Harry was tired of walking. It was just about everything he had done today. Somehow, despite him being air assault he had managed to do more walking than the average Nevixican soldier. Regardless, he figured he was at least halfway done with today's walking. Soon he could just ride the uncomfortable metal benches in the helicopter back home.
And of course, Harry was walking more. They were nearing the ambush site, the truck still burning dimly. As they passed, they stripped the firing pins and receivers from the discarded weapons, stowing them in their back backs. Ammunition in magazines were stripped from their weapons and used to replenish the almost hollow magazines the soldiers now carried.
The springs in any magazines not collected were ripped out and crushed. Gas pistons were cut through, and stocks were torn apart. Harry brought his full weight down on several barrels, bending them out of shape. Any attachments were taken and pocketed, individual soldiers claiming for their own. Harry looted an angled grip he found, and a laser he was reaching for was claimed by Watson.
With the additional weapon parts stored safely in their bags the squad made their way along the path up the cliff. Trekking to the top of the cliff was uneventful yet tiring. By this point even the untamed trees and bushes had lost their interest. Not even the buzzing insects gained more than a tired glance. Tired heads slumped lower as the squad climbed higher. Part way up the cliff a group of goats attempted to charge Harry and Jaxon.
The platoon scrambled to one side of the switch backs, firing into a hoard of fifteen, twenty goats. Shell casing sizzled and clattered onto rocks. Goat corpses tumbled down the cliff side, bouncing off boulders and gorging each other. Two minutes after the goat’s ill fated charge began, they were all rapidly cooling corpses at the bottom of the canyon.
Watson’s squad continued up the cliff side rapidly, wary of any more animals attacking them. The pace was rapid and fought, wearing them out further. Harry’s spine ached, the weight of his equipment pulling it down. He groaned as he reached the top, both in relief and pain.
Once on the top of the cliff the two squads reunited, spending a few minutes resting after the tiring trek up and along the canyon. In this break Harry got to know his new squad members better, conversing with them about where they lived and what they did before enlisting. Jack had spent time as a cook, working in a small restaurant in the capitol before he enlisted. Jaxon had been a security guard in Statler, working for a law firm. He also had a wife, who was expecting a child. Jaxon spent several minutes gushing about how he wanted to spend time with the kid, and what he’d do if they were a boy or girl.
The main body of the platoon then began the walk back to the insurgent outpost. They skirted the overgrown city, and carefully marched across the burned section of forest. It was eerie, how the last time the walked through here it was lush and full of life, and was now charred black, burned to a crisp. Along some edges napalm still burned, the harsh red glow bathing the ground around them. The red glow gave a hellish atmosphere to those area, casting strange shadows and twisting the shapes of plants.
Amongst its charred husk they found burned remains of Cale and Caleb. Their ammunition had cooked off, drilling holes through wood and bone alike. The eyes had boiled and popped, their flesh was blackened ash. Bones were cracked and eaten. Grey uniforms melted over what was left of them, giving an elongated and liquid look to the corpses.
The two squads paused and spent a moment in respectful silence at this sight. After that they continued towards the insurgent outpost. Walking through the forest was faster this time, with exhausted soldiers letting their guard drop. Harry’s mind drifted as he marched along, the dregs of his enthusiasm draining away. He thought of his barracks, of his bed sheets and his mattress. He thought of breathing filtered air without the heavy plastic and metal mask on. Nobody talked, the only sounds being the crunching of ash under foot. The smell of burned wood and melted flesh hung in the air. The smoke was hanging so heavily that even through their masks they smelled it.
Reaching the edge of the burned clearing, they re-entered the trees. They continued to trek towards the outpost. Step, step, step. All harry could think of was one foot in front of the other. Step, step, step. The plodding along continued. Just one step, then the other. “Just one more step” Harry would think after very step. And every time, he would step forward again.
The platoon slowly reached the outpost, finding Berisho’s squad sitting in various tables, with two pointing weapons at the insurgents. The ones at the table had cards out, with two hands face down. They paused, their postures being that of deer in the headlights. The hands of several were wide and hovering just above the table, shaking slightly. All of their masked heads were turned towards Lieutenant Yorkshire, slightly raised. Harry was for a moment full of rage, that while he and the other squads were out fighting and dying this squad merely played cards. In a mere second the rage ebbed away, Harry to exhausted to maintain it for long. He wondered if they even had their radios on, or if they simply ignored the cries and panic.
After a moment of silence, the Lieutenant began to speak, “Alright, Berisho, get you soldiers together and hand the prisoners to Watson’s squad. They will be hitching a ride in their helicopter.”
With the prisoners now in Watson’s care, Harry took the place of Berisho’s soldiers, pointing his rifle at the bound insurgent’s heads. Berisho’s squad gathered their cards and put them away. And so, the platoon set off for the pickup zone. And again, Harry had to walk. But this time, with his rifle raised and watching a prisoner’s every move.
Harry dragged his prisoner to his feet by the arm. The insurgent lost his balance immediately, forcing Harry to grab him by his neck and pull the other direction. The insurgent jerked back his head snapping into Harry’s. At the same time, the insurgent stepped on Harry’s foot.
“Ah, fucking damn it.”
“Ope, sorry.”
“Mhm, just don’t fall over again” Harry responded, absentmindedly, before realizing he was talking to an insurgent. “I just politely responded to an insurgent,” Harry thought, mildly baffled on how the insurgent’s politeness brought out his own. Shaking it off, Harry continued to march the insurgent towards their extraction site.
Once the platoon reached the desert they began walking in a single file line, with the two prisoners plus escorts in the front. Up the hill, across it’s crest, back down in. Across the flat plains, avoiding clumps of soil recently moved. Around the edge of the hole Derrick was pulled into, and dive to the ground when a blood eagle flew overhead.
Quietly, ever so softly, Harry whispered into their ears,“If either of you try to run, if the blood eagles or scorpibigs don’t get you, my bullets will.”
Harry continued to hold onto the prisoners, while the rest of the platoon shot at the Blood Eagle. Bursts of fire and the sound of rushing air was all Harry could hear, his eyes and arms firmly planted on both the prisoners. Even when droplets of puss and blood splattered them, Harry didn’t move or loosen his grip, though the insurgents squirmed.
After several minutes of this, the gunfire stopped, followed moments later by the muffled thud of something hitting the ground a distance away. Harry slowly pushed himself up and off the prisoner insurgents, pressing firmly against their backs as he did so. Once standing, he pulled both of them up off the ground by their arms, and handed one to Jaxon behind him. He then took his rifle back into his arms, and continued to point it at the insurgent.
“Walk, I’ll tell you when to stop.”
And the insurgent began walking. They continued to walk across the now scorching desert, sun beating into the sand. When the sweat had all but been exhausted from Harry, the platoon paused for a water break. Harry removed his straw from his bag and drank deeply, before pulling an extra canteen out and tapping the insurgent on the back with it.
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“Here’s a canteen. Drink up, I wouldn’t want you dying on us.”
“Thank you” The insurgent replied, grabbing the water with some difficulty. He undid the straps on his mask, and pulled it off. Harry held it with one hand, while the insurgent quickly raised the canteen to his mouth and began drinking deeply. Once he finished, he lowered it. Harry took the canteen, and passed the gas mask back to the prisoner.
“When we get to your new home you’ll have to take antibiotics, or uh, bacteriophages, to kill any exposure you might have had. It isn’t enough to mutate you, yet, but better safe than sorry.” Harry explained this while the prisoner reattached the mask to his face. Once secured firmly on his face, Harry turned him around and continued to march him towards the extract zone.
Once the platoon arrived, They formed a circle around the landing area, facing outwards while waiting for the helicopters to arrive. Harry and Jaxon stood watching the insurgents, facing the center. They stood and waited. And waited, and waited. They waited for too long, out in the burning sun.
The approach of the helicopters was a slow and creeping thing. First the echoing sound of blades beating the air sped over the horizon. Small metal shapes flying in a V came into view, shimmering in the afternoon heat. Next, the sound crescendoed as they grew in size, and the center one began to drift closer to the ground. Touching the ground, the helicopter sat heavily on it’s wheels, bouncing back in forth as it kicked up dust and sand, scattering it over the landing zone.
Once the helicopter came to solid landing, Harry and Jaxon pointed the insurgents into the Blackhawk. Once they were inside, Jaxon and Harry slung their rifles over their shoulders, and drew their pistols. Sitting one seat away from their respective prisoners, pistols were aimed carefully at their heads. Once they were sitting securely, Watson, Thomas, Thompson, Gerald, and Jack all peeled away from the circle, making a low circle around and into the helicopter. They climbed in, one by one, clambering into their seats. Gerald was the last one in, sliding the door shut before buckling into his seat.
Before the helicopter took off, Harry reached over to buckled in his prisoner. He fumbled for a moment, using one hand pulling the far side buckle over, then the other. With his pistol still trained on his prisoner, he clicked the pieces together, then cinched it tight to his waist. Harry then leaned across the aisle, stringing it together like the other prisoner’s buckle. But before he could click them together, the insurgent bucked it’s hips, and flopped onto the metal plating of the helicopter.
“Up, get up” Hissed Jaxon, grabbing the insurgent roughly by it’s neck, forcing it to stand. Shoving the prisoner back into his seat, Jaxon began to buckle his seat, lowering his pistol as he did so. When his pistol neared the insurgent’s hands, a sudden flash of movement drew Harry’s vision. As he turned his head, two gunshots rung out. One came from Watson’s now smoking pistol. Harry couldn’t see the source of the other.
Jaxon fell backwards slowly, one hand hindering his decent. The other clutched at his throat, blood surging out around his tightly gripped gloved fingers. His prisoner was slumped sideways, blood trickling down the side of it’s head. Radios crackled to life, barking that a soldier was wounded and they would have to take off immediately. Thomas rushed across the helicopter, climbing up and over other soldiers with a first aid kit gripped tightly in hand.
Harry sat still in his seat, pistol still pointed at his prisoner, and watch Thomas administer first aid. Another soldier, Jack, help restrain Jaxon’s arms and thrashing legs. White gauze pads were pressured against the wound, and wrapped tightly against his throat. Flowing quickly, the blood reddened the starch white pads, and Thomas applied a second in the same fashion. Then a third, and a fourth.
The blood flow slowed and came to a stop after the fifth pad was stacked on top and tightly wrapped. Thomas then stripped the cracked plate carrier off of Jaxon, checking for a pulse. While this happened, Watson began speaking to the pilots.
“What can you do to cut time off the return trip?” Watson yelled into the microphone, to be heard over the sound of the engines.
“My co-pilot and I are booking it at max speed, but it will still be a half hour. We have to go around the radiation fields.”
“What’s the harm if we go over them?”
“Might take a few months off our lifespan or increase our cancer risk.”
“Well, I think that’s worth it, to get Jaxon the aid he needs”
With that, the helicopter continued on, the pilots speaking with command about the change in flight path. They also told the tower to have medical aid on standby, and that there was a critically wounded soldier onboard. Harry idly listened to all this, while continuing to aim at his prisoner. The prisoner in question had since fallen asleep, his head nodding down onto his chest.
When the helicopter neared the irradiated zone, the pilot informed them. Harry was a tidbit surprised, with all the talk about how bad the place was, he figured it would be glowing green with radiation and have dead animals everywhere. Instead, there was only significantly fewer plants, and the occasional mummified animal, baked dry under the desert sun. The helicopter continued to speed across the zone, going faster than almost any Harry had ever ridden in.
Five minutes into the zone, Harry spotted a grey cooling tower, a sign of an old nuclear plant. It was cracked and crumbling, and in ill repair. The plant underneath it was also unmanaged or cared for, with one side of the building completely collapsed. The area that would house the reactor had hastily poured concrete over it, also grey and creaking with age.
Harry remembered in high school learning that, while most reactors had been shut down during the initial spreading of the Gas, and the fuel rods claimed by all the different shelters and underground cities built across the US, most waste was not able to be properly disposed of. The impromptu way to contain them was pilling it into a reactor, filling it with concrete. Then pouring more concrete over the reactor, filling it’s building with it. Then, on top of the reactor building yet more poured concrete. Then, they fenced a ten mile radius around the reactor and placed signs noting the contaminated substance. After that, the removed any water they could and killed any animals within the fence.
Then they were abandoned and left to rot. In nearly two hundred years nobody had checked on or managed the waste. Just letting it burn away in concrete. The fences in this time had either been destroyed, or pulled out and melted down by the above ground dwellers. Now, many animals would wander in, and either be killed by cancer, or be damaged so badly that their offspring were also effected.
And Harry didn’t care much, as long as it didn’t harm him directly. At this moment he couldn’t care if enough waste was there to melt his bones and boil his muscles. He just wanted Jaxon to survive, and to get to Foba City for medical help. Just get him there, so he can see his pregnant wife again.
Over the horizon, the mountains Foba City resided in began to appear. First, as hazy brown bluffs against the blue horizon. Then, they grew to a solid, stagnant and colossal wall of stone. When the airfield and entrance to the city became easily visible, helicopter began to descend. Coming in low and fast, the ground raced past as fast as a speeding cheetah. The helicopter only slowed when it neared a landing pad with a group of stretcher bearers and several medical personnel.
It touched down, bouncing slightly as it’s wheels absorbed the shock. Watson threw the door closest to Jaxon open, and the stretcher bearers laid the stretcher beside it. Jaxon was then carefully moved by Jack and Thomas onto it, one limb at a time. The neared than began to walk steadily to an emergency medical ward that was situated just behind the airlock to the hanger. The doctors accompanied them there, inspecting and assisting Jaxon as they did so.
A second group of people, all soldiers, approached the helicopter then. One carried a black bag, and the others tasers. When the group reached the helicopter the bag holding one stepped into the helicopter, and roughly shoved the bag onto the prisoner. He then unbuckled it and began to drag the prisoner to the depths of Foba City’s military district.
Harry then climbed out of the helicopter, his boots leaving a trail of blood behind him. From outside the craft, he helped drag the corpse out of its seat. The corpse made a dull thump, its head bouncing heavily off the ground. The rest of the squad disembarked, standing quietly around the helicopter for a moment. An air of exhaustion hung over the soldiers. This silent rest was interrupted by a captain approaching them from the interior.
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As the officer led the tired squad away from the airfield, they entered the pressurized area of the city. Inside the airlock the squad disposed of their filters, throwing them into a bin for recycling. At the same time, Black sun two taxied into the hangar. The two other helicopters arrived over the horizon a half hour later, kicking up dust as they landed. These soldiers here were also brought into the debrief room.
The insurgent is dragged behind multiple airlocks and secure doors. His escorts have their identities verified twice and he is placed into a dark, dingy cell. He does not know what will happen to himself, but he vows to never be impolite.
Jaxon was pulled into the emergency room. He would go through multiple surgeries in the coming days and would always have a raspy voice. Survival was all but certain but returning to duty was not. His service for Nevexico was over.