Phagocytosis

Warsaw War Archives
November 2037

Destroyed helmet camera recovered near Piła, central Poland.

On the grass, half frozen, wet and orange on account of the fall. The soldier vomits, a mixture of stomach acid and blood. A mixture of dry heaving and crying can be heard as he tries to stand up. He looks up, the trees and and bushes at head level are being pellted by bulelts and blaster rounds.

"JAKUB! THE MACHINE GUN!" another soldier, laying down a few meters away yells.

Jakub tries his best to crawl towards the FN MAG laying on the leaves, it's previous owner resting on top of it, his shirt and plate carrier soaked with blood, next to a crater where some other remains are scattered aroujnd.

He tries his best to pull it towards him by the stock of the machine gun. A scream can be heard deeper in the forest, he turns around. The two MATV resting on the road where they had been engaged from. Engine blocks exploded, along with the turrets. He sees an arm resting on top of what's left of the machine gun.

He pulls the bolt back, already ready to go, he tries his best to ignore the concussion, head ache and numerous injuries he had substained as men shout, fire and cry. He fires a burst at where he guessed the enemies had started shooting from. One burst. The machine gun jams.

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"FIRE THAT GUN!" the man from earlier shouts. Desperately as if his subconscious had decided that his fate was dependent on that machine gun firing at whatever bush uphill seemed the most dangerous.

Another blood-curdling scream echoes from the third MATV, the one hit first and rolled downhill. God knows what's happening down there.

He pulls and pulls to no avail.

His hand shaking, he aims the machine gun to the ground before opening the top cover. The bolt pulls forward and fires a round into the leaves. He adjust the ammunition belt, his gloves ripped to shreds, he bleeds on the ammunition belt before closing the top cover again. The bolts doesn't resist. He stands up and fires up the hill. Five, ten, fifteen rounds before it runs dry.

"KURWA, ARE YOU GOING TO—" The man's shout was cut short as a blaster round blasted him in two.

Jakub scrambled back to the soldier he'd taken the machine gun from. He grabbed one of the ammunition pouches attached to his vest and fumbled it open to retrieve the belt.

Then silence. No firing. No shouting. It was as if everyone had stopped shooting at the exact same moment.

The crushing realization hit him, he was the only one left.

Suddenly, he heard something crashing downhill toward him, like a boar charging through thick bushes.

A crab burst into the open just as Jakub reached for his pistol. Before he could react, the creature struck him in the face with a tree branch as thick as a leg.

Jakub hit the ground hard, blood pouring from his face as he clutched at his head, trying to understand why his vision was fading.

Two more crabs leapt out from a cluster of bushes, blasters raised. The lead one aimed straight at Jakub's teammate who had been yelling at him earlier, while the second crab advanced toward Jakub, its focus locked on him.

Not wanting to fire a blaster at such close range, the crab grabbed the machine gun by its barrel, swung it high, and struck Jakub square in the face while he was still clutching his wounds.

Jakub's camera flew off his helmet, landing face down in a heap of orange leaves.

The sound of Jakub gurgling mixed with the heavy impact of the machine gun hitting his face echoed through the air.