When we left, there was no sign of the enemy soldiers who had died the night before. No bodies contorted in death, nothing. It was like they'd never existed.

Buzz must have noticed my glances as we walked, "Carrion might have attracted predators," was the only explanation he offered. It was enough. My imagination would provide further details when I went to sleep tonight. Being a creative thinker wasn't always an advantage.

Barely two hours later, we stood on the edge of a crevasse that split the landscape. The gap was vast, several hundred feet across. It was as if an angry God had struck the floor and split the country in two.

Sarge consulted his map. "There's a crossing to the west," he indicated as he set off in that direction.

"Is it defended?" I asked as I hurried after him. If it had been me, the pass would have been bristling with defenses. It seemed like the logical thing to do.

Sarge tapped his command tablet as he read out a section from the mission briefing. "Intel indicated that the bridge has only passive defenses and no garrison at present."

Robinson grinned, seeing his opening, "Just remember, kid, Military Intelligence is a contradiction in terms."

The grizzled old man smiled ruefully but didn't deny Robinson's words and instead chose his own with care, "If I'd been the enemy, then I'd have reinforced a natural choke point like that one.” He shrugged noncommittally, apparently reluctant to bad mouth his orders, “Remember though, until a couple of days ago this continent wasn’t under attack. All the same it's possible this intel is out of date."

I nodded, reassured at least that we were going into this with our eyes open.

Westcott spat over the cliffside. I watched as the spittle disappeared without a trace, then backed away as nonchalantly as possible.

It was several hundred feet to the bottom of the chasm, so it wasn't like we had many choices when it came to options. Well, not unless the nanobots suddenly opened up a flight option for me soon. Unlikely, but remembering Robinson's regeneration after being shot - possibly not impossible?

An experienced hunter, Robinson scouted ahead of our group. The man used the nearby boulders and scrubby bushes to disappear quickly out of sight. An army of such commandos would be devastating, killing their enemies before they even knew they were there.

The rest of us plodded along the cliff edge.

"What was that?" Westcott exclaimed, jumping slightly.

The squad froze instantly. Sarge and I dropped to one knee; guns leveled as we scanned the area.

Kuwta stood proudly, legs braced as she waited for the action to commence.

We strained our ears, trying to catch sounds of movement. The screech of wind gusted in over the cliff-face. A distant squawk told me that despite the war-torn terrain, nature persisted here.

Nothing else moved.

"Must have been an animal," Westcott muttered ten seconds later. A red flush rose in his cheeks. He knew he'd spooked at nothing, or worse still had seen something which wasn't really there.

Sarge didn't comment beyond telling us all to move out. I didn't blame him; the last thing we needed was to be second-guessing ourselves.

Everyone was tense now as we marched; each of us scanned the world cautiously for enemies.

I instead watched my squadmates, looking for signs that the gas had affected them. My mind conjectured about every glance, every twist, wondering if they'd tipped over the edge into insanity.

Next time one of us saw something that wasn't there, would we fire on it and kill each other?

Ten minutes later Robinson's voice echoed out of the brush ahead. "Clear," he indicated, sensibly warning us of his presence before he emerged.

"Report," Sarge commanded.

Robinson slouched insolently as he spoke, the discipline in this squad had gone to pot. "The bridge is there, just like on the map. It's quiet. Just us and the dead."

Sarge let the sloppy report go without comment. Apparently, he'd given up trying to enforce formalities, "Any passive defenses?"

Robinson shrugged, "Some barbed wire, nothing that we can't handle."

"Alright, let's move up and see what you've missed." Sarge gestured for us to move out.

It only took us half an hour to reach the bridge. A long, austere structure made of dark metal spanned the gorge. It's half-mile length looked thin and fragile to me. I wasn't looking forward to walking across; heights give me the heebie-jeebies. No scratch that, it's not falling that I'm scared of; it's the landing I'm concerned about.

The more immediate issue, however, was the barbed wire barricade blocking our path. Long hoops of wire mesh filled a lazy semi-circle in front of the bridge. Each metal strip had razor sharp edges able to easily slice through leather and skin.

Oddly, there was no visible way past the barrier. There was no central checkpoint that the wire forced people towards. The barrier appeared intended to stop all comers impartially.

Sarge pulled out his binoculars and peered towards the far end of the bridge.

"You weren't wrong, Robinson. This area is derelict, there's a run down checkpoint at the other end of the bridge, but it doesn't look like it's been manned in a long time." Sarge let out a deep breath he'd obviously been holding in. "It looks like we've beaten the De'Ath here; with our beachhead established, I doubt this will remain unmanned for long."

"Permission to do the honors, Sarge?" Robinson said, having procured a pair of wire cutters from somewhere within his pack.

“Granted.” Sarge accepted the request with a smile.

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A rustling sound made me twitch and look to my left anxiously. I couldn't see anything but the razor wire. Ominously bones were tangled within a nearby section. It was probably an unfortunate animal that had the misfortune to become the casualty of a fight that had nothing to do with it.

"What is it, boy?" Sarge watched me in concern. His voice sounded impatient, first Westcott, and now me twitching at nothing.

Heat rose in my cheeks, "Nothing. Sorry, Sarge." I muttered, looking down at my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw movement, but I forced myself to ignore it.

We needed to keep our heads. I was wearing one of the breathers; damn it, I shouldn't be hallucinating.

"What was that?" Westcott asked. The kid raised his rifle as he whirled around.

"We're all on edge, now just SITFU," Sarge commanded.

Robinson looked over his shoulder as he walked towards the wire, "Just don't shoot me in the arse, fucking fresh meat the lot of you."

As Robinson lifted the cutters, the barbed wire behind him flexed like a muscle tensing.

I wiped my eyes.

Sarge was right.

I was imagining things.

We were on edge.

I needed to keep calm and clear my mind.

That was all.

'Snip,' Robinson cut the first strand of the wire away. It sprang back away from its binding, and he moved onto the next one.

This was going to be a long job. There were multiple strands of wire in the thick roll guarding the bridge. Robinson would have to cut through them all.

'Twang,' another strand flew free. This one scraped against Robinson's cheek on its way past. He grunted in annoyance but continued his task.

Behind him, the wire was flexing more rapidly now.

Robinson screamed as one of the cut strands dived in, its sharp edge stabbing through the soldier's uniform. Blood spurted out as it thrust inside him. The sharp metal talon emerged from the front of his chest seconds later before curling back around to embrace his body.

His face was contorted in pain, but he still had the presence of mind to use the wire cutter on the metal protruding from his chest. It was a small victory and only a temporary reprieve, though, as more metal was fed through the hole.

I reminded myself that this was just a hallucination. A scary movie written specifically for me by my mind. Then I glanced at the others; Westcotts eyes were wide with terror.

"Are you seeing this?" I asked with a gulp. Sarge was going to go ballistic. I knew I was wasting everyone's time.

Westcott didn’t respond, he just stood there motionless. Wild eyes staring at the scene. The kid was undoubtedly lost in his own nightmare.

My brain was reeling, as it struggled to keep a handhold on reality. It was vital that I found an escape from the terrifying scenes I was watching.

I reached for my Extra Sensory Perception and opened my mind. As it connected with Robinson my vision flashed red, and excruciating pain flooded my senses.

My mouth fell open in shock as it slowly dawned on me that this nightmare was real.

I’d procrastinated too long, watching while one of our squad was tortured.

The razor wire constantly moved over Robinson, ripping and tearing at his flesh as it constricted painfully around his body. The strands moved like a living thing.

A splintering noise accompanied the man's wails as wire worked its way through his stomach. Despite the gruesome injuries, Robinson couldn't die. His regeneration kept him alive, constantly healing each tear and congealing blood as quickly as the razor wire tore him apart.

He watched us with desperate eyes, begging us to help him. His words were coming out in rasps now as the razor wire tore at his throat.

I would have given anything to be able to help him, but the hungry wire writhed and lashed out at me whenever I moved closer.

None of us wanted to find ourselves dying in the manner that Robinson was. We watched the situation with increasing horror as he was sliced and diced into pieces. Each time we thought he'd died, his regeneration brought him back from the brink.

"Kill me," Robinson gasped through horribly tortured lips.

The others didn't move.

Kuwta looked at me and nodded jerkily as I lifted my rifle. I was probably fooling myself, but I thought perhaps there was more respect in her gaze than usual. Which is to say she acknowledged my existence.

My eyes teared up as I sighted on Robinson's head. The guy was a psychopath, and there had been times I'd dreamt about killing him, but not like this.

I squeezed the trigger, and his skull exploded in a crimson rain. In death, cords of wire continued to engulf his remains until he wasn't visible beneath them.

Robinson is dead.

The words echoed hollowly in my head as I read them. Fuck, fuck fuck. I'd just killed one of my own. Robinson had fought numerous battles beside me. I'd trusted him to have my back, and now he was dead. My thoughts raced in circles, dangerously close to overwhelming me.

"You did what you had to do," Sarge patted my shoulder fondly. "Now, let's complete this mission and ensure his death wasn't in vain."

It was all I could do not to slap his hand away. The mission could go to hell as far as I was concerned—another dubious objective to be completed with little in the way of reward. I glowered back at him sullenly.

We'd lost Schmidt, Robinson, and Hodges since this nightmare had begun. Only half of the original squad was left alive now. I wondered who would be the next one buried?

Sarge waited patiently for me to calm down. Much as I hated to admit it, we had no choice but to go on. I doubted our superiors would accept our failure without punishment.

"Grenades?" I asked in a resigned tone. 'We blow a section and then move through afterward."

Sarge nodded, "As good a plan as any."

I hefted the grenade in my hand. It was an M61, one of the few original grenades we'd taken from Earth. It seemed appropriate to use it here, where Robinson had fallen.

We ducked back as it flew lazily towards the wire.

The blast threw dirt and rocks into the air. When the dust settled, a large section of the wire had disappeared, destroyed in the explosion.

At the ragged edges of the blast radius, razor wire was writhing like an angry beast.

"Move out!" Sarge shouted, his voice wavered nervously as the wire started to crawl across the ground … looking to make itself whole once more.

I didn't want to die at all, but definitely not in the way that Robinson had. The hardest man I'd ever met had been reduced to begging for mercy.

I sprinted forward, my legs pumping for all they were worth. This wasn't a military maneuver. I was simply desperate to get past that diabolical weapon before it killed me.

The slithering of the wire encouraged me forward. The others followed in my wake.

As I finally slowed, I heard a crash followed by a high pitched scream, "Help! It's got me!"

Westcott had gone down hard. He'd almost been clear of the wire patch when a strand had snagged his leg and tripped him. His flailing limbs dug into the dirt as he tried to prevent the greedy wire from consuming him.

It was a battle that he was slowly losing.

He was dragged inexorably closer to the main mass. Inch by inch, he slipped towards his death.

Buzzkill showed no fear. Latching onto an arm, it yanked hard, trying to pull him to safety. Westcott was the rope caught in a hapless tug of war. His leg was bleeding deeply now, as the wire sank deeply into his calf.

“We need assistance.” The insectoid requested in a strangely calm voice.

"Fucking help that man, now you cowardly little shits!" Sarge bellowed.

Kuwta and I stepped in beside Buzzkill. Grunts escaped from our lips as we took the strain and yanked again.

Westcott screamed in pain as the wire finally came free. As it did so, the wire scraped a wide bloody gash down his leg.

We scrambled further away, not trusting our safety, and then simply sat watching the wire nervously.

If it hadn't been for Westcott's blood-soaked leg and Robinson's death I'd have wondered if we'd imagined the entire debacle.