[GZG] Fiction - Night Flights

G'day,

Next instalment from Jock. For now I'm still passing them to Derek to
webify, but I'll look into/think about lulu when I get a spare moment.

Cheers

Beth

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Night Flights

The 2/34 is finally returning to the front line. A few weeks doesn¹t
seem
long to be away from the fight, but it feels like a life time ago that
we
were in the midst of constant action. We¹re all rested and mostly
recovered.
Those who won¹t be coming with us have largely shipped out to their new
training regimes. Although Turps was there to wave us off, the contact
points for his new legs glinting in gunmetal grey as he sat on his
hoverchair.

We¹ve also picked up some replacements. They have been dribbling in
over the
last week, some of them only touched down to join us as we were about to
fly
out, so not all of them are fully settled in yet. Most are green
recruits,
but we have also picked up a unit of native pilots who are from a unit
now
too deeply in Kra¹Vak held ground to join up with them just now. Even
for
the OErefined young things¹ in the 2/34 these old guys have come as a
bit of
a rude shock. To a man they are all older than Baxter. All lined,
bronzed,
weathered skin, silver or salt-n-pepper hair. They all have old style
Martian gills. The flaps that flutter just above their collarbone are
hardly
noticeable once the initial novelty has worn off and their whistling
lilt is
quite light on the ear, but getting used to the spitting takes a while
longer. You have to give it to the original gene-engineers who came up
with
the design though. For the cost of needing to hawk up a mucus pellet of
fine
sand a few times a day you are completely freed from being dependent on
a
filter mask. I must admit when I first got to Mars I found the spittoons
a
quirky touch. While we don¹t have any spittoons with us, most members
of
this crew are good about being discrete and not firing a pellet at your
feet. Moreover between them these guys have an unbelievable and
invaluable
amount of accumulated experience of flying on Mars. They¹ve literally
been
flying here longer than I¹ve been alive. They also know the area
exceedingly
well and will be a critical asset, even if their personal habits take a
little getting used to.

We flew from Camp Henna to the forward airbase at Aureum and there we
sat
waiting for our ride down to San Juan and our return to the Tokalau
Isthmus.
This is typical of the bipolar nature of war on Mars. It continues to
amaze
me how quickly conditions change through space and time in this
conflict,
extremes of action and inaction separated by only tens of kilometres or
a
few hours.

While we were waiting for our troop transport slot, there was a fighter
scramble. The northern VR link had gone down and infantry to the west of
San
Juan needed immediate support. The pilots and groundcrew all bolted for
the
field as soon as the first clanging of the sirens began. They were
wheels-up
in under 3 minutes and there was confirmation they were on station in
under
10 minutes.

It was deep night before our transports arrived. Most would be going in
by
airship, but I had a place on the VTOL escort. There were 8 gunships in
total. The first four came in low over the sea, descending so quickly I
feared at least one would crash. Pastel yellow and blue lights marked
their
landing zone. The lights weren¹t the best for your night vision, but
apparently they were less visible to the Kra¹Vak and that was most
important
in this war.

The VTOLs whipped the fine dust of Mars into thick clouds, which
actually
hid the other 4 gunships from site as they hovered above. I searched the
sky
for any hint of their presence, but even the low light enhancers (or
BUGS,
as in bug eyes, as they were affectionately known) in my specs couldn¹t
pick
them out. The dark and dust had let them melt away. That was quickly
reversed however as they lowered down through the cold, dry dirty cloud
to
the ground. As soon as they were enveloped in it their decent was lit by
a
light show that created an eerie halo glow. The lift planes glittered as
if
coated in phosphorescence and the closer to the ground they got the
brighter
it seemed to grow, even activating the light shield in my specs. My skin
tingled and the sound meter on my spec-cam indicated that the night was
actually alive with crackling and popping, though the noise of the VTOL
engines and my earplugs meant I didn¹t hear the static charges arcing
through the night.

We were on board and secure in a matter of minutes and then the VTOLs
were
lifting off again. They did not immediately turn into the dark night,
but
instead roamed the perimeter of the field. They kept their running
lights
on, washing back and forth across the field as the airship loading was
also
finalised. It took about 15 minutes for the airship to be ready and then
it
slowly lumbered into the sky too and we were on our way back to the
frontline.

The VTOL ahead of us kept its lights on as it swept across the
semi-sleeping
base. As soon as it cleared the seaward perimeter however, the lights
flicked off, suddenly, as if they¹d passed through a light-absorbing
veil.
My head was on a swivel trying to take in all the action going on around
me,
the pilot seemingly flying completely in the dark, though in reality his
specs would lighten the scene to an image like a dull day back home.
Likewise the gunners sat in apparent darkness, but were scanning their
arcs,
looking for threats and targets. The Kra¹Vak small arms weren¹t as
visible
in the dark as ours, there was less strobing muzzle flash and they used
tracers less frequently. Nevertheless an experienced eye could still
pick
them up and the motion-AI in the specs helped. The gunners¹ hands never
left
their guns and I was confident the they would be able to put
considerable
volumes of fire down on a ground target within seconds of anything
getting
started.

Progress across the Pyrrhae Sea was quiet and even a little long for my
liking, time seeming to drag. We saw some action off in the distance,
explosions, lasers and lights flickering off the low cloud along the
horizon
toward Ariza and Ordunna and I figured the Kra¹Vak must be counter
attacking
there tonight. Our flight was undisturbed however, even as we flew in
low
over the western shoreline of the tip of the peninsular.

The gunships dropped in low over the chill desert and I watched as the
land
speed past below me, trying to pick out features and land marks. We
followed
a meandering river valley into the barren inland. Looking up the streams
and
tributaries I noted most disappeared under the sand fairly quickly.
Tokalau
hadn¹t become any more inviting in our absence.

The fairground ride quickly came to end though as the pilot warned of a
ground contact up ahead. Six of the other gunships peeled off, banking
back
up to the airship, flocking around it like chicks around a hen. We
stayed
low and through my specs a bizarre light show began to dance across the
rushing landscape. Lances of laser light criss-crossed below us, some in
random collections others concentrated on specific locations. I switched
my
specs to mesh mode so I could discern our infantry from the Kra¹Vak, it
looked like a small Kra¹Vak force had run into one of our roving
patrols.

Off to the left a ring of light indicated a squad cut-off and signalling
to
the UAVs circling out of sight for support. A drone suddenly dived down
past
us, answering the call, I was less aware of its dark rushing body than
the
solid rod of light it appeared to ride down to the ground, before it
fired,
banked and disappeared into the night now running dark again.

My specs made the scene below fairly clear and you could hardly call it
dark, it was much clearer than even the fullest of moons on Earth.
Nevertheless it felt odd, foreshortened, like it was in 2.5D and didn¹t
run
all the way to the horizons. I knew it was a trick of the technology and
much better than acting in the dark, but it was a feeling I had never
managed to shake.

We cleared the combat in under a minute and after about another quarter
hour
we were on our final approach. The gunship came in low and fast, again.
It
didn¹t slow until the last second when it just came straight down, the
gunner talking the pilot down. The sensors could have done it solo, all
the
UAVs did without issue, but even after centuries of flight human pilots
tend
to trust themselves over the instruments alone.

Unbuckling I followed the two Lieutenants I¹d been travelling with out
onto
the ground. Dawn was coming, but the light was still dim enough to need
the
spec¹s augmentation. I followed the Lt¹s to the waving Lumestick where
I was
greeted by Rurik, one of the Martian pilots who¹d joined us back in
Aureum.
I hadn¹t realised that a prep force had been dispatched, but there was
no
other explanation for him getting here ahead of us. He tapped my
shoulder
and rotated his index finger, indicating I should turn away from the
gunship. As it lifted off I was glad of his reminder, the exposed
regolith
kicking up and peppering my back with sandy debris.

We wound away back through the dark to a higher step in the plateau. The
area was a hive of activity as the airship came in and started to off
load
the main body of the 2/34. We spent much of the rest of the morning
unloading crates and getting vehicles ready. The next phase of the 2/34
deployment was to be a roving patrol, simultaneously patrolling the
northern
sector of the peninsular and harassing any Kra¹Vak doing likewise.

***

I spent much of the next few days with Rurik. The making and breaking of
camps became second nature, as did the cleaning of kit and the stream of
rough Slavic humour. Rurik was quiet when in a group, particularly
around
the younger men of the 2/34, but as the numbers dwindled he opened up.
At 83
he was perhaps the oldest member of the Armed Forces I¹d encountered on
Mars. Age was hard to judge when there was such a mix of naturals,
splicers
and juicers about. There was enough variation in the naturals as it was
and
some people responded to the rejuvenation treatments more or less
effectively than others. Hardly anyone but those form the urban ghettos
went
for the knife or the needle anymore so they stood out as starkly as
those
who had opted for cybernetic implants. Juicers used a nano-delivered
cocktail of synthetic hormones and other treatments to slow aging, while
the
splicers used gene-tech. Both aged more naturally than those who¹d
opted for
more physical interventions, though those in the know suggested the
extra
cost of the gene-tech paid off in the end. Maximum age had not increase
by
much on the naturally defined upper end, maybe extended it from 120 to
150,
but the difference was the quality of life and independence lasted until
the
end. I had picked Rurik as a juicer, I doubted he¹d have had the money
for
splicing, at least from an early enough age for it to really pay off.
Although who could tell on Mars where a family could sequester itself
away
and slowly accumulate a fortune they chose not to put on display. At
first I
felt it rude to ask, but in the end I succumbed to my curiosity and was
greeted by a hearty laugh from Rurik.

³Nyet! What yoo see ees what you get. One hundred percaynt Slavic
goodness!²

It turned out he was a great grandfather who had lived on Mars his
entire
life. He¹d been born in the industrial town of Vologansk, south of Eos
Chasma. He had got his pilots licence ay 17, he¹d taken lunch time
flying
lessons over the course of six months while working in a fabricating
plant
run by his Uncle. In his twenties he¹d agreed to be one of the first
company-sponsored pilots to get gills and nano-hemes so he could do the
long
haul equatorial routes they were opening up. He¹d been repeatedly
decorated
for bravery during the First Solar War though his most remembered event
of
that time was meeting the prophets Taletha and Bemun before they were
martyred in 2137. Influenced by his experiences he joined the Ashacithra
after the war and led a largely peaceful life. Marrying twice and having
three children he spent much of his life shipping materials around Mars
watching life slowly creep further and more strongly across its surface.
When two of his great grandsons had died during the turmoil of the
Kra¹vak
landing in 2194 Rurik had enlisted with the UN led forces.

³Ee feegoored ee coould still contriboot. Ee am tsar of Mars sand and
vind.
Beseedes my leefe iz done. Better for me to reesk than for yoong men.²
Hard
to argue with that logic. During the next few days I asked the rest of
the
pilots if that¹s why they¹d also joined up. While some had led a less
peaceful life than Rurik in recent decades and had admitted to almost
drifting into the role, all had felt drawn to using their decades of
experience to baluster the fight against the Kra¹Vak.

³I know I don¹t run so fast anymore, but I figured I could give then a
darn
good shellackin¹ with me walkin¹ stick² joked the baby of the unit 64
year
old Ryce Jones.

***

Rurik had spent the evening trying to teach me the Russian names for the
most common constellations, or at least the ones we could pick out
between
the skittering clouds that randomly blotted out patches of our vista.
The
Milky Way painted across the sky in breathtaking, but fitful brilliance.
Off
to the south explosions created a low rumbling accompaniment to our
lesson.
About midnight I called it quits and turned in. It felt like I¹d just
closed
my eyes when Rurik came bustling into our shared pod and shook me.

³Come Jock, you come see zees. Big leet show.²

Rurik grabbed his rifle and headed back out of the pod. Guessing by
light
show Rurik meant an attack. I stopped to pull on my combat rig before
heading outside.

My BUGS kicked in and I could make out troops moving to defensive
positions.
Some were climbing up into vehicle mounts, others dispersing to points
around the perimeter. I activated my spec-cam and called on its greater
sensor power to try and see further out on to the plain. Still to little
avail, the specialised image enhancers helped, but their depth of
visibility
was still limited on such a dark night.

A string of flares arced from the edge of the convoy-come-caravan into
the
Martian night, raising the ambient light levels to the point the BUGS
phased
out. There are many strange things about night fights and this is yet
another one. When illume rounds go up they create enough light for your
specs to grade out the enhancers, but as soon as the rounds dim the BUGS
kick in again. I used to find this oscillation quite unsettling ­ the
first
time I felt sick to my stomach and about fell flat on my face. Now
however
it is old hat and squinting just as you anticipate the shift is just
another
battlefield trick to call upon.

My eyes quickly located the mortar crew tucked in between two of the
big-wheeled transports firing the illumination rounds out over the
on-coming
Kra¹Vak. Each shot went up as a pinprick of light, like an old style
firecracker, but instead of ending in a flowery explosion it blossomed
into
a glowing balloon of pastel yellow light that drifted in the light
Martian
breeze. The flickering preternatural light cast long, but sharp shadows
that
ran long distances toward the edge of the light field. Even I could see
the
Kra¹Vak infantry caught in the open ground closing on our position.
Fire
opened up on them from soldiers in the vehicle weapon mounts or kneeling
tucked in behind the vehicles for protection.

Right on the edge of the light I saw a Kra¹Vak support team set-up a
firing
position. Some were attaching mortar tubes to stabilisation plates,
others
were working on pads probably dialling in the strike, while still others
loaded the munitions. Once I realised what was coming I sprinted for the
cover of some ration crates, the armoured positions in the vehicles were
more inviting, but people with a purpose needed those. I only just made
it
to my bolthole before mortars were tracing lazy parabolas through the
night
sky. The Kra¹Vak weapons weren¹t as lit up as ours, but they still
left a
glowing trail on your vision.

The Kra¹Vak tracers were green, red or violet-tinged blue whereas ours
tended to be more orange and yellow. It made it easier to identify who
was
who as the shots laced across the night toward targets on either side.
Suddenly I was the target. Kra¹Vak fire snapped across the ground
beside the
crates and up over the boxes. Pulling my head down I hoped the body of
the
crates would be as safe as they¹d looked from the pod door. Small rocks
and
sand flicked up by the shots whipped into my legs and I could see the
tracer
rounds thud into the dirt within arms reach. Out of the corner of my eye
I
saw one tracer slug puncture a mesh cage of water bottles, ricocheting
twice
before settling in the wreckage and making the whole thing glow a dull
but
fading green.

As the cold of the night folded in around me I heard a Mantis VTOL fly
in
and take up position overhead. It stabbed fired down onto the Kra¹Vak
mortar
team, its rockets streaking in on dead straight vectors. Then the pilot
tipped the VTOL and slid off to the left of our position, firing again.
I
guessed the pilot must be working with our FST. Bruce was most likely on
the
counter battery radar, his little ³ball catcher². He¹d have placed
his ring
of little dishes around him and would be using them to perform
electromagnetic sweeps of the sky, looking for the black comets that
marked
an incoming round. From there it was up to the AI to locate points of
origin
and feed them to the Mantis¹ targeting list.

The Mantis hit twice more with rockets before opening up with its MG
across
the Kra¹Vak in the open to our southeast. BARRRP, BARRRP, BARP, BRP,
BRP.
The Mantis then slid off into the dark, I found out at the debrief the
next
day that the VTOL had been returning from a mission in the south and had
had
limited ammunition and fuel so couldn¹t stay with us for long.

³Rocket!²

I pulled in tight against the crates, crouching, curling up over my
feet,
arms over my head. The rocket whooshed overhead and struck the rear of
the
camp. Showering me with small stones, but doing little real damage. I
felt
exposed and really wanted to find somewhere with more cover. I rose onto
the
balls of my feet and peeked over the crates, looking about for a more
secure
position. I spotted a wombat with its tail down. I could duck in there
and
use the wall of the APC for cover and with the ramp down I¹d still have
a
fairly unimpeded view. With a deep breath I took off at a sprint for the
Wombat, a couple of Kra¹Vak bullets kicking up sand as I hurdled a
stool-sized rock. I don¹t think they¹d intentionally been targeting
me, more
likely just random strikes in what was a chaotic firefight. Nevertheless
my
heart was pounding as I thudded up the ramp breathing hard.

Inside I found Reg and another medic trying desperately to patch up a
young
Corporal. It didn¹t look good however as her right leg was saturated
with a
spreading pool of blood that had made the floor of the vehicle slick.

³Friend!² I declared breathlessly as the other medic pulled his
sidearm.

³Jesus Jock!² Reg said placing a hand on the gun and pushing its
muzzle
toward the floor.

³Sorry guys, it was getting a little hairy out there. Need any help?²

³No, but you can cover the door.² Reg said tossing me a rifle. I sat
on the
rearmost sit and wedged myself with my back to the wall, scanning for
anything threatening to head our way. Every few seconds my eyes would
flick
to the little tactical insert projection (³tac screen²) on my specs.
There
was still a mass of Kra¹Vak out there.

³Friendly birds inbound. Cleared hot and danger close.² Baxter
declared over
my earbud, warning everyone to keep their heads down.

Two phoenix strike fighters thundered overhead. Doing a first pass they
picked up the enemy on their sensors and began a live feed down to our
tac
screens. They were probably double-checking their visuals with Baxter,
making sure they were targeting the right bodies. Any mistakes with the
Kra¹Vak this close could spell big trouble for us. I noticed that
someone
had set a string of pastel blue flares along the perimeter under most
direct
attack, marking out our position.

The fighters circled out and around behind the camp, before going into
shallow dives down over the camp. As they cleared our position they
opened
fire with their nose mounted cannons, strafing the approaching Kra¹Vak
with
thousands of rounds. The tracer fire was coming so thick and fast, it
looked
like a constant stream of cadmium yellow flame. The volume of fire was
deafening, drowning out the chattering of rifles and small arms. Then a
mighty WHOMP rolled across the battlefield and pushed at my ears and
chest.
One of the Phoenix had fired a missile, destroying half the Kra¹Vak
advance
with a single devastating strike.

Concentrating on my spec¹s tac screen I countered about 35 Kra¹Vak
remaining. We easily outnumbered them. They had lost their mortar
support,
but may still have had some heavy slug throwers with them. The ground
contact obviously had a bit to run, but I was feeling better than when
Rurik
dragged me out of bed.

***

The firefight had lasted another half hour before the last of the
Kra¹Vak
launched one of those suicide beserker charges of theirs. Most were cut
down
before they reached our defensive line amongst the vehicles, but three
got
in. They seemed to be on some kind of adrenaline high, swinging,
slashing,
dismembering and hardly pausing under the blows they sustained until
they
finally fell dead from the cumulative fire. It was a costly contact
though.
They brought down seven of the 2/34. The casevac has already taken them
out,
including the body bags containing the rendered remains of Privates Kit
McKinley and Cal Rogers.

I¹ve witness a few such charges now and I¹ve seen more mowed down by
disciplined fire than I¹ve seen close. Still every charge I see
unnerves me
and I¹m supremely glad I¹ve never had to personally repulse one. There
maybe
plenty of jokes about my Highland beserker ancestors, naked except for
the
woad, lurking in the mist claymore swinging, but a roaring Kra¹Vak bull
charging weapons pulled is the stuff of my nightmares.

With the action over, two squads had been sent to clear the perimeter
and
four others kept watch. The body of the force however was occupied
breaking
camp. Dawn was just starting to light the far horizon by the time we
were
all done. Rurik made my day by pushing a steaming mug into my hands
before
swinging into the cab and pulling down his hatch.

I settled back into the passenger seat, harnessed up at Rurik¹s behest,
boots up on the bulkhead under the windscreen. I munched my way through
a
ration bar, nursing my coffee as long as my gritty eyes would allow.
Then
despite the jostling ride I dozed. When I woke the sun was up and we
were
out amongst the rocky ground of the plains between San Juan and Marin,
west
of the coastal highway.

I don¹t know how Rurik was managing as thick dust obscured the view of
the
truck in front of us. Leaning down I switched on the external viewers
and
looked around, the heavy dust also blocked the view of the vehicle
behind
us. The shape of the big flatbed loomed out of the dust, barely missing
our
tail, a collision barely avoided.

My sharp intake of breath, betrayed the narrow miss and Rurik chuckled.

³Been zat way all morneeng.²

³Why don¹t we spread out some more, run in a few columns?² I asked
Rurik,
looking at him and nodding to the vehicle ahead of us. ³Zat is why² he
said
wrapping his knuckle on a projection of the terrain around us. It showed
our
path marked in green with the terrain around us marked in various hues
of
yellow and orange. There were deep drifts and hidden drop offs and
embankments to either side of us.  There were also ominous blinking red
dots, the detectors mounted on the flanks of the vehicles marking them
as
suspicious objects. It was likely the Kra¹Vak had laid mines in the
sand on
either side of the road.

We crawled across the plain for nearly an hour before the inevitable
happened and one of the big trucks slipped off the road ahead of us. It
slid
and sunk down into the sand, bogging to the chassis. Just as it seemed
to
settle its rear kicked up explosively. It had hit a mine. The concussive
blast and rain of debris suddenly cascading down the windscreen startled
Rurik, who instinctively ducked away, dragging the controls of the truck
with him. We headed off the embankment too. Unconsciously I sucked in a
deep
breath and threw my hands against the frame of the door and ceiling,
pushing
back against my seat and bracing. The truck slewed left and right, Rurik
fighting the wheel, somehow slaloming between the biggest mine markers.
The
side glanced off some buried boulders and we began to totter, I was
convinced we would tip. Throwing us roughly the other way Rurik pulled
us
back upright, but the tail swung wide. I was thrown hard forward as the
whole body of the truck jerked violently. We were airborne and I could
see
sand and sky spinning around us out the window as we flipped. We¹d hit
a
mine, we¹d either miraculously missed the main force of the blast or it
had
been a smaller device, not a truck killer. If we could land softly we
might
stand a chance. The seat bracing was digging into my thighs and
shoulders
and my head was whipped one way and then another, as we bounced back up
the
embankment. With a sickening crunch we rammed into one of the smaller
jeeps.

Once the world was still I gingerly poked at my aching thighs and ran a
hand
over my face checking for anything more than superficial cuts. Relief,
disbelief and awe swept through me as the probing suggested I was
intact.
Rurik was groaning beside me.

³You ok?²

³Da. Da. ² He said, though there was the hint of pain in his voice and
he
had a nasty gash across the bridge of his nose, his eyes already
blackening
and swelling.

I was hanging in my harness and looked about for some handholds. I was
after
the easiest way to hold on so that when I released the clasp I wouldn¹t
just
drop and crack my head. I had been concentrating on holds around the
harness
mounts, but dropped my eyes to see if there were any on the bulkhead
when my
eyes finally caught the grisly tableau framed by the windscreen. The
frame
of the jeep was bent sharply in front of us and blood and tissue was
splattered and smeared up across the plexiglass. I could see part of an
arm
and a pulpy mass was snagged on the lower edge of the port. My attention
was
riveted to the gore. I couldn¹t force myself to look away. With
furrowed
brow I tried to resolve what I was looking at. My stomach plummeted as I
realised it was a maimed cranium, brain and hair all combined. I started
gasping, retching.

Rurik looked up and then shot out an arm to me. Where had he found a
sick
bag? How could he be retaining his composure?

³Jock?! Jock?!² A sharp rapping on the side window finally drew my
attention
back from the carnage and my roiling stomach. I could see the CSM¹s big
dusty face mask, his hand swiping at the dust on the window trying to
see
in. Seeing his mouth move outside the window, but hearing his voice in
my
earbuds added to the surreal feeling overwhelming me.

³Are you ok?² The CSM asked both through the earbuds and using an odd
mix of
hand gestures through the window.

I nodded weakly.

³Rurik?²

Rurik also nodded and then rattled off the status of everything he could
inventory from his current location. How could he do that when
someone¹s
brain was smeared up the windscreen? The whole thing seemed too real. I
knew
I had seen worse in Marin, I had watched Reg hold a man¹s heart
together! I
don¹t know whether it was the fatigue or accumulated stress or being
fresh
back in the field, but this time I was distraught and felt lost as to
how to
deal with it, to regain my equilibrium.

³Ok. The boys will help you and then we¹ll roll her and salvage what
we
can.² The CSM said, rapping the door before moving off down the road.

I forced myself to turn my attention on the harness clasps. Fumbling
with
them.  I was trying to focus, but my brain felt like it was stuffed with
cotton wool. A draft of cold air betrayed the door cracking open beside
me.
I looked up to see Pancho¹s concerned face.

³Careful Jock. I¹m going to give the door a tug.²

Straining Pancho and Nic wrenched open the door. The metal of the door
grated penetratingly as it was dragged through the rocky sand. Cold air
swirled round me, clearing my head a little. Irresistibly my eyes
swivelled
back to the windscreen. The blood remained, but someone had mercifully
covered the body.

Pancho reached in and helped release the harness. I swung down onto the
cabin roof and crawled out onto the sand. From the noise behind me Rurik
must have also been climbing out. Men were labouring all around us.
Wrestling vehicles, crates, wounded.

I rested against a boulder. I was shaking and sweaty despite the cold
and I
felt disconnected like I was swimming through molasses. Rurik dropped
down
beside me, handing me a small flask.

³Here. Dreenk. Pajalsta²

The syrupy liquid burnt on the way down. Rurik sat talking to me for
what
may have been hours. The recovery of the truck was a long slow process.
There must have been Kra¹Vak somewhere not too far away too as their
jammers
had cut out radios, making it necessary to dispatch runners when
communicating along the length of the convoy.

Initially I just sat there slumped on the roadside, out of the way
amongst
the sand. I didn¹t want to talk, but Rurik kept rambling away,
encouraging
me to pitch in and help with re-crating the cargo. The contact
eventually
coaxing me out until I too started talking, it all came spilling out. It
helped, relieving the pressure and easing the queasy knot in my stomach.
As
we were loading up the last crate, Rurik looked at me and said ³Een
2141 ee
vas grunt vith Souz Yevrazia Solnychniy. At Eedaeus Massacre ee lost
tree
brozers. Ee zought ee vould never be vysyliyS vhat yoo say? Cheerfool?²
He
went quiet and looked out across the plain. ³Ee deeg deep, got zrough.
Many
nyet so good.² Shaking himself, Rurik turned and clapped me roughly on
the
back, a big grin across his face. ³Come, ve eat!²

***

It was just before nightfall when the engineers set the charges amongst
the
debris of the wrecked trucks. The explosions lit up the desert around
us,
playing highlights along the sides of the trucks and blending with the
orangey twilight. My nerves tightened again as the light seemed like
beacons
broadcasting our presence, but we couldn¹t repair or free them enough
to tow
them, so it was important to make sure the enemy wouldn¹t benefit from
their
hulks. Intellectually the photographer in me revelled in the light and
mentally concocted shots of the scene, but my heart wasn¹t in it. I
felt
tired, leaden. It felt asinine to catch myself even thinking of
photographing a funeral pyre.

We rolled off into the night, the convoy continuing its circuitous route
to
its next campsite. This time I sat in the back of a Wombat, tucked in
with
some of the recon platoon and Rurik, who was snoring diagonally across
from
me. It wasn¹t as spacious as the cab of the truck had been and I
couldn¹t
see out, but right at that moment it felt strangely comforting, like
being
hidden away.

The night stretched on, the convoy only managing to creep along as it
twisted through the Martian landscape, replete with treacherous terrain
and
darkened minefields. We stopped twice to allow us to stretch our legs
and
relieve ourselves. There was no light or other sign of habitation in the
desolate surrounds.

Normally I can fall asleep anywhere, amongst anything. A trick I had
picked
up quickly after becoming an embed, you¹re never sure when the next
good
sleep is coming. Tonight however sleep eluded me and I sat there
deflated,
listening to the sounds of the vehicle and troops in her; the snores,
grunts, whispered conversations and crass jokes. As the night inched
toward
dawn my legs began to cramp and I had to rub my calves and wiggle my
toes to
relieve the pain.

I must have finally slept as I was jerked awake when the Wombat
shuddered to
a halt. Briefly disoriented it took me a moment to locate myself, before
I
started gathering my gear together. It felt good to get out and stretch
my
cramped limbs. Looking around there were many tousled heads and dark
eyes.
Everyone was tired and most were filthy. What struck me most was that
despite the adversity people were joking as they pitched camp, morale
was
high. The FST were setting up mortars in the centre of the position,
Jess
McDougall scanning the horizon through binoculars, noting marks and
ranges
on a pad. Chris and Jeff pulled a gun case from the back of a transport
truck and floated it past. They took it to a set of boulders on the
western
edge of the camp and cracked it, pulling out an MG. On the eastern edge
of
the camp Cathy and Nic set up an AI driven sentry gun. Rurik tossed a
duffel
into my arms, looking inside I found a camouflage screen.

³Nyet rayst for veeked² he chucked. I helped him put up a string of
screens
over the dorm pods and vehicles.

***

Around midday Baxter came over to where I was playing round robin chess
with
Rurik and another of the Martian pilots, Tobias Whittaker.

³Heard you found yesterday pretty rough.²

Looking up into his rugged face I replied, ³I¹ve had better days.²

³There¹s a VTOL coming, ETA fifteen minutes. There¹s room for you if
you
want a ride out of here.²

My throat was suddenly tight and my gut felt like a butterfly ballet
recital
had broken out. I knew I couldn¹t leave though, not with the 2/34
likely
heading into some of the thickest fighting of the war.

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