by Nate Johnson
Sergeant Smith shot him a quick look. Dex gave a quick nod in return, then yelled into his radio, “Full Auto, give them cover.”
Where before, fifty slugs were being sent down range, now thousands streaked through the air. A wall of lead screaming through the air. They couldn’t keep it up, the ammo shortage was a serious handicap.
Once his clip was empty, he turned to watch as Third Platoon raced for the redoubt. His heart stopped as he silently counted the seconds. Marines joined together to carry wounded. Others twisted to shoot, emptying their clips and then sprinting for the cover of the sandbag walls.
His heart soared with admiration, a textbook example of moving under fire. Smith and his men were to be commended. At last, they made the wall. Every one of them slipping behind the protective cover and immediately taking up position to continue fighting.
“Okay, Obamway, your next.”
The young corporal looked back at him and nodded grimly.
Every time Dex dropped to change his magazine, he’d watch as the young corporal gathered his men and got them ready. His platoon, Dex thought. No longer mine. A sadness washed through him as he saw missing team members. The wounded and dead gathered together. My men, he thought to himself. The men he’d yelled at and cared for over the last two years. The men he’d trained, and brought here to die. Biting down a scream, he told Obamway to go and then stood up to kill aliens.
The men at the redoubt opened up, firing over their brother’s heads as second platoon raced into the Rift.
“Get your men ready,” Dex called to Daniels as he took another shot.
“You first,” Daniels called back as he continued to put slugs down range.
Dex swallowed hard and realized his sergeant was right. The thought of leaving before his men sent a bolt of shame through him. But he was right, his place was at the redoubt now.
“We’ll go together,” he said.
Daniels nodded and continued to fire. “Now might be a good time,” he responded, glancing over with a quick smile.
The aliens were within twenty yards. They’d make the trench before his men made the redoubt.
“Go. Go.” Dex called out as he ran up the back slope of the trench and towards the wall of stacked sandbags. Bullets whistled over his head in one direction. Hundreds of blue lasers whizzed past him in the other direction, as he ducked and zigzagged back and forth, desperately trying to keep any alien solder from holding his aim on him long enough to do damage.
The men around him did the same, pulling and helping each other as they ran.
A Marine in front of him stumbled, a puff of black smoke rising from the back of his neck. Sliding to a quick stop, Dex bent and lifted the man over his shoulder and then turned for the redoubt again.
His back screamed in pain as he stumbled forward. His lips moved in a silent prayer, let me get him to safety, he prayed. Please. Just let me get him to safety.
Forever it seemed, he ran. Bent under the weight it felt as if his feet were trapped in a swamp. As if something refused to let him move fast enough. Pushing away the rising fear inside of him, he, at last, slipped through the opening and into the protection of the first wall.
“Here,” Alicia said, pointing to her feet.
Dex bent and slowly lowered the man to the ground. Taking deep breaths of air, he watched as Alicia gently lifted the man’s faceplate.
Two stark eyes stared out of the armor. Eyes that would never see again. Private Bill Tomlinson was dead and nothing in this world would ever bring him back. Dex swallowed a scream of frustration.
Alicia looked up at him, the sadness in her eyes confirming what he saw.
Raising his own faceplate he stared at her in disbelief. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. “Get back to your aid station.”
She ignored him and moved to another fallen Marine, “This is where the wounded are,” she said without looking at him. “When they get back to the aid station, then I’ll go too.”
Dex shook his head as he fought to gain control of his anger.
“Smith,” he yelled. “Get the wounded back. Make sure Miss Miller goes with them.”
“Yes, Sir,” the sergeant said as he started delegating men as stretcher bearers.
Dex turned away and punched the sandbag wall. His fist pounding into it over and over as he tried to hurt something. Anything. He needed to feel like he was actually accomplishing something. The dead look of the young private tore at his soul. Pushing everything else away to rip and gnaw at him.
At last, he pulled himself together and took a deep breath. He peeked over the sandbag wall and froze. Hundreds and hundreds of rat-faced Scraggs in their shiny armor continued to pour down the village street towards them. Not a lot had changed. All that, and still they came.
A hundred, maybe a hundred and a half lay dead and dying in the dirt. But their fellow soldiers stepped over them as they continued to attack. His stomach turned over. There was just so many of them.
A quick scan confirmed that no Marine had been left behind. Dex released a long breath with relief. At least they’d accomplished that.
Lining up a shot, he pulled the trigger. Returning to that familiar activity calmed him. Find the target, line up the shot, fire. Repeat. Over and over.
But still, they came, slowly spilling over into the trench the Marines had just abandoned. But Dex had anticipated this. The back slope was cut so that his men could fire into the trench from the redoubt. The aliens were trapped like sitting ducks on a pond.
His men knew what to do. Like him, they found their target and eliminated them. The problem was that there was just too many targets.
Seeing that for the moment, things were slowing down, he ducked behind the second wall to find Obamway.
“You ready?” he asked.
The corporal smiled back and vigorously nodded.
“I’ll let you know when.”
Turning away from the corporal, Dex glanced around as he tried to take a brief break. Just enough to gather himself again before he returned to the battle.
Miss Miller was working over a fallen Marine she hadn’t left like he had ordered. This Marine was alive as evidenced by the screaming, his face charred, the skin around his eyes curling into ash.
She administered something to him and the man relaxed, drifting off into a drug-induced sleep. She turned and saw him watching her. Giving him a sad smile, she scooted over to the next man.
Why wasn’t she back where she belonged? he wondered. Because this is where she is needed he realized. Wounded were pilling up faster than they could get them back to the aid station. So, she had moved the station here.
Taking a deep breath, he thought this has gone on long enough. Time to end it. At least for a while.
Taking a step up onto the wall’s bench, he rose up to look over the redoubt wall. As he suspected, the trench was full of Scraggs. Well over two hundred of them. More on the top, waiting to get through. Each and every one of them firing at his men.
“Okay, Obamway, you set them, you get to do it,” he said.
Smiling wildly, the corporal yelled, “Down,” as he pushed the button.
A quick silence descended over the battlefield as his men stopped shooting and dropped down behind the redoubt wall. Dex didn’t follow them. He wanted to see this. His soul demanded that he watch these bastard die.
The claymore mine is an ancient technology. Not really improved upon in hundreds of years. For one simple reason. It works. Two dozen, half-inch ball bearings packed in front of a shaped charge. Against a man, they were lethal. Against two hundred aliens, they were devastating.
At the very beginning, Dex had instructed Obamway to line the inside of the trench, both front and rear slope with claymore mines. The one weapon besides their rifles to make the landing with them. He had known this moment would come.
The explosion was glorious as ninety-two mines went off at the same time. Small metal spheres ripped through the alien armor. Pieces of dirt an
d skin and bone flew into the air. Dex fought to not smile too widely. A creature was dying, but it was glorious because every one of theirs that died was one less of his.
The Scraggs standing on the lip of the trench were thrown into the air. Those behind them fell back. The attack halted for a moment as the concussion wave washed over them.
“Now,” he begged. “Fall back,” he mumbled to himself as he held his breath while waiting to see how the aliens would react.
Without being told, his men rose as one and started firing into the aliens still standing. Their slugs seemed to finally turn the tide, as Scraggs began to fall back.
Dex watched intently. Unable to believe what he was seeing. But slowly at first, then in ones and twos, the Scraggs began to turn and run away.
His men continued to fire until there was nothing left to fire at.
Slowly, the sound of the Marine rifles grew to a halt. They had been trained well. They knew to conserve their ammo without having to be told.
Dex looked out at the carnage in front of him. The burnt buildings, smoke still rising into the air. The dead and dying lying in the dirt. Blood, bone, gore, and bile, all of it mixed into a sickening mess.
Fighting to push the sickness in his own throat back down, he turned and dropped back below the edge. They’d done it. They’d stopped them somehow.
It might not last. But they’d bought General Smyth some time.
Turning, he looked at his men. They were raising their faceplates. Their faces covered in sweat and tears. Their red-rimmed eyes looking at him as if unable to believe they had done it.
He smiled back and nodded. They had done it. His Marines had held the line. At least for now.
Chapter Eighteen
The alien battleship grew bigger and bigger on the screen as the Churchill slowly overtook the larger vessel. Admiral McKenzie smiled to himself. Soon, he thought. Soon, and this would be over. Most of the other ships were standing by their destroyed targets. Waiting for instructions. They had almost won.
It was just this battleship and the Churchill left.
Should he have the destroyers break off and come to him? Or, rejoin the Roosevelt?
He glanced at the screen again and shook his head. Should he call in the other ships to help?
No, they were too far away. It would take them too long. Better to leave them there, a reserve, in case Captain Freeborn and his crew were not successful.
“Confidence,” he called. “Send a boarding party. It looks like your target is somewhat still intact.
“Sir, she’s turning,” Evans interrupted referring to the alien battleship in front of them.
“Thank you, Commander,” he replied. Keep calm, he reminded himself. No one must see the anxiety and fear bubbling away inside of him.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” the Confidence’s skipper replied to the previous order.
This was the point, he realized. If this ship broke free she could destroy any one of his. Easily destroy the Steadfast and escape through the jump point. Only to return later with a larger, more deadly fleet. No, they had to end this now.
The blue laser beams continued to rake the side of the Churchill, it’s intensity growing as the two ships grew closer.
“Captain Freeborn,” the admiral said. “Please instruct your gun crews to focus on their lasers. Maybe we will get lucky.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the Churchill’s captain replied without looking away from his own screen.
Admiral McKenzie sat back in his chair. He probably shouldn’t be giving orders to his captains on where to focus their guns. But that was one of the hassles of being a flagship, you had the admiral looking over your shoulder.
Deciding it would be better if he spent his time focused on the rest of the fleet, he glanced at the Marine monitor and Admiral Webber’s feed. Both were blank.
“Any word from Intrepid,” he asked the room.
“No, Sir,” Commander Evans said. “Every ship in the fleet has lost their high gain antenna. I think it must be a design flaw. Something that let those lasers take out the electronics. We’ve lost all contact with both the landing force and Admiral Webber.
Admiral McKenzie nodded. An item for the after-action report, he thought. If he was ever able to produce one, of course.
“Sir,” Commander Evans said, his voice rising a small octave, “I think she’s going to try and ram us.” Obviously referring to the alien battleship. “The turn radius is very short. She’s bleeding speed to get around. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“I see it,” Captain Freeborn said.
Suddenly, the Churchill shuddered, a tremble that radiated up from the deck plates. Admiral McKenzie’s stomach turned over. A spaceship shouldn’t shudder like that. It couldn’t be good.
No sooner had the vibration stopped, when every light, monitor, and cooling fan shut down.
The Admiral held his breath as a deep, dark silence fell over the command center. Where was the emergency back up? Why wasn’t it kicking in?
Slowly, a green glow began to dimly light the room as his men pulled out their portable tablets, searching for information.
Again, a sharp vibration rocked the ship, followed by a distant explosion and a brief loss of gravity. At least here the backups took over and he felt himself settle back down into his chair. But the silence remained. No fans, no beeps of computers. Men talked in hushed tones, as if afraid of disturbing the quiet.
Biting his tongue, he stopped himself from pestering the ship’s captain. Let the man do his job, he reminded himself. Instead, he glanced over at Professor Sinclair. The woman was watching everything at the same time. He could see the gears turning in her head as she cataloged and tracked their actions. He wondered if she’d use any of this in her future research. He could see it now, the paper would be titled something like, ‘The Habits and Tendencies of an Imperial Navy Crew In Times Of Stress.’
Or, would the rest of her life be dedicated to figuring out the Scraggs? The later, he thought. Heaven knew someone was going to have to.
“Professor,” he called over to her. “When we get power back, start figuring out a way to convince these bastards to surrender. Some message that will get them to stop fighting.”
She looked back at him as if he’d lost his mind, then nodded and turned to her tablet.
“Sir,” Captain Freeborn said, pulling him away from the Professor, “we’ve lost power feed from both Higgs Engine. A lucky shot cut the cable. The failover tripped, but didn’t work. My men are trying to fix it now.”
“Very good, Captain,” the Admiral responded, frustrated at having absolutely nothing to do.
“Sir,” his chief of staff Captain White said, “Perhaps you should shift your flag to the Roosevelt?”
Admiral McKenzie’s stomach dropped. Shift his flag? Abandon the Churchill? Abandon these men? No, he couldn’t. Not now. Not like this.
“They are too far away,” he replied. “This will be over before they could get here.”
Captain White nodded and stepped back. He’d done his job, presented options. But this had to end now.
Slowly, he could feel the frustration rising inside of him. Like a pot ready to bubble over. The frustration pulled up his anger and a little of his fear. They were sitting there helpless. Like a huge target hanging in space, waiting for something to tear it to shreds. And to make it worse, without the power from the Higgs engines, the guns were nothing more than long tubes. Useless.
And the last thing they had known was that the enemy ship was turning towards them.
“There,” Captain Freeborn exclaimed with a smile on his green-lit face. The word was no sooner out of his mouth when the lights and computers began to reenergize.
McKenzie felt a wave of relief flow through him until he saw his screen. The alien battleship had turned and was headed right for them.
“Captain …”
“I see it, Sir,” the captain replied as he frantically issued orders.
; The Churchill was slow to respond. Not all of her systems were fully restored. The boot process taking longer than it should have.
As the Scragg’s ship drew closer, the blue laser light bathed them in its evil glow.
A soft whoomp, whoomp, let Admiral McKenzie know that at least their guns were back online. Leaning forward, he watched the electronic track of the rounds as they raced towards their enemy. Within moments, small explosions started peppering the side of the large alien ship.
It wouldn’t matter though, not unless Captain Freeborn could maneuver his ship. They could pound the alien all week, but its mass would destroy the Churchill if they collided.
Swallowing hard, he watched the ship grow bigger on the screen. He moved to reduce the magnification and realized he was already at the lowest setting. Swallowing hard, he watched, unable to take his eyes away from the looming menace.
Without warning, the collision alarm went off. The repeated pattern of annoying beeping letting every spacer know they were in a bad situation that was about to get worse.
Gripping his armrests, McKenzie gritted his teeth and waited.
“Got It,” Captain Freeborn said as he leaned over his helmsman’s shoulder and pressed a button. Immediately, the gravity adjusted and the ship shook, as every thruster onboard was pushed to the max. He’d gotten control just in time.
Slowly, the Churchill rose as the alien ship on the screen sank beneath them, their laser tearing into the command ship’s underbelly.
Captain Freeborn checked the readings then leaned forward to issue an order. Slowly, the Churchill rolled on its side, keeping its guns focused on the ship passing beneath her.
McKenzie nodded to himself, a good move, he thought. See what can happen when you stay out of the man’s way.
Slowly, the two ships passed each other. Close enough that you could have hit it with a rock, he thought. Only, instead of rocks, they were throwing twenty-four pound steel shot. Surely, they couldn’t last forever under that barrage.
Of course, the Churchill was taking her share of damage as well. The explosions and breaches had exposed her guts to the laser. It really was going to come down to who could last longer.