All is Fair. Ch. 01

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Stevo. 4

They were still in the air when the rear loading ramp started to open. Stevo's squad would be the second out of the bird. Fortunately, the drop ship would be facing the enemy, allowing its chin-mounted chain gun to provide cover while the marines poured out of the back. The days when the first few rows of men were mowed down before they could step onto enemy soil had passed, but not by much. There was still that first frantic dash to find cover.

"Touch down in 15 seconds," The Captain called out. "Get to cover and secure the LZ. Good luck, gentlemen. I will see you at the finish line. Give 'em hell, marines!"

"Hoo-rah!" came the unanimous reply.

The dropship rocked as its landing struts touched down, and the ramp finished its descent a few seconds later. Delta squad was the first out of the door; Stevo took a deep breath, nodded to his troopers, and charged down the ramp after them.

For a few brief, merciful seconds, nothing happened. The sounds were muted by the adrenaline racing through his veins. The roar of the dropship engines, the barked commands of other sergeants, the rattling of the chain gun providing suppressive fire, all of it was drowned out by the sound of Stevo's own heavy breaths, his feet hitting the sand, and his heart pounding in his ears.

Then all of hell broke loose.

From hundreds, perhaps thousands of points further up the beach and along the hills beyond, the rebels opened fire. Most of the small red dashes were wildly off target, fired by small arms, but the few that hit were absorbed by the marine's shields. However, the larger heavy lasers, the ones usually reserved for shooting down heavily shielded fighters, or heavily armored dropships, were much more potent. A member of Delta squad was a few meters ahead of him, running toward the cover of some rocks sticking out of the sand; a few smaller caliber bolts bounced harmlessly off his shield bubble before a heavy laser round found its mark. Punching through his shield like it wasn't even there, it hit the marine in the upper chest. The heat and the power of the bolt incinerated the man's skin and flash-boiled the blood around the impact point, causing his body to balloon out for a split second and explode like a burst grape. Everything above his abdomen was ripped into pieces, and a hail of blood, shredded skin, and bloody mulch sprayed into the air before raining down onto the ground around him and any marine unfortunate enough to be running over it. The legs somehow took another step before toppling to the side.

Stevo could only watch as another Marine was hit in the same way, then another. Being on the far left of the line, he could look to the right to watch the entire first wave racing from the birds to the nearest cover, man after man falling to the merciless onslaught of the defender's heavy guns. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, he wheeled a little to the left and made a beeline for what looked to be a collapsed marble pillar. Cover to about chest height and large enough to hide his entire squad behind without needing to bunch them up, it would be perfect cover while they regrouped and prepared for the advance.

The air cracked as a heavy round snapped past his ears, missing his head by inches. The instinctive flinch and duck away from the sound caused him to stumble forward; a blast from behind him, doubtlessly from a mortar round, knocked him further off balance and caused him to lose his footing as he fell. He landed hard on his shoulder, instinctively rolling to make sure his rifle was kept out of the sand, and his lungs promptly emptied themselves under the impact. He looked up in time to see a heavy laser shot rip through the air in which he would have been standing if not for the fall, and clumps of sand were raining down on him from the explosion. Deciding that having the wind knocked out of him was significantly preferable to evisceration, he pulled himself to his feet and carried on his panted, breathless dash to cover.

After only a few seconds of sprinting - a few seconds which felt more like a few hours - he dove behind the collapsed white marble column. Stevo may not have been one of the officers in charge of strategic planning, but he knew a shit show when he saw one, and one glance over the top of the cover was all he needed to see how much the brass had fucked up. They were on a beach, an actual fucking beach. Of all the places they could land on an island of more than 25,000 square miles, they managed to choose the worst possible spot. Their backs were literally to the water, with only a few hundred yards between them and the cresting waves. To make matters worse, both sides of the beach were blocked by towering, imposing-looking rock cliff faces that spouted at least 100 feet into the air. There was absolutely no room to maneuver, and there was absolutely nothing in the way of flanking opportunities for the marines, while the rebels could take the high ground on the cliffs and fire down into them with impunity. In fact, he was absolutely staggered that they hadn't realized that yet. There was almost no cover between this column and the first trench line aside from a few broken rocks at the base of the cliff. And from their summit, any rebel soldiers on the cliff could render his current cover useless. They would be wide open if the rebels got their shit together.

Their objective, according to a waypoint on his helmet's HUD, was at the top of the hills at the far end of the beach, meaning the only avenue of attack was a full frontal assault against entrenched, well-prepared, fortified positions and an enemy who seemed to be more than a little prepared for them. A decently aimed rebel artillery barrage could end this assault in its infancy. That mortar attack had already killed scores of marines, and the heavy lasers were still taking their toll. It was only the undisciplined use of small arms that gave him any hope of success. Once they got inside the firing arcs of those heavy laser emplacements, they should be in a much better position.

Mac was only a second or two behind him, crashing his shoulder into the stone cover and panting hard as he looked over at the sergeant. Stevo offered him a wordless nod before they both looked back down the beach for the rest of the squad.

Angel was the first to appear out of the carnage, seeming to dance around the incoming fire before squatting down behind cover and chancing a glance up the beach at her soon-to-be targets. Rev was next, looking around wildly before spotting the three of them and sprinting over.

"Where are the others?" Stevo barked at him, not really expecting an answer but refusing to believe at that point that only half of his squad had survived a fifty-meter dash.

Rev just breathlessly shook his head. "I don't know, Sarge. I lost sight of everyone in the mortar attack."

Stevo looked back again. The dropship was just taking off, making room for the second wave; the wash from the massive plasma engines banished the smoke from the impact craters and revealed the litter of blasted and mutilated corpses covering the beach. "There!" Mac said, pointing into the carnage. Stevo followed his arm, making out the two figures stumbling towards them.

Ryan was missing a leg. The shattered armor and shredded flesh ended in bloody tatters just above where his right knee once was. Dusky was supporting him, his arm over her shoulder and hers around his waist, he was hopping as fast as he could, but it was clear that Dusky was doing most of the work.

"Shit! Angel, break out the portable shield, Mac, Rev, cover fire!"

"You got it, Sarge!" Mac grunted as he swung his multi-barreled support weapon off his shoulder and onto the top of the column. With a brief check down the sites, he squeezed the trigger and unleashed a blizzard of green plasma bolts at the closest enemy positions. Stevo pulled the butt of his rifle into his shoulder, leaned around the edge of the column, sighted the rebel's heads sticking out of the trenches a few hundred yards ahead of them, and opened fire as Rev did the same on the other side of Mac. Their smaller red laser shots, mixed with the torrent of green plasma bolts, smashed into the enemy position. One unshielded head was hit by one of Stevo's rounds, the heated shot punching a smoldering hole the size of a grapefruit straight through it. A few more were blown to pieces as Mac found his mark before he turned his attention to a heavy laser emplacement.

Angel sprinted out towards her squad mates. With the Sarge, Rev and Mac making a nuisance of themselves, most of the incoming fire was being directed at them, leaving the path open for her to help Dusky drag Ryan to safety. Being an expert marksman, she had recognized the rebel fire for what it was, wildly inaccurate and relying on sheer weight of numbers - rather than training - to score lucky hits. She had no doubt that one marine platoon could have wiped out every man and woman evacuating the dropships on this part of the LZ. Some of the shots being aimed in their direction were passing twenty feet above their head; no self-respecting drill sergeant would ever let a marine pass basic training with that level of inaccuracy. The heavier emplacements had built-in sights, that made them more dangerous, but there were nowhere near as many of them, and a good number of those were still targeting the strike craft racing up and down the lines.

She reached her wounded squadmate and the medic in only a few seconds, slinging her rifle over her shoulder and hooking herself under Ryan's left arm. "C'mon ginge, you're holding us up!" She jibed playfully. "I should be over there blowing up rebel skulls, but noooo, instead, I'm dragging your mangled ass off the beach."

"Fuck you, Angel!" Ryan laughed through what must have been excruciating pain. "We both know you would still want my ass even if it was mangled. Luckily, it's only my leg, and I was blessed with a spare. I can't imagine how pissed you're gonna be when I beat your scores with a prosthetic."

"Yeah, yeah, hop along! We'll see!" She looked over his shoulder at Dusky; that look of stoic determination was one she had seen on countless medics over the years. In her opinion, there was nobody on a battlefield who could compete with a medic when it came to courage. Some of the things she had seen those crazy bastards do to rescue a fellow marine had blown her mind. "Sarge wants me to drop the porta-shield. Do you want to do this here or get him to cover?"

Dusky met her eyes and shook her head. "He's stable; I stopped the bleeding back there. Let's just get him to cover."

"Roger that. Have you seen Big G?" She cast a look behind them, looking for the youngest member of bravo squad.

"I'm right here," his cheerful voice burst over coms. All three of them turned to see him running out of a pillar of smoke, his armor spattered with sand and scorch marks. "One of those fuckin' mortars got pretty close. Turned me 'round for a second. Miss me?"

"Glad you could make it," Angel called back. "Get up there with Sarge and help lay down cover fire."

"Nah, you're the better shot here, ma'am," He said as he caught up with the walking wounded. "You'll be better placed up there while I help the cripple. Besides, yo' fine ass looks better without this fool's blood all over it."

"Hey, I'm right here," Ryan complained.

"I know, and we should be over there, so hop faster!" Dusky panted.

"Alright, grab him," Angel nodded, giving up her place under Ryan's left arm for Big G. "No fucking around, get to cover as fast as... son of a bitch!" she swore as a small arms bolt bounced off her shoulder. "Yeah, these fuckers are starting to piss me off. Get him to cover!"

"Starting to piss you off??" Ryan laughed, still bravely ignoring the pain. "They shot off my leg, they made Dusky open her med kit - and you know how the sarge feels about that - and to make matters worse, I lost my fucking rifle!"

"Yeah," Angel snorted. "Get him to cover so Sarge can kill him."

Big G's laugh was cut off by a wet crunch as a heavy laser bolt hit him in the face. His head exploded. His throat and his left shoulder were taken along with it. His severed arm dropped to the floor as Dusky and Ryan stared at him in horror. The force of the impact knocked what was left of him onto his back, where his leg twitched macabrely. The three of them were frozen in shock, their helmets and armor painted in the arterial spray, bone fragments, and brains of their friend.

"Fuck, G is down, I repeat, G is down!" Angel yelled, her voice automatically being carried to every other member of the squad.

"Fuck, G! No, fuck...!" Ryan dropped onto his good knee and dragged himself over to his friend.

"He's gone!" Dusky screamed at him, not even needing to check to be sure. "There's nothing we can do. We have to leave him!" She immediately rushed over to Ryan, trying to grab hold of him to pull him to safety. There was nothing left of Big G above the chest, she didn't need to be a medic to know that he was gone.

"No, I ain't fuckin' leavin' him. I can't..." Ryan batted frantically behind him to push her arms away from him.

"GET OFF THE GOD DAMNED BEACH!" Stevo's voice yelled through the comms.

Dusky and Angel exchanged a look before each of them hooked an arm under one of Ryan's armpits and dragged the screaming marine the last few yards to cover.

Hurling Ryan into cover, Angel immediately unslung her long-barrelled rifle, flicked the cap off the scope, rested the barrel on the top of the column, and started firing. Each one of her deadly accurate shots ended the life of at least one rebel as the explosive rounds tore into any target she spotted. Dusky was working on pure instinct. Ignoring Ryan's sobs, she immediately went to work sealing his wound.

"He was right there," Ryan sobbed hauntedly. "He was right fucking there. It's my fault; I got him killed. He's dead, and it's my fucking fault."

Stevo spun around, grabbed Ryan's helmet under the chin, and jerked his head to face him. "Stow that shit, marine!" he barked. "It is not your fault; it's theirs!" He pointed in the direction of the rebel defenses. "They fucking shot him, not you. He was doing his job; now it's time for you to do yours, that's how we make sure he didn't die for nothing! You're on comms duty now, and I expect you to get your shit together. We make every one of these assholes pay, and then we give G the send-off he deserves. Are you with me, marine?"

Ryan looked deep into Stevo's eyes. The look of horror at G's death quickly morphed into one of grim resolve before he gave a nod. "I'm with you, Sarge. We're going to fuck them up!"

"That's what I want to hear. Dusky, how's he doing?"

"He's not going to be line dancing anytime soon, but he is stable. No chance of him bleeding out, but I strongly advise leaving him here while we advance."

"Yeah, that's fine. We need him on comms, and he doesn't have a weapon anyway." He spun back around and fired another handful of shots downrange. "Okay, Mac, Angel, stay here and maintain suppressive fire. Rev, Dusky, you're on me; we are going to flank around the left and storm that trench line. Stay low, stay fast, and keep your eyes peeled. We have another ten minutes before the second wave lands, and I want those emplacements silenced before they do," He ducked out of cover and popped off another dozen rounds. "Move!"

Stooping low, the three marines roadie-ran along the length of the broken column and darted over the short clearing to the base of the cliffs. Stevo had not been thrilled with the idea of being on the extreme end of the line, but with little risk of being flanked, thanks to the cliffs, it was no different than anywhere else. He wasn't sure if the cover provided by the fallen rocks could be replicated anywhere else along the front, so the normally precarious position actually worked in their favor. They may even be in defilade of any firing positions from the cliff top if the rebels realized the strategic advantage they provided. With Mac and Angel keeping rebel heads down, not a single shot was fired in their direction, giving Stevo the strong suspicion that they may have made it across the open stretch without being spotted.

They crept from rock to rock, the high-pitched blasts of rebel laser fire, was being answered by the deeper thudding of Mac's cannon. With three rotary barrels and a much larger power source, not to mention more than triple the number of heatsinks, his cannon was able to lay down heavy cover fire almost indefinitely. His powered armor didn't just allow him to carry the damned thing with ease; despite it weighing over 100lbs, its larger bulk meant sturdier shield emitters and thicker armor. A heavy laser shot could still penetrate it, and it would still do a lot of damage if it did, but Mac's training would have dictated that those emplacements be the first thing he targeted when he opened up. Unless one of the rebels scored a direct hit with a rocket - an insanely difficult feat at the best of times, hence why the Marine Corps had phased them out - he was able to shrug off almost anything the enemy could throw at him.

Angel was firing slower. The loud concussive blast of her older, long-barrelled ballistic rifle came fewer and further between. The difference was that almost every one of her shots was scoring kills. She would also be targeting much further up the beach by now, doubtlessly picking out, and picking off the men manning the heavier guns, or anyone that looked even remotely like an officer.

Regardless of who was beating whom in terms of kill counts, they were both doing their job perfectly. The only thing the rebels were able to focus on was the blizzard of fire being thrown against them, meaning they completely missed the much greater threat moving around their flanks. Stevo finally reached the last of the boulders and stooped down behind it. Moving his hand in well-practiced gestures, he twisted the sight on the top of his rifle and disconnected it. He then slowly and carefully leaned forward to hold the sight clear of the rock and pointed it toward the enemy trenches.

The IFF system really was a game changer, and maneuvers like this one were showing why. Stevo could still see through the site thanks to its link to his helmet's eyepiece. He could literally see around corners, but more than that, each marine had a transponder embedded in their armor; when the IFF's onboard computer recognized armed soldiers, it scanned for the transponder. Not finding one in the rebel forces, it highlighted each of them in a bright red outline. More than that, if the rebel was behind partial cover, it could extrapolate - with a fair degree of accuracy - the position of the rest of their body despite them not being visible. It then broadcasted that information to every single other sight on every single other marine's weapon in real-time. Meaning that at that very second, Mac and Angel were being told exactly where the enemy forces were.

"Mac, Angel, you ready?" Stevo said quietly into his comms.

"Roger that, Boss, on your go," Angel replied a second later.

"Alright, Mac, you know the drill. Walk your shots from our end of the trench toward the center. Angel, you block reinforcements."

"Aye, ready when you are, Sarge." Mac gruffed over the wire.

"On three. Three.... Two... One... Execute!"

There had been seven enemy soldiers at the mouth of the trench on the other side of the rock when Stevo pulled his arm back and reattached his sight; by the time he, Rev, and Dusky had broken cover to advance on it, all seven of them had been ripped apart. Green flames still burned from the remnants of clothing and body parts, but for most of them, the rebels had simply been blown to pieces where they stood. Very little above the chest was left intact.