Second chapter and a chance to flesh the whole thing about a bit; new characters and a better idea of the marines' situation. The chapter is quite dialogue heavy, but I can promise you now that the next will have a big action scene - which I am not too good at writing but people don't read Killzone fanfiction for constant talking I suppose. Anyway, reviews and constructive criticism always welcomed.
Hell frozen over. That was the pet name given to the forward operating base in the snowy wastelands by the marines stationed there. Its purpose was to upset and stall Helghast operations north of the Stahl Arms Deep South facility. The base itself was hidden away in a cave complex, naturally formed in the floor of a steep-sided glacial valley. Boulders and smaller moraine left centuries before by the glacial movements provided a natural barrier that prevented a ground vehicle from getting within five hundred yards of the entrance and no pilot of a sane disposition would dare fly in low enough to drop troops - fear of a sudden gust smashing them into the steep walls. Vanderburg and Walker reached the furthest boulder west of the entrance and the end of their five hour hump back from the bridge. Snow had built up on their heads, shoulders and traced the edges of anything protruding on their uniforms. The wind howled down the valley from the east and chilled them even further. The sergeant reached into his overcoat, flicked on his comms and put out an arm to catch Walker before he walked any further.
"Which of you lazy bastards has me in their sights?" he said, finger in his hood and to his ear. There was a short burst of static before a voice came back to him.
"Well if it isn't the Boer!"
"Decker? Shit, don't shoot!"
"Yeah yeah, very funny. I swear that kid looked like a Hig in the blizzard and his foot healed up just fine in the end."
"That poor bugger still limps about the place, you dozy jakka."
"I'm going to assume that wasn't nice and ignore it. You remember the route in or would you like me to lead you to your death?" The maze of rocks and debris was littered with mines and charges but there were two safe routes from either direction to the entrance of the base.
"I plum forgot. I'll send the private here out first and learn from his mistakes," Vanderburg joked back.
"Would be the most excitement I've had all week," Decker broke into a coughing fit and Walker didn't give the sergeant the satisfaction of replying at all, "I'll radio ahead, let them know you're coming. See you in two hours when the night shift starts and I get out of this fucking hole." Another burst of static and then nothing but wind. The two started the final stretch back to base, Walker behind his sergeant in full knowledge that veering too far off course would not end well for either of them. Twists, turns and a minute of walking back west before another u-turn brought them to the rock face. The wind and snow were getting worse as the sun (or at least the brightest patch of sky) disappeared behind the valley wall. From a hundred yards out the entrance looked little more than a darker patch of rock about ten feet squared and only when half as close again did it reveal itself as a tunnel at all.
They paused before taking the first step on solid ground and Walker beat Vanderburg to the joke, "Ladies first."
"You still don't know the way, even from here?" The tunnel dropped down at a steep gradient that meant they couldn't help but take great, heavy steps that echoed down into the bowels of the hillside. It became pitch black after about twenty yards and only once the entrance was completely out of sight were there any artificial lights put into the walls. They buzzed quietly as the two marines thumped their way up to a set of sentries resting on their haunches against the wall, behind whom lay the first of several inner chambers interlinked by passages created by millennia of water eroding through rock. It ran still, pooling in the chambers and seeping through the walls as a welcome reminder of the comparative warmth of being underground.
"Van," the left hand sentry punched him in the thigh, "How's that bridge?"
"What bridge?" came the reply with a wink.
"That's what I like to hear. Your lieutenant wants a debrief."
"He's not my CO."
The sentry shrugged, "Hey, I'm just the guard dog." They continued into the chamber which served as a makeshift mess and recreation room, only an MG placement covering the main entrance let on that this would be the setting of any 'final stand'. Marines milled about freely without their flak vests - the braver men had also ditched their overcoats. Walker stopped next the sergeant, the snow on their shoulders and heads was turning into large damp patches and drips from their hoods.
"You want me to go too?"
"Don't worry kid, you go grab some chow eh?"
Walker saluted but the sergeant just rolled his eyes and walked off toward the officers' quarters, shaking his head as he went. Stupid, thought Walker. The private was left there mid-salute and looked like a madman, sheepishly he lowered his hand and double-timed down toward the company barracks. The two largest side chambers served as bunk rooms for each of the two makeshift companies and home for the forty or so men of each. The floors were lined with overlapping tarps and the unfolded cots lined the damp walls. The rest of the floor space was dotted with tables and chairs - empty ammo crates and boxes respectively. A dozen or so men were engaged in serious procrastination, some wrestled and practised hand-to-hand with each other, others were checking their weapons and equipment. Only a handful noticed Walker coming in, fewer cared.
"Howdy," a bull of a man grabbed Walker's hand into a forced handshake, "Look who made it back alive, guys!" Because of his accent, Tex was named by the other men after a state he never knew existed, let alone visited and had been with Walker since the invasion. The remaining two members of the squad walked over and one held up two cigarettes with a face like thunder. The other pulled down Walker's hood, grabbed his head by the chin, pushing the private's mouth into a pout and twisted it violently from side to side.
"Funny," a thick, eastern-European accent muttered, "I thought there would be something left over from your trip up the sergeant's ass." All three laughed and Tex snatched at his winnings.
"Not that they're any use to me in here," he walked back to over to the table, "Jeff what else can we bet on? I need a lighter."
Corporal Jeff Mallick, a dark-haired streak of a man, sat down across from Tex, "I'm running out of shit to lose to you."
"I missed you too Vic. I'm sure the sarge will take you away soon for that alone time you so seem to crave," Walker snatched at the hand holding his face, joined the others at the table and removed his sodden overcoat, "You guys actually bet on me not coming back?" He tapped his gloved fingers on the crate and nobody would meet his gaze, a loose thread on their vest or a new drip from the ceiling became utterly enthralling to them.
"Guys!"
Victor sniffed and scratched at his scraggly, brown beard, "We heard things, about the sarge."
"Some guy over in Alpha," Jeff continued, "Told us that Vanderburg was the only survivor of his mission up north, in the desert."
Walker waited but there was nothing more, "That's it?"
Tex jumped in, banging his enormous fist on the crate, "Think about it dude, only one comes back? He got them killed!" Vanderburg had been assigned as their squad leader just a month earlier - one of three special forces operatives who were now filtered amongst the two companies - and in that time they had learnt very little about him. So naturally they made stories up and believed any rumour they heard.
"I heard he shot a Hig officer from two hundred with his side-arm."
"I heard he is a Hig undercover agent, I mean you've heard the accent."
"Word is he had a shot at Colonel Radec."
A marine piped up on his way out of the room, "I hear he's from Earth, never set foot on Vekta." This was the juiciest rumour yet and the four men chewed on it for a while before a voice stopped them dead.
"What are you shitbirds doing?" they look round to see Gunnery Sergeant Filmore in the doorway, hands on hips, "Do I stutter?"
"N-no Gunny."
"Just squaring away, Gunny."
"Walker just got back Gunny."
Gunny was a mean son-of-a-bitch, an ugly brute who shot at men in times of war and spent times of peace teaching people to shoot others, "That's real funny, because all I see is a goddamn sewing circle." His eyes dug holes into all four and Walker snapped first.
"We were just discussing the new sergeant, Gunny."
"All discussing what a fine piece of ass he is if I know you, ladies." None of them laughed - never knew what was a joke with Filmore.
"Okay, here's the news. Vanderburg and I were lance corporals together back on Vekta, same company," Gunny spilled, "And here's all you need to know; when you pussies are hiding behind cover, pissing yourself because of enemy fire. He will be on his feet, returning fire and laughing at you. That man will shame you into being a good marine." There was stunned silence and Victor opened his mouth to ask the obvious question.
"You don't know how lucky you are to have him as squad leader," Gunny closed Vic's trap, "Now are we done here? Walker get your ass up to the LT and rest of you square your shit away, major patrol tomorrow."
The officers' quarters weren't much better than the enlisted men's, but they were certainly drier and housed the battalion commander, the captains, lieutenants and gunnery sergeants as well as various other POGs. Walker stood outside, waiting and listening to the end of an argument between his squad leader and platoon commander.
"It took you an extra six hours? Your orders were to blow the bridge and get back ASAP," Lieutenant O'Brien - like Gunny - played hard ball with the men, the results varied. But it was the only consistency they had in the base.
"A new opportunity presented itself, couldn't let it go."
There was a pause before Vanderburg added, "...sir."
"And you thought it was worth putting one of my marines in danger?"
"Private Walker was never in danger, sir."
"You disobeyed my orders, sergeant."
"Your orders were based on a situation that changed, sir and I didn't disobey them. The bridge is gone."
"Don't be a wise ass with me. If you cowboys are going to stay here you need to play by our rules."
"I admit we need each other but in the field you have to extend me a little trust, sir."
"The problem is your methods, they're undisciplined and I don't need the men thinking it's always the way to go. They haven't had your training and it could get them killed."
"I understand, sir."
"Okay sergeant. Get out my sight," there was one heavy footstep before the lieutenant added, "Sergeant Vanderburg, we don't salute the man but the rank." A few more quick steps, Vanderburg appeared out of the hole in the rock and peered into Walker with his blue eyes.
"How much of that did you hear?" the sergeant grinned.
"How much of what?"
"They'll make an officer of you yet," a wink and he swaggered off.
Walker stared at his feet and scratched at the back of his head. He knew what the lieutenant was doing, making him stew outside before he called him in. He heard O'Brien cough and arrange items on the desk just inside the doorway, "Walker! You out there?" Walker quickstepped into the chamber, stood to attention in front of the lieutenant and saluted.
"Good job out there today and the sergeant spoke pretty highly of you," he began, "This should have happened after the invasion but, well, shit happens. I am promoting you to Lance Corporal."
Walker couldn't hide his smile, "Er thank you sir."
"Sadly because of the circumstances it's just ceremony," O'Brien continued, "But I wanted to know we appreciate you being here and the job you're doing."
"Umm, sir?" Walker started, "About Vanderburg."
"Sorry Walker. No time for small talk, I have a patrol tomorrow to map out," the lieutenant didn't even make eye contact, "Anything else, ask Gunny."
Lieutenant O'Brien wasn't a people person, he didn't gel with the men and he left the inter-personal skills up to Gunnery Sergeant Filmore. Which was something of a mistake. O'Brien was a tactician first and planned everything out meticulously. This meant every eventuality was planned for but in the field the lieutenant had a tendency to freeze up under pressure. Again, Gunny would pull up the slack and the men respected him for this - even took his verbal abuse with good humour because of it. Walker didn't like the idea of O'Brien leading them on a major patrol, but it wasn't his place to question such things. He was paid to follow orders, not think. He left the officers' quarters and let out a long sigh.
How could tomorrow be any more eventful?