___________________________

  CLOSE QUARTERS

  “Still no comms from Javelin. Raines and I finally made contact up on the tenth floor. They’re throwing some shit at us… probably going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

  “Understood. We’re now moving unto the eighth floor. Keep trying to reach Javelin if you can. Can’t afford to lose them.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice corp. Crivello, out.”

  The eighth floor wouldn’t present quite such an easy ride as the seventh or sixth floor.

  Right as the two of them had made their way up the stairs and had been about to step unto the platform that made up the eighth, doors all around them were bashed open, with plasma and spikes raining down unto the two soldiers immediately.

  With the two of them having thrown themselves back down the stairs, the call had gone through to Saberi to light up the entire floor and basically dump his entire belt of grenades unto there.

  Now, both Jackson and Heermann were holding at the foot of the stairs, watching its opening towards the eighth, occasionally dropping an Alien that tried to push towards them.

  Meanwhile the destructive orchestra of Saberi’s Mk.29 had continued uninterrupted, once again turning much of the building that was facing his side into rubble, ash and burning cinders.

  “Area supressed, gotta reload again. Back again in two mikes.”

  “Alright… Fred, get ready to move up, we’ll use the suppression from Saberi to clear this shit up. Saberi, do you read?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Just go ahead and level every floor from the ninth to the roof as much as you can. We’ve got the ammo, might as well make use of it. Tell us when you’re done with each floor so we can move up. You got all that?”

  “Copy that. Level every floor from the ninth to the roof and let you know when each floor is done. Saberi over and out.”

  Glancing back at Heermann, who himself inserted a fresh mag into his MIX, Jackson simply nodded towards the stairs. Wordlessly, the German took point and carefully stalked upwards towards the eighth floor.

  Much like with the sixth before, Saberi’s bombardment had heavily reduced visibility, torn up plaster, vaporised walls and thrown about dust filling the air.

  “Switch to Thermals. You take the right, Fred, I’ve got our left.”

  “Copy…”

  Built in targeting systems in their helmets would help, but in this soup of muck and dust, the Thermals were still a necessity.

  With that, the two once again began silently sweeping the floors. Strewn about body parts and corpses from their previous engagement, as well as Saberi’s work, painted a grisly scene.

  Though the sight of one of the Enforcers, torn apart by the Mk.29, was at least somewhat uplifting.

  For now, every bit of movement would be followed by a sweep of their MIX and either silence, or a quick ‘pop’ if it’d been confirmed to be an enemy.

  After little more than a minute, the staircase was clear. The apartments were another matter entirely. The ones facing Saberi – and therefore taking the brunt of his barrage – had been heavily reduced. Not much use sweeping them.

  The ones facing away, while not completely unharmed, were still standing and could therefore still house something hostile.

  Just as Jackson faced towards said side of the building, could he hear the impacts on the next floor from the grenade-launcher. Saberi had evidently engaged the ninth floor and was now in the process of reducing it to smithereens.

  Positioning himself near an entrance to one of the apartments, Jackson checked his mags and peeked the chamber in his MIX to ensure that he was truly locked-and-loaded.

  “Jackson, Squiddie coming your way…”

  The corporal held up, stepping away from the door and retreated back behind the corner, asking Heermann to specify.

  “Inside one of the apartments. I saw it for a brief moment, before it disappeared. Pretty sure it just decided to make its own door. Its moving towards your side of the tower.”

  The implication of what Heermann was getting at was pretty obvious. Playing cat-and-mouse with one of those armoured monstrosities had not been on Jackson’s bucket list.

  But he was the one with the ATD.

  “Understood… keep after it, Fred. I’ll try to cut it off and hit it with the ATD.”

  Fred’s reply, containing no small amount of cheekiness was a simple question: “Indoors?”

  “Shut it and do your job.”

  For a moment Jackson wondered what that overgrown Mollusc had been doing on this side of the skyscraper, before he quickly realized that it’d done what he would’ve done.

  It had retreated to the one side of the tower that was unable to be hit by grenade-launcher fire and was now using the apartments as cover to try and flank its target.

  Moving from his spot at the corner, Jackson turned into the hallway that spanned across the length of the tower, spotting Heermann at the other end, just as the colonial disappeared into one of the apartments.

  Though this side of the skyscraper hadn’t been hit as hard as the other, dust and ash still filled the air, severely hampering visibility.

  Staying in thermal certainly wasn’t perfect. The grainy picture lost some crucial details, and the processing meant that everything had milliseconds of delay behind it. Assisted-Targeting helped, but there was the issue that the training data it’d been built from could only do so much for the soldiers when they went up against alien foes. Humanoid forms? Not a problem? Anything else? At the very least it would potentially register the movement.

  Still, between being blind in a soup of dirt and smoke, and having to rely on thermal, Jackson easily chose the latter.

  Thusly, their hunt would begin.

  “Squiddie’s not alone. I’m seeing other survivors gathering up with it. They’re huddled up pretty close.”

  “Fred, I really hope I don’t have to tell you not to get too close…”

  Jackson turned another corner, sweeping the usual angles as he stalked through one of the apartments, listening for when the enforcer was likely to break through the nearest wall.

  “That’s the thing though, I don’t think these things see too well. Not even the big guy.”

  As Jackson made sure that his corners were clear, he took a moment, crouching down behind a piece of cover and processing what exactly Heermann had told him.

  Did they have trouble with visibility in this kind of environment? It couldn’t be a problem with that sort of tech though. They had zero issues with seeing anyone in pitch-black darkness.

  Yet, as a piece of the ceiling fell down and hit Jackson on the shoulder, he realized what it was.

  Before his inner eye, the soldier could see those whiskers that were protruding out of the armour of the Enforcers and their underlings, bristling whenever they’d spotted him.

  Much like the actual whiskers on a critter, their purpose was sensory.

  And in this sort of environment, enclosed, filled with dust, ash, raining plaster and pieces of rubble falling from the walls… they were overstimulated.

  “It’s not the eyes Fred. It’s those little hairs… those… whiskers. They’re overstimulated. Too much shit in the air, too much movement around them.”

  That opened all sorts of possibilities.

  Yet, Jackson was ripped out the ideas conjuring in his mind by the sound of a nearby apartment wall being torn down. It was in the one right next to his. The Enforcer would soon be right on top of him.

  “Fred, Sitrep! How many are joining the party?!”

  “Squiddie’s bringing three birds, one cat and some weird… insect looking thing? You’ll see it when you see it, but it’s definitely not human.”

  “Enforcer at the front?”

  “Front row seat. He’s about to say hi to you, so… I’d say now’s your chance.”

  Readying the ATD, Jackson shifted in his cover, positioning himself so that he was facing the wall where all the commotion was coming from, with a room to his six… mainly so he could avoid cooking himself like his German compatriot had done.

  Slinging the ATD off his back, uncapping it, before disengaging its safety, Jackson noted that the commotion in the floor above them had stopped.

  “Ninth floor supressed. Reloading and moving unto the tenth.”

  Jackson didn’t bother with a response, focusing instead on the one shot he had to take down that oversized Mollusc.

  And without much fanfare – other than a wall being broken apart like it’d been made of cardboard – the Enforcer made its way into the apartment that Jackson was hiding in. And directly into the sights of his ATD. Front row seats indeed… the thing was the first through the breach, stomping into Jacksons direction through the living room.

  “Firing…”

  The rocket shot out with a flash, propellant firing it forward, as flames, heat and gasses were expelled behind Jackson and into the empty room, a wind rushing by him as if a train had just passed.

  It happened too fast for the Enforcer to properly react. The alien was locked in a step when the rocket impacted, blinding light and an explosion soon blocking out the world from Jackson’s view.

  A moment later, when everything returned to normal, where the Enforcer had once stood, were now only its legs, attached to its ‘pelvis’, with everything above the central spine obliterated.

  They stood there for a short moment, before collapsing into themselves.

  A win for sure, but one that was immediately soured by way of counterfire from the Enforcer’s entourage, spikes making their way through the dust-ridden air and lodging themselves violently into the walls and furniture around Jackson.

  The corporal had immediately hit the deck, before falling back through the open door at his six and disappearing behind the corner.

  Thankfully Heermann’s MIX was not far off, the distinctive pops of its silenced fire joining the existing orchestra… and quickly drowning out its competitors.

  With the suppressive fire of their enemies quickly diminishing, Jackson dared to slightly pop his head out around the corner, trying to see where Heermann was engaging from. Thankfully the German had accounted for crossfire, engaging from Jackson’s left.

  Popping up the rest of his body, the corporal brought his rifle to bear and released a few shots into the burning white silhouettes illuminated by thermal.

  Not much later, Jackson could also hear – and especially feel – the rumbling from the upper floors, with Saberi evidently continuing his barrage.

  But the proverbial storm of combat had quickly washed over the apartment, returning it to the calm once more. As Jackson did one last sweep, the corporal stepped out and eyed the bodies. From his periphery, he could also see Heermann step through the breach created by the Enforcer.

  The obliterated remains of said Enforcer.

  Three birds, shot down by Heermann and Jackson.

  The cat, its skull cracked open by a burst sent through by the German.

  “Wait… what was that about an ‘insect looking’ thing?”

  In that moment, Jackson could see Heermann’s view shoot up to the ceiling.

  He didn’t need to see his eyes to know what the Colonial had spotted in that moment.

  Before the corporal could turn around though, came down a kick to his back, sending him to the ground in one fell swoop.

  For the split-second that he had, before his visor was filled with the floor, he’d been able to see Heermann bring up his sights, aiming at something just above and behind Jackson.

  Silenced pops from the German’s MIX.

  A loud crash.

  Yelling.

  Jackson’s own breathing.

  The corporal scrambled to his feet but was only up long enough to see something fly his way, before swiftly crashing back unto the ground. With his fall at least softened by his backpack, the soldier could still see stars swirling before his eyes and his ears ringing, as all the air was forced out of his chest by the violent collision.

  The world wasn’t making sense, his throat was coarse and forced him to cough up whatever his body felt like was blocking his airways.

  At least whatever was on top of him got off on by its own volition, deftly stepping away as Jackson was left gasping for air.

  Instincts and base desires demanded that he take his helmet off, that he be allowed to finally catch some air after he’d been knocked down like that.

  And though for a moment he considered it, rationale prevailed when Jackson opened his eyes again and saw Heermann in front of him, through the smoke and dust, his form lit up in white-hot fire, wrestling some multi-armed monstrosity.

  The Colonial was exchanging blows and kicks with a being that looked like it had four arms… or was it six? Its flurry of blows was hard to make sense of, with even Heermann mostly on the backfoot, blocking claws flying his way, evading kicks and trying to stave off arms trying to clutch unto his coat.

  Jackson for his part managed to get up, fuelled by Adrenaline more than his own choices and charged the creature, tackling into it in a bid to either get it off its feet or at least restrain it long enough for Heermann to gain some kind of advantage.

  The corporal’s attack was swiftly turned against him however, as the trooper’s momentum carried him into the oversized insect and then just as quickly away from it and off his feet, right into a table that was placed in the middle of the Livingroom.

  Broken glass, splinters from shattered wood and aluminium stabbed into his sides.

  It was hard to fathom what exactly had occurred. Evidently the thing’s extra arms had helped it wrestle Jackson over and around it, smashing him into the aforementioned table.

  As quickly as it had happened, as quickly had Jackson found himself annoyingly on the ground again.

  Just this time he'd also made the painfully intimate acquaintance of the local furniture.

  Yet, as much as his muscles protested, the corporal willed himself back unto his feet, as sounds of fighting and struggling were still tearing at his ears.

  Though this time he’d switch off Thermals.

  The time delay was too much in a situation like this, he needed to be on his A-Game when it came to reactions.

  Turning on night vision instead, bathing the world in that all too familiar phosphorous green, Jackson spun on his heels to face their multi-armed adversary.

  But he hadn’t been the only that had turned around.

  Evidently the thing had noticed him getting up and for that split-second, Jackson had come face to face with it.

  With what looked to be the head of an oversized hornet, lifeless compound eyes staring back at him through the darkness. The only thing it was missing were its antennae.

  At least this this thing - unlike its swarming cousins outside - didn’t have wings.

  Most important of all though, it was tall too, towering at least half a head over the Skydiver.

  The beast’s other most distinctive feature was the machinery that was crudely smashed in place where its mandibles should be, eating into both chitin and flesh.

  And more of that black ooze…

  Yet, the moment passed, and it lunged for Jackson, four arms stretching out towards him.

  But before it could dig its claws into the Trooper, Heermann hopped on its back, jumping on the oversized insect from behind and attempting to get the thing into a chokehold.

  It was quick on its feet though.

  As soon as it realized that the German had it in a hold from behind, it simply leaned back and used him as a support to deliver a kick unto Jackson, thankfully not quite flooring the Skydiver, but still having him buckle and fall unto one knee.

  It then followed this manoeuvre by grabbing unto Heermann’s shoulders and launching the soldier forward over its back.

  Jackson himself was barely able to roll away from being crushed under his teammate, though the corporal couldn’t help but silently cringe at the nasty ‘thud’ Heermann produced as he smashed into the remains of the table.

  Said remains though were what Jackson focused on, the Trooper grabbing hold of one of the table-legs and swinging it towards the bug.

  The wood crashed against one of its arms, resulting in an audible ‘crack’ as it clashed against chitin, so Jackson reared back for another swing, but found his second one stopped by the insect grabbing a hold of the table leg.

  Struggling against its hold, Jackson tried pushing back against the multi-armed menace, though to little avail. That was until, just in the edge of his periphery, he could see Heermann do the same: The German grabbed a piece of the table – in his case a large aluminium pipe – and violently smashed it against the insect’s knee, causing the thing to buckle unto that leg and lose its grip against Jackson.

  The corporal took this chance, swinging for the thing’s head, but found the table-leg instead violently crashing against another arm, this time with enough force to break the table-leg in two.

  Heermann did the same, but had his improvised weapon slapped out of his hand by one of the arms.

  Still carrying the momentum of his original attack, the Skydiver instead decided to deliver an uppercut on the insectoid, before bringing down a mean left-hook on the side of its head.

  In answer, the thing swiftly grabbed Heermann by the throat and – with a speed that Jackson found hard to believe – brought its carapace-armoured head down on Heermann’s, headbutting the Colonial with enough force to crack his visor and send him reeling. No doubt Fred had just received a bad case of whiplash, with how his head had violently swung back from the counterattack.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  There was no rest though, as not a moment later, after it had almost knocked Heermann unconscious, the Insectoid turned its attention towards Jackson, first bringing down jabs on the Trooper that he barely dodged or blocked, before sending its claws across his helmet.

  Undoubtedly, had it not been for the reinforced piece of armour, it likely could have taken off his scalp with that move. The sickening screeching of alloys was all the evidence Jackson needed, his teeth chattering from the bone-chilling sound.

  Blocking another attack with his forearm, Jackson instead shifted his focus down: the creature’s left leg, which had received an attack from Heermann and was still slightly limping.

  Without many other options, Jackson dodged another attack and then delivered a kick unto the abused limb, managing to hit it hard enough to get the beast off balance for a moment. Long enough for Jackson to deliver a right hook right unto the Insect’s head.

  But what had seemed to be a small victory, the creature rearing back from Jackson’s punch, was just a feint. It recovered faster than the Trooper could predict and lunged at him once more, bringing its arms down unto him and grabbing hold of the soldier.

  Though Jackson thrashed around, kicked, screamed and tried to get it off of him, it all happened too fast for him to properly do something against it.

  One moment those compound eyes stared him down, malice visible even in the non-human visage, the next his world turned into a blur, his limbs lost all control and vision tunnelled in as he felt like flying.

  Then came the crash.

  He had hit something, rolled off of it, then continued his journey for another short moment, before swiftly meeting the ground.

  Tiles.

  There were tiles on the floor.

  And he could hear a cacophony of chaos, metal clanging against each other, ringing violently as they crashed to the ground, bounced off and danced on their edges, all the while abusing Jackson’s ears.

  Pots, pans and plates were all raining down on the soldier, trickling down on him and his abused frame, before finding their final resting place on the kitchen floor.

  The kitchen.

  That insect had flung Jackson from the Livingroom all the way over to the kitchen.

  As much as it amazed him, he was in far too much pain to properly express even to himself how angry he was, or how much he wanted to splatter that damn bug against the nearest wall.

  His left shoulder was numb, his chest was crying in burning pain, ears were ringing and stuffy, his limbs felt like they’d turned to jelly, and his back felt like it’d been drawn out over twice its length.

  If the corporal wasn’t about to die by decapitation or strangulation, he’d make a comment about feeling all of this the next morning.

  Seeing the next sunrise… what a novel concept.

  Still, despite the fire that was consuming his muscles, the soldier willed himself to move, to get back up again.

  Even if it was just so he could die on his feet.

  But, even with the sluggish way Jackson got back up, he didn’t find himself accosted by the monster that the two of them were fighting. As the ringing subsided and the burning in his ears eased off, he could hear sounds of the scuffle continuing.

  Fred wasn’t out of the fight either, it seemed.

  Leaning against the kitchen counter and trying to prop himself up as best as he could, Jackson looked over to the Livingroom, seeing Heermann continuing to fistfight the beast.

  A swing from Fred, dodged by the creature.

  Counter-attack with two of its arms, barely ducked under by Heermann, before the German delivered an elbow to the lower sternum of the Insectoid.

  It seemed thoroughly unimpressed, instead swiping at Fred with its other set of arms.

  Again, barely dodged, but this time Heermann wouldn’t get away, as following the swipe of its claws, the creature once more smashed its head against the Colonial, this time straight into his chest.

  Even without comms, Jackson could hear the wet wheeze that escaped Fred’s lungs, the air violently and mercilessly pushed out of his chest.

  Evidently pleased with its work, the creature effortlessly plucked Heermann off the ground, holding the German by his throat as he struggled against it, before seemingly looking for something.

  Then, Jackson could spot how its head locked unto the windows of the apartment.

  Well… if there ever was a time to do something, it was now.

  And thus, his mind - still shaken from his involuntary flight through half the apartment - raced to come up with something.

  His rifle had been long lost in the scuffle.

  A grenade wouldn’t do, at least if he wanted to ensure Heermann’s survival.

  And his combat knife… well, Jackson had his doubts if the blade could penetrate the carapace, but what other options did he have? With any luck, he could at least piss it off.

  Unsheathing his knife, Jackson eyed the environment.

  It was a pretty long way from the kitchen to the Livingroom. Not to mention that his legs were still on the uncooperative side.

  Unceremoniously, the corporal flipped the knife in his hands, holding it by the blade as he thought about the trajectory.

  “Hell with it… why walk…”

  If Jackson couldn’t trust his legs, he knew he could still trust his throwing arm.

  Thusly, the corporal reared back, eyes glued to the back of the Insectoid as it was walking away and towards the windows.

  It'd be walking at a slight diagonal from him, to the left and away. Distance from him to the oversized bug was about four meters.

  Lead the target a bit.

  Don’t let it slip.

  With a grunt, Jackson threw the knife towards their adversary, the blade glinting for a moment as lightning light up the sky outside. Then, it lodged itself in the back of the insectoid, catching the creature off-guard and causing it to let go of Heermann.

  The German unceremoniously flopped unto the ground, coughing and holding unto his throat, while the insectoid turned around on the spot, glaring back at Jackson.

  Compound eyes or not, if looks could kill…

  But Heermann didn’t let this opportunity slip. Practically jumping back unto his feet, the German lunged for the knife still lodged in the creature, yanking it out and stabbing it into the insectoid’s side, while also placing his other arm around the alien’s throat, trying to keep it in place.

  Out went the knife, quickly finding its place inside the insect’s body again, this time in its chest-area.

  Well… time to go back to work, so it seemed.

  With a heavy grunt, Jackson heaved himself away from the counter, back unto his legs and eyed the kitchen for anything usable.

  In the midst of it all, with the sounds of fighting still coming over from Heermann and the bug, Jackson could hear a distinctive crackle in his ears, before Saberi’s voice came through:

  “Corporal, there’s a situation…”

  “It’ll have to wait, I’ll get back to you in a minute.”

  Saberi continued on to say something, but Jackson had already mentally blocked that out. Right now, all he cared about was ridding himself and this world of that oversized hornet.

  Thankfully his search didn’t have to last long.

  A carving fork. And not the cheap kind.

  Jackson doubted he’d ever get the chance, but should he ever meet the original owners of this apartment… well, he’d have to apologize for its current state, but he’d also have to thank them.

  Grabbing the fork, Jackson took a deep breath, hammered his fist against his chest and then broke out into a full sprint out of the kitchen and towards the insect.

  With any luck the pain wouldn’t kick in before he reached his target.

  Mid-run, Jackson saw the creature rid itself of Heermann, ripping the knife out of its body, before snatching the Skydiver and tossing him against the nearest window.

  Thankfully it didn’t break.

  Jackson was almost upon it.

  The insectoid finally turned towards him.

  Taking the fork into his right and placing the palm of his left at the base of its handle, Jackson practically launched himself towards the alien. Its arms shot out towards him for a split second, but it was too late.

  With the assistance of his own bodyweight, the corporal lodged the carving fork through one of the insectoids compound eyes and straight into where he hoped its brain was.

  Evidently, his assumption had been correct.

  As Jackson let go of the fork, blood in the colour of yellowcake spurting from the fresh wound, the Insectoid collapsed in on itself, folding over like a sack of potatoes and crashing against the ground, with Jackson himself making another painful acquaintance with the ground, rolling away from the now dead insect.

  Commanding for the world to finally stop spinning, Jackson heaved himself up, shaking his head and trying to organize the hurricane of thoughts still swirling in his head.

  The insectoid though, even with the fork lodged in its head and its body on the ground, continued twitching, kicking its legs and arms occasionally, as a spasm ran through its body.

  Much like an actual insect, so Jackson thought.

  Heermann for his part, still on the ground and obviously reeling from his less-than-pleasant encounter with the apartment window, eyed for something, before evidently finding it. Shifting a bit, the German, flopped unto his side, lifted a piece of wood from the destroyed table, revealing his rifle from under it.

  Wordlessly, the Skydiver slid it across the ground over to Jackson, who picked up the MIX and fired a couple of rounds into the bug.

  And then a few more.

  Lastly, one round through the insect’s head.

  If in doubt… at least so Jackson thought to himself.

  With that done, Jackson allowed himself to fall backwards unto his behind, promptly and wordlessly plopping down unto the ground… breathing.

  After a few seconds of recuperation and enjoying the relative silence, Jackson simply stated: “I am sick and tired… well… one, of being sick and tired. Two, of being on this godforsaken planet. But what I’m mostly tired of, is getting knocked around like a ragdoll by whatever horror-of-the-hour awaits me around the next corner…”

  Putting the MIX on safe, Jackson tossed it away in Heermann’s direction, simply cursing: “Seriously. Fuck this planet…”

  Fred could only coldly chuckle, sitting upright again and leaning against the window.

  He then amusedly shared his observation: “Last time I saw you this angry was… well… probably on Lumen, I think. I’m pretty sure you said the same about that planet as well.”

  “Yeah well, same shit, different solar system…”

  Jackson then audibly groaned as he readjusted himself.

  What a wonderful time to have his ‘everything’ be hurting. The only silver-lining in it all was that neither his HUD, nor his body reported any serious injuries. Though the helmet’s AI advised he’d consider ‘rest and recuperation’. If only it were so easy…

  Heermann chuckled a bit. Jackson threw him a glance, after which the German continued: “You know… at this rate they’ll have to increase our hazard pay even more. I mean, being shot towards a planet in a glorified torpedo is one thing. But fighting oversized bugs? Murderous aliens?”

  The colonial then continued chortling, though his voice still had a pained wheeze to it, undoubtedly a result of the thrashing he’d received.

  Coughing a bit, Heermann found his voice again: “I mean… it’s like straight from a movie! What was that one called again…”

  Jackson for his part didn’t know what his teammate was going on about and simply tilted his head in silence.

  “The one with… that one actor. Xander Harrison. Always plays those burly action-hero types.”

  Now it was time for Jackson to laugh.

  “Fred, you can’t be fucking serious right now. You’re comparing this bullshit to ‘Sunkiller’ of all things?! They had jetpacks in that movie…”

  “I know they had jetpacks, but they also fought nasty aliens! The main guy got thrown through a wall at the finale… starting to understand what that must’ve felt like…”

  “Yeah, but unlike us, Mister Harrison only had to fight CGI Aliens. And if ya ask me, poorly done CGI at that. Not really comparable to the real deal, now that I’ve seen it.”

  That seems to have struck a chord though, as Heermann burst out laughing, immediately followed by him clutching his chest and groaning: “Ouch… but seriously Patrick, think of the possibilities! They won’t even need CGI anymore! Or puppets, or actors in suits… heck, they won’t even need those fancy robots they used in ‘Gaia’s Remorse’. Just strap a camera to your nearest Skydiver and you get quality entertainment for free…”

  “I heard they’re making a second one…”

  “Of course they are. Back home they’re crazy about pushing Gaia’s movie industry. Just wish any of them were actually good…”

  Heermann then proceeded to throw around words in German, undoubtedly cursing the movie industry of his home world, considering the way he seemed to spit out half his words in audible disgust.

  “I mean really?! How can it be so hard to just make some good entertainment?”

  “I wouldn’t know Fred. I just get paid to kill people…”

  At that last point, the room fell into silence again, Jackson taking a moment to lean back against his backpack. Everything was still hurting, obviously, but not the degree that he couldn’t move. He could continue… at risk of potentially tearing his muscles, admittedly, but he could still keep going…

  Still, for once Jackson allowed himself to take a moment.

  Not much to do in said moment of course. One of the many downsides of being a Skydiver was, that none of them were allowed to bring personal phones or tablets with them. Or really any personal belongings, outside of maybe pictures of loved ones… or smokes.

  Anything else could and likely would negatively affect the balance of weight on their drop-pods. Meaning usually the troopers of the Skycorp had to either entertain themselves, make do with what they could find, or talk about whatever inane topic they could come up with.

  Yet, as enjoyable as the silence was, Jackson knew that it was time for them to get moving again.

  And just at that moment, Heermann spoke up again, though with a more sombre tone this time: “Honestly Patrick… and serious answers only, okay? How is this going to end?”

  Jackson silently looked over to Heermann. The German’s face was still hidden behind a visor, but Jackson could only imagine a rather cold and pained smile painted across his companion’s face.

  “Honest answer? I doubt any of us are going to see the next sunrise. We die here, maybe they send in the Strike Force, maybe they don’t.”

  “Does that mean you’ve given up?”

  To that, the corporal decided to finally stand up, shaky legs carrying him back unto his feet.

  “No, it means I’m simply realistic about our chances…”

  Jackson then began digging through the rubble and debris, looking for his rifle. “I’ll keep going… long as I have to, long as it’s asked of me. I’m just not going to pretend that this is going to end well for any of us.”

  After a minute, Jackson finally found it, digging his MIX out of the rubble and cleaning it of any dust and dirt still clinging to the gun. A change of mag and chamber-check later, the MIX was ready to go.

  He then turned towards Fred: “I know you’re not thinking of quitting. Neither am I. So, we gonna do this or what?”

  Wordlessly, Fred got up as well, grabbing both rifle and knife, before handing the latter over to Jackson. It was covered in sticky yellowcake-coloured blood but was otherwise still in working order.

  As the German handed the knife over, he added: “Remember, you promised the next round is on you? So don’t go throwing yourself on the nearest grenade that comes our way.”

  “Funny…”

  Yet, that small moment of reprieve was interrupted by first the tower shaking, followed by a distant explosion.

  “What was that?!” Yet Heermann didn’t have an answer either, quietly shrugging and pointing towards the door. The explosion sounded like it’d come from the other side of the tower.

  The other side facing…

  As the realization hit Jackson, he marched towards the apartment’s exit, frantically activating his comms: “Saberi! Saberi come in, do you copy?! Saberi!!”

  But all that came back was distorted rattling and the squeaking of microphone feedback, all under a layer of white noise. “Saberi come in!”

  Picking up the pace into a full-on jog, Jackson ran through the staircase and into one of the obliterated apartments, past broken walls, crushed furniture and bodies of dead aliens.

  As he hurried towards one of the apartment windows, broken by the Mk.29 barrage, Jackson could already see the fires shining through the gloom of night.

  Coming to a stop in front of the ledge, the corporal looked on as the roof on which Saberi had been stationed, was now engulfed in a violent inferno, black smoke rising from the currently collapsing building.

  A violent crack rang out as something in the structure gave in, with the building collapsing in on itself.

  Half of it had been reduced to rubble.

  The other was burning to ash.

  No sign of Saberi…

  Heermann came up on Jackson’s side, exclaiming something in German. Jackson didn’t need a translator to understand.

  ‘Holy Shit’ was fairly universal in that regard.

  As the two Skydivers looked at each other, they simultaneously noticed plaster and dust falling from the ceiling again.

  But it wasn’t like earlier.

  It was neither just one of the enforcers, nor was it directly above them.

  They could hear the stomping of something massive a few stories up. And it was moving away from this side to the tower to the other.

  Artillery? Or maybe one of their anti-air cannons?

  For a moment Jackson doubted himself on that possibility… yet it made way too much sense. The enemy had organic suits that could turn boneless squids into deadly killing machines. Would it really be too much for them to have a living and walking cannon? Or even worse, a tank?

  Hurrying back over to the other side of the tower, Jackson tried the comms again: “Crivello! Sergeant Crivello, do you read?! Raines?! Does anyone copy??!! You need to get out of there! We’ve got enemy guns, currently moving into position to attack the other towers! I say again, they’re targeting the towers! Get out of there immediately or you’ll be vaporized! sergeant!?”

  Just as Jackson came upon a window again, his eyes glued to the tower that Crivello was in, did the flash arrive. From a few stories above.

  First it looked like lightning had directly struck the top of the tower.

  But a moment later, a ball of white-hot plasma shot out towards the north-western tower.

  All Jackson could do was slam his fists against the glass.

  Then, the upper stories of the tower were obliterated.

  Another flash, rumbling, then the shockwave coming over to their tower, shaking the glass. As the plasma cooled down, fires spread and smoke rose, Jackson could see burning debris raining down from the floors that had been hit.

  It was hard to say which ones specifically it had hit, but Jackson guessed that anything from the eleventh, up to potentially even the sixteenth floor, had been caught in the explosion.

  The roof was still untouched.

  “Shit… shit shit shit! Javelin! Javelin come in; do you copy?! Mirko! Do you read?! Does anyone fucking read me on this?!?!”

  But nothing came in response.

  More crackling, white noise and distorted feedback.

  Jackson let his hand fall away from his right ear, letting it hang down limply.

  Heermann came over. Somewhat more composed, but Jackson could read the worry in the way the colonial was clutching his rifle.

  “So this is it? We’re on our own?”

  Jackson didn’t answer, instead looking out of the window again, first towards the north-western tower, now light up like a Christmas tree, burning brightly against the gloom of the early morning. The ground was still pitch-black, but the sky was slowly gaining a tinge of blue… next to the pervasive black and orange from the fires and smoke.

  Then, his eyes wandered over to the north-eastern tower. That one was still in relatively normal condition, blackened in ominous darkness and shadows.

  And nothing came to break that gloom.

  Not a single muzzle-flash, not a shot of plasma, no sparks and no fire. It’s as if nothing alive had ever been over there.

  The silence spoke for itself.

  “What’s the verdict Patrick?”

  The corporal looked at Heermann, then back outside, then over to Heermann again… lastly resting his eyes simply on the ground.

  But Fred was not dispelled, continuing: “You know I’ll stick with you whatever happens. So… what do we do?”

  Run away and hide?

  Continue the mission?

  Try and check the other towers for survivors?

  Check on Saberi?

  Move out and pray that they’d find other Skydivers?

  For all Jackson knew, Heermann and he could’ve been the only remaining Skydivers in all of New Poltava. It certainly felt like a possibility at this point. The last two humans this side of the continent capable of opposing this nightmare. Was it really so wrong to just assume the worst at this point?

  Once again, his eyes moved to the north-western tower. It looked like a giant had taken a bite out of its side and then light it on fire…

  Ash and cinders were raining down from there, mixing together with the ongoing rainstorm. Burning orange, electrified white, soft blue, endless black and in his reflection in the glass, the sage green of his coat.

  A canvas of a million colours. But a situation with exactly one outcome.

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

  Crivello’s words echoed somewhere in Jackson’s mind.

  “We finish the mission… Fred, take point. Let’s find what the fuck that thing upstairs is. And send it to hell…”