The Misfits

By Samwise Graber

They call us the Misfits. They don’t give us battle armor. Just what we can collect from the bodies of fallen friends and foes.

I tighten my grip on the overhead handhold as the dropship swings left.

Pop-pop-pop. The incessant thud of explosions around us warns that this is no training exercise.

“Contact in five minutes. Anyone still on this ship in six minutes will get a bullet in the back. Joren, are you planning on taking on the krax like that?”

I scowl at Sergeant Park and reach behind me for my red krax right-arm-piece. The piece has a tendency to fall off at unfortunate times.

I turn to my squadmate, Zara. “You ready for this?”

Zara glances at me, then looks away. Her hair’s tied up in a messy bun today. Here in the Misfits, we don’t have rules about how we look or dress, just strong suggestions. Zara is the only soldier on the base who refuses the suggestion of keeping short hair.

I admire that.

“You have anyone back home?” I ask her.

No answer. Zara never talks to me. Probably thinks I’m only friendly because I want something from her.

I don’t blame her. Anyone with the ill-fortune to end up here is more than likely a criminal.

“Sixty seconds!” Park barks at us.

The ship rocks from the force of a nearby explosion.

We all reach one-handed for our helmets. I take one last survey of the surrounding faces, men I’ve lived alongside for months. I know the names of fewer than half of them.

By nightfall, more than half of us will be dead or dying.

I glance at Zara beside me.

Talk to me.

Maybe it’s better to die as strangers, but I want to know where she came from. Does she have a family? And why did a woman as pretty as her end up here?

Helmets lock into place all around me, anxious faces replaced with expressionless masks of steel. Zara snaps on a red krax helmet with a skull on the forehead. I swear she picked it up on purpose to make up for her diminutive size.

My helmet is the last to lock into place. I reach behind for my gun.

The ramp slides open with a hiss and a rush of wind all around us. The ship takes a final dive then flattens out and hovers six feet above the ground.

“Go, go, go!”

I release my death grip on the overhead handle and lock my combat shield into place. Mine is the only shield the squad was able to pick up. The others are already pushing toward the ramp when I’m finished. I tail them to the foot of the ramp and jump. The impact sends a shock through my legs. I look through the mass of mismatched armor pieces for the red helmet. There. I take off after Zara.

Guns rattle out their staccato pulse over the crest of the hill in front of us. Park curses and waves us forward. I put on a burst of speed and reach the hilltop two steps behind Zara.

To the left, groups of Misfits are scattered along the ridge. Ahead, a wave of red advances through the brush.

Krax.

We’re not meant to win, only slow them down until the regulars arrive.

Gunfire erupts around me. I catch up to Zara and push my shield arm in front of us both. A bullet pings off the metallic surface. The impact jolts through me.

The wave of red resolves into individual krax soldiers pushing toward the hilltop. I steady my gun on the side of my shield and open fire. One red figure falls.

Then the air is full of bullets whistling over our heads and clattering off my shield. I push Zara back from the crest. She shoves back against my chest and crouches to fire at the incoming soldiers.

We won’t survive up here.

Instinct tells me to run. If she wants to die up here, that’s her choice. I don’t owe her anything.

Screw that. I crouch beside her and add my fire to hers.

More stuttering voices join the gunfire chorus. Colorful figures spill over the hilltop to my right.

Misfits.

The wave of red pauses then begins to recede. I shudder.

We’re alive.

I stand along with Zara. My legs are trembling bits of wax that won’t hold me properly. We’re going to make it.

Thump-thump-thump.

The triple-thud is followed by a sharp whistle. The sound of our deaths. Three flame-trails speed through the air.

I dive into Zara, knocking us both to the ground, shield overtop of us.

BOOM.

The impact slams into me like a ton of bricks. My right arm-piece pops loose, sending my gun tumbling to the grass. Zara’s skull-faced helmet rolls down the hillside, and I’m staring into a pair of blue eyes.

Zara mouths my name.

A line of fire traces its way up my left leg. Shrapnel from the blast. Our squad…

I can’t think about that. We’re lucky to be alive.

“Lie still,” I tell her. “Help will come.”

Zara’s blue eyes never drift from my faceplate, as if she can see through it into my eyes.

“You saved me. Why?” she whispers.

“I just…” My voice trembles from the impact to my body. “I want to know you. To be your friend. I don’t have anyone else.”

Zara shakes her head. “We’re going to die here, Joren. I don’t have time for friends.”

“No.” I squeeze her steel-clad arm with my bare right hand. “The regulars are coming. We’re going to be okay, and we’re going to be friends. Just stay with me.”

I don’t care that my leg hurts like it’s on fire, or if I’ll ever be able to use it again. We’re alive, and we’re going to be okay.

Zara mouths that one word.

Okay.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sam Graber is an author and software developer with a fascination for stories that explore friendships and romance. He loves to write fiction that blends creative fantasy elements with realistic relationship challenges.

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