Freshmeat. (Dramic pt1)

Dramic wiped the sweat from his eyes as it trickled from under his helmet. With his heart hammering in his chest he inched along the wall towards the door that stood, slightly ajar, at the end of the corridor. He adjusted his grip on his lasrifle, wiping each hand dry on his leg as he did, and stepped over a mouldering corpse lying across the dusty red carpet. He tried not to gag at the fetid smell.

 His first day of active duty was not going well so far. His dropship had been hit before it had even reached the planet atmosphere and he had endured a bone juddering plummet to the surface, held in place by his crash harness. The pilot had done his best to stabalise the craft, but they had still ploughed into the side of a res-spire. Only nine of his company plus the pilot had survived the crash. Three of those were so badly wounded that they had to be left at the ruined ship.

Now he had spent the last two hours on point, as they made their way through the huge war torn building. His nerves were in shreds. They hadn’t met a soul but every corner and every doorway hid potential death.

 He looked over at Krovic who was mirroring him on the opposite wall. The tall man nodded slightly in return and Dramic stepped forward to push open the door. The floor under his foot creaked loudly and he quickly snatched it back. Krovic’s eyes were wide in alarm and they both froze, straining to hear any movement in the silence.

Nothing.

Dramic looked back at the rest of his squad, their green camoflage at odds with the opulent upspire interior. Sergeant Rogiric chopped two fingers rapidly by the side of his face. Go.

Dramic reached to his neck and drew out the Sainted charm he wore for luck and kissed it. He then held three fingers up to Krovic and dropped them one by one. On the last, he kicked open the door and darted inside, las rifle sweeping the room to the left as Krovic followed covering the right.

The room was a large open plan living area. One side given over to comfy seating, a low drinks table and cabinet with a pict caster and holovid entertainment unit. The other side was a kitchen and dining area with a large darkwood table surrounded by ornately carved high back chairs. Everything was covered in dust and rubble and windswept detritus filled every corner. The opposite wall gaped into open sky, only ragged remains of concrete and twisted steel support rods remained.

Dramic saw the man calmly sitting at the large desk facing the door, shotgun pointing across the surface at them. He threw himself screaming at Krovic while twisting himself round to fire three shots towards the man at the desk. Krovic stepped back and Dramic crashed to the floor, two of his shots zinging harmlessly into the open sky. The third hitting the seated man across the top of his scalp. The las round set fire to the man’s hair but he continued to sit quietly.

“Nice heroics, Freshmeat” Krovic said “You nailed a stiff.”

“He’s dead?” Dramic questioned.

Sergeaent Rogiric and the rest of the squad burst through the doorway, guns ablaze.

The body in the chair rocked backwards, perforated by nearly two dozen las bolts. The neck snapped and the head fell to the floor with a hollow thud, the hair still smoking.

“Yeah, definitely dead.” Krovic stated dryly. He then turned to Rogiric.

“Clear.” He said with a grin.

The Seargent grunted and stomped across to the destroyed wall to gaze out onto the cityscape beyond. Hundreds of spires rose skyward like reaching fingers. All showed signs of damage from the war, their surfaces pockmarked by shells or gaping open to reveal their derelict guts.

Rogiric pulled out his deployment map, the small rectangle showed the frontline. His deployment area and objectives were highlighted. He flipped it over but the back was blank card. He ripped the waterproof covering from the map and pulled the paper out, the back of that was blank too.

“Great.” He tossed the map onto the floor in disgust.

“What’s up Chief?” Krovic asked, he was rummaging in the cupboards of the kitchen area.

“Command issued us with a map of where we were meant to be, but kept the big picture for themselves. I have no idea where we are. I think we might be in Ciliphos.”

“So let’s hitch a ride back to the front before the Flagellator notices we’ve gone.” Krovic had pulled some tins out onto the work surface and was busy prying the top from some Golo beans with his combat knife.

“Ciliphos is about two hundred miles north of the front. On the enemy side.” Rogiric gazed out over the city again.

The pilot, Rostov joined him, holding onto a twisted steel rod protruding from the ceiling to steady himself. They were about two miles up on the spire which rose for another half mile or so above them, some of the surrounding spires seemed to stretch even higher. The pilot surveyed the horizon for landmarks.

“This city is too big for Ciliphos. The only city I can remember from our briefings that was this size would have been Xanatopholos.” Rostov said.

Rogiric looked blank.

“It’s about fifteen hundred miles north of the line and about an hour out from the Dusk I’m afraid” the pilot explained.

“Fifteen hundred?” Dramic exclaimed, “How can we be fifteen hundred miles off course?”

“Hey don’t fret it Freshmeat, the Chief will get us home” Krovic tossed a can at Dramic, “Have something to eat.”

“How can you think about food at a time like this?” Dramic almost shrieked.

“Well if we’ve got fifteen hundred miles to walk, I want to have more than some sachets of insta-meals to keep me going.” Krovic replied.

“He’s right” Rogiric said, “We should rest here for a while before we move on. Pass me a can”

He caught the offering from Krovic.

“Peas? I’m not eating anything green” and he tossed the can back. “How are the Golo beans?”

“Not bad. Be better hot. Here.” Another can passed across the room.

Zorov, Doric and Kaskarov the other three troopers had clustered around Krovic, selecting cans of food for themselves.

Dramic looked down at his tin, the label was missing. “What’s in this one?”

“Who knows? You want the peas instead?” Krovic raised the peas with a smirk.

“Not really.” Dramic replied stabbing his knife into the lid. Gravy dripped out of the perforation. He sniffed the contents, it smelled quite rich.

“Hey, you got stew. Want to swap for Golos?” Krovic stepped forward.

Dramic refused and shovelled some of the meat and gravy into his mouth chewing quickly, he didn’t realise how hungry he actually was.

Krovic burst out laughing. He held up a label ripped from a can.

Pet food.

Dramic felt his gut heave and then emptied his stomach into a corner of the room as the others laughed at him.

“Look on the bright side, we won’t be calling you Freshmeat anymore” Krovic clapped him on the back, “Dogmeat!”

More laughter. Dramic retched again. “Bastard!”