Gasoline | Ben Parish

34

THE snow crunches beneath my boots as I enter the drop zone.

As the squad files out of the impatient helicopter, which seems to be rising a little higher with every private it releases, I have no clue what to do. They never really taught us how to disembark from a Black Hawk.

I decide it would be smart to monitor our surroundings. After all, it would be easy to attack us now when most of us are turned around.

We were set down in a small park. There's a small clump of trees, tall and dark, creating a half circle.

Straight ahead is a statue of a Korean War Veteran. Out of impulse, I lower my head slightly. When Tram was alive, he conditioned me to pay respect to any tribute to fallen military members.

Thinking about Tram doesn't burn my eyes as much as it used to, but instead makes me wonder if he ever had missions like this. Did he ever ride in a helicopter? Did he ever get dropped into "enemy territory"?

What was he doing when he died?

There's a curse in a baby-doll voice, a loud thump, and then something heavy knocking into my back. I hit the snow flat, immediately feeling my uniform become slightly damp. Thank God it's black, otherwise there would be some awkward wet marks.

"Jesus Christ, Teacup, what the fuck? You can't fucking walk or something?" I hiss, shoving her off me roughly and snatching up my rifle from where it had fallen.

"It was the goddamn harness," she snaps back. "I got stuck in it."

"Would both of you shut the hell up?" Dumbo interjects. His face is pinched in worry and stress. He wrinkles his nose as a snowflake tickles the tip. "You're so loud."

Flintstone scoffs. "They know we're coming, idiot. The aliens pretty much know everything. And that POS certainly isn't silent." He nods to the Black Hawk and crosses his arms.

Dumbo's abnormally large ears go bright red.

Ringer hops down, glaring. Then Zombie gives the pilot a thumbs-up and exits the chopper. It rises into the air swiftly, the dark hull blending in with the night sky, and disappears.

"All right," Zombie turns toward us. His brown eyes are lit, like fires are dancing in his soul. All doubts and questions aside, he's ready for this – maybe even more so than I am. I lost my parents to the waves. He lost everything. I lost myself in the waves. He lost who he was supposed to be. "You guys know the plan. Stay low, stay silent. Ringer, I want you on point. Flint and Oompa, flank her. Croak, I want you covering our backs. You too, Cup. Dumbo, you're with me. Poundcake, you watch the upper levels. If you see anything, take it out."

Everyone nods, agreeing with their placement. I half expect Teacup to protest due to our little scuffle a few minutes ago, but she doesn't say anything. Maybe she realizes that we're more alike than we care to believe and should stick together because of it.

"Okay," he nods. His lips become thin lines as he looks over all of us one last time. When he goes to speak again, small wisps of his breath linger in the frigid air. "Let's move out."

There's a bridge to the left of the Korean War Veteran statue. Briefing told us to cross it and go about ten blocks into town. Several Teds have stocked up an old courthouse with quite the weapons supply: automatic weapons, grenade launchers, and FIM-92 Stinger missiles. The Stingers are the first priority. They've been seriously impending our air capability. If we can destroy those, we'll be in much better shape.

Not that we were in good shape to begin with.

Our mission has two parts: destroy the enemy arsenal and terminate all Teds we come across...