First Strike

The silvery light from Derra-5’s twin moons shone over the silent field of battle. Although only a third of the size of Earth’s moon, the two celestial bodies seemed to fill the cold night sky.

  Sheridan rubbed his hands together. Ever since it had stopped snowing, the temperature had dropped considerably. He could see his breath hanging there like a fine mist each time he exhaled.

  It was just after midnight. A fresh blanket of snow covered the ground.

  “I guess they’re not coming tonight,” said Agnar.

  “It’s still early,” Sheridan replied, checking his watch.

  “I wish they’d come. I’m freezing,” complained Garcia.

  “They’ll come when they are good and ready,” added Cole.

  Sheridan couldn’t believe that anyone could be alive out in the bitter cold. Nevertheless, he could hear several Chosen warriors moaning in the dark. The sound was unsettling. If he thought he could trust the Chosen, he would have dispatched Garcia to see if she could help with the wounded. However, Cole was right. He couldn’t trust them, and he wasn’t about to risk her or anyone else’s life. Sheridan was about to turn away when a slow, steady rumbling noise in the distance seemed to grow louder by the second. He picked up his night vision binoculars and looked out over the Kurgan lines. His blood turned cold when Sheridan spotted a row of monstrous sized tanks rumbling toward them. He had seen pictures of Kurgan tanks from the last war, but these seemed to dwarf them. He guessed that each one stood well over five meters tall and was at least fifteen meters long. Its turret was sloped with a large gun mounted in the center. He instantly recognized the armament as a rail gun, a deadly electromagnetic projectile launcher capable of firing a projectile straight through any known armored vehicle in the Terran arsenal. Behind each behemoth were columns of Chosen soldiers, using the super-sized armored beasts for cover.

  “Here they come!” yelled Sheridan. A split second later, the Kurgan tanks’ rail guns began to glow blue from the electromagnetic force being built up to fire their lethal shells.

  He barely had time to warn everyone to take cover when the tanks opened fire. The building shook violently as one of the projectiles hit the room they had been using earlier, tearing it to pieces. The sound of the rail guns’ shells tearing through the air at thousands of meters per second reminded Sheridan of a fighter’s engine flying directly overhead.

  All along the Marines’ line, the tanks engaged the houses the defenders had fired from. If Sheridan hadn’t ordered all of his men to move to a new location, they would all be dead by now.

  Cole crawled up beside Sheridan and peered out at the sea of armor as it rolled toward them. “There’s no way in hell our Cobra anti-tank missiles will be able to stop that,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Not from the front or the sides, but could they from above?” Sheridan asked.

  “Yeah, they just might.” Turing about to face Agnar, Cole said, “Grab the anti-tank launcher and head up onto the roof. I want you to try to take out the tanks as they drive by.”

  Agnar hauled the only spare Marine in sight with him as he picked up the launcher and an arm full of missiles.

  As the tanks rumbled closer, the other Marine anti-tank teams all along the line fired off their missiles in an attempt to stop the metal horde. As expected, the projectiles harmlessly detonated on the thick armor without penetrating inside. A second later, the Kurgans returned fire, wiping out the crews before they could move to another firing position. Silhouetted against the light of the twin moons, like so many wraiths, dozens of enemy drones flew in for the kill. Missiles streaked out of the sky hitting anyone unfortunate enough to be caught out in the open. Sheridan prayed that they wouldn’t spot Agnar before he had a chance to kill at least a couple of tanks.

  Within seconds, the tanks were less than one hundred meters away and closing fast. Sheridan could feel his heart racing in his chest. He hoped that his men listened to him and wouldn’t open fire on the Chosen until they could reach out and touch them. He wanted the enemy so close that they couldn’t bring their other weapons, such as their drones and now their tanks, into the deadly battle about to be fought in the shattered streets without hitting their own soldiers. The two platoons on either side of his position opened up early and were instantly attacked by the tanks and the swarm of drones hovering above in the night sky.

  The wait was intolerable. Sheridan had to force himself not to open fire on a group of Chosen warriors that he could see through a side firing port as they jogged behind one of their mighty tanks. Silence gripped the bunker. The only sound was the ragged breathing of the people as they waited for the storm to break.

  Rather than expose themselves on the roof, Agnar had stopped on the top floor of the building. Warily, he crawled forward, got up on his knees and peered out of a destroyed window at the long line of enemy tanks. Agnar knew that it would take twenty meters for their anti-tank warhead to arm itself. He picked a vehicle about fifty meters away crushing some rubble under its wide metal treads as it moved toward First Squad’s position. Agnar didn’t know much about the Kurgan tank’s capabilities, but he didn’t doubt that they had a laser warning indicator somewhere on the vehicle. He decided to forgo using the laser on his launcher to aim with and used the weapon’s iron sights instead. He took a deep breath, picked a spot on the top of the enemy tank and slowly pulled back on the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  Agnar glanced down and swore. He had forgotten to take the safety off. Flipping it to armed, he took aim again and pulled the trigger. With a loud whoosh, the missile shot from the launcher and struck the top of the tank. In the blink of an eye, the turret exploded, sending pieces of shrapnel into any Chosen warriors near the tank, killing and wounding dozens.

  “Reload!” ordered Agnar.

  The other Marine quickly slid another projectile into the back of the launcher and then tapped Agnar on the shoulder, letting him know that the weapon was loaded.

  Agnar selected another tank and pulled back on the trigger. His aim was off slightly. The missile bounced off the side of the turret, exploding high in the air. Agnar swore in Danish.

  “We’ve been here too long. Let’s go,” said the Marine with Agnar.

  Agnar didn’t want to leave but knew that the man was right. He had just begun to crawl back when the top of the building exploded. The concussion from the blast knocked the air from his lungs. Attacked by several drones, the roof fell down on Agnar and his partner.

  The sound of the roof being torn apart by missile fire loudly reverberated down into the basement bunker, shaking dust and debris lose.

  Sheridan cursed when he was showered with dirt. The room was filled with a swirling dust cloud that blinded everyone inside. Sheridan was thankful that he was at least wearing his combat glasses so the dust didn’t reach his eyes. Coughing and hacking to clear the crap from his lungs, Sheridan edged over to a firing port to get some fresh air and nearly jumped in fright when he saw a set of eyes looking back at him. In the noise and confusion, several Chosen warriors had sprinted from behind their tank to check out the building where the rocket fire had come from. The Chosen soldier was just as surprised to see another man looking back at him and tried to bring up his assault rifle. Sheridan, however, reacted faster and fired off a burst through the opening, killing the warrior.

  Cole and Garcia rushed over. The firefight was short and deadly; the Marines couldn’t miss. Taking that as their cue to join the fight, Sheridan’s platoon opened fire on the enemy. Scores died before they knew they were under attack. Some took cover in the debris-covered streets and tried to return fire. Stuck out in the open, they were soon cut down.

  Outside, a tank pivoted on its tracks and turned toward Sheridan’s building. It lowered its gun and took aim. Sheridan was wrong; the Kurgans didn’t care if their soldiers were in the way. With a loud whoosh, a shell shot down the tank’s rail gun and struck the ground floor right above the bunker. The explosion killed or maimed several Chosen sold
iers near the house. Almost immediately, the building began to collapse down upon itself, trapping anyone still alive inside. For good measure, the tank emptied a three-hundred round drum of machine gun ammunition into the wreckage before continuing the advance.

  With a loud ringing in his ears, Sheridan slowly opened his dust-caked eyes and tried looking around. Nothing of what he saw made any sense until he realized that he was lying on his back, looking up at what had been the roof. His body seemed to ache everywhere. Shattered timbers from the floor above them had crashed down, looking like the remains of an ancient prehistoric monster’s rib cage. He turned his head and saw that the bunker was almost entirely destroyed. He tried to move his legs but found that he couldn’t. Sheridan then tried to sit up; however, he discovered that his chest was pinned under a charred beam of wood.

  His throat was parched. “Is there anyone alive in here?” he croaked.

  A gloved hand reached over and gently rested on Sheridan’s lips. “Don’t say another word, sir,” whispered Cole.

  After what seemed like hours, Cole leaned close and said, “How are you feeling, sir?”

  “Like crap,” replied Sheridan honestly. “Sergeant, I can’t move.”

  “I know. You’re pinned under a piece of the roof. Once the enemy moves, I’ll get you out of there.”

  “What happened?”

  “The building fell down on top of us, that’s what happened.” Cole grabbed his canteen and held it close to Sheridan’s lips so he could get some water.

  Through the haze in his mind, Sheridan tried to remember what had happened to them. The last thing he could recall was a pair of eyes looking at him. He shivered. “Sergeant, what about Garcia, did she make it?”

  “Yeah, she’s got a broken left wrist. Aside from that, she’s okay. I’ve got her keeping watch. The fighting has shifted behind us. The Kurgs cut through our front line like a hot knife through butter. By the sounds of it, the rest of the battalion is still in the fight. I’m not sure what happened to the rest of the platoon. I haven’t heard any gunfire near us in over an hour, so I’m not holding out much hope for them.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s just after nine in the morning. Sir, please try and rest. I don’t think we’re gonna be able to try and make it out of here before nightfall.”

  Sheridan silently cursed. He didn’t want to lie on the cold floor trapped under debris for hours. Suddenly, a thought hit him; he had to go to the bathroom. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he knew it was going to be a long day.

  An hour after nightfall, Cole and Garcia, moving about as quiet as a pair of church mice, helped Sheridan out from under the rubble. Garcia quickly checked him out and told him that aside from a slight bump on the head and a few scratches, he was alright. Sheridan looked about at the wreck that once had been his command bunker.

  Cole whispered, “Okay, sir, here’s the skinny. The Kurgs seemed to have stopped for the night. Their wounded have been streaming by our position all day long. Looks like our boys gave as good as they got. The problem is that I have no idea how to get back to our lines from here.”

  “I guess we’re going to have to sneak our way through the enemy until we bump into our own lines. Let’s pray that we don’t stumble into some trigger-happy individuals,” said Sheridan.

  “I figured you were going to say that, so I’ve been studying the ground behind us. I think we can use that line of destroyed buildings running to the north for cover,” said Cole, pointing to the ruined homes.

  “Sounds good.” Sheridan looked over at Garcia and asked her how she was holding up.

  Garcia held up her bandaged wrist. “Nothing a sawbones can’t fix, sir.”

  “Sir, I’m gonna lead if you don’t mind,” Cole said. “You took a good hit to the head and I’ve at least had a chance to study the route in the daylight.”

  Sheridan nodded. “What about the drones, won’t they spot us?”

  “With their wounded and dead spread out all over the place, I betting that we’ll just come across as another heat signature moving about on the ground. Right now the enemy is probably more interested in what’s happening in front of them, than behind.”

  With that, Cole put his shoulder on the door leading out the basement and pushed hard. It slowly slid open. He carefully looked out and then stepped out into the rubble. Using the debris for cover, Cole stealthily made his way to the back of the home. When he saw that it was safe, he waved for Sheridan and Garcia to join him.

  The night was cold and dark. Clouds covered the sky, threatening to snow.

  A horrible moan seemed to be coming from all around them. Hundreds of Chosen warriors lay in contorted poses in the streets. Most were dead; however, dozens of mortally wounded soldiers lay there waiting to die.

  “This way,” whispered Cole as he led off. He hadn’t gone ten meters when he nearly tripped over Agnar’s dead body. Garcia gasped when she saw her friend lying there with his lifeless eyes wide open staring up at the night sky.

  “Crap,” muttered Sheridan. He had grown to like the young soldier.

  “He died doing his job. Let’s go,” Cole said quietly. They quickly made it across the street and into the row of abandoned houses Cole intended to use for cover. In the dark, each room they walked through was like a mini obstacle course. Trying desperately to not make a sound, they moved slowly through the devastated buildings.

  After nearly an hour, Cole raised his hand and got down on one knee. “We’re gonna take a ten-minute break,” he whispered over his shoulder.

  Sheridan dug out his canteen and took a long sip of cold water before offering it to Garcia. His stomach rumbled. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a packet of something he couldn’t read in the dark. Food was food, he reasoned, so he opened the pack and was surprised to find that he was eating apples in a sweet, sugary sauce.

  In the pitch-black of the room, a dog whined and was instantly shushed by someone. Sheridan’s heart skipped a beat. He peered into the darkness but couldn’t see a thing. A Chosen warrior could have been standing right beside him and he wouldn’t have seen the man until it was too late.

  The animal whined again. A voice pleaded with it to be quiet.

  “Roberts, is that you?” whispered Cole.

  “Who’s there?” said the voice.

  “Staff Sergeant Cole, that’s who.”

  A second later, Roberts edged his way from behind a destroyed section of wall and made his way over to Cole. He was short and slender and wore glasses on his narrow face. His accent was Canadian. With him was his dog, a German Shepard.

  “She’s hungry,” said Roberts.

  “Get rid of the damned dog!” ordered Cole.

  “I can’t do that, Sergeant. She’s all I got left. All of my friends are dead.” It was confirmation that Lance Corporal Singh’s squad had not survived the fight.

  Garcia ripped open a ration pack and handed it to Roberts. “It’s stew,” she said.

  “Damn it all to hell, don’t encourage him,” muttered Cole.

  “Sergeant, there’s been enough dead for one day. I’d hate to see the dog added to the list,” said Garcia.

  Cole looked at Sheridan to decide what they should do with the dog.

  “It can stay for now, but if it so much as barks once, it’s gone,” Sheridan decided.

  With an angry shake of his head, Cole dropped his opposition to keeping the dog.

  For the next few hours, they quietly moved from one building to another. The dead and dying from the day’s battle were strewn everywhere. A couple of Kurgan tanks stood silent in the narrow streets with their turrets blasted open. They came across some Marine and Chosen soldiers dead in one house, their bodies were still locked in a deadly embrace as they fought one another to the death. It was a disturbing sight to behold. The closer they got to the river that split the capital city into two almost equal halves, the thicker the piles of Chosen bodies became. Realizing that they weren’t going to make
it to their lines tonight, they sought out a basement for them to hide in for the day. It didn’t take long to find a cellar that was big enough for all of them to hide in.

  Once inside, Cole closed the door behind them and turned on his flashlight, illuminating the space. It was empty except for an old wooden table and four chairs sitting in the middle of the room. A deck of cards and a half-drunk bottle of booze sat on the table, a reminder that someone had once lived here. Before anyone could reach for the bottle, Cole grabbed it and poured what was left onto the floor.

  “I want everyone to have a clear head,” Cole said, looking over at Roberts and Garcia.

  Sheridan said, “Okay, we’re here until nightfall. When it gets dark, we’ll push on again and try to make it back to our lines. If you’ve got any food on you, I suggest that you eat it as I doubt we’re going to find any out there tomorrow.”

  “One person at a time will be on sentry for two hours, starting with Roberts, and no falling asleep,” growled Cole, still pissed that the dog was with them.

  Sheridan removed his helmet and pulled out a chair so he could sit down. He looked over at Cole. “Sergeant, I know that you’re not happy with my decision. And a day ago I would have agreed with you. But we both know that Roberts wouldn’t leave his dog behind. With all of the losses we’ve suffered, I couldn’t just let him go.”

  “Sir, death is part of the job. The sooner we all get used to the idea, the easier it’s going to be to accept the loss of those people we serve with.”

  “You may be right, but at that moment in time I just couldn’t say no.”

  “It’s what makes you human,” said Cole, patting Sheridan on the arm. “If you aren’t conflicted when you have to decide whether someone lives or dies, you’ve lost your soul and are no better than a mindless automaton.”

  “Thanks,” replied Sheridan.

  “However, just to be clear, sir, if I were in charge, I would have ditched the dog and Roberts if need be, but you’re the boss.” With that, the conversation ended.

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