The rain persisted. Overhead, dark clouds marked the sky like ink on pale skin. Lightning began to flare the sky above. They made rumbling cracking sounds like sticks being snapped over a knee. The lightning lit the bellies of the dark clouds, and with that set off brief white flashes. The lightning crackled as it fell from the heavens and onto the earth, looking remarkably like blood capillaries.
They deployed just outside the landing zone and began to advance towards the residential zone. They marched through the cold swept lowland with tall swaying grass stalks just right next to the rowdy sea that foamed and churned under the great storm. Three thousand and five hundred men moved out in a five-kilometer long front. But even with that many numbers, they could barely be seen, just barely unidentified shapes in the mist. The rain helped.
They followed the main highway into the residential area, the residential area looming ahead. Just before they entered the shop district, the Rangers split into the four battalions along their planned roads. First Battalion, Fennstrum’s, would sweep the slums near the docks. Erach’s second would go through the eastern zone. The other two would go through the rest of the left flank wing, skirting right by the industrial zone. Their plan of advance was through the major roads and concourses. A platoon from both the specialized companies was spread in each battalion, under the direct command of the Majors.
Captain Farlorn went with Fennstrum’s battalion. They stopped by a large ferrocrete drainage canal just before the slums that led out into the sea. They had to battle over the raging banks to cross it. Farlorn stopped to help the others across. He was beginning to feel the cold begin to creep into his bones. The rain. This planet’s damn rain. He would prefer fighting in any other sort of war than rain. They set up a forward post under an overhanging bridge.
The scouts vanished forward of the advance, but they came back fifteen minutes, seeming to materialize out of the mist. Fennstrum and Farlorn gathered with the scouts. Hark didn’t even seem fazed by the terrible weather. Water was dripping off the bill of her grey forage cap. “Sirs, the way ahead is fairly clear. At least for three hundred meters, sea fog is killing visibility down to a hundred meters.”
“Fairly clear?” Fennstrum raised an eyebrow.
“Hard to say. Something here.”
“A friendly something?” Farlorn asked as he fidgeted.
“Couldn’t tell. We didn’t get close, per orders. About a dozen figures shrouded by fog in the open. And that was the strange part. In this weather? Just standing around in the open. Not even moving. Didn’t even think they were shivering. Me and the boys thought they were actual statues. The stone types. Then as we made our way back, Gavin back there kicked a brick. Smallest sound, I was next to him and I barely heard it. But the statues did, and they moved. Real strangely as well, jerking and limping. Like they were puppets on strings, and attached to a real bad puppeteer. Outran and lost them in this mist.”
“Alright, here’s the plan. We’ll move into the dockyards and sweep east towards these apartment towers, those are the worker habs, see if there’s anybody there. We see anyone acting like what Hark just described, squad leaders, have the authorization to put them down. That’s one of the possible signs of infection.
“And I want gas hoods on from now-one.” A few of the men nearby groaned loudly. Nobody liked the hoods: long treated white hoods with long elephantine rubber hoods. “No matter what, do not take them off. If any of the men get compromised, seal it and put them to quarantine. Disarm them and have a gun to their head at all times. We’ll confirm if they’re truly infected back at the FOB. Go it?’
All the squad leaders nodded.
“Let’s do this, Rangers lead the way.”
Slowly and cautiously, the Rangers entered the city. The streets were utterly empty. Despite this having been one of the most lively and chaotic areas of the city, bustling, and throbbing with life at every hour, no-one was out here. The colorful night parties, the coveted gambling dens, the overly-crowded bars, the street full of people from all over the galaxy, strange and unique species.
There wasn’t any other sound than rain. The noise of the rain was all around, the sounds of dripping and pittering. Drainage pipes throbbed and spewed out waves upon waves of dirty fluid.
First Battalion entered the slums. Urban sprawl had grown out of control in recent years. The terrible wars that had wracked these planets over the years had driven many into poverty. This being one of the last decent cities on this forsaken planet, many refugees had traveled here in hopes of finding a better life. They had been denied that. Like some great carnivorous plant, it drew them in with the sweet scent of wealth and safety, before closing its jaws around them. The streets were small, claustrophobic, and littered with scattered debris: broken bottles, discarded trash, and waste that had simply been poured out the windows. The gas hoods compounded the feeling that they were being boxed in. They hated the loss of visibility, the claustrophobia of the thick-lensed gas hoods, the shortness of breath that the tight rubber mouthpiece provoked.
Sliding door grills chattered and shook loudly in the terrible rain. Neon lights advertising pleasure and gambling dens sizzled as rain hit them. Vermin ran as the soldiers advanced forward. As planned, Ranger platoons split off from the main advance and swept the habs all around them.
Farlorn’s and Fennstrum’s Anarch Command Company moved into a wide run-down hab apartment complex. They thoroughly searched the first floor, knocking on all the doors and breaching them afterward. Not a single time did anyone answer the call or was found in their filthy homes.
Farlorn was at the front with his men. He had his BAW-55 in his hand as he organized the search personally. It was just his style. He often battled on the front, making war with his men side by side. He led by example, never sending his men to do anything that they didn’t expect that he would himself. Of course, he expected his men to do the same as well. He would never let anyone shrink from their expected duty. If they did, he would find them wanting and find them.
He called forward Bellary, his comms-operator. “Get me a connection with the Majors.”
“Mic, sir?” Bellary said after turning a few dials on the heavy-duty comms-set.
“No, plug me in.” He was overheating in the hood now, and sweat was dribbling down his spine. Bellary wound a small cable from his comms-set and pushed the jack into a socket on the side of Farlorns's gas hood. Farlorn’s personal comms-set now had the massive added power of the set.
“One, three?” The reception was crackly and spotty. He turned to Bellary who adjusted the set, the signal became clearer but something was in the background.
“It’s the rain and the buildings all around, interfering with the signal. Not too bad.” He explained. The Captain nodded.
“One, three, do you receive me?”
“Three, one, got you clear.”
“Erach, you’re clear on this end as well. Give me a sit-rep of what’s going on.”
“We’ve found about a hundred civvies hiding out in the local post office. Several are armed and were jumpy, sir.”
“Losses?” He said, anticipating the worst.
“None, we were lucky, sir. Chitiest shot I’ve ever seen. Trooper Urberin returned fire, though, sir, killed the shooter. We’re sending them to the FOB where the High Marshall’s at, sir.”
“Good job, three. Continue sweep as expected.” Farlorn sighed slightly. It could have been worse. “One, four?”
“Three,” Thorin responded.
“Got any good news for your Captain?”
“Plenty. Sweeping got us about seventy so far. Got Brown Company to escort them back. Pathfinders say they’ve found several civilian strongpoints they set up in. Maybe about fifty to a dozen in each. We’re moving to them right now.”
“Your position?”
“Uh, we’re at second and seventh Jaunty street.”
“Got you on the map. Be careful, four, don’t antagonize the strongpoints. I got reports that some of the people here are real jumpy. Run in with infected?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Keep your eyes open.” Final Battalion on the list. “One, five.”
“Go, ahead, Captain.”
“Your progress?”
“Nothing much. Only found about ten so far and advance is slow. It looks like some fire burned through the area recently. Pathfinders think it all started from a bonfire that got out of control. There are lots of bodies here. Thousands so far. Many with blaster wounds. Some were determined to be bite wounds. It’s hard to tell, fires reduced basically everything to ash here. No, emergency services responded at all.”
“No infected?”
“Not a single one.”
“Be careful, five. ROE is free in your area. Anything posses a threat, you shoot it. Remember the symptoms - jerky movements and heavy flesh necrosis - and shoot anyone on sight that exhibits those signs.”
Fennstrum walked up to the Captain.
“Anything?” Farlorn asked.
“Not a single living soul. Companies Anarch to Echo has found nothing. Traces of some life, like chit and piss, but nothing. It’s like they all left and never came back. Echo’s first squad did, however, report that they’ve found a body. Corpsman on site determined it was an infected corpse that got put down by a blaster bolt. I had them burn the body and the flat it was in with a flamethrower. Don’t worry. Didn’t get out of control. Nekson was on the case.”
“Good job. Other Battalions have reported contact with civvies…”
“But not us. Got a bad feeling about this, sir.”
“Alright, Bellary, connect me to the Grand Marshal's office. Use my command code. Level Vermillion authorization.”
“I’ve got it, sir. Also, I’ve gotten a message from Minister Locke, something important. On all Confederate waves.”
“I’ll listen to it when I finish this. Start. Update, Grand Marshall. My Battalions have happened upon about two hundred civilians currently. We are escorting some to the FOB to be analyzed if they are infected. No losses on my side so far but one of my men shot a jumpy survivor, truly unfortunate. We’ve also come across something real strange-”
Something cut him off. He heard a sound, muffled deeply through his hood, like a bundle of sticks being broken, slowly, steadily.
Not sticks; blaster-shots.
“Kriff, contact.”
Gerwald Lechner and his own soldier had already stripped the other fallen operative, placing the gear on the ground for an easier pickup to them all to get extra ammo and equipment. Sergei then spoke quickly and decisively through a low power speaker/local comms to the people around him.
The Monster
Kas Varad
Srina Talon
?” She demanded, expecting he possess answers he might have never crossed to behind with. This capitol was big, and her sister? Was she not just one of many? Eira’s grasp on the political climate was lacking, but her air of expectation remained unchanged none the less.
