Chapter 1 - Earth That Was

Leon shifted uncomfortably in his narrow bunk. It was hot, and he was sweating like mad. The thin blanket he used was damp with his sweat and clung to his bare skin in a very unpleasant manner. The relentless desert heat weighed upon him, even at night. You’d think I would be used to this heat by now, he mused.

All around him was the heavy breathing and snoring from his squad members. The barracks housed all ten of them, and while Leon was a light sleeper, most of the others could sleep through artillery shelling. Above the snoring, he could hear the lazy swoosh-swoosh of the ceiling fan, which did little more than stir the warm, dry air in the barracks. The monotonous rhythm of the fan blades was calming, but Leon couldn’t help but wish for the chill of a half-decent AC unit.

Someone let out a fart, probably Tank, based on the direction of the sound. Leon quickly covered his face with his blanket, realizing that the useless ceiling fan would soon be sending less than pleasant smells his way. Rifleman David Thompson, or Tank as he was known, had been a defensive lineman in college football before joining the Army. He was built like, well, a tank. He could also clear a barracks with his farts, despite eating the same army mess food they did. 

A feminine cough sounded suddenly, and Leon grinned beneath his blanket. Martinez. The small Latina had the bunk next to Tank, and was first in line to get hit by the smell. Poor Fumble. Always in the line of fire. Specialist Maria Martinez, or Fumble, was their specialist. Her unfortunate nickname had come during Basic, when she dropped a dummy grenade. It had stuck, much to her chagrin. Ironically, she was the squad grenadier, and had never actually fumbled a live grenade. 

Before long the smell hit Leon, having made its rounds through the barracks. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, trying to alternate between holding his breath and breathing through his mouth, until the stench dissipated. Sighing, the young sergeant rolled over to his other side, and tried to fall back asleep. Breathe, slowly. In, 1-2-3, out, 1-2-3, pause, 1-2-3. And repeat. He began to drift off, until an explosion shook the barracks and sirens began going off. 

“ALL PERSONNEL REPORT TO DESIGNATED STATIONS! BASE IS UNDER ATTACK! THIS IS NOT A DRILL,” the PA system blared out. Leon jumped out of his bunk, rubbing his eyes and hit the red-light switch, bathing the barracks in a soft red glow. His squad was already in the process of getting up, looking around bleary-eyed. 

“Ramirez! Gear up and head to Command, find out what the hell is going on. Brown! You’re with him. The rest of you, with me to Bunker Charlie. Everyone copy?” Leon barked out as he hastily got dressed.

“Yes, Staff Sergeant!” came the chorus of replies. His troopers were no slouches, and before five minutes had passed they were geared up and checking each other to see everything was in place. Leon finished checking Brown, then raised his arms for Brown to check him, while looking over his squad with a small measure of pride. They were a good team, well-trained and disciplined. His heart beat furiously in his chest, the familiar feel of adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins. He could clearly hear gunfire outside, as well as the telltale whistling and thumping explosions of mortar rounds. 

“Squad ready, Staff Sergeant,” Ramirez told him. 

“Alright, move out. Stay alive, or I’ll kick your asses. Hooah?”

“HOOAH!” The reply was resounding and enthusiastic.

Leon shoved open the barracks door and saw flames. Several structures were on fire, Soldiers were running towards the walls of the base. Gunfire rattled in the distance, accompanied by the sharp crack of mortar explosions. This is no minor attack. They’re here in force, Leon thought to himself as he ran to their designated defense point. It was near the western gate. 

As they drew close he could hear bullets ricocheting and instinctively ducked his head. Clutching his M4, he dropped into the concrete trench and risked a glance out, as his squad dove in behind him. The gate was still closed, but the bollard and guard shack were on fire. He could just make out vehicles in the night beyond the gate, the typical pickup trucks used by the insurrectionists. There were figures moving around as well, firing at the base. 

He also spotted three lifeless bodies near the gate. They were wearing the same desert camo he was wearing, burnt and bloody. There wasn’t any movement, and Leon felt a pang of dread realizing they were probably dead. The guard shack was destroyed, likely shredded by an rpg. He ducked back down and crouched into the bunker. It was empty, they were the first to arrive.

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“Alright, everyone take up positions. Anderson!” Leon called out.

“Sir!” Emily Anderson stepped forward, her face looking grim yet determined.

“Take your Mk22, go find a dark, elevated spot. Make those fuckers scared to show their faces.”

“Yes sir!” The short, blond specialist ducked out of the bunker and disappeared into the dark. 

Leon started as his comms crackled to life. 

“Staff Sergeant, this is Ramirez, over.”

“Ramirez, Winters. Go ahead, over.”

“On our way. Full scale attack on all sides. Orders are to hold until relieved. Over.”

“Hold until relieved. Copied. Stay safe, stay low. Winters out.”

“Sir! Incoming,” Collins yelled. She had her M4 shouldered and popped off a few shots through the firing slit. The rest of the squad opened fire as well, laying a hail of bullets at the enemy soldiers advancing on the gate. 

Leon fired as well, then duck as 50 caliber rounds began hitting the bunker. He toggled the switch on his mic and spoke.

“Anderson. 50 cal gunner, pickup truck. Take him out. Over.”

“Roger,” came the terse reply. Seconds later, a sharp crack and the 50 cal stopped firing. The squad popped back up and began to shoot at the enemy forces again. 

“Reloading!” Thompson ducked down and quickly swapped magazines on his M4. As he popped back up, a bullet hit the edge of the firing slit, spraying his face with concrete shrapnel. He cried out in pain and fell backwards, clutching his face. 

“Fuck! Thompson!” Leon felt his heart skip a beat as Thompson collapsed. Pushing down his fears, he grabbed his medkit and knelt beside the whimpering soldier. 

“Move your hands Thompson, let me see,” the combat medic urged his squaddie. 

“I can’t see, Staff Sergeant,” Thompson said with a trembling voice. 

“Reloading,” Collins called out, eyeing them with obvious fear in her eyes as she shakily swapped magazines. She was struggling but managing to maintain her composure. 

“You’re gonna be alright, Thompson. Move this hand, that’s it,” Leon told the large man in a gentle voice. He clenched his teeth as he saw the damage. Sharp concrete had ruptured one eye, and cut the large man’s face badly. One sharp piece was still stuck in his left eye.

“Davis! Get over here and hold this flashlight for me,” Leon called out, while he searched for his forceps. 

“Reloading,” Bennet yelled, ducking down. The raven-haired woman was calm as always, swiftly reloading and back up to fire at the enemy.

“Sir!” Davis breathed heavily, blue eyes wide as he knelt down beside Leon and saw the wounds on Thompson. He took the flashlight from Leon.

“Aim the light at his face. Keep it steady while I remove the shrapnel.” Leon ordered, quickly slipping on a pair of blue latex gloves. Sweat beaded on his brow as he grasped the protruding shard with the forceps, trying to slowly remove it without causing more damage. You can do this Leon. Slowly and gently does i-

“RPG!” Rodriguez yelled suddenly, ducking down. Leon dropped the forceps and immediately leaned over Thompson, shielding him with his body. 

For a split second the world was bright and loud then everything became muffled, like noise under water. The bunker was filled with dust and smoke. Someone was screaming. Leon coughed, trying to pop his ears. He swallowed a few times, then they cleared and sound returned to full volume. 

Martinez was screaming, sitting on the floor, her hand a ruined mess of blood and bone. Collins was bleeding from a cut on her brow, but already back up and firing. Rodriguez and Bennet seemed unharmed, also up and firing. Leon looked at Martinez, then back at Thompson. Triage.  Red tag. Triage. Red tag. Fuck! A crackling voice in his ear finally caught his attention.

“Winters, come in! Ramirez, over!” 

“Ramirez, Winters! Where the hell are you? I need you and Brown here now! Multiple wounded. What’s your ETA, over!” Leon yelled, trying to quell the panic that was building inside him.

“We’re pinned down! Insurgents are inside the base. Trying to go the long way around. Don’t die. Ramirez out.” Ramirez sounded winded, the rattle of gunfire clearly audible through the comms. The earpiece clicked again.

“Sarge, Anderson. I’m taking heavy fire, they have my loc-” The voice cut out abruptly.

“Anderson! Anderson, come in!” Leon couldn’t stop a note of panic from entering his voice as he yelled into his comms. His heart was racing. They’re all dying. They’re all dying and I can’t save them!

“RPG!” Collins screamed the dreaded words again, throwing herself down. The world exploded into brightness and noise once again. Then there was only silence.