06.22.03

            Shells struck the ground, throwing dirt and debris skyward. Men shouted back and forth as they fired their rifles. Smoke and ash blocked out the sun, choking the infantry as rocks rained back down on them from the artillery barrage. Fire was blazing in the city behind them, engulfing the buildings in roaring inferno. Citizens fled as quickly as they could. Some had vehicles, others ran with only a bag or two of their personal belongings. Three enemy aerospace bombers roared in, the flames from their emissions barely visible through the acrid smoke. Air whistled through the fins of their bombs as they hit the city once again.

            “Sir!” the comms-man shouted, holding up the mouth and earpiece for the long range radio.

            He snapped out of it, realizing the artillery barrage had ended. Four men were screaming loudly, clutching bloody stumps on their arms or legs. Three were lying silent, and one had disappeared entirely when his foxhole was hit. The ear piece crackled and snapped. Static poured out of it in torrents. He could vaguely hear a voice that faded in and out with the static.

            “-ango five-two –is is ta- one-three –or status –ver?”

            He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and replied “This is tango five-two, say again, over.”

            “Tango –ive-two what is –status, over?”

            Glancing back at the city, he took stock of their situation, hoping that the men he had sent back to help evacuate were still alive.

            “Tango five-two reports three KIA,” he started. One of the wounded men stopped moving, and the medic shook his head. “Scratch that, five K-I-A, three W-I-A. Position holding, over.”

            “Here they come!” shouted one of his machine gunners before letting off a burst with his heavy pulse rifle. Tracer rounds popped over the men, forcing them to the ground.

            “Stevenson! Get your ass down!” he yelled to his machine gunner. “Rogers, Calin spread out, don’t bunch up!”

            “Yes sir!” they shouted, rolling in opposite directions along the sandbag wall.

            “Tango one-three, this is tango five-two, we need aerospace support, over!”

            “-tight tango –two were –sen –their way, over.”

            “Say again, tango one-three, over?

            “Rep- ight- on- ay.”

            Something popped next to his ear and he felt a burning sensation on his face. The odor of charred flesh stung his nostrils and the pain turned into searing agony.

            “Dammit!” he shouted, trying to ignore the pain. “Tango one-three, we cannot read you, say again, over!”

            Static hummed in the receiver.

            “Tango one-three, do you copy, over?”

            More static and sporadic hissing.

            “One-three, respond, over!” He looked over his shoulder at his comms-man. The soldier’s body armor was melted, and smoke rose from his baked flesh. Pulling the dead body from the wall, he laid it face down. The radio sparked and snapped, thick black smoke rising from it in a steady stream.

            He tossed the receiver and headset to the ground and raised his rifle. Even though his communication had been cut, he still remained in control of his men, and had been ordered to hold the defense at all costs.

            “Captain!” yelled one of his lieutenants.

            “What?” he shouted back.

            “The enemy has stopped, and is holding their positions within firing range.”

            The captain ducked and made his way over to the lieutenant. He took out his monoculars and scanned the terrain in front of them. The city was set on a plateau about three hundred feet high. One side rolled back down into a valley, the other side fell five five hundred feet into one of the planet’s vast oceans. Through the smoke, the captain could see broken and burnt out stumps peppering the mouth of the valley. Craters and burned out tanks surrounded their position, reminding them of the enemy’s lethal crossfire.

            The enemy had indeed halted, and was holding his position, firing half heartedly at the captain and his men. A loud roaring sound brought his attention upwards. Lowering his monoculars, he covered his eyes with a grimy hand and looked at the sky. The outlines of two aerospace fighters could be seen moving towards the enemy. Lasers lit up the sky, cutting through their ranks. SRM’s thundered to the ground, blowing bodies and dirt into the air.

            Hearing his men cheer, the captain relaxed a little. Even if this didn’t stop the enemy’s advance, it would slow him while a runner was sent back to HQ. The captain heard scuffling behind him and turned around, raising his rifle.

            “Easy sir,” said a man who was covered in dust and soot. Only the whites of his eyes stood out in contrast with the rest of him.

            “Lieutenant Ashley, you ass, you almost got your nuts shot off!” shouted the captain.

            The both looked to at the muzzle of his rifle, to where it was pointing, and laughed hysterically. Laughing was a rare thing these days, and to have some was precious indeed. Looking at Ashley’s men, the captain’s mirth turned grim. Only twenty-two men were in the trenches from Ashley’s platoon. Four were being held by there comrades and another two were limping badly.

            “The city has been evacuated,” said Ashley. “But it is a bone yard now.”

            The captain nodded, and patted the man’s shoulder. “You did well, lieutenant. Liao will pay a thousand times over for the atrocities they have committed this day.”

            Ashley tightened his grip on the rifle and nodded his head. Small tremors began to reverberate under them, cutting the conversation off. Both men looked over the sandbag wall, the captain grabbed his monoculars and started scanning again. A large beam shot from the wall of smoke and one of the aerospace fighters exploded into a bright orange and black ball. The other banked and disappeared in the direction of the laser. Another flash lit up the smoke screen, and then the tremors continued.

            The young lieutenant next to him began to shake.

            “We’re gonna die. It’s over, were gonna die!” he cried out, dropping his rifle and putting both hands on his helmet.

            Grabbing the boy’s collar, Ashley smacked him with the palm of his hand.

            “What are you?” Ashley yelled.

            “A Ranger,” the boy said out of reflex.

            “Who are you!” screamed Ashley.

            “A Ranger,” the boy said a little louder.

            “Who are you!” Ashley was bellowing now, his face turning red.

            “A Ranger,” the boy yelled.

            “What do you do!”

            “Kill, sir!”

            “Why?”

            “So that my brothers and people will not be, sir!”

            Ashley picked up the boy’s rifle and slammed it into his chest.

            “Do what you have been taught to, Ranger, and let your enemy worry about dying!”

            “Yes sir!” yelled the young man as he took hold of the rifle.

- Authored by:  Gun Monkey