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Call of Duty; CCRPG Marines Prequel I
Topic Started: 13 Oct 2009, 11:21 PM (317 Views)
Wraith
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Preparing for the Second Coming
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
PROLOGUE

Fort Greeson, Reyesburg, Maxfrica

Wall duty isn't nearly as bad as the night patrols, Lance Corporal Sorroyo Mendez reflected, At least here I have no chance of getting snatched. Reyesburg, Maxfrica, nicknamed "Tartarus" among the men of the CMF, was the hub of the ever-present Maxfrican Resistance. It was quieter than normal this night, beneath a black, moonless night sky. There were no random gunshots echoing across the streets, the sounds of Confederation sympathizers being murdered. Mendez couldn't even hear the usual din of a firefight, usually an unsuccessful attempt by the insurgents to kidnap a patrolling soldier or two. No resounding, rebellious cries of vengeance from a nearby insurgent or collaborator.

That was unusual. Mendez tensed, raising his rifle to port arms.

-----------------------------------------------------

Maxwell MacSavidge crouched in the pile of garbage, facing the Confederation's oppressive physical visage across the cleared ground before it. He quietly pulled back the bolt on his antiquated M1A1 SIR, making sure that a round was, indeed, in the chamber. A slight rustling to his left signaled the approach of a comrade.

Pereed Sorenno stuck his head into MacSavidge's burrow. "Comrade Leader, they are in position," Sorrenno whispered.

MacSavidge nodded and waved Sorrenno off. He raised his rifle and took aim.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Mendez was pivoting in his paced patrol when a bullet smashed into and through his chest plate, knocking him to the ground. Suddenly, a series of blinding spotlights began to activate on the ground and in the buildings all around the fort. Grunting as he struggled to his feet, Mendez managed to hit the alarm siren before another round penetrated his helmet under the chin and mangled his brain.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Two infantry companies of the garrison were always on duty during the night for rapid security response, the duty shifting between each company of the garrison each night. The moment the siren began to wail, those two hundred soldiers, already in full combat gear, immediately poured out of the security stations and took up positions to defend the gate.

Three seconds after the siren went off, the majority of the sleeping garrison of twenty-four thousand soldiers sprang from their slumber, immediately beginning to equip their combat armor as per the countless drills they had run to prepare for this situation. By T plus two minutes, most of them would be forming up by company and rushing to the gate and walls.

However, twenty-three seconds after the siren went off, a series of massive explosions shook the facility. The heavy durasteel blast doors of the front gate shook and bent, but did not sunder. Several sections of the durasteel-reinforced ferrocrete wall began to crack and crumble. At T plus thirty-one, another series of explosions went off. A second cargo truck blew itself up as it smashed into the front gate, blowing the heavy doors from their metaphorical hinges. Four sapper tunnels, the product of three years of ultra-cautious digging, were collapsed when their payloads of plasmic explosive, dynamite, and shaped charges blew apart four-to-seven meter stretches of the wall above.

Maxfrican insurgents began to pour through the gaps at T plus sixty-four seconds.

------------------------------------------------------

"Holomap is up! Hostile units designated red!" shouted a staff officer.

Major General Hirotus Kai, commander of the 45th Infantry Division, leaned over the display and did not like what he saw. "These known hostile units are probably only a fraction of their total strength," he said, "Colonel Bessimor, how much of the division is on line?"

"One battalion and growing, sir," Bessimor, the division G3, or operations officer, said.

"I don't think we'll be able to organize properly in time, much less hold five breaches in the outer defenses. Sound the evac call."

-----------------------------------------------------------

A different siren began to wail. Shortly thereafter, what remained of the garrison broke off the fight and fell back to a series of small shacks near the rear of the compound. One by one, each company opened the trapdoors within each shack, descended the revealed ladders, and retreated through the wide emergency evacuation tunnels that headed east to a large under- and above-ground bunker complex outside the city. Once the entire garrison - minus one hundred eight-seven dead or missing - was accounted for, they blew the tunnels using a series of scuttling charges.

Once again, Tartarus burned.

OOC: Whew, it's been longer than I expected, but real life has my weeks packed. Still, I have almost half of this done already, so it shouldn't be much of a problem to keep up with updates for a while, as long as I don't get lazy :P
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
CHAPTER I

Trainertown, Bessan

Staff Sergeant Kurt "Ares" Glystern peered around the corner, barely showing any part of his helmet. He was greeted by a round exploding against the wall, spattering part of his helmet and visor with small drops of paint. He growled in frustration. "Damn it, they've got a sharpshooter covering the street," he said to his Marines, the Third Squad of First Platoon, Company D, 94th FIST.

"Who's that? Spears?" asked Sergeant Ben Thamus, leader of the squad's first fire team.

"Probably. He's B Company's best shot," Ares took another split-second glance around the corner. Two seconds after he ducked his head it, another paintball splashed against the wall. "He probably wants us to think he's in the church tower. I'm thinking he's in that building we saw earlier, with the collapsed roof."

"So what's the plan, sarge?" asked Sergeant David Foster, leader of the assault team.

"We'll double fake him out. Ben, Jer, you hold your two fire teams here for 'suppression fire.' Dave, your assault team will smoke the road, then run across to that building over there," Ares pointed, "Make him think we're going for the church."

The team leaders nodded.

"Okay, who in the fire teams is best at battleball?"

Ben and Sergeant Jerome Bishop, leader of second fire team, glanced at their teammates. "Calahan from mine, Corrion and the new guy from Jer's," Ben answered.

"Okay, then. Jack, Tom, you two are my sniper hunters. When Dave's team smokes and moves, you two climb over this wall and move toward the sniper's position through these buildings. Is everyone clear?"

The squad nodded.

"Okay...go!"

Corporal Joseph Kilroy, the assault team and squad's automatic rifleman, edged his weapon around the corner and began to spray the church tower with fire. Lance Corporal Owen Elliot tossed a smoke grenade into the road, which promptly popped, quickly filling the open ground with a cloud of smoke. Kilroy lifted fire and stood up, running across with his team. Corporals Paul Jackson and Lorenzo Ruiz took his place suppressing the "sniper."

-------------------------------------------------------

Lance Corporal Jack Calahan dropped off the wall with all the grace of an Antethian mine worker, landing hard on his stomach and grunting. Behind him, Lance Corporal Tom Corrion lowered himself from the wall and remained standing on both feet.

"Nice one, Jack," Corrion said, grinning.

"Yeah, you're one to talk," Calahan replied, getting back on his feet, "'Oh, I'm supposed to help them get me over the wall?'"

Corrion's grin faded abruptly. "Shut up. That was boot camp. This is now."

Calahan snickered, pushing open the door to the building. "Got you covered," said Corrion, aiming over the crouched Calahan and into the room.

"Let's do this fast. I don't want any more 'dead' Marines than we already have," Calahan said, standing up and and cautiously but quickly moving through the building.

Corrion chuckled. "Always sounds funny to say that during battleball," he said, following.

"Hey, I heard E Company smacked the shit outta A. I wanna win," Calahan pressed against the wall next to the exit door. Once Corrion lined up on the other side of the door, Calahan quickly opened the door and his comrade ducked through, into an alley outside.

"Clear," Corrion muttered. The two repeated the procedure on the door to the next building. They moved through that building unopposed as well. Calahan looked through a window at the target building, across a road. "There it is. I don't see him."

"I see rounds flying from the roof collapse. He's there, shooting steadily at the others," Corrion said.

"How the fuck do you see that?"

"I always had better eyesight than you, Jack."

"Whatever. Next time he shoots, we run across."

"Roger...now."

Both men burst through the door, dashed across the road, and lined up at the next door. "Whose turn?" Calahan asked.

"Yours."

"Fucking liar. I went on that third door," Calahan opened the door as quietly as possible and Corrion carefully strode inside.

:Clear," Corrion whispered. Calahan following, both men crept up the stairs. As they reached the third floor-

Creak

They watched the closed door above for several seconds. When it didn't open, they resumed and finished their climb. "Spotter, my guess. Knock knock," Calahan whispered.

Corrion nodded, crouched, then quickly threw open the door. Calahan, standing with rifle raised just in front of it, immediately put two rounds in the chest of the armored Marine inside. The powerful blows of the paintballs were enough to knock him to the ground.

"Ergh...you got me, you lousy bastards," the 'dead' Marine growled, softly. Corrion and Calahan wordlessly moved past to the door behind him.

"Hang on," Calahan whispered, drawing his 'knife' - a paintstick - and uncapping it, "I want 'im."

"Aw, c'mon, you got the spotter."

"Shhh!" Calahan silently pushed open the door. A Marine was aiming a scoped SIR through a hole in the rubble. Slowly creeping forward, once he was just behind the sniper, Calahan jabbed the paintstick into the back of his neck.

"Ack! Damn it, Jazz! I told you-"

"You're dead, Sergeant," Calahan muttered, his voice a cool monotone. Sergeant Morton Spears, the sniper, turned around and cursed.

"Nice. I didn't even hear you kill my spotter," Spears said, "Nice sentry work, Jazz!"

"Fuck you!"

"A knock knock and a silent gun works wonders that way," Calahan smirked.

"...Yeah, we're all clear here. Jack stole my kill," Corrion said on the comm, walking into the room..

"Use proper procedure. Never know what kind of problems the brass'll throw in the works. We'll meet you there," Ares replied.

------------------------------------------------

Camptown, Bessan

"Can I get a 'fuck yeah!'?" yelled Ensign Dominic Santiago, commander of First Platoon.

"FUCK YEAH!" his arrayed platoon responded, raising their drinks in triumph.

"We fucked up B Company so bad, they won't be working for a long while. Can we do the same to Company E?!"

"FUCK YEAH!"

"Well, carry on, boys! Tomorrow's the finals in the tournament, so Taps is still twenty-three hundred." There was a widespread groan of disappointment. "And don't get too drunk! Let's go, Gunny," Santiago said to Gunnery Sergeant Ryan, the platoon sergeant. They both exited the bar into the night.

Sam's Steaks & Drinks was the other major garrison town facility the Marines of 94th FIST wen to, after Camille's "Coffeehouse." Every major military base inevitably spawned a garrison town, packed with bars, brothels, and even the odd restaurant. Isolated on rarely-colonized worlds, there wasn't much else for soldiers, sailors, and Mariens to spend their time and money on. After Camptown, the only other populated settlement on Bessan was the originally-named capital of Bessan, almost ninety miles from Camp Oliver Barton.

-----------------------------------------------------

Camp Oliver Barton

"Seriously though, why don't we ever stick around Camptown? I, for one, would like to have a drink once in a while," complained Gunny Ryan, stepping off the shuttle bus after Santiago.

"Because we're the senior Marines of the platoon. We're respectable," Santiago replied, with an air of sarcasm.

"You, maybe. I'm perfectly fine with-"

The sirens all across the camp began screaming in unision. The PA comms crackled to life. "All personnel, now hear this!" came Brigadier General F.J. Bulworth's, commander of 94th FIST, voice, "We are now at DEFCON Two, as per Code Hotel Tango Three. All companies, prepare for embarkation at zero-dark thirty."
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CHAPTER II

Home, World

"Please stand for the President of the Confederation of Worlds," announced the sergeant-at-arms. The members of the Executive Council and General Staff stood up as President Merrus Terran strode confidently into the room. Terran was an unusual product of modern Duranic society - huge and powerful, but also cunning and politically savvy. The Duran were always known for their bluntness, not their scheming. Nevertheless, the former Chief of the General Staff and Minister of War could both outwit and outfight even his most skilled opponent.

"Thank you, please be seated," Terran's deep bass rumbled, taking his own seat, "Now, I hope this will be a typical briefing for an interstellar crisis."

Several ministers chuckled slightly. Suran Su-Lah, the Minister of Defense, stood up. "Mr. President, at 0100 yesterday, World Standard Time, our main base within Reyesburg, Maxfrica - Fort Greeson, came under attack and was overrun by insurgents," he said.

"Good God. Casualties?"

"One hundred eighty-seven dead or missing, twenty-one wounded. The garrison evacuated the base through a series of escape tunnels."

"Excellent. What are the statuses of our other facilities on the planet?"

"Fort Creedy, our main base of operations on the planet, came under heavy attack, but was held. Casualties are three hundred sixty-one dead, two hundred twenty wounded. Camp Perryn, near Havena, also came under attack. Casualties are one hundred seventy-six dead, twice that wounded. The rest of our military facilities came under light to moderate attack, totalling nine hundred forty-seven dead, wounded or missing."

"Thank you, Minister. Minister Varriel, what forces are headed to Maxfrica?" Terran asked.

Minister of War Terrence Varriel stood up this time. "We have six Marine FISTs and the entirety of Third Army moving to reinforce the MPSF, with Ninth Army in reserve, as per Code Hotel Tango Three."

"What the bloody hell is that?"

"When the Second Campaign ended forty-eight years ago, a series of deployment plans, plus contingencies, were formulated. The primary plan was called 'Hair Trigger Three.'"

"Ah, I'm familiar with that one. Marshal Hoffman, what is your campaign on the ground?"

Varriel took a seat as Marshal Wilhelm Hoffman, Chief of the General Staff, stood up. The vidscreen on the far wall activated, showing a sixteen-by-sixteen kilometer satellite view of Reyesburg and its outskirts. "Once Third Army arrives, four divisions will be immediately deployed to retake Fort Greeson, where we will reestablish our main base of operations within the city. Two additional divisions will be allocated for the general offensive into the city once the fort is retaken.

"Four of the FISTs will be deployed into the city immediately via drop pods and assault shuttles."

"For what purpose?" Minister Varriel cut in, "I do not like throwing away my Marines in what could be a futile show of force.

"It is not a simple 'show of force,' Mr. Minister. In the two previous campaigns, the insurgents showed a common tactic of concentrating their weapons and supplies in huge, hidden caches. We did not act on this weakness then. This time, we will exploit it. The Marines will conduct aggressive search-and-destroy operations within the city against those caches."

"You still have six divisions and two FISTs undeployed," said Minister Su-Lah.

"Yes. Those will be dispersed to our secondary hotspots, such as Camp Perryn, Haven, and the Sangin Valley. That is all I have to say, for now," Hoffman sat down.

President Terran leaned forward and intertwined his fingers. "Gentlemen, we have a good plan, and excellent soldiers. I have no doubt that this campaign will be a complete success, just like the last one. This briefing is over. You are dismissed."

--------------------------------------------------------

Reyesburg, Maxfrica

Seod McLeRouge was a veteran of the Second Maxfrican Campaign, forty-eight years ago. He had been a young man then, a simple Comrade Freedom Fighter at age sixteen, suffering a terrible wound that lost him his right hand and forearm. They were now replaced by powerful cybernetic prosthetics, smuggled in from Hospitallus. He had declined the SynthSkin coverings, believing that having a visible mechanical arm made him look more intimidating. Now, McLeRouge was the Comrade Liberation Leader of all the Reyesburg cells, second only to the Comrade Supreme Leader himself.

"Comrade Leader, the cowardly dogs have fled from their base within the city. They have retreated to the fortress beyond the outskirts," said his right-hand man, Comrade Cell Coordinator, East Maxwell MacSavidge.

"Do not pursue and farther, Cormade. Their bunkers are too deep and their walls too thick. We must draw them out of hiding," McLeRouge growled.

"But that would mean waiting for their damned reinforcements!"

"Exactly. The Comrade Supreme Leader has a plan. Let them come."
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CHAPTER III

CTS Captain Sean Blackmore

"Company D, ATTEN-SHUT!" Captain Harlan bellowed. As one, the Company put its feet together, hands to its sides, and stood erect. "I know that most of you are very upset at this sudden deployment, but it is one of utmost importance and speed. The planet Maxfrica has risen in rebellion once again. Yes, that Maxfrica

"Yesterday, the insurgents overran Fort Greeson in Reyesburg and attacked every major military facility and unit on a planet-wide scale. It's out job to put them down, with the help of Twenty-ninth, Thirty-fourth, Eighty-second, One-oh-first, and One-seventeenth FISTs. And Third Army, but who cares about them?" Most of the men chuckled. "Company First Sergeant, the company is yours," Harlan said, walking out of the room.

"Aye, the company is mine," said First Sergeant "Chief" Parker, "Platoon commanders, there is a meet here in one-five minutes for briefing packets. Comp'ny, dis-MISSED!"

---------------------------------------------------------

"Alright, you sorry-looking sons of bitches, here are our quarters for this one-day voyage. I hope no one forgot anything important!" said Gunny Ryan.

"No, Gunnery Sergeant!"

"Good! Squads, split up, fight over bunks, get settled in. This one's mine," Ryan threw his pack onto the nearest bunk.

"Fuck!" someone in the back cursed. The platoon laughed.

"I got the top!" shouted PFC "Kid" Manning, rushing over and tossing up his pack.

"Whatever, Kid. I sure as hell don't wanna fall on my face," said Calahan, putting his own pack on the bottom bunk.

"You're always so pessimistic, Jack. Lighten up!"

"I ain't no pessimist, Kid. I'm a realist."

"He's right, Kid," Sergeant Thamus interrupted, "We go into evasive action or a fast move, you're on the floor, face plastered."

"Fuck! No no no no-fuck!" cursed Corporal Paul Jackson, unsuccessfully racing his team leader to the bunks. Grumbling, he pushed his pack onto the top and climbed onto in.

"Oi, you!" yelled Staff Sergeant "Cow" Maxwell of First Squad, walking over with Staff Sergeant "Red" Bandon and Sergeant Carlos Morales of Second Squad and Sergeant Logan "Killer" Keller of First, "We'lre going on a liquor hunt. Anyone up for it?"

"So in," Ben said immediately.

"Sailors can't drink on the ships, Cow," said Calahan, rolling his eyes.

"Nonsense! There'll still be a scalawag or three who managed to smuggle some on board."

"You better not let the officers or the Gunny catch you."

"Oh, don't be such a buzzkill! C'mon guys, let's go."

"That guy is so annoying," Calahan muttered.

"Hey, I'd like him on my side when the shit hits fan," Manning said.

"I wouldn't. I know how he got his nickname."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind. You seen Tom around?"

-------------------------------------------------------

"Success!" Cow whispered, an enormous grin on his face, as he carefully dropped a pack on the floor.

"Wow," Sergeant Michael Barnes said, covering his face with his palm.

"Not really. I'd say half the damn crew had some stashed away," said Red, sitting down on a bunk.

"Where's the Gunny? Ares, too. He loves kissing Harlan and Ryan's high-ranking asses," asked Cow.

"They both went to the PT room with most of Third Squad," said Corporal Steven Lee.

"Awesome. I've got one bottle for everone. We;;, two for me. It's all Bran Abrams," Cow said, reaching into the pack and pulling out a bottle.

"Fuck yes," hissed Lance Corporal "Dutch" Sanol, grabbing one of his own.

"I'll watch for officers," said Sergeant Morales, dragging a chair over to the entrance.

Cow finished his beer in one long chug. "Gawddamn," he croaked, slamming the bottle down on the floor, "It ain't the best, but it hits the spot."

"Your kinda life, eh Cow?" asked Ben.

"Sure as shit, yeah."

------------------------------------------------------------

"Eh, I don't like this. Combat drop right in the heart of Tartarus? Really?" asked Ensign Santiago, looking up from his briefing packet.

"Relax. First Maxfrica was hard, Second was a cakewalk. This should be easy-to-middlin'," replied Lieutenant Kyle Massey, the company executive officer.

"I'm sure that logic is totally sound, Kyle," said Santiago.

"I agree," said Ensign William Marks of Third Platoon, "'The heart of darkness does not allow one to leave unscarred.'"

"Enough of the Rezelian poetry, Will," said Captain Harlan, "I can't change this plan, so bitching at me won't help. We arrive in-system in...nineteen hours. Brief your men, do some PT, let 'em relax - whatever. Just be ready to fight. Dismissed."
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CHAPTER IV

CDN Goliath

"Gentlement, thank you for coming," said General Jacob Sanders. A large group of flag officers stood around the holomap table in the CDN Goliath's Combat Information Center. "Now that our forces have fully arrived in-system, we are now, officially, a clusterfuck." The arrayed generals laughed. "Okay, then. As you know, I'm Jake Sanders, commanding general of Third Army as well as the ground operation. Who are my counterparts in the Navy and Marines?"

A Navy officer adorned with a large amount of gold braid on his sleeves spoke up. "Fleet Admiral Raphael Hargis, First Fleet. I'm in overall command of the Third Maxfrican Campaign."

"Well, fuck, Admiral. I defer authority to you," said Sanders.

"Thank you. Lieutenant General Boris Vasiloff, to my right, is commanding our Marine element. Boris?"

"I have organized my FISTs into three Marine Expeditionary Forces," Vasiloff said, voice thick with a Krussian Muscovite accent, "Twenty-ninth and Thirty-fourth FISTs are First MEF, Maxfrica, commanded by Major General Hei Fu-Yong. Eighty-second and Ninety-fourth FISTs are Second MEF, Maxfrica, commanded by Major General Dean Caiger. Finally, One-oh-first and One-seventeenth FISTs are Third MEF, Maxfrica, under Major General Dietrich Koenjer. Brigadiers, Major Generals, is the chain of command clear?"

The Marine officers all nodded or roger'd.

"Excellent, Boris. Lieutenant General Hideyoshi 'Mace' Masaru, commanding general of the MPSF, has flown up for this meeting. He will answer to General Sanders in the capacity of an extra corps. General Sanders, know that General Vasiloff will answer directly to me. The Marines of the Third Provisional Division are not in your chain of command," said Hargis.

"Understood, sir."

"Excellent! This meeting is adj-"

"Excuse me, Admiral," Brigadier Bulworth interrupted.

Hargis was visibly annoyed. "Go on, Brigadier-?"

"F.J. Bulworth, Ninety-fourth FIST. Many of my infantry commanders have reservations on the operation plan, and therefore so do I. Specifically: the initial drop into Reyesburg."

"That cannot be helped, Brigadier," Hargis said, with slight emphasis on the last word, "This plan comes from Marshal Hoffman himself. I personally believe it is a sound plan."

"Bulworth put on a grimace and nodded. "No further questions, sir."

"Excellent!" Hargis repeated, smiling, "This meeting is now adjourned. Generals, please return to your ships and prepare for landing. Jump-off is at 1000 hours."

----------------------------------------------------

CTS Captain Sean Blackmore

"Impressions, sir?" asked Commander Thomas Wolfe of the FIST infantry battalion as Bulworth stepped off the shuttle.

"I know Jake Sanders's record - he led an infantry company during the Second Campaign, and commanded the Durios Incursion."

"Wolfe raised his eyebrows at those. "Impressive. He's been around quite a while."

"Damn straight. Army brass thought Durios was unwinnable. Jake's a good man. Hargis, though, is different. He talks like a damn good personnel officer, but he kissed serious ass to get command of First Fleet. I think he wants Fleet Admiral Chen's job next."

"Well, shit. Did you bring up-?"

"Yes, but like I said, Hargis is a sycophant. He probably agrees with every word that comes outta Hoffman's mouth like it's the fuckin' Newest Testament."

"So what do we do?"

"We get ready - we drop in two hours."
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CHAPTER V

CTS Captain Sean Blackmore

"Okay, who hasn't been on a combat drop outside o' Basic?" Ryan asked. Four hands raised. "McGraw, Farris, Garcia, and Wallce. Okay! It's just like training, only sometimes under fire and you get out much faster! Ask your fire team leaders for more detail on how to handle it. Everyone, get in a strap in! First and Second Squads, Shuttle One, Third Squad with the Ensign and me in Shuttle Two!"

----------------------------------------------------------

CDN Goliath
"Marines are prepping to go, five minutes," said Vasiloff, "Dietrich, land Third at the LZ for Third Army."

"Roger," replied Koenjer, proceeding to relay the orders.

"Fu, Dean, you ready?"

"Affirmative," said Hei.

"Rally points have been received," replied Caiger.

"All shuttles are ready. Awaiting the order," Vasiloff turned to Fleet Admiral Hargis.

Hargis nodded. "Authorized. Land the landing force."

----------------------------------------------------------------

CTS Captain Sean Blackmore
In the "science fiction" of earlier centuries on World, before the Confederation, it was a typical cliche that the central computer of a spaceship would "speak" in a calm, female voice. When the first military spaceships were constructed and the Confederation Marine Corps was established in the mid-22nd Century, the CMF bought into the former cliche. Therefore, when Marines or SpecOps made highly dangerous combat drops, the last thing they would hear, if killed, would be a soothing, feminine voice.

"Good evening, Marines," said the automated voice, "Please check your harnesses at this time." There was a long pause, during which older Marines checked their own restraints, and those of the newer men. "Prepare for release, T minus one minute."

"Upon hitting the beach, immediately find cover and regroup with your squad! If you somehow become separated from the platoon, head immediately for the designated rally points!" yelled the dropmasters on both shuttles, Cow and Santiago respectively.

"Drop...authorized," said the voice, returning, "Land the landing force. Good luck."

The shuttle jerked, released from its clamps. There was a momentary feeling of weightlessness as the assault shuttle drifted in the vacuum.

BANG!The electromagnet on the ship violently fired off a burst of energy. The shuttle jerked so violently that the Marines, had they not been restrained, would have broken every bone in their spine. Shaking uncontrollably, the shuttle shot into the atmosphere like a massive bullet. Flame smothered the floor as it entered, licking around the sides.

"Approaching first waypoint," said the coxwain on the intercom, barely audible over the roar, "Hold on."

The shuttle jerked violently once again as it fire four weak hoverjets, slowing its descent somewhat, but barely. As it continued the drop, passing through the clouds, the coxwain fired a second set of jets, causing the shuttle to jerk once again. PFC Farris, in Shuttle One, lost his lunch - at least one Marine in every shuttle does in any combat drop. At the third waypoint, fifteen klilometers above the ground, the coxwain fired a third, more poewrful set of jets, halving the speed of the descent. Eight kilometers from the ground, they started taking fire.

"Hot" combat drops are one of the most terrible experiences in a military man's career. Anti-air guns of modern times can obliterate drop pods and atmospheric aircraft with a single lucky shot, and a shuttle with as little as three. Against more high-tech enemies, radar=guided or heat-seeking Surface-to-Air Missiles don't even need a practiced gunner to hit. However, even with one glancing blow, the hull of a shuttle can be breached, causing he men inside to be cooked alive within seconds as the heat shield fails. The shuttles cannot even take evasive action - their drop zones are precise - relying on the speed of their descent to save them.

The shuttle shook suddenly, more violently than normal as anti-air shells exploded in the air around it. More than once, the Marines inside clearly heard fragments of metal clang against the hull. Three kilometers from the ground, the coxwain again fired more jets. Five seconds later, the shuttle slammed into the ground and aprubtly stopped. Their harnesses once again saved the Marines from "deep deathlash." In Shuttle Two, PFC Cody McGraw vomited all over two of his comrades.

"We're down! LET'S GO!" bellowed Ensign Santiago in Shuttle Two, promptly slapping the central buckle of his harness with his fist. As it fell away, Santiago jumped up and opened the hatches, small explosive charges blowing off the bolts. Rushing outside and dashing for the closest cover, he was closely followed by Gunny Ryan and Third Squad.

The night sky was illuminated by the tracers of thousands of anti-air shells, so many that they looked like beams of light cutting across the black. Above, hundreds of small- and medium-sized lights dotted the sky, the engines of descending drop pods and shuttles respectively. Almost three dozen balls of flame signified the fiery deaths of shuttles and pods, all laden with Marines - raining down like a shower of meteorites.

Santiago suddenly realized he was gaping. He werenched his attention away from the spectacle and close his mouth. "Third Squad, listen up! Listen up!" he barked. The others abruptly stopped staring at the sky and turned to look at him. "Rally point in five blocks from here! Let's get going!"

--------------------------------------------------

East Central Tartarus, Maxfrica

Shuttle One was slightly off course in its descent, smashing through a ferrocrete apartment building before slamming into the ground. The cockpit took the brunt of the collision, killing the coxwain. Cow quickly got loose of his harness and blew the doors. Rubbing his neck, he looked out and saw that they were surrounded by looming apartment buildings, all almost identical in construction. Checking his holomap, he found that they were three blocks east of their designated drop zone.

"Everybody okay?" Cow asked.

"I think the collision broke Gabe's wrist," said Red, examining Lance Corporal Novak's wrist with their shuttle's medic, Corporal Harold Lowe.

"We're three blocks off course, now the rally point is eight blocks east. We've gotta move," Cow replied. Sergeant "Killer" Keller and his fire team moved out the door and took cover in the rubble covering the street, watching for insurgents.

"What's with him?" Cow asked Sergeant Chris Fevrier, who had a body slumped over his shoulder.

"Who, Ballant? Out cold. I got him."

"Contact!" shouted PFC Jenkins, outside. He rose to a crouch and took a few pot shots at a group of shadows down the street. There was suddenly a sicking slap! and split-second screech of metal on metal, and Jenkins went down.

"Fuck, sniper! Everyone move! Move now!" Cow ordered.
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CHAPTER VI

CDN Goliath

As is usual for a high-ranking ground commander, General Vasiloff was bent low over the holotable, watching the battle unfold and analyzing its progress in his head. Comm officers manning the consoles around him constantly shouted out important messages from the ground commanders.

"Mike One-zero-one India Six reports LZ is clear!"

"Mike Two-one India Six reports fifteen percent casualties and heavy resistance!"

"Mike Niner-four India Six reports few casualties and light resistance!"

On the holomap, several of the blue-highlighted block, designating platoons and companies, were beginning to carve out small perimeters in the sea of red blocks. While the red blocks were small - usually squad-sized units - there were a lot of them, and only those visible were known enemy units.

Vasiloff turned his head to General Sanders, who was finishing up a conference with three division commanders. "This is a successful landing?"

--------------------------------------------

Somewhere in Tartarus, Maxfrica

A dazed Maxfrican - a runner - rushed into the room, panting heavily. "Comrade leader...the Marines...have landed!"

"I have heard the guns, Comrade," McLeRouge answered.

"It is not all...as you predicted, Comrade Leader. They...have landed...within...the city!" the runner gasped.

McLeRouge was surprised for a moment, then grinned broadly. "Whittle them down with hit-and-run attacks. Draw them into the center of the city."

"Comrade Leader, they are spread out and disorganized from their landing. Can we not defeat each unit in detail?"

"No! We want them in the city center. Kill some, but not all. Force them to pour as many men into the city as they can."

-------------------------------------------------

Central Tartarus

Ares edged his head around the corner, and was answered by a flurry of fire thudding against the wall of the building. "Shit!" he swore, "Three tangoes, about eighty meters down the road. They're dug in behind a pile o' junk."

"I can get 'em," said Corporal Lorenzo Ruiz, hefting his SIR with grenade launcher, a "Sergei."

"Okay, we'll cover you. I'll fire a few shots, draw their fire, while Joe gets in position with the AR. While they're pinned down you nail 'em. Clear?" Ruiz and Corporal Joseph Kilroy each gave a thumbs-up. "Okay...go!"

Ares stuck his rifle around the corner and blindly fired half a clip in their direction. At the same time, Kilroy - already prone - rolled around the corner and quickly set up his light machine gun, then hosed the enemy position with suppressing fire. Ruiz then dashed partway into the street, knelt down, and let off a grenade. The grenade arced up, almost gracefully, and then down, exploding just behind the junk pile.

"Cease fire!" Ares ordered. No more fire came from that position. "Clear front!"

"Okay," said Gunny Ryan, "Dave, cover. Ben, Jer, follow me!" Kilroy continued watching down the road as Ryan rushed across with Ben and Bishop's fire teams. Then the others covered the street as Ares, Santiago, and Foster's assault team crossed.

"SatLink show four hostile units, probably squad-sized, just north of the rally point. We've got to clear them out first," said Santiago, "Keep up this pattern until my order. Let's go."

---------------------------------------------------------

East Central Tartarus

A bullet slammed into the side of Cow's armor with almost enough force to knock the wind out of him. He staggered into the nearest building before losing his balance and falling over. "In here! In here!" he shouted. Several men from both squads followed him in.

"Gah...fuck!" cursed one man, Corporal Lee, falling on his face, "I got shot in the ass!"

Cow chuckled. "Serves you right, Lee. You shouldn't have been running away."

"Fuck you, Cow! So were you! Medic!"

Sergeant Keller and Lance Corporal Sanol came rushing through the doorway. Keller tripped over Lee's legs and fell on his face, the body he'd been carrying rolling off. "Fucking Christ, guys! Man, why the fuck am I carrying this body?" he asked.

"Living or dead, we don't leave any of our own behind. You know that, Killer," said Cow, moving up to crouch by a window.

"No, I mean why the fuck am I carrying this body? I'm the fire team leader, for fuck's sake," Keller rose to a crouch and checked his weapon.

"Where the fuck did Red go? Who'd he have with him?" Cow asked.

"He was ahead of us with Morales's team, Masters, and Aran," Keller replied.

Cow peered over the sill of the window, and a bullet burst just in front of him. "Fuck!" he swore, ducking down again, "Okay, Killer, Barnes, throw smoke. When it builds we run for the corner. Chang, Lowe, grab Lee! We're moving!"

Sergeants Keller and Barnes tossed grenades out the door. "Dutch, you're carrying Jenkins this time," Keller said.

"Aw, fuck!"
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CHAPTER VII

Central Tartarus

Ryan, Santiago, and Third Squad were crouched behind a waist-high wall, identical to the other walls that surrounded the front "yard" of each townhouse. "Okay, they're in this block of buildings," said Santiago, "Hear 'em?"

"I hear 'em," said Ryan, "Sound like they're shootin' east."

"Yeah. Okay, split up by fire teams and clear this block of tangoes. We'll meet up again on the other side and then head for the rally point." Ares and the other team leaders nodded. "I'll be with second fire team. Ryan, you take first. Ares, third. Move out."

---------------------------------------------

Ryan and first fire team hurdled over the low wall and sprinted to the door, lining up. "No breaching charges?" Ryan asked.

"Assault team," Ben replied.

"Then we'll do this the old-fashioned way. Manning, breach. Ben, Calahan, clear. Go."

Manning pivoted, kicked in the door, and repivoted. Ben and Calahan, ducking low, rushed in, firing at the visible targets who were shooting out of the eastern windows. After a few seconds, Ben called, "First floor, clear!"

"Manning, Jackson, second floor," Ryan ordered. The firing from upstairs stopped. Approaching the stairwell, Jackson armed a grenade, then tossed it up onto the upper landing. There was a cry of alarm, then the grenade exploded, and then there was silence. The two Marines cautiously crept upstairs to find several mangled bodies. "Second floor, clear!" Jackson called.

"Awesome work, guys," said Ryan, "Now let's do the same to the next one."

-------------------------------------------

Ensign Santiago ordered Corporal Ruiz and PFC McGraw around the back of the house, then had Lance Corporal Corrion and Sergent Bishop breach the front door. With Marines spilling into the house from both side, the insurgents didn't have a chance. "Let's go, next house!" Santiago ordered.

As they moved through the back yards of both houses, a shot rang out from the second floor. There was a clang! of metal on metal, and PFC McGraw went down, sprawled on his back. The others quickly pressed themselves tightly against the wall. "Cody, you alright?" Bishop whispered. McGraw didn't move. "Hit the window."

Corrion pulled a grenade from his vest, leaned out, and threw it into the upper window. When it exploded, Bishop and Ruiz rushed through the door, guns blazing. When Bishop gave a shout of, "All clear!" McGraw suddenly stood back up and casually walked over.

"What the fuck? Aren't you hit? What the fuck, man?" Corrion swore, frustrated.

"No, it was a bad shot. Ricocheted off my armor. Sorry for the scare, he was watching me," McGraw replied.

"'Scare?' Fuck you, man, I didn't care."

"Yeah. Tom likes to leave people behind. That's how he rolls," chuckled Ruiz. Corrion gave him a very rude hand gesture.

"Well, no need for a medic, then," Bishop cut in, "Let's get going, follow the Ensign."

----------------------------------------------------

"Well," said Ares, "They were shootin' the shit outta this house. Let's go see what's inside. Garcia, on point."

"Roger."

Lance Corporal Elliot bashed in the door with the butt of his rifle and PFC Garcia charged in, submachine gun raised. "Clear," Garcia called a moment later, "Watch your step. Lotta icky bodies."

Ares stepped through the door and nearly tripped over a dead Maxfrican sprawled at the bottom of the nearby stairwell. "Dave, Joe, check the second floor."

"Roger," said Sergeant Foster, raising his SMG and creeping upstairs, Corporal Kilroy just behind. As he reached the upper landing, Foster came face-to-face with a man slumped against the wall, steadying a submachine gun on a raised knee. Foster instinctively tightened his finger on the trigger.

"Whoa, mate," said the man against the wall, who Foster now noticed was armored, "Friendly." He dropped his weapon to the floor. Foster lowered his own.

"Oi, Ares! Friendly up here!" he shouted. Foster moved over and knelt down next to the Marine. "Helluva fight, mate."

"Corporal Emmanuel Javier, Second Platoon, E Company, Thirty-fourth FIST."

"We're Ninety-fourth FIST. Where the hell are you?" asked Ares.

"Fucking drop was a disaster. My fire team, we were clustered together, were dropped off course. Golus and Sergeant Rygon crashed straight through five floors of a fucking apartment building." Foster noticeably cringed. "Arroyan was killed before he could get out of his harness. I managed to make it here, a shitload o' Maxfricans on my ass. They mangled my arm with a grenade," Javier nodded his head at the bloody left arm that lay limp at his side, "I thought...I thought I was finished, mate."

"You're among friends now. Joe, run and grab Doc Gomez."

-------------------------------------------------------------

East Central Tartarus

"This is our rally point? Cow, did you read that map right?" Red asked, crouched at the corner of a building and looking across the Y-intersection.

"Yes, I'm sure. I don't think the REMFs up in the planning rooms took falling drop pods into account," Cow snapped. The two-story townhouse dominating the 'V' part of the intersection was half-ruined by a crashed drop pod. "Just get the men inside. Mike, cover them."

Sergeant Barnes ordered his men to watch all three roads, and Red and his squad sprinted across to the house. Once they were safe and covering them, Cow stood up and sprinted across with his squad. Leaning back against a wall, tired from all the running over the last four hours, Cow panted, "No contact? At a major intersection?"

"No," Red replied.

"Unbe-fuckin'-lievable."

There was suddenly a wet slap and Lance Corporal Mark Clancy, watching out the exposed part of the building, gasped in pain and went down.

"What's that, seven, eight times?" Red muttered.

"I stopped counting after Xylonum."
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CHAPTER VIII

East Central Tartarus

Bullets snapped overhead as they burrowed into or ricocheted off the walls. Cow and Red were crouched together beneath a window, rising out the storm. "Pinned down in a building with Cow. Gee, where have I ever been in a similar situation?" Red said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Shut up," Cow snapped.

"I'm blaming this one you, too," Red crept away from the window, toward the door. Slightly leaning out, he was promptly struck so forcefully that he was knocked to the floor.

"Whoa! Doc, Red's hit!" Cow shouted, moving over.

"I'm alright! I'm alright!" Red said, "Am I alright?"

"Are you?"

"Yeah. Ricochet. Christ, Cow, don't give me that look if I'm alright!"

"Enemy squad moving up!" shouted Sergeant Keller, peering through a small hole in the wall nearby.

"Mike," shouted Cow, quickly grabbing his helmet and resealing it on his shoulders.

"Hose 'em, Rod!" Sergeant Barnes ordered. Corporal Miguel Rodriguez stood up and hefted his light machine gun onto the window sill. He quickly cut down most of the fast-advancing Maxfricans. "Three, comin' in!" Barnes shouted.

A moment later, two men rushed through the door, one promptly impaling himself on Cow's extended bayonet. Corporal Charles Logan and Lance Corporal Sanol made quick work of the second. The third insurgent managed to make a great leap into one of the windows, clubbing PFC Joshua Wallace away with his rifle before being eviscerated by a volley from Keller's fire team.

"More coming up! Rod!" Barnes shouted, beginning to shoot through Wallace's window.

---------------------------------------------------

The rattle of a firefight resounded through the city, loudest to those in the nearest street. The commotion drew Ensign Santiago's attention. "That's a big fight," he said, looking through a window, "Sounds like it's to the south."

"That's where the rally point is, ain't it?" asked Ares, standing up and walking over.

"Possibly. Okay, Third Squad. You two sods grab Corporal Javier and we'll get moving. There's trouble down south!"

Corporal Ruiz and PFC McGraw - the largest Marines in the squad besides Ares - hauled Javier onto the latter's back as the rest of the squad quickly ran back downstairs. Ben and Jackson cleared the street outside, and first fire team led the way.

"How're you holding up, Kid?" Ben asked, cautiously moving to the corner of the block and peering around.

"Y'don't have teh ask me that question, sahge. This is mah thoyd operation," replied Manning.

"I haven't seen any improvement," said Calahan. Jackson snickered. Manning gave them a very rude and obnoxious hand gesture. Then Ben waved forward and both of them dashed across. Ben and Manning followed once they were covered.

"Shut up, you asshat," Manning snapped.

"Hey, I had an opportunity. If I'd been an enemy and we were trading shots, you'd be dead," Calahan replied, sweeping a building through the windows while walking past, "See my point?"

"No," said Manning.

"Me either," said Jackson.

"You guys are both real thick, you know that?"

"Well," Manning started, "at least we have-"

"Eyes, three-zero," Calahan cut in, crouching abruptly, "Two tangoes."

"Fire," Ben ordered. Calahan gave both men double-taps and they crumpled to the ground.

"Three, this is Alpha. We have contact, two tangoes, both dead," Ben said into the comm.

"Roger that," Ares replied, "Charlie, on me. Everyone else, hold position."

Behind them, Ares and the assault team dashed across the street and quickly advanced parallel to first firee team. A few meters ahead of them, they stopped and crouched. "Delta One-Three here, eyes on tangoes, estimate two, three squads, all attack Objective Romeo Papa. Advance, form echelon on me," said Ares on the comm. Both fire teams sprinted forward and formed a staggered line across the road, angled left. Ensign Santiago and Gunny Ryan followed behind, watching the rear. Ares waved them forward, and the line advanced at an equal pace, eventually facing the Y-intersection.

"Line, halt!" Ares ordered, raising a balled fist and crouching, "Volley upon command, bearing three-two-zero!" Ares raised his rifle to his shoulder and took aim at a Maxfrican crouched behind an archaic motorcar. "Line, fire!"

There was a single huge crack as the squad fired as one, killing almost equal their number in that one moment. "Fire!" Again. "Fire!" Again.

"Line, cease fire! Take cover!" Ares yelled, dashing for a nearby motorcar himself. Not two moments later, bullets began to saturate their former position, coming from the buildings to the south. First and second fire teams stumbled through the blown-out side of the building the rest of the platoon was holed up in.

"Howdy, Red, Cow," Ben said, panting and grinning through his opaque visor at the same time, "We've cleared the streets for ya."

"They're still in some of the buildings," said Lance Corporal Corrion, watching out the hole in the side.

"Then let's clear 'em out," said Red, cocking his rifle, "Second squad, on me!"

-------------------------------------------------

"We have pinned down Marine units on Third, East, and Buckley Streets," said the cell leader.

"Excellent work, Comrade Caisson," said MacSavidge, marking his map, "Comrade Mareilus?"

"We have destroyed a squad-sized Marine element on Blesley, and pinned down two platoon-sized units on East and at Alamus Plaza."

"Excellent. By dawn we sh-"

"Comrade Leader! Comrade Leader!" interrupted a runner, addressing Cell Leader Mareilus, "Comrade Montrose requests assistance at Alamus Plaza. He says enemy reinforcements have arrived."

"By your leave, Comrade Leader?"

"Granted," said MacSavidge, "Keep me updated. Try to take a few...prisoners, too, Comrade." The five men in the room laughed and grinned.
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CHAPTER IX

Alamus Plaza

"Cow, how're your squads doing?" Santiago asked.

"Lee, Owens, Clancy, and Jack Malone all took minor hits, they'll be fine. We're set and ready to go," Cow answered.

"Excellent. Ares?"

"PFC Garcia's got some grenade fragments in his hip. Other than that, we're good to go," said Ares.

"Alright. We're assigned to search and destroy ops in Grid Juliet, Subgrids Alpha through Mike. Pick up the wounded and-"

A bullet shot through the window and punched through the top of Cow's shoulder armor, grazing him. Everyone in the room dropped prone immediately, just before dozens of rounds began thudding into the walls. They shot me! Cow said, genuinely shocked, "Those bastards shot me!"

"Not like you're in the Marine Corps or anything," Sanol chuckled. Cow gave him a very obscene hand gesture.

"Longer than you've been in the Corps, Dutch," Cow snarled.

"Looks like we've got company again," said Santiago, "Positions!"

----------------------------------------------------

"We're here," said Ben, crouching next to where the second floor ended, the crashed drop pod just below, "Kid, Jack, cover this side. Paul and I've got these windows."

Calahan nodded. Not a minute later, he raised his rifle and dropped a Maxfrican. "So, Kid, what's your kill count?" he asked, continuing to scan his angle.

"I dunno. Foyty? Foyty-five?"

"Heh, this one," Calahan doubled-tapped, "makes two hundred and sixty-two."

"Jesus, you keep count?"

"Six deployments, a lot of people in the galaxy," Calahan fired again, "You gotta keep count of how much fewer dumb fucks there are."

"You have scary logic."

"Logic?" Calahan looked up momentarily," There's little logic involved in killing."

"That supposed to be a political statement?" asked Manning.

"No! It's Rule Number One: Kill them before they kill you. It's one or the other, and there's no logical way to 'justify' either decision beyond simple survival instincts."

"Heh. You a philosopher or somethin'?"

"Fuck no. I don't ponder decisions, I make them."

"Coulda fooled me," Manning fired, "Forty-seven."

---------------------------------------------------

"Whoa," said Corporal Rodriguez, opening up with his machine gun, "Heavu activity, moving on the right!"

They're going for the open side," Ryan said, "Charlie, Jer, Dave, on me! Set up to defend the area aorund the drop pod!"

The buildings shook following a massive explosion as a rocket slammed into a wall. Corporal Rodriguez yelped and fell backward, clutching a bloody hand. "Gunny, they're coming. Engaging," ben came in over the comm.

Upstairs, Calahan and Manning stepped up their rate of fire, a steady stream of Maxfricans crossing the street and clambering up the pile of ruins around the crash site below. Calahan dropped one with an excellent shot - entering through the left shoulder and exiting through the right buttock - and then his rifle clicked dry.

"Changing mags," he said, tossing the empty one away and reaching into his pouch for another.

SLAP!

Calahan slumped backward, a bullet through his lower chest. "Jack!" Manning shouted, nearly drowned out by nearby explosions, "Hang on, I'll get a-"

BOOM!

A mortar exploded through the ceiling riddling Manning with shrapnel across his left side. He lost his balance and tumbled over the side.

-------------------------------------------------------

BOOM! BOOM!

"Jesus, mortars?" muttered Ryan, "They're more heavily-"

BOOM!

A body fell from the second floor, smashed into the top of the crashed pod, and rolled off the opposite side. "Holy shit!" shouted Corporal Ethan Aran, "That was a Marine! We've got to go ge-"

Maxfricans suddenly appeared, swarming over and around the pod. Aran, who had been moving forward, was immediately hit between the shoulder and neck. "BAYONETS!" Ryan bellowed, ejecting his own at the end of his rifle, impaling an insurgent. Both sides fired wildly into each others' mass, with many engaging their opposites in melee combat. Lance Corporal Elliot was knocked to the ground and stabbed by two insurgents before they were killed by PFC Roger Farris. As Farris raised his rifle to fire at the others still climbing over, an insurgent fired, the bullet lancing straight through the Marine's heart.

Slumped against the wall and unable to move, Corporal Javier continued his fight, firing his rifle while sitting. He wounded an insurgent fighting Lance Corporal Corrion, allowing Corrion to impale his opponent at the end of his rifle. Corrion, Ruiz, and McGraw fired in unision at the enemy mob, then rushed back into the fray. A grenade suddenly landed between them, unnoticed. "Oh...God," Javier groaned. He pushed himself forward and rolled on top of it, muffling its effect and explosion a moment later.

Corrion looked down at the muffled boom to see Javier's body jerk as the grenade exploded. With a cry of fury, he grabbed a spike grenade of his own and shoved it through the melee into the throat of a Maxfrican. "COVER!" he bellowed, turning and crouching to shield himself from the blast. Many other Marines did so as well. A moment later, the grenade exploded, blowing apart the unfortunate insurgent, shredding the nearest dozen, and wounding many more. Sergeant Bestwick and PFC Garcia were peppered with fragments.

"Now's our chance! Rally!" yelled Ensign Santiago, plunging into the fray with Ares. Several Marines let out a fierce cry of triumph, bayonetting, clubbing, and shooting any remaining Maxfricans in their way.
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