A pause. “Trident this is Hourglass.”
Vidal and Marcel hear the response over the sergeant’s shoulder. “Hourglass, this is Trident 1, we read you. How was your landing?”
“Trident 1, be advised we had contact on landing with two – repeat, two – fells on the DZ. One fell neutralized at contact; one captured and neutralized attempting to escape. Intelligence indicates you may have a patrol-in-strength to the north of your location.” Duval’s voice is steady, no hint of emotion.
There is a short silence. “Acknowledged, Hourglass. Casualties?”
“None, sir,” replies Duval. “Our location is grid 20 Echo 4.”
“Acknowledged, Hourglass. Stand-by.”
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