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Description
In the early days of the Sudan famine, the 3rd ADOBE Battalion was attached to the 17th Infantry, helping support the mission of peacekeeping and protecting aid workers and supply lines. Combat had never been planned. They had practically no combat logistics: side-arms and NATO 5.56 carbines for the MK1 Horned Infantry. Only a handful of M242 25mm chain guns had been adapted for the Mk2 Moreys to use as assault rifles.

The mission left plenty of time for boredom. Aid workers unloaded planes, loaded trucks, then made deliveries. Those trips were the only way out of camp, but only for the few who could ride along. The Moreys turned out to be dangerously good at poker, despite having trouble holding the cards. Their faces gave away nothing.

Three months in, most of the 17th pulled out, leaving less than a dozen office staff supervising the forty Hornies and twenty Moreys of the 3rd ADOBE. Frankly it was a relief. The senior human officers had not bothered to diguise their contempt for the Engineered troops, giving them the worst jobs, the most pointless details, and handing out Article 15's like candy. Most of the ordnance was also pulled out, leaving the base with barely enough ammunition for a single day of fighting.

The aid workers continued their field trips to deliver food to starving villages, accompanied by Mk1's. They were hoping to keep the deliveries going until the rainy season, but the starvation was old news, and the world had a short attention span. Things went smoothly for two more months, until Al Junayna. Deep in the desert, the aid mission came under fire from more than two hundred insurgents from the Al-Shabaab Jihadi Front. The vehicles were destroyed by mortars fire and the supplies stolen. The base reported being attacked at the same time. All the human staff had been nside in the air conditioning and were killed in the initial shelling, along with three Moreys
and eight Mk1s. The rest fled into the desert. The only satellite capable transmitters were either destroyed or captured. They were cut off.

The Jihadis believed that the desert would do their work for them. They did not know that the Shaped had been designed to survive exactly those conditions. The Mk1 infantry were based on aoudad DNA, and could go for weeks without water. The Moreys had a large amount of dromedary DNA. They could survive on cactus needles and walk across sand that would swallow a tank. They could see quite well in the dark. They left almost no footprints. They were quite comfortable in the desert. Ammunition was a problem, but the Jihadis could supply all they needed.

In one night, four Jihadi camps went silent. The Al-Shabaab command sent troops to investigate. What they found only deepened the mystery. Bodies were scattered far out in the desert, dismembered--torn to pieces. No vehicles were missing; all were burned and smashed. All weapons were gone, down to the last pocket knife. Food and water apparently had not been touched, though they quickly learned that the water was poisoned when four jihadis died in agony. The only footprints led straight into the deep desert. Among the troops, whispers began of angry demons from the desert.

Three days after the attack on the base, a relief C130 flew in on its standard schedule. The pilot spotted the destroyed base, circled twice and reported the loss of the base before flying off. The condition of the base made finding survivors unlikely. As a result, the Region Commander wasted two more days assembling a large enough expeditionary force to ensure they could cope with whatever they found.

By the time the Chinooks landed with a suppression force, more than a week had passed since the last communication with the base. They established a new base and began retracing the last known movements of the relief workers. Everywhere they went, Jihadis approached them, desperate to surrender, begging for protection. They told wild stories of angry winds from the desert becoming demons that tore through them mercilessly, leaving no survivors, then blowing back to the desert. In one week, they had lost more than thirty camps. Communications and supplies were completely cut off. Most had been awake for days, afraid that sleep would bring the demons, scared to eat or drink. The radios had been filled with beastly growls and goats making terrifyingly unnatural sounds.

The interrogaters dismissed them as insane, but made a complete report anyway. When the Colonel got the briefing, he headed for the radio shack. The Signal Corpsman confirmed the bizarre radio traffic reported by the Jihadis. The Colonel listened for a few minutes then grinned. The specialists working with the Engineered troops had been working with them to develop a new language which no human throat could master. He had heard these very sounds in the classrooms at Camp Bullis. "They're ours. Tell them they can come home."

The rescue mission turned into a mop-up, but there was very little left to mop up. Some in the Pentagon wanted to prosecute them for failing to follow rules of engagement, but they were quickly silenced. That would have elevated their status from experimental weapon system to full soldiers. And that would have meant giving them all the same rights and privileges. Worst of all, it would have meant paying them.

Description
In the early days of the Sudan famine, the 3rd ADOBE Battalion was attached to the 17th Infantry, helping support the mission of peacekeeping and protecting aid workers and supply lines. Combat had never been planned. They had practically no combat logistics: side-arms and NATO 5.56 carbines for the MK1 Horned Infantry. Only a handful of M242 25mm chain guns had been adapted for the Mk2 Moreys to use as assault rifles.

The mission left plenty of time for boredom. Aid workers unloaded planes, loaded trucks, then made deliveries. Those trips were the only way out of camp, but only for the few who could ride along. The Moreys turned out to be dangerously good at poker, despite having trouble holding the cards. Their faces gave away nothing.

Three months in, most of the 17th pulled out, leaving less than a dozen office staff supervising the forty Hornies and twenty Moreys of the 3rd ADOBE. Frankly it was a relief. The senior human officers had not bothered to diguise their contempt for the Engineered troops, giving them the worst jobs, the most pointless details, and handing out Article 15's like candy. Most of the ordnance was also pulled out, leaving the base with barely enough ammunition for a single day of fighting.

The aid workers continued their field trips to deliver food to starving villages, accompanied by Mk1's. They were hoping to keep the deliveries going until the rainy season, but the starvation was old news, and the world had a short attention span. Things went smoothly for two more months, until Al Junayna. Deep in the desert, the aid mission came under fire from more than two hundred insurgents from the Al-Shabaab Jihadi Front. The vehicles were destroyed by mortars fire and the supplies stolen. The base reported being attacked at the same time. All the human staff had been nside in the air conditioning and were killed in the initial shelling, along with three Moreys
and eight Mk1s. The rest fled into the desert. The only satellite capable transmitters were either destroyed or captured. They were cut off.

The Jihadis believed that the desert would do their work for them. They did not know that the Shaped had been designed to survive exactly those conditions. The Mk1 infantry were based on aoudad DNA, and could go for weeks without water. The Moreys had a large amount of dromedary DNA. They could survive on cactus needles and walk across sand that would swallow a tank. They could see quite well in the dark. They left almost no footprints. They were quite comfortable in the desert. Ammunition was a problem, but the Jihadis could supply all they needed.

In one night, four Jihadi camps went silent. The Al-Shabaab command sent troops to investigate. What they found only deepened the mystery. Bodies were scattered far out in the desert, dismembered--torn to pieces. No vehicles were missing; all were burned and smashed. All weapons were gone, down to the last pocket knife. Food and water apparently had not been touched, though they quickly learned that the water was poisoned when four jihadis died in agony. The only footprints led straight into the deep desert. Among the troops, whispers began of angry demons from the desert.

Three days after the attack on the base, a relief C130 flew in on its standard schedule. The pilot spotted the destroyed base, circled twice and reported the loss of the base before flying off. The condition of the base made finding survivors unlikely. As a result, the Region Commander wasted two more days assembling a large enough expeditionary force to ensure they could cope with whatever they found.

By the time the Chinooks landed with a suppression force, more than a week had passed since the last communication with the base. They established a new base and began retracing the last known movements of the relief workers. Everywhere they went, Jihadis approached them, desperate to surrender, begging for protection. They told wild stories of angry winds from the desert becoming demons that tore through them mercilessly, leaving no survivors, then blowing back to the desert. In one week, they had lost more than thirty camps. Communications and supplies were completely cut off. Most had been awake for days, afraid that sleep would bring the demons, scared to eat or drink. The radios had been filled with beastly growls and goats making terrifyingly unnatural sounds.

The interrogaters dismissed them as insane, but made a complete report anyway. When the Colonel got the briefing, he headed for the radio shack. The Signal Corpsman confirmed the bizarre radio traffic reported by the Jihadis. The Colonel listened for a few minutes then grinned. The specialists working with the Engineered troops had been working with them to develop a new language which no human throat could master. He had heard these very sounds in the classrooms at Camp Bullis. "They're ours. Tell them they can come home."

The rescue mission turned into a mop-up, but there was very little left to mop up. Some in the Pentagon wanted to prosecute them for failing to follow rules of engagement, but they were quickly silenced. That would have elevated their status from experimental weapon system to full soldiers. And that would have meant giving them all the same rights and privileges. Worst of all, it would have meant paying them.