The ship rattled and croaked, slamming its passengers back against the make-shift seats. Armin held on for dear bloody life, his knuckles no doubt having gone taunt and white beneath the tight black leather of his gloves. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, and his arms were quaking with the effort to keep himself in place.

The ship geared to the right and the troops on the left side swung outward. Feet slammed into the uneven metal floors and stuck hard. There were groans, one or two perhaps from Armin himself, and they hoisted themselves back into their seats with a slow, deliberate agony. Whatever noise they made was drowned out by the gyrating gears and the whooshing, rocking sound of turbulence and punctured atmosphere.

They were crashing.

It had started smoothly enough. Hauptmann Dussander and strolled up the length of the corridor and explained the situation to them, hands behind his back, legs straight. Keeping himself upright without any effort at all, even though the ship had a little quake in it, even then.

“We go in, retrieve the survivors quickly and efficiently, and we get out. No lights, wear your goggles at all times, and only shoot if an infected is on your ass. We do not start a commotion, we do not attract their attention. Clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Armin breathed under his breath, gritted his teeth and tightening his grip.

In and out. In and out. Simple as that.

The ship slammed into the ground and send them all jerking upward. A tremor coursed through the length of the hull, following by deafening creaks and cracks as the ship’s nose crumpled under the weight of the earth. Then the heat started. Armin’s ears had gone dull from all the noise but the explosions were still loud enough to make them hurt again. A series of great, shattering booms ricochet up the length of the ship, bringing with it the heat. An unbearable blasting, sweltering heat. There would be fire.

Armin’s hands flow to the safety harness. But his fingers were lazy, lethargic, from being so stiff and sore, so bloodless. They would move deftly enough. They missed the clasp once, twice, and when they finally got it they couldn’t undo it.

“Scheiß!”

He could hear the rattle of heavy boots on metal, harness slamming up against the walls.

Finally. His fingers caught the metal slip and jerked it open. The harness sprung free, catching his nose before it slammed against the wall. The shock of pain sparked through his face and his hands slapped across his nose. Bleeding. Broken. Damn, damn, damn.

But no time to waste. The air was hotter.

Armin sprang to his feet, one hand over his nose, the other wriggling beneath his cap and snapping the infrared goggles over his eyes. Gun holstered at his side, goggles in place, he took off down the corridor. The metal was burning rubber off his boots.

Something wrapped around his elbow and jerked him backward.

“Not that way.”

The hauptmann.

Dussander’s face was expressionless. Armin nodded wordlessly and moved to salute, but the hauptmann allowed him no time for formalities. He shoved him up along the corridor and dragged him left, toward a door. His fingers moved quickly across a panel and the doors broke and slid apart. Dussander shoved him inside and locked the doors shut after him.

The room was bloody small and pitch black, which wasn’t much of a problem with the goggles on. Dussander stood out against the cool blue backgrounds, himself a tall image of bright red and yellow. But the room was tiny, and a blur of heat so sweltering it came up ice white on the goggles was careening down toward them.

“Sir, is this-.”

Dussander grabbed his elbow once more and wheeled him around. There were shoved, flush together, against the opposite wall. Armin’s breath caught and he inched forward, away from the hauptmann. There was cool, creased metal beneath his palm. Dussander pushed forward again, arm snaking across Armin’s back and then…to the wall. His fingers danced a pattern and the metal beneath Armin’s hands slid open to reveal cool air and blackness.

“Go,” Dussander hissed.

Armin nodded and leapt off, cradling his nose with one hand and letting the other pinwheel through the air. He landed heavily in sand, sinking to his knees with a little groan. Dussander landed beside him momentarily and shoved him to his feet.

Above them the blast of white-heat smashed through the metal doors and sent a blaze outward into the air.

It was too close.

Armin turned on heel and raced across the sand, his boots slipping and sliding across the awkward ground. All the while Dussander was gripping his arm and shoving him forward. They lost their balance together and careened to the sand, arms and knees pressed into the dirt.

Armin let himself fall, rolling onto his back and craning his head upward.

The last explosion was deafening. The air turned solid under the noise, building inward with a deep, roar-like thunder before finally sending out a cacophony of noise. The ship’s nose exploded. The white-heat that burst from it was like a fountain, reaching upward toward the stars then pouring out in all directions until tendrils of red and yellow curled around it. It was like crystal, like a rose, blossoming outward toward the cold darkness. It was beautiful. And all around it men were screaming.

The metal burst through the air, sending shards of steel and pipes littering the area. Dussander must have thought the reach of those dangerous, steam-hot shards was too close. He jerked himself to his feet and yanked Armin up with him, and once more they were limping off through the darkness.

“Aren’t we far enough, sir?” Armin’s nose was throbbing, his fingers stung, and his whole body ached a thousand times worse than he’d ever felt it ache before. He wanted to stop.

Dussander let out a growl and spun him around. His hand flew beneath his jaw and yanked him upward so they were barely a breath apart. Dussander’s initial snarl meant nothing, his face had fallen lax once more. Armin thanked the stars he was wearing those bloody, ugly goggles, because if he hadn’t Dussander’s thrice damned arctic-wolf eyes would have been boring into his soul.

“‘Far enough’ will be the settlement,” Dussander growled. He snaked his arm to the back of Armin’s neck and twisted him around to see the explosion.

There were survivors. They were red against the purple-black and white, their gaits jerking from tire. Some writhed on the ground, others grouped together. Armin watched a cooler shape make its way toward one of the huddled warmer ones. Both humanoid. The cooler shape dove down and flattened Warm to the ground. Warm writhed, and there was a scream, barely audible, cutting through the darkness…cut short by Cold.

Armin sucked in a breath.

“Infected. Light attracts them,” Dussander’s hand trailed town his neck to his chest. Then further, tracing each button of the uniform and pausing just below his hips, fingers toying with the belt. Armin’s heart pounded once more and he gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Dussander’s hand snaked across the belt and flicked something off of it, lifting it into the air.

A flashlight.

“Hence,” said Dussander, tightening his grip on the handle,” Why we are not permitted to turn these on unless there is an emergency.” He twisted the thing in his fingers and shoved it back against Armin’s belt, eliciting an audible gasp.

Armin shivered. Disgusted. He nodded his head.

“We make for the settlement.”

Armin nodded, silently, and they wheeled around toward the empty blackness and made their slow, trudging way through the sand.

It was cold. Of course, Armin hadn’t expected anything different, he’d been briefed as well as any of the others (were any of them still alive?). The planet experienced something of a natural nuclear holocaust shortly after the settlers arrived. Why? Scientists believed that the planet might be something sort of Gaia, a ‘mother earth’ as it were, fully sentient and capable of realizing exactly what was going on. It was so intent to keep intruders out that it was willing to destroy itself for that. There had been huge, gaseous explosions and a wave of radioactivity that cut down all the plant and animal life. The settlers that had been out of the protective establishment were hit by it. Some of them died, most of them were…warped.

It was hard to explain how it happened, or what had changed about them. The base had only received one garbled message after it had happened and could not take satellite photographs. The planet’s apocalypse had caused a sheet of dust as thick as a skyscraper to form, effectively blocking out all sunlight. The planet was bathed in eternal darkness, day and night. Morning was just as bleak and black as midnight.

The infected, as the scientists decided to call them, were attracted to light (according the message). Poisons couldn’t kill them and they were eating absolutely anything they could cram into their mouths. They were mindless, grotesque, and would attack anything that moved. The message had cut out half way through, so no one knew precisely what the creatures looked like.

Armin’s crew had been sent to pick up the survivors the message had mentioned, living in one of the settlements. It was supposed to be quick. The message had not said there would be many, but the landing would attract infected so the Heer was brought into action.

They got in alright. But Armin was doubtful as to how they would get out.

“I‘m freezing,” Armin’s teeth clattered noisily. He’d wrapped his arms about his chest , given up on doing anything about his nose. The blood had stopped, but it was thick and crusty now, blocking nasal passaged and keeping him from breathing. Which really should have been the worst of his worries, but it was easier to focus on the petty annoyances.

He’d rather not think about how far the settlement was, or even if they’d reach it. He’d rather not have to worry about where they would get food or water. And he really didn’t want to dwell on the hauptmann himself. The man was…strange. Armin didn’t trust him.

He’d saved him, he realized that, but Armin wasn’t sure why. Why him, when there were droves of other, more capable soldiers than he in there?

“Shut-up,” Dussander hissed,” Quiet.”

Armin bit his tongue and bowed his head, teeth grinding against one another.

The sand was damn hard to walk on. The boots they wore had something of a cowboy-boot heel to them (who the hell came up with that design?) and left his feet smarting and sore.

And he was aching. He was hungry. He was thirsty. He was tired. And Dussaner had to be as well.

“Can’t we stop?”

Dussander wheeled around and slammed into him, his hand flying up to catch Armin’s jaw,” You’re forgetting your place, obergefreiter.”

Armin quivered, but gritted his teeth none-the-less. Dussander’s fingers tightened, bruising, and Armin let out a hiss, craning his neck back.

“Can’t we stop,” he gasped, body quivering,” Sir?”

Dussander let him go. He stumbled backward, hands flying to his throat.

“Nein,” Dussander shook his head,” We’re being followed.”

Armin twitched awkwardly, surprised, and craned his neck over his shoulders. There were pale red shapes behind them, walking slowly in jerking, awkward gaits. Following.

A cold shiver coarsed through Armin’s veins and he gave a nod…not that Dussander was watching. He forced his feet through the sand and trudged onward, the hairs on his neck bristled.