As Harry and his squad led the way across the desert, he held his rifle ready and swept it across the skyline. As he did so he concentrated on the sky, looking for anything that could indicate a mutant.
A single hostile mutant like the Blood Eagles could spell disaster and death for the operation. A single Blood Eagle is large enough to carry off two soldiers in a single pass, and its blood can cause infections if it drips onto you as it dives past. A Blood Eagle then carries them off to its nest to be eaten.
Blood Eagles were easy to spot. All it took we a glance at the horizon every few minutes, and then a few shots to the wings or head. The Scorpibigs on the other hand were exceedingly difficult to identify. The most you could see as evidence was a dry patch of dirt or torn up grass. If these were not spotted and nobody was unfortunate enough to step on it early enough, a Scorpibig could pinch several key members of a formation from the center of it.
These thoughts of importance drifted out of a distracted Harry, his mind and attention pulled elsewhere. Suddenly he blinked rapidly for a moment, and refocused himself on looking for any signs of danger. As he continued to advance, Harry intently made sure there was nothing to him right forward in the sky, then the center forward, followed by the left forward. Then turning farther to the left, Harry continued to look for anything there. He then repeated this in reverse, once again clearing the skies.
Every time he completed this loop, he turned partway around and checked the sky behind him, making sure nothing was in between them and the platoon’s main body. Turning back, he once again scanned the skies. As he did so, he noticed a bird in the distance.
The bird continued to fly off in the distance, and gradually got smaller. Without breaking his pattern, Harry spoke to Sergeant Watson, “Sir, there is a bird in the distance. Too far to determine what it is. It’s moving away from us, but I figured you’d want to know.”
Without breaking stride, Watson said “I see it, doesn’t look like it should be a problem for now. Tell me if it changes direction towards us.”
“I will, sir.” Harry replied, continuing to search the skies. Moving forward, the platoon continued to have a good pace. After many minutes of monotonous walking, the ground began to slant downwards, getting lower the closer to the canyon they got.
While Harry continually searched the horizon, he stepped on a rock, losing his balance, and almost falling. As he waved his arms, trying to regain his balance, Watson held up his fist and halted the squad. The squad stopped and watched silently as Harry regained his balance.
“Ah, c’mon Harry, have you been drinking enough water? Are you okay? “Derick replied brazenly, beginning to take a step forward. Derick stepping forward drew Harry’s eyes to the ground. He noticed that there was a patch of torn up grass and dirt in front of Derick. As soon as Harry saw this the gears in his head began to spin. Something, just something, was wrong with what he was looking at. After a moment of thought Harry realized what his mind was telling him was off.
“SHIT Derick don’t mo-” By the time the gears in Harry’s head compiled, registered, and processed that it was a Scorpibig’s trap, Derick had stepped on it. A sudden eruption of sand and chunks of dirt exploded upwards. Harry scrambled backwards and raised his rifle, bringing it up to a firing position.
As Harry did so Derick screamed in terror and pain, being thrown off the ground and then having his sides pierced by a massive pincher. Blood sprayed out of the wounds, splattering the ground and claws around him as he was pulled under the ground. In a grab for survival, Derick seized the edge of the hole, yelling in again as the pincers yanked him backwards, into the hole.
While this was happening to Derick, Harry fired a burst at the hide of the beast, hoping to distract it enough so that it would drop Derick. When all three 7.62 rounds slamming into its armored hide did nothing, not deterring or harming it, Harry backed away, weapon pointing at the hole.
Gerald carefully maneuvered around the trap, keeping his weapons ready and never turning their backs to it. The rest of the squad carefully backed away, weapon barrels never pointing away from the pit. At the same time, the rest of the squad carefully ran closer to the trap, stopping close to Harry.
Sergeant Watson reported what happened on his radio, "Lieutenant, found a Scorpibig trap, one confirmed casualty.”
He then turned to Thomas, and gave an order, “Thomas, throw a grenade into the hole. Do not get any closer to the hole than you have too, I don’t want double casualties before even seeing the enemy.”
“Yes sir.” Thomas replied while removing a grenade from his vest. Once he had it off, he squeezed the lever and pulled the pin. Once the pin was pulled, he threw it underhand into the hole. After four seconds the grenade exploded. Dirt was flung upwards with shrapnel from the grenade. The fwomp of the fragmentation followed moments later.
After moments pause Thomas picked up a large stone and, using a wide swinging stance, heaved over next to the hole, waiting to see if the Scorpibig would react. When it did not react, he slowly walked over to the edge of the hole, skittering back a little after every step. After several seconds of this he reached the hole and peaked over the edge.
“It’s dead and in pieces, so is Derick. No way could this be recovered at this point.” Thomas replied, his voice dipping from neutral to a mild sadness towards the end of his statement. He stepped back, and looked away from the pit.
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Harry looked back at the platoon’s main body, watching to see what the lieutenant would do. The officer looked to be giving orders to the rest of the platoon, and Harry hoped he would tell them to come help. Turning back to the problem at hand Harry checked with Gerald to make sure he was okay.
“Fuck, Gerald are you okay? Any shrapnel or shit hit you?” Harry asked, his voice shaking a little.
Gerald’s response came immediately, “Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t get hit with anything.”
“I can’t believe we didn’t notice the pit until after Derick had stepped on it. Fuck, had I just been more attentive, or faster he-”
“Yeah, well there is nothing we can do now. You need to get your head back in the game, unless you want to end up like Derick.” Gerald said this and turned away, looking at the pit.
During this exchange Watson had been receiving orders from Yorkshire. As soon as his radio was no longer crackling with life, he turned to his squad. “The lieutenant has decided that we are to be moved to the center of the formation, on the left flank.”
Following the orders Lieutenant Yorkshire gave, Harry’s squad rotated to the left flank. They were now walking to the left side of the platoon, and every few paces they turned about and swept their vision across the horizon, looking for mutants or insurgents.
Then came the post engagement checks. After an incident of soldiers being unaccounted for, with no ammo or medical support offered, every lull in between an engagement was followed by a checklist to complete. Everybody checked in, reported any injury, got their injuries checked by a medical professional, reported any usage of weapons, and then checked in one last time. The officer in charge would eventually decide everything was handy dandy give the orders on whatever followed.
Everybody found it tedious and unnecessary, but followed the procedure regardless, for fear of reprimands. Any disregarding of procedures, no matter how unimportant, would result in a reprimand, or a court-martial. Many soldiers had been relieved of duty for not sticking to the books -regardless of effectiveness.
The platoon continued to advance, this time nobody grew casual or inattentive. Every wild animal. Every patch of dry dirt. Every out of place sound. They entire platoon would pause, while the soldiers who spotted it told their squad sergeant. The Lieutenant would then give the order to keep moving. This slowed the platoon’s advance considerably.
Following another fifteen minutes of walking, the ground became more solid and rocky. There was less sand in the soil, but the soil was shallower than before. The number of trees dropped down to near zero, the few that grew through the rock being old and strong. The grass was short, brown, and stalwart. Thick rocky ground meant the canyon was closer, with this rock forming an erosion resistant barrier slowing the spread of the canyon.
Harry was scanning the horizon when Sergeant Watson gave a hurried order to stop. Harry stopped. Then the right flank exploded with the sound of gun fire. Whipping about, Harry saw a streak of red blitz past the ground. The men of the right flank swiveled to follow it with their weapons, one of them firing a burst at the streak. At the same time, Harry and the rest of his squad brought their weapons up. Harry, Watson, Gerald, and Thomas bringing up rifles, Thompson bringing up his machine gun.
The red streak then shot upwards, splattering red and green along the ground as it did so. It slowed at the peak of its climb, allowing Harry to get a clear look at the Blood Eagle. Then it dove down again. This time, it charged towards Harry’s squad, followed by a hail of gunfire. Harry and his squad scattered, rushing in every direction. The eagle closed rapidly, screaming close enough to Harry and Watson that they dove face first into the sandy soil.
Rolling over and scrambling to his feet, Harry swung his head around looking for the eagle. He found it banking towards the south. Raising his rifle, he found his sight, led the target, and fired a burst. The burst struck the beast’s left wing, and it wobbled and flapped its wings. It began to climb again, before a stream of bullets from Cale’s machine gun ripped into and through its spine, killing it instantly. The eagle fell like a brick, striking the ground in a heap of feathers and blood.
Lowering his rifle, Harry turned around and found Sergeant Watson, covered in blood and puss. Jogging over, Harry slung his rifle over his back, and raised his hands questioningly, unsure of what to do. Following a moment of silent confusion, Harry heard muffled laughter coming from Watson.
“Well shit, I didn’t think this would happen today. I need to take a bath for sure.” Watson wheezed, “Oh this is going to be a pain in the backside to clean off.”
After a moment, Watson stopped chuckling. Harry could still see the amusement even through the polarized lenses of the mask. Turning away, Harry shook his head, a smile of his own playing across his lips. His smile faded when he remembered he hadn’t checked in with the Gerald since the attack.
Harry leaned towards the radio and spoke, hoping none of his worry showed through, “Did the eagle get anybody?”
After a moment of silence everybody in the platoon began sounding off. All 26 soldiers survived. The check in that followed was issued by Freeman, the medic in attached to the platoon. Everybody was fine, except for one bruised arm. The soldier in question attested to it being perfectly operable and just a bit sore, but Freeman examined it, claiming only he could determine that. It was fine.
In the following minutes there were more checks, procedures, and orders that followed. Most of it Harry tuned out, only being attentive when he reported he fired a burst. As soon as the LT decided every box was checked and squared, they continued the advance.
Continuing onwards, the ground sloped downwards towards the canyon. The ground became softer, with more soil and trees becoming readily apparent. The long-gone river that had once flowed through the land had deposited soil and sediment, allowing plants to grow strong and healthy there.
The ground here was specially suited for a canyon, with a plateau of soft rock being slowly carved away. The harder rock beneath it holding soil and sedentary allowing plant life to flourish. This posed a potential threat, with enemy outposts or look outs able to be hidden easily within the foliage. They could wreak havoc on a formation, blindly firing from the forest before disappearing into the trees to attack later.
Once the platoon reached the wooded area they spread out, and slowed down, to avoid detection from any look outs the insurgents placed. The foliage grew thick, untouched and unmaintained by humans. Every soldier was far enough apart that they could only see one soldier on either side.
The woods were full of life, plant and animal. Fuzzy balls with eyes facing every direction scurried about, with small feathered wings attached to a small beak and body blindly fluttering about as well. But the soldiers didn’t take notice of them, instead opting to remain slightly hunched over, weapons held ready. Eyes swept the wooded land before every step.
Harry was far off to the left flank, with only Gerald between him and the edge of the formation. The vegetation was thick, battling for dominance over the available sunlight between the towering trees. His careful scanning of the vegetation yielding no results.
Nothing had came of the agonizingly slow advance once entering the trees. Not a single out of place object had been spotted by anybody along the line. Harry continued to move forwards, never more than two steps ahead or behind anybody else in the line. His continued attentiveness had brought about no oddities in the trees. Then, he stepped forward. And realized he could hear something other than rustling of animals. It sounded more manufactured, or filtered. It didn’t fit with the high pitched shrieking of the fluffy things, nor the clacking of the feathered beaks.
Voices. Harry could hear voices coming through the trees. These voices weren’t the same as anybody’s in the platoon. They had to be insurgents. No doubt. Carefully, slowly, quietly, he turned on his radio, and whispered into it. He reported that he found enemy elements.
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The radios all along the quarter mile line of infantry quietly crackled to life, filled with information. Orders were given, weapons readied, and positions changed. The right side of the formation slowly swung around, to catch the enemy position in a cross fire. Soon, everything was set. All that was left was a single order to be given.