Keep that thing alive and it makes all of us heroes.

Note: This story contains graphic language.

“Pa-please, don’t do it.” The creatures shrill cut through the musky electrified air.

Pulsating needles shoot intense pain throughout the creatures flesh, 50,000 volts in milliseconds. Muscles tense, squeezing like tentacles wrapped around prey. Blood vessels pop, tiny droplets reach the floor just before the thud.

“You didn’t have too. It wasn’t his fault, not his fault at all.”

Heavy breathing from the giant could be heard in silence.

The commands being screamed from all sided had stopped. Taking cover behind the rocks, repelling the enemy with fierce determination, then attacking, again retreating. The air erupting in gun fire had stopped. The chaos that was the battle had finally come to and end. Soldiers bent at the waist, gasped to replenish oxygen in lungs that seemed to be on fire. Most on one knee, bodies shaking spasmodic as adrenaline rushed from their exhausted muscles. A gentle calm had replaced the chaos of the previous view minutes. The horror had subsided.

“What do we do now?”

“Now we restrain, and we move.”

Thick chain had already been gathered and brought forth just encase needed. Indeed with this huge creature they would be needed. Several men still bent over, clearing their stomachs from last night meals, took up the task to secure the enemy. The creature.

Slowly exhaustion subsided and men grateful to be alive, crossed themselves and looked skyward. Then came the "good-job", "glad you didn't die" chants transferred between the men with pats-on-the-back and congratulatory high fives We survived.

“What do we do about them?”

“Another fine question. This place will take care of them without our interference." Came the reply from Captain Charles Cornelius. The man in-charge.

“We still can’t let on we had anything to do with this, right?”

“Right.”

Med-kits were opened to treat those injured. Wounded in the melee of action that just took place in this god-forsaken place. No one was prepared, not properly for a mission like this. It was really survival of the fittest, instinct to stay alive took over almost the instance it started.

What just happened?

“Can you explain any of this, Captain. I mean, shit, this was a real shit show.”

That statement rattled around in the Captain’s head for quite a while before any possible explanation could be conjured.

“Your bleeding, Cornelius, perhaps you should see one of the medical personnel.”

“Its nothing, superficial at best.”

“I think your gunna’ need stitches with a gash like that.” Private 1st Class Smith, was always quick to point out weaknesses in the Captains armor.

Known as ‘Shitty Smitty’ to his friends. That was not a put down, just more of an omission to his character. He could be a real prick.

“Ah, the ladies dig scars. Ain’t that right Captain.” Another private added to the conversation as he tried to light a cigarette. “Fuck, can’t even enjoy a smoke here. The cigarette came to rest over his left ear, pinched under his helmet.

The flick of the lighter brought, Captain Cornelius back to earth, back to the shit show, back to reality. He pushed the butt of his rifle into the soil and pushed himself erect. He needed to take charge, secure the scene, to… thank his men.

“We need to get this situation under control. Where is Ferg?”

Sergeant Michael Jamis Ferguson was the toughest som-bitch in the outfit. Some say he was so tough that the rocks in his head could only be matched by the marble in his biceps. He was the short stocky, steel chin sort, that never ran from a fight, especially ones he started. His level of discipline was never in question, nor was his loyalty.

“I think he's tending to some of the injured over by that pile of rocks.”

“Tell him to stop playing nursemaid and get back to work securing the area. Jorgenson take Smitty and Carmichael, with you and assist with the wounded, then join the detail.”

Sir, yes, sir cracked in unison from the young privates as they humped their gear in the direction of the rock formation.

“What’s the count? I know you have already done the calculation.”

A cold almost mechanical voice responded rather low.

“Forty-Two.”

“Forty-Two. For fuck-sake. How come so many.” He said into his wrist console.

“Sir, I can not speculate on that, I can only report the number you asked for.” Again, the voice was plain unemotional providing the information.

“Never mind that, let’s get this moving. There’s a lot more work to do, and we will be running out of light very soon.”

At first glance it didn’t look that bad, there was movement and action happening all around. Some were busy with medical tasks, while others had taken up positions to thwart any future incursions. Most of his men had gained water, food and a healthy resolve to continue working the mission.

Fortified by Sergeant Ferg, and Captain Cornelius attention to their men. No one was over burdened and all the men worked efficiently as a unit. Together they felt confident, strong and motivated.

“Make sure we secure our cargo.”

“Yes, sir. Already on it.”

“We need to see if we can get communications back up with HQ.

They have to be wondering if we fell off this god-forsaken rock.”

“That.. is were we have a bit of a problem. The radio has been incapacitated, and Smitty doesn’t have an ETA… yet on its repairs.”

“Incapacitated, you been reading again Ferg. You need to stop that shit, you know how it affects you.” A small smile turned up the corner of the Captain’s lip.

“Okay, okay. The thing was smashed to hell, it doesn’t even resemble a box, let along a goddamned radio.”

“That’s better.”

Ferguson’s face was red from the embarrassment, but he knew the Captain was only being the Captain, his way of teasing. He and Captain Cornelius went way back. Back before he traded his strips for bars. Basic training, tech-school, jump training, rigger-school. Their paths had paralleled for 5 years before Corny got that big old bug stuck up his butt and got commissioned. Through all their training, schools, deployments and mission, they had stayed loyal friends. Even though one was now the boss.

“How did that piece of shit take us by surprise like that? There was nothing on satellite, radar, or any of the telemetry that indicated they had moved this far.”

“I’m just glade someone had the foresight to requisition more of that new ammo, otherwise we would still be in a dog fight.”

Sergeant Ferguson pull the clip from his pulse rifle blew across the power leads removing any dust particles, tapped it against his helmet, and replaced it in its chamber. This was more of a symbolic gesture than actual functionality check.

In the old days, soldiers that packet copper jacketed bullets performed this ritual to remove debris and moisture from the magazine. The tapping was to ensure the projectiles were seated tightly together under the tension of the spring that forced the rounds from the magazine into the receiving housing and into the breach.

For Ferguson, it was mostly superstition and old habit.

Modern ECPs (electrically-charged-pulse) weapons had no moving parts, just a charge-port and energy recoil evaporation stock. A shoot-and-forget weapon. All that was required of the soldier, was the implanted dermal DNA chip and a matched sample in the grip of the weapon. The soldier also had to be able to read the colored led display on the top front sight to know when the cartridge was empty. Of course, the click-click-shit was the usual operator mode for the incompetent blind privates.

The weapon had what Captain Cornelius called two modes, shoot like hell or duck-your-ass-down. “Each time the display gets to zero - duck your ass and reload or you may lose your ass. Remember, I will not be hauling your ass-less corpse back to your loved one’s just to have my training methods questioned about how your dumb-ass got shot off.” Captain Cornelius was fond of saying this during early training of new recruits.

The golden hues radiated from the ever darkening horizon. There really was no true weather on this hunk of rock, but that suited Sergeant Ferguson just fine. Scanning that direction ever watchful of movement that could indicate trouble. Such a dead spec of nothing.

“Hey, Sarg. Me and some of the guys are wondering what the hell we are still do’in here. We got what we came for, lets’ get the hell out of here.”

Hearing the fear was nothing compared to seeing it dripping from young scared recruit faces. He had to admit to, there was a couple of pucker moments during that fight when he almost gave in to his momentary fight-or-flight impulse. As with every soldier in battle, their training kicks in, their pulse races, arteries fill with adrenaline and it's game on!

“Hey Sarg, over here.” The call came from the far side of the rock formation about 50 feet away. It was Smitty, waving his arms like a maniac.

Shit, now what?

“What the fuck, Smitty.” He said as he looked in the direction Smitty was pointing.

The ground was covered with a bluish goo that appeared to be coming from the ground, pushing up through pores that gently opened and closed, like clams on a beach. As the depth of the goo increased every man in the area moved back giving way to the phantom liquid. Smitty, grabbed the radio off the ground and slung what was left of it over his shoulder.

“What’s that stuff?” All eyes looked down, while small steps back were taken by each man.

“You’d better get the Captain, we can’t stay here.”

A young corporal darted in the Captains direction, each step revealing a blue footprint where his boots broke the crust beneath each stride.

“What is it, corporal?” Captain Cornelius didn’t even look up from his arm console.

“The ground… sir.” The young man panted and pointed back across his path. Tiny boot-shaped lakes formed a longitudinal path back to the rocks.

As the group of men began to gather around the now 10 foot lake that was forming right in front of their eyes, the Captain and corporal arrived.

“There was nothing in any of the reports, or surveys that mentioned anything like this, we need to get a sample to take back with us.” Captain Cornelius’s eyes were wide.

“Hurry, get a sample and let’s pack up!” The orders came and the men started to move.

“What did we just discover?”

“Yet, another mystery to solve. Let’s go, get that loaded up and get a move on.”

Darkness would be upon them in minutes and Captain Cornelius and Sergeant Ferguson both knew they could not stay here, not any longer.

Gear was gathered and packed, rucks were slung into place, pulse rifles at the ready as the caravan of men, moved out into the night darkness. The lights from the mover and head lamps where the only visible light for miles in any direction. If there was a search party out looking for them, they would not be hard to find.

Now, the sweet night air filled their lungs, stinging as the crispness turned to cold. Soon, they knew it would be bitter cold and they would have to stop. Create some form of barrier with the mover and hunker down. Not, ideal, but livable for the night. Each man had been trained, and been on other deployments were they had been pushed to the human limits in cold, heat and moisture. They had been briefed on what to expect, yet they all knew in the back of their minds this could get very bad.

“What do you say? Keep going, or is this the spot.”

“Nothing on the radio?”

“Are you kidding that thing will never work again, to be honest I think Smitty dropped it on the path long ago.”

“Let’s stop here, we can set up a beacon, at least any thing in the area will be able to find us.”

“Okay, men. Camp here.”

With that the men broke ranks, and proceeded to setup camp in the dark.

“You know Cap, most of these boys had no idea what the real mission was, do you think bribing them with some food rations or even pleasure credits are going to keep them quiet about what happened out here?”

“They are all loyal to the cause. They know how important and dangerous this mission was, and to accomplish it with zero losses is nothing short of a miracle. Beside, being listed on this mission report as a survivor, will go a long way to greasing promotions coming their way.”

Just as the door of the mover opened up the hot stench of humidified air exhausted out. The men closes to the door, hurried away and began to vomit. Putrid.

“It’s not doing very well, sir.” The voice from under the hood called out as the mask was removed and a huge gulp of night air was taken in.

“What do you suggest, Doctor? We need to keep it alive.”

“We need to get this thing back to the lab as soon as possible. I have limited resources out here and no staff to assist me.”

Captain Cornelius suddenly heard the whir of the engines, perhaps they would be saved tonight after all. We need that damn radio.

“Smitty, is that radio working or on the ground back there?”

“Sorry, sir. The radio is DOA and the beacon is not transmitting, we are trying to fix it as fast as we can, sir.” Three men huddled around the beacon poking and prodding at it with their tools. Frantically pulling and pushing components in and out of sockets. Sparks lit the night sky as the body of one of the men hit the mover and slumped to the ground a few feet away. The others hesitated, looked at the body on the ground, until a slight movement. He’s not dead, thank god.

Suddenly from the table came a low soft buzz, the sound grew louder.

“Sir, I think we got it.”

Delighted shouts could be heard from the others still huddling together for warmth. The buzzing suddenly stopped.

“Sir, We don’t got it.”

“Fuck-in, Smitty, going to freeze our balls off here.” The squadron of men groaned in unison. Grumbles about his mother and other insults flew through the night air.

Then a crackle, the beacon was again alive and transmitting their position. The distance sounds from the craft had faded and were no longer audible.

“I hope they can hear it?” Sergeant Ferguson sounded dejected from the event.

“They will hear it and come running.” The gleeful doctor added, “they just have too.”

“Doc. What can we do to help, if you need men we got men, if you need strength we got that too. Please, keep that thing alive and it makes all of us heroes.”

Captain Cornelius sounded upbeat and positive, but inside the dread of not getting rescued had started to creep into his mind. If we can only get rescued.

The night grew colder and eyes from each man slowly fell from searching the sky to the space between there pulled up bent knees. Jackets and a few blankets cuddled the men as they huddle close to fires they had started. Each mans boots circled the flames that on this planet could barely be sustained. The fires here burned bluer than at home, the heat was less intense, the level of oxygen here was less, barely sustaining the fire.

“Men, I know it is cold and we may have to be here all night before we are rescued, but perseverance, grit, dedication to this mission and each other has rewarded us with a prize that no one could have imagined. By the time we reach home, each and every one of you will be more than just soldiers, more than warriors… you will be heroes.

“What about the 42? Captain. We sacrificed 42 of them, just to capture 1.”

The group that had been caught up in the Captain’s speech, now fell silent. The pause in the air could be cut it was so thick with sorrow.

“It was a great sacrifice, and I wish we didn’t have to create such devastation, and if there was any other way to save our kind back home, we would have never ventured here. We would have never been given this very important mission. This place is wondrous, and has more to offer, but going back empty… going back at all without this creature would condemn all mankind.”

The transport arrived and the mover, the creature and his men had been loaded back onboard. The transport rose with deafening roars from the engines into the darkness, pressed the nose forward just enough to convert vertical the horizontal thrust and the ship picked up speed as it traversed the lower plains. Then again rose into a launch position and thrusters pushed the planet away, back to a tiny lit spec in the darkness of the universe.

“Doc, how is our patient?”

Captain Cornelius, Sergeant Ferguson greeted the Doctor as he pull a cup, filled it with coffee and sat down on the cold steel chair at their table.

“Much better, we should make it back home with a thriving intelligent being from another planet. This is truly a first for mankind.”

Sirens blare. Red lights flashed.

“Emergency in Med-Bay 1. Emergency in Med-Bay 1” kept repeating over the loud speaker.

As the three rose and ran down the corridor, passed the open med-bay door, they could see men’s bodies, flying through the air slamming into the bulkhead. They rounded the corner, the creature had Smitty dangling by his shredded leg, thwarting off the men attempting to recapture the creature.

The creature looked over at the Captain, took a hold of Shittys left shoulder and tore his dead body apart. Then lifted its battered arm to the red button panel on the wall that controlled the airlock.

“PLEASE, DON’T DO IT!”