Carp hesitated, turning briefly to look back at the captain. “Do it now, ensign.” Calloway’s voice was gentle, not the normal scolding he’d give an officer who dithered in executing one of his orders.
“Yes, sir.” Carp’s voice was tentative, but he turned toward the workstation and began entering the required program.
Calloway leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. The bridge, which had been quiet already, was utterly silent, save for the sound of Carp’s fingers tapping on his board. I can do this last duty alone, he thought…I can give my crew a chance to survive. How much of a chance he didn’t know. Even if they escaped detection, they’d be marooned in lifeboats behind enemy lines. But even a fleeting hope was better than none. A small smile crept across his face.
“Who the hell are these guys?” Lopez was a Marine veteran and one of the best men in the platoon, but he sounded scared…scared shitless.
“Cut the chatter, Lopez.” Sergeant Clarkson was scared too, but he was still managing to hide it. “It’s just another enemy. You getting picky all of a sudden?” Clarkson’s troops were dug in along a 200 meter frontage. Their left flank was set on the fringe of the Eastern Wing, and their right was covered by 3 rd Platoon…Lieutenant Mitchell’s troops. Clarkson couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have there than Eva Mitchell. She’d won her sergeant’s stripes fighting in Erik Cain’s brigade on the Lysandra Plateau during the final battle on Carson’s World. That was all anyone had to say about any Marine, even one who was retired now and serving in the militia.
“But sarge, they just keep coming!” Lopez was definitely losing it…otherwise he’d have never had the guts to keep talking after Clarkson told him to shut up. “I blasted off half of one, but he’s still up and shooting back.”
Clarkson didn’t answer, not right away. He was looking out over the field, watching the enemy troops move toward his lines. They were tough as hell, no question about that. The militia had good assault rifles, but they were next to useless against the enemy’s armor. The heavy SAWs were the only thing that really hurt them…but even those mostly ripped off bits and pieces. Lopez was right…they just kept coming no matter how much damage they took. Were they drugged, impervious to pain? Clarkson’s mind scrambled, trying to figure it out. He didn't think his people had taken out more than one or two completely.
He watched as a mortar barrage impacted all along the enemy frontage. The shot was perfectly aimed, and the entire line was engulfed in clouds of smoke and displaced earth. The enemy troops were thrown around and knocked to the ground, but Clarkson watched in stunned silence as every one of them got up and continued forward.
“That’s the toughest powered infantry I’ve ever seen.” He was muttering to himself, but the comlink was still open.
“You said it, sarge.” Lopez again, still sounding shaky.
“Never mind, Lopez. Just keep up your fire.” You careless asshole, Clarkson thought to himself, what the hell are you doing thinking out loud on an open comlink?
Suddenly he heard a scream, then another. His head snapped to the right to see most of 1 st Squad staring down at the ground. Bragg and Cullen were dead. Their heads and a good chunk of their shoulders and chests were just gone. Enemy fire was still targeting the area, and the rest of the squad was crouched low, beneath the lip of the trench.
“Keep down…all of you.” Clarkson was talking to the entire platoon, not just 1 st Squad. “The enemy fire is damned accurate. If you show it to them, they’re gonna blow it off. So pay attention.”
He looked back over at 1 st Squad. They were still standing around stunned, crouching to keep their heads out of view of the enemy. “Pull it together, 1 st Squad. Get that SAW going.” Bragg and Cullen had been the heavy weapon crew for the squad. “Keep up your fire.”
Clarkson wasn’t sure how much that fire really mattered. They’d taken down a couple enemy troops, that was true, but they weren’t getting nearly enough…and these guys didn’t seem to be fazed by losses. Whoever they were, they were fearless bordering on suicidal. Nothing seemed to slow their advance.
“Incoming!”
Clarkson was never sure who shouted the warning first, but he reacted immediately. “Everyone down…now!” He dove to the side, taking cover deep in the trench.
The first sound was faint…soft popping noises coming from above. Then the real explosions started. Small bombs were dropping all over the line, a significant number landing right in the trenches. The explosions were powerful…strong enough to collapse sections of entrenchment…not to mention obliterate any men and women unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity.
Clarkson was immediately on the com. His orders were clear…any new weapons or equipment were to be reported immediately. “Captain Krantz, Sergeant Clarkson here. Sir, we’ve just been hit by a bombardment from a new weapon system. It seems to be some type of cluster bomb. It’s ripping us apart in the trenches.”
“Very well, sergeant. Carry on.” Krantz sounded harried, distracted. Clarkson figured he was getting reports from all over the battlefield.
“Sergeant, 3 rd platoon’s pulling back.” It was Corporal Nance, another Marine vet. He was keeping his cool, but Clarkson could hear the fear in his voice. “Lieutenant Mitchell’s dead, sir. They’ve got 60% losses.”
Shit, Clarkson thought. He’d been determined to hold the position, but with 3 rd Platoon gone, his troops would be bracketed between the mountains and the enemy on the now-open right flank. “Ok, platoon, we’re pulling back by squads. Even squads, withdraw to the second line positions. Odds, maintain fire.”
Clarkson’s platoon withdrew in perfect order. He watched with pride as they executed the maneuver. It was a testament to his troops…and to him as well, though he didn’t think of it that way. Thank God Colonel Brown had us dig these lateral trenches, he thought. He couldn’t imagine any of them would have survived the murderous fire if they’d had to pull back in the open. He paused to take one last look before following his people. He heard the whistling sound again…another barrage of the cluster bombs. He dove, and his helmet came loose and clattered over the rocky floor of the trench. That’s when it hit him…a chunk of shattered rock. He felt an instant of pain and then there was nothing but blackness.
“That is an order, Ensign.” Calloway’s voice was stern, resolute. He’d decided what he was going to do and, by God, it was going to be done. “Launch now.”
Calloway was alone on the bridge. Every other live member of the crew was crowded into one of the two functional lifeboats. There were only 62 of them now – the destruction of the ship’s sickbay had made caring for the wounded difficult at best, and another four of Calloway’s people had died from their injuries…wounds they’d have easily survived if the required treatment facilities had been available.
“But sir, there’s no reason for you to stay behind. Come down now. We’ll wait for you.” Carp was distraught, his voice pleading with his doomed commander.
“I have a job to do, ensign. Are you going to make it harder on me with your insubordination?” He hated coming down hard on Carp. He really liked the kid. Maybe, he thought, Carp will actually get out of this and have a shot at a real future. Maybe. “Now follow my orders, Ensign Carp.”
“Yes, sir.” Carp’s voice was despondent…he was defeated. He didn’t have it in him to disobey Calloway’s orders. “Launching now, sir.”
Raptor shook as the magnetic catapult launched her last functional lifeboat. Calloway was now alone on board, and his last means of potential escape was gone. He was committed to his plan, but now he felt a wave of fear and uncertainty. It was one thing to face grave danger, but Calloway was past that now. His last, fleeting chance at survival was gone. He was a dead man living a few final moments of borrowed time.