Sean-Michael Argo - Dead Worlds

The Reapers slung their rifles and prepared their blades, then held their position until the sound of the Reekers guns going empty gave them their cue. Samuel flung aside the canvas to make room for Spencer, who rushed into the room, charging straight at the three Reekers inside.

Samuel followed closely and in seconds he was plunging his blade into the neck of a woman who had been attempting to chamber a shotgun round before he reached her. Spencer buried his knife to the hilt in the midsection of a man, with the tip angled upwards so that as the tall marine went from crouching to standing, the enemy’s heart was pierced.

Unfortunately, the third Reeker had not paused to reload, but only stopped shooting long enough to clear a stove-pipe jam in his weapon. The rifle’s action had clamped down on a spent shell’s tip instead of ejecting it. The Reeker pointed his rifle at Spencer as the marine jerked his knife from the first enemy and turned to rush the shooter.

The Reeker reacted swiftly, chopping his hand over the action of the rifle, dislodging the spent casing and sending it bouncing off of Spencer’s faceplate. The impact was nothing, but it distracted Spencer for a split-second which gave the shooter enough time to lift his boot and stomp kick the marine.

Spencer did not fall, but the force of the blow halted his charge and put him off balance. The Reeker fired his weapon at point blank range, his shots pounding into Spencer’s armor mercilessly, dropping him to the ground in a shower of sparks, armor fragments, and blood.

Samuel shouted and slammed his boarding knife through the back of the Reeker’s neck, the point emerging through his throat. The Reeker kept firing wildly as blood fountained from the wound. Samuel used the handle of his knife to pull the shooter to the side before letting his corpse fall to the ground.

On the other side of the shanty Samuel could see what appeared to be a sort of plaza filled with containers of every shape and size. Scattered among them was a group of roughly ten cor-sec troopers, most armed with pistols and shotguns, locked in a desperate shootout against Reekers who had taken up position all around them.

It was little wonder the cor-sec troopers were being mowed down, having had no training in general battle tactics, let alone urban warfare specifics. They had allowed themselves to be driven from their entry point to this kill zone by a superior force who knew the terrain.

This was Reekertown, and from what Samuel had seen as he and Spencer sought out the troopers, the marine knew that the Reeker defenders had been giving up ground to lure the cor-sec troopers deeper into the settlement. The cor-sec troopers had probably thought they were doing well, considering that there had been several Reeker corpses strewn about as the marines honed in on their position.

Spencer coughed up a mouthful of blood as he dragged himself over to the far wall. Once the Reekers realized enemies were flanking them, they began to fire into the shack.

Samuel moved to the opposite wall, emptying an entire magazine in an attempt to suppress the Reeker shooters so that he and Spencer could recover. The marine knew that his comrade was wounded badly, but not so grievously that he couldn’t be helped. Samuel crouched behind the splintered wood to reload and gave silent thanks for the metal sheeting that he could hear repelling many of the bullets sailing towards them.

“So much for flanking them unawares!” shouted Samuel as he reached for his med kit and then slid the compact little box across the dirty floor within Spencer’s reach.

The wounded marine wasn’t able to speak, though he did manage a weak thumbs up before cracking open the box and rummaging through it for the adrenal stims and nu-skin.

Samuel could see that even at close range, Spencer’s stout combat armor had blunted much of the firepower. Though his chest plate was intact, his more articulated abdominal plates had been horribly mangled. The Reeker had been using what looked like a homemade weapon and likely hand-crafted ammunition, so at worst Samuel figured a handful of rounds had made it through. Then again, as he knew all too well, it took only one well placed bullet to bring a marine down, often for good.

Spencer’s hands were shaking he worked quickly to hit himself with a series of injections meant to keep him going for a short while until the platoon medic arrived. Samuel had been the medic for several years, but since the recovery period after his spinal injury that duty had been shifted off to Holland, who had served admirably in keeping the bodies of Squad Aiken stitched together and the duty was never returned to Samuel.

Samuel’s rifle scope was burdensome in such close quarters fighting, and he flipped it down so that he could rely on the iron sights. The marine toggled his rifle over to a single shot setting and began swiftly pelting multiple hostiles with rounds. He was firing mostly on instinct, allowing his training to take over and moving from target to target as quickly as he could. His accuracy was reduced and in just a few seconds he emptied the magazine.

He crouched back into cover, positive that he’d seen at least one or more of his targets jerk and react from hits. He was hoping that by making a big show he could draw fire away from the cor-sec troopers, and he prayed that they could take the initiative to seize the opportunity to counter-attack. At the least, he hoped they would manage to break out of their position and push through one of the weaker points in the enemy cordon and get into the relative safety of the narrow alleys and gangplank streets, well away from the kill zone that the small plaza had become.

A new Reeker must have joined the fight, because hard rounds suddenly began to punch through the metal and wood walls of the shack. A few of the rounds struck Samuel in the thigh and shoulder as he reloaded, though they only served to knock him off his feet as his armor held. The slugs had been slowed by penetrating the wall, but the marine knew that it was only a matter of time before a lucky shot hit him just right and ended the fight for him.

Samuel risked taking a quick peek around the now nearly obliterated wall and saw a tall Reeker on a rooftop across the plaza reloading what appeared to be a homemade, heavy machine gun. The marine looked across the way at Spencer and saw that he had removed his helmet and his face was covered in blood. Samuel could see that despite the drugs, the marine was still coughing up a lot of the precious red and had removed his helmet to keep from swallowing it again accidently.

“Gunner on the roof, can you shoot?” asked Samuel, waving to get Spencer’s attention. The marine looked back at Samuel with glassy eyes and managed a weak nod. “Then you bracket him and I’ll drill him when he makes a run for it.”

Spencer groaned in pain as he used his legs to push himself up against the far wall enough that he could shove his helmet beneath his butt and as it as a seat. The improvised stool gave him just enough elevation that he was able to raise his rifle with his right hand and rest the barrel against the open window space. The marine spotted the gunner and began firing in his general direction.

Samuel did not expect Spencer to actually hit the gunner. He was hoping that the bracketing fire would push the Reeker from his position and give Samuel a clean shot. As it was, the gunner was mostly safe behind the cover of a heavy metal plate that was stopping much of Spencer’s fire. After a few seconds of sustained fire from Spencer, however, the gunner was either hit by one of the rounds that managed to penetrate the metal or finally lost his nerve. Either way, he rose from his position.

Samuel had guessed, wrongly, that the gunner was right handed and would rise on the left. Apparently, the gunner was left handed and he rose on the right with his weapon at ready.