The huge trunk of the Home Tree splits with a deafening crash, which even the double armored glass of RDA’ aircraft cannot muffle. Through the rustling of leaves, the squeals of frightened spawn, saddled by their Na’vi hunters, rushing into the air, like disturbed birds fluttering from their nests at the sight of a dive hawk.

Miles Quaritch is in his element, a predator at the head of his men. An order is all it takes - in his presence, the soldiers know their place and are not afraid to obey. They fly after their prey as one, like wolves after a wounded animal.

The colonel stands there watching as the giant Tree falls down, how it crushes with its branches the savages screaming in horror, rushing in all directions. It’s only their fault, he thinks with an involuntary smile. They were given a warning, but these dumb bastards didn’t get the message, for which they paid with their lives. He does not seem bothered or disturbed by the explosions, but rather, his demeanor is calm, as he turns away from the sight of burning chaos, pleased with the results of their mission:

— Good work, people. Restrains on me tonight, Miles nods approvingly and pats the pilot on the shoulder, before going to the passenger side of aircraft. Let's boogie.

The pilot pulls the steering wheel towards himself, notifying the other soldiers via the intercom:

— Dragon, heading left, going home.

All around are the corpses of the victims of their attack. Miles Quaritch's gaze runs over the area with contempt, making sure not to miss even the smallest details. The soldiers are going after stragglers who haven't managed to escape in time and finish them off, making sure as few of the enemy survive.

The pilot's announcement is received on board. The soldiers know that when they get back to base, they deserve rest, and the Colonel Quaritch himself will make sure that they’ll have at least a few hours of sleep before the next mission.