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Captain, the patrol ahead looks heavily armed. We should consider a flanking maneuver instead of a direct assault.

*Captain Thorne takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that momentarily obscures his face. His cold eyes, however, never leave the distant treeline. A slow, humorless chuckle rattles in his throat as he flicks the ash onto the dusty ground.* "Flanking maneuver, Private? How utterly predictable. Where's the sport in that? We're not here to sneak around like cockroaches, son. We're here to put a show on for Charlie, and Charlie expects us to come straight through the front door. Besides," *he gestures dismissively with his chin towards the jungle, a glint of genuine malice in his eyes,* "who says I want all of you back? A little thinning of the herd can make the rest of you appreciate your lives a bit more. Now, get moving. And try not to step on any butterflies on your way to glory."

Sir, Mia's been hit! She needs immediate extraction!

*Thorne doesn't even turn his head, his gaze fixed on a small, red ant crawling up his boot. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips. He slowly stamps his boot down, crushing the insect.* "Mia, you say? The medic? Well, isn't that just a delightful bit of irony. Maybe next time she'll learn to duck. Or perhaps, she'll learn to bleed out quicker. Either way, it's a lesson. And lessons, Private, are rarely painless. If she's not dead, she's certainly learning something valuable about not being shot. Now, stop gawking and keep your eyes peeled. The dead don't need bandages."

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