The Woods

“Okay, fall in,’ said Capt. Singh. We formed a semicircle in front of him. Singh stood beneath the shade of what looked like an olive tree, but I knew better. Olives were utterly alien on this unfamiliar planet. “We’ve just received word from HQ: some Marines from 4th Platoon need reinforcements in sector Quebec-Five. Reports say they’ve spotted unknown contacts.”
“Covvies, sir?” GySgt. Irving asked.
“I don’t know,” Singh replied. “Apparently, HQ’s lost comms with those Marines, and they want us to check it out. We’re the closest friendlies.”
“Do we know their last reports, sir?” asked Cpl. Mohamed.
“The Marines said, ‘Definitely not Human.’ When HQ requested clarification, there was no response. That was half an hour ago.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” said the new guy in a low voice. He was Hungarian, and his name was very difficult to pronounce, but he said he was from Reach, so we just called him “Reacher.” One time, some infantryman from the Army referred to Reacher as “the hungry hungry Hungarian.” Reacher knocked out the Army guy with a beautiful right hook to the jaw. That was our introduction to Reacher. Or rather, his introduction to us.
“Exactly,” said Singh. “That’s where we come in. We are to head over to the Marines’ last known position and investigate. That should be less than a klick southeast. Keep a steady pace and follow me. Questions?”
There was only silence.
“Outstanding. Remember rules of engagement. Move out.”
“I am ready to kick me some alien ass today,” said Chuckles. His real name is Theodore de los Santos, a corporal, but we usually called him “Chuckles” or “Chuck” since he had a perpetually jovial nature, even in firefights. Sometimes he’d laugh in combat. I still don’t know if it was out of nervousness, excitement, humor, or madness. Maybe all four?
Cpt. Gobinder Singh started off, and we five followed. Behind him was GySgt. Rebecca Irving, then Sgt. Theodore “Chuckles” de los Santos, then me, Cpl. Andrei Vasilyevich Chernov, then Cpl. Yusuf Mohamed, and bringing up the rear was Pfc. “Reacher.” We kept a steady pace, making our way through the light woodland terrain. It was relatively flat, but the trees made for decent cover, which meant that we had to keep more alert than usual. There were no birds chirping, insects hissing, or even the howl of an unknown predator. Other than our boots crunching on the forest floor and the wind disturbing the leaves, there was a peculiar silence.
“You know,” started Mohamed, “this reminds me of New Norway.”
“Yeah, I guess, “said Irving. Aside from there being no freezing rain pouring on us for three fucking days straight, Covvies shooting at us from every angle, Innies also shooting at us when the Covvies weren’t around, chronically low ammo, and the trees not fucking exploding, then yeah. This is kinda like New Norway.” Obviously she was being sarcastic. The trees were a bit bigger on New Norway.
Finally, we came to a clearing, roughly ten meters in diameter. In the center was a rocky outcropping, a grouping of five boulders, the smallest of which was about the size of a Mongoose. There was a scanner placed beside the north-facing section of the largest rock, which laid in the very center.
“Candy!” yelled one of the Marines, who peeked from behind cover only to aim his MA5 in our general direction.
“Corn!” replied Singh.
“Trick or treat,” said the Marine, lowering his weapon. Four others revealed themselves. I did not understand this countersign, but it was what was assigned to this particular theater, so I lived with it.
“ODSTs?” started the Marine. “HQ is bringing in the big guns.”
“Where’s the CO around here?” Singh asked.
“You’re looking at him,” said the Marine. “Sgt. Hsu, 3rd Squad, 2nd Platoon, Bravo Company.”
“Cpt. Singh, 7th Shock Troops Battalion. What seems to be the problem, Sergeant?”
“Comms are jammed, sir, and I think we’ve encountered unknown contacts.”
“You think?”
“Cpl. Cole reported spotting movement in the trees about an hour ago but we couldn’t confirm it.”
“I swear I saw it!” blurted out a Marine carrying an M90. Apparently, this was Cpl. Cole. “It was like one of those Furry things.”
“A what?” said Chuckles. He started, well, chuckling.
“One of those Furries!”
“Like… the animal people?”
“Yeah, swear to God, sir!”
“Anyway, then the comms went down,” continued Hsu. “We haven’t been able to contact HQ since.”
“Take up defensive positions,” Singh ordered to us. We did so. “HQ, HQ, this is Redfire Actual. How copy? Over.”
Nothing.
“HQ, this is Redfire Actual. Do you read me? Over.”
Again, nothing.
“Irving, try and connect with HQ.”
“Headquarters, this is Redfire 2, please respond, over,” said Irving. She was greeted with silence as well. “Headquarters, this is Redfire Squad. Do you copy? Over.” There was a long pause. She turned to Singh. “That’s a negative on comms, sir.”
“Anyone got any pigeons?” joked Chuckles.
“Y’all hush up,” said Irving.
“I don’t like this, sir,” said Hsu. “We’re just recon. Can’t do that if we can’t contact HQ, and we’re certainly not equipped for sustained firefights with anyone, especially Covenant. Recommend we exfil.”
“Why didn’t you try that before HQ felt the need to send in ODSTs? We can’t always be used for wellness checks.”
“I understand that sir, but there’s something in these woods.”
“Sgt. Hsu, lock it down. My squad and I just spent the better part of an hour trekking to your position on foot through these same woods and there was zero contact, okay? Now, we’re all going to head back to HQ safe and sound. You just follow us out of these woods. Get your people ready.”
“Understood, sir. Cole, Tesfaye, Svoboda, Eisenstein, we’re moving out.”
After a few moments of gathering up our things, our two groups turned to the direction of our headquarters, but as we started towards the woods, here appeared… figures. I was astonished at their physical characteristics. For lack of a better term, they looked like… like fox people. They were around our heightwere dressed in armor that faintly reminded me of the scale brigandine or mail of the bogatyrs of old, although it seemed that they were very light on their feet: they didn’t make a sound before their appearance. Also, the armor seemed to have a sort of active camouflage similar to Covenant technology, refracting the light around them. This effect faded when they revealed themselves to us. Their weapons looked blocky, yet sturdy and compact. The one in the center had what seemed to me to be a pernach of some sort. Their helmets covered the top portion of their heads, leaving their mouths free. There were slits in the helmets for their eyes, and they seemed to be a sort of composite of steel and some other material. Each helmet was also fashioned to cover their ears, which twitched and moved, apparently to focus in on certain sounds, the material easily flexing and contouring with the movements of the ears. When they were idle, the ears seemed to angle backwards and up.
Three of these fox people moved from behind the cover of trees, their weapons at low ready. There were definitely more in hiding.
“I told you guys,” loudly whispered Cole. “Furries.”
“Can it, soldier,” said Irving.
Then, the alien in the center spoke… something. He turned his head slightly towards the alien on his right, and said some more words, not breaking eye contact with us.
This fellow, who had a picture attached to the left side of his helmet, replied in a similar-sounding language. I didn’t know what they were saying at all, but the figure gestured to us with his snout. Then, he scratched his left cheek, said something else, and shrugged his shoulders. I suspected that this picture was of a revered figure, perhaps a spouse, political figure, or some family member.
The alien on the officer’s left, who had some sort of writing scribbled onto his own helmet, eyed us with what I interpreted as suspicion, speaking in a low voice to his superior.
“Sir, what do we do?” asked Irving.
“Well, they aren’t Covenant, that’s for sure. Do not engage.”
After some more words exchanged between the three aliens, the Officer took off his helm. His ears flopped slightly as the equipment was removed, and he held it at his side.
“Erd-El-Ey,” said the Officer, gesturing to himself.
We all looked at each other, confused. The alien seemingly sensed this, and repeated the phrase and gesture.
Then, Picture Helmet looked to my right. He shouted a word or phrase or something, then quickly raised his weapon and fired. My vision darted to my right in suit, where I saw the silhouette of a Covenant Elite stumbling out of the forest, holding a plasma rifle in his left hand as he leaned against a tree.
“Contact right!” Reacher quickly yelled. His words were cut off by fire from Picture Helmet. The Elite was struck by three gold-colored energy bolts square in the chest. The Covenant’s shields were broken by the second shot, and he was dead before he hit the ground, uttering a wet, gurgly groan as purple blood flowed from his wounds. Picture Helmet, his weapon still trained at the Elite, quickly moved towards the corpse.
The Written Helmet alien praised his comrade, lowing his heavy-looking weapon after realizing that Picture Helmet had neutralized the threat. Written Helmet turned to the Officer, pointing at Picture Helmet, and smirked. The Officer cocked his head to the lower left. Then, Written Helmet looked at us, noticing our consternation towards the Elite. He said some more words to the Officer.
“Contact down!” uttered Chuckles. “Fucking aliens, let’s go!”
Picture Helmet checked the Elite corpse, and shot him in the head for good measure. He then turned back to his superior and said something in their language.
“Anyone who shoots Covvies is a friend of mine,” said Irving. She took off her helmet, revealing her shaved head, and gestured to herself. “Human.”
The Officer made an upward semicircle motion with his head, and he smiled.
Category:The Weekly