Mission Aborted

Fear.

The gnawing kind that eats away your chest, each bite carrying enough sting to break your mind and tear your soul. Every step is a battle, every breath a wound. Icy fingers slowly gripping your heart, trying to tear it out of your chest.

Every step sends pain through my body. I can feel the hole in my side but dare not look, dare not see the flesh burn and drip away in the plasma. I can't stop running. I can't let them catch me. I have to make it to the ship. God, please, let me make it to the ship.

A bolt of plasma strikes the wall next to me, the mortar dissolving and the bricks falling away. I make a noise that I'm not proud of, I can feel tears welling up in my eyes that I try so hard to fight. I can see more through the hole, their gangly forms sprinting through the building in attempts to cut me off. I can't let them. I can't stop running.

I wish I was back in Afghanistan, waking up to mortar fire and stalking the hills for snipers. I wish I was in the Congo, training the Mai-Mais to fight whatever alphabet group was hunting them today. I wish I was in Ukraine, training militias to fight little green men that at least shed red blood. I wish I was anywhere but here. God, I don't belong here. I'm not supposed to be here.

My HUD flashes, the Skyranger is prepping for takeoff. I have to run faster. The mission's a bust. I have to reach the Skyranger before they reach me. I can hear them behind me. I can hear how their feet scuff on the cement of the sidewalk. I can hear glass break and doors open as they try and get a bead on me.

I turn a corner and, by the good heart of God, there she is. The Skyranger sits with engines revved and door open. I can see what's left of the squad moving up the ramp. I can see Kasyanov drag three-quarters of Charbonnier into the ship, a trail of blood leading to the puddle that was once the Frenchman's leg.

I don't think my body can handle the speed I'm reaching. My legs feel set to burst and my lungs burn with every quick breath. I can no longer hear the scurry of feet or the burst of plasma, my heart pounding too loudly in my ears.

I barely feel the first shot slam into the back of my left shoulder. The shock sends me tumbling forward, but I will not be stopped. I roll when I hit the ground and scramble back to my feet. My body is on fire, I feel as though I'm falling apart. Another connects with the back of my left thigh. I am unable to shake off this one and I fall heavily to the pavement, skipping a few feet on my side.

My eyes land upon my left thigh. Good lord, I can see the bone. It ate through to my bone. The green residue forms tiny, glowing droplets that fall to the parking lot, sizzling and eating through the asphalt. I can't stop. I have to keep moving. I'm so close. I'm so damn close.

I drag myself with just my right arm, the left side of my body now useless. I crawl closer to my rifle and, beyond it, the Skyranger. Every nerve is screaming but I refuse to stop. I refuse to die.

I can see Kasyanov start into a sprint and I can see Whitley grab him roughly, dragging the Russian back into the hull of the ship. I can see the man standing, struggling against Whitley's grip. I can almost see the forlorn expression behind his helmet as the door begins to close.

Oh Jesus, are they leaving? They can't be leaving.

The engines flare.

No. No, please...

The ship shudders as it begins to lift.

I have no more breath to scream and my stomach blocks my throat. I drag myself closer as the icy fingers claw my heart. I can make it. I know I can.

The Skyranger hovers above the ground, the gear receding into the body of the silver craft.

Oh God, please.

I can only watch as the ship rockets into the air and over the skyline of the city.

Please don't leave me.

____________


"Central, Big Sky is coming home. Mission aborted."