"Ready," Sarge commanded, bringing me back out of my thoughts. The Orcs were closer now, and even without binoculars, I could see them in detail. These were literally mechanized infantry, seemingly impervious within their crude armor. Splashes of paint and daubed graffiti, colorful in both design and word, decorated the metal shells. The painted images demonstrated their owner's intent, cracked skulls, cleavers, and firing guns being the most popular images that I could see. 

"Fire," Sarge indicated, and we fired freely upon the enemy as they moved up the hill. Tactically we had the better position, but we were outnumbered. A whoosh indicated another rocket had been launched. It landed to one side, the explosion showered us with dirt and left a painful echo in my ears. It could have been much worse, though.

"Come get some!" Robinson had discarded the sniper rifle in favor of his M-16. He sprayed long bursts of fire across the enemy line.

Sarge remained calm. He fired at a controlled, steady rate and aimed before shooting. Placing bullets carefully, as he tried to locate a weakness in their armor plating.

The Orcs fired as they marched; fortunately, they weren't accurate. Lying on the ground at the crest of the hill, we only offered them a tiny profile. Most of the bullets blazed harmlessly overhead. That didn't mean it wasn't terrifying. The angry buzz of bullets whizzed by like a swarm of mosquitos, and once, my head was knocked violently to the side with a harsh 'plink' as a bullet ricocheted off my helmet.

The Mechs were close enough that the metallic clunk of each step was audible as they advanced towards us, implacable and relentless.

Robinson hurled a grenade down the hill. It bounced, landing directly underneath one of the Orcs. The explosion blew him to the ground. Like a beetle thrown onto its back, the mechanized shell’s limbs thrashed the air for several seconds. Then it went still and for a moment I hoped perhaps its controller was dead. Sadly a moment later the mech completed its reboot and struggled back to its feet. The blast had left the visor cracked, which at least showed they weren’t wholly impervious to our weaponry. We might die today, but there was a very good chance we might void their manufacturer warranties.

The other Mecha Orcs ignored their companion's woes and continued to wade stubbornly up the hill, ignoring our fire. Most of the bullets clanged harmlessly off their armor plating, but as the damaged Orc caught up with his brethren, Sarge's precise shooting caught the cracked visor shattering it. The creature collapsed to the floor, its head reduced to a bloody mess.

That shot was the exception.

Robinson was swearing frequently now. Having discarded his gun, he had begun hurling grenades, but had failed to repeat the good fortune of his initial throw. Dirt erupted around the advancing enemy, but they continued their ascent.

It would only be a few minutes until we were overrun.

"Peters," Sarge shouted. "Get down the hill. We'll join you shortly, make sure you're ready."

I didn't need to be told twice. Crouching, I rose and set off down the hillside. Happy to be heading away from the hail of bullets. 

It didn't take long to reach where Westcott had fallen. 

A large pool of blood had collected under his body and through his ripped shirt, metallic fragments were visible, jutting out of his skin. He was a bloody mess. A gurgling breath escaped him as I moved past. Against all odds, the kid was still alive. He moaned as I turned him over. 

'Never leave a man behind.' 

It was one of the Marine mottos that I agreed with. After all, one day it might be me, bleeding out under an alien sun. So purely out of selfishness, I hoisted him over my shoulder and dragged his sorry ass down the hill with me.

Thanks to the limp weight of Westcott's body, I'd only just reached the bottom of the hill when Sarge shouted, "Incoming!" 

He and Robinson cascaded down the hillside like the hordes of hell were chasing them. Several explosions boomed behind them from grenades hurled to cover their retreat.

The two men were only halfway down the hillside when the first of the Orcs crested the hill. The huge mechanized suits made for easy targets as they stood silhouetted against the sky. Sadly, my bullets clanged off his suit with little effect, though, and the Orcs started to descend.

Bullets were zipping around in the air now, shooting as they advanced. The Orcs hadn't found their range yet .. but it was only a matter of time. 

"Hit the switch, damn it!" Sarge screamed as he and Robinson passed the mined area and dived forward, hitting the floor still a good forty feet away from me. 

I looked at him dumbly for a second, then dived for the remote control as I hit the large metallic clacker to trigger the mines.

A series of explosions triggered instantly. Dust and dirt blew up into the air obscuring the hillside. Sarge and Robinson were caught up in the debris and obscured from sight. 

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Fuck, I may just have killed my remaining squadmates.

Picking up my M16, I waited to see if there were any survivors. Through the dust cloud echoed heavy clunking footsteps. The ragged, uneven beat grew steadily louder until a dark image loomed out of the shadows.

The Orc leader was in tatters, bleeding. His mechanized armor, never pristine to begin with, had been shredded by the mines. A claymore explosion was like a shotgun wielded by an angry Norse god. A single mine could be devastating, able to take out enemies up to a hundred yards away, and we'd chained a dozen of them together. 

His eyes looked unfocused, and I could see heavy streams of blood running down his craggy brow. He might still be standing, but it was only a matter of time until he bled out. Surely?

Not waiting to find out, I decided to put him out of my misery. My bullets rattled into the armor, and a splintering sound told me that they were having some impact. Not enough though, his visor was cracked, but it hadn't given way.

The bastard looked up, and his eyes swam into focus. He was pissed off now, his lips curled in a sadistic smile. "Man-thing dies." He declared. His mechanical arms whirred, jerking his gun in my direction.

Bullets ripped through where I had been standing as I hurled myself to the floor. Cruel laughter echoed from the Orc as I scrambled to my feet. "Run rabbit, run," He chuckled. The bastard was playing with me.

I dodged forward, and angled my run to the left, and then hurled myself right at the last second. Another blaze of bullets narrowly missed me. I was wheezing now as I ran. It was only a matter of time before my luck ran out.

It was then that I heard a human voice scream an angry battle cry. "Timberrrr!" Robinson yelled as he hurled himself towards the back of the Orc at full sprint. His feet connected with its back violently. The Orc windmilled as it attempted to keep its balance, but the clumsy suit toppled forward. Crashing face-first into the ground.

Robinson didn't pause. He jammed Roomsweeper's muzzle into the gap between armor plates at the base of the suit's helmet. The Orc squirmed, trying to free himself. But to no avail, Robinson pulled the trigger and a bloody torrent of gore exploded out of the helmet's front. 

“Another one bites the dust,” Robinson commented with a gap toothed smile.

"Where's Sarge?" I asked.

"He's checking on the fallen," Robinson replied, unconcerned.

On cue, the bark of a gun rang out. Sarge was moving amongst the fallen Orcs, firing a double-tap into each. Making sure that we didn't have to deal with the complication of prisoners.

Westcott coughed. The kid was still alive. I’ve got to give him credit - he wasn't as fragile as he looked. His face was pale now, and his breathing shallow. I knelt beside him and held his hand. He was a stubborn bastard, but there was little I could do to save his life. 

“It’ll be ok, kid.” I said unconvincingly. Tears were in my eyes, I hated lying to a dying man, but I wanted to make his passing as easy as possible.

"I can save him." A heavily accented, feminine voice rang out from the top of the hill. Standing at its brow was the Orc woman, angry blue bruises showed where she'd been beaten earlier and blood still encrusted on her face.

"She can't be trusted," Robinson stated.

Sarge and Robinson had their guns aimed. Any second now, she'd die, and any chance of Westcott living would disappear with her.

"Westcott is dying," I stated. "She can't make things any worse for him."

Robinson looked at me, then to Westcott. His expression was sour. I don't think he viewed the kid's death as a huge loss, but he remained silent.

The woman was walking down the hillside fearlessly, her hands held above her head.

Sarge looked at me, then shrugged. "She's your responsibility, and if Westcott dies, she dies."

The Orc ignored the guns pointed at her, as she removed off her backpack and pulled items from it nonchalantly. She moved to pick up a large aerosol canister, and I grabbed it first. "What's this?"

"Do you want me to save him?" She growled in irritation, baring sharp teeth. 

I instinctively flinched away, "Yes, of course."

"Well, stop getting in my way and help. That spray will numb the wounds and allow me to remove the shrapnel. Take off his clothes and spray it liberally over him."

Nodding, I followed her instructions, hoping she wasn't simply having me murder my squadmate for her. If she really wished us ill, then surely she would have sniped at us from a distance?

A thin white film settled upon Westcott where the spray settled and as his muscles relaxed he stopped moving. I glanced at the Orc to see her reaction. There wasn’t one. She ignored me, concentrating on arranging the items she needed beside her.

I really really hoped this wasn't a trick. If I'd just killed the kid, then Robinson would never let me live it down.

The Orc shoved me roughly with her arm, "Move aside." The long pair of tweezers in her hand didn't give me a huge amount of confidence in her. She moved with deftness and confidence, though. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she worked, tweezers slowly removing chunks of metal from the boy's body. 

Satisfied with her work, she grabbed another canister, spraying a metallic compound over his wounds. Then she flipped him over. His back wasn't in quite as bad a state, but I was worried. I couldn't see Westcott's chest moving anymore.

That was a bad sign. You only stopped breathing when you were dead, right?

The woman sprayed the same metallic substance over his back, then pulled a syringe out of a side pocket. The needle was fucking huge.

"Roll him onto his front," she commanded. I wasn't entirely certain when I'd become her lackey, but I did what she asked all the same. If Westcott was going to die, then it wasn't going to be my fault.

A minute amount of liquid sprayed out of the needle as she tapped it. "This will decide if he lives or dies." Then she plunged the needle directly into the unconscious Marine’s chest, hard.

Westcott suddenly gasped, air flooding into his lungs as his body jerked. He fell back down, still unconscious, but his chest was visibly moving now. My eyes followed its steady movement with relief.

"Now we have to wait and see if he's brain dead or not." The Orc woman said reassuringly as she started packing away her gear. "With Orc males, it doesn't make a lot of difference, in all honesty."