The platoon continued with the after engagement checks. Everybody counted off their remaining ammunition, reported injuries and checked for enemies. Sergeant Watson order Harry and Gerald to checked the insurgents, making sure they were dead or incapacitated. They moved from one body to another, checking pulses, claiming filters, taking ammo and removing weapons. One insurgent they came across was still alive and convulsing. His mask was shattered, the filter broken and lenses cracked. The insurgent was unconscious, and Harry couldn’t determine if it was from the wound, or trying to hold his breath.

Harry reported that an insurgent had a non-functioning mask, and was breathing the unfiltered air, particles of the Gas surely with it. The mutation had not yet started, the Gas not concentrated enough to immediately contaminate, but Harry was to kill him regardless. Removing his knife from his waistband Harry punctured the throat at the jugular vein, and moved on, leaving the insurgent to bleed out.

The rest of the insurgents were dead, their weapons and ammunition collected and piled to one side. The lieutenant spent a moment deliberating what to do, before asking if any grenades or flammable materials were found on the insurgents. Other than their clothes, nothing was easily flammable. Lt. Yorkshire, impatient and out of idea, ordered all the weapons and incompatible ammunition be thrown in the river, to deny any wandering people them.

Once the weapons issue was taken care off, the platoon was off. Overwatch was moving ahead, cautiously poking their head over the canyon walls and looking for insurgents. The two squads on the canyon floor continued to meander along the road, carefully checking every nook and cranny for a hiding insurgent. The mutated wildlife was nowhere to be seen, scared away by the gunfire and explosions.

Harry was at the rear of the advance, turning and casting suspicious glares behind him every fifteen steps. He was determined to not be the reason any more soldiers died. Every time he searched the trees, rocks and river with equally determined stares, daring someone to try and sneak behind them. Every time he saw nothing.

Despite his conviction, Harry let his mind wander again. The weight of Dericks death felt compounded by seeing how Jax was splattered against the canyon wall. Even if he hadn’t seen Dericks remains, the image of Jax and the charred insurgents made him imagine. And he wished he would never see that happen to a fellow Nevixican again.

This time, Harry snapped himself out of his musings. Harry needed to stop falling into his own world during missions, only to be pulled out by external forces. If he kept this up, more of his comrades may die. So he returned to searching behind the platoon with full conviction.

After nearly fifteen minutes of marching, the overwatch squad spotted the collapsed bridge. The platoon slowed, everybody checking their weapons and getting a drink of water. They spread out, inching forward slowly. A bend in the canyon was up ahead, with the crash site being a straight hundred meters from there.

The eight soldiers down bellow pressed up against the canyon walls, some climbing up the steep incline slightly. They continued to press forward, while overwatch moved up above into position to fire at the insurgents. The insurgents were dotted about, makeshift cover built from train wreckage and loose rocks. They milled about, weaving in between wrecked cars and collapsed beams. Some disappeared into sideways passenger cars, others climbing up bridge support beams.

Radios crackled to life for a moment, Yorkshires voice screeching over the radio waves, “Overwatch is going to suppress the insurgents, and you’ll get around the corner and close distance. There is barely any cover, so sprint. We’ll start firing selectively once you get closer.”

After the lieutenant told the Nevixicans on the canyon floor what they were doing, the soldiers prepared to sprint. Most of them slung off their backpacks, leaving the rations, extra water, shovels, extra ammo, and anything else in them behind. They made sure they had as many magazines on their plate carrier as they could, attached extra filters to their belt, and then began stretching.

Harry was nervous. He could feel it in his stomach. It made him jittery, and he couldn’t stop moving. He stretched his calves, thighs, and heels. He swung his arms in anticipation. Checked and rechecked his weapons. Anything to keep his mind off the blind charge he was about to partake in. He was sure there was a better way, but the lieutenant had given the orders.

As Harry’s nervousness swelled, the overwatch squad began to suppress the insurgents. Gunfire could be heard around the bend, both the familiar bark of M16a7s, M240 being met with a cacophony of other weapons, ranging from smaller 9mm to 5.56 and 7.62. Following a minute of gunfire, the lieutenant gave the orders to charge. As the eight Nevixicans rounded the corner, the saw the insurgent positions for themselves.

Several insurgents were already dead and wounded, with the rest taking cover or shooting at overwatch. Harry’s mind barely registered this, simply starting a dead sprint down the open road. He crossed the canyon floor in just under six seconds, but didn’t stop. He kept sprinting, not slowing until his shoulder hit the side of a train car.

The jarring impact gave Harry another shot of adrenaline, preventing him from falling tired. He cast his gaze about, and took in the battlefield. Several insurgents were dead or wounded, but not nearly enough. Almost a dozen were still sprinkled about the defenses, firing at the Nevixican soldiers. Looking up, he saw that the overwatch squad had two casualties, with the others providing some aide.

Casting his gaze back down to the ground, he spotted a Nevixican laying motionless on the road. The insurgents were firing at the other soldiers he had charged with, who were taking cover behind the makeshift barriers. Harry had a clear line of fire on two of the insurgents, so he raised his rifle. He thumbed the fire selection to automatic, and line one of the insurgents up in his iron sights. He then depressed the trigger. The first insurgent was hit in the filter, neck, and shoulder. He fell to the ground.

The second insurgent attempted to duck down, but Harry had anticipated that. He had slid his fire towards the insurgent at a downward angle, and the 7.62 catching the insurgent’s neck, drilling through his rifle stock, and hitting the insurgent’s ribs.

After Harry killed the two insurgents he could, he began moving through the crash site. He looked cautiously looked for vantage points to get a shot. Harry jogged up to a train car, rolled on it’s side and the side crumpled. Harry started to climb it, letting his rifle hang from his shoulders. He found footholds on the door frame, and began to pull himself up.

Once he was on top of the train car he began to pull his rifle of his shoulders. Then, he noticed an insurgent was on the car with him. And the insurgent had noticed him as well. The insurgent began to raise his rifle, and Harry dropped his. He sprinted at the insurgent, closing the distance in an instant.

The rifle was shoved off the edge of the car, Harry twisting the insurgent’s arms. He let go of one arm, and reached for the insurgent’s filter. His movement was interrupted by the insurgent rolling over, taking Harry’s arm with him. With his arm now pinned beneath his opponent, Harry grabbed the back of his head. And smashed it as hard as he could into train car. The insurgent didn’t let go. In fact, the insurgent began fighting harder, kicking and flailing. And then the insurgent turned over.

With his arm now free, Harry yanked it back, one hand restraining the insurgent, by wrapping tightly around his neck, and covering the filter on his mask with his fore arm. The other hand snaked through the crotch, and wove under his leg. HE used it to begin twisting up his body, trying to crush the insurgent’s knee to his face.

The insurgent was beginning to panic, and twisted left and right, while kicking his legs frantically. He threw one fist into Harry’s stomach, the other pressing against one of Harry’s filter’s. The punch was mostly absorbed by Harry’s plate carrier, with the insurgent’s buckles crumbling against it. Harry swung his head around, shaking of the insurgent’s hand. In the process the insurgent wiggled his head free of Harry’s grip.

The insurgent clambered to his feet, trying to force Harry away form him. Harry refused to let go, instead reaching his open arm around the waist, gripping the one in his crotch. Harry then lifted up, using his hips to bump the insurgent into the air. He brought the insurgent down face first, with himself landing on his shoulder.

Harry circled to on top of the insurgent. He rested one knee in the insurgent’s stomach, the other on the train car. One hand held the insurgent’s gas mask still, Harry’s right reaching for his sidearm. The insurgent tried to sit up, arms pulling and groping Harry. One shove managed to move Harry’s knee enough to that it rolled of. Harry now was straddling the insurgent. Harry stopped reaching for his pistol, instead trying to regain control of the insurgent.

The insurgent had other plans and sat straight up, head butting Harry. Harry staggered up, rubbing his forehead for a moment. He then undid the clasp on his sidearm and drew it. He fired three rounds, two hitting the insurgent’s stomach, one hitting his hand. Harry began to back up, readjusting his aim as he did so. The insurgent was staggering towards Harry, one arm held out, while the wounded one clutched his stomach.

Harry put another two rounds into the insurgent’s head then, one bouncing through a finger on the way in. The insurgent fell to the ground, dead. Harry paused for a moment, his pistol still pointing at the place where the insurgent was. He then stowed the weapon and refastened the holster. Harry stumbled back to where he dropped his rifle, and picked it up.

Harry laid down, crawling to the lip of the sideways train car. He observed the battlefield for a moment, taking in everything he saw. The overwatch group had returned to firing at any exposed insurgents. The six soldiers on the ground had been fighting to the caboose of the train, leaving a trail of dead and wounded insurgents. The few insurgents Harry spotted were firing at the overwatch team, seemingly not having noticed Harry or the others.

Harry set himself in a careful firing position, and thumbed the rifle to single-fire. He then found an insurgent with cover facing the overwatch team, popping up and firing errant bursts every few seconds. Harry watched him, lining up a shot with his chest. The insurgent popped up, and was cut down by overwatch.Three rounds through the chest, one bouncing off a metal girder and flying into the sunset. Harry found a new target, a poorly armed and masked insurgent, wearing an ancient PSG mask. Harry brought his sights over the chest of his enemy, waiting for a moment before firing. The shot went wide, hitting the ruined support pillar to the left of the insurgent, and sending him into a panic. The thought of somebody behind him was to much to bear. The PSG wearing opponent ran, tripping over a rock, and then dropping his weapon. He then kept running.

Harry again began searching for somebody else to shoot at, wanting to help relieve the hot lead flying towards overwatch. He searched for something he could do to help, but couldn’t find anything. Harry quickly climbed down the train car, his feet splashing into the river. Spending a second thinking, Harry reached for his radio.

“Sergeant, this is Harry, where are you guys?”

“We’re searching the train. Starting at the caboose, working our way down. Where are you?”

Harry paused, looking around for some kind of identifier. He remembered that the train cars should have someway to distinguish them from the others, and walked to one end. The door was hanging ajar. The area around the door was bare, nothing identifiable on the outside. Harry stepped into the sideways interior of the car and looked for an identifier.

“Harry, are you there? Where are you?” Watson’s voice crackled across the radio again.

“Yes, I am still here. I’m looking for something to identify the car.”

“For fuck’s sake, what car?” Watson’s irritation was tangible, even over the radio.

“The train car I’m in.”

“Why didn’t you just say you were in a train car? You know what, never mind. Stay put and search the train car. We’ll make our way to you.”

Harry obeyed his orders, and began to sift through the wreckage. Chunks of glass were scattered on the ground, as well as various personal belongings. Young children’s toys, helicopters, trains, farm animals, and more. A book, torn and abandoned. Cups, their straws still in them. Customized filters, with slogans and art painted on. A suitcase, filled with what looked suspiciously like counterfeit money.

Harry looked though all of it, hoping the messenger had dropped it among their personal belongings in her haste. Harry had no such luck. His climbing over and under seats was in vain, the metal case holding the platoon’s objective was not inside his train car. While Harry was searching for the objective, the gunfire did a decrescendo into silence.

Over his radio, reports were heard. The three confirmed casualties, two fatal, one severely wounded. The two dead were Sergeant Ronald and Corporal Jean. Private Gordon was critically wounded, but stable, thanks to the actions of specialist Freeman. The number of casualties that the lower squads had taken led to Lieutenant Yorkshire deciding to reorganize them into a single squad. The locations of squad members. Harry reported the shots he fired, as well as the insurgents he killed. He also reported the insurgent he saw run off into the canyon. The squad above the canyon walls said they would watch for them.

Once the reports were finished, Harry returned to his search. While shifting the debris in search of the information he had found a bronze number nine buried beneath glass and other trash. When he reported to Sergeant Watson next, he told Watson which train car it was Harry had cleared. Harry was then assigned to searching insurgent bodies, and claiming their weapons.

Harry begrudgingly set to this task, deciding to work radially from his position. The insurgent that he grappled with. Harry searched the body, pulling open the jacket, checking the pockets, removing weapons and ammo. HE moved on, repeating the same with any body he came across. Find corpse, take weapon, search clothes, vests if they had one, take anything else. He continued with this monotony for almost an hour, with the rest of the platoon searching every inch of ground for the message.

Harry continued to search the corpses. Open, pull, remove, pat, move on. One insurgent had been carrying a faded photograph, with a picture of his family. Another carried an excessive amount of elbow cream. The insurgent he was currently searching seemed to have a hobby of collecting games, he had a large number of USB sticks, most labeled with tape. Harry immediately grabbed all the USBs, and tucked them into various pouches on his belt.

Harry then excitedly spoke into his radio, “Shit guys, I might have found it. An insurgent here has about twelve USB sticks.”

Straightening up, Harry stretched his back for a minute, then he jogged about the crash site, looking for the rest of the squad. He dodged around metal shards, bounced over rocks and splashed through the river. He came across Sergeant Watson and the rest of the squad in a police line, scouring the ground.

“Sergeant, here are all the USBs I found on the insurgent.”

Turning, Watson began to speak, “Alright, give me them. When we link back up with overwatch we’ll turn these over to the lieutenant.”

With the USBs turned over to the Sergeant, the squad began to make their way to where they left their bags. The walk back was jovial initially, but was sobered when the walked past Sergeant Ronald’s grave, marked with a stone and his helmet.

Watson looked at the grave for a moment, before he suddenly spoke, “Oh Harry, I just remembered- because we had Jaxson and Jack folded into our squad, Jack is now on your fire team.”

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The two squads of Nevixicans trekked back to the switch backs. Their walk back was much quicker, with far less care taken. In the following minutes joviality returned to the discussions and a bounce entered their step. They would soon be home, able to relax again.

At Foba city three helicopters lifted off, tracing their steps back to the landing zone. The battery of howitzers recalibrated the trajectory of fire, preparing to destroy any supplies left on the trains.