“See that men!” says Blake, directing their attention at a blue translucent shield dome, that arcs over the city and shrugs off all directed munitions. “We are to take that bitch down, so Air can kill those fuckers inside!”
The prospect of watching Herculeans getting obliterated by jets brings excitement to Peter’s step. Soon they see Captain Tarnus, and some of the other squads from Love platoon up ahead behind a planet cracker. “This is Platoon Commander. What took you so long? Move up!” blurts the radio on Blake’s side, and also through the marine’s earpieces.
Easy sprints in a loose single file line to the bunker, lugging ammo boxes and engineering tools for the firebase. The sky above forms into a veil of black smoke and burning atmospheric debris from the space battle and flak. Herculean artillery shells land near and behind the advancing army knocking out lines of advancing marines. “This is baptism by fire!” says Blake.
“No better way to do it!” cheers Easy back in agreement.
They reach Captain Tarnus and the remnants of Love platoon. The forward line is meters ahead of them now, and Herculean plasma and laser fire fills the air with bright colors and exploding shells. The planet cracker they are tasked with maintaining has received a direct hit by a Herculean shell disabling the sentry turret operating inside of it, and the shield tower above it. Easy squats against the rear of the bunker, and Peter watches as marines dig feverously around the ring of planet crackers with equipment to create trenches for cover on the frontline.
“We only have a few minutes before GI Joe comes in to assault that city,” says Tarnus from an overhanging on the side of the planet cracker, “and this isn’t even ready to be staffed by a crew!”
The planet cracker is an oval shaped bunker about two stories tall and around three hundred square meters in diameter—a humble temple to war. The rear side not facing the city however, has been ruined by a shell destroying the shield antennae. A marine up on the scaffolding reports the severity of the damage before being struck down by zipping Herculean fire. Love platoon ducks to cover behind the bunker as a brutal wave of shells smack the trenches in front of them.
Tarnus peeks out at the frontline, “Alright I’ll call in a new tower for the bunker, the rest of you, wield a metal slab over the hole ASAP.”
Commissar Herus arrives to the scene as well. “You heard the order! Up and at it my brave warriors!”
They get to work. One of the supply canisters nearby that departed from the planet cracker before impact is retrieved, this one being spare metal skirts. Inside the bunker is a folding ladder and rope that Peter places at the base rear near the hole, where they secure the rope through it.
“Get ready!” says Blake, “This next part is a bitch!”
Love tightens the metal slab to the rope while Alex and another marine rest on the top scaffolding exposed, hoping Herculean fire won’t pick off them as they wait. Love forms into a pulley system to heave the metal slab up to them by the hole.
Herculean plasma streaks pass them taking down advancing marines to the frontline trenches as they pull on the tight nylon rope. The stressed rope and friction cuts their fingertips and soon everyone is bleeding and cussing. Herus continues to chant and roar the Creed.
“Pull you fucking worthless dogs!” says Tarnus in between stanzas, sitting smug from his second floor overhanging. A shell lands nearby taking out a few men in the line. The rope loosens sliding fast through the hands of the marines in the front. One man drops the rope in agony and falls to his knees, his fingertips ripped off by the rope.
“Pick up the slack!” says Tarnus. “Get that roofing up there before I start wasting you lazy bastards!”
They pick up the rope again and continue. Their injured comrades grabbing onto their shins screaming for help. Medics dart in to retrieve the casualties, while Love’s hatred towards the Herculeans for disabling the tower grows in size with every pull. In between heaves they shout “Fuck you!” at Tarnus too. He finds it amusing and edges them on with any obscenity he can think of. After a few more tugs the metal slab is in position. A oval machine is placed over the parameter of the slab by the marines on the top bolting it into place. More clamps are added to reinforce the piece, and the base of the antenna is stabilized onto the newly made roof. Next, a Chinook defies the danger of the battlefield, and swoops in only a few meters above the bunker dropping down the new shield tower antenna into position where it is welded into place.
The planet cracker crew arrives right on time of their completion. “We got it from here jarheads!” says one of the engineer as they enter.
The antenna hums to life as the sentry turret is set back up too. A light blue shimmering glow appears in the air, as the antenna tower creates a shield wall that connects with other towers in intervals of about thirty meters away in both directions. The engineers lay out power lines to field generators to maintain the energy consumption of the shield. Soon, the shield wall is repelling all Herculean plasma and missile fire protecting the landing army, while the sentry turret shoots a constant line of rounds at the distant Herculeans.
“Well done comrades!” says Herus.
“Into the front trenches as we wait for the Goliaths!” says Tarnus. They double time outside the safety of the shield into the fray of the created earthworks. Makeshift sandbags and turret positions are hastily placed by marines as they find a chunk of earth not yet occupied. The trenches are a mess of brave dead warriors and spent ammunition. Shells land everywhere and smoke congests the visibility of the enemy frontline. Easy positions themselves near a stretch of trench that is trying to support a salient pushing the lines forward.
Ray sets up his XM-12 LMG and fires away on the distant Herculean positions. Tracers zip out every few rounds showing how accurate he is. Peter and the rest pop out bipods and brace their XM rifles on the sandbags and adjust scopes. It doesn’t do much to help. The Herculean frontlines are at least three kilometers away, the scopes barely zoom into two. From here, they can only lay down as much suppressive fire as possible on nonvisible enemy targets. “When are we getting close so we can waste those bastards!” says Isaac in frustration. The agreement is echoed down the line.
Despite the gap in distance between the two forces, this does not reduce the Herculean’s effectiveness at killing them. The salient trench being formed is a scene of courage and human determination, but ghastly nevertheless. Hundreds of sappers lurch forward digging away hellishly at the earth while others toss satchel charges to help speed up the process. Smoke is dropped to create a screen but is too little avail. Almost every man that crawls out of cover to help make the new salient is hit by zoned in Herculean fire and collapse lifeless back into the trenches—only their valor to be remembered, satisfying war’s satiety. Commissar Herus comes to the fringe of the scene wielding a UN banner with the circle of a white world and olive branches in one hand, and screams the Pledge at the top of his lounges to encourage the push. But access to the salient is eventually blocked off with a large pile of the dead, and more marines leap over the pile to only get hit and join it.
“Fight harder brothers!” says Herus, “Don’t give up an inch!”
The endeavor is unfortunately called off after a few more failed pushes, and the marines instead resume sitting tight in their earthworks, firing away excessive amounts of ammunition at the remote Herculeans. A blinding light flashes Peter’s face and he falls backwards dazed. His visor automatically readjusts to dim the light as he recovers. Rommel lifts him up and he slumps against the trench for a moment.
“You alright brother?” says Rommel.