The Kestrel
Kestrel walked slowly down the tunnel, his senses alert. He had changed out of his uniform soon after getting away from the rest of the scouting party; it was now folded up in his backpack. His plasma rifle, toned to debilitation, hung from its shoulder strap by his arm; he was the best shot in his platoon, an irony that wasn't lost on him. He was dressed all in black, with his black beret still on (he rather liked how it looked on him). He was moving as swiftly as he could while still maintaining silence; it would be terrible either to be trapped by the Junkmen or be caught by his own patrol. Still, he needed to get to the children. He hadn't found any message from the Ox, who would have left some sign if he had found them. From the signs he had already seen, it seemed like the Junkmen were making a push in this area. Suddenly, he came upon what must have been a battle scene- broken robots, a junk tunnel, and no sign of anyone. Kestrel kicked himself inwardly for not preparing for that possibility. She was counting on him, and he should have foreseen the problem.
A few minutes later, he had followed the tunnel to the Junkmen transit camp. They had to be in there somewhere, probably already under the affect of the drugs the Junkmen used. He had to get them out of there. He slipped quietly around a corner and into one of the buildings.
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