A shorter than average, rather husky man, adorned in the flagship greenery of the United States Colonial Marines leaned against a metal wall. He grumbled to himself, arms crossed as other soldiers moved to and fro down the hallway. Some shot him strange glances, others gave a quick salute, which he returned rather rigidly. Other times he’d even be the one to start such an exchange, spurned on only to avoid a potential hassle.
“Captain Hanover, I do hope you’re ready for this.”
Major Halloway invited the Captain inside. Her eyes were harsh and she held an eyebrow cocked ready for a response of some sort, perhaps even a preferable one.
“Ma’am. I-I didn’t think you’d be here.”
Captain Hanover stumbled the words, his body tensed and rigid, his eyes darted left and right to the people passing by in the hallway, scruffy beard and unkempt hair on full display.
“We all get surprised sooner or later, don’t we captain? Now come in, enough standing around.”
Hanover blinked twice and followed Halloway into her office, standing awkwardly by the door like a child who’s gone to their parents room, as if spooked by a monster under their bed.
“Well, come on, take a seat. Let’s get this over with.”
Halloway spoke sternly, with a smile. She sat at her desk and clicked her pen, her eyes shooting daggers at the Captain.
“Right.”
Hanover sat down and kept himself as professionally beared as he could, his eyes scanned Halloway’s office. It all seemed fuzzy.
“Captain Hanover, you know you’ve been recommended for promotion… a few times these past few years… Though I do find it quite amusing frankly, you know… being stationed where you are.”
She made a noise not unlike a chuckle, stifled in her throat.
“Second Battalion, yes ma’am. Quite the unorthodox fighting force… I… can admit to that. But they’re effective, good people, you… you should be well aware.”
He trailed off, his voice lowering to a near murmur. He looked down at himself and spotted a dark red, familiar stain on his fatigues.
“Of course… no doubt about that captain. You must be proud, I’ve seen some of the after-action reports.”
The Major began pulling out some rather heavy files and placing them in front of the Captain. A sly smirk on her face as she did so, each thud of the files punctuating her words.
“You recall these ones?”
Captain Hanover leaned forward, his eyes glossy as he read the names silently, his mouth twitching.
“I recall, Major. All too well. But why are we talking about these ones, they… were dealt with. Put away, you know that… I know that. Ma’am.”
He pursed his lips, and scanned the Major’s face. Noting the burns and gouge marks, her eye was blinded white. By acid, it… was acid.
“Something wrong captain?”
The Captain froze, he coughed, a splatter of blood erupted onto the table. A sudden, vicious wound appeared near his stomach.
“M-maria… I…”
Hank fell to the ground, the room disappeared around him, replaced with darkness and a rather wet, dark material. He was adorned in the ballistic carrier and helmet of the Marines, his shoulder lamp malfunctioning, flickering, as a flare lit ahead of him, showing a hunched over marine’s corpse against the wall.
He clenched his fist, a dogtag, “M. H.” He coughed again, trying to flip himself around onto his back as a spear of pain shot straight through his torso. He yelped as he flopped back onto his front, tears streaming down his face. His radio crackled.
“All… Over us!.. Get… Refinery! RTB! RTB!”
He pulled himself forward, his left arm was broken, limp and useless. But his right one, still clutching the dogtags, slowly inched him across the wet bonelike resin. He groaned with each effort, pulling himself up next to the corpse. Blood was spattered out of their mouth, and there was a bullet hole through the side of their head. Hank let out a soft, pathetic sob. His hand reached forward, trembling as he worked his way, painfully, into one of their pouches, retrieving a half-spent stim.
“F-ffff-fuck… C-come…Come on!”
He muttered, fumbling with the cap as he jammed it straight into his thigh. He let out another pained groan as he propped himself up against the dead marine. The Stim worked its magic, keeping him relatively pain-free. He reached for his sidearm, a VP78. The ammo counter read “Seven”. Hanover chuckled and sniffled. He began to laugh for a few moments, before he was quieted by his radio crackling again.
“Kilo… Down… Refinery… Relief here, Cavalry! Fuck yeah!”
He looked over by the dead Private’s foot. His CO’s dogtags sat in the resin by their boot. He shook his head, looking to his right to get a better view of the marine’s face next to him, their throat was ripped out. That did not stop them from tilting their head to face Hank.
“We sure showed them, Captain! Didn’t we?”
It smiled, eyes dead and dull. Hank could do nothing but stare.
“Cap? Sir? We… got them, right? Killed those bastards, we… saved the Major, right sir?”
Hank chuckled, his body tensed, his hand trembling as he looked down at the pistol he held so tightly. He blinked, as screeches, hisses, and growls burned into his skull. Then, blackness. His face was pressed against his office table. His door buzzed as a voice from outside called for him.
“Captain? Sir? There’s a situation brewing on the bridge.”
He wearily raised his gaze over to the door, his head throbbing. He looked to his left and recalled the bottles of spiced rum that he had emptied the night before. He then looked forward, his eyes wide, at his VP78 fully loaded, safety off.
Hank pushed himself off the table, nearly stumbling over. He collected the pistol, put it on safe and holstered it.
“Fuuuuck me…”
He mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. The office itself was, for all intents and purposes, spinning. Hank made his way to the door, fetching his officers cap in an attempt to look a bit more professional.
His desk was covered in bottles, papers, and cigarette butts. Hank stared for a long moment, his eyes watered ever so slightly and he blinked it away fast.
He flipped the light switch and left the room.