Dust, soot, and grime filtered down from the ceiling as the Methuselah reverberated. At first, he thought it was another explosion, but there was no cacophony a detonation would most certainly make. No, this was more like seismic activity, which he knew Earth was prone to. However, Harmattan had no volcanic activity, and its core was as cold as a grave, for a planet. No, this rumbling he had felt before. A tank had just fired its main weapon. Was the Enoch engaging in a duel with another tank? Was it the tank that had killed the Methuselah? Marcus' chest felt like it was full of ice shards. If the Enoch was dueling, then -

There it was again, another rumble. Yes, that was most definitely a tank. His radio buzzed, and he answered. It was Brogers.

"Marcus, I know you're working hard down there," she said, the anxiety in her voice plain, "but we need you to work just a bit faster, ok?" Marcus tried to swallow, but his mouth and throat were dry and gritty.

"I'm almost done," he said, "the impeller is on its way to the hold. If you guys are done with the data, I can get this thing ready to go in twenty minutes or less." A brief moment of silence, and then Deknost responded.

"Yes, we will be ready within twenty minutes, as you say. Out." Marcus immediately went back to work, pulling the impeller along. When he exited the engineering passageway, the hoist had to climb several feet at an angle to acclimate to the outside hallway's heightened ceiling. This took a grievously long time, and the motors in the wheels whined in protest. Soon, however, he managed to get the hoist to the higher elevation of the hallway's rail, and since he was standing now, he decided he had a greater opportunity to pull the thing manually. He disengaged the motors in the wheels for the hoist that pulled it along the rails, effectively putting the contraption in neutral. Marcus hooked the controller back up to the hoist, which had a small hook just for that purpose, and began to haul the impeller manually. It was huge, and weighed near a ton; if it fell from the hoist, it would not only crush Marcus like an insect beneath its gargantuan weight, but it would likely severely damage the floor beneath, which wasn't designed for such a weight.

The weight of the part was immense, but Marcus found that pulling it along like this was faster than using the high-torque of the hoist's wheels. It was also significantly more exertive than he originally imagined, and soon he was huffing and panting from the exercise. He realized he was using up more oxygen than he probably should, considering that he hadn't tried to get more oxygen bottles out of Gretel's wreckage. Thinking about it, he realized that those bottles may not be recoverable, especially since they needed to leave immediately.

"McCullagh, the oxygen bottles on Gretel may not be recoverable in any acceptable timeframe. Where would extra bottles be located on the Methuselah? We need to grab some before we go; Gretel had all of the spares, and I imagine everyone is running low." Marcus continued to haul the part while he waited for McCullagh to respond.

"Don't worry about it, Rhyne," she responded, "I took care of it. We have two bags full of bottles here." Marcus was relieved, but didn't waste the time to tell her so. Soon enough, he had pulled the impeller to the end of this rail line: in the hold. The hoist clanged on the stoppage, four full feet into the hold. Marcus put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. McCullagh walked up to him.

"There's no time for that, Rhyne," she reprimanded, "I managed to get the sled free from Gretel, and I pulled out one of the Hrungnir suits that I imagine we'll be using to get back to the Enoch. Let's get this operation finished," she said. Marcus nodded, still out of breath, but he agreed with her. If the Enoch was engaged in a duel, it may GTFO of the area in case of multiple enemy tanks zeroing in on their position. It was one of the most basic rules of tank combat on Harmattan: fire, relocate. Fire, relocate. In a landscape as harsh and unforgiving, with zero visibility and limited sensor range, the explosive noise caused by firing a round essentially signals to every listening ear within 50 kilometers "I'm here." The Enoch may not wait around for them even if it wins the duel, and Marcus wouldn't blame them if that was the case. The Enoch and the lives aboard took priority.

With McCullagh's help, Marcus got the impeller lowered onto the sled, and strapped down. He then sealed all pipes and internal accesses by welding small sheets of metal to them. An oil impeller wasn't something you want sand inside, after all. Just as he was about to radio Brogers and Deknost asking about their whereabouts, the duo appeared, coilguns in hand, with many more strapped to their backs. Marcus' mouth was agape at the sight. Coilguns were rare, and he had never seen one in person before.

"Deknost showed me where he found that coilgun he used to help you guys earlier," Brogers sang, "and there were more waiting for us. So, you know, finders keepers." Marcus followed her as she tossed the rifles into a canvas bag, and Deknost did the same. She then tossed the bag on the sled.

"Don't you think it's weird, Brogers?" Marcus asked her. "The Methuselah had two Hrungnir suits, which are reserved for "shit-hitting-the-ceiling" spec ops runs, and fucking coilguns, which are almost as expensive as a Hrungnir suit. I've never heard about those being handed out to rank-and-file tankers, especially one like the Methuselah, who was on patrol in the backline. None of that is weird to you?" He held up his hands in a pleading gesture, almost asking her, or anyone else, to acknowledge how strange it was. Brogers staired into empty space, not looking at Marcus. Deknost and McCullagh were silent too.

"Look, Rhyne," Brogers said, "if it smells like Intelligence made a deal, it's best you look away, understand? You don't want to fuck with those guys. So, what I'm saying in no short terms, is that you don't want to ask questions that you may not want answered. Better for your health in the long run." She turned away and began tying the bag of coilguns to the sled.

"I think it's pretty weird, Marcus. I agree with you." The voice coming over the radio sounded weak. Marcus looked over to see Locke slowly trying to roll over, likely to get up. Everyone rushed over to stop him from doing so.

"I appreciate the thought, Locke, but you really should be still," Marcus said. Locke nodded, lying back down.

"Oh yeah, I agree now. That hurt a lot." He said. He looked up at the group standing above him.

"Where's Mason?" he asked. The group was silent, and Marcus handed Locke Mason's dogtags. Locke looked at the tags for a moment, saying nothing. Then, without a word, Locke opened up a pouch on his pants leg, where many more such dogtags resided. He put Mason's tags in the puch, and zipped it up.

"Was it quick?" Locke asked nobody in particular. Silence once more. Marcus swallowed.

"Yes," Marcus lied. Locke nodded.

"I imagine Brogers was in charge while I was out?" Locke asked. Brogers stepped forward.

"Yes, though I'm ready to relinquish command if you feel fit enough to do so. The part we came for is strapped to the sled, and we're almost ready to go. We just need to put you on the sled too." Locke nodded and thought for a moment before responding.

"And the data?" he asked. Deknost spoke up.

"No, none of any importance was recovered. We think it was an auto-burner, in case of catastrophic tank damage, the data would self-delete." Locke cursed.

"If not for the part we recovered, this expedition would be a wash. We learned nothing, and lost a team member." Locke was quiet for a moment. "I'll take command back, Brogers, and we'll make it clear these mistakes happened under my watch." Brogers spoke up in protest, but Locke silenced her with a raised hand.

"I'll keep the command; however, if I pass out again, it's back to you, Brogers. Understand?" Brogers nodded.

"Yes, I understand. Are you ready to be moved?" She asked Locke. The expedition leader nodded, and Deknost gingerly lifted the man, and carried him to the sled. Marcus marveled at Deknost's strength. The big man looked like he were carrying a light bag of potatoes, not a whole human being. Deknost slowly lowered Locke onto the sled, with the bag of coilguns acting as his pillow, so he could sit upright. Locke squirmed a bit at this.

"What's in this bag, rocks?" he asked. Deknost shook his head.

"No," the giant responded, "is coilguns." Locke looked flabbergasted.

"Coilguns?" he asked, "what the fuck are coilguns doing on the Methuselah?" He sounded as flabbergasted as he looked. Deknost shrugged, and Locke looked at the Hrungnir suit, and then the wreckage of Gretel. He said nothing; he apparently mirrored Brogers' stance about asking questions now. While he was still, McCullagh gave Locke another dose of painkillers, and the group made ready to leave. Brogers gave Locke another handfull of dogtags to hold onto. Marcus figured they must have been from the bridge staff. Dr. Thaler on the Enoch would likely go over the dogtags, cataloguing their likely times and causes of death. This information would then be sent to Mother Base, who would strike the Methuselah's fate into their logs, and notify next of kin of their loss.

"Is everyone ready to go?" Brogers asked. Marcus shook his head.

"No, I need five minutes. I want to salvage the ripper saw that's currently on Gretel and put it on this Hrungnir suit. You never know when you need one; I killed natters with it before. It cuts right through their carapace." Marcus said, already moving towards the wreckage of Gretel. Brogers sighed, but acquiesced.

"Five minutes, no more," she said. Marcus immediately got to work, disconnecting the saw from Gretel's arm. Thankfully, it wasn't crushed under the steel beams and wreckage, as her other arm was. He disconnected the heavy saw, heaving it out of the mess, and hauled it over to the Hrungnir, whose arm he connected it to quickly. The suits featured a modular system for adding attachments to their arms, which made the swap almost painless. The saw was huge, and immensely heavy, but Marcus managed to get it slid onto the Hrungnir's arm slot, and locked it in place. He connected the power leads, and signaled he was ready to go. It took him four and a half minutes.

With everything in place, the group formed into a loose line, and Marcus got into the Hrungnir suit. It was brand-new and squeeky clean inside, with no sign that it had even been used before. Marcus whistled at the fancy suit, and closed the hatch. It was much like Gretel's internals, but better. Better screens, better cameras, faster and more precise controls. And it was loaded to the gills with weapons, as well. It was slightly larger, and most definitely more comfortable. Marcus glanced through the menu of capabilities quickly and realized he had no idea how many of them operated, so he settled for what he knew.

"Is everyone ready?" Brogers asked the group. She was at the front of the group this time, since Locke was on the sled behind the Hrungnir. Everyone radioed their readiness, including Locke, and the group set out. They walked out of the hold of the Methuselah and onto the sands below. Instantly, the swirling maelstrom buffeted the expedition members as they stepped out. Marcus hadn't missed that, the constant buffeting and contradicting wind directions. This new suit was better at keeping its balance than Gretel, however, and faired much better in the winds than the older Ringlefinch suit ever did. The group walked back down the canyone from whence they came, retracing their steps for now. Brogers apparently knew the way, though Marcus certainly wasn't privy to the location of the meetup spot where the Enoch was supposed to pick them up.

They left the canyon and instead of trudging in the direction that they came from originally, where the Enoch dropped them off, they instead went almost directly north. Leaving the canyon, they were now more exposed to the weather than they were previously. The winds were vicious, kicking and slamming into the large combat suit. Every once in awhile, Marcus would look into his rearview camera to check up on the sled carrying the impeller, the coilguns, and Locke. Three very valuable pieces of cargo.

It wasn't long after leaving the canyon that Brogers called for a halt. In the scanned outlines of the group, Marcus saw her raise her hand, calling for a halt. She said nothing, and Marcus was confused as he didn't see anything on his sensors, and -

There. He saw it, for just a moment. The movement sensor caught something. He was sure they all saw it as well. Motion sensors were questionable at best on Harmattan, but they weren't always wrong. Even a clock is right twice a day, Penske used to say jokingly about the sensors. Marcus gulped. Again, his motion sensor picked up something approaching.

"Rhyne, do you know how to use the weapons on that suit?" McCullagh asked him.

"I do, though I had hoped we wouldn't have to use them." Marcus replied, his throat dry once more. He should have brought more water.

"Yeah, well, I don't think you get the luxury to chose," Brogers interjected. The motion sensor blipped again, except this time it was almost on them, approaching the group from the side. The group readied their weapons, including Locke. They all had coilguns, taken from the wreckage of the Methuselah. They stood in silence, waiting for whatever approached.

Out of the dark swirling sandstorm, a figure became visible. It was a looming shadow at first, though as it approached, the details became clearer. It was huge, and it was loping towards them.

"God, fuck, it's a chuma, open fire!" Brogers shouted. Without a delay, everyone in the group opened fire at the approaching monstrosity. The chuma lowered its armored head and sped up in its charge, heading straight at the group with no signs of stopping. Chumas, Marcus had heard, were hulking omnivorous abominations that were incredibly challenging to kill. They were one of the apex predators on the planet, being near the top of any given region's food chain. And now one had found them. It, too, featured an armored carapace like most of the creatures that lived on the surface of Harmattan, as anything less wouldn't survive in such a hostile landscape.

This also meant they were mostly bulletproof.

Marcus opened up with the Hrungnir suit, which had a massive caseless rifle on one arm, and a regular autocannon on the other arm, though he wasn't sure what kind of round it fired. When he opened up with it, however, he realized it must be some sort of huge explosive round, because pieces of the chuma's armor shattered at the detonations the round caused. That didn't kill or even really harm the creature, however. It continued its charge and even though the coilguns were leaving fist-sized holes in its armor, and the Hrungnir was taking chunks out of the armored carapace, it didn't do anything except enrage the chuma further.

The creature, larger than even the seven-foot-tall Hrungnir suit, barreled straight towards Deknost. Marcus made a split-second decision, and disconnected the sled from the suit's chassis. He then knocked Deknost out of the way with a hearty shove that sent even the big man flying, and stepped in front of the chuma. It slammed reared up on its hind legs, slamming into him with gargantuan muscled forearms. The chuma grappled with Marcus, who did everything he could to avoid being tossed to the side, where the chuma would likely crush the suit with ease, killing Marcus instantly.

The chuma snapped at Marcus' head, its massive armored jaws almost making Marcus' ears ring with every snap. Chumas were notorious for having jaws strong enough to shear steel; he would be a goner if it got a good bite on him. As he grappled with the monstrosity, the other team members continued to fire at it with their coilguns, and now they had the opportunity to aim properly. Marcus saw chunks of chitin and meat fly out of the chuma's knees and elbows, though from the shouting in Marcus' ears, he also imagined Brogers was instructing the others to watch their fire, so that they don't hit the Hrungnir suit.

The monstrosity and the armored suit grappled for a time, warning klaxons ringing in Marcus' ears. He suddenly got an idea, and he shouldered the chuma, holding up its body with one arm, freeing the other. The creature, seeing an opportunity, began ripping at the single arm that held it. It began to pry open the armored plating covering the arm. Marcus smiled at the response. The chuma would be better off worrying about the other arm.

Because that other arm had the saw.

The saw roared to life, and Marcus shouted as he sprung forward, digging the saw deep into the chuma's belly meat. The chuma screamed in rage and pain, and doubled its efforts. The weight of the thing caused something to snap in the suits other arm, the one that held the chuma back, and it almost fell on Marcus. He elbowed the thing's chest, now holding up the weight with his forearm only. It snapped at his face only inches away, and Marcus continued to saw at the thing's softer meat in its belly. It grabbed his shoulders and began trying to tear armored plates off there, and when that yielded nothing, it grabbed the helmeted head of the suit and tugged. The suit groaned in protest, and the chuma shrieked as Marcus sawed a hole into its belly. It slowed, still snapping at his face, but it was quickly losing strength. Suddenly, something in the chuma gave out, and its intestines flopped to the ground in a bloody mess. The chuma groaned and fell to its side. Marcus stepped back, breathing hard, and put the autocannon under the thing's jaw, firing multiple times. The explosive rounds blew the chuma's head off, and the corpse twitched as it bled out onto the sand.

Marcus' knees would have given out if the Hrungnir suit wasn't holding him up. He gasped for air. The others stepped up to the corpse, and Deknost kicked its twitching leg. It was most certainly dead.

"You did an amazing job, Rhyne, and I'm glad everyone's ok, but we need to go," said McCullagh with an air of urgency in her voice.

Before Marcus could respond his agreement, there was a bright flash, brighter than the sun, followed by a blastwave that knocked Marcus over. He tumbled several times in the armored suit, and when he came to a stop, he stayed there for a moment, stunned. His ears were ringing. He slowly picked himself up to a see that most of the sand had been blown away from them. In the distance, clear as any good day on Harmattan, a mushroom cloud rose.

"A... a nuke?" Marcus managed to gasp.