Chapter 34

They were in the perimeter.

At first the neomorphs had probed the perimeter, approaching to see how close they could get before the Marines reacted. Once the humans opened fire, the creatures would scurry out of the way, disappearing back into the tall grass of the field that surrounded the beachhead. After several probes, they moved in for the kill.

Two groups of them moved in from the right, five in total. The Marines had opened fire, but the neomorphs scattered, running on all fours to dodge the incoming bullets. As eyes scanned over optics and hands checked remaining ammo, they didn't realize that the larger groups had been a feint.

The first flanking neomorph grabbed ahold of Andariese and pulled him from his fighting hole. He screamed and tried to aim his rifle as clawed hands punctured his uniform, equipment, and skin. Before anyone could react, he was gone, pulled into the tall grass just outside of his fighting hole. The thing that had grabbed him had disappeared just as quickly as it had seemingly materialized. Mahoney went to go after Andariese, but Liscomb grabbed ahold of Mahoney's sub-belt and pulled the intel Marine back into the hole.

Everyone listened, wishing they'd been deaf. Andariese's pained screams rose to a near-inhuman pitch before they were abruptly cut off.

"Fuck!" Mahoney yelled.

"Contact! Left side!" Hollingshead called from his hole, opening fire. Others joined in. The sheer volume of fire meant that the neomorph caught several rounds. It stumbled in its run, limbs flailing for a moment before it got its feet beneath it and pushed off the ground, launching it forward.

It landed in the fighting hole with Hollingshead and Apone. Both men went to aim their weapons, but the thing was flailing about and neither was sure they could get a clean shot.

When it realized that it had landed with its quarry, the neomorph switched to the offensive.

The barbed tail came up and punctured through the bottom of Hollingshead's jaw. It pierced the man's head with enough force that the tip of the tail, bloodied and dripping with bits of brain matter, protruded through the top of Hollingshead's helmet.

Apone roared as he opened fire. The neomorph's pained screeches joined the First Sergeant's yelling as it whipped around to face the new threat. Apone's rifle ran dry and he let the sling catch it as he drew his sidearm from the holster on his belt. The neomorph sprang forward. It impacted him like a truck and slammed him against the hard dirt wall of the fighting hole. Its maw opened and toothy gums shot forward, snapping at his face.

"Ugly motherfucker!" Apone yelled, trying to get his arm up so he could shoot the thing. It had him pinned against the wall, so he fired a shot into its belly.

The neomorph let out a shriek and fell backwards. Apone stepped forward to deliver the killing shot. The creature flung its tail around, launching Hollingshead's still-attached body towards him. The dead Marine impacted with the First Sergeant, sending what would have been a headshot into the dirt. Apone was thrown back onto his ass by Hollingshead's corpse.

The neomorph was on top of him half a second later.

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Liscomb and Bartz ran to the edge of the fighting hole. Apone's pained screams rose up to meet them, and all they could see was a flurry of limbs as the thing tore into the First Sergeant. Lisomb brought his rifle to bear.

"No!' Bartz commanded, slapping the Marines' weapon down. Liscomb shot the Captain a glance. "You can't risk hitting him!"

"He's getting torn apart!" Liscomb shot back.

"Get this fuckin' thing off me!" Apone shouted through the pain. Liscomb saw the First Sergeant's camouflaged arm come up, KA-BAR in-hand. The knife was plunged into the creature's side. Its whole body seemed to go rigid and it screamed towards the sky before attacking the man with renewed vigor.

"Oh my god…" Jones said. He'd climbed from his hole and was staring down at the carnage below. "Oh my god!"

"Jones, watch out!" Mahoney yelled. Jones turned just in time to see the neomorph charging him. Mahoney fired off a shot, but missed. As the thing closed the distance, Jones let out some kind of scared, mewling sound as he fell to his ass. He crab-walked back towards Bartz and Liscomb, who were now firing at the approaching creature. It dodged from side to side, evading their fire.

"Shoot it!" Jones all but shrieked. "Fucking shoot it!"

It leapt forward towards the crawling Marine. The neomorph was knocked aside by another figured that had launched itself forward. All eyes watched as yet another brawl of white and MARPAT limbs ensued.

Rook had launched himself forwards to intercept the creature going after Jones. He grabbed ahold of it as they rolled twice. The neomorph screeched at him as its clawed hands and feet tore into his artificial flesh. White blood sprayed from the wounds, and its strange, Goblin Shark-like maw tore a chunk out of his shoulder.

While any normal human would already be in the late stages of shock and approaching death, Rook was mostly unfazed. He punched the creature with a strike that would have been hard enough to crack a human's ribcage, snapping its head to the side. This was rewarded with its strange, extending gums wrapping around his left wrist. There was a snapping and pulling motion, and his hand came off as it tore its head to the side. What would have been blinding pain registered as a simple status alert in Rook's artificial mind.

He shifted his weight and drew the six-inch OKC-3S Bayonet from the back of his belt. With precision akin to that of a surgeon, he delivered three quick strikes to the neomorph's exposed torso. The creature recoiled from him, screaming as dark blood flowed from the cuts. Rook used the extra space to get his feet beneath him and popped to a proper fighting stance. He flipped the bayonet into a reverse fighting grip in his right hand, his left hand held in front of him. Well, stump. But he still had the rest of his arm to use. It came into use about two seconds later when the thing launched towards him again, its teeth clamping down on his left forearm.

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Liscomb's attention was torn between the two hand-to-hand engagements happening in front of him. Rook was now in a knife-fight with the neomorph that had gone after Jones, and seemed to be holding his own. On the other hand, Apone let out a blood curdling scream.

"Fuck!" Liscomb said, unable to make out what was what in the thrashing mess that was going on in the fighting hole. "Jones! Jones!" He yelled at the Gunnery Sergeant. "Jones, get in there with me so we can pull that thing off of him!" Jones' head snapped towards Liscomb. He looked at the Corporal like he was insane.

"You want to get in there with that fucking thing?!" Jones yelled, incredulously.

"Come on!" Liscomb said as he started towards the hole.

"Fuck that!" Jones said, taking a step backwards. The Gunnery Sergeant flinched when there was a loud boom. Liscomb turned around to see one of the snipers firing at a neomorph that had somehow made its way on top of one of the dropships. It was tearing into the other one who'd been posted up there. That was when Liscomb realized that the company rep was nowhere to be seen.

"Liscomb, Jones, on me!" Bartz said before jumping into the hole, landing on top of the neomorph. Jones stared ahead in disbelief, then met Liscomb's eyes.

Then he turned and started running. Away from the beachhead.

"Jones!" Liscomb yelled. "Jones, you fucking coward!" The fleeing Gunnery Sergeant didn't turn around as he continued to run from the fight. Giving in to his baser instincts, and doing what most of the Marines in their company had wanted to do for a long time, Liscomb shouldered his rifle and drew a bead on the fleeing Marine. No, check that. Jones wasn't a Marine. He was a fucking coward.

Liscomb fired off a long burst. When he saw Jones go down, he turned to jump into the hole to help the Captain and First Sergeant.

He froze at what he saw.

The thing had speared Bartz through the chest, just above his plate carrier. Blood covered all three Marines in the hole, and Bartz looked up at Liscomb with wide eyes.

"Get out of here!" The Captain croaked. One of his lungs must have been pierced. "Get on the dropship and go!" Bartz held up his right hand. He held a grenade.

Liscomb turned, aiming for the ground as he covered his head with his arms. The grenade went off, lighting up the night sky for a brief second. A plume of dirt, gore, and body parts went into the sky, funneled upwards by the fighting hole. Blistering heat washed over Liscomb, and it felt as if his entire backside had gotten a bad sunburn.

"Walter!" Liscomb yelled over the ringing in his ears. That was when he realized that one of his headset covers had been torn away from his helmet at some point. "Walter, get the dropship spun up!"

"On it!" Walter replied, bounding towards the craft. Liscomb shook his head to regain his composure and looked around.

Rook was still fighting the neomorph that had attacked Jones. The synth was in bad shape. His uniform and kit was torn, he'd lost his helmet, and white synthetic blood leaked from wounds all over his body. Rook's left hand was missing, his left arm had been savaged by teeth and claws, and a huge chunk of his right shoulder had been torn away, leaving his body armor hanging haphazardly across his torso. It was an impressive sight, seeing as any human in that state would have been long dead.

Liscomb turned his head back towards the second dropship. There was a flurry of movement, and another booming gunshot. He blinked and squinted, trying to get a better handle on what he was seeing.

It was Sergeant Dan Booker, the sniper that had been attached to Second Platoon. The neomorph that had climbed up there, which must have taken out Booker's spotter, Lance Corporal Frans Navarro, sprang forward. Booker fired off another shot from his sniper rifle. The heavy round impacted, blowing a huge chunk out of the creature's torso, but did little to stop its forward momentum as it leapt forward. The neomorph impacted and wrapped its limbs around Booker. His scream came to an abrupt end when they both hit the lake's water with a loud splash.

More gunfire brought Liscomb back to the present. He whirled around to see Rendar firing his pistol into the neomorph that Rook had been battling with. The synth moved forward and did the same.

Liscomb heard Mahoney scream. It was cut off several seconds later.

"Get to the dropship!" Liscomb yelled. He approached the nearest fighting hole and saw Anderson and Guerrero climbing out. "Let's move! Go go go!" He waved them towards him. Seeing no one else approaching, he turned to see First Platoon's sniper team, Sergeant Bach and Corporal Lang, standing atop the craft. "Move it out, let's go!" Liscomb ordered. "Fulmer, let's go!" He whirled around and saw Rook supporting Rendar as they both limped towards the dropship. "Marines, we are leaving!" Liscomb yelled as he opened fire on the approaching Neomorphs. How many of the damned things were there?

"Last man!" Fulmer called as she ran past Liscomb.

"We're in, lift off!" Liscomb called.

"Standby." Walter relayed calmly over the comms. "Engines are spooling up now." Liscomb saw that Fulmer and Rendar had posted up in the rear seats, covering their six. With that set, Liscomb turned around and did a quick headcount. He paused when he saw the company rep, whatever the fuck his name was, sitting strapped in to one of the seats. So that's where he'd disappeared to. Liscomb ignored the man and counted off the faces he saw.

Rook, Guerrero, Anderson, Rendar, Bach, Lang, Lawson, Trillo…No, that can't be all. He thought to himself. Then he remembered that Rendar and Fulmer were beside him. Still, that was less than a third of the group they'd come down with. And what about-

"Hey, does anyone have comms with Second Platoon?" Liscomb asked. "Has anyone heard from them?"

"I don't think so." Fulmer replied.

"Walter?" Liscomb asked. He braced himself as he heard the engines whine. They lifted off a moment later. "Walter, have you had any comms with second platoon?"

"Negative, Corporal." Walter replied.

"Do you have a general heading on where they went?"

"I do. We're going to head there now." Walter relayed. "It'll be a tight fit, but we'll make it work.

"Check." Liscomb said. He turned to face the ramp. Several pieces of equipment had caught on fire, leaving the otherwise dark beachhead illuminated by a circle of red and yellow flames. He could see the neomorphs darting around. Several were feeding on the bodies of the Marines that had been left behind.

The dropship shuddered, then pitched to one side. Those who hadn't secured themselves were tossed, with several losing their footing. Liscomb and Fulmer both lurched forward to grab ahold of Rendar. The machine gunner reached out to grab ahold of something with his uninjured arm.

He disappeared out of view a moment later.

"No!" Liscomb and Fulmer both yelled. Panicked voices joined them.

"What the hell was that?"

"Something's happening!"

"Oh shit, one of them is in here! One's in the fucking cockpit!"

Liscomb whirled around, and his stomach twisted into knots.

Through the open cockpit door, all he could see what a blur of limbs and a long, thin tail. The dropship pitched and banked.

"Hold on!" Someone yelled. Liscomb reached forward and grabbed ahold of the metal framework of the seat in front of him with his right hand, his left firmly grasping the shoulder strap of Fulmer's vest. He looked towards the front and saw that the company rep had raised his safety bar and was making his way towards the back of the dropship.

"We need to get it out of here!" Lawson yelled.

"Fuck that, I'm out of here!" Kurt yelled as he stepped over their legs and feet. The dropship went into a steep bank and sent Kurt flying into the bulkhead. He impacted hard and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Rook released his one-handed grip that was holding him steady and approached the fallen man.

"Oh no! Oh God, no!" Anderson yelled. He watched as the neomorph stalked through the cockpit door, its already-white skin painted with wet synthetic blood. The creature locked onto the panicking Marine and set upon him, claws and teeth tearing into the man. The dropship fell into a steep bank, threatening to roll. Walter was dead, and there was no one at the controls.

"Out!" Rook barked. "Get out, now!"

"Where the fuck are we going to go?" Bach yelled. But Rook had started towards the rear of the ship.

"Wait!" Liscomb yelled as Rook wrapped his handless arm around the Corporal. "Wait, we need to-"

Rook jumped. The synth took Kurt, Liscomb, and Fulmer with him.

They fell for several seconds, both Liscomb and Fulmer yelling in surprise and fear. Their yells were cut off when they hit the cold lake water. Liscomb wasn't sure which way was up or down, and his yelling had left his lungs empty. Weighed down by his kit, he struggled to orient himself so he could swim. The pitch darkness of the night was turned into a blank void under water, and he couldn't tell which way his bubbles were going.

The only illumination came from the white-yellow explosion that illuminated the surface when the dropship crashed. Ignoring his body's need for any oxygen, he let out another scream. This one wasn't from fear. It was from rage.

Then he realized his mistake in screaming, and he could feel his lungs burning for oxygen. He began to swim as best he could, pulling himself in the direction he was sure led to the surface. But he kept swimming. The more he swam, the more his body strained. His lungs screamed at him, his pulse thudded in his temples, and, had he been able to see anything, he would have known that darkness was creeping into the edges of his vision.

Had he been able to, he would have screamed again. His hands hit the sandy floor of the bottom of the lake. He'd just managed to get his feet under him and push upwards when his body involuntarily opened his mouth to gasp for air. He'd managed two strokes upwards before he passed out.