The Soldier

by Terrance Mulloy

  The officers laughed softly, except Hollsworth. He was dialed in now, totally focused on his responsibilities as the highest-ranking British officer here. That reality was starting to weigh even more heavily on him. “What about those emplacements at the base’s entrance?”

  “Have a crew man them. But tell them not to fire on any Dupes that decide to knock on the front door first. We want them in our kill zone. However, when it all kicks off, short bursts only. There’s going to be a lot of targets, so we don’t want to burn up those guns straight away.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Any notable marksmen here?”

  “There’s two, in particular, I’d consider excellent snipers.”

  “Good. Set them up outside the base. Somewhere elevated if possible. Those Dupes may have gotten a hold of some thermal tech, so be sure they also use heavy concealment.” Mace then turned to the crater-pocked stretch of apron outside, watching various officers scurry about like ants protecting a nest. “Let’s use the dead Dupes… let’s use our own dead too - dress the base up. Decorate it. Make it look like they’ve arrived too late and already missed the main event. It’ll confuse them - get those gears inside their ugly heads turning a little faster.”

  There was a beat of silence as some officers shared looks with Hollsworth, unsure if they had heard the grizzled captain correctly.

  “You want to use our dead?” Hollsworth asked.

  “We’re gonna play dead, Lieutenant. Let them march right up to us before we cut ‘em open. To do that, the base needs to look like it’s already been taken.”

  “Captain, I’m not sure the surviving officers here will be comfortable with that.”

  “Well, then you need to ask them what they will be comfortable with.”

  “With all due respect, I think we can carry out this plan without desecrating our fallen.”

  Mace looked at him and snickered. “Surely, you’re not that naïve, Lieutenant. Look around, those bodies have already been desecrated.”

  “Using them as cannon fodder – sir, that’s going to leave a bad taste in the mouths of my officers.”

  “Not as bad as the taste of blood. Because that’s all they’ll be tasting if we don’t stop the enemy from swarming our position. These Dupes are not the aimless insurgents we’ve grown used to, Lieutenant. We need to be creative here. We need to out-monster the monster. Now, I know you’ve already seen how they can fight. But they’re way more organized now. They’re desperate for supplies, and they’re merciless in obtaining them. They’ve already murdered a lot of good boys and girls here these past few days. Are you really OK with them killing more to take control of this base?”

  “No, sir. But that’s not—”

  “Good, because that’s the only moral question you need to be wrestling with right now. What are you prepared to do to hold this base?”

  Hollsworth said nothing and tensed his jaw, his eyes drifting to the ground as if being scolded by an irate parent.

  Mace could see the reservation in his eyes, so he pressed a little harder. “I’ll be honest, I can’t tell you if what we’re doing is a righteous act, Lieutenant. I’ve been here since the first fleet arrived, and I still can’t figure out why we’re on this rock. For all I know, the Wraith could have already invaded Earth again and taken the planetary killshot we feared would happen the first time they showed up. Who knows? But one thing I do know is that if I die here today, I’ll be comforted in knowing I gave it my all. And I’ll tell you something else, the men and women lying under those tarps would also expect nothing less from me.”

  That resonated.

  Matt could see it on the faces of the officers surrounding him.

  After another moment of silence, Hollsworth lifted his gaze to Mace, the conflict in his eyes had now been replaced with steely resolve. “Officer Miller.”

  A female officer stepped forward and snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”

  “See to it that Evans, Johnson, and Wright assist you in moving the dead into position under to direction of Captain Mace.”

  Thirty-One

  All eyes were on Mace as he climbed on top of the rig’s trailer to address the growing crowd of below. Within seconds, the entire base was gathered there squinting up at him, every officer, battle-clad, and ready to rock with their combat gear and weaponry.

  Matt, Hollsworth, and Roberts also stood underneath, waiting for Mace to deliver his speech, also combat-ready and pumped. Matt had only known Mace for a few days, but he was impressed by his change of heart. One could even say, inspired by it. Sure, Mace was still a grim son of a bitch most of the time, but it felt as if he had rediscovered his purpose as a warrior. On the eve of this battle, the fire inside him had been rekindled. Matt liked to think he had played some minor part in that, no matter how significant. Regardless of his many flaws, he had grown to respect Mace for the man he was.

  “As a Praetorian, I’ve led the best Alpha Corps has to offer. The elite. Stone-cold technicians of death and destruction…” When some whoops and cheers erupted, Mace raised a hand to calm his army. “But as I look out on this crowd, I see just as much heart, and just as much fight in you. I can see it in your eyes. I know why too. It’s because you ain’t fighting for cheeseburgers and video games. You ain’t fighting for an ideology, a culture, or a belief. You ain’t even fighting for a flag. You’re fighting for the man on your left, and the woman on your right. You’re fighting for each other. And because of that, I’m honored to be leading you into combat today. Shit, I even kinda feel sorry for the assholes stupid enough to take you on.” The crowd exploded into cheers and hollers. “Out-fucking-standing!” Mace declared as he raised his rifle into the air. “Soldiers of the United Space Command, it’s time to get yours. Man your combat stations!”

  Matt straightened as Mace’s heartfelt words echoed over the crowd, giving him goosebumps.

  Rifle still raised, Mace stood there watching the crowd below disperse to take their positions, proud as hell. He then lowered his rifle and looked at Matt, giving him a respectful nod.

  Matt returned it. It was time.

  Thirty-Two

  By the time dusk had reached Epsilon, the entire base had been moved into position and was restocked and ready. Mace ensured all the surviving officers, including the inured, had replenished their electrolytes and eaten something substantial. From his own experience in the field, fighting on an empty stomach was never a good idea, especially in a planetary environment as hostile as this one.

  In the northern corner of the base, Hollsworth and a small fireteam of hand-picked officers had taken cover among the mountains of rubble. Two of his officers were manning heavy Fusion Pulse railguns known as NK-340 Beowulf’s. They were used exclusively by British ground forces; despite being manufactured in Germany. Each weapon fired 20-millimeter bolts of electrically charged plasma that could penetrate solid rock like it was made of rice paper. From their slightly elevated position, Hollsworth and his team had a direct line of sight to the base’s main entrance and the two gunnery emplacements above it, where another small team waited in the shadows, concealed from view.

  Roberts and her team of medics had already successfully moved the injured down into the power bunker on mobile gurneys, accompanied with a good supply of water, food rations, weaponry, and ammunition. The medics had also carried supply crates filled with triage systems, fluid resuscitation kits, hemorrhage control, and airway management equipment, as well as burn gel dressings and assorted hypodermic needles.

  Despite executing her orders with laser-like precision, it still felt agonizing for Roberts to be stuck down here, unable to do anything except babysitting the injured. She wanted to make her way back up to the surface and fight alongside Hollsworth, just like she had during the previous attacks. Expelling a tired sigh as she lifted her faceplate, she shouldered her rifle and joined a group of medics attending to a young officer that had taken shrapnel to his left thigh a few days earlier. She took a seat on the
concrete floor next to them and begun chewing on a chocolate protein bar, now waiting impatiently for this to all be over.

  Having fortified the southern perimeter of the base with a handful of mines and tripwires, Jerry-rigged to grenades, the remaining officers retreated to their various combat stations inside, hidden among the rubble and debris, also using the shallow foxholes and trenches they had created after previous attacks. It was now just a waiting game. Every man and woman lay prone, shrouded by the encroaching darkness of night, their weapons at the ready.

  Hollsworth had also stationed two separate sniper cells on a distant rocky escarpment at the eastern rear of the base. Both snipers, and their spotters, were concealed under dense patches of scrub that faced the west, which was the perceived direction the Dupes would be approaching the base from. Each team was also separated by about a mile, their packs, webbing, and even their weapons, all heavily camoed against the ominous landscape.

  Mace had driven one of the last functioning TAVs over to the southern barricade and parked it. Matt then had the grim task of dragging some of the corpses, both human and Dupe, up to the vehicle, positioning them on and around it to create the illusion that a fierce firefight had recently taken place here. Some of the other officers had also dressed up the open areas of the base with the remains of the dead, lighting nearby mounds of discarded uniforms and gear on fire to create a series of large smoke columns that any approaching party could spot from a distance. Mace wanted to do everything possible to draw the first wave into a killzone that he could control.

  He jumped down from the TAV to assist Matt, pouring a fuel canister around a scattered pile of old USC uniforms, setting it ablaze with a Zippo he always carried with him. Hearing Matt gag, he turned to see him struggling to drag a half-decomposing Dupe over to his position, recoiling from the putrid stench.

  “Hurry up with that sack ‘a shit, greenie.”

  “I’m trying, sir— ugh, this one stinks.”

  Mace growled with frustration and tossed the empty fuel cannister onto the burning pile. He then moved over to give Matt a hand, grabbing the corpse by its right ankle. Once they had dragged it closer to one of the TAV’s giant front tires, Mace let go and looked around, spotting a damaged helmet near Matt. “Quick, toss me that helmet.”

  Matt picked it up and tossed it to him. Mace examined the cracked faceplate before dropping it between two deceased officers and another Dupe. He then picked up an assault rifle that held no rounds and carefully placed it near one of the fallen officers. None of this could appear staged. It needed to look like the violent aftermath of close-quarters combat.

  Satisfied, Mace surveyed his gruesome work, then clicked his fingers at Matt before climbing onto the TAV again. “Let’s get in and button-up. Grab those two spare ammo cartridges behind you.”

  Matt saw where he meant and picked them up, stepping onto the first rung of the TAV’s stepladder. The smoke out here now was thick, making it increasingly difficult to breathe without a functioning helmet. He scurried up the ladder and slipped inside.

  Matt closed the hatch behind him, then followed Mace into the turret basket. Mace had already stocked the cramped space with enough ammunition to last a few days, if necessary, along with some food rations and water. Neither man hoped they’d need to last that long. Mace was secretly hoping they could fend off this incoming attack within a few hours.

  Matt had also spent a good hour earlier that day hanging off the side of the vehicle, wiping down the turret itself, oiling the gimballed plate, and cleaning the manual optics inside the basket that projected the holographical targeting system to their faceplate HUDs.

  Mace checked his rifle and sidearm, then hoisted a thick belt of HP-Z rounds up into the turret’s feed tray, remembering how fast Lord Gunny was at loading heavy ammo belts into their feeds. He always made it look so effortlessly easy. As that thought lingered, he felt a sense of sadness wash over him, remembering the Praetorian brothers and sisters he had lost under his command. As he went to pull a large metal lever near the gunner seat to open the feed tray, he paused, noticing the bottle of French cognac he had relieved Lieutenant Hollsworth of earlier.

  It was resting on a crossbeam above the turret console, looking as if it was some holy artifact that had purposely been placed there by an angel for him to discover.

  Grinning, Mace lifted his faceplate and reached for it with his good arm, unscrewing the cap to allow the complex aroma to settle in his nostrils, picking up on the distinctive flowery notes. Before taking a swig, he stared at the bottle as if it were the last good thing he would ever lay eyes on. Then, he took a deep swig, allowing the smooth burn to slide down his throat. “Oh, man— that’s so good. Like warm honey dripping onto my heart.” He turned and offered the bottle to Matt.

  Matt obliged with a nod and took it, meditating on the bottle’s ornate engravings before taking a sip. He felt as if he were partaking in something sacred. This was a pre-combat ritual that no greenie, up until now, would ever have gotten to share with a Praetorian. He tilted his head towards the ceiling and drank, his eyes landing on the small viewport above. Outside, the smoky sky was now bathed in the firelight of burning equipment and corpses. Matt allowed the exquisite liquor to settle in his belly before commenting. “Wow… that’s nice.” He then gave the bottle a parting look before handing it back to Mace.

  “Tastes good, huh?” Mace took another long pull before putting the cap back on. “Gonna put this in here and keep it out of harm’s way.” Mace gently placed the bottle into a small ammo tin underneath the gunner chair and closed the lid. As he pulled his arm back, he winced from a sudden jolt of pain. The opiates Hollsworth’s medics had given him earlier were starting to wear off. He could feel a dull throb returning to his wounded shoulder. “You know…. in case we don’t make it…” He paused and turned to Matt, his usual stony glare now taking on an earnest quality. “I want you to know I’m proud of you, greenie. Tapscott was right about you.”

  Matt could not help but feel a little taken back by the frankness of that remark. It had come with no warning, and he was not expecting to hear it. “Thank you, sir. It’s been an honor.”

  With his expression unwavering, Mace held out a spare ammo cartridge for Matt to take. “You’re one of us now, greenie. Don’t let anyone try and tell you otherwise. Now, get into position and wait for my orders.”

  Matt returned the gesture with another appreciative nod and took the cartridge. “Solid copy on that, sir.” The polymer tactical vest attached to his body armor was already adorned with triple-mag-styled pouches that were fully stocked, so he stashed the spare cartridge in an empty rip-away Velcro pouch that sat just above his holstered sidearm.

  He then hopped up into the gunner’s chair and slipped his helmet on, the turret’s primary targeting HUD flickering to life as he lowered his faceplate and took hold of the weapon’s cocking handle. All he could do now was sit there and wait for the inevitable.

  Thirty-Three

  A harsh wind ripped as the Dupe scout slithered its way between columns of weathered rock, ascending to reach a steep vantage point that overlooked the base. It raised a pair of human-made tactical binoculars it had scavenged earlier from some distant battlefield to its milky grey eye and surveilled the desolate sprawl below.

  The base’s interior courtyard seemed deserted and devoid of any activity, except for a few fires burning around scatterings of dead bodies. Intrigued, the Dupe zoomed in closer, picking out some equipment, and an armored vehicle that appeared to be intact and undamaged. The Dupe assumed it was looking at the result of an earlier wave that had attempted to take control of the base.

  Edging back down the jagged slope, it turned to face the seething mass of armed troops that had been waiting silently in the gorge below. The Dupe made a hand signal, and a rabble of thirty Dupes broke away from the main ranks, headed into the open. After the humans had managed to stave off their previous advancements, the silent order just given was for a team to
investigate the base first and probe any defenses. These were essentially cannon fodder. Whether they knew that was unknown. However, these Dupes were not operating purely on instinct alone, but rather, autonomously under some remote signal or undetected telepathic force. Something Matt would one day learn of, wielded by a Wraith nemesis he was yet to encounter on Epsilon.

  The Sniper cell perched on the right side of the escarpment was the first to spot the approaching Dupes. Their distance and position acted as an elevated plateau that provided a full-spectrum view of the base and the surrounding area below. Despite the near pitch-black darkness, they could see everything through their infra-red and night-vision optics.

  “Vanguard, this is Overwatch One. We have movement on your western flank,” the spotter relayed into his comms, eyes fixed to his infra-red spotting scope. “I have confirmed visual on thirty Dupes headed your way. Forty-seven degrees, eleven minutes, zero-zero-point west.”

  “Copy that,” Hollsworth crackled in reply. “Stand by.”

  As the spotter zoomed in on the approaching Dupes, he could see thin tongues of dust stirring in front of them. “Wind’s picking up a little,” he said to the prone sniper next to him. “Altitude is now 3-8-7-9-2. Make the corrections.”

  “Got it. Correcting.” Using a small holographic interface on the side of his rifle, the sniper quickly made some minor optical adjustments then sighted the targets again, allowing the new corrections to feed back into his helmet’s HUD.

  His crosshairs drifted idly until they landed on the Lead Dupe and verified a lock-on. They were all edging closer to the base’s perimeter.

  “On target,” the sniper confirmed. “I have a shot.”

  Hollsworth’s voice suddenly cut through on their comms again. “Overwatch One, do not engage. Hold position. Let them enter our defensive perimeter. We want them to reach the TAV.”