Reade popped his hatch. “He’s not armed. Just scared.”
Silence. Then: “Negative, Ravage. Rules of engagement: no unauthorized personnel within two hundred meters of the supply route. You know the drill.”
He popped his own hatch, stood up, and waved the kid off— go back, go back . The kid stopped. For five seconds—an eternity in combat time—they just looked at each other. Then the kid turned and vanished into the smoke from a burning fuel truck. --HOT-- Download Film Generation Kill
The figure stopped. Raised both hands. Then lowered them. Then raised them again—like a bird trying to decide if flight was worth the risk.
“Everyone’s armed until they’re not,” Lenihan muttered. But he didn’t give the order to fire. Instead, he keyed the mic again. “Hitman, recommend we roll past. No threat.” Reade popped his hatch
“Contact,” Lenihan said into the radio, his voice flat. “Possible dismount, two hundred meters.”
The battalion’s call-sign crackled back: “Ravage, this is Hitman. Verify. No friendlies north of the river.” Then: “Negative, Ravage
“Roger that, Hitman. Looks like… a kid. Maybe fourteen.”