“Yeah, what happened?”
“Bastards almost got you with a firework.”
Peter goes back to shooting from his piece of trench, placing all of his weight against the top of the earth till he is hugging it with his torso instead of actually standing at a firing position. His cheek slumps against the rifle stock—he shakes his head and lifts it back up. He stares at his hands, watching them reload the XM and fire at enemy positions, but suddenly pauses shooting, eventually discarding the last empty magazine. He drops the XM and it dangles from his hostler strap while he sinks into trench down to his ass. His whole body solidifies itself against the dirt wall his back has melded into. He lifts his visor, but he still wears a mask of sweat pouring down his face. It drips off his raised visor and onto his lips. He tries wiping it away, but his dirty gloves only smear it about with the alien earth.
My heart’s beating as fast as the machinegun firing next to me—I, gotta, must breathe. Inhaling deeply causes a headache and I wince at the sharp strikes of pain. I suck on my bladder mouthpiece to fight the salty sweat taste in my mouth, and spit it out. Jesus, Creon wouldn’t believe this shit. Puts those imaginary battles in the backyard to shame.
Here, Peter, stay here. My body becomes an anchor. Don’t move Peter. We’re good here. Exhaustion creeps into my muscles from the sprint here. My heart hurts alongside my chest. How can one person take so much? Fuck this headache. I slide my helmet back to rub my forehead.
“What are you doing down there marine!” says Blake.
Oh shit!—I look down at my legs that have nested comfortable against the trench base.
“Are you hurt?” He checks the vital signs on my arm pad.
“No sir!” I lower my helmet back and get up promptly, to only duck again as plasma fire blasts the sandbags behind us. “I was just resting.”
That was the wrong use of words.
“Resting? Are you resistant to Stims, Private?”
“No sir! Not that I know of sir!” Resistant, that can happen?
Blake grabs my forearm, taping my dosage key. “Back to the wall, suppressive fire on the Herculean positions Private.”
Peter grabs the cover once more with his comrades, and aims at the distant frontline. His legs stand firm and his arm doesn’t waver once as he braces the XM for victory. “Let’s get closer, I wanna watch them die!” he says. Others shout their agreement. Additional Commissars arrive and lead the Creed with Herus. The marines repeat the lines onto the outskirts as tithings for war.
“We are powerful!” says Herus, “Invincible!”
Peter and the others cheer to the declaration. Buzz tells them so, as it should. The marines roar in unison demanding Herculean death, and they throw insults at them alongside bullets.
“Prepare for the assault!” alerts Tarnus’ radio.
“Listen up!” says Tarnus. They pause to give him their attention. “The Army boys are ready to push up with us. Any moment the Goliaths will roll out towards the frontlines. Once they pass we’ll follow behind them for cover. Stay together, don’t get trigger happy from your war rage and get separated. We rendezvous on the Herc shield wall where we will create our new frontline and await further orders.”
The rumbling engines of the Goliaths are heard before they are seen—their name wonderfully describing their size. The massive rectangular tank carriers trek through the shield wall out onto the open field. Easy has to dodge one as it turtles by. Their frontal repeating cannon blasts away at fortified Herculean positions. The marines cheer at the awesome prowess of their armored titans.
“Follow behind!” says Tarnus, “We got Herc’s to kill!”
Love empties the trenches in unison with the other marines. They quickly turn around to the commotion and uproar behind them. Thousands of soldiers slide through the shield to join their brothers. They move onto the Herculean frontlines as one enraged force. The Goliaths tow armored troop dollies behind them, and Easy hops on for a ride. The terrain is scarred with shell holes, and Peter watches as a nearby dolly breaks off from its Goliath as they get stuck into deep craters.
“I’m gonna get there first!” says Peter at a group digging out their carrier.
Peter turns to view the approaching city outskirts, and to examine the surface of the Goliath he rides on. Its rear has a fully staffed mortar crew lobbing incendiary, and its horizontal armored sides are a porcupine of multiple portholes and prodding turrets that score the battlefield. An armor square panel on each side opens up and a volley of rockets launch out into the air, screeching loudly before they hit the Herculean positions near their shield.
The air becomes congested with assaulting aircraft, and the hazed trails of shells that the rear howitzers and Herculean batteries fire at each other. The ground then rumbles with a new entrance to the battlefield: the magnificent sight of an emerging Fleet frigate hovering in the skyline above, its side turrets shaking Peter as they pound the Herculean defenses.
“Get some!” roar the men in agreement as it comes within a few kilometers of the city itself. It fires a barrage of missiles. Peter raises his thumb into the air following them, to be gleefully satisfied that they are the size of it from his distance. He punches his fist into the air as they smack against the base of the Herculean shield. The marines giggle like schoolgirls. The horizon is filled with bright yellows and oranges. Next, it angles itself in order to fire a broadside of its dozen multi-ton cannons.
Peter trembles in awe. This is human might, bringing its best offering.
“This is how we will teach the Herculeans a lesson or two about fucking with the superior race!” says Tarnus.
As if an attempt to defend themselves, a smooth angled Herculean warship also descends from the atmosphere. In its height advantage it is capable of scoring off a successful strike against the top of the Coalition frigate. Two smaller Fleet ships follow behind the Herculean craft launching missiles. A direct hit from one of them ignites the alien warship’s thrusters in a bright blue flash, and it drops fast.
Time slows down as all of the men are captivated by the unfolding spectacular—but also tragic—event. The Herculean ship collides into the top of the Fleet frigate it engaged, and the two massive vessels hug together into an inferno of streaking fiery exhaust. A thunderous boom dwarfs the noise of the battlefield for a moment. The heap of flaming metal smashes against the Herculean shield dome over the city, creating fireballs of debris that rain over the field. The shield reverberates with a violent shutter, similar to when a boulder penetrates a pond, and the dome disappears. The remaining wreck crashes into the skeletons of damaged skyscrapers collapsing a few. Moments later, a wave of earth and plaster meters high swoops out from the city outskirts, and covers the advancing humans in a storm of debris as it passes over the field. Soldiers turn around and duck behind vehicles to doge the wave.
“Holy fucking—,” Isaac is cut off as the wave engulfs them. His visor wiper—a blue vertical electric line on his helmet mask—moves from right to left frantically to clear away the caked dust. Peter follows his blue line as well as it moves back and forth clearing the debris from his visor. The wave dissipates and the men cough out dirt and climb out of earth mounds that buried them. They all wait quietly in anticipation, as if an encore is supposed to happen.
“Now they’re gonna get it boys!” bellows Herus over a microphone, “Time for revenge! Into the city!”
They roar back at the city in a wave of their own battle cries. But they are quickly out noised again; however this time by dozens of screaming jets flying overhead. Peter watches as sortie after sortie of aircraft zoom over him, beginning their relentless bombing runs. The Air Force mercilessly takes advantage over the lack of Herculean shield defenses, and the smoke inside the city lights up a thousand times as ordinance is dropped. It truly is a glorious sight.