___________________________

  FACELESS MEN

  The climb down towards Halya’s family had been a fairly quiet one. Jackson’s promise to the kid had lifted her spirits somewhat, but the reality was that the corporal would have to depart now.

  As the two of them made their way down the darkened staircase though, Jackson could suddenly hear the girl’s steps behind him stop, before he instinctively froze up himself.

  He hadn’t imagined it, he was indeed hearing steps from down below them.

  “It’s them…”

  Jackson motioned for the girl to stay quiet as he crawled the rest of the stairs down, until he reached the landing on the end of them and crouched down, carefully peering into the darkness below. There was only so much his night-vision could do in the pitch blackness of the enclosed staircase. But there was no doubt about it.

  His ears weren’t lying.

  A group of something was making its way up the staircase. Halya’s terrified expression and statement that it was ‘them’ did make it seem rather obvious who they were most likely dealing with. The faceless men that the family had warned of.

  Why would they be here though…

  Motioning for the girl to join him, Jackson scooted closer to her and whispered the question that was bubbling up in his mind: “You said they only came to abduct people, right?”

  The girl shakily nodded her head, clearly trying her best to keep her breathing even, despite the fear that must’ve been welling up inside her.

  “So, if I noticed you guys here… they might’ve too…” Again, the girl nodded, the implication of her family being taken away painted on her face.

  “Stay here and don’t make a sound. If I don’t come back for you, get back to the roof and hide there… wait until morning. Others from the SCN will come, they’ll help you.” The girl wanted to argue, but Jackson immediately shot her down: “No. Stay here, do as I say. I’ll be back in a minute. If I’m not, you know what to do.”

  That seemed to have done the trick, Jackson’s stern tone putting the girl in her place, even if he had to deliver it in a hushed whisper. He didn’t enjoy speaking so harshly with Halya, but right now wasn’t the time for games.

  Slowly descending the stairs, Jackson strained his ears to see if he couldn’t tell by the sounds how many he was dealing with. It was a group, that much was clear. Maybe four or five?

  At the very least, it seemed he was dealing with a fireteam.

  And they weren’t even trying to mask their presence.

  The rate at which these unknowns were ascending the stairs made it clear that they cared little for stealth or sneaking up on any unsuspecting civilians. That just reinforced Jackson’s thought that they must’ve noticed the lights as well. Though, another thought crawled up his spine and into the back of his head: What if they had followed him?

  After all, the corporal had engaged in a brief, yet definitely noticeable firefight before his arrival here.

  If Halya’s family would be taken away because of him…

  Jackson immediately exorcized that thought from his mind. He wouldn’t let that happen.

  Sneaking further down, the trooper tried to ascertain what floor the group was aiming for, and it seemed that his worries were indeed valid.

  It felt like they were aiming right for the floor where Halya’s family was.

  Disengaging the safety on his weapon, Jackson proceeded further downward, careful not to make his presence known and exerting ears to figure out what the enemy was up to.

  Now on the floor directly above the one where the civilians were hiding, the corporal lied down flat on the floor and directed his hearing towards the darkness.

  Footsteps came up. And up another floor. Another one…

  They were now directly below him.

  Some more shifting, some garbled whispering that he couldn’t make out. And then, the door opened, and the group filed into the hallway.

  Beginning to move, Jackson got up and slinked towards the stairs leading down, eyes focused on the lower floor and where the door would be coming up. And though it was hard to see with even his NVGs, the trooper saw something that was unmistakably a human form, standing by the door, watching the stairwell while the rest of the group searched the floor.

  Jackson strained his eyes, trying to see if it was maybe a friendly, or perhaps SDF Guerrilla. Yet, as he focused in on the figure, he only saw the same things he’d seen on the hostile aliens.

  A featureless mask covering its face, the same flexible armour covering torso, arms and legs, with the same ‘whiskers’ protruding from the armour and the same spike-thrower in its hands as the ones carried by the featherless ones.

  Collaborators? Traitors?

  That couldn’t be.

  Though Jackson was ripped out of his thoughts when he heard the muffled voice from one of these ‘faceless men’ behind the door: “Come out. You will not be harmed. Follow us immediately, please.” It had the same warbly, electronic nature to it as the sounds from the other aliens, but this time applied to what Jackson could only describe as a bad attempt at mimicking the human voice.

  Like something had a distant idea of what humans sounded like and was trying to imitate that.

  “Please step outside slowly, we will take you to… safety. Please follow us immediately. You will not be harmed.” The hairs on Jackson’s neck were standing up as every alarm bell in his instincts was going off.

  Whatever had caused his ancestors to develop the senses, which had led to the ‘Uncanny Valley’, was now shooting off in full force inside his body.

  These things were trying their best to appear human, but their voices alone made the trooper shiver.

  Whatever they really were, one thing was clear: He would not let them get their hands on Halya’s family.

  Bringing his rifle to bear, Jackson placed his sights on the unsuspecting one that was guarding the door. Knowing that he was dealing with human anatomy, the trooper placed his sights centre-mass.

  A short burst later, the thing was dead. It had let out a warbled grunt as the burst of 6.8x51mm had ripped apart its insides, before quickly falling over into a dead heap.

  Relief showered over Jackson.

  Whatever these abominations were, at least they still died like everything else.

  It was also good to confirm that the MIX still did its job in shredding armour wonderfully, even with the subsonic rounds. Still, it had worked on the relatively human-sized targets. He still didn’t know if it’d work on the leaders…

  Moving quickly, the corporal made his way down the stairs, toward the door and listened for any reaction from the ones inside.

  So far, they were still rummaging around, same as a minute before, with their pleas for ‘cooperation’ resuming again.

  Being satisfied that they were unaware of his approach, Jackson slowly opened the door to the hallway, peering into the thick darkness.

  One of them was standing in the middle of the hallway, looking around, before it evidently noticed that the door had opened behind it. Turning around, it was quickly met by a burst from Jackson’s weapon, similarly collapsing to the ground like the first one.

  There’d been that inhuman gurgling again.

  Though, as the corporal moved inside the hallway, his ears were met with the ear-splitting screams from a woman. The mother. They’d found the family.

  Trying to keep his breathing steady, Jackson continued slowly making his way down the hallway, forcing himself to keep a steady pace and not sprint down there. Every fibre in his beings demanded for him to run in there and tell those things to stay the hell away from Halya’s relatives.

  More screaming, now joined by the father cursing, as well as the sounds of a struggle.

  Despite his haggard appearance, it was clear the old man wouldn’t go out without a fight, exclaiming something in Ukranian as the mother continued screaming.

  Through the darkness, Jackson could see the door that led to their apartment. The same place where Halya’s eyes had met him for the first time.

  “Please remain calm. We will take you to safety. Please remain calm.” The mockery of the human voice was basically saying the same things on repeat now, as the sounds of fighting continued.

  Pressing himself against the wall, Jackson inched his way towards the door and peeked inside.

  It was utter chaos.

  Evidently, the ‘faceless men’ had broken the door down, with the ensuing struggle resulting in overturned furniture, smashed plates and decoration, as well as a fire that was slowly spreading from one corner where a tipped over candle had found plenty of fuel.

  There were also three of these things inside.

  One of them was currently keeping the father down on the floor, its knee pressing against the old guy’s back. The other had cornered the mother, pointing its weapon at her. The third one was currently in the process of disappearing behind a corner, marching off into the apartment’s hallway.

  Horror struck as Jackson realized he couldn’t see the boy anywhere.

  That thought was immediately met by screaming from another room, with the parents immediately yelling in distress. The kid had been hiding… and they’d found him.

  Acting more on instinct and fury than perhaps on proper logic, Jackson turned the corner, first dispatching the one that was holding down the father, before quickly turning his sights on the one that had cornered the mother. It had also immediately set its sights on him.

  They were fast.

  Clamping down on the trigger, Jackson found his mark but was also launched backwards as a burning pain spread through his chest. Spikes lodged themselves into the wall next to him

  His weapon was gone.

  He crashed against a table, then the wall, before finally meeting the floor. The pain in his chest was first stinging, then quickly turning to an excruciating searing.

  Why wouldn’t his chest stop hurting?

  It was only when the soldier opened his eyes that he saw what had happened. A large spike was sticking out of his torso, with the rest of the burst having hit the wall next to him.

  Panic shot through his very being, followed by another pang of pain.

  He wanted to rip it out.

  Why was this thing in him?!

  But his rationale won out. He’d been shot.

  This had happened before. He needed to be calm.

  Yet that rationale couldn’t save him for long, as another figure stepped into his field of view. As the father and mother were forced back into a corner, Jackson was met with the last of the ‘faceless men’ strutting into the middle of the apartment, holding the struggling boy in front of him like a human shield.

  It turned from the parents, over to the fire, to its dead comrades… before finally facing Jackson.

  His hands shot to his sides, grabbing for his rifle, but it was for naught. He didn’t know where it’d fallen. Jackson wanted to move away, but every muscle he willed to shift, rewarded him with another wave of pain from the wound in his chest.

  “Hostile detected.” Hearing this disturbing facsimile of a human voice directed at himself, sent Jackson’s instincts into overdrive, panic flowing over him like a river.

  Still holding the boy, the ‘faceless man’ turned its weapon towards Jackson, shifting its weight easily one-handed.

  He knew pleading wouldn’t work.

  And still, he couldn’t help but instinctively shake his head and hold his hand up. Was there maybe still something human in this monstrosity?

  Though, the shot that would’ve ended Jackson’s life then and there didn’t come. Spurned by perhaps adrenaline or paternal instincts, the father shot forward and grappled the fake human, managing to get it off balance enough so that its shot missed its mark.

  It was also enough for it to let go of the boy, hurling him off to the side as it turned its attention to the father.

  The father managed to wrangle the weapon out of its hands, but was rewarded by first being punched, before the faceless man wrapped a hand around the old guy’s neck and started squeezing.

  The old timer didn’t stop struggling though, wriggling in place, kicking and punching at his assailant. But it was all for naught.

  Jackson meanwhile tried looking for his rifle, but his senses were all going haywire. However much he tried to focus on saving the parent, his thoughts always returned to that spike sticking out of him.

  Breathing in his ears, sweat on his brow… he couldn’t think straight.

  Should he rip it out?

  He'd have to do something, right?!

  As the two continued struggling, the scene was abruptly ended by a burst from a MIX.

  But it wasn’t Jackson who had fired.

  Looking over back to the open doorway, the trooper saw Halya, with his weapon in her hands, fear and anger painted across her face, her wide eyes looking on as the life she had just ended slumped to the ground.

  Turning back to the where the struggle had occurred, the fake human was now nothing but a pile of dead flesh and bones on the ground, while the father was sitting there, softly groaning, holding his hand.

  The father had been hit… but thankfully non-fatally it seemed.

  Exclaiming something in Ukranian, Halya threw the weapon to the side and rushed over to her father, kneeling down beside him, before embracing her parent in a torrent of tears and crying.

  The younger son had also emerged, thankfully only slightly bruised from his handling by the intruder, being quickly cradled by his mother who had rushed over to him.

  At least the family was safe.

  Though now Jackson looked back down towards himself.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. This wasn’t like a bullet wound and it was hard to gauge how lethally he was truly hurt. The pain was currently manageable, slowly subsiding as he wrangled his own panic, but he didn’t know if that was due to a wave of adrenaline supressing it, or because it had been caught by his armour.

  Gathering the courage he needed to check, Jackson carefully moved his coat to the side and examined what was under it: His green chest plate and in the middle of it, the now greyed spike from his alien adversary. It had lodged itself quite deeply but also hadn’t penetrated through it completely.

  At least Jackson’s predictions about the usefulness of their armour had been wrong.

  It had not been punched through like a piece of cardboard.

  A small wave of relief – intermixed with a bit of shame at his reaction – washed over Jackson, as he realized that he hadn’t been skewered.

  An overreaction. A rookie mistake…

  The Ceramic was surely shattered, or at the very least cracked. The nanofiber had certainly helped in lessening the blow and slowing the projectile.

  But what Jackson theorized had been the main lifesaver, was the addition of titanium to their chest plates. While it made the piece heavier than the ones consisting of only ceramic and fibre, it had evidently done the trick.

  Moving around did result in some pain, so it was likely that the spike had at least reached and broken through Jackson’s skin. Yet, as he allowed himself to take a deep breath, it seemed like his lungs were still in working order.

  Fear and instinct yelled at him that this was probably a creeping death, that he was unknowingly making it worse and would drop dead in a matter of minutes.

  But the fact was, that besides general discomfort and pain when he moved, he seemed to be fine.

  Rationale said that, with it being placed firmly in the middle of his sternum, it would’ve been caught by his ribs, even if it had penetrated his armour.

  A cracked ribcage would explain the pangs of pain…

  Thusly, Jackson gathered whatever bravery he had, gripped the spike and tugged on it. Then a bit more.

  After a few seconds of trying and pulling on it, it finally dislodged itself out of his armour.

  And on its sharpened tip, he saw a trickle of blood, but not more.

  It had breached the skin but had resulted in little more than a flesh wound… he was fine.

  Finally letting go of the breath he’d been holding in, Jackson sighed contently and fell back, letting his muscles relax as the primal fear that had racked him so much, disappeared.

  He was fine. He was indeed fine.

  Though something was nagging at the back of his head.

  He wouldn’t be fine for long.

  The fire…

  Shooting up back to his legs, Jackson first had to contend with a slight wobble in his knees, before finding his footing again and turning to the fire that was in the corner. It was still spreading, though it would take a bit longer for it to consume the entire apartment.

  The greater problem lied outside though.

  If a single candle could catch his attention or that of the enemy, then this literal house-fire would surely attract more. Not to mention that these abominations had probably called in their find before moving to apprehend the family.

  They had to leave.

  Turning over to the family, Jackson told them exactly that.

  Halya for her part, still shaken by the entire ordeal - as well as the fact that she had accidentally shot off the pinkie and ring finger from her father’s left hand – asked where they’d go. Where could they even hide anymore?

  “There is nowhere in this horrific city to go! They know we’re here… we’re dead…”

  The girl returned to sobbing into her father’s shoulder, who despite the open wound on his hand, was cradling his daughter, soothing her as best he could.

  Jackson attempted to reason with the girl again: “I know it’s not easy, but you can’t stay here! They’ll be swarming this place soon and I can’t protect you! But if you can hide until morning, or until the Strike Force arrives…”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” Halya had now fully turned her teary eyes toward Jackson, her face a canvas of pain, betrayal and sorrow. This wasn’t just about him, or the attack on her family.

  It was about everything.

  The occupation.

  The hiding.

  The abductions of their neighbours.

  It was all finally pouring out of the poor girl, who had reached the limit of her patience. Jackson couldn’t even be mad at her. Many adults wouldn’t have lasted as long as this teenager had.

  It’d simply become too much.

  Tears were freely streaming down her face, her sobbing only interrupted by occasional hiccups.

  “Halya, I know you’re angry, but you need to tell your parents what I’ve told you. You need to go.”

  The girl turned away from him again, her father cradling her.

  It seemed the parents were similarly exhausted of it all. The entire apartment was filled with an air of giving up. Halya’s family was simply tired of this being their life.

  “You remember what you promised me, Halya? Up on the roof?”

  He could see the girl shifting.

  “I’ll hold onto my promise. But I need you to keep yours. Please…”

  She looked back at Jackson, then turned towards her father, her mother and her younger brother.

  “I just… I want for all of this to end. Please, make it stop! Make the faceless men go away! Give me my life back! My friends! My school… I miss all of it!”

  Jackson had gathered enough courage to take his helmet off again and crouch down next to the pair.

  Halya was obviously searching for something in his eyes.

  Reassurance? Some kind of answer? Maybe the bravery that she could no longer muster?

  “It will all turn back to normal. Some day. And I want you to experience that day, Halya. I want you to be the smiling happy girl you once were. But for you to reach that day, you need to keep going. For just a little bit more. It’s not fair, I know. But it will be better. I promise you…”

  The girl snivelled a bit, perhaps trying to think up some kind of retort, or some other explanation for why it was unfair that she had to keep going.

  She’d be right, of course. It was unfair.

  Yet, there was nothing any of them could do.

  Jackson allowed himself a glance back to the fire in the corner. A few more minutes and it would engulf half the apartment.

  Perhaps noticing the spreading fire himself and being reminded of why he’d struggled so much, the father noticeably regained some composure again and whispered something to Halya in their native language.

  Not wanting to intrude on the intimate moment, Jackson got up again and sauntered over to one of the windows, pushing aside the cover on it slightly and glancing out into the city, still engulfed in darkness.

  After a moment, Jackson glanced back at the family, who were now finally in the process of picking themselves up, getting ready to abandon the one safe haven they’d had in this godforsaken city.

  Thusly, Jackson decided to remind them: “It’s not going to be easy, but I think the safest thing for you and your family will be to try and reach the Nature Reserve.”

  “Why the Reserve?”

  “It’s the landing site for the Strike Force. When the troops land, that place will be the safest spot this side of the continent. If you and your family can make it there, the Marines will be able to protect you once they make landfall.”

  Halya, despite still being shaken by everything, dutifully regaled the information to her parents, who seemed unsure, but evidently agreed to the plan. The girl answered that her parents didn’t see another option and would try to make their way there.

  “Alright, go ahead and wait for me down in the lobby on the ground floor.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  The trooper looked down at the dead ‘faceless man’, studying the corpse from a distance.

  “I need to know something. Go now. I wouldn’t want you guys to have to see this…”

  After a bit of convincing, the family finally filed out of the apartment, leaving only the dead and Jackson behind.

  Somewhere deep inside, he knew it wouldn’t give him any closure. That knowing what was under those masks, wouldn’t change anything about what had happened on Odessa.

  Still, Jackson reminded himself that it wasn’t about closure. This was about information.

  Though he wouldn’t like what he’d find, command and the navy would have to know.

  Putting his helmet back on, he once again activated the screen recording on his visor.

  Thusly, the Skydiver knelt down besides the dead humanoid, looking over its form.

  Besides the armour, he couldn’t see too many discrepancies. Though he did spot the odd tube sticking out of it, together with some kind of… fluid, pooling at its ends.

  That thick liquid was pooling in a lot of places the more he looked.

  It was too dark and viscous to be blood, yet something about it unnerved him. Its look and texture almost reminded him of some kind of crude oil.

  While covered up as best they could, at spots it was blatantly visible that the armour had been violently grafted onto the body. This was nothing that would just be ‘taken off’ once duty had ended.

  If there was even a way to save anyone from this fate, they’d at the very least be disfigured for life.

  There was also the matter of blood. A small pool of blood had formed around the corpse, noticeably darker than human blood usually was.

  It also seemed to be clotting faster than that crimson life-essence usually would, with small clumps having already formed in it. Just like with their voices, just like with their movements and mannerisms, there was something wrong with their blood.

  As Jackson ran his gloved hand over some exposed skin around the neck area, he also noted how cold the corpse was. His foe hadn’t been dead for that long. Not long enough for it to cool this much.

  The temperature and texture reminded him more of a bog-body, of something that’d died a long time ago but had been preserved.

  “Just what did they do to you…”

  Unsheathing his knife, Jackson brought it up to the faceplate, the featureless visor obscuring anything that could’ve made a person unique. Taking away what made them human…

  Though not without trouble, the trooper managed to dislodge it slowly, using his knife as a lever.

  With a sickening crunch, something in the mask seemed to have finally given in and allowed him to slowly lift it. The first thing he saw were cables attached to the inside of the mask. And more of that black fluid.

  As he pulled again, he could hear and feel something ripping behind the mask. With a stronger tug, it finally disconnected.

  And below it, Jackson found something that he’d perhaps only seen in his worst nightmares.

  Where once there’d been a human face, there was now only a hole, crudely drilled into the skull, with only the lower lips remaining, teeth from the lower jaw and a dried-up piece of muscle that once must’ve been a tongue. Eyes and nose were completely gone, in place a sickening, gaping crater, surrounded by decaying flesh and pockmarked with brutally bolted-on electronics.

  The muscles were swollen, the skin pale and puffy, sinews loose or rotting.

  His instincts had been right… this was nothing more than a preserved corpse.

  At the bottom of the hole he could spot the exposed brain, with wires and tubes stuck into it… as well as more of the dark liquid pooling from it.

  Electronics, metal and flesh were all fused together in a grotesquely unfeeling fashion.

  Whoever or whatever had done this, had cared little for the damage they’d done to tissue, or for removing necrotic flesh that had been cut off from blood flow.

  Or for how painful it must’ve been for the victim…

  They’d cared so little for the human form, that their solution for an ‘interface’ had been to drill the mask unto their faces and connect it directly to the brain.

  Jackson didn’t want to know what other torture these people must’ve endured.

  Not Volunteers.

  Not Prisoners.

  Not even Traitors, either.

  These invaders turned people into shambling caricatures of humanity, butchering them, just so they could make them compliant. Turn them into meat-puppets.

  Of course, Jackson’s thoughts then turned to the other aliens. The featherless ones. The big hulking brutes. The feline ones. Had they all been similarly changed?

  What sort of sentient being could just do this to other, living, thinking lifeforms?

  It also explained why they had so callously ripped apart Langstrom. The sort of monster that was responsible for this, would evidently have little regard for a ‘lowly human’.

  They didn’t hold any life sacred it seemed.

  The trooper could feel anger boiling up in his chest again.

  Attacking humanity without warning hadn’t been enough.

  Invading one of humanity’s colonies hadn’t been enough either.

  Now these assholes saw fit to slaughtering innocent people to turn them into… a mockery of everything mankind stood for.

  “Guess these alien fuckers won’t be the only ones not taking any prisoners.”

  A fire was burning in Jackson’s chest. But this time, it wasn’t pain.

  It was rage.

  Even though he knew he couldn’t personally make each of these invaders pay for what they’d done, he promised he’d make sure to kill as many of them as he could.

  Each one dispatched, would be a blessing onto the rest of the galaxy.

  One less abomination to plague the stars.

  Though still gritting his teeth, Jackson finally managed to look away from the corpse and stand back up. Right now, his rage wouldn’t help him much.

  But he would hold onto it.

  Righteous anger to guide his hands the next time he set his sights on the enemy.

  He'd make them pay…

  _ _ _

  Jackson’s anger at what he’d learned had calmed down a bit. It helped that the corporal could remind himself of the fact that he still had a job to finish.

  And with how his evening had been going, he might have to get the job done on his own.

  Yet, he felt neither apprehension, nor fear at that thought.

  Maybe it was the fact that their enemy had turned out to be that much worse than expected.

  Maybe it was the fate of Halya’s family that steeled his resolve.

  Or maybe it was simply the fact that a Skydiver got the job done, no matter the cost.

  If he had to take the city on his own, then Jackson would do so. The Wingless Demons accomplished the impossible and having seen the enemy for what he was, had reminded Jackson of that resolve.

  At the very least, he’d been able to secure the safety of Halya’s family in the short term. The streets outside their skyscraper had been clear… for the moment, at least.

  So, Jackson had instructed them to head for the Reserve, to stay away from open streets and if, absolutely necessary, to move towards the silenced ‘twhips’ of the skydivers supressed rifles.

  Though, with any luck – and if this universe had any capacity for justice – the family should be able to safely slink to the Reservoir and hide there until the Strike Force arrived.

  Beyond that, their farewell had been a fairly simple one.

  Halya had tried to apologize for bursting out at him, but the trooper had stopped her in her tracks, partially because they didn’t have the time for lengthy apologies, but also because he knew exactly where it was coming from.

  Instead, Jackson had simply reminded her of her promise. She would see the next day and she would get to return to a normal, safe and happy life again.

  It'd been a few minutes since his departure from the skyscraper and Jackson was wandering the empty streets of New Poltava once more. The one upside of it all was that now he at least had a goal.

  A clear point of reference of where to go. It was much easier this way…

  Focusing on the mission, on what to do, was simpler than facing those lingering, crawling thoughts that bounced around his mind.

  Images of Lumen.

  And now images of that faceless human.

  Jackson closed his eyes, sucking in deep breaths as he tried to focus. Focus would see him through.

  Yet, it seemed life saw fit to hammer home that the universe truly wasn’t fair.

  As Jackson rounded another corner, he stumbled over a grisly sight. The aftermath of a brutal battle between a team of skydivers and the occupiers.

  As his mind tried to make sense of it all, he began studying the environment, which itself told a rather grim, yet sadly not uncommon tale.

  There was a Skycorps pod, embedded into the sidewalk right next to another apartment complex, the pod having crushed a tree and a bench beneath it during its way down.

  As Jackson sauntered over the street, he spotted another pod, this one having embedded itself in the building further down the street, the orbital pod crammed into the second floor.

  The third pod was nowhere in sight.

  Disconcerting, to say the least.

  The typical MO of the Skycorps was for the three pods of a fire team to land at least withing a hundred meters of each other, though ideally their systems would aim for a distance between twenty to thirty.

  The troopers were to quickly gather in groups of three, then move unto their objective from there. Depending on the tactical planning, the systems could also be arranged for multiple pods to land in the same square, but doctrine dictated that they’d keep a distance from each other.

  It was another safeguard in the face of insurmountable odds. Yes, they were spread out and often in small groups, but that was the entire point. Skydivers weren’t meant to besiege a position.

  They were meant to come down, move fast, fulfil their objectives and sow terror in the enemy’s backlines.

  So even if one landing zone was overwhelmed and the fireteam of skydivers was killed, the rest of them were spread across the grid.

  So at least, these two pods had successfully landed next to each other. But, as Jackson knelt down next to the first pod, the spent casings right next to it painted a clear picture.

  If that wasn’t enough, the spikes protruding from the pod and the walls besides it confirmed what had happened: a hot drop.

  The pods had landed right next to an enemy formation. Most likely a patrol.

  As Jackson followed the line of casings and spikes, he quickly found the slumped over body of the Skydiver that had so valiantly fought, hidden in the shadow of an overhang.

  Or rather, what was left of them.

  It was hard to identify anything specific from his fallen brother-in-arms; the corpse was mangled and torched, cleaved right in half. Hit by plasma.

  Their intel had indicated as much. The enemy’s ships and larger guns had made usage of plasma, so the conclusion was that they likely used it in infantry roles as well.

  The direct hit on this trooper had cut them in half around their midsection, the point of impact leaving behind nothing more than charred flesh and molten bones.

  Jackson drew a line from the body and the wall it was partially perched up against, to the street to where this former droptrooper must’ve been shooting at.

  And as expected, he saw bodies of their alien invaders there. Two of those featherless birds and a feline one, with a bullet hole having gone straight through its featureless visor.

  The trooper must’ve had the element of surprise on their side.

  Walking over to the pod that was stuck on the second floor, Jackson’s eyes immediately homed in on a helmet that was lying on the street below it.

  Dried blood was still sticking to it, with a large crack over the visor.

  Looking up, Jackson spotted its owner, body slumped over a broken window, their MIX still clutched in their dead hands. And even from this distance, the corporal could see the spikes sticking out of the corpse.

  The scene was starting to come together. Either one of the pods comes down, the trooper hops out and begins engaging the aliens. If Jackson had to guess, it’d been likely the one on the sidewalk.

  Second one emerges, probably the one on the second floor and also begins engaging the enemy, likely trying to cover their teammate.

  Though they both manage to take some enemies out, with Jackson glancing some more bodies further out on the street, they get overwhelmed and killed.

  The one piece that was missing was where the third pod was.

  As Jackson glanced around, something above caught his eye.

  A hole on the seventh floor of the same building that the second pod had landed in. Walking around the corner, Jackson traced the mental line of where the pod had probably come in.

  It hadn’t become stuck inside the tower like its counterpart down on the second story.

  As he rounded the corner into an alleyway behind the building, he could see the exit-hole that the pod had left behind.

  The mental line from that hole led straight into another building, though this time it hadn’t tunnelled through, but had evidently ‘bounced’ away from the second building.

  Following this mental line with his index finger, Jackson dragged it across the sky, to a third building, further down the alleyway. Another impact, but still no pod.

  As the trooper wandered down the alleyway, he continued drawing his line in the air, pointing it down towards the street on the other side of the alley. And there, even from this distance, he could see the pod.

  Jogging over, Jackson saw half of the pod sticking out of an overturned bus. Evidently, after crashing through a building, ricocheting off another two, the pod had found its final destination in the belly of public transport.

  To Jackson’s relief, the pod was open. Yet, to his concern, here too he spotted bullet casings right next to it.

  Slowly, he could feel a pit forming in his stomach. Though his resolve in being ready to finish this mission on his own was true and present, it was still disheartening to think that he could be the last Skydiver alive inside this part of New Poltava.

  Following the spent casings, Jackson tried his best to mentally map the scene.

  There were plasma impacts in the street, the angle of their contact making it clear that they’d come down from further down the street, behind Jackson. If he had to guess, the corporal surmised that his fellow trooper had made a fighting retreat, firing at an enemy, all the while trying to gain some distance.

  A discarded magazine on the ground, still filled with a third of its lethal load, confirmed his suspicions.

  There was a truck further down the street, with more plasma impacts in it. The other skydiver had been pursued. In their haste they hadn’t bothered to bag the almost emptied mag but instead threw it to the wayside and continued with a fresh one.

  They ran behind the truck, likely trying to put some cover between them and their hunter.

  Yet, as Jackson rounded the vehicle, he met a corpse, though not the one he’d been expecting.

  It was one of the leaders, which he’d mentally designated as ‘enforcers’, lying on the ground, motionless.

  Its front featured a hole the size of his fist. As the trooper got nearer and inspected the creature, he also saw the exit wound on its back, with a hole in its back that was large enough for him to climb through. As the trooper inspected it closely, he also noticed a strange viscous fluid coming from the suit.

  It wasn’t the same black fluid as he’d seen on the faceless men. The lifeblood flowing from the dead leader was transparent, with a slight orange hue to it. It faintly reminded Jackson of the colour of peaches. T

  hough much of it had been washed away by the rain, or turned gelatinous, forming into globs that were dancing across the wet concrete.

  There was also little sense to make of the insides of the enforcer.

  Without a doubt, someone had hit this monster with an anti-material rifle. With an explosive round no less…

  The sight right in front of it confirmed his suspicion.

  A supply pod.

  Due to the constraints of how much weight a single droptrooper could bring with themselves, certain rods had pods attached to them, which were filled with ammunition, utilities, tools and heavy weapons. This pod had markings of the 2nd Regiment on it.

  The ‘Crimson Sparrows’, a perhaps less favourable nickname than Jackson’s 1st Regiment had been bestowed with.

  It didn’t quite have the ring of ‘Wingless Demon’ to it, though it didn’t make the 2nd any less effective.

  With that pod, the picture was complete. That third skydiver had landed farther from their team, had maybe even tried to move to help them, but was intercepted by one of these enforcers.

  And as Jackson sauntered back over to its corpse, his suspicion that their 6.8x51mm wouldn’t penetrate was confirmed. The rounds had either broken apart on impact, or embedded themselves in the flexible, yet concerningly durable armour.

  Well, it was able to stop 6.8x51mm, but evidently something in the fifty-calibre range was still capable of punching through these things.

  He had to chuckle to himself slightly.

  What a surprise that must’ve been to this alien fucker. Hunting down their helpless prey one moment, getting obliterated by a fifty round the next. It was quite refreshing in its own way, and Jackson couldn’t help but find it rather bemusing, despite the dour circumstances of this night.

  It also meant he wasn’t completely alone. At least one other Skydiver had survived their immediate drop. This also gave him hope that perhaps others had indeed made it past the first hundred meters from their pods.