Footsteps echoed down the corridor, drawing nearer and Thirteen hated himself for the way he shrank back into the corner of the cell, hated himself for the overwhelming panic, the nausea which washed over him in waves with each clipped step. Closer and closer, it was a long hallway. Thirteen shut his eyes.

The air shimmered with heat, even under the trees. He moved slowly, scanning the forest ahead of them. Suddenly he stopped, holding up his hand. The others halted as one, staying low and under cover. Something wasn't right. Thirteen pulled off his helmet - he could see and hear better without it - and stared hard at the wall of shadow which was the beginning of an evergreen forest fifty yards ahead.

"One-Eight-One-Three-" Thirteen could hear the disapproval in the young lieutenant's voice and sighed. He'd just been rotated into their unit, fresh out of the box from the academy. He still smelled like boot black and new clothes. "What do you think you're doing?" He had grown tired of waiting and stood, "I asked you a question, trooper."

Thirteen turned sharply then. Get down - but he never got the words out. The lieutenant's body jerked suddenly and he fell, a smoking hold in the center of his helmet.

"Incoming!" Dubs shouted as the telltale rush of air filled their ears, and then the whole world flew to pieces. Thirteen flattened himself against the ground, pressing himself into it as it heaved and shuddered like a living thing. Trees exploded above them, ripped through by artillery and hurled to the ground, their crashes drowned by the great, rupturing blasts of the rockets. All around them the air was burning, full of shrapnel and bursts of searing, white light, huge geysers of earth heaving skywards.

Thirteen managed to get his helmet back on. There were voices on the comms, Twenty-Six and Tree-Four, for a moment, and then Five-Oh's scream flooded the channel. Another shell hit close by, showering Thirteen with debris and he could only lay there, pressing his face into the dirt, his friend's voice screaming into his ear, the raw pain and terror of it filling his helmet.

"Five-Oh!" Twenty-Six somehow made herself heard, "Thirteen, have you got eyes on Five-Oh?"

"I'm on it," Thirteen heard himself saying. His heart was racing and his breath coming in shallow, jumpy gasps; in his ear he could still hear Five-Oh, but he was growing quieter now. Thirteen did not know if that was good or bad. He tried to focus on his friend's voice. Move. He needed to move.

He reached out a hand only to snatch it back as the world in that direction turned molten white. Fuck! He sucked in a breath and tried again, dragging himself hand over hand across the ground towards where he had last seen Five-Oh.

"Talk to me, Zero. How we doing on that airstrike?" Thirteen didn't understand how Twenty-Six could sound so calm.

"Something's scrambling the long distance frequencies, I can't get through!"

"Fucking bastards. Keep trying."

Thirteen rolled into a crater, flattening himself to the opposite side. He shut his eyes, counted out three seconds, and forced himself to climb out. He found Five-Oh at the bottom of the next crater. What was left of him.

"Five-Oh!" He was alive, but Thirteen didn't understand how; his friend had been ripped apart.

"Thirteen? Thirteen - I- I can't-"

"Easy, buddy. I got you." There was blood everywhere. "I've got Five-Oh," he spoke into the comm, "We need med-evac. Now."

"We've got no long distance comms, do what you can."

Do what you can.

"My legs - I can't feel - "

Thirteen threw himself over Five-Oh as another rocket sent shrapnel and splinters spraying across them.

"Your legs are going to be fine. It's going to be fine. Five-Oh - look at me. Look at me. It's going to be alright."

Do what you can.

He ripped off his pack, fumbling through the aid kit, cursing the brainless fuck who had issued only one roll of bandages. There was so much blood. How the hell was he supposed to stop the bleeding? Syrettes. His fingers were clumsy in his gloves and he tore them off. He grabbed the painkiller syrettes. Two or three? What was the max dose? How many were too many?

He realized then, as he looked down at Five-Oh, that it didn't matter. That even if they had a med team there now, his friend was still going to die.

"Thirteen..." His friend's voice was small, frightened, and that scared Thirteen more all the rockets crashing around them. He'd never seen him like this, not even when they were children. Five-Oh wasn't scared of anything. He jabbed in the syrettes. One. Two. "I'm cold."

Thirteen gave him the third syrette. "I know." The visor of his helmet was fogging up and he tore it off. Another close hit, there was a crack above them and as Thirteen dove to cover Five-Oh again, something struck his back, glancing off his armor, but with such force that it drove the breath from his body, flattening him against Five-Oh.

And then there was silence. Thirteen waited, holding Five-Oh tightly. One second. Two. Ten. Still nothing. It didn't feel like silence, not the normal kind. It felt as though he'd gone deaf.

There were branches all around them. A tree must have come down. If it weren't for the depth of the crater, they would have been crushed. Slowly Thirteen pulled away from Five-Oh, sucking air into his lungs.

"Five-Oh? Five-Oh!"

No.

He pulled off his friend's helmet. The face beneath was bloodless and drawn, the eyes blank.

No.

He felt for a pulse.