'Fresh Meat' had been stenciled on the boy's chest plate, just under the curve of his visor.
That's just what he was; fresh off the meat factory, another cookie-cut piece of venison to be thrown away alongside hundreds of others.
Private Henry Navarro-Jackson sat at the back of the dominion dropship alongside seven identical marines in red armor, carrying the same run-of-the mill C-14 Impalers, no customization whatsoever distinguished one soldier from the other, except the name tags under their visors.
Just like Jackson, each of them was fresh out of training, or whatever hypno-bullshit they called training now. All of them, however, had also undergone resocialization, something he had not been put through. Volunteers were a rare and precious thing in the Dominion.
Given the pay rate and the risks, that made perfect sense, but Jackson didn't really care about money… Well, he did like having a lot of it, but the truth of the matter is that he was… Let's say, untalented, in everything he undertook, bad at school, too lazy to prospect, not brave enough to be a criminal... His list of failure went on from his sixteenth to his twenty-second birthday, when he decided military life might just be his way out of poverty.
So far, he'd been taught how to speak like a soldier, how to walk in power armor, on which side of an officer to walk, when he should and shouldn't salute and how to respond a direct order.
One such direct order was issued before the dropship even left the battlecruiser: "You there, private," A sergeant with his visor closed spoke through his suit's speaker, from the seat opposite his, "as soon as we're planetside, I want you to break formation and find out who's calling the shot, then you report to me…" the speakers relayed a deep breathing sound, followed by a breath of relief. The man apparently smoked a cigar in there.
"Coms are a cluster-fuck already…" That probably wasn't meant to be heard and it made Henry feel even worse than he already was.
Char held very little charm on its own, and now that it had claimed three battlecruisers in a single hour of battle, it was downright pants-shittingly terrifying. What the fuck could kill three cruisers in a row and remain standing? More importantly, what the fuck could a handful of marines do to hurt that thing?
"Fresh Meat…" A brain panned trooper spoke, only to be interrupted by the sudden jolt as their transport rocketed out of the cruiser, keeping its cargo in zero gravity for half a minute before entering the atmosphere.
Since they were pretty much free falling, the marines felt no gravity even though they were being pulled down by the planetary body, what they did feel was turbulence, one of many things nobody had told them about in training.
The same marine grabbed his safety harness in terror and called for his momma, the speakers amplifying his screams throughout the troop bay.
"Suck it up, marine!" The sergeant was quite displeased with his man, "This is a smooth ride compared to Tarsonis, so man up and keep your shit together!"
Though he was not screaming for his mother, Henry himself felt something like ice trickling down his back, his ears, fingers and nose were itching and cold while his whole body burned and his stomach churned. If that isn't utter panic, then Jackson had yet to experience it.
He clutched his C-14 tighter, the powered fingers groaning against reinforced metal. This was the fourth wave to be sent down to the surface, the previous three, deployed using drop pods, had already set up a landing zone, which meant Henry and his squad of resocs were riding first class in comparison.
The shaking eventually died down and whatever the other marine had intended to say, he'd forgotten about it somewhere between calling his mama and soiling himself. Red lights all over the ship turned green and every safety harness rose off its passenger. As one man, the marines rose and turned to face the ramp and Henry ended up next to last in line, just behind the sarge.
An hellish red glow filtered in from the crack as the ramp lowered and splashed across the equally red armors worn by Henry's squad mates. This whole place looked like a damaged TV screen with the wrong color filters.
Four marines managed to leave the dropship before the Zerg overwhelmed the landing zone. Perdition turrets grew quiet, gunfire died down and, for a few seconds, everything was calm, outside the clanking of boots on metal.
Then the Zerg reached the dropship and melted down on Henry's squad like flies on sugar.
From inside the troop bay, Jackson could see the wave of zergling tearing through CMC armors and flesh, but could do nothing about it without risking friendly fire.
"Hit the dirt!" The sergeant roared at the trooper ahead of him, himself dropping to a knee, establishing a three levelled firing line.
It took Jackson a second to realize he was the top of that line and when he opened up with his C-14, the other two had already bagged four Zerglings.
He fired two bursts, missing both times, before switching the Impaler's selector to full auto. Then, the fun began.
Erosion, that is the only word that can adequately describe what happened to the Zerg lines as a result of the three marine's superposed suppressive fire, the tide of limbs and claws being forced back by kinetic force alone. The fourth marine, another cookie cut gun fodder, opened fire as well, but towards the cockpit, through which more Zerg were making their way.
The pilot somehow managed to shove herself out of the seat and away from the claws fast enough to lean back on the marine's boot and fire her sidearm into the snarling mass outside.
"Reloading!" Henry had been the last to open fire, but ended up being first to reload, something the sergeant was quick to catch up on:
"Quit pissing ammo, marine! It's aim and shoot, not the other way around!"
With a fresh magazine engaged, Jackson was ready to resume spraying just as the NCO finished his sentence, but, as suddenly as it had started, the assault ended, replaced only with silence and a chorus of smoking U-238 cases rolling around on the floor.
"The hell? They just give up?" The marine on the floor sounded dubious.
"Maybe we got them all…" Said the one at the rear, not believing it himself.
The sarge pushed himself up and brought the private along, "Well let's find out," he shouted, his words slurred somewhat thanks to the cigar he held in his mouth, "I want a perimeter set up around this bird ten minutes ago, go go go!"
Stepping aside, he shoved both marines and the pilot forward, hurrying them forward as they stomped out into the open. Henry ended up kneeling to the ramp's left, sweeping the ravaged defences for movement.
Sandbags, barbed wires and concrete slabs laid strewn all over the place, chewed by teeth and acid. Automated turrets still beeped despite having been gutted, knocked down and trampled, but still, the debris rose half a meter higher than a man, hiding anything beyond the thirty meters wide landing zone.
Fixed gun emplacements remained mostly intact, their twin gatling guns kept spinning by severed hands and lifeless corpses. Out of ammo.
One could consider the lifeless part to be redundant, but with the Zerg, lively corpses were not that rare a sight.
The sarge took a marine with him and promptly checked the area behind the dropship. "All clear!" He called a second later, quickly echoed by Henry's teammate and the pilot, covering the front.
Unsure what to do now, and seeing as the sergeant was equally confused, Jackson made his way to the nearest gun emplacement, located on top of a low platform, just high enough to give a good view of the Firebase this landing zone should have been attached to.
Most of the place had been trashed, so that one could not differentiate whether the debris littering the floor belonged to an SCV, the barracks or a Thor walker… Pipes and neo-steel plates practically littered the ground.
"Contact! Contact!" Jackson spun on the spot in time to see an Hydralisk pop from the ground like a daisy, a mere meter from the ramp, to slice that same marine who'd called for his mother during the drop.
Both the man's arms fell to the floor and he stumbled back, screaming incoherently. This time, Jackson was the first to open fire and he pinned the alien to the side of the dropship with the first burst. That would have done the trick, but to his panicked mind, the monster remained a threat so long as it remained standing, so he fired another volley, which pinned the Zerg's arm to its face in a necrotic face-palm.
Jackson would have kept on shooting, but more Zerg were popping up and he had to focus on them instead.
Something jumped onto his platform and he nearly shot it before realizing it was only the pilot, panicked but alive and still firing her slug thrower as though it would make a difference.
The Zerg tried to follow, but most of them were base breeds, Zerglings, leftovers from the force that had ravaged the firebase. Henry took them out with relative ease, as did the sarge on the opposite side of their dropship, judging by the swearing and gunfire.
"Oh man," Spoke the pilot, mostly to herself, "we're actually winning this!"
To Jackson, however, they weren't winning anything, the only reason they were still alive was that the Zerg didn't really care about this place anymore, they couldn't have cared less about a handful of stragglers late to the party.
They'd lost over half their forces and to an enemy that wasn't actively trying to kill them, fucking insulting.
A Zergling, coming in from the base's ruins, managed to drag itself up and take a good bite at Henry's boots. A shiver of horror seared through the young marine's spine as the thing tried to knock him off balance, tugging and growling at his armored leg, but the man recovered before that could happen and put two rounds in the Zerg's back, blowing massive chunks out of its torso.
Ahead, only three of the small bastards remained, hopping towards them at full speed. An automatic burst ended the charge quickly.
"Everyone, report in!" The sarge had indeed survived the onslaught.
"Right behind you, sir." The last remaining brain panned marine spoke, earning himself an audible smack on the helmet.
"Heller, all clear."
"Jackson, zero movement."
The sergeant waited a few seconds, then sighed, "Alright, ladies, let's sort out this mess. Jackson, you stay right where you are, keep an eye out, Heller, see if the bird can still fly, Coldmann, you're with me, we're sweeping the area for supplies and survivors… What are ya'll waiting for?! Move it!"