Ignoring the pain wasn't a problem after all of the training he had gone through, in fact it was exactly what he had been trained to endure. The problem lay in the fact that he had lost sensation in his legs and that his severed left arm was several hundred metres behind him. For all of the training, for all of the intense physical endurance, nothing could have prepared him for the experience of losing a limb and all he could do was try to ignore it, but in doing so he was also ignoring the blood seeping from the wound.

Ghost No. 26831 was dragging his specially designed C-10 rifle as he stumbled awkwardly across the creep-covered ground. Despite his injuries he was careful not to be ignorant of his surroundings.

For the moment he was alone.

* * * * *

“SUPPRESSING FIRE!”

“HOLD YOUR GROUND!”

“WATCH THE FLANK!”

The cacophony over the radio was almost deafening and it made it hard to discern the orders, barked with an extreme sense of urgency which bordered upon desperation, from the screams of the injured and dying. The sound of a friend audibly gargling their last breath is not something anyone should experience but these soldiers were hearing it at full volume through their helmet radio systems time and time again. Not all of them were able to grit their teeth and focus on their own survival.

“Captain...” Anders' weak voice was cracking and no one heard him over the bedlam going on all around. “Captain..?”

Anders was huddled in the corner of his bunker, his gauss rifle clutched to his chest so tight it was scratching the blue paint from his armour. He was staring blankly at the floor just in front of his feet and kept mumbling to himself, intermittently asking for his Captain, Burrows. No one could hear him and he stayed huddled in the corner, staring at the floor.

In the bunker with him were Corporal Fields, also in standard marine armour, and Sergeant Kalkar who was wearing a marauder 5-4 armoured infantry suit. Both of them had their backs to Anders and were constantly firing out of the small gun holes of the confined structure. The walls near the muzzles of Fields' and Kalkar's weapons were beginning to glow a faint red from the sustained barrage.

“Cap...Captain...”

Fields stopped firing. Kalkar didn't notice.

“Anders? Did you say something?” For the first time in what seemed like forever, Fields turned away from the view from outside the bunker and looked behind to see Anders cowering across from Kalkar and himself. Fields just stared for a moment in disbelief. How long had Anders been there? “Anders, what the hell do you think you're doing?”
Anders did not respond.

“Get up. Now!” Kalkar glanced over at Fields for a moment but quickly returned his attention to the outside. Fields kept staring at Anders, waiting for a response. Anders kept mumbling quietly but Fields could hear nothing over the gunfire and screams. “Anders!” With that, Fields started walking towards Anders and away from his post.

“Answer me you worthless piece of shit!” Fields knelt down in front of Anders, close enough that their visors were almost touching but Anders did not stop staring through Fields to the same point on the floor.

“Captain...”

“The Captain is dead you pathetic worm!” Anders' eyes opened wide and flicked up to meet Fields' in reaction to the word 'dead'.

“Dead...?”

“Yes. Dead.” Anders just kept the shocked look on his face, so Fields carried on. “Killed. Murdered. Ripped apart. Torn open. Taken from the realm of the living to the land of the dead. Understand me yet you fuck? You watched it happen for god's sake!”

“Fields...” Kalkar's soft voice did nothing to abate the rage fuming from Fields and he spun to face Kalkar, who had stopped firing.

“What?”

“Just leave him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just. Leave. Him.” The two locked their gazes for a moment before Fields sneered and moved away from Anders.

“Fine. Fuck 'im.” Kalkar watched Fields until he was back at the front of the bunker and had begun to open fire again before continuing to do so himself. Anders looked back at the ground.

“Captain?”