The Soldier

by Terrance Mulloy

  There were Dupes everywhere. The base had fallen.

  Then, there was an explosion that rang out on the opposite side of the vehicle that shook the ground around them. Matt figured they had just found a way to breach the turret hatch, most likely using some type of powerful rotary javelin or RPG device.

  Matt kept deathly quiet as he heard more voices, followed by another series of smaller, muffled explosions. He felt the shockwaves vibrating above him. Just as he expected, he knew those were more grenades being tossed through the hatch.

  There was a short moment of silence, followed by a frantic scuffling noise as Matt craned his head up to continue listening. Shrill whistles and shouting echoed across the base. The Dupes were now moving through the upturned vehicle searching for them.

  Matt’s breath caught in his throat when he heard footsteps in front of them. They were merely a few feet from their position, accompanied by more grunts and shouts. He knew the Dupes were now communicating that the occupants of the vehicle had mysteriously vanished.

  More iron boot heels suddenly crunched in the dirt as Matt and Mace both lay there, still as humanly possible. The Dupes were now actively searching the area for them.

  As more appeared to be swarming over the wreckage, Matt slowly raised his pistol, aiming at the pair of rail-thin legs drawing closer to them. It stopped about a hair-width from Matt’s faceplate, so close he could smell the damp and sweaty grime of the Dupe’s boots. Then, it simply turned and walked away.

  Matt sighed and dropped his head, silently thanking his higher power, thinking they may somehow survive this after all.

  That was until the comms channel in his helmet suddenly crackled to life with an assertive female voice. “Vanguard, this is Olive Thirty-one, responding to your QRF request. Coordinates confirmed, ready for mop-up. Incoming, ten klicks out, over.”

  Matt audibly gasped and spun to Mace.

  Bashed and bloodied, Mace barely managed to form a smile.

  Unfortunately, though, every Dupe in the nearby vicinity also heard the call. They immediately zeroed in on Matt’s position, rifles up as they crept towards them.

  All Matt could now do is lay there, his heartbeat thundering excruciatingly loud in his ears as another series of angry alien voices rang out, calling for more reinforcements. This time the Dupes sounded as if they were cursing.

  Then, another soundwave bar crackled over Matt’s faceplate. “Vanguard, this is Olive Thirty-one. Be advised, all personnel need to clear the coordinates located on your viz. Enemy target is qualified. LGM-84 away, one away, one away hot. Thirty seconds to impact.”

  Matt saw the new targeting request blinking across his faceplate. It appeared that at least one British officer was still alive and had managed to laze the Stalker after requesting a QRF element. That was both good news and bad news. The bad news being they were directly in the strike zone radius of the incoming missile.

  Matt wiggled up against Mace and curled into his womb of dirt, trying desperately to disappear into the ground as a sudden beam of light began to play across the cratered ground.

  A Dupe appeared in front of them, bending down to inspect the area underneath the TAV. The flashlight attached to the under-barrel of its rifle swept over them.

  When the beam of light discovered them, the Dupe jolted back with fright, and as it went to fire on them, Matt squeezed off a shot first. The round struck the Dupe’s lower leg, shattering its femur bone, its painful scream immediately alerting the others as it buckled over. Matt fired again and struck its upper thigh. That shot was powerful enough to drop the Dupe.

  Without pause, Matt fired again, the round striking the Dupe center forehead, killing it instantly. As Matt went to fire on the dozen or so Dupes that were now rushing to his position, he could hear the growing whistle of the incoming missile.

  He swiveled around to Mace, rolled him over, and began shoveling dirt and concrete over him. “Keep your head down! This is gonna suck!”

  The Dupe battalion had no chance to react when the LGM missile struck the courtyard at hypersonic velocity, obliterating them instantly as the blast radiated outward like a spinning wheel of napalm, the Stalker vanishing in an orange and black fireball.

  Matt and Mace felt as if hell itself had just opened up to take them, the concussive blast wave buffeting the TAV, blowing the nearby Dupes off their feet.

  Now buried under a thick layer of debris, Matt dared himself to carefully peer up through the wall of blinding smoke and flame that seemed to have engulfed his entire universe.

  He could not see it, but he could hear the tell-tale signature of something new and deadly descending on them. It was enough to cause him to smile.

  The stubby shape of a Z-10 Razorback screamed through the sky, raking the remaining Dupes with devastating cannon fire that were desperately fleeing for cover.

  Mat watched a small rabble of nearby Dupe’s retreat into the massive smoke cloud, panicked and disorientated. These invaders had been reduced to remnants of a pointless and doomed mission against the overwhelming USC forces that were now steamrolling across the area.

  And as the echo of the missile blast dissipated, and the Razorback veered away and disappeared into the roiling clouds, gradually, just over the horizon came another thunderous sound.

  The Calvary.

  “You hear that,” Mace said, his voice shaky and weak.

  “I sure do, sir.”

  “You’re gonna wanna see this, greenie. In less than a minute, ninety pissed-off USC Rangers will descend from heaven.”

  Matt was suddenly overcome with the urge to pass out, but he forced himself to wiggle free of his tomb, carefully dragging Mace out from underneath, making sure he remained conscious.

  Mace was holding on. Barely.

  As Matt wearily rose to his feet and looked around, the devastation was jaw-dropping. Hundreds of Dupe bodies, those not fully disintegrated and rendered to ash, were strewn across what remained of the base’s smoldering courtyard. It was the sight of a massacre.

  Matt was relieved to see some British officers emerging from cover, many injured and limping, and those not, staggering into the open like shellshocked zombies, amazed that they had somehow survived. However, he could not see any sign of Hollsworth or Roberts. Even if they had managed to survive, it was evident the human casualties from this encounter would be great.

  Matt then peeled off his battered helmet and watched as three Wasps, and an enormous FH-47 troop carrier descended from the sky, landing in the middle of the carnage, disgorging Rangers made up of three separate ASIF platoons.

  When Matt spotted two Rangers through the swirling dust cloud cautiously approaching the TAV with their rifles raised, he waved to signal them. They saw he was a friendly and immediately hustled over to him, noticing the wounded Praetorian laying by his side.

  At that moment, Matt succumbed to his exhaustion and collapsed to the ground.

  Thirty-Six

  Now stripped of his combat gear and wearing only dirt and blood-stained fatigues, Matt sat on a bunk underneath one of the several mobile field marquees that been erected earlier to treat the non-critical and prep them for evac. The riddle of cuts and knicks on his body had been treated, including a gash above his hip bone he was completely unaware of until he woke to see a medic dabbing it with a swab. Soon after being treated, he was given enough painkillers to blissfully send him to the edge of oblivion. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there for, nor did he care.

  Taking a swig of his water bottle, he looked around the courtyard, watching the other surviving British officers eat ravenously while medics fussed around them. Some of the Rangers were also inside the marquee assisting, busy dispensing thermal cooling blankets and water.

  Matt had spotted the QRF’s platoon leader, a tall, spotty-looking man with coke-bottled spectacles, walking around earlier but was yet to talk with him. He assumed, being the only surviving U.S. soldier alongside Mace, they would have some questions before hea
ding back to Rhino – the primary one being how the hell a greenie ended up out here with one of the most infamous Praetorians this side of Epsilon.

  There was a sudden burst of activity among the soldiers as one of the nearby Wasps began to power up its engines, catching Matt’s attention. It was then he noticed a familiar figure being rushed ahead on a stretcher by two medics. Trailing behind them were two more medics, who tinkered with the multitude of tubes and equipment attached to Mace’s severely damaged body.

  As they loaded Mace into the Wasp and jumped up with him, one of the medics noticed he was looking straight up at him. “Time to go home, sir,” the medic said with a reassuring smile.

  “You’re missing a Praetorian,” Mace growled.

  “Sir?”

  “There’s a Praetorian missing. Find him.”

  The medic shared a confused glance at his colleague then continued working. “Sir, I’m afraid you are the only Praetorian left alive.”

  Suddenly, Mace sat up in his stretcher. “I said, go find him. That’s an order!”

  The medics attempted to gently lay him back down, but Mace wasn’t having any of it. “Get the fuck off me!”

  “Sir, please, you need to relax.”

  Spotting Matt standing outside the marquee watching all the activity, Mace raised his arm and pointed, dragging tubes and equipment along with him. “There! The one standing outside the tent. He comes with me.”

  The medics looked out and saw who Mace was referring to.

  “Go get him. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir.” One of the medics jumped out and approached Matt, ushering him towards the waiting Wasp. They both ducked and hurried back over.

  When Matt climbed aboard, Mace reached for his hand. Matt grabbed it and took a seat next to his stretcher, the medics strapping him in for the ride. As the Wasp began to take off, they held onto each other like life-long brothers. Matt could see he was trying to say something, so he leaned in closer to him.

  “Fuckin’ proud of you, greenie,” Mace declared, his eyes glassing up from the wind, perhaps even a little bit of pride. “Like I said, you’re a Praetorian now. Better start acting like it.” His usual bombastic tone sounded even frailer now, swallowed up by the Wasp’s deafening engines.

  Matt kept his gaze on him and said nothing. There was no need to. He simply smiled and returned the compliment with a respectful nod. That was enough for Mace. When their hands were gently separated by one of the medics, Mace was too weak to resist. He closed his eyes, the powerful opiates coursing through his veins finally robbing him of consciousness.

  Matt was also physically beaten and mentally broken, but he was still clear-eyed as he stared down at the scorched aftermath of battle, the smoke and dust settling to reveal the Stalker as nothing but a blackened hulk of metal.

  As the Wasp lifted higher and banked away, Matt looked out across the never-ending stretch of landscape, the harsh alien sun beginning to peer just above the horizon. It was at that moment he suddenly remembered some lines from Pinehurst’s poem.

  “I look into the yellow sky, like no yellow I’ve known before, and the cracked world that will not stop…” he whispered to himself. “For I am in the desert of war.”

  THE END

  Thank you for reading

  I hope you enjoyed The Soldier. Your opinion is very important, so please take a moment to leave a short review on Amazon here. A star-rating with a quick word or two can make a big difference. It will also help other like-minded readers discover my books. Thanks again.

  Until next time, happy reading.

  Cheers,

  Terrance

  Also by Terrance Mulloy

  The Earth Epsilon Wars

  Book 0: The Invasion

  Book 1: The Emissary

  Book 2: The Defector

  Book 3: The Revered

  Book 4: The Soldier

  Audiobooks by Podium Audio:

  The Invasion

  The Earth Epsilon Wars: Books 1-2

  The Earth Epsilon Wars: Books 3-4 (Coming Soon)

  Box Set by Aethon Books

  The Earth Epsilon Wars: Books 1-4 (Coming Soon)

  Stand-Alones/Short Stories

  Rift

  Alien Prison Ship

  Enigma

  About the Author

  Terrance resides in Queensland, Australia, with his wife and two dogs. When he's not busy fending off hordes of radioactive Kangaroos and flesh-eating Wombats, he can usually be found lurking around his office, conjuring his next book idea.

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