A protracted war is almost at its end. This is the final offensive and failure is not an option. Everything is allowed and nothing is sacred.
Content warning: a bit of gore, no splatter though; attempted light horror
622 words.
Graham—no, the thing that used to be Graham—slammed the flip-spade into the mud and heaved itself out of the trench. The V-Man braced against the crater’s slope and fumbled a new cartridge into the breech of his thaumlock. The stooped figure staggered towards the barbed wire, a mangled arm dangling loosely by its side, attached only by a few strands of Graham’s shredded uniform. Fifty paces into no man’s land the last thing you need is the enemy crawling from your own trench. The V-Man steadied his rifle on the crater rim and waited for the next flare to arc over tree-lined ridge. The thought of firing on his former CO burned in his eyes. But with BB and Jurie still alive, this was not a choice. He wouldn’t let it get to them. He had to take another shot.
Evoked missile volleys clawed at the dusky sky, leaving red streaks in their wake, and dimly illuminating the crater. BB hid his face against his knees. When the ambush came, their special weapons specialist had completely drained himself, blowing a crater into the lee of a nearby earth mound. A snap decision with no prep time. Now all he could do was count the seconds until their artillery would return fire. When they didn’t, he dropped his head back between his knees. He was completely useless now and no one could do anything about it. Had the gods been merciful, the spell would have killed him.
The V-Man flicked his eyes back to their trench. The stunted shape of Graham made an ungainly dash for the barbed wire. Acid shot up his throat and the V-Man swallowed hard, when the thing vaulted over the wire on Graham’s leg stumps. He couldn’t tell where the blood-soaked bandages ended and where the mud-encrusted pants began. The V-Man shuddered. It had removed the stints and was gaining on them. Fast. The V-Man saw blood seep from its nose and sockets. It returned his gaze with eyes too bulbous to blink. With a brain that bloated, he expected its skull to fly apart any moment now. There was almost no need to put Graham out of her misery a second time. Just die already.
Jurie dropped her black-out goggles and flipped a switch on her communication array. A spring-loaded spindle revved up, drawing in the wire antenna she had flung onto the mound above them. It proclaimed its success with an audible click. BB looked up. It had been hours since their auxiliary had made a sound besides her shallow breathing; he wasn’t sure she as much as blinked, when she rigged herself to the array, relaying back and forth communications between nearby units and field command. She solemnly took off her earpiece and turned it over in her hands. There was no one left to listen to but the void—and an insufferable operator back in Melphi. She took a swig from her flask to wet her throat before she answered the question stamped across BB’s glum face.
“They’re in denial.”
“Denial won’t stop this thing from getting closer,” the V-Man murmured from his vantage point. The shadows lengthened as the flare dimmed and dropped. A part of him wanted to run away in the cover of the dark. That part also hoped to die quickly. “Who will cover our retreat?”
“There is no retreat; the orders were very clear.” Jurie slid her fingers under her helmet and massaged her temples. “We are to keep pushing up the bloody ridge.”
“Did they go fucking nuts?!” The V-Man did not like the whine in BB’s voice, but shared his indignation.
