"Herr Major! Herr M-" The wind and static swallowed it again, but like an echo the transmission repeated. The realization dawned on the officer only slowly; he blinked - once, twice, again; fumbling for the device mounted on his hazard's suits wrist, he scrambled the thumb the transmitter.
"Ja, Rehten hier. The storm hit imp- I am unable to communicate with the remainder of the patrol, and the storm is worsening. Do you have a status report on the patrols?" The major fought to think clearly. Now for the first time in hours he dared allow himself a glance at his vital displays: 17% Air Reserve; Radiation Exposure Limit 78%; Surface Integrity 57%. He gulped, pushing away the primal fear that stirred somewhere deep within him; he'd been in worse situations than this. Hell, that orbital jump on Saigon... This wasn't the time.
It had all started so well, the storm had abated and a calm had descended over the planet. The scanner data on board the orbital station Vorposten Bake had yielded such positive, and promising, signal returns; and for three miraculous days their teams had scoured the blasted hell called Eisenach. Six sites, and most importantly: confirmation of Objekt Omega. Before ever they had a chance to regroup, it had happened: a storm like no other. This was not the Major's first time on Eisenach - his familiarity with the planets' climatological patterns bordered on the obsessive - but he had never encountered any report of a storm like this. In a matter of just five minutes all hell had broken lose, measuring winds well in excess of 300 km/c, the particulate had shredded their equipment and...
He could not dwell on that now. That was days ago, and he had precious little time left to act. He forced his mind back into the present - two things he knew: he had less than two hours before his exo-suit failed, and somewhere within ninety or so kilometers a recovery ship was trying to find him.
"Herr Ma-r, w'- wit- --", a deafening burst of static tore through the communication, causing the soldier to grimace as his ear drums squealed in response to the sudden stimulus, "-to you- posi- within..." Well, at least they were coming, he thought with a wry chuckle. He paused, and suddenly burst out laughing - it figures they'd be coming, and he'd have no idea from where... or when. The laughter passed as quickly as it had come, cut asunder by the suit's medical monitoring systems: "Warning: Elevated Oxygen Consumption and Heart Rate Detected." Hauling himself onto his feet, bracing his weight against the still near overpowering wind, he muttered to no-one in particular: "Ach, halt's maul."
Scanning the skies around him, for all the difference it made with the thick swirls of atmospheric dust, the Major worked swiftly on setting up a landing zone marker for the incoming vessel. It did not take long before he had re-purposed every flare and light source he could retrieve from his emergency kit - his gear bag was long lost - marking out a pale bright spot as safe against the swirling mayhem of the storm. He checked his stats again, there was nothing to do now but wait.
He felt the rumbling hum of the anti-grav engines in his chest before he saw the ship. The rhythmic thum-thum-thum of Mox powered anti-gravity drives was a familiar sound and feeling for the ground forces officer. Many times that sound had signalled impending battle, or forthcoming salvation. He was glad that this time it was the latter, though he knew only t0o well that they were not safe yet - a landing error, a rogue wind on takeoff. A thousand variables; he took a deep breath - thum-thum-thum. And breathed out, thum-thum-thum. The sound was all-consuming now, as if he was beneath the heavy hand of the anti-grav drives- thought that was immediately confirmed as the clouds broke above him, and the unmistakable outline of a Uruz ground transporter hove into sight. With a metallic crash, the massive machine came thundering down hard onto the rocky earth of the moon.
As the dust and rocks settled around the ships' landing gear, the gangway in the underbelly crankily slid forward, deploying the access way to the airlock; a rush of air gushed out, blowing a clear path of dust-free air between the soldier and the ship, like some heavenly guide. The Major did not need an invitation, he was already jogging at pace toward the steel bulkhead, and the safety that lay beyond it. He entered the airlock and heard the door seal behind him, and still he waited - breathlessly, impatiently, manically. He watched the display: 70%, 80%, 90%... Pressurisation achieved. As soon as the indicator flashed green his hands were already racing for the release on his exo-suit. He hammered the release, and the seal popped - aaaahhh - he took a deep breath as their clean, pure air rushed in around him. It was a moment of pure, gratifying, relief - a moment so sweet he relished it, not even pausing to consider that his rescue was impossible. There were no military Uruz' on Eisenach.
The process cycled complete, and the interior airlock door hissed open, revealing the interior beyond. This vessel was clearly no normal cargo or atomospheric troop transporter; everything was regulation - to an almost eerie degree. Waiting to greet him in the bay that opened out in front of him were two tall men - both bore themselves like soldiers, but neither wore a uniform he recognised. Both wore military cut sanitized uniforms in grey-green - their uniforms bore no names, no insignia, no markings bar a simple stylised Rheinlandic eagle on the chest above the heart, in a style he could not quite place - familiar and yet somehow foreign.
He stared for a moment, his mind racing, before blurting out the beginnings of a sentence. "I..Who..." The two men simply looked him up and down, nodded their acknowledgement, and wordlessly turned away toward the forward door. As the door slid open and hissed shut behind them, the major caught a tantalising glimpse of what appeared to be an operations center - he immediately recognised the layout, but for the briefest moment he caught the tail end of a conversation between men he could not see: "...at the sight of the wreckage, and team four..." The shock of the encountered left him dumbfounded, frozen on the spot, mindlessly stammering for a few moments: "B-But... Wh-..."
"You will have to forgive them, Herr Major. Tact is not, perhaps, their strong suit?" Rehten turned to see the speaker; a finely mannered man with aquilian features, and yet a weathered-plain demeanour. His tone was polished, and tinged with an air of knowing superiority. The soldier studied the newcomer intently - he too wore a sanitised uniform with no identifying markers, but his in the familiar colours of Fleet Services, his collar bore the reassuring double insigna of Kampfgruppe Vallentorm, and the Marine Abwehrdienst. A spook, great - though it was better than dying alone on a lifeless moon. He recovered himself, stood to attention and addressed the man directly: "And you are? And who are those men," he gesticulated toward the forward bay, "and what is..."
"My name is Lemke, Abwehr attache to the Rheinwehr's Kampfgruppe Vallentorm." The man beamed a warm, seemingly sincere, smile. "We were fortunate to be in the area when we received your transponder beacon..."
"And my men, the other patrols? The storm?" The officer shot the question with an urgency that clearly took the agent aback for a moment. Recovering quickly, the man carefully re-affixed his smile, and continued: "I'm happy to say that most of your men were recovered by your own teams days ago but..., " he trailed off for a moment, "I must report that my knowledge of the remainder is... incomplete."
The silence hung for a moment. Both men understood the implications. Rehten thought for a few moments, stammering out the most pressing of all his thoughts: "But who... and why?" The response was a sickly smile - Rehten was equal parts grateful for the lie, and wanting to punch the man in his smug all-knowing face. His rage rose to the man's response: "There are some questions, Herr Major, it is better not to know the answer to, don't you agree?"
Any further debate was cut short by the return of one of the grey-green clad soldiers.
"Lemke. They found the site... and seems they found some of his as well."
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