I caught sight of the Wild Thing again, heard the bark and blur of his terrible weapon as he went after the Ultra indirect and sniper teams on the far side of the airfield like some untamed and vicious dog that couldn’t be stopped. Explosions daisy-chained there in fiery apocalyptic bloom as they sought to defend themselves from his horrific and relentless onslaught.
I comm-linked with the First Sergeant, who was supervising the retreat from the wounded crawler ahead of us at our nine o’clock. Dog machine-gun teams were laying down suppressive fire there as the wounded were pulled back and toward our hijacked armored transport and commandeered LZ.
Our hopefully hijacked armored transport by now.
“Reaper Six to Doghouse. We have cover secured. Marking now for your teams. Point your casevacs this way.”
I turned to Hauser.
“Trade me,” I said, indicating the captain’s shotgun he was carrying. He did so immediately. Because that’s how he is. He trusts me. I’m his combat leader. Even damaged, he was much better with any weapon than I could ever be. The Bastard and her two mags would give him some range to cover me as I went forward. And I needed to move fast and he was too wounded to keep up.
“Defend here,” I ordered.
I grabbed the shotgun and dashed toward the crawler through the teams even now reorienting toward our cover position. Hauser didn’t need to be told what to do. Single-shot fire, he began engaging anyone shooting at our retreating company members. He’d hold there better than anyone. He’d make sure everyone got the best chance for survival his combat computer could give them.
Across the airfield I heard the bark of the Wild Thing’s doomsday weapon again and there was a huge explosion that rocked that side of the fight. Terrible orange flames leapt into the air as a hot blast washed across the field. After that I didn’t hear it anymore and I wondered if the Ultras had succeeded in doing what no one ever had. Killing the Wild Thing. Whoever he was.
What would become of the Little Girl now?
“Orion.” It was the Monarch on our private channel. I passed Scooch fireman-carrying Duffy, two Dog soldiers, as I ran forward toward the wounded crawler. “You absolutely need to make sure I get the contents of Box 88. Otherwise, all this was for nothing.”
“Goin’ the wrong way, Sergeant Orion!” said Duffy, who seemed to have been shot in both legs. I ignored and kept moving, passing more wounded evac-carrying teams. Cradling the shotgun as I ran.
Overhead Cook’s dropship was coming in to stabilize the line of battle to the rear of our advance onto the airfield, hovering and taking fire, both gunners dumping all they had to keep the Ultras back for just a few more minutes. A missile streaked up from across the starport, and Chief Cook popped flares. Smoking star clusters rocketed out from the aft fuselage of the drop as the rocket lost tracking and ran off into the sky, detonating just above the battlefield seconds later.
Ahead, I saw the First Sergeant on this side of the crawler, pistol out, moving low and getting the carry teams staggered for evac under fire away from the wounded crawler.
One machine-gun team went black on ammo. Commotion there as the Ultras pushed hard. The other team over-cycled their weapon despite needing a barrel change, the gunner just picking it up and shifting his cone of fire almost onto the first team as he cut down more Ultras when they tried to surge. Rounds smacked tarmac and exploded across the Ultra attack wedge. Some were down. Some were continuing to move forward under fire and engage. Both sides were just throwing everything they had at each other now. Someone in the black-on-ammo team lobbed a grenade out there. It erupted, blowing debris and bodies across the tarmac. Still the Ultra Marines continued to close through withering fire.
Chief Cook swiveled the drop above as Hoser drew a bead on that force and unloaded. Someone had popped smoke to cover the retreat but the drop was blowing it everywhere.
Twenty meters to go and I sprinted hard, rounds whistling through the air past my head. I saw Chungo on top of the crawler, working a robomortar and dropping rounds everywhere as fast as he could heave them into the tube.
One round went up, divided into eight and hung there, then ignited burst rockets and showered the line forward of our position with shrapnel.
I didn’t know how much that would do against Ultra armor, but every bit helps.
“First Sergeant…” I’m gasping for air as I come up on him and hunker down next to the crawler.
Chief Cook was in my ear. “Sitrep. We got inbound monkeys coming from the tube station and within the city. Streakers moving in among the Ultras. This looks bad, kids.”
“Copy that, Voodoo Two,” said the First Sergeant.
I could see that the First Sergeant had been hit in the chest armor. It was fractured through the rig. No blood. His teeth were bloody though, as he smiled at me and said, “Bad day, Sergeant Orion. But hey, that’s why they pay us the big bucks, eh?”
There weren’t many wounded left. But there were dead we’d be leaving behind. I counted the faces I recognized.
“First Sergeant, where’s the package?”
“Sergeant Hannibal’s got it, son. Pinned down with Team Three that way. His comm went bad. He took a frag in the bank and I think that did it. We’re gonna lose him out there if I don’t do somethin’.”
He knife-handed toward our nine o’clock. I could see another Dog team out there fighting from a small maintenance hub they’d turned into a bunker. I irised in and saw my worst enemy directing fire there. Keeping us from being overwhelmed and overrun to the rear. There were only three of them out
