two dozen, their laser mounts appearing first followed by their turrets and then the bodies. Some exploded as they were hit with anti-tank fire, one here, five there, three somewhere else, but always more appeared behind them, their cannons and lasers flashing. The ones not hit began to spread out a little, continuing to advance forward despite the horrendous losses they were taking. And still more and more kept appearing.
'Telemetry is showing sixty plus APCs moving toward our position, coming in hot,' Walker announced. 'They're starting to spread out for what appears a frontal and flank attack. The other hills are all getting about the same and there is a large reserve divided up into company strength units lagging behind them.'
'Six hundred men,' Jeff said, his adrenaline now flowing quite freely. 'All for us.'
'How fuckin' thoughtful of them,' Hicks said, gripping the handle of his M-24 compulsively.
'This is the real thing, people,' Walker said. 'They're coming to get us. AT units will shift fire to the APCs as soon as they're in range to try to whittle their numbers down. As soon as they start to dismount, open up on them. Remember, controlled fire, stick to your zones, and try to put your recticle on center mass if you can. Don't try to be a video game hero and get everyone with headshots. A wounded marine is even better than a dead marine. You kill them and they just lay there. You wound them and someone has to take the time and manpower to pull them out. Drogan, remember to go after the large concentrations with that SAW. Keep them pinned in place if you can so the rest of the squad can pick them off individually.'
'Right, sarge,' she said, her voice cracking just the tiniest bit.
'And when its time to leave, we do it like we practiced,' he added. 'Take your weapons and as much ammo and supplies as you can carry and walk quickly to the egress point. Don't run, don't push, and don't panic. Panic kills. Remember that.'
'The tanks are stopping,' Drogan announced.
And indeed they were. They had spread out on a sporadic line about seven hundred meters out, many of them trying to find what cover they could. Some were hiding behind already destroyed tanks from the first engagement. Others were trying to put boulders or small rises in the land between themselves and the hill. The cannon fire began to pick up in intensity, still concentrated above, at the AT positions, still nowhere near as intense as before.
'APCs visible,' someone shouted. 'Here they come!'
Jeff saw the shapes of the APCs broach the horizon. They were moving fast, faster than the tanks, not zigzagging, just coming straight on. As soon as they became visible they began to fire their own sixty millimeter cannons at the AT positions, adding to the volume of fire. The hill shook harder with the explosions but even as he feared it would be enough to suppress the anti-tank crews, two of the APCs exploded from direct hits.
'Yes,' he whispered, his thumb playing over the firing button of his weapon. 'Take them out, guys. Take them right the fuck out.'
As they drew closer, the APCs began to fire their twenty-millimeter cannons as well, sending high intensity streaks of shells into the hill. And still the AT crews kept after them. Three more exploded, then five more, their hulks stopping dead as smoke and blood vapor rose into the air. But still they came, passing through the ranks of tanks that were trying to protect them and advancing further. Half of them came directly toward the front of the hill. The other half split up into two and began to move towards the sides. Suddenly, they came to a halt, their guns continuing to fire as fast as they could. Their rear ramps came down and the small figures of WestHem marines began to pour out of them.
'They're dismounting!' Walker shouted. 'Open fire. Arty and mortars are incoming!'
Jeff's zone was near the right flank of the hill as seen from the enemy perspective. He put his recticle over the figure of a marine and pushed the firing button on his weapon. It kicked in his hand and the figure dropped, a puff of blood vapor coming out of his back. He had just killed his first enemy soldier. He attached no thought or emotion to this save a small feeling of vicious pleasure. He was too scared to feel much else. And before he could even put his recticle on someone else, before Drogan could even open up with her SAW to keep them pinned near their egress points, both the tanks and the APCs shifted fire and began to plaster the infantry trenches.
'Fuck me!' someone yelled as the streaks of eighty, sixty, and twenty millimeter began to pound into their position. Explosions shuddered and concussed through his body. Dirt, sand, and rocks began to fly around the trenches. One of the shells went off right outside his hole and he felt shrapnel pinging off his helmet.
'Fuck me is right,' he said. Still he kept his head in his hole and shot another soldier. He then shot another one.
'Fuck me!' Callahan yelled as he stepped out of the APC and into the living hell of the Martian battlefield. Bullets came flying in, pinging off the top of the APC, slamming into the dirt around them. Two of the squad members went down almost instantly, both shot through the torso. He covered behind the rear of the APC the best he could and tried to clear his mind enough to start taking account of his platoon, their positioning, and the best way to advance them to the base of that hill.
The advance forward had been bad enough, horrifying even. They'd rushed inward towards their flank of the hill, sixteen APCs in all, plowing through a broad plain littered with destroyed tanks. As soon as the hill had come in sight, the lasers began to fall on them. The APC directly next to his in the formation had blown up right before his eyes, its turret flying through the air, the blood of its occupants geysering upward and blowing off in the wind. Two and then three other APCs of the company exploded right behind it, another thirty men dead in an instant, the rest of them horribly exposed, their suppressing fire doing next to nothing to slow down the onslaught of laser energy.
'Dismount!' came Ayers' cry, his voice sounding scared, desperate, very unlike the cool, professional tone of command it usually instilled. 'Get everyone out and start advancing towards the base.'
The APCs stopped and they'd scrambled out in a disorganized heap, two hundred meters short of their planned egress point and without much of anything in the way of natural cover from the gunfire that was erupting around them.
'Callahan, Meyers,' Ayers ordered. 'Get your platoons to put some covering fire on those hillside positions!'
'Meyers is dead, sir,' a terrified voice squeaked back at them. 'This is Corporal Jones. I've taken command of fourth platoon.'
'Just fuckin' great,' Ayers responded. 'Alright, Jones, start commanding. Third and fourth platoon cover, first and second advance inward to the original dismount location. Move!'
Callahan repeated the orders to his platoon and then quickly moved behind a medium sized boulder that was ten meters from the APC. No sooner had he stepped away than the APC exploded, struck by an anti-tank laser. It's turret landed exactly where Callahan had just been standing.
'Jesus,' he muttered, resisting the urge to stare at the destroyed vehicle. He turned back towards the battlefield and watched as his men got behind anything they could find to use as cover — rocks, undulations in the landscape, destroyed APCs. Several more went down.
'They're killing us down here,' Callahan told his men. 'Stop crawling around and start shooting! We need some fire on those Martian gun positions or they're gonna pick us off one by one!'
The SAW gunners settled in and quickly set up their weapons. They started firing upward, raking their bullets over the trenches where the flashes from the Martian guns were emanating. The rest of the platoon soon followed, sending three round bursts at the gun flashes with their M-24s. It had no effect whatsoever. The Martians guns kept flashing and men kept getting hit, their weapons falling to the ground, their grunts and groans of pain, their death cries echoing over the tactical channel.
'Incoming!' several voices yelled at once.
Callahan looked up and saw the streaks of artillery and mortar shells coming at them, dropping out of the sky like deadly hailstones. The explosions began a few seconds later. Flashes of light blinded them, concussions slammed into them, and men were blown apart, arms and legs and heads flying from their bodies, torsos tossed through the air on clouds of blood vapor. Shrapnel lanced into Callahan's left arm, slicing neatly through his suit and causing a warning light to appear in his goggles.
First and second platoon took the worst of it, however. They had been rushing forward to their position when the shells started dropping. Their entire front rank was shredded.
'All units, advance!' Captain Ayers yelled. 'The arty is killing us. Move forward to the base of the hill! There's defilade from the arty there!'
Callahan didn't have to tell his platoon twice. They stood and began moving inward, hurtling themselves
