Los Angeles defector

Outpost

The afternoon sun finally broke free from the shackles of the clouds, releasing its warm, compassionate light in full at the San Juan Ferry Crossing. The quaint southern town bathed in sunlight appeared tranquil and serene, with even the surrounding fields seeming to come alive, shining brightly.

On the western edge of the town, near the riverbank, are a dozen or so houses that belong to Third Platoon's area of responsibility. Looking west from this cluster of houses, the left side borders the banks of the Barona Creek, while on the right, there is a gentle low hill. In the middle lies an open field over four hundred meters away, providing a good vantage point for defense, with a lower likelihood of vampires launching an attack from this direction. Third Platoon lost the second row in the morning battle and currently has fewer than fifty men, making it the platoon with the least manpower in the battalion. Therefore, the battalion has assigned this position to Third Platoon.

When the sluggish Third Platoon arrived here, they realized that being late also came at a cost.

The sturdiest and most concealed house served as the "command post" for the platoon leader and the first squad leader; a house with high walls and thick bricks housed the machine g*n team; a house with a wide field of view accommodated the observation post; a house positioned further back to avoid direct fire housed the reserve team. Only the two dilapidated wooden houses at the very front and a small windowless grass hut remained, standing alone in the sunlight like three abandoned coffins in a desolate field, quietly awaiting Third Platoon's arrival for selection.

Five people stood by the field, staring at each other in silence, unable to speak. Despite the sun directly overhead, a chilling breeze made them feel cold.

Jason briefly glanced at the three dilapidated houses assigned to Third Platoon, then shifted his gaze away. Squinting his eyes, he surveyed the defensive area of the mission: an open field four hundred meters away, approximately two hundred meters wide, bordered by a river on the left and a low hill on the right. The terrain was not overly complex; as long as there were personnel and firepower, the defensive pressure would be relatively low. This was the battalion's way of taking care of Third Company.

Old Blackskin, with a dark expression on his face, gazed at the three dilapidated houses for a while before leading his four brothers towards the Third Company's "command post."

"I say, Captain, can those three dilapidated houses serve as cover? If you really intend to sell Third Platoon, this isn't the way to do it, is it?"

"What? Which three houses? I just came from the battalion commander's office, and the position was assigned to First Platoon. Winston Reed, what's going on?"

First Lieutenant Winston Reed put on a smile and said, "Oh, Captain, it's nothing, it's nothing, my mistake. Look at my terrible memory, I even forgot that we have Third Platoon." Then, turning to Old Blackskin with a grin, he said, "Hey, Old Blackskin, for such a small matter, you could have just come to me directly to give a heads-up. How about this: the house at the back is my platoon's reserve, quite spacious. You guys can consider it a reserve position as well."

Winston Reed's words left Old Blackskin feeling a mix of emotions. He felt Winston was too damn spineless. Although he wanted to stand up for himself and push back, did he really have to go back to those three rundown houses to be sitting ducks? He was momentarily left speechless.

Jason had been standing behind Old Blackskin, with the platoon leader in front. Initially indifferent to these petty matters, the platoon leader's sarcastic remarks about Third Platoon made Jason give Winston Reed a second glance. He had thought the platoon leader would be a pillar of support, only to realize he was just a petty person. This guy was a bit unscrupulous, acting like he was the captain, designating Third Platoon as his reserve. This was like slapping Old Blackskin in the face in front of his brothers from Third Platoon.

Seeing Old Blackskin speechless and sweating profusely, Jason was truly afraid that Old Blackskin would clash with the platoon leader. Since that was the case, he decided to step in and smooth things over. Jason took a steady step forward, stood side by side with Old Blackskin, and calmly spoke up: "Reporting to the captain, our platoon leader's suggestion is to establish an outpost 50 meters ahead in the open field, to be manned by Third Platoon. We hope the captain approves."

Jason's words were understated, but they left everyone present utterly stunned.

Old Blackskin was immediately taken aback. What play was Jason performing now? Those three dilapidated houses were not worth guarding, and now they wanted to establish an outpost 50 meters ahead? Was this a suicide mission? Wasn't preserving one's life more valuable than saving face? Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt Jason discreetly tug his sleeve twice.

Winston Reed closed his astonished mouth and fixed his gaze on Jason. This ignorant fellow must be the newcomer. Hah, quite audacious, this level of awareness is exceptionally high. He might just drive Old Blackskin crazy, huh? Well, let's see how Old Blackskin handles this.

The company commander was also confused, pointing at Jason and saying, "Oh, you're the one called... Oh, right, Jason, isn't it? That..." The company commander trailed off, unsure of what to say next. While the company commander understood Jason's words, he also knew who Old Blackskin was. Having an outpost was indeed good, but this order was not a joke. He needed to ask Old Blackskin. "Old Blackskin, what's going on?"

Despite being reminded by Jason tugging at his sleeve, Old Blackskin still had doubts in his mind. Now that the company commander asked, damn it, he would put some pressure on Jason, just to test if Jason was crazy. "Company commander, yes, that's the situation. I'm requesting an advance, a 50-meter advance." After speaking, he pointed at Winston Reed. "Winston, you keep an eye out for me, damn it, let's see who's a coward."

The third platoon, in a line of five, exited the building. Once they were far enough from the others, Old Blackskin couldn't resist and leaned in next to Jason. "Jason, I've put my life on the line with your words. What was that all about just now? Quickly, tell me."

Brown and the big guy quickly caught up a few steps behind.

Jason kept walking without stopping, and said to Old Blackskin beside him, "Forget about everything else, let's first try to get through this first hurdle."

"What? What first hurdle? Are you trying to kill me with anxiety?"

Jason gave Old Blackskin a faint smile and said, "Bro, after more than ten years in this, you're getting lost in the details. Think about it, in any battle, what's the first move of a vampire?"

"The first move? The first move... artillery fire? Wait a minute, you mean..." Old Blackskin suddenly realized, slapped his forehead, hurriedly moved to the front, and called out, "Let's hurry up, stop dawdling." Then he muttered to the row of soldiers behind him, "Winston Reed, you stubborn fool, just be a good turtle. You're not even human."

Arriving at the edge of the open ground, Jason instructed Big Guy and Brown to go into the broken cabin to fetch shovels. Jason had noticed these two tools in the broken house when they had arrived earlier.

Jason jogged ahead about sixty to seventy meters into the open ground. Due to the rain from the previous day, there were still muddy patches everywhere. After circling around twice, Jason stopped at a slightly higher spot on a field ridge. It was a bit drier here compared to the surroundings. Jason waved towards Old Blackskin at the edge of the field.

With the location confirmed, the four of them ran in. Big Guy and Brown each grabbed a shovel and, under Jason's guidance, immediately started digging the trench. Old Blackskin observed their surroundings, noting landmarks and keeping watch over the distant open ground. The naive lad followed Jason's instructions, gathering dry grass and shrubs from the surroundings for concealment.

Under the glaring sun, three rows of five figures hurriedly worked in the open ground.

Inside the shelter, a row of soldiers joked and pointed at each other.

Winston Reed stood by the window facing the open ground, "Old Blackskin, you spineless fool, why do you have to learn to be reckless? Couldn't you pick up something else?"

The platoon leader still harbored doubts, wondering what tricks this Third Platoon was up to.