CRC fragment 2

"I have regrets."
A few helmeted heads rose around the troop bay of the Alliance dropship, but most of the soldiers ignored the bored-sounding statement. One of them that rose belonged to Specialized Assault 4th Class Pavel, who smiled behind his helmet's visor and shook his head. The other one, however, belonged to SA/4 Meera, and hers tore upwards in a baleful glare.
"Seriously?"
The scathing incredulity was directed at the original speaker, but if the man had heard, he pretended not to. He merely rubbed an armored chin with a gloved hand and did his best contemplative headtilt. "When I think about it, what would the Alliance really have done if I turned down the offer? Eat m--"
"I will do it for them and claim your Squad Leader role," Meera growled.
The man was indeed this team's Designated Squad Leader. The patch was emblazoned on the left breast of his chest plate next to his servant title: DSL/SA/4 Dean. He had the full capacity to submit her name for full corrective action under Alliance armed jurisdiction, but he raised his two open gloves disarmingly instead. "Alright, alright! Geez, tough crowd."
" 'Tough crowd' my ass. You pull the same lousy shit every drop."
"It's lighthearted commentary on the grim situation of a soldier. Morality and life, yadda yadda something."
"It's annoying is what it is, and I'm sick and tired of it."
Pavel laughed as the two bickered. Dean really had made the same lighthearted commentary every time, and it drove Meera up the troop bay wall. Despite the nature of the subject, the possibility that Dean wasn't really joking, and the oftentimes bloody carnage that awaited them, Pavel had come to enjoy the relatable moment of comparative peace. The individual next to him, however, did not.
"I'm sick and tired of both of you," a strange, deep voice groaned. "If anyone here has regrets, it's me."
They all turned to regard the speaker, who wore a suit of armor slightly larger overall than theirs and who gripped their seat harness tightly with thick, gauntleted paws. From out of a wide visor peered a feline-esque face covered in a downy, lavender fur. The face appeared to be quite nauseous.
"Aw, you love us," Dean crooned sweetly.
"I love you like a bout of rha'gre."
Group laughter helped break the tension further, though Pavel suspected the dry wit of the Cwaidian held a percentage of honesty. While comparing the humans to a particularly virulent skin condition that plagued his kind was (probably) in jest, his regrets were most likely not. Being the only formalized human squad in the Alliance military servitude meant when Dean's group needed reinforcements, they had to pull from non-human stock. After Montgomery bought the farm back on Dandees IV, the Cwaidian was forced into the human-shaped hole. He had been complaining about it ever since.
"We'll get you to lighten up one of these days, Ahrah. You'll see."
"Says the human who begins every mission making the same regret joke."
"I'm tired of all of you, and I've only known you for a cycle-hour," the pilot interrupted over the intercom. "Get ready for insertion, ETA five cycle-minutes."
With that single message, the entire demeanor of the troop bay changed. All present looked to Dean, who seamlessly transitioned from jest to deadly serious. "You heard the lady," the DSL's voice had gone flat and firm. "We have our orders, and we'll get them done. Simple as, isn't that right?"
"Ooh-rah," the team responded as one, anything except smooth professionalism now gone. Even the Cwaidian's motion sickness seemed to have disappeared, and he took part in the human custom that he had long adopted himself into.
Muscle memory flowed through them, as drilled procedure filled the troop bay with the sounds of chafing metal and snapping brackets. Armored assault troops disengaged rifles from slots by their seats, checked charge reserves, and yanked arming handles. Outside, the final approach of the dropship was felt as the forces on the bay increased from fast landing maneuvers. The squad had braced themselves when they felt the vessel tilt nose-up, and their harnesses then disengaged with a quick whip. A lit red light above the rear hatch changed to green, a single buzzing alarm went off, then the hatch fell outwards into the startling daylight. Visors polarized, photosensitive sensors in armor adapted camoflauge colors, and then the group rolled down the hatch in a running crouch.
Hustling out into the whirling dust of the dropship's steady repulsor drives, the outer members of the squad knelt to the sides and trained their rifles around the clearing while inner members ran towards the edge of the closest dense vegetation. With no apparent opposition met and nothing on their passive sensors, the whole team moved into the thick foliage and the dropship lifted off to scoot low back over the trees.
What could be considered 'trees' here were of a curious feather duster quality, with thin wispy vertical blades as their high arbors, and were of a toasted shade of yellow. In fact, most things on this planet were of a similar shade ranging from dandelion to ochre. This had been reflected in the squad's photo-adaptive armor, which had changed themselves to an appropriate camoflauge color. Warily crouched within the once-again quiet feathery shade of the alien forest, Dean was first to speak over their helmet intercom system.
"Short wave talk only from here on out," he commanded in hushed tones. "Pavel and Meera, you're on point. Ahrah in back. Let's move."
After another half-cycle-hour of moving as silently as possible through the yellow forest, they were kneeling a few yards from another clearing in the golden canopy. From their position, they could see the first few structures of their target beyond. So far, they had seen or heard no signs of life except for the gentle twittering of unseen native wildlife far up in the trees.
Despite the encryption on their short wave, Dean was taking no chances. With finger cues, he directed teammates in directions around the campground. 'Around the perimeter. Stay low. Silent. No engagement unless engaged. You three, roll left. You two, roll right. If targets, hold fire. Coordinate later with pings. Move out!'
They had begun to move accordingly to plan when everything abruptly changed. No sooner had they reached near the very end of the treeline and began to fan out then did Dean break his own order by speaking over the short wave. "Change of plans. Stay where you are. Instead, give me some guesses at what I'm looking at here."
Pavel cocked his helmet when he heard the sudden change, but understood what Dean meant as soon as he was able to see into the compound himself.
The clearing where the dropship had delivered them was absent of trees but was vibrant all the same: short yellow grasses, orange mosses, a few things that looked like rosey toad stools, and unique tan soil. One expected the clearing where the compound was cut out of the forest to be as equally vibrant, or at least something akin to the biome.
It distinctly was not.
The compound was a large, clear cut area with about five, squat prefabricated buildings, obviously brought in by ship-drop. What made the place so strange was that it was devoid of color: everything was an absolute, eye-jarring grey. Everything. From an unnatural line just beyond the inner perimeter of the place, the inside of the zone looked like it had been drained of color, from the buildings, few empty vehicles, and the very ground it all stood on. From their range, not a single point of color could be seen to exist.
Pavel blinked his eyes repeatedly, as if trying to clear a disruption in his own vision. He resisted the urge to raise his visor, and checked his system status: all of his equipment, biological or otherwise, was working as intended.
"What the absolute fuck?" Meera summed up her thoughts over the intercom.