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"... well, sir, looks like we've got enough weapons for everyone. Trouble is, our ammo will hardly hold out through a full-scale firefight." Master Sargeant John Poole fingered his plasma rifle nervously as he finished his sentence.
"That's all right, Sarge." Captain Sam Wychin answered. "Just as long as we're not weaponless... what's that?"
"Sir, This is Mike on what I'll bet is the bridge... I think you should come see this... I've found a working computer and navigational system."
Wychin's radio crackled - he put it to his ear and pushed the send button.
"All right Mike. We'll be right there. Up the elevator and away from the hull breach, right?"
"Right sir. Mike out."
Wychin put the radio down and motioned for Poole and McManus to follow him. The Cold Force had been lucky - the aliens kept their clothing and equipment in a storage room of some sort. Wychin was glad to be able to wear his boots again, although it was still hot inside the UFO despite the hull breach on the top deck. As he walked down the hallway towards the huge red "gravlift", as Mike Thornside had described it, he almost picked up his radio and tried to raise Harrison. Then he remembered - from the accounts of Harrison's team, he'd been melted to slag by some alien blob. Julius Heide was also nowhere to be found, after a careful tally. He was down two men... one of them nearly indispensable. 'Damn', he thought as he stepped on the "gravlift" and slowly floated up.
The navigation console was in good shape, Mike Thornside tinkering away with it. Wychin wasn't too surprised to see Sophie Thornside standing right beside Mike, leaning over his shoulder. She giggled at some joke he made, then stood at attention as Wychin entered.
"At ease, Sarge. Whatcha got for me, Mike?"
Thornside looked up. "A full-navigational map on this holo-projector here." He pushed a button and a 3-d projection of the local terrain shimmered into being over a round, purple table. "It's not actually a hologram sir... it's a psionic projector. I've recalibrated it for human brainwaves, so we don't have to muck around with 2d maps."
There, a small blue shape at the end of a long dirt trench, was the UFO. Somewhere in the distance was a cluster of igloos interspersed with metal buildings. Wychin pointed.
"Looks like that's where we're going, guys. No reason to stay here - and not much food, either. Those aliens don't eat too healthy..." He chuckled. "Mike, see what else we can salvage from this sucker. Poole, McManus... get the troops ready to move." He waited for the two to salute and disappear out the door. "Sophie... how's the medical front doing?"
"Well sir, after Chabert and Mike here changed out of their diapers..." Sophie snickered. "There are no serious injuries. Falcon, Bowman and Mendelev don't seem too healthy though... the aliens may have done something to them. Other than that, the only thing that bothers me is the distinct lack of proper medical supplies... sir."
"All right. I suppose the aliens cured your fever, eh?" Wychin's face had the faint trace of a smile.
"I suppose so, sir. I guess they need me healthy for their implantations and whatnot..." Sophie grinned.
"All righty then. Let's get cracking... no reason to stay around here much longer."
Soon, the entirety of the Cold Force, twelve people, were marching through the snow towards the building cluster spotted on the UFO's navigational map. Some carried plasma weapons, and most carried heavy-looking backpacks. Wychin looked back towards the UFO, and thought about his lost comrades one last time. Clark, Harrison, Heide, the russians... like always, there was nothing to say. There was never anything to say when a team member died - it almost seemed meaningless. Wychin shook his head. 'It's not over 'till it's over.' he thought. Then, he resumed his trudge through the snow. He could always find new people to replace the old. Time, he couldn't replace. This was time wasted thinking about the past. Too much time. He looked up, at the seemingly endless fields of snow, and kept walking. It was all he could do for the memories of his comrades.
Written on December 1st by Andrew Pokrovski AKA Captain Samuel Wychin