The Soldier

by Terrance Mulloy

  Matt looked away, taking a deep breath through his nose. “People back home… all the people I know, they think Praetorians are invincible.”

  “Well, we’re not. In case you missed it, we just got our asses handed to us by a bunch of resistance fighters. And besides, that whole invincible warrior bullshit – it’s just a marketing strategy – a recruiting method the USC use to make us look like superheroes. If people back home knew what was really happening out here - how many of us were dying each day - no one would enlist. Would you have?”

  “I still believe we’re here for the right reasons, sir.”

  Mace snickered upon hearing that. “We ain’t here for right or wrong, greenie. We’re here to kill these people… if you can even call them that. But those fuckin’ Dupes ain’t even the real target. That’s the frustrating thing. They’re just useful idiots for the Wraith.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, they don’t seem to be idiots. The ones we encountered - they had tactical training. They knew how to ambush our convoy and disable it.”

  “Yeah, and who do you think they learned it from? They were Infiltrators once. Those Dupes are what happens when they start remembering their mission objectives. Was bound to happen eventually. Besides, Wraith command could give a shit. They know Dupes are a nuisance for us. That’s why they dump ‘em out here. Anything to fuck with our supply lines.”

  Before either man could continue the conversation, a scuffling of rapid footsteps could be heard outside.

  Mace clicked his fingers, aiming his sidearm at the cave entrance.

  Matt killed the torchlight on his rifle and raised it, taking aim. Neither man still had any digital outputs visible on their weapons.

  To their relief, WarBarbie came rushing in, her delicate face now slicked with sweat, her chest heaving through her pink armor as she rested her hands on her knees. She’d been running non-stop for nearly an hour. “Their coming… marching this way...”

  Mace’s face paled. “How many?”

  “More than I can count.”

  “Take a guess.”

  “I don’t know - seven hundred. Maybe more. There’s a whole goddamn battalion of them.”

  Mace holstered his sidearm and got to his feet, his fatigued mind now racing from a fresh spike of adrenaline. He met WarBarbie’s eyes, and they betrayed exactly what he was thinking: They now faced hopeless odds.

  “Sir, we can’t hide from them all night. But we can get to that rig before they do.”

  WarBarbie looked at Matt and huffed with frustration, still trying to recover her breathing. “Greenie, maybe you didn’t hear me properly. There’s a whole army headed this way.”

  “Look, if one of us can get behind that Stalker, we’ll be able to take it out before that army reaches us. By the time they get here, we would have already driven away.” Matt moved closer to Mace; his eyes were now ablaze with determination. “Sir, this is our only shot at getting out of here and reaching that base. We can still do this… fuck ‘em all, right?”

  Mace held Matt’s gaze and smiled. As much of a smile as he could muster. Then, he was all business again. “Grab your shit. Let’s move.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Epsilon’s night sky was a cowl of dark clouds as the trio moved into position, slithering on their bellies to acquire a vantage point on a sloped ledge of rock that had partially collapsed from erosion.

  When Matt lifted his rifle scope to his right eye, he felt a surge of adrenaline immediately flood through him. Spying the dormant Stalker in the distance, a small contingent of armed Dupes also loitered nearby. “I have ten hostiles, three hundred meters,” he whispered.

  WarBarbie whipped her rifle across to where Matt was aiming. “Hostiles confirmed,” she whispered back.

  Matt blinked, stiffening his trigger finger as one of the Dupes idly glanced their way, its baleful, hollow grey eyes staring up at them. “Oh, shit… I think we’ve been made.”

  “Na, na, we’re cool. Don’t sweat it, greenie. We’re still hidden. Just be thankful they don’t have any sensor tech on them.”

  Mace was busy watching the rig on their right flank with his naked eye, straining to see it in the dim light, unaided by the precise digital enhancements his faceplate and rifle normally offered in situations like this. He could make out several more Dupes working to get the enormous trailer open. With a hot breeze wafting upward, he picked out the faint skirl of agitated dialogue. They appeared to be having difficulty opening the trailer. There were slashes of scorched steel near the lock, indicating they had tried to shoot their way in with no success. “Yeah, that’s right,” he whispered to himself with a grin. “You fuckers won’t be getting that open anytime soon. Not without breaking the encrypted access code from yours truly.”

  “How you wanna play this one, cap?” WarBarbie’s eyes were still glued to her scope as she lay there, still as the rock she was resting on.

  “There’s no good option, but I say we target that handful of stragglers near the rig first. Keep it dark, stealth kills only.”

  WarBarbie shook her head in disagreement. “There’s not enough time for that.”

  Matt swiveled to WarBarbie and held his hand out. “Then you better give me the nade so I can get moving.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so, greenie. I’m much faster than you. Nice try, though.

  “Then what are my orders?”

  “You’re gonna hump it down to that rig with the cap. He’ll cover you why you get it started. I’ll make my way to the Stalker.”

  Hearing that, Mace swung around to her, not thrilled with that idea at all. “And what do we do if something happens to you? Start throwing rocks at it?”

  “Cap, stealth is way too slow. We don’t have the luxury of time here. I say we go loud-and-proud. Let’s get this done quickly.”

  “One shot is gonna bring that entire crew down on your ass. You really wanna go toe-to-toe with a Stalker after losing the element of surprise?”

  “Don’t worry about me, I can deal with it.”

  “WarBarbie. Goddamnit.”

  “Hey, it’s your call, cap.”

  Mace held her eyes, knowing she was right in the assessment of her abilities. She was one of the most lethal warriors he had ever had the privilege of serving with. But there was something else that passed between them silently. They both understood the risk involved here, and the very real possibility she may not make it to that Stalker alive. Mace was the first to blink, looking away to face Matt, pointing at him sternly. “Greenie, you follow my lead. No questions.” He then turned back to WarBarbie. “Good luck. We’ll pick you up on the way through.”

  “And if you don’t, then I guess I’ll see you in hell,” she replied, slowly drawing her M-38 thermal saber from her scabbard as if she were a Samurai about to storm into battle.

  “Not if you get there first,” Mace quipped with a fatalistic smirk.

  “In that case, I’ll be sure to keep her warm for you, cap.” She respectfully nodded to Matt, then gave Mace a tiny, almost mischievous smile before she turned and moved off, ducking out of sight like a ferret.

  Mace watched her go, his eyes betraying a deep concern for her. In some strange way, it transcended the chain of command. He loved this young woman as if she were his daughter.

  Thick sweat inched its way down Matt’s cheeks as he followed Mace. He kept his rifle clutched tightly in his gloved hands, sweeping for targets while he moved. Mace had ordered him to turn on his faceplate’s HUD, and all tactical displays again before engaging the enemy.

  Suddenly, gunfire belched in the distance. WarBarbie had begun engaging the enemy.

  When the handful of Dupes near the rig spun to the source of the commotion, without warning, Matt and Mace lit them up with a blistering volley of plasma fire, mowing them down as they kept pushing towards the idling rig.

  One of the Dupes that was standing nearby managed to dodge the onslaught and return fire as it fled for cover. But Matt already had it in his
sights, dropping the Dupe just short of a boulder it was scrambling towards. Mortally wounded, the Dupe skidded into the dirt, rearing back up with a defiant screech as it went to fire again on them. Before it could pull the trigger of its Reaper-rifle, its chest exploded in a shower of black gore, painting the boulder next to it.

  Matt finished it off with a second shot to the forehead, then shouldered his rifle and jumped onto the step of the driver’s cab, grabbing the door handle. “Cover me!” he yelled over the idling engine and relentless crackle of distant gunfire.

  “Way ahead of you, greenie!” Mace kept guard while Matt climbed up to the driver’s cab.

  Matt said a silent prayer, then yanked the handle down like pulling an emergency clamp. The door swung open, and Marcus’s body collapsed on top of him. Matt reflexively jolted and snatched a support bar next to the door frame before losing his balance. He leaned back against the radiator grille to allow the lifeless body to tumble past him and drop to the ground below.

  Marcus hit the ground with a meaty thud, the impact throwing up a dust cloud. His entire neck had been destroyed to the point where his head was just hanging on by a few strings of tissue and muscle.

  Furious, Mace gritted his jaw upon seeing his friend’s corpse crumpled on the ground in front of him. The anger bubbling inside was enough to cut through the pain and fatigue his shoulder wound had caused him. “We’ll come back for you, bud. I promise.” With that, he hustled over to the rig’s towering front bumper and took position against it, raising his good arm to continue probing the darkness with his weapon. “Get to work, greenie!” he yelled. “And make it quick!”

  In the distance, he could see the relentless gunfire strobing the rocky landscape with brilliant flickers of silver and blue. To the untrained observer, one might think there was an LED light show taking place. There was little doubt in Mace’s mind that the larger Dupe battalion would have heard all this commotion by now. They had to get moving.

  Up in the driver’s cab, Matt was presented with something akin to the cockpit of an airliner. “Yeah… not exactly a grain harvester,” he whispered to himself, sweating bullets as he scanned the baffling controls that were splattered with blood.

  The first thing he did was find the coupling quick-release button. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally decouple the horseshoe-shaped device that hooked the tractor unit to the trailer. The second thing, was to search for the ignition switch, making sure he did not turn it off. There was a good chance an engine like this would require a retinal scan to kick it back over. That would have been a messy exercise neither of them had time for. He gripped the steering wheel, feeling the strong vibration through his gloves. It felt as if he was about to break in a young Stallion. He could also feel something wet seeping through his fatigues. He glanced down at the seat next to him, realizing it was caked in blood and glass debris. Ignoring it, he allowed his boot to gently rest on the brake pedal, putting one hand on the automated hydraulic transmission stick. “Sir, I’m ready to reverse.”

  Matt waited for Mace to pop the opposite passenger door open and climb in, grimacing at the blood-caked seat and windshield. He slammed the door shut and unholstered his sidearm again, keeping it trained on the windshield ahead. “Alright, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  A loud blast of air hissed as Matt slid the gear selector into reverse, took his foot off the brake pedal, and pressed the accelerator. The engine growled before the entire cab shuddered then rolled forward again. Matt slammed the brakes, throwing Mace into the dash console. “That’s OK. Give it some more juice, greenie. Come on, get us out of this ditch.”

  Now flicking his eyes between the rear-view camera and side mirrors, Matt accelerated again, this time with more force.

  Hydraulics hissed like a den of angry vipers as the rig began to reverse, axels groaning in protest, the trailer torquing sideways like a giant lumbering beast as it rolled out of the ditch, its enormous tires crunching rock and sand. Matt was careful not to reverse over Marcus’s body, but he was also concerned if they spent too much time here, the Dupes would pivot their attention to them, realizing WarBarbie was simply a diversion.

  Eyes agog, Mace was staring ahead at the dormant Stalker with bated breath, knowing the driver would now be wrestling with a dire conundrum. Would it fire on them, sacrificing a trailer full of supplies, or would it simply allow them to drive off with the rig and disappear into the night? He was hoping it was the latter. He was also hoping WarBarbie was still alive out there. “Come on, baby. Don’t let me down,” he whispered, making it sound more like a prayer.

  WarBarbie hacked her way through the rabble of Dupes with controlled rage, skillfully maneuvering between the contrails of plasma that streaked through the air, her pink combat armor now glistening with black blood. Throats were slit and limbs were removed as the blade of her M-38 saber glowed molten orange, carving through alien flesh like butter.

  Through her gore-splattered faceplate, she could see the gigantic metal Stalker still sitting there, watching her draw closer like a patient predator.

  Spotting a Dupe on her right flank, she drew her sidearm with lightning speed, and drilled it in the upper chest with a short burst of fire, holstering it again before twirling her saber around to sever its head. Her motion was clean, fluid, and surgical, with not a single movement wasted.

  She had become the Angel of Death, fighting with balletic grace that was equally beautiful to watch as it was deadly. It almost seemed effortless as she continued to cut the enemy down like they were made of straw, revealing the true deadliness of her abilities. These Dupes never stood a chance. Without breaking stride, she whisked past the giant pincered legs of the Stalker to its rear. She could feel the heat emanating off its metal skin, the ground tremoring as its engines idled.

  But as she rounded one of the rear legs, a Dupe suddenly appeared from the darkness, screaming at her with rage, its vocal cords straining into a weird electronic futzing noise. Before the Dupe could fire a shot at her, she ducked under its rifle barrel and sliced its legs off at the knee. As the screaming Dupe collapsed to its bloodied stumps, WarBarbie pivoted and drove the glowing blade through its neck, severing the spinal column.

  Then, she heard a metallic rumbling above her. She peered out between the underbelly of the Stalker to see the huge cannon was now cranking around, its muzzle beginning to glow hot.

  Tracking the muzzle’s line of sight, she could see the distant rig Mace and Matt had commandeered reversing out of the ditch, giant tires spinning as the trailer slowly straightened itself. The driver of this Stalker was about to fire on them. There was simply no time to wedge the grenade through the rear intake to disable it. She needed a new plan.

  WarBarbie sheathed her saber and leaped onto the first knuckle of the Stalker’s pincer, frog-hopping up it as if she were climbing a coconut tree. Suddenly, a hail of bullets splintered around her, detonating like miniature claymores.

  She spun around to see more Dupes emerging from the darkness, barking orders at each other over the crackle of gunfire.

  Ignoring the new threat that was advancing on her, she continued to scramble up the Stalker’s leg under a hailstorm of fire, the concussive blows pounding inside her helmet. When she reached the huge connective joint of the upper leg, she skillfully lifted herself aboard the cannon’s bulbous canopy, wasting no time in making her way along the hull towards the driver’s hatch, keeping low while volleys of plasma still snapped past her head.

  She pulled the incendiary grenade from a hidden harness inside her chest armor, yanking the pin. Then, she bent down and grabbed the handle. To her surprise, the inside latch mechanism was not locked. Heavy hinges moaned as the black-steeled hatch slowly lifted like an old Panzer tank.

  But before she could slam-dunk the grenade into it, there was a sudden burst of fire from inside. WarBarbie was driven back, plasma rounds stitching an even pattern across her stomach.

  With its fist-gun aimed at the hatch, the Dupe
inside had been waiting for her to open it.

  Still clutching the grenade, she stared with shock at the warm blood seeping through her fatigues. She could feel it dripping down her legs. She could also hear it dripping onto the hull. The burst of gunfire had penetrated a small band of mobility webbing that separated the upper and lower plates of her torso armor. It was a lucky shot. One in a million, she thought. Then again, perhaps it knew exactly where to shoot her. She could also tell, just by the sudden dulling of her senses and the weakness now sapping her limbs, this was a fatal wound. There would not be enough time to disable the Stalker and somehow not bleed out during the process.

  There was only one thing left to do.

  When she looked up and saw the driver now climbing out of the hatch with its fist-gun raised, she charged at him like a wounded bull on its final stand.