The Hot Zone

“Did everyone get the injections from Doc J’Dallot yesterday?” asked B’Scorak. The whole squad answered in the affirmative. “Good,” he continued. “We’re going into a bio hot zone. Masks up.”
With my weapon slung at my shoulder, I pressed a button on the neck guard of my combat suit, temporarily moving aside the collar on my great coat to do so. Almost immediately, my whole face was encased in a plasteel mask, capable of withstanding almost all kinetic projectiles, explosive forces, and is generally resistant to physical damage, as well as filtering out all biological, chemical, and radiological hazards. With the mask on, I could sleep a whole night in a sulfur pit and wake up the next morning as if nothing happened. I looked around and noticed all my comrades, and they had done the same. Sorynn seemed uneasy.
“I hope this mask actually works, I’m on countdown,” he commented.
“If it didn’t work I don’t think they would’ve given it to us,” I replied.
“Don’t worry, brothers, God is with us,” said Oyi.
“Keep the mask on, though, just in case,” added Gir.
“Biowarfare?” questioned D’Dhenn. “What’s the germ, sir?”
“I don’t know,” answered B’Scorak. “In any case, we’ve got orders to secure a village right in the middle of a hot zone. Questions?”
There was silence.
“Outstanding. Follow me, we’re moving out.”
We embarked on an armored personnel carrier, and the vehicle drove us to our destination. As we approached, we drove through field after field of crops, pastures, and cleared land. “Alright, we’re entering the hot zone now!” alerted B’Scorak. In my HUD an alert sounded that I was entering an area where the scanners detected the presence of yalicis, a bacteria whose infection of a body causes yalin. It is quite a nasty disease, and from what I had heard, the government engineered a new strain that can cause death within hours of being infected. No doubt the injections were inoculations against the disease.
Then, the carrier stopped. “Dismount everyone, time to secure the area.” We did so, exiting the vehicle from hatch doors in the rear. As I stepped out, I looked around, my weapon at a low ready position. I took a knee, scanning the environs: we were right outside a Covenant village, perhaps no larger than a thousand souls, with houses made of some sort of earthen material, with what appeared to be metallic roofs and doors. The windows were made of glass, with many having their curtains pulled over them. A large obelisk placed in the center of the village dominated the settlement, whose top I could already view. The large writing said something along the lines of “THE GREAT JOURNEY AWAITS”. I could not read the rest, since it was cut off from view by the houses and other buildings.
The streets were littered with corpses. First were the Xyphonite soldiers of all shapes and sizes, from split-mouths to dwarves to shield-bearers. There were no heavy troops, like the Jiralhanae, or the ones with the arm cannons, or the bugs. No, none of them. What soldiers we did find were corpses, blood and bile leaking from their mouths. If I was uninformed, I would deduce that there was a chemical attack in the area. But no. This was germ warfare, through and through. The germs last longer than a cloud of toxic gas, and you cannot see a germ as well as a cloud. Nevertheless a secure mask, a full-body suit, and previous inoculations are more than effective at rendering the germs harmless.
Then, I took notice of the fact that many of the corpses – a vast majority in fact – were not wearing any sort of armor, nor did they have any sort of plasma weaponry. These unarmored corpses had near or on them various melee weapons, or kinetic projectile weapons propelled via chemical reaction: guns. They were garbed in textiles, perhaps made of plant fiber or animal skin, fur, hair, or feathers, or even artificial polymers. My scanner showed a general absence of non-friendly life signs, but that did little to dull my awareness.
“Alright squad, stack up and move out,” said B’Scorak. We did so, with me right behind our leader, followed by Oyi, then Gir, then D’Dhenn, and finally Sorynn bringing up our rear.
“The ones with the clothes on look different from other split-mouths we’ve fought before,” said D’Dhenn.
“They’re women,” answered Sorynn.
“How do you know that?” asked Gir.
“I took xenobiology in lyceum. Learned a lot about the Xyphonites.”
“Well, keep your eyes open. This isn’t a classroom you can take a nap in.”
“Think I don’t know that? I volunteered before all of this, I’ve been on tour for over a year now. Just keep your head on a swivel, handsome.”
“Rrhh-rrhh!” I quickly uttered, silencing the two of them. We continued down the street.
After a short while slowly making our way into the village, stepping over multitudes of corpses, we arrived at a T-shaped intersection. B’Scorak, with an upheld open palm, stopped our column, and he glanced both ways, wondering which path we should take. The rest of us took a knee, holding position. I pointed my rifle towards a house with an ajar door. I looked through the space into the home’s interior, and I noticed a corpse on the floor in the building. It looked quite small.
“Oh Lasien…” said Oyi. I looked at my comrade, and noticed he was staring down at a dead body. I looked as well, and discovered that it was about half the size of the other split-mouth bodies. “Someone please tell me this dead split-head is just a midget.”
“Nope, that’s a child,” said Sorynn.
“Oh God!”
“Focus, Oyi,” I said. I glanced down at the body a few times, my curiosity piqued. Admittedly, I had not seen dead children in person before this war.
“I didn’t sign up to step over children’s corpses…”
“Oyi, focus!”
Oyi said nothing, stifling screams and complaints as he kept his rifle up, pointing at rooftops. But he was right. He didn’t sign up. Almost none of us did, in fact. And yet we were here. We were here stuck in a sea of germ-infested corpses with Oyi complaining. You know, he never complained before this day. Before this day, he was all fine, smiles, wanted to fight some xenos. I looked at him and thought, “Ugh, here we go again.” Now, after this, all of a sudden he keeps going on and on about why we are here, how many children he probably killed with artillery today, this that, “Oh, I see them when I sleep!” No. I have no time for that. I would rather have him shoot himself in the foot, get his head on straight at a field hospital somewhere and send him back to us in a month when the hard fighting dies down.
I do not need Oyi’s voice accompanying the other ones I have in my head.
Category:The Weekly