"How many cigarettes we got left lieutenant?" Sergeant McKay asked, took his eye from the scope of his rifle, swung his arm to loosen his shoulder and scratched at the scar tissue on his cheek (he'd been shouting orders back on Vekta when a burst of enemy fire from the flank had passed between both sets of teeth, miraculously missed his tongue and took most of his right cheek with it – he often wondered if he had gotten his medal for his actions or to replace the flesh). He blinked heavily a few times and ran both gloved hands over his eyes and through his short, dark hair, "Nothing to report though sir, place has been dead all day. Just the usual patrols. Which of you poor bastards is next?"
"Well sergeant," the lieutenant reached into a pocket on his vest and pulled out a tattered pack of smokes, "Five. You guys are gonna to have to do something pretty spectacular from now on to get one. Shooting a Hig in the ass isn't gonna cut it any more." The four men in the long-abandoned pillbox laughed amongst themselves as they remembered the enemy grunt who had gotten lost in the dust storm and wandered too far from the refinery – his body long eroded and hidden by the winds in the desert, a personal tomb created by his own harsh home-world. Their laughter trailed off and the soldiers found themselves remembering how isolated they were, cut off from the rest of the ISA war-machine that was currently lumbering its way toward the planet. Three weeks they had spent on Helghan ahead of the main invasion force - one of several covert teams that had dropped onto the planet unnoticed – three weeks in that pillbox together on the Pyrrhus plains, overlooking a refinery for reasons known only to the commanding officer, Lieutenant Campbell. The man with the answers and the man with the cigarettes. They had learned quickly to only bother asking about the cigarettes.
Vanderburg eventually got to his feet and walked over to McKay grinning, as was his way. Descendant of white land-owners in Africa back on Terra, he was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed wonder who survived the invasion of Vekta protected by a bubble of sheer arrogance under fire. McKay held the rifle by the butt - balanced by a bipod that held the muzzle out of view from beyond the concrete of the hiding hole – offering it to Vanderburg. "Thanks babe," his Boer accent was thick and he winked at McKay, sat himself down on an ammo crate and got comfortable with the stock in his shoulder. He judged by eye the distance to the two sentries keeping watch outside in the valley below, unaware of his watch upon them and adjusted his scope accordingly. When he was settled he threw a camouflaged tarp over himself and gave a quick thumbs up to the others. So began another six hour vigil.
Four men alone with nothing to kill but time. Toward the end of Vanderburg's watch whilst the lieutenant was looking out through his monocular, making notes about the landscape and the other two, McKay and Ericsson (A man-mountain brute, bald and heavily bearded. If it wasn't for the facial hair anyone would think he were a Helghast), were playing cards for various sized stones a voice came out from under the camouflaged tarp, "Get a load of these two. By the entrance." The CO trained his monocular on the Helghast sentries, not able to make out anything remotely interesting through the wind and sand, and the others looked over from their game. Vanderburg left the silence hanging long enough for the others to get agitated.
"Come on you Boer bastard," McKay snapped, "What is it?"
"One of the Higs is noticeably warmer than the other," Vanderburg adjusted his scope.
"That's it?" McKay fumed and threw his cards on the floor, "Fuck sake!"
"What we have here my ISA comrades," Vanderburg spoke with conviction, "Is a case of unrequited love, that poor Helghast bastard forced to stand watch with the man of his dreams. His pulse and breathing quicken, his body heat increases and he sweats just that little bit more than normal. He steals little glances, hoping, dreaming that the other guy feels the same. Too scared to speak out for fear of the utmost rejection." The three men all laughed at his words, thankful for some respite from the boredom of their task. The wind howled and the dust agitated their skin and eyes but they didn't notice. The Boer had their full attention and his sordid tale rang out from his camouflaged mound and above the noise and pain of Helghan.
"Dear diary. Stood next to Hig Higgerson on watch today. Dust storm was blowing hard and cold. Wanted nothing more than to suggest we share body heat and rations in a make-shift romantic dinner. Post script. His red eyes seemed to sp-" he was interrupted by a small roar of laughter from the other men, "Wait. Wait, let me finish. His red eyes seemed to sparkle and dance in the light of my own." The lieutenant composed himself first, gave the other two a knowing look and they wiped the tears from their eyes - professional soldiers.
Vanderburg made it official, threw off his tarp and announced, "Six hours already? That's another guard change, sir. Just thought I would add a little bit of homosexual tension to spice things up for you guys."
"Duly noted, Corporal," the lieutenant made a note on a chart that was hidden away as quickly as it appeared - none of them bothered to ask about the it any more, "You should get some sleep or at least rest your eyes and that over-active imagination." Vanderburg was up to his feet before the CO had finished his sentence and looked over to Ericsson.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I guess it's my turn," Ericsson took the rifle from him and settled the two 'love birds' back in his sights, "Go take a piss or something. Bucket's full though, you'll have to go outside. I think the wind might be dying down if that makes you feel any better." It didn't. Urinating outdoors on Helghan was not a pleasant experience and Vanderburg lost his trademark grin at the thought. He picked up his M82 rifle, messed up McKay's hair – who made a lunge for his legs – slowly opened the heavy door at the rear of their temporary digs and stepped outside. The door was quickly closed behind him by somebody inside. He instantly felt the sand trying to tear at skin, searching for a foothold to begin peeling, so he pulled his scarf up around his face. He couldn't see two feet in front of him for the storm but knew there was a sheer rock face ten paces from the door and another thirty paces to the left after he would come to a fatal drop. Walking with his arms outstretched, his palms eventually came into contact with the wall that he couldn't help but fear wouldn't be there this time.
The wind was all encompassing and enveloping, constant and apathetic. It had stripped Helghan to its bare bones, revealing towering monoliths of volcanic rock. The marines' hideout stood on one and the refinery at the base of another. Vanderburg had soft-footed his way toward the drop he knew was coming – he may have played the tough Boer in front of the other marines but he was scared of heights. And as close as he dared, he stopped and prepared himself for sand-blasted nether regions. Luck was on his side though as for the first time in three weeks the wind died. It didn't subside of die down, it simply stopped blowing. The harsh gravity of the planet quickly claimed back what had been lifted by the fast moving air and the landscape became almost unrecognisable with the extra layer of sand. Never one to question fortune, he went about his business and urinated down the sheer rock face, admiring the view. Light from a nearby sun shone through a layer of thick Helghan cloud and lit the valley in a dull pink. The closest thing you would get to a day at the beach, he thought, grinning to himself.
He still had his grin when he returned to the hideout, "Not a bad day out there now, boys."
Ericsson looked round from the scope and scratched his chin, "You're telling me, the Higs just got changed into their shorts and sandals. And I think... yes, they are having cocktails." They all shared in a little smile. Even the lieutenant forgot himself for a moment and joined them in the revelry before remembering his rank.
"Corporal Vanderburg, best use this break in the weather to service the other rifle. Who knows when the wind will pick up," he received a sarcastic salute in reply. But Lt. Campbell was just as pleased as the others for the full lull in the usual atmospheric disturbances, happy just to breathe easy for a while. Helghan was slowly killing the four of them. He had never smoked a cigarette in his life – one reason why he looked after the squad's most scarce provision – but three weeks here had given him a hacking cough and the increased gravity had left all four of them sluggish and sore. He would never go so far as to sympathise with the Helghast, but he saw why they hated he and every other Vektan. "Imagine landing here and trying to call it home..." he muttered to himself.
McKay had been watching the refinery through the monocular, chewing on a tough piece of beef jerky from an ISA ration when he suddenly blurted, "Sir! We've got a lot of movement down there. Ericsson get your eyeball back on that fucking scope!" Vanderburg and Campbell scrambled over to the long gap in the concrete and even with the naked eye could make out at least a dozen Helghast milling around the entrance. Through the scope Ericsson watched orders being given and physical abuse being handed out to those who didn't respond quick enough. "What the hell sir?" McKay passed him the monocular, "What the hell is going on?" Campbell sighed and slapped him almost playfully on the back. He stood up and walked over to his pack leaning against a wall, his arms delved into it and he retrieved a sealed, manilla envelope.
"Boys," all three looked over to find him with a smile on his face, "In about six hours or so, depending how in advance these Higs are shitting themselves for his arrival... Radec is on his way to cast his eye over what is going on down there at the refinery." Their mission, their purpose for stewing in that concrete box for three weeks was suddenly clear. All the in-fighting and snide comments suddenly melted away. Who else in the whole of the ISA was going to get a chance like this?
"We get a shot at a full-blown bird!" Vanderburg let a long, low whistle.
"Colonel Radec?" McKay's grin stretched through his scar.
Ericsson got the laugh, "How many cigarettes is he worth?"