As night deepened, the darkness in the trench settled thicker and lower than the fog.
The acid rain had become a fine mist that seeped endlessly through gaps in the tarpaulin, while the sewage on the trench floor had risen to below my knees, binding my legs in ice-cold water.
"Ivan..."
Lazar's breathing had grown thinner and harsher.
Black discharge leaking through the gaps in his flak armour ran down to his chin over a face bleached white by fever. His right arm had already lost all feeling and hung limply in the sewage on the trench floor.
"The contamination has only worsened. Breathe quietly."
I muttered dryly without sparing him a glance.
Whether it was gas poisoning or inflammation from necrotic flesh, it was still only medical contamination to me. There was no need to consider any other cause. The moment I did, the finger gripping my trigger would begin to shake.
Then a dull scraping sound broke out from the darkness just above the trench lip.
Scrape...
Something scraped through the wet mud and tumbled into the trench.
It was the same kind of enemy as yesterday. Without a gun or a battle cry, it twisted its body, its joints bent at strange angles, and dropped onto the trench floor. Clutching a rusted entrenching shovel, it crawled straight toward Lazar, who was sitting on the ground.
"Get back!"
I shouted, immediately swinging my lasgun toward the enemy. The barrel was still too hot, and just as I stepped forward to crush it with the stock—
Pang!
A red lasgun beam split the darkness.
It was Lazar. Unable to use his right arm, he clumsily clutched the weapon with his left hand and pulled the trigger with the left finger I had forcibly pushed inside the trigger guard.
The first shot punched through the trench wall beyond the enemy's shoulder. In the red flash, the enemy's mangled face was briefly revealed.
Pang!
The second shot followed.
The beam pierced the temple of the crawling enemy with precision. With a dull thud, its head snapped back and plunged into the black sewage on the trench floor.
"Hah... hah..."
Lazar panted, gripping the lasgun with his left hand.
What I had told him earlier when I forced the gun into his hand. The order to keep his finger hooked over the trigger. Lazar had followed it to the very end.
"Well done."
As I lightly prodded the enemy corpse with my gunstock to confirm the situation, Lazar rested his head against the trench wall and moved his lips faintly.
"...Ivan."
"What is it?"
"The door..."
Lazar drew in a laboured breath. His ruined eyes were aimed at the empty darkness of the sky above the trench.
"...It closed, right?"
"What are you talking about? Watch the front."
"Then... it's all right."
A faint, dull relief passed over Lazar's lips. It must have been meaningless nonsense produced by delirium from poison gas or fever. Unconcerned, I turned the muzzle of my lasgun back toward the fog.
"...Ivan."
"Yes."
"...Thank you."
I did not answer.
There was no reason for him to thank me. I had merely given him water and made him hold a gun in order to fill the gap in my defensive line.
The strength slowly left Lazar's left hand.
The lasgun he had been holding dropped heavily into the mud on the trench floor.
The irregular, ragged breaths that had echoed through the trench abruptly stopped, as if they had been a lie.
Only the sound of cold acid rain remained in the trench.
I stopped moving for a moment and looked at Lazar. His eyes remained open, aimed at empty air, and his ruined right arm did not move at all.
I picked up the lasgun that had fallen from Lazar's hand. Wiping the sewage from its casing, I checked the power cell's remaining charge display.
37%.
I removed the cell and put it into a pocket of my combat vest.
Then I paused.
The fingers of Lazar's left hand were still stiffening in the shape of trying to pull a trigger in empty air.
With my gloved hand, I slowly straightened Lazar's stiffening fingers one by one. His knuckles, cold as ice, unfolded with dull resistance and gradually lost the shape of the lasgun grip.
"That will do now."
After murmuring softly, I shoved Lazar's body beneath the trench wall at a safe angle without even closing his eyes. The corpse sank heavily into the sewage, sending small ripples across its surface.
"Finished?"
Sergeant Yakov's voice came from behind me. He did not look back at Lazar's corpse or stop what I was doing. He only stood there in silence, looking down at me with a crushed, unlit Lho-stick clenched between his teeth.
"Yes."
"Then fill his position."
"...Understood."
Without hesitation, I moved into the right-side sector of the trench Lazar had been guarding.
The mud where Lazar had sat was still sticky with black discharge that had flowed from his body. The dull stench stabbed at my nose, but I planted my boots on it without hesitation and fixed my lasgun over the right-hand trench lip.
"No abnormalities at twelve o'clock. Visibility unavailable at two o'clock."
I reported dryly, but Sergeant Yakov merely bit down stubbornly on the burned-out Lho-stick stub and gave no reply.
There was no time to deal with the corpse, nor any leeway to stand around in a daze. This was Castigar, where the next enemy crawled up beneath your chin before the warmth had even left a dead comrade.
Scrape... scrape...
The sound of something scraping through mud in the darkness rasped against my ears again.
I took Lazar's power cell from my pocket. The cell's metal surface felt lukewarm in my palm, as though a trace of Lazar's body heat remained in it. Without hesitation, I replaced my lasgun's power cell with Lazar's.
Click.
The new cell locked into place, and red numerals reading "37%" appeared on the small display in the weapon's casing.
A shadow staggered through the fog toward the trench lip. I aligned the sights on the enemy's temple and placed my finger on the trigger. The feel of cold metal travelled from my fingertip through my entire body.
Pang!
A red beam pierced the darkness. The crawling enemy fell with a dull thud.
35%.
I put my finger on the trigger again.
Tap.
I tapped the weapon's casing once with a knuckle.
Tap.
A second time.
Tap.
A third time.
I stopped my finger for a moment. Though I had not counted in my head, I could not understand why I had tapped three times. I could not tell whether it was a residual sensation lingering in my fingertips, or whether I too was in the process of wearing away.
Cutting off the thought, I aimed the muzzle back into the fog.
"Next target."
No one answered.
The spot beside me was empty. The right-hand trench wall, where Lazar's ragged breathing had always sounded, was now filled only with acid rain striking against it.
I did not lower my gun.
I was still alive.
But now, that brought no comfort.
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