Planet crackers rip through the clouds and explode against the earth ahead of us, kicking up meter high dirt clouds as they land. The entire landscape before me has turned into a wasteland of upturned earth and craters from the shelling, and farther out all around as the eye can see, only the endless veil of black rising smoke from the belly of war greets me. We have landed in what was an agricultural field bordering the city outskirts. But the entire crop has been burnt and only untilled earth remains. A pounding pulse takes over my ears as I kneel near Blake. My throat is dry, and the lump resonates bigger at the bottom of it making it impossible to swallow my spit that instead gushes from one side of my mouth to the other.
The scene of the crashed Osprey next to us grabs our attention. We move to it as the first landing waves of marines pass us by to the planet crackers. The hull hatch has already opened, and its insides are scorched black with smoke fuming out. The shattered cockpit glass is bloody and licking out flames. All around the loading ramp lay seared and mangled bodies with the smell of their burning flesh in the air. One marine rolls out of the ramp onto the ground, his legs gored and burnt to stumps. He grabs the black dirt around him wailing and speaking hysterically. Our company forms around him. The dying man rolls over and stares at me. His two large pupils horribly strained, black veins popping out on his neck and pale dirty face. I hold back the vile at the bottom of my throat. “We need a medic!”
“He’s beyond our care,” says Corporal Kaiden.
“We need a medevac on my location!” says Blake into his radio.
I stare at the dying man. It consumes me. All around us, endless formations and lines of men and vehicles march onwards to the city. We are ants piling out of our hole into a stream of blue helmets, having no idea of where we are going besides that the men in front leads the way, creating a pheromone trail, and we’re supposed to follow.
Herculean artillery fire lands wherever it desires, bashing out groups of marines and sending earth flying. Aircraft and gunships hover and fly towards the outskirts. Injured men, covered in their gore and dirt, bandaged quickly with some missing limbs, are carried on stretchers past us to multi-colored clouds of signal smoke where landing helicopters come to pick them up. Support crews, with their artillerymen lugging their mortars and howitzers move into locations to deploy and aid to the concentrated fire against the city. The shouting of orders and screams, the sound of guns and cannons, whistling shells that make everyone duck and beg the earth for safety break us down and reduce us to feeling very small. Tiny in our heavy armor.
Insignificant.
Vulnerable. My life could conclude to a horrible and forgotten end. Killed by an enemy I have yet to even see. Before I even fire my gun.
A Humvee with banners of the Coalition countries and UN flag passes by and stops at our location. The convoy following it continues onward to the front line after the gunner waves them on. The gunner on the top turret then shouts, “Officer on deck!” Blake rises to attention. The others are too engrossed with the dying man to stand at order. I look over at the Humvee and the scene is engrained inside my mind like a photograph. The door opens and a large shouldered man steps out, his eyes hidden behind dark aviators. He tosses a used cigar out before him. He wears a green military style cowboy hat and his chest insignia rank declares him a Major General, which is also surrounded by numerous badges, and his sleeves are covered in multiple chevrons referencing his veterancy. But he’s smiling.
The General rests his boot on the cigar bud twisting it underneath. “What’s the holdup boys? We got a city to liberate!”
“Sir, we are moving as ordered,” says Blake. “We stopped to assist this injured man.”
“Pity, looks damn lost to me,” says Jack. He waves his hand into the air making a twirling motion with his pointer finger, and one of his officers run forward dragging the man away. Shell fire hits near us sending earth flying. We duck into a prone hugging the dirt and covering our faces. I look up after a moment, Jack remains standing, readjusting his hat and wiping the dust from his aviators. “Have your men Buzzed yet?”
“No, sir!” says Blake, “I was waiting to gather my forces completely before ordering administration.”
“Well that’s why they look like a bunch of fucking pussies.” Jack’s aviators stare at me, lifeless like the dead man being dragged away. “There is a whole of a lot worse shit you’re going to see. Get them battle ready Sergeant and up to the bunkers!” Jack reenters the Humvee and it drives off tailing the armored convoy.
Blake grabs our attention pissed. “Alright, time to Buzz. You all made me look like a jackass,” he trails off muttering for a moment, “Then we move again.”
Sergeant Blake and Corporal Kaiden key a control on their forearm pads. The distributor on my lower neck tingles for a moment as the Buzz enters through my spine. I feel, hear, and watch the buzz as the world becomes blurry by zooming towards me, then back out. But now, I am part of it: the buzz of machinery moving towards victory, the buzz of the whistling rounds flying forward against the Herculeans, the buzz of a hundred thousand human hearts beating at once, in tandem with each other in this Cause. The buzz of war that has become a proving ground for our race and theirs—and we didn’t come to submit.
They finish receiving their dose and a wave of clairvoyance takes over. It’s simple now, just kill the Herculeans. In seconds, the fear of battle subsides as the confidence Peter feels rises. The legless man that troubled him moments earlier becomes an accepted part of their occupation. Peter and his unit pick themselves off from the ground and rise around Blake, eager and ready to be commanded. They fidget and toy with their weapons anxiously. When will they get to use them on a Herculean?
Images of horrendous atrocities committed by the Herculeans take over Peter’s conciseness. Him and his unit are floating around space in the atmosphere of Gemina as it is bombed to obliteration by the Herculean fleet. Thousands of innocents are slaughtered before their eyes by strange armored looking creatures. Next, a young naked bony girl is being groped by a group of them and screaming for help at Peter. It infuriates him. To think they laid a hand on innocent humans makes him senseless with rage. The entire unit shouts out in anger. Peter joins in. All of them must die.
Peter’s earlier thoughts of vulnerability disappear, and are replaced with a splendid community mentality of rage and bloodlust. They are one cause and force with one clear objective. Defeat the Herculeans.
By killing them. All of them.
“Alright boys, you feel like you have a pair now?” says Blake. “You feeling’ juiced?”
They all release a war cry. “Let’s fucking kill them already!” says Ray.
Blake smiles with satisfaction, “We’re moving forward to catch up with the rest of the platoon.”
Newfound energy courses through Peter’s body. Easy traverses one boot after the other with determination. They advance through the scorched farmlands that were once wild alien forests and grasslands cleared away with pesticides, now cleared away for war. They near the forward line of battle forming only a hundred meters or so ahead of them. Herculean shelling concentrates on the landing planet crackers, while Coalition air support replies by bombing alien positions in the outskirts of the city.