Jay Allan - Tombstone

“Good position, Jax.” Corporal Clark was double checking the deployment of the team. He was a worrier, very dedicated to the wellbeing of the four troopers he commanded. He was very relaxed and informal when we weren’t on duty, and he’d made me feel at home right away. Oliver Clark wasn’t a convict or other problem case, like most of the rest of us were; his father had been a career sergeant, and he was a second generation Marine. He’d been raised to love and respect the Corps, unlike the rest of us, who generally joined opportunistically, usually to avoid prosecution or worse, and developed loyalty later. “Stay alert. You’re backup on the SAW, so if either Harden or James gets hit I want you to reposition immediately without further orders. Understood?”

“Acknowledged.” We would need that SAW running full out if the enemy attacked. The Model 5 auto-cannon is one of the most successful infantry weapon designs ever put into the field. It accepts two gauges of ammo and can fire up 3,600 rounds per minute using the smaller projectiles. I’d rated well on the thing during training, but combat conditions were another thing entirely. The SAW put out a huge chunk of the team’s firepower; I wasn’t one to shrink from a challenge, but I was just as happy with it in more experienced hands.

We actually had a pretty good position to handle whatever was coming at us. The enemy had laid a trap for sure, but if I had to make a guess, someone over there opened up before he was supposed to. If they’d have waited for us to clear the rocky spur we’d have been caught in the open and torn to shreds. As it was, we were probably outnumbered, but we had decent cover and a good chance to hold out until reserves got here.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before the attack began. They hit us with grenades – the Caliphate had a first rate grenade launcher that considerably outranged ours. They started hitting all around us. They were taking potshots, hoping to make up for inaccuracy with volume. Still, they scored some hits, and we had about three or four more down from the platoon. Most of the wounds were minor, but on Tombstone, anything that breached your suit was deadly serious. Even if the repair system patched the damage before the planet killed you, the adhesive polymer wasn’t up to handling combat conditions. You might keep fighting with a wounded arm, but if you ripped open the patch on your suit you’d go from WIA to KIA damned quickly.

“Here they come!” It was Sergeant Lassa, my squad leader. It was a few seconds before anything started to show on my scanner, and another few before I caught sight of enemy troops advancing through the spotty cloud cover. I took a breath and leveled my mag rifle. I had a pretty good shot on a small cluster of advancing troops, and I started firing short bursts on full auto. My first shots fired in combat were way off – I was a good marksman in training, but you just don’t realize what it’s like shooting at targets that are firing back at you until you experience it. It took me a few seconds to settle down, but once I did my fire got a lot more accurate.

It was hard to tell what we hit until they started coming out of the clouds but, when they did, the SAWs ripped into them. They were trying to advance along the lowest spots, crouching to maximize their cover, but they had to cross some open areas, and they suffered heavily. They’d expected us to be hit harder by the heavy auto-cannons, but they’d fired too soon and ruined their ambush. We had the better cover now, and they had to come at us the hard way.

I was terrified, so scared I could hardly think. I wanted to run, to get away and go somewhere, anywhere that people weren’t shooting at me. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, feel it in my chest. My hands were sweaty, my legs weak. But I stayed focused and kept squeezing off shots, targeting the enemy troopers as they advanced. It was hard to tell if I hit anyone, but it looked like overall we’d taken out at least a dozen.

Our fire blunted their advance, and they stopped and took cover. There were cracks and fissures in the rocky ground, and the enemy troops scattered, occupying any crack that offered some protection. Our cover was heavier, but theirs was enough to offer significant protection, and they outgunned us, which compensated for our stronger position. The combat had turned into a protracted firefight, and both sides expended a lot of ordnance for very little return.

These were the kinds of fights where carelessness gets you killed. When the shooting goes on this long with no break you can lose focus. A Marine raises his head just a touch too far, trying to get a better shot. That’s all it takes to get killed, an instant’s lapse in judgment.

I was getting exhausted, mentally more than physically, and running low on ammunition. I was taking single shots now, saving the rounds I had left in case the enemy tried to assault our position. The corporal came on the com and told us to cut our ammo expenditures, but I had beaten him to it.

As a private, I wasn’t on the higher levels of the com line, so I had no idea what was happening outside my squad. I knew we were stuck here – we didn’t have enough strength to assault the enemy, and if we tried to retire we’d give up the cover of the ridgeline, and the enemy would just move up and shoot us to pieces. I figured there were reinforcements heading to support us, but all I could do was guess.

It’s hard to separate what you thought years ago from your perceptions after the fact, but looking back, the enemy had the initiative. Their trap had failed, at least partially, but they still had numbers for a while. It was up to them to force the issue or to withdraw. We didn’t have the strength to attack, but we could put up a considerable defense. They could probably beat us, wipe us out…but they’d pay heavily. The enemy commander had to decide if he wanted a major fight here.

It wasn’t long before I got my answer. The enemy troops started withdrawing, pulling back slowly from one piece of cover to the next. The auto-cannons kept up their fire, keeping our heads down so we couldn’t harass the retreating infantry. But that was unnecessary, because the lieutenant was on the line a few seconds after they started pulling back. “Cease fire.” His voice was as steady as ever, but I’d swear I could detect the slightest bit of relief. Maybe he was human too. “All units, cease fire. Hold positions.” We didn’t have ammo to waste shooting at retreating enemies, and if it turned out to be a ruse, the lieutenant wanted us to be armed and ready to deal with it.

But it wasn’t a ruse. The enemy didn’t want a big battle here. That would come later, and when it did we would know it.

“Welcome back. Did you have a nice sleep?”

The voice was deep but friendly, and it was the first thing that came to me in the darkness. The light was next, hazy at first then brighter, clearer. My head felt like a mag train had run through it.

“Here, drink this.” I started to get an image of the room, small, with bare metal walls and a table with two chairs. I was sprawled out on a cot, and as I pulled myself up I got the first look at my companion. He was tall, dressed in a neatly-pressed gray uniform, and he was holding out a small metal cup. “Those stun guns give you quite a headache.” He smiled sympathetically. “This will help.”

I straightened myself out. I was still sitting, but at least I was halfway up. I took the cup and downed it in one gulp. If these guys wanted to harm me they’d had plenty of chances. I felt better almost immediately; it was like the fog in my head just cleared away.