Green Desert

Two weeks after the UNSC counter-offensive on Halorale began, the Covenant reinforced its fleet and drove the human warships out of the system. Tens of thousands of military personnel were still on the planet, to say nothing of the civilian populace. 
The population centers fell quickly, burned to ash by orbital bombardments. But in Halorale’s jungle-covered southern hemisphere word trickled down through what remained of the UNSC’s battle network: a task force of Prowlers had made landfall and were waiting to evacuate any survivors who could make it to the landing zone before the end of the week.
And so they marched day and night through the green desert, an army of mud dolls wasted away by weeks of combat and that even deadlier foe, hunger.
Venter and Arthur’s ONI team had inserted onto Halorale with a company of Helljumpers. An elite special forces unit, entrusted with the most vital of combat missions. Now they staggered through the jungle alongside all the other Marines, their armor ragged and filthy. Their rifles were discarded along the muddy road and many Marines carried nothing but their mess kits and hand grenades. The grenades were their most potent weapon. Whenever a Marine no longer had the strength to move, they dragged themselves off into the jungle, away from the others. The explosions as the exhausted Marines took their own lives reverberated through the murky canopy.
Corpses were piled on the roadside, maggots swarming around their noses and lips. Occasionally someone would raise their hand feebly from where they lay and call out, “Kill me!” Venter and Arthur turned their faces away and trudged on.
After the evacuation, Venter never spoke of Halorale to anyone. No one he knew, not even the combat veterans, would ever comprehend that hell. What they did to survive.
When they were sheltering in an abandoned hut, Venter finally gave out. Chills racked his spine and he felt that he couldn’t move.
“Arthur,” he called out feebly. “I’ve got malaria. Go on without me.” He did not hear his friend’s reply.
He did not know how long he lay there, but he soon realized that Arthur was no longer with him. So he left me then. The thought put his mind at ease.
But soon Arthur was again by his side, holding something in his hand.
“Ah!” Venter began to weep. “I thought you’d gone to join the company.”
“Eat this,” Arthur said quickly. “It’s meat.”
“You found some meat?”
“In the jungle. It will give you strength. We’re almost to the LZ.”
The meat was bloody, but Venter could see what appeared to be the Helljumper logo tattooed to the flesh underneath the blood. At the time he did not know what it meant. But he was so weak that he was unable to swallow the decaying meat.
“If you don’t eat, you’ll die!” Arthur snarled, forcing a morsel into his mouth. “You must eat!” But Venter, unable to bear the smell, coughed it up again.
Category:The Weekly