Right, first go at a multi-chapter. Set during the "six months" of the Killzone3 plot in which nothing happens, giving me free reign without playing with actual characters. Vanderburg returns from my first fanfiction "Three Weeks Ahead" (with a promotion it would seem), because I like writing him and I may make other references to his original mission on Helghan in future chapters. Although I don't see it as a continuation of that story. I'm not a huge fan of writing big action scenes, but I think a later chapter will have to incorporate something of the like. Anyway, as ever review if the need takes you.

"It's too bloody cold," the ISA trooper shivered in the snow-filled crater, "How much longer sarge?"

Vanderburg checked his watch, "Could be two minutes or it could be two hours. Crawl out and go for a little walk out of sight of the MSR, get the blood flowing eh."

"What about you?"

"Don't worry about me sunshine," the sergeant winked, "I was built for extremes." The private crawled to the rear lip of the crater, rolled himself over and slid as far down as left him confident to stand up without drawing unwanted attention. He patted the snow from his uniform and pulled down the shemagh from his face for a moment. He walked on the spot and blew fiercely into his gloved hands, the warm breath from his lungs seeped from the gaps between his fingers and hung in the air for a few seconds before it joined the freezing fog. All around him the ground was white, the sky was grey and the incessant fog just mixed the two somewhere in between.

Navigation had been near impossible, he had learned to simply walk in Sergeant Vanderburg's footprints and only asked once how he knew his way; "I remember the rocks" was the reply - the Afrikaans accent so thick and fast that it came out as one word. Ice was beginning to form on the tips of his facial whiskers so he pulled the scarf back over his face and furiously shook his limbs as though it would force blood out to his fingertips. Dust had always been the main problem on Helghan, until the marines had headed south, the cold chilled worse here than anywhere on Earth or Vekta.

Vanderburg was thinking aloud to himself when the private finally settled himself back into position with the binoculars, "What I hate most about this buggering planet is that there isn't a single tree. You just can't trust a thing like that." They watched the bridge intently, the only discernible black smudge against the grey that wasn't a rock face and the only route across the ravine for fifty clicks in either direction.

"You sure they're coming?" the private was getting agitated, clenching his hands repeatedly to stave off both the cold and his nerves.

"Yah," Vanderburg sighed, "Nobody would fly in this. Any time now four APCs will roll right past us but not make it any further south."

"You sure you used enough-"

"Charges will blow out enough structurally vital elements that the load of the vehicles will do the rest."

"What if-"

"And what if your bloody parents never met, eh?" the sergeant snapped and immediately regretted it, "Sorry kid. I know you're on edge but just trust me, right?"

The private went quiet for a little while, he was hurt but tried not to show it. After some time fiddling with the focus on his optics with no real, noticeable effect, he piped up again and tried to save a little face, "I don't like all this sneaking around and hiding is all, we should just hit them head on."

"Well," the sergeant replied as a matter of fact, "When the convoy comes you can go run at them head on and let me know how it goes." They were one hundred yards away from an apex in the road that then curved back away from them toward the bridge and to their backs was a labyrinth of of monolithic rock formations and potholes through which they could retreat in a bee-line if things went south. Beyond the road from them was rock face too high and too steep to climb, leaving the enemy with few options for cover in a firefight. The fog was a hindrance and a blessing, blurring the mid-range vision of both sides.

"Fact is, private," he continued, "The ISA can't keep swinging sledgehammers to crack nuts. It's up to us now to pick the time, place and tools for our encounters with the Helghast. We can strike them any time, anywhere and their decisions are always going to be reactionary - the very definition of guerilla combat."

The private saw where he was going with this and filled in the rest of the lecture, "So if all you need to destroy a few-"

"Four."

"Sorry, four APCs is two marines and a few pounds of explosive, why waste more?"

"That's why I chose you Walker," his blonde beard stretching with his grin, "Quick learner." Walker was surprised and turned his head over to the sergeant who didn't takes his eyes away from his watch on the bridge.

"They tell you that they chose you?" Vanderburg twiddled with the focus on his optics as the fog thinned a little, "Officers always like to make decisions but especially when they haven't decided anything at all."

"They don't trust special forces," Walker said after a while, pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut tight, "Think you have ulterior motives for joining us down here."

At this remark Sgt. Vanderburg looked over at Walker, "The officers think that or you fellas do? Don't go projecting your own worries onto them and never think they don't trust us. They just don't like us and that's because of the way we operate." They both went quiet after this, no sound but breathing and the occasional sniff or careful crunch of snow as one of them moved slightly. This was until Walker heard an echo, a slow rumble that sounded as though it was behind them. His head twisted around in a panic and he peered over the rear lip of their hideaway.

"Not that way."

"But-" his head was on a swivel and looked all round.

"Calm yourself, now is not the time to freak out on me eh?"

"How many?"

"Can't tell yet, too many echoes." They kept their eyes to the right, vigilant of the furthest visible point of the road north of the bridge. Walker was still peering into the murk, unable to see a thing when Vanderburg started counting quietly to himself.

"Five," he finished, "It would seem we have to improvise a little." Walker tensed up. He wasn't used to this - even though his cohort was calling the shots - and the tension was not helping anything. Mostly he just didn't feel safe; if things went wrong there was only the two of them for the Helghast to shoot at whereas during the invasion there had been dozens of others to choose instead of him. There in the cold though, there wasn't even the illusion of safety for him. A hand suddenly took hold of his shoulder and he jerked it away only for his sergeant to grip him by the upper arm.

"Right," he held tight as Walker tried to wriggle his way free, "Listen to me- Listen! Calm the hell down. What I need from you is a level head and no rash moves." The noise was becoming clearer, the insect-hum of the engines slowly rising to a roar. Walker swallowed hard and let out a long, steady exhale of breath before lifting back up his binoculars.

"What's the plan sergeant?"

"We blow the bridge with four front victors on in, see how the last reacts and take it from there."

They waited. In the cold, empty surroundings sound travelled fast and the noise rose and rose until Walker thought an APC was about to roll right over them. It never came and his pulse raced as the first vehicle roared into view out of the fog, he didn't panic but instead tried to process what he was seeing. The APCs had no main gun, but instead a lone pair of eyes shone dimly through the grey-white murk above the vehicle. Another appeared and another until all five were partly visible through the fog, approached the apex of the slow curve and the closest they would be to the two marines. Walker thought of his rifle lying next to him in the snow and that he should have been holding it.

"Don't," a voice was in his ear, "Just don't move."

Only after the last vehicle had crawled past them did Vanderburg reach into a pocket on his combat vest and ready the detonator. Finger steady on the switch, he whispered to Walker, "You call it. Remember, as many vehicles as possible but none can get across."

Walker watched and waited. The vehicles slowed on their approach to the bridge and he smiled to himself as they decreased their spacing. Strange, he thought, that this moment of highest tension found him at his most calm. He watched three vehicles at once; the foremost and the two furthest back. The liquid thump of his pulse in his temples became louder than the engines and he made a little sniff just as the first APC was approaching the end of the bridge. Then, absolute silence.

"Do it," he whispered.

There was no earth-shattering blast and no immense fireball erupted up and out of the ravine. In fact the sound of the charges going off was barely perceptible over the noise of engines as they chugged their way toward an unwitting end, nothing more than flat cracking sound and small puffs of displaced snow at both of the supports. Then followed the squeals of wrenching metal as the steel trusses began to sag under the now excessive load. The far end failed first, its connections sheared from the rock and the whole bridge swung downward on the hinge of the opposite end until it found a foothold once more. Four vehicles then slid into the backs of one another as Helghast infantry leaped out to the relative safety of the tarmac. The fifth, only half on, teetered between safe, solid ground and the free-swinging bridge. It tried to reverse in desperation but found no traction. Helghast poured from its rear gangplank - Walker counted six in all - before the near end of the bridge failed and the whole twisted wreck fell from view along with four vehicles and dozens of men. Thuds and crashes echoed around until silence again returned. The two marines turned their attention to the remaining troops who huddled around the last vehicle which hung impotently onto the ledge. Five pushed out and set up a makeshift perimeter whilst the last, presumably an officer, stayed with the useless shell.

"What now?" Walker's voice cracked a little with guilty excitement.

"We wait," the reply hushed him.

There came the first flakes of snowfall and the fog crept back to its former level of visual nuisance until the Helghast were reduced to hazy, dark grey blobs with a red glow that indicated their field of view. The officer left the cover of the wreck and signalled the others to join him, voices could be heard but neither man made out what was being said. "Right listen to me," Vanderburg spoke quick and quiet, "They're going to come back the way they came. I'll move up and to the right, open up on them when they reach the bend. You stay here and let rip when their focus is on me, eh?"

He had scrambled off before Walker had the chance to reply in the affirmative and left the private alone and very exposed. The Helghast started along the road toward him, one dark mass in the fog with patches of crimson that appeared and disappeared as men moved in and out of view with their marching. The intermittent footsteps played a melody over his heartbeat and one hand held the grip of his rifle to one side - he dared not take it over the lip of the crater yet. Closer and closer they came and Walker didn't take his eyes off them, not even to check if the sergeant was in position. He had more faith in him than he did himself. He drew his knees up, readied himself to move up from prone to a crouch. Then came three loud pops, followed by another three.

Vanderburg had fired two bursts, the Helghast were in disarray and brought up their weapons in his direction. Walker couldn't make out how much damage had been done already, but pushed himself up onto one knee regardless, swung his rifle up into a firing position and followed his sergeant's lead. He fired short bursts with his M82 into the dark section of fog he knew to be six Helghast soldiers. The mass flattened out with each successive burst of the marines' fire until it was spread about on the road and the spent shells melted through the snow. Walker only stopped firing when Vanderburg's muzzle flash didn't appear in the corner of his eye. He thought his heart had been pounding before but now it pumped so hard in his chest that he had trouble catching breath. He glanced over to movement and saw his sergeant break cover and slowly walk toward the (he hoped) dead enemy in the road.

"Walker!" a shout aimed at the crater, "Get your ass over here." He obeyed and half-walked, half-slid down the snow to the road. The fog focused into six dead bodies, the sergeant slung his own rifle and checked an enemy weapon.

"Doesn't even have a round in the chamber," he muttered, "Sloppy bastard, eh?" Walker only gave him half a smile at the remark, he had killed men before - wouldn't have made this fair otherwise - but they had always been shooting back and the sight of the bodies in front of him, their blood melting the snowflakes that fell into it after turning them a deep red, didn't sit well with him at all.

"This wasn't fair. Too easy."

"Christ," the sergeant went through the officer's pockets, "The sooner you get over this morale superiority the better."

"Sorry I don't enjoy this as much as you."

Vanderburg stopped and looked up at Walker, incensed. He stormed over and shoved Walker in the shoulder who fell back a few steps, dumbfounded. "Listen to me you little fucker," his accent took over and Walker only made out half of the rest, "Never think I enjoy this... my fucking job... kids telling me how to... bloody cuiter." The sergeant took a number of deep breaths and his usual, laid back charm returned. Walker simply hung his head after his chewing out.

"Sorry sarge, I didn't mean to-"

"Already forgotten," Vanderburg grinned, "We all have our ways of getting through this shit, eh? We should start back."

They made their way south, off the road and then headed east back to the makeshift ISA camp. The snowfall thickened and soon the bodies and all evidence of their actions would hidden by a thick blanket, slowing both the discovery and response of the Helghast to what had occurred. The conditions were, as ever, their greatest asset and greatest worry. "Sarge, what does cuiter mean?" the private asked after a half hour of walking in silence, "That word you called me earlier."

"You don't want to know."