by Jay Allan
He moved his hand behind him, fingering one of the grenades clipped to his exos. Maybe, he thought…just maybe I can drop this right behind them. It would be a tough throw, but it was the only way he could think of to deal with the Machines who had him trapped. His tactical display told the same story. All along the line, his boys were getting pinned.
He pulled hard, snapping the spherical grenade from the harness. A normal man would never be able to throw half a kilogram of steel and explosive far enough, but Karl Young was no longer normal. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were interlaced with artificial fibers, increasing his natural strength by a factor of three, and the exo attached to his arm gave him even more power. The problem wasn’t distance…it was accuracy. He had the strength, but 100 meters was a hell of a range for precision aiming.
He flipped the small lever, activating the weapon. He stepped back from the rock and swung his body quickly to the left. He gave himself a second to aim, a dangerous luxury when he was exposed to enemy fire. He threw the grenade, imagining its flight path to the target.
He kicked right with his legs, using the momentum of the throw to propel him back behind his cover. A rookie might have paused, watching to see if the throw landed on target. That rookie would have died, riddled with fire, before the grenade even reached its target. There were a hundred small factors, things inexperienced guys didn’t even think of. But they were the difference between life and death on the battlefield.
He heard the loud boom. It was a heavy grenade, with a significant blast. He peered cautiously around the rock, trying to get a view toward the enemy position. He brought his assault rifle up and hosed the area down, emptying a clip at full auto. Nothing. No motion, no return fire.
There was no way to know for sure. He stared out at the ground ahead, picking out his next objective. There was a small gully up ahead, maybe 2 meters deep. Good cover. He slammed a new clip into his rifle and took a deep breath. Then he spun around, running full speed, diving for the protection of the small trench ahead.
*
Private Sanjay Chandra glanced up at the two suns in the sky. The heat was unbearable. His uniform was soaked with his sweat, as wet as if he’d dived into a river. A river, he thought bitterly…a river is an elusive dream in this hell. Chandra was crouched behind a small rise in the ground, as bullets flew all around. He was terrified, paralyzed. And the heat was so bad, he felt like he was going to pass out any minute.
Chandra was a rookie, as raw as they came. He’d come through the Portal and taken the transport to Firebase Delta. He barely had time to dump his gear and take a crap before the assembly alarm went off. An hour later he was strapped into another ship - a combat transport this time – and en route to this hellish gorge.
He was hyperventilating, trying in vain to cool himself. The air was hot…so hot. When they told him he was going to Erastus, he figured he’d be well prepared to handle it. He grew up in the streets of New Delhi, and he thought he was used to the heat. But there was heat and then there was…this. It wasn’t Earthly heat on Erastus…the coolest temperatures on the planet matched the worst equatorial heatwaves in terrestrial history.
He was moving through the valley, struggling to keep up with the rest of the team. Corporal Tse had yelled at him twice for lagging behind. But the heat...it was just too much. He tried to move faster, but he almost fainted, and he had to slow down.
He looked at the cliffs on both sides. The Machines had been dug in on those rocky slopes, at least that’s what the corporal told everybody. “Be glad you grunts didn’t have to go up those cliffs,” he had said. “And be fucking grateful to your brothers who did the job, because they lost half their number doing it.”
Chandra couldn’t even imagine fighting on terrain like that. And a strikeforce losing half its strength? How do men do that, he wondered…how do they stand and fight even after taking such losses? His strikeforce was moving through the dry riverbed to assault the remaining enemy line. The Machines were in bad shape, outflanked on both sides, taking fire from the steep high ground…the very positions they had held a few hours before. Chandra and his comrades were tasked with delivering the final blow, opening up the riverbed, allowing fresh forces to move on a major enemy base.
They had it a lot easier than the men who’d gone in already, but Chandra was still scared to death, struggling to keep himself from shaking.
“Attention, 109th Strikeforce.” The voice on his com was firm, commanding. How, Chandra wondered, could anyone sound so calm, so controlled, minutes before going into combat? It was Lieutenant Daniels, who was commanding both Chandra’s unit and the 84th, which was in reserve right behind the 109th.
Chandra had caught a glimpse of Daniels from a distance as the strikeforce was boarding the transports, but this was the first time he’d heard the lieutenant’s voice. Daniels was a lofty figure to a newb like Chandra. Commander of over 250 men, Supersoldier, a member of Jake Taylor’s inner circle. The young soldier was in awe, even forgetting his fear for a few seconds.
“Prepare to assault enemy positions.” Daniels still sounded under control, maddeningly so.
Why isn’t he scared, Chandra thought…how can he be so calm? He held up his own hand, focusing hard but still unable to stop it from shaking. His head snapped around quickly, prompted by a loud crack. There was just the one sound, and for a few seconds the air was silent and still. Then the Machine line opened up.
Chandra froze, his rifle still strapped across his back. He was looking forward, but his legs wouldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried. It took all he had not to turn and run as quickly as his legs could carry him. But he stayed in place. He saw another man, about 50 meters down the line, thrown back, crumpling to the ground. Part of him wanted to run over, to help his comrade. Another part said, move forward…attack. But all he could do was stand in place.
“Chandra! Get your worthless ass moving.” It was the corporal, and his sharp rebuke snapped Chandra out of his paralysis.
“Yes, Corporal Tse.” He moved forward, taking slow, jerky steps. He looked ahead, toward the enemy line. He couldn’t see much…a little movement here and there, but that’s all. The Machines were hunkered down behind cover. Most of his teammates were too. There were large boulders scattered all across the riverbed, and the troopers had taken position behind them.
Chandra stumbled forward, his legs limp, like noodles. He tried to remember his training, but it was hard to focus. He reached around, pulling his rifle from his back. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for a good place to crouch down. He saw a boulder none of the others were using. It was a little over a meter high and perhaps two wide. He’d have to stay low, but it was good protection.
He moved toward it, his heart pounding in his ears, rivulets of sweat streaming down his face. His eyes stung from the sweat, blurring his view. He kept moving, staring at the rock, trying to ignore the sounds of bullets ripping by.
He felt like he’d never get there, that he’d been running forever. But then, suddenly, he was behind the rock, prone.
The rifle felt hot in his hands. The dense plastic material didn’t conduct heat very well, but the weapon had been on his back for over an hour, with both suns beating down on it. He glanced cautiously around the edge of the boulder. His heart leapt. There was a Machine! He was peering out from behind his own cover about 80 meters ahead, taking aim at something – someone, Chandra realized – down the line.
He spun around, snapping up the rifle and pulling the trigger. It was all a blur. The gun was set on semi-automatic, and the first burst of three shots went high, zipping over the target’s head. The Machine reacted, starting to pull back and angling his weapon in Chandra’s direction.
Chandra felt the adrenalin flooding his system. His arms felt stronger, his mind more alert. He stared down the barrel of his rifle, pulling the trigger three times in rapid succession, sending a flurry of projectiles toward his enemy.
The Machine was pushed backward,
the left side of his chest and midsection almost gone. The remnants of the shattered alien warrior fell to the ground. It couldn’t have taken more than a second or two, though the whole thing played out in slow motion to Chandra.
He could feel the energy inside. I hit him, he thought, his excitement building. He’d killed one of the enemy…and maybe saved one of his comrades in the process. His blood was up, and the fear was momentarily forgotten, pushed aside by his elation.
He gritted his teeth and scanned the enemy line. He spotted two Machines crouched over a heavy autogun. They were mostly under cover, but not completely. A perfect shot could take either one of them down. His eyes locked on his targets, and he brought his rifle up to fire.
Suddenly he was moving back, his body twisting. He saw the spray of blood from his shoulder before he felt the wound. His legs went weak…he was falling. As he did, he spun around...just before second projectile slammed into his back. Then a third. They were heavy hypersonic rounds, and they tore right through his body armor.
Suddenly, he was looking up at the sky. Both suns were still there, the second close to setting. He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up on the ground…then it came to back to him. He realized he must have blacked out after the projectiles hit him.
He felt strange, like he was floating. Then there was the pain. His back was on fire, waves of agony wracking his body. There was wetness under him. He pulled his hand up and stared. It was covered with blood. His blood. He began to panic, screaming. The tears started to stream from his eyes. “Help,” he shouted, as loud as his stricken body could manage. The pain in his chest flared up as he tried to yell, but he repeated his cry nevertheless. It was in vain. There was no response. He was alone.
He was starved for air, and he tried to take a deep breath, but the pain was unbearable. There was a gurgling sound from his throat, his chest, and every shallow breath he managed was a torment.
“Please,” he muttered piteously to whatever powers might exist in the universe. “I don’t want to die.”
He was still staring at the sky, staying still to minimize the pain. His mind began to drift, random thoughts moving in and out of his dwindling consciousness. It is beautiful in its own way, he thought, seeing the Erastian sky differently than he had before. Men looked up and saw the two suns, the source of the terrible heat that made every moment on the planet a misery. But now Chandra saw it differently. Two majestic suns, and the long, sparse clouds that ran for kilometers across the horizon. There is beauty, he thought, a brief smile crossing his stricken lips…even in hell.
Chapter 13
From the Journal of Jake Taylor:
Do you ever wonder about the odd assortment of things you remember? Most days of your life vanish into the inaccessible depths of the mind, but a few seemingly random events remain in the forefront. Years later, decades later…you still remember them like they happened yesterday.
One day when I was young…seven, eight, I don’t recall that part exactly…we were driving into Concord. It was sometime around my birthday, and we were heading for one of the restaurants in town. It was always a treat to eat out someplace. It wasn’t often we had the extra money for things like that.
I was in the back of the truck, probably fighting with my brother. Suddenly, my father pulled over to the side of the road. There was an accident ahead of us. A motorcycle had been swiped by a tractor, and it wiped out hard.
My father told us to stay in the car, and then he got out and went to the back of the truck. He always kept a blanket and a first aid kit in the storage locker, and he got them out and ran over. I could see the rider through the window of the truck. He was lying on his back, and the street around him had puddles of blood on it. I wondered for a second if he was dead, but then I saw him move.
It was the first time I’d seen blood like that. Not a few drops from a cut, but pools of it. I knew immediately he was badly hurt, and I couldn’t move my eyes away. I watched my father cover him with the blanket, even as I heard the approaching sirens of the sheriff and the rescue squad.
When the medics arrived, my father walked back to the car, and we continued toward town. I remember wondering how we would get our blanket back. I don’t recall what we did in Concord that day, or what restaurant we went to. But I remember the image of that man lying in the street, covered by our old gray blanket…feeling bad for him and worrying about how we’d get the blanket back.
I think about that day often, even now. I wonder if that man lived or not. I feel sadness, thinking about his suffering, about the fact that he might have died. I always imagine that he got up that day, just like any other. Maybe he was excited, as I was when we left the house. It could have been a special occasion. He could have been going to meet friends. Instead he ended up hurt and bleeding…and maybe dying…on the cold pavement.
I can’t explain the reaction I had…that I still have…the melancholy, the sadness I feel for that man. Even now, after ten years of war and thousands of casualties…after all the suffering and death…I still remember the biker lying on that back road in New Hampshire.
Empathy. Such an odd emotion. Sometimes it is predictable. Clearly, the suffering of a friend or a loved one triggers it more profoundly than that of a stranger. And yet it seems to have a mind of its own, manifesting in unexpected situations. As in the memories and feelings I still have over something that happened 20 years ago…to a person I never knew. An event that I witnessed from a distance for no more than 3 or 4 minutes.
What makes some things affect us so much more profoundly than others? Why do we remember some events, yet forget so many others of equal import? I’ve seen thousands of young men die in this place, some I knew, others who were just names on a roster sheet. Why do some burn themselves into your consciousness, while others are quickly forgotten? Why does one stranger’s death or suffering affect you more profoundly than another’s?
*
The battle was over. They were calling it a brilliant victory, but all Taylor could see was the terrible cost. With all his tactical ability and ten years of combat experience on Erastus, he couldn’t claim ignorance….couldn’t even fool himself. He knew the losses he would suffer before the attack even began. And he sent his men in anyway.
Taylor’s savage attack had cleared the entire canyon, opening up the route for 5th and 6th Battalions to advance on the Machine production facility beyond. He wouldn’t command that attack…he’d be back at base, training the flood of FNGs his units would need to build back to full strength. But his people had already won the victory. The canyon had been the real line of defense. The base itself was isolated, situated 4,500 klicks from the nearest supporting enemy forces. It would inevitably fall now.
Jake looked out at the debris of battle as he walked along the ancient riverbed his men had died to conquer. It was late twilight, and only the dimmer of the two suns was in the sky. This was as close as Erastus came to night, but it was still as bright as late afternoon on Earth.
The canyon was quiet. His troops had advanced through, forming a defensive position on the far end of the gorge. He knew the enemy didn’t have the strength to counter-attack, but he wasn’t taking chances. Exhausted or not, his people were going to stand guard until 5th Battalion got there and relieved them.
There were a few medical teams rounding up the last of the casualties. The ones who had the Supersoldier mods would almost certainly survive if they hadn’t been killed outright. The others had a good chance too, as long as they’d remembered to activate their medkits. Taylor knew from experience that about 15% of his wounded would forget. And most of them would die.
Taylor stepped on something and twisted his ankle slightly. He looked down. There was an assault rifle under his foot. It had been partly covered with the dusty sand of the valley, and he hadn’t seen it until his boot rolled off it.
“Help me.” The voice was soft, barely audible. “Please.”
Taylor snapped his head around. He wouldn’t have hear
d the strained whisper if it hadn’t been for his mechanically-enhanced ears. It had come from the right, and he turned and walked that way.
There was a large boulder, and Jake spotted a pair of legs on the ground. He trotted over, around the giant rock. It was a man…one of his privates….lying on his back, barely moving. He was a mess. His shoulder was ripped open, a large portion of the muscle exposed. There were two holes in his armor too, right through the chest plate. Taylor couldn’t tell if the rounds had gone in the front and out the back or the reverse, but either way, he knew the man was badly hurt.
Taylor looked down at the soldier’s belt and harness, trying to see if he’d applied his medkit. The wounds were bad, but if he’d gotten the nanobots into his system right away, he’d have a chance. Jake’s eyes darted across the trooper’s form, but Taylor felt the hope drain away as he focused on the small rubber pouch, still in its place, unused.
“H…e…l…p…” The soldier moved, his arm sliding slowly a few centimeters along the ground. His voice was weaker than it had been a moment before. There was a heaviness there too, a gurgling sound behind the words.
Taylor flashed a thought at his com, opening a line to the med teams. “Medical…this is Major Taylor. I need a team at my location ASAP.” He was about the cut the line, but then he added, “I found a wounded soldier.” No point letting them misunderstand and think he was injured. The way they all looked at him half the time…if they thought he was down they’d all panic.
He looked at the stricken figure lying at his feet for a few seconds then he knelt down beside the wounded man. “Private…this is Major Taylor.” He reached out, taking the man’s hand in his. “Can you tell me your name?” He pulled the medkit from the soldier’s belt, and took out the injector. He thrust it in the soldier’s leg, but even as he was doing it, he realized it was too late.