Greenies

'Pull back inside for a few!' Walker ordered. 'Reload if you need to and get ready to start hitting the second group when they move in. They're trying the leapfrog maneuver here.'

Jeff leaned back against the trench wall — again just ahead of a bullet that came flying in. He checked the ammunition indicator display on the front of his weapon and saw he had five rounds left in his magazine. He ejected it, sliding it into a pocket on his left side where other almost empty magazines were kept for later reloading or in case of emergency. He pulled a fresh magazine from his right side pocket, slammed it into the weapon, and jacked the first round into the chamber. Beside him, Drogan was doing the same, putting a fresh two hundred round drum into the SAW. The two of them shared a look with each other — a look that was half camaraderie, half fear.

The small arms fire slacked off some, although the eighties, sixties, and twenties continued to slam into their position with depressing regularity.

'They're moving up again,' Walker told them. 'Let's get at 'em. The LT reports the marines at the center of the hill are not advancing and that tank and APC fire is concentrating on the infantry positions to the flanks. They're gonna try to take us from the sides.'

'We need more people over here, sarge,' Hicks said. 'There's only seven of us trying to hold off a whole fuckin' company!'

'They're sending four people from first squad over to reinforce us,' Walker told them. 'We'll try to delay them as long as we can but as soon as they hit the halfway point up the hill, we're pulling out.'

'Finally,' Jeff said with a sigh.

'Now put some fire on those marines!' Walker ordered. 'Don't let them just walk up this fucking hill!'

Callahan advanced just behind the bulk of his men. The fire from the Martian position above was not murderous by any means — it looked like no more than seven or eight weapons firing at them, not even squad strength. All the same, it was horrifyingly accurate and the covering fire provided by the APCs, the tanks, and two platoons of marines had absolutely no effect on it. Men dropped left and right of him, the blood boiling out of gaping holes in the their backs. SAW fire raked over them from time to time, taking out any group that had bunched up. He saw streaks of bullets go flying over his head several times as his feet struggled to find suitable ground to step upon. He knew he could be killed at any second, that only random chance had kept one of those bullets from slamming into him. This was not a situation he liked to find himself in.

They passed through first and second platoon — who continued to provide covering fire — and started up the hill. The slope was relatively easy, no more than twenty-five percent or so, but the ground itself was rocky and uneven with outcroppings of rock and drifts of loose, powdery soil blown in by the winds. Private Slawson — one of the few original members of Callahan's platoon — got himself a billion dollar wound when he stepped in a crevice and snapped his tibia and fibula at mid-shaft. The rest of them tried to scramble upward as quickly as possible, to get at least twenty meters ahead of their cover positions. Nine more fell to gunfire before they were able to hunker down behind some of the outcroppings.

Callahan saw he had lost one of his SAW gunners on the advance but the other three set up their weapons and began to shoot. The rest of his men began popping three round bursts at the spots where Martian gun flashes were originating.

'First and second platoon,' Ayers commanded. 'Move up. Third and fourth, keep that covering fire up. We need to suppress those positions!'

First and second started up the hill but they didn't get far. An increased volume of gunfire from the Martian positions — including another SAW — tore into them, dropping eight in the first ten seconds.

'Down!' Ayers yelled. 'Get down! They've reinforced that position!'

They dove to the ground, finding cover wherever they could. The bullets followed them, popping off anyone who was exposed in any way, leaving the hillside littered with dead and wounded.

'Jesus fucking Christ,' Callahan said as he witnessed this. 'Cap, we need more men over here! Can they break loose a platoon or two from the center to reinforce us?'

There was no answer. Callahan knew instantly what this probably meant. Ayers was either dead or horribly wounded. He had been hanging out with first platoon and they had just gotten trounced with gunfire. He looked at his mapping software long enough to locate Ayers' dot on the display. It was still there, which meant the suit was still transmitting but it was lying still in the open. Not an encouraging sign.

Callahan struggled for a moment to remember who was currently leading first platoon. Was it that corporal who had been whining earlier? He thought it was. Now what the hell was his name? Or maybe it was that corporal who had...

A burst of SAW fire blasted into his rock, chipping pebbles off to spray against his helmet, breaking his train of concentration, reminding his over-fatigued, over-stressed mind that he was in the middle of a battle.

'First platoon commander!' he barked on the command channel. 'This is Callahan.'

'Sergeant Corals here, Callahan,' a voice responded. It was neither the whiny voice from earlier or the other corporal. Callahan, in fact, had no idea who Sergeant Corals even was — hadn't even been aware that there was still a sergeant left to command anything at all.

Christ, he thought, shaking his head in terrified amazement. We're supposed to win a battle like this? When we don't even know who is running the fucking platoons in our own company? 'Corals, what's the status on Captain Ayers? He's not responding to hails and he's positioned about ten meters behind you, not moving.'

'That sounds like his ass then,' Corals replied. 'That would put you in charge, wouldn't it?'

'Get someone back there to check on him,' Callahan ordered. 'His radio might be out.'

'Callahan, we're under fire here in case you haven't noticed. Ain't none of my men gonna expose themselves to go check on a fuckin' corpse. You're in command of the company now — what's fuckin' left of it. How about you make a command decision and order off this hill?'

'I'm making a command decision and ordering you to get someone back there to check on the captain,' Callahan said. 'Get someone right this fucking second or you'll be doing it yourself!'

A pause, then an angry voice replied, 'Okay, I got some guys moving back there. If I was you, I wouldn't let myself get in their gunsights later if they survive this.'

'You make another remark like that and your fucking head will be in my gunsight before you're done making it,' Callahan told him. 'Is that clear?'

'Sure, whatever,' Corals said.

Callahan checked his map display again, watching to make sure Corals wasn't just jerking him off and pretending to send someone. He wasn't. Three dots separated from the rest of the platoon and began to inch their way backward — no doubt crawling on their bellies — toward the dot that represented Ayers.

'He's dead,' Corals reported a few seconds after they arrived at their destination. 'Took a couple of rounds right in the head and blew it clean open. You happy now?'

'Thrilled,' Callahan said, unable to muster up anything like emotion to attach to news that the man who had been his friend for the last six years and his boss for the last two was dead, lying in a heap on some shitty Martian hillside. He was too tired and too scared to care. 'Listen up. I want you to hold in place and keep the fire on that hillside. I'm gonna see about getting us some reinforcements.'

'Sure,' said Corals. 'Take your time. We're just lying here under these fucking rocks enjoying the pretty light show.'

Callahan ignored this for now. He turned his radio to the platoon frequency and told Corporal Hennesy, the most senior squad leader (which meant he'd been in that position almost thirty-six hours) that third platoon was all his. He then switched to the battalion command frequency and hailed Lieutenant Colonel West, commander of Second Battalion. 'This is Lieutenant Callahan,' he told him. 'Captain Ayers is KIA. I've assumed command of Charlie Company.'

'Goddammit!' barked West, who was commanding from an APC far in the rear. 'That's two of my company commanders I've lost in the last fifteen minutes!'

'Uh... yes, sir,' Callahan said. 'We need some...'

'Schafers of Bravo Company over on the left flank got smoked by a mortar shell,' West said although Callahan hadn't asked and didn't care. 'And now Ayers is gone too? Goddamn! He was like a brother to me. We went to the academy together.'

'My sympathies, sir, but...'