Jethro: First to Fight

by Hechtl, Chris

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “I'm telling you, something...” the Private looked around, cupping his hands to his ears. Finally he oriented on the bulkhead to their right. “There,” he said pointing.

  “What about it?” Sergeant Allen demanded.

  The Private put his ear to the bulkhead and then screamed. He put his hands to it to push himself off and kept screaming.

  “What the hell's going on?” Allen demanded. “The walls glowing!”

  “Back off! Get Brian out of there!” another Private said. He reached in and ripped the screaming Private away. The man's hands and the side of his head were burned and melting. He was past the point of sobbing in pain, half way to unconscious. “Oh shit! Plasma leak!” the Private said, looking up. “Medic! We've got to get out of here!”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  The Marine's weapon fire burst through the superheated metal and into the plasma piece. Superheated molten metal splattered the area. Some of the back side of the bulkhead spalled. But the real fireworks went off when their rounds hit the plasma weapon and breached its plasma bottle. The weapon's ammunition detonated in a fiery explosion. Mostly contained by the tight walls, it had only three directions to go, forward to the corner, back to the pirates, and through the small hole the Marines had cut in the bulkhead.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Allen was scrambling to get his plasma weapon out of there when the first rounds hit it. He had less than a second to scream when it went off. The released micro-sun ripped through the tiny rent in its armor and then expanded, super-heating the air around the weapon as it expanded, consuming everything in the corridor for a thirty meter radius. The Horathian's were consumed by the weapon, only Edison managed to get around the corner to duck away.

  “They're, they're like demons!” the panicked Horathian screamed. “Fall back! Fall back!”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Asazi laughed as some of the splash came back through the hole in the bulkhead. They ducked away, watching the bright flare of plasma flame consume the clothing and furniture in the room. “I'm melting, I'm melting,” she said in a false soprano as she watched a plastic chair melt. “What a world, what a world...”

  “Ah shut up. Come on, let's go find some more to kill,” Panache said.

  “Now you're talking,” Sergei growled.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  They returned thirty seconds later. “You get that out of your system?” Valenko asked mildly.

  Sergei gave him a choppy nod.

  “Don't do anything stupid like that again,” the bear growled. Again the liger gave him a nod. Clive patted him on the shoulder and then moved past him.

  “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “It worked?” the liger said lamely, and then shrugged.

  “Indeed. But now we've got to find another way around.”

  “True.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Panache was ever aware of the fighting, doing her best to protect her squad mates. “Not again,” she murmured, seeing visions of death on her first mission. She clacked her jaws hard. She wouldn't fail again. Fonz's death had brought back a lot of nasty memories for her, but she didn't have a chance to dwell on it, the fighting continued. “This time.. this time it will be different,” she vowed softly, clacking her mandibles and gripping her weapon tightly. “I will not fail.”

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Major Zimmer felt increasingly hemmed in, trapped. He'd changed his headquarters twice in the past hour, always moving back. The good news was that with the admiral dead he didn't have his hands tied about doing damage to the station anymore. He did what he could in fact, blowing plasma lines and killing any of the damn stationers he could find.

  But he knew he and his men were getting increasingly desperate to find a way out. And unfortunately, there wasn't one.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Ensign Blackberry elf marine led a team through the ducts. Sniping was going well, but it was more important to place IED's and sensors.

  "Try not to sound like a herd in here!" he hissed, then switched to the internal chat as his point turned. Ne'crid Star was a good private, hell of a grunt carrying their last grenade, but did he have to walk like a human? Especially now, when they were near the enemy?

  The Ensign had emphasized speed over stealth, that worried him now, he didn't have a hard and fast location of the enemy. Just a general, “they are in this area.” He turned just in time to see through the thin aluminum vent and down to meet the eyes of a Horathian looking up at him.

  He froze, goat like eyes going fractionally wide as the human's blue eyes flicked to his, then away. He'd thought he'd gotten away with being in the duct, but then the human lifted his barrel in a fast motion and pulled the trigger.

  "Shag your asses! MOVE!" Blackberry swore as Gauss rounds tore the one millimeter thin duct apart.

  The point looked back in time to see the storm tearing apart the squad before he flung himself into the fork a few centimeters ahead and rolled to let others get in behind him. He ducked instinctively as rounds tore at the thin metal sheeting but then duty took over. He turned and yanked at a three fingered hand that had grabbed the sharp edge behind him. He squealed as the hand came free... with nothing attached. He threw it away cursing and sobbing softly.

  "Did we get them?" a voice snarled. Jasper looked up carefully, shining a light in. Wide eyes looked back at him. He fired again. The elf medic twisted as an impaler dart hammered into his torso. He fell, and rolled onto his back, supine. He looked up in time to see a falling boot tread.

  The elf point Ne'crid Star snarled, peeking around the corner with a fiber optic scope. The squad was gone, just gone. He pointed the tip of the endoscope down to see the gaping hole and Horathian's busily stomping on what remained of his team. He didn't need the IFF to know he was the last.

  "Bastards," the elf said softly, pulling his last remaining grenade off his back. It was a human grenade, about a kilogram in weight and a four centimeter brown egg. His enhanced strength pulled the pin before Star dropped it to the deck. He pushed with both hands, sending the gift to the hole.

  The grenade tumbled down the chute. The Horathian's near the hole looked up in time to see the dark object fall. Jasper's eyes went wide. He started to shout grenade just as the egg went off, tearing him and the men around him apart.

  "That's for my team," the Elf snarled, turning and resting against the side of the duct briefly. He was tempted to call it in, but knew better, there might be ears listening. Instead he dropped to all fours and carefully padded back to the last known location of the others. Some things had to be told in person anyway.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Ox worked near the rear of their lines, doing what he could to keep the equipment functional and charged. Ammunition flowed like water at times, as did energy. Fortunately he'd found a way to tap the station's power net so they no longer had to rely on power packs from the shuttles.

  He looked up to see a familiar body bending over a downed suit. The suit was odd, much like a medic's suit with robotic arms, but this one had six arms instead of four. The other two were on the back along the shoulders, much like Jethro's wings. “Riley? What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “What's it look like?” Riley demanded, welding a strut on a Marine's leg. “Working.”

  “Riley? Sergeant Riley? What's he doing here?” Valenko demanded. He spotted the engineering suit and then scowled.

  “I'm busy don't bug me. Keep doin what you're doin,” Riley said dismissively, still focused on his work. Harley came over and knelt beside him, waiting her turn. Her right arm hung uselessly at her side. She'd taken pieces of shrapnel in the arm, it had cut her hydraulics and broken some of the motors. She'd tried to fix it, but hadn't been able to do so. Ox had been swamped by other damage.

  She was useless to the fighters, her rifle had been DX'd so she hung in the back, playing Hyena forklift,
moving ammunition to the front lines with her good arm.

  Now she saw a chance at getting back in the action. She tugged on one arm and made a puppy sound.

  “In a minute Harley! Geesh!” Riley said in disgust. “Hang on, I'll get to you when I'm finished here,” he said.

  Valenko snorted, shaking his head. He paused when a familiar icon appeared on his HUD. “Sir!” he said as it came within sight. Marines around him stood or looked up.

  “As you were,” Captain Pendeckle said, moving forward. He nodded to Valenko and then studied the Marines around them. “Good work all of you.”

  “Sir are you assuming command?” Valenko asked.

  “Seems that way,” the Captain rumbled. “Sorry to steal your thunder Valenko, I know you're doing a bang up job here. I've brought some friends though,” he said waving to two squads of Marines coming in behind him. “I skimmed off some of the Marines from the nearest derelicts to lend a hand. This seems like the hot spot. Let's put it out.”

  “Aye sir,” the bear said. He'd given his boss tactical updates and sitreps by the hour but he turned, pulling a flexible LCD sheet out of his pocket and then holding it out. An image of the station appeared on it. Marines preferred the sheet because a holographic projector could be seen by a spy, or its depth could be misinterpreted.

  “Zimmer is cut off two decks above us. He's still refusing to surrender. He's gone around and gathered up his trapped forces. We're estimating his forces at around two platoons worth. Some of them have improvised powered armor as well as crew service heavy weapons.”

  “I see.”

  “The problem is he's got his back to the wall, the only access is through this clearing here and here,” the bear said, pointing to the wide open ground in front of where the Horathian's were hold up. “It's a killing field, he's got snipers above looking down, and his heavy weapons covering the area.”

  “So, we can't go in the hard way...”

  “Exactly what I was thinking sir, above or below. The problem is we've got a water tank below them, that's no good. Above is an industrial zone. We can get in there, but not with our suits.”

  “The elves?” The Captain asked.

  “They are down to eleven effective sir,” Valenko said, making a face. “They took out about a half a platoon's worth for their dead, but are still working on the other half.”

  “Ah,” the Captain said, nodding. He studied the image. There were nine other hot spots, locations of Horathian hold outs. “Well, we could set up a holding force here, keep them bottled up then work our way through the others one by one.”

  “Siege?”

  “They've got to eat sometime right? We can consolidate our forces, maybe pick up some natives to help,” the Captain said, indicating two natives that were with the Marines. “Worse comes to worse we can cut off their life support and suck them out.”

  “True sir, but they're next to a life support plant, it's that nest of piping and balls behind them.”

  “Ah. So, maybe that's out. Well, let's just clean up the left over's first then,” the Captain said. He looked over his shoulder and waved a hand to a fresh squad of Marines. They nodded as he uploaded new orders to them.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Ox and other Marines continued to use the new shield system. Hunkering behind them just made sense, allowing them to soak up fire as a mobile cover until they could go to ground.

  But the shields had their weaknesses, they shed plasma fire but the heat quickly overheated the equipment. Also, continuous fire wore down their power, and a few of the civilian grade capacitors had died on them, cutting their power budgets in half.

  Several Marines were injured or killed in combat, however usage of the shields kept casualties down he could see that. When they secured the power rooms Ox ran into Gwen grieving over the still smoldering body of Torg. Ox paused in surprise. She looked up and nearly shot him. She stared for a long moment then the fighting resumed. She dashed tears and then got back into the fight. The Horathans found that their so called experience never taught them how to handle this situation, real opposition. Before they had dug out and terrorized unarmed or lightly armed civilians. The Marines were experienced, they had first line hardware, and knew how to use it. They also had the advantage of proper schematics and the aid of the station's crew.

  Even those Horathians who were somewhat good found that disabling or destroying the cameras and sensors it didn't help much. The enemy could tell where they were from the power draw in an area. If they disabled the life support they were left floating in the dark, with only canned air and no hope. And the Marines were much more scary coming for them in the dark.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Sergei feigned a berserker charge of his own, fooling the enemy into ducking behind their improvised cover just long enough for the liger to bend double and lob a couple grenades into their midst using his mortars. “Suckers!” he called as they detonated. The Horathians were torn up by the grenades and then the screaming survivors were taken down by pin point fire.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Fighting grew more intense as the Horathians became more and more desperate. They knew they had nowhere to go, and knew what was most likely in store for them. After all, they had done all sorts of terrible things to the prey they had captured, it was to be expected that the natives now wanted revenge.

  They fought for their lives, if not gallantly, then as hard as they could, only grudgingly giving ground when needed. Sometimes they gave ground on purpose, to draw a squad into a trap.

  Asazi lost her left leg from the knee down in the fighting. Her implants automatically stopped the bleeding, even though the plasma had cauterized the wound. She dragged herself upright enough to shoot back, killing an enemy who was about to kill her. Sergei passed her, tapping her on the shoulder and then charging onward. She grunted and growled she'd be along in a minute. Gusterson knelt beside her and immediately rolled her. She gasped in pain and vertigo. The meds her implants had administered were making her loopy. He checked and cut off the bleeding and then put her out.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Once the all important reactors and life support plants were secured the Marines concentrated on finding and eliminating the pockets of Horathians. They were joined by Sheriff Derrango, a wounded Savo and Howi, along with other volunteers. The sheriff had lost half his deputies in the fighting, but the rest grimly refused to quit. They wanted to finish what they started.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Exhausted Horathians looked up and cringed at the sound of weapons fire. Then it stopped and they breathed a sigh of relief. That relief lasted only a moment. “This is Captain Pendeckle of the Federation Marines,” A voice bellowed. It seemed to be coming from all around them. “We have you surrounded, there is no place to go. Throw down your weapons and surrender.”

  “Surrender to scum?” a noncom snarled, raising his rifle. He looked at his men. “The first one who even suggests it gets a belly full of lead! We're not surrendering!” he turned, “You hear that?!” he screamed hoarsely. “We're not giving up! You want to take your time torturing us right? Well frack you! You'll never take us alive!” he snarled grimly. He looked down and checked his ammunition. He scowled bleakly. He had only four rounds left.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Zimmer made a last stand in his HQ, firing with his pistol, snarling at the enemy. “You'll never take me alive!” he snarled. “You won't beat me! Scum can't beat me! You're beneath me!” His men fought on, but when they realized it was hopeless one turned on their Commander and shot him in the back of the head. Then one by one they lowered their weapons and raised their hands.

  “We're coming out! We surrender!” one young Private said, tears coursing down his face. “Don't shoot!” he said, shaking like a leaf.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “It's over, it's finally over. It is over right?” Gusterson asked tiredly. He looked beat. He leaned against a bulkhead, ass against it, keepin
g him from falling over.

  “Goddess of space I hope so. I'm too damn tired to move,” Panache chittered. She'd faced her demons. She knew she wasn't whole, but she knew she was a Marine. Standing up to her fear, tearing down the demons, that was what they did. She wasn't going to let fear rule her. Not anymore.

  “I'm going to park my ass right here and not move another step,” Sergei rumbled, taking a seat and then propping his back up against the bulkhead. He closed his eyes and just rested, relaxing his entire body.

  “How's Kovu and Asazi? Any word?” Clive asked, taking a seat next to the liger. He looked up to see Harley take a seat on the other side.

  “Asazi's stable, she's going to make it. Replacing the leg will have her out for a while... Kovu's in surgery now. No word on his condition but I know it's bad,” Gusterson said tiredly. He closed his eyes, trying to drink in the peace and quiet. It was strange, after over a day of fighting to find quiet so scary.

  Valenko peeked around the corner. “Come on Marines, we've got work,” Valenko caroled, waving them onward.

  “Right,” the liger drawled, getting to his feet slowly. “Break's over,” he sighed. He turned and pulled Harley and Clive to their feet.

  “Thought you were going to park it?” Panache asked.

  “Orders. Duty calls,” the liger rumbled. “Let's get this over with so I can take a nap for oh, say a week. No, make it a month. That is right after I get a great big steak and time for a nice scratch all over.”

  “I'll take some honey and a beer,” Panache said.

  “Okay, beer too,” the liger said, slapping the Veraxin on the shoulder. Gusterson snorted, looking over as they left. He sighed. Technically he wasn't a Marine, he could hang tight, but he knew better.

  “You coming or not?” Sergei called back.

  “I'm coming, I'm coming,” the greyhound sighed. He looked down at his blood soaked armor and then straightened slowly. He'd have memories of this day, memories, nightmares for years to come. But he'd done his best, he knew it. Still, it wouldn't stop him from second guessing himself, thinking he could have been just a little faster, had gotten a clamp in to save someone quicker, or spotted the shrapnel tearing someone up sooner. He'd have those days, but not today. He hefted his rather light med kit and his rifle. Those days were tomorrow. Today he had more lives to save.