___________________________

  SUPPLIES!

  “It’s empty…” Crivello’s statement was rather matter of fact, even if it didn’t make any sense.

  “Bullshit, nothing’s for free. You sure you don’t see anything?” Raines didn’t buy it, despite her having the second-best view of the outpost from their nest, eyes glued to the optics of her rifle, scanning the strange walls.

  But Crivello remained firm: “Nothing. No squiddies or other aliens. All I see is a big pile in the middle of the outpost. Looks like… garbage, rations, clothes… SDF material?”

  The team all collectively looked over at Crivello. Not that it would’ve changed much, the sergeant was busy controlling their recon drone - visor darkened as it displayed the feed from the small machine - hands busy with the controller for it.

  “SDF Equipment? The hell’s that doing here?”

  The other’s all looked at Jackson and shrugged their shoulders.

  Crivello for his part, still fiddling around with the controller as he was certainly trying to get a better view on the pile, mumbled: “Don’t know. But it’s quite a bit. Almost looks like a platoon’s worth. Maybe that’s what this is. Not an outpost or a checkpoint, but some kind of dump. A place to sift through battlefield remains, dump ‘em in one spot to deal with later. Maybe that’s why nobody’s home…”

  On that, Heermann chimed in: “That doesn’t make any sense though. Why wouldn’t they lock it up properly? The way its now, they are practically asking for somebody to steal it…”

  “Maybe that’s the point? Could be a trap?”

  Saberi’s idea wasn’t completely outrageous, but it still seemed too risky, even for an alien foe.

  After another moment, Crivello shook his head, pushing a button on the controller that ordered the autopilot of the drone to return. Setting the controller aside, the sergeant returned his helmet to its normal function, deciding: “Fuck it… we’re going down there. I’m pretty sure I saw a mortar and some rounds. As well as some ATDs, ammo crates and what looked like a truckload of grenades. Trap or not, I’m not letting something like that pass me by.”

  Mortars, disposable AT and grenades… Jackson was genuinely impressed. And also worried.

  Just how much had the SDF been forced to leave behind? And what on Earth was their enemy doing just gathering it up to let it collect dust in a pile?

  Crivello turned to both Jackson and Heermann, asking: “Which one of you two’s the better shooter? I’m gonna need someone to stay here and spot for Raines.”

  The two troopers from 1st looked at each other briefly, before Jackson spoke up: “We both went through sharpshooter. Though out of the two of us Heermann had the better scores on the range.”

  “Best in the battalion, third best in the regiment.” So explained the Germanic colonial.

  To that, the sergeant nodded, ordering Heermann to take position on the window with Raines, while the rest of their hotchpotch team would go down and secure the enemy position.

  _ _ _

  Maybe it was just Jackson’s imagination, but as their little fireteam got closer to those strange looking walls, he could’ve sworn the surrounding streets had become deathly quiet.

  Each step, each misbegotten boot that happened upon a piece of glass, reverberated over the road. On that last note, Saberi sheepishly looked down on the piece of glass he’d stepped on, the faint echo of the loud crack it had produced still bouncing off the surrounding walls.

  Crivello though, maintained a calm and composed voice: “Wasn’t even half an hour ago that we blew half the street to hell. So don’t lose your head over some glass. Stay frosty.”

  As the outpost came closer, Jackson only now realized the strangeness of there being no apparent gates or other openings in the surrounding walls. Just more of those basalt-pillar looking formations, the darkened alloy occasionally lighting up with faint turquoise veins.

  Once again, Jackson noted their rhythm. A slow pulse.

  Yet, all of those thoughts had to be set aside, as Crivello motioned for the other two to follow him: evidently, the sergeant had a plan as to how to overcome the enemy’s walls.

  And said walls were no joke. Though they were uneven in many places – certain parts and pillars stretched far above the rest of the structure – their highest parts reached at least up to four meters high, with even the lowest walls being at the very least two-and-a-half meters high.

  Being this close to it, Jackson had to think of a reversed termite-hill.

  Instead of the middle being the highest point, it was instead the lowest, with its surrounding sides reaching up instead.

  The other part of the analogy was the chaotic, almost organic look of the outpost. Despite the very inorganic nature of the alloy – at least, as far as Jackson was aware – the entire construction looked less like it’d been ‘built’ and more like it had been… ‘grown’.

  He once again heard that mocking tone in the back of his head: Shouldn’t he have expected something like this by now?

  While Jackson had been busy studying the structure, Crivello had made his way over to a nearby bus, calling the other two over.

  Yet, it wasn’t just any bus. Jackson hadn’t spotted it from a distance, but the outpost seemed to have grown ‘around’ the vehicle, simply swallowing up half of it into the wall.

  Evidently though, Crivello was not about to take his chances going through the vehicle, but instead motioned for them to help boost each other unto the roof of the bus.

  Jackson could see why. The part of the wall that had grown around the bus was one of the lower ones and while climbing it from the ground was impossible, from up on the roof of the former public-transport, they’d simply have to heave themselves over a chest-high piece of wall.

  The entire ordeal remained uneventful. Feats of athleticism such as this were no issue for the Skydivers – or any other properly trained military personnel – and the outpost remained mute, with not a single sound coming from it.

  Even still, standing up on the walls had given Jackson a good look at the pile they were planning to raid… and it was worrying.

  The pile itself reached up to almost five meters at its very tip and featured anything one could imagine finding inside a city. Civilian appliances, clothes, toys, food, trash, tools… the list was endless. And mixed in with all of that were all kinds of military items and equipment. Uniforms, rations, spare parts, cleaning kits, helmets and armour… as well as weapons. And some looked like they’d been used.

  Same for the armour.

  As the group climbed down and made their way into the ‘outpost’ proper, Jackson couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he just reading too much into it, up until his foot tapped against a chest plate, with a deep burnt-in crater right in the middle of it.

  A direct plasma hit.

  Remarkably, the armour had actually managed to stop the plasma from completely burning through and potentially even saved the life of its user. Though, blood splatters near the top where the user’s neck would’ve been, indicated that the former owner of this armour eventually found their end at the claws of the enemy.

  Seeing this, Jackson voiced his discovery: “This stuff isn’t just surplus. Some of it was used. Recently too…”

  At that moment, Crivello rounded around the pile, SDF helmet in hand, with a spike sticking right out of it. “Yeah… I think so too…” The sergeant quietly let the helmet fall to the ground.

  “So… they gather up frontline remains here. But why only our stuff? What about their own material?” Saberi asked incredulously, eying a crate that was marked ‘AMMUNITION’ in bold letters.

  Crivello answered, still eying the pile: “Not a clue… we don’t know enough about their procedures yet.”

  It seemed the sergeant had finally found what he’d been looking for, his visor locking unto something a bit further up in the pile. Jacksons eyes followed, landing on the mortar unit that the sergeant had mentioned.

  “Saberi, get over here and help me with this. Jackson, watch our backs.”

  “Copy…”

  Checking his magazine, Jackson began monitoring the nearby perimeter. But… there was nothing. They were still surrounded by that deafening silence, like a blanket covering the entire street.

  “Heermann, anything on your end?”

  “Negative… all quiet on the German front.” The colonial laughed to himself, before mumbling something in German. Jackson for his part silently rolled his eyes, wishing for the day that damned translator update would come.

  “Just keep me posted.”

  Despite himself, Heermann gave an affirmative, assuring Jackson that he was scanning the area.

  As another minute rolled by, the corporal was thinking about what it was that was bothering him. Because despite his rationale clearly seeing that there was no contact around, he couldn’t help but feel a slight scratching in the back of his head. An itch, that told him that he wasn’t safe.

  Eventually, he pinned it down to the fact that… he felt like he was being watched. Understandable perhaps, the buildings around there were looming over them in the darkness, every window a potential hiding spot for a sniper.

  But it wasn’t that.

  As another shiver ran down his spine, the trooper suddenly realized that it felt like the walls were occasionally shifting. Was he losing his mind? Or maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him?

  The pulsing didn’t help, each time those veins light up in his periphery, his mind registered another potential ‘movement’.

  Jackson shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

  But then, right there! Right next to him!

  Jackson’s eyes shot over to his left, to the empty wall that was there. He’d been sure he’d seen something. Something had moved. Something had changed.

  Right…?

  The corporal was about to announce to the other two soldiers that something was off, when a noise entered his ears, compelling Jackson to hold his tongue.

  A slight fluttering? It didn’t make sense at first, but as the trooper strained his ears, he was sure of the sound. And what it reminded him of. Drones. No, that wasn’t right.

  As it grew louder, it changed from the uniform ‘hum’ of a mechanical drone, into a chaotic ‘flapping’, something produced by wings. Those weren’t drones that were approaching.

  Turning on the spot, Jackson got ready to address Crivello and Saberi, the words already rising in his throat.

  Then, a loud thud cut him off.

  Something had dropped right next to him. His body hadn’t even flinched, it had barely registered.

  Yet the wet smack was unmistakably that of something organic hitting the ground, muscle and skin splattering against the pavement.

  Jacksons eyes had stayed glued forward, to where Crivello and Saberi were.

  Yet, willing himself to finally look, Jackson moved his sight over to what had fallen before his feet. Time felt slow… or maybe it was just him?

  His view crawled across his periphery, like it was fighting against a sea of tar, until finally landing on what had interrupted him. Blotchy forms of blues, greens and reds, contrasting against the darkened grey of the wet pavement.

  The buzzing was now even louder.

  It was Langstrom.

  The FNGs body had landed next to Jackson, the already abused corpse now even more mangled by what must’ve been a drop from one of the rooftops.

  The buzzing was growing louder.

  But, they were in the middle of the street. None of the roofs were close enough for his body to have fallen from there.

  The buzzing was growing louder…

  Langstrom was dead. How’d he gotten here? Jackson had shot him. He was dead.

  The buzzing was growing louder…

  As much as he wanted to deny it, it was unmistakably him. The ripped off arms, the mangled shoulder and the cracked visor where Jackson’s bullet had hit its mark. He couldn’t even see Langstrom’s eyes behind the visor, but deep-down Jackson knew they were staring at him.

  Asking ‘why’.

  Over and over again, that question shot through his mind, like a dagger puncturing his very core. Why. Why. Why…

  The buzzing was now all that filled his ears.

  “SHIT! CONTACT! CONTACT!!”

  Crivello was the first to open fire, his rifle cracking against the blotchy darkness of night, shooting at something directly above them. The buzzing suffocated the entire street, deafening almost everything beneath it.

  More things were raining from the sky. Bodies. Weapons. Armour. Dead Skydivers.

  Jackson recognized another body as it hit the pavement. The upper torso of one of Raines’ comrades that he’d passed on his way here.

  Saberi was now also opening fire, the private hopping away from the pile and shooting burst after burst into the dark sky. He yelled something at Crivello, but it was drowned out by the buzzing. Like a swarm of wasps had made its nests deep withing the reaches of Jackson’s ears. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever hear another sound again…

  Jackson couldn’t move. Langstrom was still staring at him. Why was he staring at him? What else could he have done? What else could anyone have done in that situation?!

  It wasn’t his fault… right?

  Only when Jackson’s eyes registered something coming towards him did his body feel like it was ready to move again. As he tensed his muscles, his instincts commanded to move, to dodge, to do anything.

  Just as he regained full control of his legs though, whatever had been coming towards him was already right on top of him. A shade rushed his vision, blocking out the rest of the world behind it.

  It crashed right into his sternum, exchanging darkness for a wild storm of colours, sending the corporal to the ground reeling, all of the air from his lungs having been violently pushed out.

  With Jackson landing on his back, his mind registered that something had tackled him, a darkened shadow clinging to him as he fell hard against the pavement. Buzzing and chittering was all he could hear amidst the chaos of adrenaline and panic. Though his hands moved to shove away whatever was on top of him, his eyes tried their best to not succumb to animalistic fear but actually register what that thing holding him down was.

  And there was yet more of that maddening buzzing.

  Insectoid. That was the first word that came to mind. A darkened carapace of black and brown colour, four appendages that were struggling against his two and wings that were still loudly buzzing. Yet, where he’d expected to find some kind of head, maybe the bloodied mandibles of some oversized mantis or ant he instead found… flesh and machine. And a lens, staring back at him.

  This creature didn’t have a head anymore, instead having had what looked to be an overgrown camera lens shoved into where the front of its skull would’ve been.

  And that lifeless lens was staring right at him, close enough that he could see the reflection of his own form in it. Right in that hexagonal pattern, was the helmet and visor that was so dearly recognizable to him.

  A moment later though, said lens – together with the rest of the grotesque mashup - exploded in a display of viscera and black fluid, machine and flesh torn apart by a burst from a MIX. Sickly yellow blood splashed against Jackson’s visor, the colour reminding him of sulphur.

  It was quickly replaced by Crivello running into Jackson’s field of view, roughly grabbing the trooper by his collar and heaving Jackson unto his feet in one swift motion.

  “WAKE THE FUCK UP JACKSON!” Crivello then shoved the corporal back, sliding Jackson’s weapon over to him with his foot. Before long, the sergeant was already loosening bursts into the swarm that was now descending upon all three of them.

  Jackson himself, finally having regained some of his wits, crouched down to grab his rifle. Just in time to hear another creature buzz by over him, having barely missed the now crouched corporal.

  “DON’T LET THEM SNATCH YOU! SABERI, RIGHT SIDE! RIGHT SIDE!!”

  From then on, the corporal went into autopilot. There was a swarm of those flying insectoids above them, the only cover from them offered by the pile in the middle of the outpost and the walls surrounding it.

  Picking targets wasn’t really something to be done. There were enough of them that just loosening a burst in their general direction would ensure a hit.

  As far as Jackson was concerned, all he needed to do now was shoot, dodge and reload, his body taking over where his mind had failed him so grievously.

  Though their enemy was lacking in firepower, they easily made up for that with sheer numbers. Time and time again, Jackson narrowly avoided another creature crashing into him, all the while he was being swiped by claws from every side, tearing at his coat and uniform.

  To his left, Jackson could see Saberi, the private gunning down another creature, before promptly smacking a second with the butt of his rifle.

  Before long, the private announced that he was reloading.

  Repositioning himself to try and cover Saberi’s six, Jackson noticed too late that one of the creatures was flying low, right towards him. He swung his rifle over. But his sights were off by centimetres.

  By the time Jackson would’ve tried to dodge, it had already crashed into his leg, sweeping him off his feet.

  Finding himself once again on the ground – though at least this time not directly assaulted by one of the Swarmers – Jackson bore witness to exactly what he’d tried to prevent. Saberi’s six was completely open. Crivello wasn’t in a position to help, having to fend off a group that was currently circling him.

  Jackson tried to say something, but his throat was sore, and Adrenaline was clouding his mind. What should’ve been a warning, was just an incoherent yell towards Saberi.

  The corporal’s tongue had seemingly betrayed him.

  Saberi meanwhile was attacked by one of the Swarmers from behind, the creature latching onto his back and clawing at the private’s helmet. Saberi tried to fend it off but was halted when another creature attacked from his front, trying to snatch his rifle out of his hands.

  The private yelled for them to get off of him, but a third one now crashed into him, Saberi barely managing to keep his balance in the struggle.

  Jackson for his part tried to get back on his knees, bringing his rifle to bear as quickly as he could. Swinging his sights to the one on the private’s back, Jackson loosened a burst but found it intercepted when one of the creatures hurled itself in front of his rifle, catching the rounds meant for its swarm-mate and having a chunk of its thorax summarily exploded for its effort.

  Kicking the dead insect away from himself, Jackson tried to send another burst downrange, when the worst sound a rifleman could hear, reared its ugly head. An empty click.

  He was out of ammo.

  Hastily tugging at his rigging and trying to pull a fresh mag from it, Jackson didn’t realize in his haste that another of the creatures was heading for him, the insect clawing at him as it raced for his head.

  Barely able to block the attack with his rifle, Jackson found himself rolling around on the ground again.

  The struggle was brief, with the corporal using the momentum of the crash to roll away from his adversary, getting up on one knee.

  Cursing, cussing and hissing, Jackson crushed the insect’s mechanical head with the butt of his rifle, before resuming his clawing for a new magazine.

  Though as his fingers finally clutched that fresh mag, his ears perceived a shriek of pain coming from behind him. Turning on the spot, Jackson saw Saberi on the ground, clutching his face, no longer protected by his helmet. One of his three attackers was dead next to him, with the other two clawing and ripping at the greenhorn.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Hitting the bolt release with his left hand, Jackson immediately loosened multiple bursts unto the abominations mobbing Saberi, splattering them against the pavement. Their two forms collapsed unto each other and landed on top of Saberi. And though covered in the two carcasses, Jackson could still see the private faintly moving.

  He was alive… for now.

  Getting unto his feet, Jackson was about to rush over to the private, when another group of the insectoids attacked him, the corporal barely dodging out of the incoming attack.

  Yet, amidst that chaos and adrenaline, a thought raced through his mind: That hadn’t been a mindless attack.

  As Jackson rolled away from another onslaught and loosened more shots into the sky, a part of him recognized that the insects had purposefully pushed him away from Saberi. Did these things have a plan? They still looked like a wild swarm of mindless individuals, but their attacks were calculated, timed with one-another to maximize their efforts.

  As much as Jackson wanted to make sense of their enemy, there just wasn’t any room for observation and consideration.

  They were still deep within the swarm and every moment spent pondering, was a moment not spend fending off these monstrosities.

  Somewhere behind the incessant buzzing, he could hear echoes of the anti-material rifle going off, Raines and Heermann surely trying to lighten the burden for their fellow Skydivers. Crivello was still on his feet too, the sergeant some meters away from Jackson, dodging and shooting all the same.

  They were cut off from each other. The enemy had separated them.

  With something hitting Jackson in the back of the head, he found himself disoriented, but at least not concussed, whipping his rifle around and delivering death unto his attacker.

  Another one came from the right, though Jackson’s periphery caught it, catching the insectoid in the head with his elbow, before delivering three rounds into its thorax.

  The load was definitely lightening, as the bodies surrounding the trooper were mounting.

  Still, the attacks from their foes were getting yet more and more brazen, with the lonely skydivers unable to defend all of their angles.

  It was hard to tell if it was newfound courage at the vulnerability of the humans, or desperation at their losses, but the swarm was not letting up.

  Another set of claws dug themselves into his shoulders, the corporal smacking his attacker with his elbow and getting the insect off his back, before loosening another burst at two more that were circling him. The one he’d gotten off his back was still on the ground, wriggling madly in a spasm of arms and wings, before having its head crushed under Jackson’s boot.

  But wherever he looked, it was more chittering, buzzing and clawing.

  His mind could barely make sense of the chaos, his rationale and training fighting to keep his instincts in check and remain calm under this immense pressure.

  It was hard to gauge how long they could keep this up. He’d already burned through three mags in a futile effort to somehow prevent himself from getting torn to shreds, yet that prospect looked more and more unlikely by the bullet.

  That was until, Jackson noticed more of the insectoids falling out of the sky than just a minute earlier.

  For a moment his eyes focused skywards, and he saw tracers fly over the outpost. But not from behind him where Raines and Heermann were, but from the other side of the street.

  More dead bugs were raining down.

  As that deafening buzzing was slowly lessening, Jackson could hear the characteristic whipping of multiple silenced MIXs. Coming from outside the outpost.

  With his mind finally finding some clarity to latch unto, Jackson found his voice again: “I THINK WE GOT FRIENDLIES COMING IN!”

  Though his voice alone couldn’t have done the trick, Crivello was still on shortrange, the sergeant’s head noticeably turning in Jackson’s direction, before shifting over to where the friendly support seemed to be coming from. After that, the sergeant redoubled his efforts, loosening round after round into the swarm as he made his way over to Jackson.

  The corporal did much the same, dispatching bug after bug as he closed in on Crivello, the two now close enough to provide each other covering fire.

  “WE’VE GOT TO REACH SABERI!!” Crivello motioned towards the private while yelling his orders. Jackson agreed, letting off another round, before once more being greeted by that dreadful clicking of an empty gun.

  Hastily grabbing at his rigging, the corporal noted that this was his second to last mag: “I’M RUNNING LOW!”

  Crivello too seemed to be on the lower end of ammo, considering the sergeant was mostly just whacking the insectoids away from himself with the butt of his rifle, before loosening one or two single shots into their bodies. “MAKE FUCKING DO AND GET TO THE PRIVATE!”

  “AYE FUCKING AYE!!”

  The fact that Jackson was barely able to hear himself was getting to his nerves. However many of these godforsaken oversized insects he killed, they just kept throwing themselves at him. The Skydiver was sure that if they kept this up, his coat and uniform would be more hole than actual fabric, with even the armour receiving deep scratches in them.

  Still, with the two of them together, they were able to stem the tide of chittering and claws, reaching Saberi who in the meantime had assumed a foetal position, covering face, neck and ears from the endless onslaught. At least the kid was still alive.

  “HE’S STILL ALIVE!”

  “KEEP IT THAT WAY JACKSON!”

  With their firefight continuing, the two positioned themselves around Saberi, trying their best to keep any further attacks away from the injured trooper, while still covering each other’s angles to the best of their abilities.

  Another click.

  “LAST MAG!” Jackson’s mind hadn’t even made the conscious decision to call that out, he was on complete autopilot, crouching down to snatch that last magazine and try to keep death away for just a few more seconds.

  Crivello seemed to be in a similarly precarious situation. While fumbling with the magazine, trying his best to keep a steady hand to insert it with, Jackson couldn’t help himself but glance over at the sergeant, who similarly was clutching at his chest-rigging for any kind of magazine.

  Yet, it’d been that moment of carelessness that their enemies exploited.

  Just as Jackson finally felt the click of the magwell, reassuring him that the magazine was secured and ready to go, had his world turned upside down, with a group of the insectoid creatures all throwing themselves towards him in a bloodied frenzy.

  He tried to whip his weapon around. The corporal was sure he’d even let off a burst before his weapon was swiped out of his hands. Despite the desperate clutching of his fingers and straining of muscles, his MIX might as well have been on a different planet in that moment.

  Then, it was nothing but chittering, fluttering and claws. Swiping at him, tearing at his uniform, ripping at his skin and seemingly trying to turn him into mincemeat right where he lay.

  Though the corporal tried kicking, punching, turning and screaming, it wasn’t enough. He only had two arms. Two legs. And yet it seemed as if a horde of bloodthirsty monsters had descended on him. Even the view of the sky was blocked out beneath their quivering bodies.

  It felt like he was being suffocated, an avalanche of exoskeletons and claws had descended on him.

  Out of sight, he could hear the tearing of fabric. Not long until he’d hear the shredding of skin and muscle. Images of his guts, spilled on the street, invaded his mind.

  He tried to yell for his attackers to stop.

  He wanted them to stop.

  Stop.

  STOP.

  Yet relief would not come. Was Crivello dead? Saberi? What did it matter…

  Claws slashed at his arms. They tore at the fabric of his coat, the tattered remains of it being further abused. There was nothing he could do. Buzzing was rattling his body to his very core, invading each corner of his being.

  Maybe if he just closed his eyes?

  …

  He wasn’t dead.

  Someone or something had heard his pleas. Where there once had been ceaseless buzzing, clawing and chittering, there now was a choking silence.

  Even the bodies that covered him had finally stopped moving. The crazed frenzy that had threatened to drown him was gone.

  Still, for a few minutes, Jackson dared not move. He dared not hope that this was anything but a faint dream before death.

  It was hard to tell how much of him was even left.

  A veil of Adrenaline covered his entire body; where there wasn’t numbness, he could feel a cold shiver and sticky sweat. Where his numb body wasn’t cold, it was heated, skin swollen and muscles burning. And above it all, it just pained him to even breathe.

  Each breath he took froze him down to his core.

  His ears too had not gone through the ordeal untouched. They felt… stuffy. As if someone had forced oversized cotton swabs down them.

  When the silence around him was finally broken, the sounds that reached him seemed like they came from a different world, distant and canned.

  Then… light.

  At least, as much light as the night sky above Odessa would allow for.

  The pile of bodies on top of him was broken up somewhat, a crack in the wall of darkness revealing that Odessa and New Poltava were still there.

  The clouds.

  The Rain.

  And the visor of a fellow Skydiver, looking down at him.

  Not long after, it was joined by a flashlight, lighting up Jackson’s face, making him see his reflection in his own visor.

  A new voice, still distant. “Looks like he’d gone under for a minute there. Face is white as a ghost, eyes dilated, breathing erratic… but he’s alive.”

  “Alright… that’s good. Let’s get him out of there.” Crivello. Also distant, but at least a shred of familiarity for Jackson to cling unto.

  The whole ordeal took a few minutes and allowed Jackson to get his bearings again. The ringing and swoleness in his ears regressed, his skin stopped freezing and his vision widened once more, no longer tunnelled by the effects of shock.

  Apparently, he’d ‘gone under’ for a minute?

  The thought that he’d apparently blacked out back there in that massacre was disconcerting, but he was certainly glad that all his limbs were still where they belonged. Further still, his uniform and coat hadn’t completely been torn to shreds. He’d look rough… but then again, who didn’t out here in the chaos that was New Poltava?

  The new arrivals that had dug Jackson out of the rubble, introduced themselves as fireteam Javelin, from the 3rd. The other thing the corporal could tell was their heritage: their accents gave away their colonial upbringing on Concordia.

  A smaller colony, not nearly as large or bustling as the core five, but it had persisted throughout the decades. They were now on their second generation since its founding… a miracle considering just how chaotic it had all been. Made up of colonists from Russia, Serbia, South Africa and Chile – just to name a few - they were a melting pot of just about every corner of Mother Earth.

  Yet – or maybe exactly because of this motley mixture of cultures from all across their ancestor’s home-world – they had become one of the most tightly knit communities in the entire Solaris Coalition.

  Jackson had witnessed it himself back in basic: Even in the rigorous structure of the military, recruits from Concordia could not be separated from each other and would stick together through whatever was necessary. Even if the Drill Instructors would put them through hell to see if they would really stick up for one of their own, handicapping one member so the others had to work all the harder, they could not be persuaded to leave one of their own.

  Though usually this sort of ‘clique’ behaviour was frowned upon, their Instructors had learned to work around it, instead making it so that the larger unit would also become a part of the group, or at least, adjacent to it, allowing for cooperation, while still maintaining the core troop.

  Jackson recalled a talk he had with one of these Concordian teams one evening and the reason they gave him as to why these group dynamics were so important to them: Survival.

  Though it wasn’t quite as dire as when the first colonists had landed, Concordia was still mostly undeveloped and consisted of a lot of frontier country, leading to people having to live from one meal to the next. This, unsurprisingly, caused the colonists to stick together. So even if they were from opposing cultures, opposing ideals and political beliefs, the unforgiving life back home had forged them into groups and families that could not be separated.

  They might be aloof to an outsider, but anyone who ‘belonged’ would be treated like they were blood brothers.

  And with that, they made pretty damn good fireteams as well.

  With Jackson now finally out of the pile and with feeling returning to his limbs, the corporal sat up as well as he could and looked over at the newcomers. Typical Skydiver outfit, though they had evidently decided to fashion their Skycorp cloaks with urban-camo patterns.

  The buzzing that was persisting in Jackson’s skull convinced the corporal to remain seated though. Not that he’d mind, a minute to catch his breath was the least he could afford himself right now.

  “How’s your other guy?” The lead of Javelin team pointed to the left, where Jackson could see Saberi slumped against the inner wall of the outpost, pressing a clump of bloodied gauze against his right eye.

  “He’ll make it. Guess we haven’t quite finished introductions yet. I’m Sergeant Sergio Crivello, from the 2nd Regiment. Fireteam Halbert. You?” Crivello pointed at the lead of Javelin.

  “Sergeant Mirko Kovic.” Pointing behind him to his left, Mirko continued: “Danilo.” Pointing to his right: “Tomas”. The two Skydivers each nodded their heads, but otherwise let Mirko do the talking.

  “We were following that bug swarm after we saw them snatch up some dead Skydivers. Assumed whatever they were doing with our fallen couldn’t be good. Then we came upon whatever this…” Mirko made a point of spreading his arms and looking around the scene “…shitshow is.”

  Crivello for his part just mumbled that it certainly hadn’t been his choice for things to go as far south as they had. Still, the sergeant shook his head and picked up on a topic that Mirko had briefly mentioned: “You said you saw dead Skydivers. Any live ones?”

  “No. You’re the first live friendlies we’ve met yet. And we’ve come across a lot of dead troopers. There was this one grisly scene a couple of klicks eastwards, that had about four dead fireteams in it. Looked to me like they’d gotten surrounded and massacred. Far as I can tell, the drop was fumbled and we’re all spread thin, being picked off one by one.”

  For a moment Mirko looked down, likely pondering something, though he evidently chose not to say what was going through his mind.

  Then, he looked up again and shook his head, having come to a conclusion it seemed: “It’s a miracle we managed to stick together. Javelin, I mean.” Mirko gave his two compatriots a meaningful look, before continuing: “I’ve seen brothers and sisters out there that were separated before their untimely demise. A lot of good Skydivers died alone tonight…”

  Crivello for his simply answered, that Mirko ‘could say that again’. The circumstances were certainly grim.

  Even still, it was obvious that the sergeant could feel the mood darkening and decided on asking the newcomers their input on the nature of this outpost and its grisly collection.

  The swarm of chittering monsters certainly explained where all the gear had come from… though Jackson shuddered to imagine what had happened to the bodies of their former owners. They’d thankfully interrupted the process with the fresh ones, but it remained a chilling thought just what their enemy had been doing with the dead before this intervention.

  Considering the lack of empathy these aliens had for living humans, desecrating corpses didn’t seem a far fetch from that point on.

  That mysterious mound in the middle of the outpost was still stretching upwards, a pile of looted weapons, bobbles, clothes and trash.

  Mirko shook his head at it, scoffing: “Don’t think I’d want to know. Notice how there aren’t any other bodies around? They desecrate our dead, loot them for anything valuable and then just drop it unto a big pile of ‘loot’. Far as I’m concerned, these outposts are another point to add unto a long list of things that need to be destroyed.”

  On that, Crivello perked up slightly, the sergeant seemingly being reminded of something: “Speaking of things that need destroying. Our corporal here informed me earlier that we’re right next to a target -” The sergeant pointed behind himself towards the three skyscrapers. “- Intel says they’ve got anti-air on there, possibly even artillery positions. It’s been quiet so far, aside from the occasional stream of plasma, but we have no reason to believe that all of them fucked off. Its either snatch or scratch. You in?”

  “All in. We’re way off from our objective anyway, might as well pitch in here.”

  With that, Crivello motioned for Javelin to follow him to a different part of the outpost, likely to give Jackson and Saberi some room, while the four of them discussed their plans for assaulting the skyscrapers.

  The corporal for his part didn’t mind.

  He was getting thoroughly sick of New Poltava… hell, he was getting sick of Odessa as a whole. Damned planet was turning into more and more of a deathtrap.

  Though, before Jackson could lose himself fully in welching and self-pity, he did take it upon himself to get up and check on Saberi. The kid might’ve earned his combat ribbons and a lunar-plum in the same night.

  Affectionally called ‘coffin decorators’ lunar-plums were medals handed out to those that had sacrificed their own body in defence of humanity and the Coalition. It couldn’t replace a vaporised leg or destroyed eye, but it certainly was some kind of acknowledgement… though most soldiers didn’t seem to care for it all that much.

  Saberi himself looked like he’d be firmly in that latter camp. The kid’s face was darkened with a deep frown, the creases on his brow casting shadows over the rest of his face.

  Other than that, Saberi was busy holding the gauze firmly and place… and staring off into the distance.

  “Hey, Saberi…”

  The private didn’t say anything, but did spare Jackson a glance. If looks could kill…

  “Scoot forward a bit so I can get a fresh bandage on that. Hold the gauze in place, free up your hands. Plus… wouldn’t do us good to have you catch an infection now.”

  Once again, the silent treatment, followed by Saberi doing as told, wordlessly casting the bloodied gauze to the side. What awaited Jackson beneath was to be expected, but still far from pretty.

  Saberi’s eye had at least remained in its socket, though there were two deep gashes that carved its way across his face, from his lower cheek, across the eye, up across the brow, ending at the forehead. The eye itself was little more than blood and ruined nerves.

  With the trauma that the skin around it had endured, plus the swelling from the muscles around the socket, it was hard to gauge any specifics of the damage… aside from the fact that Saberi would remain blind on that eye.

  Cybernetic replacements were thankfully guaranteed by the SCN, though depending on severity, necessity, the ability of an injured soldier to potentially continue serving and just general bureaucratic crap, an individual could potentially wait months, if not years for a proper replacement.

  Ihimaera had still been waiting on his prosthetics the last time Jackson had talked to him… worse still, being unable to participate in this operation had led the injured Skydiver to consider solutions from the private sector.

  A ‘quick’ solution, that usually left Veterans with debilitating debt.

  For now, though, Jackson focused on what he could do to help Saberi. Apply fresh gauze, make sure it was properly disinfected, and wrap a bandage around it and the kid’s head, to keep it in place and secured.

  As far as he could tell, Saberi was stabilized and technically speaking still combat effective.

  Though he wondered if the kid would’ve been evacuated in any other situation…

  That was one of the harsher realities of the Skydivers. There was only so much they could do for casualties.

  From Marines and Rangers, down to the regular grunts from the SCAF and SDF, all of them usually had some form of medevac procedure that they could support on the battlefield.

  For the Skycorp, such luxuries were out of the question. There was no one to airlift them out if they’d been critically wounded, much less get them off-world and to a medical station or hospital ship.

  The Skydiver’s didn’t even have dedicated Corpsmen.

  Sure, all of them had training in basic medical procedures and stabilization, aside from the assistance that their built-in AIs could offer via visor projection and medical scans. If push came to shove, the troopers were expected to even perform self-surgery on themselves if that’s what it took.

  But for those that fell, there was little else to do than leave them were they were.

  Best they could hope for was to gather the bodies once the dust had settled and the fighting was over.

  For the moment though, the corporal tried to make do with a light quip:

  “The scars are at least gonna make for one hell of a story back at the bar, I can tell you that much.” Jackson’s joke registered no response from Saberi though. The private was evidently not in a talking mood.

  Jackson decided not to push him on that front. For now, the best he could do to help the kid was give him some room to think and process. The mind could only make sense of so much.

  Saberi would hopefully not start spiralling, but having a small moment of peace couldn’t hurt.

  Though before Jackson could also give himself a proper once-over, Crivello called him over, evidently wanting to discuss something with the corporal in a one-to-one.

  “How’s the kid doing?”

  Jackson answered simply: “About as well as you’d expect…”

  To that Crivello chuckled coldly, looking to the ground, before glancing off into the distance, as if one of the outposts walls had his answers written on it.

  The corporal was about to comment that Crivello had something to say, before the sergeant simply spat it out: “You froze up.”

  “… I did…”

  “Why?”

  Instead of answering, Jackson motioned of Crivello to follow, leading him over a few steps to the body that had started the entire engagement. A few bug corpses had landed on it, but Jackson was able to easily sweep them aside.

  “Look familiar?” The corporal made a gesture of pointing towards Langstrom. For a moment it seemed as if Crivello wanted to challenge whatever Jackson was trying to do, not picking up on what he was putting down. Not for long though.

  After a quiet moment of realization, Crivello evidently gave the remains a closer look and successfully identified them from Jackson’s recordings. The mutilations the kid had suffered before his death made it practically unavoidable.

  “That’s him… Langstrom, right?” Jackson for his part silently nodded.

  After that, the two soldiers were left in an eerie silence, neither apparently ready to say something on the matter.

  Jackson himself once again felt himself sinking into Langstrom’s accusatory eyes.

  But, after a moment, Crivello managed to break the deafening quiet: “Hey… Hey! Jackson, snap out of it!”

  A finger-snap and slight shake later, Jackson felt himself returning to the here and now, the sergeant turning Jackson’s head to focus on him, instead of the corpse.

  “You did what you had to; you hear me? There was nothing you could do to help the kid, other than end his suffering. And that’s good. We all saw the recording, we all know that you did the right thing, you got that?”

  Jackson couldn’t agree… not really. Not ever.

  But, for the sake of the mission and his impromptu teammates, he nodded, whispering: “Understood…”

  The Sergeant seemed at least satisfied with that.

  “It’s why they send us, Jackson. We don’t hesitate. We get the job done.”