Storyline Campaign – Episode 1

The bright colors of late spring contrasted with the decaying house ruins, the debris lying everywhere that nobody had bothered to clean for many long years and the dour faces of men in Clayburn uniforms, carrying large unmarked boxes and loading them on trucks. The evacuation was in full swing – such was the price of defeat, Seagrove thought sadly.

He passed Major Kathryn Grey, sitting on her tank, staring blankly into the distance. The sight of someone else he knew was sharing his misery somehow lifted his spirits a bit.

"Kate!" he shouted.

"I hate when you call me that and you know it", she responded with a serious face, but he recognized faint traces of a smile behind her expression.

"That I do. Still waiting for the boss?"

Any traces of amusement disappeared from her face. She nodded.

"He's late. It's not like him. And that Clayburn whelp is just looking for someone to pin the blame on."

He glanced towards the command tent, erected between two walls of a ruined house – right on time to notice Blackwood approaching with a grim expression on his face. Seagrove liked the man. Blackwood knew when to push and when to let things slide. He was a stocky man of an undetermined age – perhaps in his late fifties, Seagrove guessed. His hair was grey and his round rather jovial face usually carried a sly smile. Not today though.

Blackwood waved at them both and Seagrove went to join him. Behind him, Grey jumped down from her vehicle as he approached the tent entrance.

The inside was hot. The stale air smelled of dust and sweat despite the valiant efforts of a small air conditioning unit, trying to keep the inside cold while being woefully inadequate for such a job. There must be a parallel there, Seagrove thought, as he followed Blackwood towards the main operations table where the author of this disaster stood, his hands behind his back, watching them. His impatience was palpable.

Peter Clayburn was, if the official Andrew Clayburn photograph was to be believed, nothing like his uncle. Around 25 years old, he was tall but his almost black hair, the shape of his dark brown eyes and his tanned skin hinted at southern origin.

His visage was, of course, not the only thing that separated him from his uncle – where Andrew Clayburn was known to possess calm intelligence, his nephew was prone to rash decisions and Seagrove often wondered how he had found himself in a commanding position. Were one of his subordinates to behave like that, he'd never even consider promoting him.

"Blackwood," said Peter Clayburn finally.

"At your command."

Knowing the man better than most people, Seagrove felt that he recognized a trace of sarcasm in the response, but Blackwood kept his expression neutral.

"I'll be brief, Blackwood. You failed me. When I received word that my Uncle Andrew personally recommended you, I expected more. My report on your performance will not be flattering."

What a pompous prick, Seagrove thought, but Blackwood's face was still perfectly neutral. He suddenly felt Grey's tension behind him.

Clayburn continued: "I have one last task for you. We'll leave this hole with a present they won't soon forget. We've received some intelligence that families of high-ranking Hajduk terrorists are holed up in the town of Samobor, some 20 clicks west from here."

He paused to check his tablet. After a short while, he nodded.

"Go. Take the Seahawks and level it to the ground. No quarter. They need to learn not to mess with us."

With that, he picked up the tablet again and started scrolling through the rows of tactical information. After a few seconds, he glanced up from his work.

"Dismissed."

Nobody moved.

Seagrove felt in shock. He turned back to see Grey stare at him with the same horror and disbelief reflecting on her face that he felt. He often wondered later on whether the word he had heard next was one of the bravest or one of the most terrifying things he had ever heard.

"No."

Now it was Clayburn's turn to stare at Blackwood incredulously.

"No?"

"I won't carry out that order."

Clayburn continued to stare at Blackwood in disbelief before he roared. The reaction was so violent that, over the shock from the situation, Seagrove couldn't help but wonder whether the man in front of him was actually sane.

"I am the commander here! You do as I say, Blackwood! One call to my uncle and you are dead. Your entire family is dead. I'll brand your unit traitors and we'll hunt them down like dogs. You didn't fight hard enough, but you did put your men above my orders because you thought you knew better. That ends now. No more compromises."

By now, Peter Clayburn was actually shouting. When Blackwood responded, it wasn't an angry roar of a lion but rather a hiss of a snake, silent but equally as deadly.

"Listen to me, boy, and listen well. I've been carving empires since before you were born. You throw the name of your uncle around, but you haven't even met him in your life. I have, he is a formidable man and you are nothing like him. Now, rescind that order, accept your defeat gracefully and maybe you can salvage this whole mess to your benefit."

Blackwood paused to regain his composure before he continued.

"Peter, if we do this, there will be no going back. We will never establish a foothold in the region. Let me reach out to your uncle, we can find a solution together."

Right then, at that moment, Seagrove realized that Blackwood had just made a terrible mistake. He watched Clayburn's face turned red.

"You dare think you know better what my uncle wants than his own blood?!"

Even Blackwood seemed to be taken aback by the rage in Clayburn's voice.

"No, I..."

"You have one hour, Blackwood. One hour to depart and execute my orders. If you don't, don't bother returning here. I will find you myself."

Another wave of shock washed over Seagrove. This can't be happening. As if in a dream, both Seagrove and Grey followed Blackwood out of the tent until they were too far from anyone there to overhear then.

"Well then," Blackwood said, smiling suddenly. "Our bags are already packed. I heard Istanbul is nice this time of the year."

Once again, Seagrove just stared at him in disbelief. Grey suddenly yelled out:

"You knew this would happen? How? What did we just witness? The outrage? Was that all an act? I don't understand..."

Blackwood turned serious again.

"I knew because Clayburn had ordered another unit to carry out that command last night and they too went rogue. We'll be meeting them on the way. We're not murderers, Kathryn. Well, most of us aren't," he smiled sadly.

"We'll give our people a choice, which is more than what Clayburn gave us. Some will stay. Some will follow. I don't know about you, but I've had enough of this place."