"Yes sir," the corporal told him, unaware that the troops with the SAWs had held back in cover positions during the charge.
"And they shot one of your men?"
"Yes sir," he said. "They blew Bill damn near in half for no reason."
Forrest's face scrunched into an expression of anger. "Goddamn greenies," he spat. "They're nothing more than terrorists!" He turned to his majors and captains, who were gathered near him. "Get on the com link and find out about the other checkpoints," he told them. "If they captured one they probably captured them all."
It took less than five minutes to confirm that all three checkpoints had in fact fallen to MPG troops. In the other two instances the estimations of the troop strength were the same as that offered by the first: about twenty troops armed with M-24s.
"We need to push out of here right now," Forrest told his subordinates, "before they are able to move enough troops in to really be an annoyance to us." He looked at Major Starr, commander of his first battalion. "Starr," he told him, "get your recon elements moving and recapture the checkpoint that our young corporal and his friends came from. Once its secure we'll move the rest of the brigade out to our main objective and send the rest of your battalion to go capture the other two positions."
"Yes sir," Starr said, hiding the dejection in his voice. He had wanted to be a part of the main thrust into the MPG base. But orders were orders. He trotted off towards his men, talking on his command link as he went. Within five minutes they were moving towards the exit corridor, his recon platoon breaking trail.
Meanwhile, back at the checkpoint in question, the MPG squad that was guarding it had pulled back to positions of cover on Macarthur Avenue. They kneeled behind the cement planter that lined the middle of the street, their weapons trained on the entrance, their combat goggles down and set for infrared enhancement. The young private that operated the squad automatic weapon was in the center of the formation, his field of fire such that he could sweep the entire corridor from one side to the other. Four extra drums of ammunition, each containing 600 rounds, were stacked neatly next to his leg.
The marine recon platoon, its members among the most highly trained in the corps, didn't make it within one hundred meters of the Macarthur side of the access corridor. Though they were moving along the walls, making themselves as small of targets as possible, there was simply nothing to use for cover or concealment and they were spotted almost as soon as they started heading for their objective.
Espinoza ordered the SAW gunner to fire a few bursts down the middle of the corridor on the theory that this would drive them back without having to kill any of them. It was a hopeful thought but one that didn't quite pan out. The private unleashed twenty rounds, the gun barking loudly, the rounds flying at high velocity right between the two elements of the platoon. Instead of retreating however, they began firing back, simultaneously pushing forward.
"Fucking idiots," Espinoza said in disgust as rounds began to slam into the concrete around them and whiz over their head. "Open fire," he told his men. "Take them out."
It was far too easy, sickeningly so. The private on the SAW swept it back and forth, moving his recticle across the figures of the marines while firing controlled bursts. The other squad members opened up with their M-24s, putting their own bursts on the men who were diving to get out of the way of the automatic weapons fire. The forty marines were pummeled with bullets, their bodies twisting and turning and dropping to the ground, every last one of them dead or dying in the space of twenty seconds. Not a single MPG soldier was hit during the exchange.
"Good job, guys," Espinoza told them as the last echoes of the gunfire faded away. The fact that they had just killed WestHem soldiers, that they had just actively partaken in a revolution, seemed to hang in the air.
Nobody said anything in reply.
"Let's do an ammo check," Espinoza said. "They'll be back soon and there'll be a lot more of them."
Starr, waiting safely back on the base, had watched the entire thing through his combat goggles by patching into the platoon commander's goggles. Never having been in actual combat before, he was horrified at the speed and violence with which forty of his men had just perished. He had in fact been holding his breath throughout the entire episode.
"Starr, report!" screamed the voice of Colonel Forrest in his radio link. "What the hell was all of that shooting?"
"Sir," he said slowly, his voice strangely calm despite the adrenaline surging through him, "the greenies fired on the recon platoon. They're down."
"All of them?" Forrest said in disbelief.
"All of them," he confirmed.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Forrest said. "How many guns do they got out there now?"
"It looked like no more than fifteen to me," Starr told him. "They're behind the planter on Macarthur Avenue, situated directly across from the entrance."
There was silence on the link for a moment. Finally Forrest came back on. "We need to take that position immediately," he said. "You had an eyeball on it. Suggestions?"
Starr put the thought of his dead men as far back in his mind as he could and thought through the problem for a moment. "Let me throw a company-strength assault at them," he suggested. "I'll put all of the men with grenade launchers on their 24s up front and have them blast that greenie position as soon as they're in range. It's simply a question of throwing enough men at them to overwhelm their defenses."
"Do it," Forrest told him after only a moment's thought. "And do it quickly. If they reinforce that position they'll be able to keep us from exiting this way. If they do that, we'll have to put on our biosuits and take that base from the wasteland side. I don't have to tell you that that would be a damn sight more difficult."
"I'll have them moving within five minutes, sir," Starr promised.
Unfortunately for the marines, five minutes was just a little too long. While they were still regrouping and getting the grenadiers adjusted to the front ranks, the makeshift platoon that had been formed back at the MPG base trotted up Macarthur Avenue and reported for duty. Espinoza put them to immediate use.
"Send five of your people to the north pedestrian entrance to reinforce them," he told Sergeant Jan. "The rest of you, take up position behind this planter with us. Spread out as much as you can but keep the guns massed on that corridor. ROE is weapons free. They're probably going to hit us with at least company-strength on the next assault and we need to engage them as soon as they come into view."
Lisa, carrying her M-24 and feeling naked without any armor on her chest, took up position about two thirds of the way to the right of center. She gazed down the long corridor, seeing the bodies of those marines that had died in the first breakout attempt. The sight of those corpses, of the blood running slowly towards the drains along the walls, brought home to her the reality of what she was getting herself involved in. "Jesus," she muttered, shuddering a little. She was participating in a rebellion against WestHem, a rebellion in which men had been shot and killed.
"You all right, Wong?" a young private from the armor maintenance section asked her. His eyes looked terrified but determined.
"Fine," she said, giving him a shaky smile. "Let's kick some Earthling ass, shall we?"
"Fuckin aye," he replied, gripping his weapon a little tighter.
The attack began a few moments later. From far down the corridor the figures of twenty, then thirty, then fifty men suddenly swarmed forward, keeping low and moving fast, the outlines of their weapons clearly visible.
"Enemy to the front," Espinoza's voice barked over the command channel. "Open fire!"
Guns began to crack from all around her and, from the center of the column, the SAW barked to life, sending streaks of bullets into the marines. They began to drop but more of them surged forward. Lisa put her targeting recticle on a figure, centering it over his chest, and pulled the trigger. The weapon jerked in her hand, exploding three rounds out of its barrel, and the figure fell forward, his weapon dropping beneath him. Without pausing to reflect that she had just killed a man, she put her recticle on another and repeated the motion.