[GZG Fiction] A Bloody Nose

While perhaps not as optimistic as Colonel Baxter, the solid advances on the
southern Martian front do seem to support the view that the tide of war may be
turning, on Mars at least. The long years of terror and deprivation that the
Xenowar has brought to the Sol System may truly be ending. Maybe. How many of
us have forecast wed be home for Christmas, New Year (for whatever calendar
you follow), Mawlid or Qingming?

This war had taken me to many places. Now I found myself sitting in an
assault craft with a section of the OUs elite 3/7. We were bouncing
across the choppy northern waters of the Xonak Dary, its grey waves flecked
with greasy patches of mushy rose and barley coloured ice. My stomach was in
revolt and icy brine crystals were stinging my cheeks. I was finding it hard
to believe that four days ago I was in a firefight in northern Severns and
hadnt seen a body of water larger than my own bowl for more than 6 months. I
had shifted to a new regiment. When I
arrived it was to find the 3/7 had just been tasked with making an
assault by sea on the docks on the south eastern rim of the Severns crater.

The Krak must have had the coastal approaches under surveillance and from the
time we cleared the Asher headland we had come under bombardment. The landing
craft I had been assigned to sped crazily across the waves. The pilot was
throwing it about sharply, dodging through the pluming fountains of
waterspouts kicked up by mortar shells dropping to left and right. The air was
thick with clouds of black acrid smoke.

I staggered against the side of the landing craft as it again veered sharply
to the left, barely avoiding a direct hit. The spout dropped straight on our
heads and drenched me further, it was an absolute deluge. I had thermal bands
around my chest, waist and wrists, but they were only just holding icy
numbness at bay. I could just hear the crackle of machine gun fire and the
bark of small arms. We skimmed past the point of another headland, missing a
submerged rock by a stones throw. The sound of combat was growing louder.

I dialled up the zoom on the feed in my specs, so that I could observe our
approach. A pebbled beach came into view. There was a network of buoys,
breakwaters and piers arranged at the far end. Even with the feed as resolved
as possible, I found it very difficult to pick out much real detail amongst
the sea spray and smoke. The final run in was extremely fast. The engines of
the craft were whining under the strain. The beach raced to meet us and
suddenly there was a terrific grating sound. It jarred even through my
headsets external audio dampers. I thought that the deck was going to be torn
out from under me. Everyone on board lurched forward with the impact. I patted
down my pockets and pouches going through a final quick mental checklist.
Another lurch saw me grab hold of the superstructure and grip hard. Wed hit
barrels of something slung just below waterline in the last few metres to
shore and the stench of its contents was clear even through the filters of my
mask. My nose stung and my eyes had begun to water. This made me unexpectedly
nervous, we hadnt met anything like this before and I was worried wed collided
with something toxic.

I could see on the feed that there we were still about 10 metres from shore.
The surf was kicking around the nose of the landing craft. The pilot was
desperately trying to push us forward, to close the final gap, but to no
avail. There was the screech of incoming shells and two explosions split the
surf about 40m to our right. The water that showered down onto us this time
was mixed with a slurry of sand the colour of pumpkin. That was going to play
merry hell with the rifles and our RT if we didnt get out of here soon.

The landing craft rolled back a bit with the slow roll of the waves and then
surged forward toward the beach again. This time it dug in and held. The
armoured front ramp crashed down onto the beach and we pounded out. I followed
Sergeant Billy Clarke in a sprint up the beach. There were some rocky dunes
where the first scraggily bushes had colonised the head of the beach and we
dropped in behind them.

Krak fire was raking the top of the dune we were sheltering behind, it was
kicking stone chips over my head. The rest of the platoon likewise assaulted
up the beach and dropped into firing positions shy of the crest of the first
dunes. The young corporal to my left already had a trickle of blood pooling in
his eyebrow, where a stone chip had clipped him, his slim line specs not
giving as much protection as my larger
goggle-style ones. It wasnt only his specs that were different, his
uniform contained nano-threads that did a crude form of pattern matching
with the terrain, it wasn't chameleonic by any means, but it did shift
with changing scenery. In place of my half-face covering mask the 3/7
wore small bar-like re-breathers that sat over the jaw, with a skirt
covering the lips, a cap that extended up and covered the nose (sitting nicely
between the lens of their specs) and another pocket that cam down over the
chin. Despite their small size they allowed free verbal communication, though
they all wore throat mikes too, and were true
re-breathers with the circulated gasses shunting in and out of the cheek
bars. They were incredibly robust, Id never seen the bars of one breached,
though I didnt look forward to the day I did as the pressure must be so large
it would ripe the unfortunate victims head clean off.

I was snapped out of my momentary musing by a loud explosion behind us
and the bone-jarring screech of tearing metal. I stayed flat but rolled
on my side looking back down the beach. The last of the assault craft was
peeled back like a banana, lying broadside in the surf. Its windows were
shattered. The propellers on one side were spinning uselessly in the air. The
deck visible above the water line was a tangle of bloody pulp and equipment. I
could see a mutilated arm, still holding a rifle, sticking up at an odd angle
and another body head down into the surf, the lower half of the body caught on
the jagged metal of the splintered ramp. The water sloshing about the wreck
was deep red with pink tendrils spinning away.

Another less damaged assault craft was also stranded, lying inert, tilted and
speared into the pebbles further up the beach. It looked largely intact except
for a gaping hole in its aft section. I could make out the shimmering flick of
orange flame and thick grey smoke was billowing from inside.

> From my vantage point up the beach I could see that there were quite a

The first hurdle was a formidable sea wall, made form concrete and chunks of
pitted saprock. It had originally protected the human inhabitants of Severns
form the large wind driven storms of the Xonak, but the Krak were now using it
as a line of fortification. They had added a nasty bastard wire fence along
the front of the wall and another strand of curled razor wire along its top.
After the wall there was a narrow parkland covered in rows of vicious looking
pronged constructions that reminded me of pictures of ancient caltrops; except
they were enormous, larger than a man is tall, and hung with what I recognised
as Krak motion sensitive heavy mines.

A loud voice cut through the pounding sound and confusion. Two section. Take
the wall! We need off this beach! Clarke was directing the assault on the
first line of Krak defence.

Third section. Follow up. One section, get ready. He said to those of us
immediately around him. Well have to cover them if they cant clear that wire
fast.

I watched with keen interest as the first two squads vaulted the dune and made
their way to the fence. Each section had 2 or 3 human troops, supremely
skilled elites, but the rest of the section were RT robotic troopers. All odd
shapes and angles, they made me think of headless animal skeletons. They
dynamically reconfigured their shape as the terrain required. Most had risen
from prone positions and unfolded on four or more servoed legs with low
mechanical whirs, moving seamlessly with their human squad mates.

Almost immediately fire started to tear up the ground around them.

Wheres that coming form? Clarke bellowed.

We looked about frantically trying to source the fire. I spotted muzzle flash
in the window of a bombed, half destroyed warehouse about 15m past the sea
wall. Top windows of the warehouse, at 10 oclock I called. Immediately rifle
barrels around me swung in that direction and started laying heavy suppressing
fire.

Two section were quickly through the first segment of the wire fences, the RT
slicing through with motorised saws before pushing the diced metal strands to
the sides. One got tangled in a strand that sprang back, wrapping itself
around two of its legs. It wrestled for a moment, before going still and
dropping into a lower power level. One of the human squad members (or
squishies as they called themselves) used bolt cutters to cut it free in a few
seconds and they joined the rest of the squad by the wall.

The RT were also assigned the role of clearing the wire from the top of the
wall. To do this they stretched to stand as tall as the wall balancing on two
or three legs, with the other legs placed against the top of the wall, the
saws extended perpendicularly to snip the razor wire attachments off at the
base. The human squad members were lying back against the walls covering the
RT watchfully. Once the wire was cut the RTs started pushing it back off the
wall or slicing it into smaller sections to clear passages through. They then
leapt over the wall in single easy bounces. Even the squishies cleared the
wall in an easy leap, using their rifle butts to make sure the wall was clear
of any wire before stepping out 3 or 4 steps and running back at the wall and
leaping up. One private hit the top at full sprint, his booted foot pushing
off the rock in a terrific (if somewhat risky) leap, the others twisted in mid
air choosing to go across almost horizontally, landing one hand palm down on
the top of the wall the other still griping their rifle and using the momentum
to propel them clear over the other side. I had largely forgotten the odd
advantages afforded by Martian gravity
as the 2/34 hadnt had much chance to make use of them, beyond the
looping gate everyone tended to use and the more forgiving landings
vehicles could make if they mis-judged a turn or crossing. Seeing the
3/7 bounding around like human fleas drove home to me afresh how skills
are shaped by the conditions.

Two section had cleared the sea wall and was now standing tight against the
nearest warehouse wall. Three section had stayed on this side of the wall,
using it as cover, while the troops around me stepped up their fire.

There was another enormous crash behind me and this time I felt the heat of
the blast roll over me. A new wave of assault craft had reached the beach,
bringing in the other two platoons and the company command. One of the craft
had been straddled by mortar fire and was burning fiercely. It looked like at
least some of those on board had disembarked, diving from a rent in the
underside of the upended vessel and swimming for shore, but there was no hope
for her crew. At first I thought all the RT had been lost too, but they were
too heavy to stay atop the waves and must have walked ashore instead. The
appeared suddenly in the surf, striding through the waves, pushing the dead
body of one of their squad mates out of the way as they strode ashore.

Krak mortar shells continue to whistle overhead, trying to disable more of the
craft pushing on to the beach. Eurie VR fighters were now swarming back the
other way though, firing missiles into the Krak defences beyond the warehouse.
It was rare to see true VR fighters on Mars anymore, the Krak jamming had made
them useless for so long that any aircraft were typically human crewed or
fully autonomous UAVs. However, the Euries had recently managed to make some
inroads on defeating the jams, even this close to Krak held territory.
Moreover I knew the VR pilots werent as far from the battlefield as they would
have been in the last Solar War. These pilots werent tucked up nice and safe
far from the front line but were actually sitting on board a sea going cruiser
just over the horizon. Safer, but not completely immune if the Krak opened up
with some of their longer range missiles or artillery.

Much of this first day with the 3/7 will be indelibly etched on my mind,
but the overpowering memory I have is of the smell. I had a standard military
issue filter mask, Ill skip the excruciatingly boring technical details, but
unlike atmospheric suits it wasnt closed cycle, it drew in the small amount of
breathable air in the atmosphere and effectively filtered and concentrated it.
This meant that the masks filtered most smells and contaminants as standard
operating procedure, which had become even more necessary as the war
undermined the atmospheric components of the terraforming efforts. But the
filters were no match for the obnoxious stench that filled my nostrils and
came to define my
time in combat with the 3/7. I had lived up close with men and women and
the odours of modern warfare, but nothing prepares you for the harsh
artificial stink of ruined RTs. The mangled frames of five or so RTs littered
the beach. Vivid blues, greens and yellows of coolants, lubricants, hydraulic
fluids and other evil smelling liquids oozed from the broken machines,
puddling around them or trickling down through the pebbles to mix with the
turbid water and sand stirred up by the breaking waves. The whole area reeked
with the aroma of spoiled RT. It was stomach turning.

Id been around earlier generations of RTs and seen vision of them in action
against the Krak, but for all that I had not had much exposure to severely
damaged RTs and I found the experience quite unsettling. The worst Id seen
previously were ones disabled by severely bent struts or due to blinded
electronics. In fact in my mind they had seemed fairly indestructible. Whether
as items of industry or in the military it was their unstoppable productivity
that had made them attractive to me, a sensible tool to employ. The Krak
jammers had put a lot of the dumber remote systems at peril and mechanical
logistics had seen them dwindle
amongst long-range patrol groups, like the 2/34. Ironically in
unforgiving environments, in contact with hostile forces, it had proven easier
to supply humans with the basics than power up and maintain the
inanimate long-term.

Looking round quickly I reassured myself that our section was largely
unharmed. I was glad to see we had suffered no casualties and my equilibrium
returned.

Ok one section. Lets get moving Clark said, signalling that we were to clear
the fence and join the other sections of the first wave by the warehouse. Just
as we started to rise a new stream of Krak fire lanced our position. The
Sergeant was up and going though and I rose to follow. I noticed that the
young Corporal who had the firing position to the right hand end of our
harbour hadnt moved, he was still lying prone and intent.

Hey, heads up I yelled through the surrounding noise. As I took another step
forward though and could more clearly see his face I realised his head was
lolling not intently peering down his scope. He was dead, his far temple
missing below where his helmet sat. My heart leapt at the deception, recoiling
I went into a stumbling sprint after Clark. Then the sand and small pebbles by
my feet began jumping, like rain drops on water. I was already tense and now
the adrenaline was surging. With the wind up me I ended up flashing past the
rest of the section, hurling myself over the wall and against the warehouse
with a maniac fixation. All my careful plans to keep a wary eye out for mines
completely forgotten.

Bloody hell Newsman. What the fuck have the 2/34 been doing with you?
They make sure you gotta be fast in the shower or was your mother half jack
rabbit?

Gulping down great lung fulls of air I spluttered out I just hadnt wanted to
hold them up. Calm down Jock, this is just another job, dont get all starry
eyed.

Clark quickly sent two section in to clear the upper windows, to give the
following platoons a better chance of clearing the beach without being cut
down. With that done it was time to push further in land, to secure the main
port buildings by the edge of the Severns crater.

We moved further along the water front warehouses, so that Clark could get a
better look at the ground we would have to cover next. Wed moved about 600m,
with the other platoons slotting in behind and were in cover amongst the lower
stories of the old seafood and shipping supply market. I crept about on my
haunches, squatting, exploring the refuse that remained of the once vibrant
commercial thoroughfare. All the advertising surfaces were dead and cracked,
or completely broken, but there were old containers here and there. The Krak
must have been using the area relatively recently too as I found the odd
discarded or forgotten tube covered in angular alien scripts and a hard
plastic crate that had been abandoned when the bottom gave way.

I was resting against a wall looking over my finds when I noticed what sounded
like a maglev off in the distance. I stopped still, listening, trying to
discern the source, the noise rapidly growing louder. Suddenly a large shell
went screeching over our heads, slamming into a row of silos about 100m away
and destroying them. Great chunks of saprock cement and rebar, as much as 30
or 40cm across started raining down around and on us. I dived for cover into
what turned out to be an overturned garbage skip. Thankfully it hadnt been
full and even what it had contained had long ago petrified. The stale odour
was only just detectable past my masks filters. I didnt dwell on the insect
and vermin inhabitants that my entrance sent scuttling. Rather I lay there
hoping that the sides would hold as large chunks pounded into it, creating
large indentations.

Madly cycling through the tacmaps I zoomed out to a more regional view and
realised the fire was coming in form the cruiser offshore. It was firing its
large shells in an arc that hugged the planets curve tightly. I wasnt sure if
it was being called in on purpose or not, but the closeness of its targets was
doing nothing for my case of nerves. One round even fell on the market itself,
the clanging of shrapnel hitting my refuge was deafening and I was completely
disoriented, only just managing to avoid being crushed as one end of the skip
was suddenly rammed in.

After a couple of minutes the noise ceased and I dared to crawl out and try
and take stock. Miraculously most seemed unhurt, barring the odd scrape or
bruise. The one exception was a private, Ben Hollsworth, from two section. He
was almost completely naked, his uniform in tatters and his exposed skin
covered in small scratches, streaks of blood, and fine red dust. He was
starting to shiver, both from shock and cold and he had the panicked look of
someone who couldnt breath.

Setting down my pack I shook out a foil lined thermal blanket and a half sized
spare mask, which just covered his mouth and must have left his eyes smarting
(I didnt have any spare eye ware). After a huddled conference Sergeant Clarke
came over and informed us that Ben would be staying behind. He gave him
another blanket and some thermal bands for his chest, waist and limbs and a
collection of bandages and other
medi-kit paraphernalia to clean himself up with. Then one of the larger
TRs came up, these were tasked with carrying extra ammunition, power cells and
the like. Clarke detached a shoebox sized black container and handed it to
Ben.

Sit tight and microburst your location in 35 minutes. UAV swing extraction is
likely so try and get those blankets into some semblance of a pair of trousers
by then or things could get nippy.

Ben nodded as he quickly, expertly slapped the thermal bands on and tied one
blanket around his waist sarong style and the other around his shoulders like
a cloak.

As we formed up ready to move on I watched Ben, who was still shaking almost
debilitated by the cold, drop into one of the shell craters and shake out the
contents of the container Clarke had handed him. It was some kind of cloth,
but it was hard to focus on, as the gauzy material was hard to keep your eye
on it kept melting into the background. With a final sharp snap Ben pulled it
over the top of the crater and
disappeared. It was a cloaking field, well-cloaked material at any rate.
Not completely hidden if you knew what should be there or looked really hard,
but light bending enough that it hid Bens shelter exceptionally well,
especially form any rapid visual searches. Flicking my specs to IR he was
invisible on that too, completely shielded. No life signs or power sources
turned up on an EM sweep either. Thats probably why they used a cloth rather
than powered cloak, youd risk a power bleed from even a small cell if you
didnt use passive cloth. This was a very different philosophy from what Id
seen in other patrols where things could slow to a crawl as soon as a few were
injured or encumbered. These guys were intentionally leaving someone behind,
sure he had a planned pick up, but it was a very different style. They didnt
look happy about it, but no one was making a fuss and even Ben had accepted it
without argument.

* * *

The shell strikes had knocked our timeline behind, but they had exposed the
presence of a large minefield to our northwest. Unfortunately it was between
us and our final target on the ridge marking the craters edge. Moreover,
initial probes suggested it stretched a long (or at least inconvenient)
distance in either direction along the coast. There was no choice; we would
have to pick our way through it.

There were three draws we could use to get up on to the ridge, each was
about 150-300m long and salted with Krak mines. The RTs were the first
up the draw, dropping blinking markers over any mines they sensed. There were
three activations before the RTs reached the top. The first two saw the RT
lose a limb or two, continuing on with a reconfigured gate. The last however
saw the triggering RT shredded, its frame metamorphosed into thousands of
lethal shards that scythed through the surrounding area. Fortuitously all the
human troopers were all still at the bottom of the draws, ducked into the
rocky cover and no one was hurt, and the metallic splinters bounced fairly
harmlessly off the metal frames of the other RTs.

When the last RT had reached the zenith the sensors in the draw started
connecting up with small beams of light, which switched and flickered rapidly
between the different nodes in the network. They were painting the ground,
indicating what was safe and what was not. There was a mesh of pale light over
any unsafe ground, while the pathways remained clear dull red earth.

We wound our way to the ridgeline quietly and without incident. A road system
ran along the inside lip of the crater, it was recessed into the side of the
ridgeline so even if we walked erect we were protected from any eyes along the
coast and did not stand out in silhouette for any Krak down in the crater
proper.

About 3km from our current position there was a crossroad with branches
leading down to the water and back into Severns. We started moving along the
edge of the road. It was no easier going than most of the undeveloped terrain
though, as the thawing and refreezing that had come with the more erratic
weather had seen the roadway become pitted and degraded. I guessed the Krak
love of grav meant that a flat road surface wasnt as crucial.

The fine dust of the surface kicked up in gentle puffs with each footfall as
we moved along, coating us ever more thoroughly in a fine rusty red patina. It
was so fine that it felt velvety to the touch of an ungloved hand. I hoped
that it hadnt formed a sufficient dust cloud to drift up above the craters lip
and alert the Krak to our presence.

About 300m from the crossroads we moved back over the ridgeline dropping down
onto a complex of buildings that lined the old main arterial shuttleway to the
port. Clarke told us to get into cover, wed made good
time and were now a little ahead of schedule - by about 20 minutes. Most
of us lay in the narrow gully rents and scrapes that ran down the slope. The
RTs mostly literally dug in, digging straight down and covering themselves
with the fill.

Many of us also took the opportunity to get some food and water in us while
things were relatively quiet. Nothing too much, it wouldn't do to have an
overloaded stomach, just enough to keep the hunger pangs at bay. I didn't
bother to reconstitute the dried blocks of porridge, potato and minced meat.
Instead I crunched into them like biscuits and then washed them down with a
couple of large mouthfuls of water.

Eventually a series of loud cracks jerked my attention back to the buildings
below us. A flight of UAVs had arrived, flying straight up the shuttleway
drawing fire. Every gun along their approach and from further along the coast
opened fire. Great snakes of Krak tracer fire twisted up to greet them,
chasing them towards our hidden position. It was not a one sided affair
however and missiles and bombs streaked across the sky silencing a few of the
Krak positions. As the UAV raced across our position and banked hard to rerun
they were so low I could pick out some of the slogans written on their
undersides. I pondered for a second whether Krak were capable of any of those
anatomical actions or contortions.

This shooting gallery was an amazing spectacle. The UAVs weaved violently as
they raced back out to sea, turning much faster than would have been possible
even if flown by VR. The sleek bodies of the aircraft set again a vibrant
background drawn with a palette of harsh lights. There was a myriad of
flashing luminescence, streaking exchanges and incandescent explosions.

Before the fury of action below us had quietened Clarke signalled we were to
move out, pushing down into the buildings. As we began rapidly descending the
slope I realised that the guns Id seen firing on the UAVs werent all from
fixed emplacements. There were tanks down amongst the buildings. Skilfully
camouflaged they were hard to discern even when they sat in alleyways and
warehouse forecourts. Some were hidden inside shells of ruined buildings. I
was suddenly very glad I was here with a
3/7 foot patrol not a 2/34 vehicle convoy. This scene would have spelt
deadly ambush for the later. They would have presented prime targets if theyd
lumbered into the sites of the giant killers lurking amongst the partially
ruined commercial district.

Id repeatedly heard that elite infantry were the best way of dealing with a
tank force. I hoped fervently that held true on the Krak home worlds too.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a new line of icons appear on the
tac-map. A UNSC grav force, of 12 Samakab heavy grav tanks, was
attacking from the sea. These titanic tanks were named for the giant of a man
who had been the first General Secretary after the signing of the Freisland
Accord, who had signed the UNSC into existence. These monsters were nearly 7m
long, and effectively double hulled. The main body of each tank had great
sloping sides and front plate, bedecked with
hatches, plates, shield emitters, anti-personnel charges as well as area
defence systems. On top of this sat an equally festooned turret that
covered the rear half of the tank and carried the snub-nosed direct fire
fusion gun. A large electronics array sat in a mushroom shaped dome in the
rear corner of the turret, partnered by a long vertically directed antenna.

These tanks are amongst the most lethal atmospheric vehicles in any human
arsenal. Their massive plasma charges are capable of liquefying rock and
metals and even just witnessing a coronal discharge from one of their plasma
arcs is enough to blind unprotected infantry.

The Krak behemoths were no less imposing, but seemed broader, stout and
brutish with hard angles and unaesthetic protrusions. They still had the same
basic plan, undercarriage propulsion, main hull and turret; but they had
augmented side thrusters, bulky hexagonal scattergun plates, a forward mounted
twin barrelled gauss autocannon and an enormous railgun that ran along the
length of the left of the turret and then onward to overhang the length of the
colossus. Lastly there was a pair of forward sensor and deflector mounts that,
to my mind at least, were reminiscent of fangs or tusks.

Most of the Krak crawled form their hiding spots to confront the UNSC, but
they were greater in number and a few also turned their attention our way, now
that our presence was known. Shells rained down on us, with the forward RTs
badly mauled by raking autocannon fire. My first instinct was to go to ground,
find cover, but that would have been a deadly mistake and Clarke had us push
on. The idea was for us to use our agility to stay ahead of the large Krak
tanks cumbersome size. While they could rise above the buildings and swivel
relatively easily in place, this made them prime targets for UNSC plasma
shots. If they stayed low and hidden instead they were constrained by the
scenery hemming them in.

Once we got in amongst the semi-ruined commercial precinct it was much
easier to avoid the Krak tank guns and to get close enough to attempt to place
disabling explosives. It wasnt completely one sided. The small forward mounted
autocannons were deadly, ripping into any infantry they could get into arc;
and the scatterguns could tear through human and RT like. To make the
situation worse, as we crossed a small dry causeway enfilading fire let us
know that there were nests of Krak heavy gunners covering the port end
terminus of the shuttleway. Clarke was just coordinating a counterattack to
neutralise the closest nest when a Samakab efficiently dealt with them by
flying in low over the Krak position and skid turning on top of the weapon
pit, crushing all inside. A lone Krak did crawl free, one arm and both legs
nothing but a gelatinous mass, but a RT quickly dealt with it.

It wasnt long before wed had to resort to mote enhanced viz, with the UNSCs
smoke screens mixing with the omnipresent Martian dust to reduce visibility to
nothing. We climbed through breaches in one rapidly crumbling building only to
have to immediately dive for cover as a Krak sniper used his own sensor suite
to find us amongst the ruddy gloom.

Clarke lead us right, on to a disused urban tube line that was shielded from
the Krak sniper by a row of low, deserted, shops. He quickly conferred with
Elie the only other human trooper remaining in One Section. Elie and an RT
quickly moved off, back around the corner, picking their way forward by a
different route as I followed Clarke and two RT down the tube line. I heard
the crack of another Krak slug and the RT that was about a meter away and to
the right behind me
mis-stepped one of its limbs now a shattered mess. Clarke and I picked
up our pace and rolled into cover in the remnants of a haberdasher. Faded
signs proclaimed exotic linens and the finest silks at never to be repeated
prices. Clarke sat against the rock partition searching his scanner screen for
sign of the sniper.

Suddenly he tapped his throat mike twice and ordered an RT to step out into
the tube line as he turned and knelt bringing his rifle up to his shoulder.
There was the crack of a Krak sniper round, the spark of a ricochet bouncing
off the RT and the simultaneous bark of answering rifle fire.

Kilo Sierra Tango Uniform. Over. Elie reported quietly

Roger. Rendezvous at 5-7-Lima-Delta-Juliette-5-6-0-1-6-3-9-8-7-6 ASAP.
Over.

Copy.

The sniper had been dealt with.

* * *

Much of the next hour was spent in a game of cat and mouse as we tried to hunt
down the tanks while avoiding our own demise. Despite staying within sight of
Clarke or Elie the entire time, I felt supremely isolated and disoriented, it
wasnt like any combat Id ever participated in before.

Confirm tango at 5-7-Lima-Delta-Juliette-5-8-2-5-0-3-8-6-0-1. Over.

Clarke was once again conversing with the remote designators, who
painted new targets on the platoon tac-maps.

Wilco. Clear.

He spent a couple of minutes feverishly mumbling to himself, his eyes
flickering furiously as if possessed. Then he snapped his attention back to
us.

Weve got a new tango, 11oclock, 100 metres.

We moved cautiously along yet another line of deserted shops. Clarke motioned
us to a stop just before the corner. Down on one knee he quickly indicated how
we would make the final approach. He was interrupted however, by the rushing
roar of an incoming rocket and a loud tearing BOOM. The dust shrouding the
road beyond the corner momentarily burned brighter, then settled back to a
crackling flicker; throwing the edges of the buildings into stark contrast.

Clarke was suddenly intent on a voice in his ear.

Copy. Will confirm tango uniform of all kilo in vicinity. Over.

I cautiously followed Clarke toward our quarry only to be met with a scene of
utter confusion. The Krak tank had a gaping hole ripped in its side, I could
see arcing electronics in the interior. Krak equipment was tumbling out across
the ground, most of it twisted or broken. One torn body could be seen inside
the hull, parts of another scattered in the debris.

Clarke and Elie approached slowly, checking around rifle first, but the RTs
crawled over the tank like insects on a carcass. One RT seemed to fall apart,
shedding smaller bots, which swarmed inside, soaking up data for later
analysis.

By this point the UNSC had disabled or destroyed at least 13 Krak tanks
and the 3/7 had disposed of another 9. We moved away from the wrecked
Krak tank into the lee of a partially destroyed wall. Elie and I took a
moments rest while Clarke took sitreps from the other platoons. I sat
watching the small icons duel on the tac-map, almost like AI-controlled
pieces in a chess game. I noted that one Krak tank was marked as being at the
other end of the road that we were beside, largely pointed in our direction.
It was an even chance they knew we were there. There was a lot of electronic
jousting going on and the DFFGs were causing severe electromagnetic flares,
which sent many sensors screaming. Most of us had muted the proximity alerts
soon after moving down into the shuttleway, as they were in a permanent state
of agitation. I could only
assume any Krak equivalent would be likewise sub-optimal in these
conditions.

A new target marker flared into life in the tac-map and we moved back
along the wall, away from the Krak tanks (ruined and lurking). Clarke was on
comms confirming the kill and getting details on the new mark when a whining
shriek marked the passage of an incandescent railgun slug passed the shattered
nose of the tank. It hit the rising slope of the road and ploughed into the
front edifice of a building a block up the road. Clarke dropped into a crouch
in place, while Elie took cover behind the remains of a retaining wall. I
ducked, artfully lost my footing and slid sideways and toppled into an exposed
shuttle rail recess ending up lying wedged between the metallic rail and the
rough rock surface of the recess. Really outshining yourself today Jock!

My bunker like position didnt seem quite so stupid when a series of Krak
mortars dropped one after the other along the road and the entire area was
swept by wickedly chattering autocannon fire. Lying in place I switched the
view in my specs to that of one of the RTs. The air was thicker (if possible)
with dust and smoke and there was an almost continuous din of Krak autocannons
and the answering BRRRRP of OU weaponry. Jumping between RT views and then the
spotty mote cover I scanned the immediate area trying to judge if it were safe
to stay where I was or if I needed to move. Incredibly, despite the fact I had
direct evidence of weapons fire tearing up the ground just above my refuge and
Clarke and Elies icons were still clearly marked on my tac-map  I
couldnt actually see a single living soul. A few RTs could be seen in this or
that feed from the 4 blocks around me, but even they were fairly judicious
about minimising their exposure to terminal fire.

Newsman. Krak foot patrol is between us. Keep your head down. Were on the
move. Will guide you in for safe hook up. Said a quiet voice in my ear.

Copy. Over. I whispered in return. Instantaneously my gut was a knot of nerves
and I could feel sweat leaking down the sides of my face and across my chest
leaving cool sticky trails.

A different voice took over then. One that was more relaxed and cocky, most
likely from a remote observer who wasnt under immediate threat of being
overheard. Krak jamming meant he couldnt have been too far away, most likely
on the cruiser just out to sea.

Ok Dorothy just follow the yellow brick road home to Mama. Part of me
internally revolted at the inaccuracies in that statement, while the greatest
part of me tensed to follow the flashing yellow line of electronic breadcrumbs
that had just materialised in my specs.

I rolled over on to my stomach and started to crawl along beside the rail
line. Trying to keep my body low, below the level of the recess. Small
explosions continued to tear up the road surface above me and there was a
continuous rain of small chunks of rock and clods of clay. After about 175m I
reached the end of the exposed line. I would have to move back up on the roads
and lanes of the commercial district. The mortars had quietened, or at least
moved to new targets, but I could still hear the crackling of small arms. Just
as I rose a line of indigo tracer rounds ricocheted off the road close by me
and I quailed, slipping back down into the rough cut depression that held the
rail line. I knew if I tarried much loner though sooner or later a burst (or
worse) would get me, I had to move.

Going into a crouch, like on starters blocks I took a deep breath and then
launched myself up and forward, leaping up out of the recess in one step and
sprinting off across the road. I focused solely on following the yellow dotted
line superimposed on my view. I could see almost nothing for the dust and
smoke, except the slicing trails of tracers, but I could hear the constant
BRRRP of fire and the buzz and crack of bullets and slugs that had barely
missed me.

Four figures abruptly materialised out of the murk in front of me, moving away
along the road. My skin froze and I dodged into doorway, heart bursting. Shit!
Those ropey tendrils and ribbed armour didnt belong to the OU. I was
exceptionally glad theyd been trotting away from me.

I was still gathering myself when a store of something, chemicals or other
flammable materials exploded in the block of buildings diagonally across from
me. There was a terrific WHOOSH and a flare of liquid flame shot high into the
thin atmosphere above, its blazing glare obvious even through the vision
defeating banks of smoke and dust. I was convinced the extra illumination of
the spreading fire would make my exposed position even more untenable.
Doubling back along the shop fronts, I pounded along the street and skidded
around the corner, trying and get back on course. This street was in no better
condition than the last. Great gouges and pock marks from mortar strikes and
heavy weapons fire had made its surface treacherous, as I continued to sprint
from one thin piece of cover to the next. I got an image of the place as a
mercantile graveyard and no matter how I tried to draw in my focus I couldnt
shake
the depressive feeling the image left on my sub-conscious.

My breath was coming in stabbing gasps now. It looked like I was close to my
end point however, no new yellow dashes appeared as my churning legs ate up
the closest ones in my view. Tracers skipped off the footpath beside me as I
hit the final path marker. Unsure of my next move I needed to find cover until
I got further direction. I spotted an
old trolley collection point, one of the solid-based ones that were used
to recharge the fancier hover trolleys. I hurled myself into it at full
stretch and was very nearly bounced out again as I landed on the strongly
protesting and massively muscular back of Artie Wirrpanda.

Fuck me Newsman. I nearly ripped your head orf!

Sorry. Krak- foot- ahead- probably- I- ducked- back- I gasped out, chest
heaving.

Yeah. Theyd be the fuckers firing on us.

I gave a frantic glance about our shelter, which was now over full with the
combined bodies of myself, Artie and an RT covering the rear he must have
recognised me even if Artie hadnt or Id be dead.

At that moment the RT unfolded itself and skittered out into the roadway,
staying below the lip of our shelter all I could see of it was a thick, black,
squat antenna poking up about 6cm above the rim. Artie must have directed it
to vacate our position as moments later he spoke to me again.

Get your arse down that end and keep your eyes peeled for any fuckers sneakin
up that way.

Krak slugs spattered the walls of the trolley station, most bouncing away to
smack into the road and footpath around us. Artie would periodically pop up
and fire a burst off into the dust, relying on the virtual images in his sites
I was convinced he couldnt see a thing for real. I hugged the ground, largely
relying on sensor feeds to monitor this end of the road. I occasionally poked
my head up so my eyes just cleared the rim, but while it was mildly reassuring
to be eyes on it was futile as the dust was universally pervasive.

There was a fairly continuous stream of chatter by the platoon, keeping each
other appraised of the situation, with subtleties that were beyond the
visualisations provided electronically. A flash like lightning lit the scene
casting harsh shadows in the nooks around me and I got the
greasy tingly feeling of a high-energy electrical discharge. My first
thought was that we must have gotten to close to the discharge of one of the
UNSC DFFGs. Before I could pose the question however, alarms suddenly cut
across the comms, shrieking the approach of a pressure wave. Artie and I both
curled as low as we could. Heads tucked down and legs up against the gut like
a foetus. Nevertheless as the wave rolled over us it still felt like a giant
hand tried to use us to burrow into the saprock foundations. My ears were
ringing, the comms squealed with static and then came back in fits and starts.
The maps had dropped in resolution back to the barest of mud maps. We were
almost blind.

I could hear Artie desperately trying to get a smooth reconnect with platoon
comms. Risking a peek over the lip of our shelter I could see the RT whirring
slowly back into life, small lights flashing in sequence, shutting off and
restarting again. I doubted whether all its electronics had survived, but
hopefully enough had. I opened my mouth to tell Artie about the RT, but the
words died; cut off by a WHOMP and the world quaked again. More rocks, clods,
concrete and metal shards came pelting down on us. Risking yet another look,
there was a new crater in the road and the RT was gone. I briefly wondered how
the troops in the opening days of the Krak invasion had withstood this mind
shattering experience for weeks on end.

I jumped as Artie touched my arm.

Sarge says motes are out. Main comms are down and hes pinned by heavy fire one
block down and another across.

How? I hadnt heard anything and the comms were so broken I was surprised, and
a little incredulous, that such a coherent message could have gotten through
so rapidly.

We have our means. Deep embedded, short burst, but too energy hungry to
use except in an emergency. We need to get some old fashion face-to-face
happening.

Let me guess I hazarded.

Yep, were putting your speedily little legs to good use Newsman. Ill get the 4
guys west of us, you get the 3 east. He pointed out their approximate
positions on a map that blanked out spasmodically on a
semi-opaque flexi-sheet he held between us. I jotted down the locations
on my own map, a page Id torn from an old street directory Id found in
the mess back at the 3/7 launch point. Id intended to keep it as colour
for the piece. It was at least 60 years old, if not older. The basic street
layout was correct, as were the position of a couple of the most dominant
buildings, but a lot had changed. I hoped it would do as my
flexi-sheet was caught in an eternal boot cycle.

We meet up here Artie said stabbing his gloved finger at a point on the
northern end of the big building on the other side of the road, his map image
dying completely.

I nodded marking the spot on my street map with my charcoal crayon.

And I thought you were dumb arse lame doing those artsy sketches. Youre going
to be the only fuckin one of us who knows whats going on soon. Artie
commented. I tried to smile.

We both rose into a crouch; heads down, but with backs exposed. Catching my
eye he counted down from three on his fingers and then we both leapt up and
raced away.

Repeating the punctuated sprints that had gotten me to Artie, I made my way
around to the warehouse and climbed in through a ragged hole in the wall. From
there it was a matter of creeping hand over hand through the
over turned packing cases and half-destroyed internal walls. The spilt
contents of the Krak storehouse were intriguing but I had not time to stop and
investigate.

I found the first two soldiers relatively easily, but the third was tricker
due in part to the inaccuracies of my old map and the fact shed moved to avoid
being shredded by autocannon fire. The hail of large slugs was eroding the
eastern most wall of the building, making that whole side of the building sway
precariously.

None of them looked surprised to see me and I could only guess that they had
been privy to the same comms burst as Artie.

We crunched our way forward to Clarke as stealthily as possible, staying to
the shadows and moving in short coordinated relays. We reached a large open
area, it was probably a delivery or display area. It was largely empty now,
machinery neatly parked to the sides. Holes had been punched in the roof by
shells, mortars or plasma fire and fragments of roofing sheet littered the
concreted surface, highlighted in the pale light penetrating the holes above.

I spotted Clarke on the far side, lying flat to the floor behind a v of large
crates. The fire on his position was so intense it would have been a lethal
impossibility for him to lift his head. One of the others, Vida Johnson,
spotted Artie and three others who had approached from the western side. They
were halted in shadows half way round the clear space, figuring out how best
to extricate Clarke rather than join him. Tossing a short life flare Vida got
Arties attention and patting her head called him over to her Artie had the
rank, but we had the superior physical position which meant it was more
sensible for Artie to join us
than the other way round (the 3/7 were pragmatic rather than regimental
about such things).

You got Sarges directions? Artie said as his group dropped in around us,
spreading themselves amongst the crates along the edge of the space.

Yep. How many RTs did you find?

I got 2 up via touch command, they should make their move in 7 minutes.
Arties said checking an old hand-wound nurses watch he had hanging on a
silver chain around his neck. He dropped it back inside the neck of his chest
armour.

I got 1 functional and Zel got one going too. Rest were KIA. Kerry got one
bootable, but its legs were still fucked.

Four will have to do. If we can get some cover fire in we should be able to
get Sarge out before they do their end run.

Whats the ammo like?

Couple of magazines each after the realloc. Petes fastest, his ready to go tag
Sarge.

Actually Newsman is fastest.

Seriously?!

Yep. Bona fide speedy Gonzalez and besides that way we keep up max fire for
the extraction.

It felt a little weird to be spoken about as if I wasnt right there.

Ok.

Hey Newsman. We need for you to get the Sarge. Well cover.

Yep ok. I said picking my way down between two crates that opened out onto the
flat of the open ground.

I braced my arms against the crates and rocked back ready to push forward

Go! Go! Go! Artie roared and I shot forward, the BRRRRP of rifle fire flying
overhead.

I sprinted as if my life depended on it, which I suppose it did. Krak slugs
cracked past my head and OU fire spat overhead.

I dove in beside Clarke, who rolled arm raised. Realising who it was he looked
at me in astonishment.

Better- meet- point- back- there-  I pointed to where the stuttering
spurts of muzzle flashes from the OU soldiers lit up the loading docks.

Clarke nodded and we both scrambled to our feet. We nodded at each other and
then raced back at a flat sprint. Krak fire buzzing and cracking around us
almost continuously.

Back with the main body Clarke quickly started filling in his picture of
the situation. There was one tank at the T-junction at the northern end
of the road to the east of our position. There were also at least the
equivalent of three squads of Krak in positions in the upper floors of the
buildings to the north of us, both west and east of the road. They had good
firing positions and would be hard to dislodge short of bringing the buildings
down. Comms were effectively out and he didnt know how the rest of the company
was placed, but given that we were a mix of two platoons and most RTs were
less than fully functional the situation probably wasnt rosey overall.

As of last good feed I was the most northerly squishy. Clarke said There were
a section of RTs on overwatch in the northern outskirts, but we cant guarantee
theyre functional so treat anywhere north of her as
hostile. We withdraw to the coast for pick-up, collecting any wet ware
we can find on the way. Hopefully the rest will have also figured the jigs up
and go for the default pull out too. I reckon thats a safe bet. Its scorchin
north so youd have to be a fuck knuckle to try and push through that.

Turning to me he pulled out a strange looking handgun. It was about half the
length of an OU rifle, but about twice as thick. He handed it to me, grip
first.

I picked this up on my travels. Best as I can tell you point and click, same
as with ours.

Thanks. I swallowed, as I took the bulky piece from him. I was shocked
to find a curled Krak claw-like finger still clamped to the pistol grip
around the trigger. I glanced back at Clarke, but his attention had moved on.
I prised the finger off and threw it into the shadows amongst the crates. Even
through the gloves I could feel the revoltingly sticky sensation associated
with whatever substances still adhered to the stock. I tried to ignore it.

We were to move out as a cohesive group, but were effectively tasked in pairs.
Given the incredibly poor visibility and lack of comms and sensors it was
likely the bigger group was going to become hopelessly separated quite
quickly. I was paired with Artie again.

We would be one of the first pairs to head out, the others providing cover. As
a group we moved back through the warehouse, intending to exit at the southern
end. We reached the far end without incident. We had to devite a but, as the
collapse of the upper floors had blocked off the hole in the southern wall. In
the end we were forced to exit via large heavy doors on the south eastern
corner which opened on to the same road the Krak lined to the north.

Vida and Kerry were the first to re-enter the dangerous arena of the
roadways. They quickly disappeared into the dust, as the rest laid fire north
along the road. Next Artie and I paused by the doorway. Artie looked to me and
nodded. I nodded in response and we slid out with our backs against the wall,
preparing to run. Almost immediately a burst of fire danced down the edge of
the footpath in front of us and those inside, as well as Artie, sent an
answering hail back along the road. I also fired blindly at what I perceived
as shadowy forms flitting about in the murky distance. It was probably an
ineffectual gesture. It did however, give me a feel for the powerful weapon,
which whined as it charged and then jolted solidly as the slug was released. I
doubted Id be a particularly accurate shot with it, but at least it hadnt
broken my hand or anything with the effort.

I didnt wait for the torrent of fire passing over my head to slow before
clapping Artie on the arm and yelling

Im off.

Artie ceased firing, turning and joining me.

We kept on a fairly straight path, keeping fairly close to the wall for cover;
really only varying the route to navigate around any large craters or other
holes that had been dug in the footpath. After a few minutes we reached an
intersection, where the road joined the main shuttleway. We turned on to the
main road, heading straight for the port. Suddenly there was a terrific
booming THUD and I felt myself launched bodily into the air. I hit the ground
hard, caught in the sternum by the concreted edge of a street drain and slid
down into a culvert that had been unroofed by the blast. I was unconscious by
the time I came to rest.

* * *

Groaning I clawed my way back to consciousness. I didnt know how long Id been
knocked out or what had happened to Artie. I pushed myself up into
a press-up and then rolled over on my shoulder, lying on my back to
survey for any wounds. My left foot felt swollen in its boot, but a tentative
tap and then stomp indicated that the bracing in the boot would hold me. When
I circled my ankle I had to acknowledge that it would be tender though. I
hoped I wouldnt have too many more flat sprints ahead of me. My biggest
concern however was my left hand. It looked as if it had been dipped in a tin
of red paint, a chunk of tissue missing from the meat of my hand between the
thumb and first finger. I knew I wasnt going to die, but it still looked
disconcertingly unpleasant. Strangely it didnt seem to hurt all that much. I
also suspected that I had concussion as any sudden movement made my head spin
and I had to fight to keep conscious when I tried to sit up, fainting twice.

I rolled on to my stomach ponderously, pulling my limbs under me again,
preparing to push up again. I tried to get my legs under me and head
towards the port once more. Out of nowhere a ham-sized hand grabbed the
kit straps over my shoulder lifted me up out of the culvert and on to my feet.

Come on Newsman. Artie said guiding me forward, restarting our perilous
journey. Blood coated his upper arm and was discernible through his
cracked specs. The nose cap of his re-breather was partially crushed. It
too was brimming with blood, his nose obviously broken. His breathing and
speech had an eerie whistle to it and I wondered how long itd be before the
low oxygen levels would disable him. We continued our staccato progress along
the road, from one section of shop fronts and doorways to the next. We were
going more slowly now, but still maintained a steady pace.

Pausing in the damaged shop front of what had once been a small machinery
mechanic, the nanoreplicator still dominating the main body of one wall, we
had a swallow of water and tended to our wounds. Artie griped my hand looking
it over. He dug in his hand and pulled out a small box of wipes.

Sorry, its all Ive got. I had to use the medkit on Ben.

Actually I have a fair number of supplies left. I replied, digging in the
pouches on my thighs and pulling out padding to stuff the wound and a flexible
false skin glove I could slip over my combat glove.

Now what about you?

Scratches mostly Artie assured me, but he winced even as he spoke. He
spat out his re-breather to inspect it and that simple movement made it
clear the lacerations were fairly deep. One in particular, which began by the
corner of his mouth and cut across 3cm of his cheek, was shaped like a toppled
L or inverted V. It was deep and gaped, sitting open like another set of lips.

Well let me clean them up a bit while you sort you mask. I offered, pulling
out a tube of pain killing salve. I wiped the skin clean and rubbed the salve
into the deep chocolate skin of his cheek. Then I patched the cut, as best I
could. I pulled it shut with a couple of sots of contact cement and covered it
with a temporary skin seal. Luckily it hadn't penetrated all the way through
the flesh of his cheek into his mouth.

When I was done he fingered the nose cap of mask, which disintegrated. Sighing
with both aggravation and resignation he pulled what looked like a combined
nose clip and nostril plugs out of his pack. He grimaced awfully as he snapped
the clip over his already badly abused nose; and while the patchwork I had
done on his cheek sat quite snuggly under the
rest of his re-breather, it must have been quite painful to have the bar
sitting against the wound.

This will have to do he said irritably, and quite nasally. Bloody stupid
little things, but better than nothing. Lets have a look at that map of yours.

I pulled the increasing rumpled piece of paper from a pocket in my vest. I
tried flattening it against my thigh, but with only partial success.

Were here I think. Artie said Thats the culvert I found you in.

Yep and theres that set of stairs we went down.

This set of tunnels is the most direct route to the port, but its likely their
integrity has been breached so well need to stay on the surface.

I didnt like that conclusion, but it seemed inescapable.

Before we get to the main pier well need to cut back west to the marina,
theyll have a better chance of pick up off the breakwater or that beach. At
least thats what they said this morning.

Ok.

We moved back into the road and headed for the port.

A few blocks down we turned a corner to find the rubble of a collapsed
building spread across the road. In amongst the rubble was the twisted body of
a Samakab tank. The front end was crushed, the barrel was bent double and the
top had been peeled back, a shredded body inside exposed. A gaping hole was

drilled right through the upper body. Artie and I saw the weakly moving body
lying half buried in the rubble at about the same time and moved towards it.
We approached cautiously; we didnt want to be baited into a Krak trap too
enthusiastically. As we got closer we realised the person was groaning and
crying out. With no tools to hand we began clawing at the debris. Artie and I
coordinated our efforts to lift away oddly angled bits of metal and a slab of
prefab that was caught between two great blocks of concrete and cantilevered
over the body.

After a good deal of heaving, panting and grunted expletives we managed to get
the man free. I wanted to check him over, but not in the street that could be
ankle deep in Krak any minute. I had no doubt Artie could have slung him over
his shoulder with relative ease, but even without a serious examination it was
apparent that the man was in such a state that less than careful handling
would have been madness.

I slipped my pack off and began wrestling with it to reconfigure it as a
lightweight field stretcher. We lifted the quietly groaning man gently onto
the stretcher. With Artie in the lead we carried him a little way down the
road until we found a building we could force the door on.

Once we were safely inside I quickly began assessing his status. Wiping away
the coating of red dust I could see his cheeks were ashen and turning grey.
His legs were broken and his right arm was jelly like, all the bones crushed
in the horrendous impact. Miraculously he was still conscious.

Transporting him would slow us down considerably, but he stood a chance,
albeit a slim one, and so it would be wrong to leave him behind. We all knew
what Krak did to the dead and dying.

Thankfully Artie agreed that we couldnt leave him behind and so we continued
on, moving in a shuffling run to minimise jarring. Our progress felt painfully
slow, but we managed to reach the breakwater and then the beach without
contacting any more Krak or running foul of any more shelling. The entire area
was growing still, the battle done for now.

We were challenged as we lowered the stretcher down the craggy side of the
breakwater. It was Kerry who was sheltering nearby with Vida in the entrance
of subway transit tunnel. Clarke and Madson where there too, as were three
members of third platoon, who had withdrawn to the beach, as Clarke had
rightly guessed. Despite our many delays wed still beat Pete and a few others
back.

With a boat load now congregated Clarke risked a microburst request for pick
up. It was a long 45 minutes until Vidas sharp eyes picked out the swirling
turbulence of a surfacing transport sub. It was one of the fully autonomous
subs that had been developed for use on the ocean worlds of the outer solar
system and inner colonies. There was no particular reason I could see that the
military had gone with this design over the equally robust subs that scuttled
about in the depths of the Terran oceans. No doubt there was a political tale
to tell in there somewhere. It was however roomier, though less lavish, than
the tourist transports used to shuttle people to ocean floor hotels back on
Earth. Nevertheless, it was still fairly cramped once all ten of us were
aboard, the wounded UNSC trooper laid out on the small amount of clear floor
space. Clarke had quickly settled himself by the communications panel and was
having a rapid conversation with someone at the far end.

As the hatch sealed overhead and the sensors indicating that we were moving
back out to sea, I briefly wondered why we hadnt been picked up
by surface ship or grav-air as first planned. I guessed it might
indicate the area was still too hotly contested to use those more
straightforward options.

After the nerve jarring start to the day I fully anticipated wed hit
some further gut-wrenching hurdle, underwater mines perhaps. Hence it
was rather anti-climatic, though a thorough relief, to arrive back at
the cruiser unhindered. The odd sharp course correction mid-transit the
only activity of nervous note. The quiet gave me time to think about the day,
to try to get it in some semblance of order so I could get it all
down later. If I had to sum up my first day with the 3/7 it would be as
the extra whos whole role was to scuttle about frantically like a terrified
ant dodging the lethal blows of invisible alien giants wielding very large and
heavy sledge hammers. Not exactly poetry, but a pretty good description of the
bewildering fear and confusion Id felt for the majority of the day. I had
another moments doubt over Colonel Baxters recommendation, but decided it
would be pointless to dwell upon it.

* * *

It was again a bit of a challenge lifting the wounded UNSC soldier out of the
sub and onto the boarding lift. I had expected to arrive in some diving pool
deep in the bowels of the cruiser. Instead it was a rather unglamorous pontoon
that bounced beside the cruiser and lifted us up the side until we were even
with the deck. Rather than being stowed on board it seemed the little subs
circled the cruiser like chicks around a hen. Conveniently doubling as decoys,
sensor platforms and defensive weaponry.

The cruiser had a fairly small crew, less than 50 in total, and all seem
completely subsumed in the frenetic activity of running the largely automated
ship at full alert. Despite the throbbing of my ankle and the leaden weight of
my arms, Artie and I opted to carry the wounded man to the sick bay, down
below decks. As we moved through the tight corridors I tried talking to the
man but got no response, I hoped he wasnt completely beyond help.

When we reached the sick bay it was already quite full. A large number of
casualties either sat or lay on the beds and floor. The single harried orderly
indicated we should deposit our man on a bed by the wall, shooing three other
less wounded men off on to the floor. Artie and I lingered wondering whether
we should get our own wounds tended to here and how long it would take for
someone to check on the dying man. We didnt have to wait long however, as a
doctor soon emerged and announced that

If youre conscious, not bleeding out and can move at anything beyond a crawl
then get yourselves back up to the deck. Well be in a friendly
port with a full med-station in under a couple of hours. This sick bay
is now for the critically ill only.

Artie looked at me and shrugged and we joined the crush to leave the sick bay
and get back top side. When we were finally got up on deck Artie led me over
to where first platoon had gathered. Kerry pointed out the bloody state of the
backs of my legs and asked why it looked like I had a boxing glove in place of
a hand. I shrugged off the question about my hand as I twisted around to look
at my calves. As if seeing it somehow made it real, all of a sudden everything
hurt.

Here lets get a look at that Vida said skidding forward on her backside to sit
one leg either side of me. Nasty. Doesnt look like you've got any bone dame,
but wed best get that cleaned up before you get some kind of metal poisoning.

With nothing better to do for the next two or more hours I stood, with dropped
trousers, on the deck of a cruiser crossing the freezing waters of Mars, as
Vida gouged bits of metal out of my legs with the medical tweezers the latest
in medieval torture devices. Kerry and Artie tried to create a screen between
them, less to save my modesty and more to cut out the cold, but it was still
freezing. By the time the procedure was over I was in aching pain, stomping to
try and warm by legs and feet.

It was another hour to shore and then another hour of debrief before we
could finally get some rest. It had been a mixed day for the 3/7. Theyd
neutralised the Kraks industrial precincts along the cost and softened up the
south eastern side of Severns for a concerted large scale human assault. In
addition, of the 33 men and women who made up the company of elite soldiers 26
had actually made it out. Ben Hollsworth had been the first to be extracted,
soon after wed left him, and then the rest of us had pulled out soon after
comms had been lost. Wed been amongst the last off the beach. As a
counterpoint to these achievements all RT had been lost. While that was what
they were really there for, to be low cost (emotionally at least) casualties
it was still a blow. They werent too hard to maintain or replace while you
were connected to functional lines of supply, but they werent the cheapest of
kit. Based on a few of the
muttered comments of the 3/7 it also appeared that the RTs AI did
develop some level of individual personality, or at least idiosyncrasies, and
their loss led to muted sadness. Although Elie tried covering it with a dry
proclamation that Now Ill have to break in another troop of the fuckers. It
took me weeks to house train the last lot. They wont know how to serve my beer
just so for at least a week

* * *

I was fast getting a sense of how unique the 3/7 were. They were elites
which marked them out as different to any one Id ridden with long term before
but they were of a kind I hadnt heard much about previously. They were very
different from the completely independent forces that could be inserted and
then left to their own devices. Those came in two major flavours, at one
extreme there were the fully cybernetically enhanced and at the other the
standard human (at least mostly human) chicken strangler who wasnt really that
much different to the generations of special forces soldiers that had existed
for centuries.
Instead the 3/7 was like a special assault force, well fed by logistics
and used for short range, short term nut cracking. This facilitated the best
use of the high ratio of robotics to humans without running foul of supply
lines and continuous power needs.

This was a topic that had fascinated me since my first degree course, in
mechanical neotechsophia which was a fancy name invented some time in the late
21st century for the study of the history of technology post 1970. My eldest
brother had done advanced techtronics and I had intended to do the same. That
was until the very attractive blonde in line in front of me said she was
registered for history.

What a coincidence! Im down for history too

Didnt you say you were a tech major? asked the red head who Id been chatting
to earlier. She was registered for stellar navigation.

I did. I mean I am. Im- ahh- Im doing both!

Both? they asked in unison and I might add with a heavy dose of suspicion.

I tried to look hurt, as if it was not complete improvisation. Yeah. the
history of technology you know back when they had separate screens and shit
all the way through to now.

I hadnt ended up getting either girl. Fortunately, the actual course hadnt
been as bad as I might have expected and in the end Id seen in through to
masters level. I guess I should be more embarrassed about it than I am. Id
worked damn hard to get the chance to a have a free pick not a mandated
assignment and in the end Id let my libido make the decision. I dont actually
regret it though as it set me on the path to my current career. Funny how
things worked out.

One of the most interesting facets of the course had been the section on early
speculation about what robotics would mean for the restructuring of society.
From the advent of industrial scale robotics there had been conjecture about
the degree to which automation would replace or displace human labour and
skills. Many commentators had seen no place for humans in any repetitive or
dangerous roles whether the mindless drudgery of a production line,
subterranean or submarine mining or the icy lethality of deep space. This same
speculative logic had lead to the assumption that mankind would be completely
and forever removed form the battlefield, at least for conventional forces. As
we know history proved them all half right.

Quite a list of people have been attributed with saying No plan survives
contact with the enemy, but it was actually Helmuth Graf von Moltke, who was
born before modern robotic soldiers were a twinkle in any early engineers
eyes. Nevertheless he was as spot on there as anywhere. From their earliest
deployment robotic soldiers did mean less casualties, a more calculated
exposure to risk. However, as was so tragically proven during the Seige of
Caulcot Downs, during the First Solar War, when supply lines were broken the
robots eventually follow. Surprisingly, at least to those at the time, the
bots succumbed before the humans did. In the right circumstances bots could
last a long time, in times of war some times as long as the exhausted or
wounded, but eventually another long ago statement proves its ongoing
validity. In 1965 a researcher at
the national pre-stellar space agency NASA stated Man is the lowest-cost
non-linear, all-purpose system which can be mass produced by unskilled
labour. This remains as true now as it did then, despite the exponential
increases in all technologies since. There are certainly many fully automated
defence systems, particularly among the space fleets, but where logistics
proves difficult humans, of one kind or another, still make up a sizeable
proportion of the ground forces. They might be star grunts now, but they are
still grunts.

Consequently, in an age where virtual reality, nanomechanics, fusion power,
faster than light, genetic modification, longevity extension, cybernetic
enhancement, full automation of all but the poorest dwellings
are common place a mixed unit like the 3/7 stands out as unusual. As
Clarke called an end to the evening I hoped I continue to get the opportunity
to learn more about them.

* * *

Our camp was in a quick erect hall, pre-fabricated on site from Martian
materials in the last couple of days. It was solid enough, but still pretty
cold. The ground was too hard here to dig far into it so sangers were built
around the barracks using rocks placed one upon another. Clarke informed me
that, despite the fact we were behind human lines on the map, there were still
the odd Krak sniper in the area and that movement outside camp, night or day,
could still prove pretty lethal.

So any call of nature had better be answered best you can, but with keen eyes
on. Understand?

I nodded. It frustrated me a little that they were treating me as if Id never
done this before, but I also knew that from their perspective it paid for them
to be cautious. They had at least taken me on. I guess Colonel Baxters word
meant as much here as elsewhere.

With the immediate threats of danger gone I had again slumped with fatigue. It
felt like this was becoming a habit. I was dragging with monumental tiredness
and didnt even think I could upload my logs for the day. Although I knew I had
to. So I economised in other ways and just climbed into my sleeping bag armour
and all. My only concession was that I placed by boots carefully by my head. I
was rubbing my hands together so theyd stop shaking long enough for me to get
the upload to work when Artie walked over and dropped a long coat on me.

Here Newsman youll need this. Use it as an extra blanket. The other morning I
woke up and my boots were frozen to the floor.

Thanks I said eagerly and very sincerely as I arranged it, pulling it over me.

No bother. You aint no Joni, but youll do. Artie said dropping down beside me.
He reached in to his pack and pulled out some rations, crunching the packet in
his big hands and then juggling it back and forth as it heated up.

* * *

The following day dawned slightly clearer, the dust had finally started to
settle. I came out to find the younger members of first and second platoon
playing an improvised game of cricket. They had fashioned the bat from an
extraneous board of prefab and the ball was a rubber tape covered rock, which
kind of bounced. At first I though only a handful of people were playing, but
when the ball came rocketing in from Elie, who was standing over 350m away
near the sangar at the far end of the camp, I realised the fielders were
correcting for the low gravity and were scattered to the periphery in every
direction. They were making a lively time of it, dancing around the rest of
the company as they went about their business. I sat on the steps of the
barracks and watched a while, charging my batteries and checking over my kit.

All fun was called to an end however, when a supply convoy made its way over
the horizon and landed just outside the northern sangars. Then it was all
hands on deck to unload. Once that was done and the VTOLs were heading back
over the Pyrrhae Sea it was time to crack open the crates and break out the
new RTs. The company literally began to reconstitute itself.