2 - 1
BOLD ACTION
“Everything done in a fight hurts. Punching and being punched both are painful, but not to the same degree. For this reason, one should never hesitate to strike with full force because they may damage their fist on the enemy’s face. The goal is to hurt one’s opponent until they cannot or are unwilling to continue. A combatant, be it a single soldier or a nation, must accept some level of injury in order to impose their will on the opposition. Accepting this truth is fundamental to any student of War.” -Colonel-General Sergei Petrova, CADP-1 ‘Warfighting’, Introduction
The first rays of warm sunlight had just begun to peek through the dome. It was welcome. They were midway through the Martian spring and as night fell it had dropped into the single digits from a high in the low teens. Otherwise, it was a misty and putrid morning, as a red haze of smoke and condensation loomed over Greendome. She looked out over the park to a most unwelcome sight. A few animals were making their rounds on the killing field, gnawing on legs and torsos while others trotted off with severed arms.
“The dogs of Greendome will grow fat feasting off the havoc we wreak on the enemy.” SSgt Karoff commented.
Her lip curled in mild disgust. “Balachenko, get those fucking dogs out of here. They’re gonna start walking over mines.” she ordered.
Rifleman Balachenko dutifully shouldered his rifle and fired a few rounds off at one of the dogs, intentionally missing but sending most of them scattering back into the city.
“Damn shame, forget to feed Fido and Buddy and in two weeks they’re starving or snacking on the neighbors.” Restrepo commented.
“War makes beasts of us all, Doc. Human and animal alike.” Karoff replied.
“Eh, maybe so Senior, but for now I feel as chipper as the day I was born.” Given his temperament, she knew Restrepo wasn’t lying: always the shining ray of optimism. “Eat anything ma’am? Can’t be commanding on an empty stomach. If stress is killin’ your appetite, I got somethin’ for that too.” He gestured at her with a ration pack.
“Later.” She took it for courtesy's sake.
There’d be time to eat after the work was done. For now, she was wired too tight to even think about eating. They’d be ready soon, so she opted to move into the next room where Rand had set up. They’d control the fight from there while it was out of line-of-sight. She wheeled around the singed office chair she’d taken a liking to and flipped down her map-box. 3rd was nearly at their new OP already.
“Cutlass 2, 2-3 we’ve arrived at our fishing hole. Sending visuals now.” Clicked over the platoon net. A feed from Sgt. Krieger’s helmet streamed in. Normally it’d be dangerous to send anything with such high bandwidth for so long, but they’d run a hardline out to their old OP location which was bouncing it back here. Power was mostly directional and minimal, so the risk was low. She scanned the screen quickly, spying the reason they were stopped. One of the Maddox’s had thrown a track pivoting too hard through a loose pile of rubble and its crew along with another Maddox were trying to recover it. That counted 2 of 8. Where the others were remained to be seen.
“Fish finder please, 2-3” she requested. He obliged and switched to snoopers. The blocky silhouettes of more Maddoxs came into view. The enemy had hidden themselves under optic-netting in a ‘circle the wagons’ defensive posture. No-aks at least had some sense of field-craft. Federals, however, milled about aimlessly behind hastily occupied positions. She counted 5 more. Evidently this was the same group that had maneuvered on 1st platoon last night.
“Think they’re in a biting mood 2?” Krieger questioned.
“Won’t know until we throw a lure.” She ran through the engagement in her mind quickly. “Ignore the one that’s mobility-killed for now. Try to track the one that’s recovering. Half the crew’s out, APS is probably down. Fuck up any crew that’s outside too, then fake a panic smoke like you bit off more than you can chew and beat-feet.” She instructed, tagging the priority targets.
“Rodge, 2; casting some fresh live bait.” Krieger’s cam glanced around to his squad and then the feed cut to save bandwidth. It was in his hands now. She nibbled on the tip of her glove for a moment looking for some distraction through the silence and then a roar of gunfire in the distance and of a LAT being fired. There was a pause as she stared into her battletrak which feed updates in bursts. Target tracks disappeared and repopulated, ammo counters dipped and vitals spiked. The bassy note of a cannon firing sounded in the distance shortly being followed by the chaotic staccato pop of small-arms fire echoing and reverberating down the street.
“2, recovery vic is tracked. Half the crew neutralized. We’re displacing!” Burst over the comm. She watched their markers rush down from the building and out the alley bounding by section. Their small command group moved into the next room back to Weapon’s battle positions to observe directly. A cloud of smoke and dust billowed a few blocks beyond the park was evident. She flipped her snoopers down and cycled magnification to max. Nothing to see just yet. Their shot-spotters were pinging the sound of coax and rifle fire at the correct location, they’d still have to wait. Too much intervening terrain.
“Ma’am Devil Ear is intercepting traffic. No-ak tank platoon believes it’s engaging a lone foot patrol, they’re moving to pursue!” Rand called out from across the move.
“Hook. Now reel them in.” Nerves gave way to excitement as she spoke over the platoon net. You bit, now swallow. Bloodlust welled up. Cpl. Lachenski took up his station awkwardly cross legged on top of a table set up behind his now tripod mounted designator.
“Saber Fires, Cutlass 2-0, lay, target number Alpha Echo 3210,” Lachenski calmly sent over the net.
“Cutlass 2-0, Saber Fires, Message to Observer: Small Sword, 4 rounds, 5-to-1 ADAM to RAAM, high density. Target Number Alpha Echo 3210 laid,” echo’d in an affirmative. Lachenski stared through his optics motionlessly waiting for his moment.
She caught sight of the first Maddox as it rounded the corner another few hundred meters beyond the park. The silhouette of its highly angular turret was only disturbed by the round cupola for its autocannon and the plethora of sensor blisters arrayed across its edges facing all directions. An asymmetric cluster of shielded optics just to the left of its main gun leered out like arachnid eyes. With snoopers powered to maximum mag she could just make out the distinctive ‘vambraced arm brandishing sword’ iconography of the ‘William Wallace’ Division sprayed in white under the optic-netting on the side of its turret.
The Maddox snapped its gun around and fired a charge of canister into an unoccupied building. A second and third tank trailed behind it, rolling forward slowly while Federal Infantry slinked behind. Someone from 3rd Squad popped up from behind a low wall and fired off a second LAT at the middle vehicle. Its APS intercepted the rocket with ease and the turret swung around, stitching the wall with coax fire. 3rd popped a second round of smoke and darted back into another building and then made a mad dash across the street towards the edge of the park. The 1st Maddox platoon stopped, seemingly scanning the open ground carefully before proceeding.
“Get the MAAW’s ready. They’re close.” Cpl. Dygalo reminded while poking his head above cover.
The first tank paused for a moment and federal infantry crossed the intersection ahead of them, darting into buildings on either side. 3rd was already long gone, ducking into a previously explored sewer and moving to their main battle position. The other No-ak tank platoon was nowhere to be seen for now. The down-link from Devil Ear just showed a blue smear lurking off to the southwest. They waited patiently. The first tank rumbled across the intersection followed in doctrinal 50 meter spacing by the second and third.
“Line! Lachenski!” she barked.
“Saber Fires, Cutlass 2-0, Fire, Target Number AE 3210.” Lachenski requested
“Fire, Target Number AE 3210.” There was a second and a half delay. “Shot.” Lachenski toggled acknowledged as the ping arrived at his fires-terminal.
There was a drum roll of mortars firing as fast as their auto-loaders could make them in the distance behind them. She double checked the time-of-flight counter as the Maddox’s crept closer. “Rounds complete, splash.” The next few seconds passed slowly as they waited for the first volley of 81’s to arrive. Four tiny puffs of smoke burst into existence and a cloud of barely visible ruddy brown shapes twirled to the ground like evil maple seeds. The next three volleys exploded in sequence over the next few seconds. She couldn’t exactly tell what they were thinking but she liked to imagine it was terror. The Maddox platoon increased speed, blowing past their infantry, obviously aware they had just been blocked in.
“Red 1 and 2, go.” she commanded. The two Lioness’s rolled up the reverse slope of the hill they had been hiding behind and launched their AGM’s at the lead tank while suppressing it with a long burst of cannon fire. This didn’t really have much of an effect of course except startling the crew inside. They rolled back down the hill just as its main gun snapped over and fired in retaliation. The two missiles networked, one going low and the other high but the Maddox’s class-leading APS was more than up to the task, blasting both missiles out of the air. The tanks then fanned out while Red 1 and 2 moved to alternate positions out of line of sight.
Save for herself and Cpl. Lachenski observing the action, most of the platoon kept out of sight for the moment, biding their time. Federal Infantry, definitely more than ‘squad size’, moved along the edges of the killzone looking for solid cover. There was an awkward pause as both sides vied for position. It was still too early to commit. She continued peering over the wall with snoopers while praying that the optic dazzler on the roof and her own camo was doing its job. One of the tanks rolled behind the maintenance annex.
On cue, SSgt Karoff gave the order. “Santiago, blow it!” There was a quick succession of charges exploding and the building crumpled leaving the vehicle sheltering behind it with no cover. Red 3 and 4 popped around the corner just long enough to fire off their two missiles and then reversed back around. Dygalo smacked his two MAAW gunners on the shoulder and they stood and fired off their shells in quick succession before diving back to the floor and reloading.
The Maddox’s main gun snapped towards Red 4 as it retreated around the corner and fired, sending an EM sabot ripping through the front right quarter at an oblique angle and mutilating its track in an explosion of incandescent metal. The Auto-cannon mounted on top of its turret swung around and fired off a long burst at the source of the MAAW shells and directly at them. Bits of rockcrete and ash showered them as they dove for the ground. High-explosive rounds cracked all around, cratering the building face and blasting chunks from the balconies. It was a desperate and violent death throes; they must’ve known they were fucked.
The Maddox was too far away from its partners for mutual support but it tried its damnedest anyways, launching smoke and attempting to reverse behind another terrain feature. Its APS fired off three pops in quick succession, knocking out both the MAAW rounds. One of the missiles landed true, impacting on the top of the turret deck in a savage crack. The tank froze to a halt and its gun drooped. A cloud of smoke wafted out before the blow out panels on the back of the turret launched off in a gout of flame as whatever chemical ammunition stored inside cooked off. The other two Maddox’s advanced. They were circling around to try to get a shot off at the lame Red 4.
“Sinker, sinker!” She shouted the pro-word and then swapped channels in a panic. “Red 4, bail!”
“Bailing!” Near instantly flashed back. Red 4’s rear ramp dropped and its crew dove out just as one of the supporting Maddox’s had pushed up enough to get a clear shot. A delay fused HE round impacted square against the front glacis, sailed right though and then exploded in the middle of the crew compartment. The whole frame of the vehicle buckled outward in a shower of sparks and flame.
Three more Maddoxs came into view down the eastern street flanking the park, practically charging with caution thrown to the win.
“Fire target AE3205!” Cpl. Lachenski nearly shouted into his comm. A digital MTO packet flashed back immediately as the drum line of mortars far behind them struck up once again.
“Red 4 status!” She quickly flicked her eyes to their vitals on her battle-net. There were still signs. There was a fit of coughing over the comm.
“2, 2-1 we got ‘em inside. Muchen’s in a real bad way…” She jerked her head behind her, but didn’t need to say anything. Restrepo had already grabbed his bag and a Rifleman to help him and was running downstairs.
“Doc’s on his way 2-1.” There was a cackle of small-arms fire as the Federals finally made their way in and 2nd and 3rd returned fire. The Maddoxs were still peppering her position with autocannon fire as apparently none of them were far enough back to elevate their main guns to fire at the floor they were occupying. Dumb luck.
A trio of autocannon shells landed square against the ceiling above both her and Rand, knocking them both to the floor. Her vision winked out for a second from the concussion. When she rolled over what seemed like an age later, the first sight to greet her was Rifleman Svertson staring at his left hand, which now had a piece of shrapnel about five cm long sticking through it. The 1st dose of anti-shock hit her system and her senses swam back into focus
“Claymore 1, what’s taking so fucking long!” she impatiently shouted, a vengeful anger boiling in her gut.
“We’re engaging now, Cutlass 2” Eichmann replied.
From just out of line of sight, there was a thumping of six missiles firing, then a thunderclap of two cannons. The soft pops of more FASCAM munitions bursting were barely audible over the scream of the missiles streaking close by. Another ripple of cracks erupted as the Maddox’s APS fired in desperate defense. The Autocannon fire stopped as the Maddox’s pivoted to engage the new threat, but it was already too late. Five of the missiles were intercepted, but one got through . One was all it took. The warhead dove straight into the rear of a Maddox, instantly exploding ammunition and the crew compartment both. Both of the cannon shots landed, ripping through the side of a different vehicle and blowing out its power plant in a flash of vented plasma. She glanced around the room through a cloud of dust and foul explosive fumes now that their attackers' attention was elsewhere.
“Lachenski!... Lachenski!” She called out through the haze.
He sat up powdered in fine rockcrete dust and stirred paper-ash. His eyes were wide and it was obvious he wasn’t hearing her.
SSgt Karoff crouch sprinted over to him while return fire snapped over his head and slapped the buddy-aid button on his CES, forcing a stim.
“You good? You good?” Karoff asked while swiping his hands down Lachenski’s arms and legs, looking for blood. Lachenski blinked a few times and mouthed like he was trying to pop his ears. Karoff inspected his hands and upon finding no blood, he held a thumbs up in front of Lachenski’s face. Lachenski’s whole body relaxed with relief.
“Back in the fight! Mortars now!” she commanded.
Cpl. Dygalo returned a machine gun that had been knocked off a table back to its firing position, tripod and all with ease. Then he practically threw Malcolm on to it, thrusting a knife hand towards a group of Federals trying to move across the obstacle belt. Malcolm hurriedly centered himself behind the gun again and let off a long burst while Dygalo helped Rifleman Tybalt get the other gun back in order. He chased the shards of a broken combustible casing out of the cogs of the feed tray with a knife while Tybalt held the bolt in the correct position. Federals were getting a little close for comfort.
“2, 2-3 a Fed Squad made it past us. They’re inside of that boutique southwest kitty corner from Pavlov’s. I just tagged it,” flashed over the net.
She keyed ‘acknowledged’ out of reflex but her mind was still foggy from concussion so it took her longer than she was used to to process the new information. There was another roaring woosh of missiles and a one-two boom of main-gun fire as the Ocelots continued to savage the mispositioned enemy armor. A Maddox threw its turret as three missiles and a cannon round shattered it.
She glanced around looking for anyone unoccupied to take with her as she formulated a plan. “Senior, you got it here. Rand and I are going to link up with 1st to make sure they know what’s going on and clear out that shop, check?” she laid out.
“Check rodge, ma’am.” Karoff nodded.
She looked back to Rand just to watch him swallow dryly and double check the ‘chamber loaded’ indicator on his rifle.
“Rand, now fucking stay on me, alright?” She took a moment to check her own weapon. “Ready?” she asked, locking eyes with him.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah… yeah.” Rand replied with an affirmative and nervous nod. They hurried down the stairs and then to a hole in the second floor where they set up the ladder and slid down. Going through the foyer was a death-sentence as it opened directly into the park. They rounded a corner moving to exit Pavlov’s western gate
“2-1, 2; Romeo and I are enroute to you. There’s Feds in that building opposite the block from you so-” she collided with someone at a near sprint, cracking helmets together. She fell on her back, bouncing off the cobblestone. The impact sent her loosely slung rifle over her head and off one arm. Rand was maybe three steps behind her.
Rand rounded the corner and came face to face with two Federals clad in gray, red-brown and black brushstroke, one flat on his back opposite a reeling Lt. Petrova. His eyes shot to the other still standing, their shocked expression boring into him in turn. His enemy's muzzle seemed to crawl upwards at a snail's pace. His rifle jumped from the low ready and he smashed the progressive trigger down into a half-cassette burst. The rifle rumbled and jolted in his hands and the Fed folded and dropped limp as a dozen rounds ripped through their upper torso, neck, and face.
Lt. Petrova rolled onto her side and launched a sharp kick at her attacker's knee as he tried to jump up. She felt a wet pop as her foot landed and the Fed’s knee twisted off to an odd angle with a scream. The Fed tumbled back down while he fired his rifle ineffectually into the wall behind them. She snatched her Kelter Combat Masterpiece out its holster with one hand and thrust it outwards, instinctually dumping all eight of its archaic slugs into a palm sized group at the corner of his hip. The octet of 10mm bullets smashed through the target's pelvis and tumbled upwards into the thorax.
Rand changed cassettes fluidly, then scanned around just like he had been trained before helping her up. She reloaded her sidearm, panting as a load of adrenaline dumped into her system. Her vitals were spiking like crazy and her sit-aware flashed a master caution which she immediately dismissed. They were both still alive and unscathed at that.
“D-damn,” was all Rand could manage to stutter while staring into the gory pulped mass he had just made of a woman’s neck and face. Her eyes bulged out in different directions, jaw smashed and split apart down the middle, while her tongue still spasmed involuntarily.
Lt. Petrova picked up her rifle and reslung it; this time she made sure to cinch down the sling. The one she had shot apparently wasn’t dead. He moaned something vulgar in Anglish and tried to sidle backwards, a slick pool of blood forming underneath him. She raised her rifle and the prostrate man weakly raised his hands to shield his face, spitting a few attempts at words out through blood-choked lungs. She shot him through the face. The crack snapped Rand from his trance. She paused briefly to wipe the spatter off her face with her sleeve and toggled her comm.
“2 November, 2, watch close. Rand and I just ran into two Feds at the west gate.”
Rand looked up at her, eyes wide.
“What? He was dead anyways,” she said, casually dismissing his shocked expression. She motioned with her head towards the next building.“C’mon let’s go.”
They took things more carefully this time. In the moment after she had collected her wits, she realized just how incredibly stupid what she had done was. She and Rand both could have been easily shot to pieces instead if the Feds had been another few steps back. She banished the thought for now. No time to tarry. They ducked into a side street and moved up to the 2nd floor of an apartment building where 1st had emplaced themselves. “Red, Red!” she called out as they darted up the stairs.
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PFC Sotak ducked his head out.“Fancy seeing you here, ma’am,” he called out while raising his muzzle towards the ceiling.
She waved off his greeting. “Where’s Sergeant Rybeck?”
The man in question peeked out of a doorway down the hall and motioned her over. There was a roar as another volley of missiles flew through the street rattling the few intact windows as they zipped past at mach speed. She jogged down the hallway and slipped inside the room.
“Party’s getting lively, ma’am,” Rybeck greeted.
“Yeah, well, it’s not over yet,” she cautioned as the building shook from the impact of a main gun round to the 1st floor that knocked down some loose insulation from the ceiling. She glanced out the balcony window to the park where four of the Maddox’s were already stopped dead, reduced to flaming wrecks. The other two were reversing towards the eastern crossroads with their main guns swung towards Claymore’s positions. Federals were skittering around various hideaways across the park and adjacent buildings. The No-ak’s own mortars were launching a thick cloud of smoke to obscure their tanks' retreat, but most of the Federals had been left out to dry.
She stepped away from the balcony back towards Sgt. Rybeck but her foot landed on something soft. She glanced down. A stuffed rabbit pinned under her foot stared up at her with innocent glass eyes. She only really noticed the room now. Pink walls, crooked but colorful posters and child-sized furniture adorned with sloppily applied flower paint and a variety of peeling cartoon stickers. The twin bed had been stood up next to a wall to make room. Empty ammunition cassettes, some smashed underfoot, discarded LAT tubes, broken glass and the stubs from fired rounds were littered over the floor. The carpet was ruined, stained with muddy boots, in places melted and scorched in uneven patches.
“Like the decor ma’am?” Sgt Rybeck asked.
“You get 3rd’s synch?” she asked, ignoring his comment.
He nodded. “We've got ‘em pinned ‘cept for a couple that ran out the side.”
“Rand and I handled those two. A heads up would’ve been nice,” she commented.
He shrugged. “Lotta shit going on. My bad. Anyways, how do you wanna do this?”
“3rd’s on support-by-fire. Red 2’s watching the back. It’s your show from there.”
Rybeck fiddled with his chin-strap to rub the stubbly shaving bumps on his chin. “We have 3rd suppress the front of the building while we move next door, frag every room. Then knock a hole in the wall from next door and make our way in through there.” The scheme of maneuver automatically populated. 3rd and Red 2 pinged acknowledgement. She waited for a moment while 2nd made ready, dumping any excess gear and quickly restocking, and then they moved together down to the first floor. The Boutique in question was just across the street from them, a short two story building with a large sign stenciled with ‘Lumiere et Umbra’. Mannequins, those not yet mutilated by explosions or rifle fire, still stood frozen behind cracked plate-glass windows adorned in the latest Equatorial fashion. She flipped down her snoopers, and nothing happened. Her mind bounced back to that master-caution she’d hastily dismissed earlier. Reaching up and touching the lenses mounted on the rim of her helmet confirmed her suspicions. Two of them were crushed when she banged heads with that Fed. She looked to Rybeck, who was already scanning.
“See anything?”
A burst of automatic weapons fire from a second floor answered her question for them, skittering off the pavement and facade in front of them. Rybeck issued a flurry of commands while she directed 3rd to unload everything they had on the front of the building. Return fire died down as the building's face was shot to pieces and the enemy inside sought shelter. 1st Squad then filed out of the apartment block and sprinted across the street under the cover of friendly suppression. She didn’t cross with them. She had the more important job of trying to manage the chaos while line squads closed on the enemy.
There was crackle like bubble wrap popping as one of the Maddox’s reversed over a carpet of anti-personnel mines, and then a more pronounced crack when one of the RAAM anti-tank mines finally went off, shattering as few road wheels and shearing off the Maddox’s drive sprocket. The last remaining Maddox spun its turret around and fired off a line charge from its bustle. The rocket arced out slowly, trailing nanite explosive behind it, which exploded in sequence as soon as it touched the ground, blasting a lane clear through the mine obstacle to the Maddox’s rear. It stopped next to its immobilized comrade while its crew bailed out. They ducked behind the mobile tank for cover and scuttled in a low crouch behind it as it slowly reversed out of the danger area, firing its autocannon and coax at whatever position was closest at the time.
1st had made their way up to the outside of the boutique and were tossing grenades through every exterior window they could get close to while 3rd kept the Fed’s heads down and prevented them from throwing any back. By now, most of the Feds were looking for a way out. Enemy infantry squads still organized enough for coherent action were already making their way through the lane that the Maddox had blown by section, two suppressing while one retreated through the obstacle. The lone Fed squad that had made a gambit and pushed into the boutique was trapped, however. Even from her position in the base of the apartment across the street, she could hear Anglish shouting from inside. A group of three Feds burst out the backdoor, but Red 2 was already waiting and ripped them apart with autocannon fire at close range. The rest of them counted their options and retreated to the second floor.
The cacophony of gunfire began to die down as most of the Federals made their way out of sight obscured by smoke. She signaled ceasefire over the platoon net and an eerie quiet descended over the local area. The noise of movement on the second floor was now clearly audible.
Maybe they’d make it easy for everyone and just surrender. She stood up from her covered position behind a stack of mauled furniture and faced the open window. Anglish wasn’t exactly her strong suit but she knew enough for this purpose. She cupped her hands and shouted,
“Spare your own lives, surrender!”
There was an age of silence before a reply.
“Whore! Imperialist aggressor sow! Tharsis dog!” echoed out from inside the building along with a stream of other insults she didn't have the vocabulary to parse. Foul language wasn’t their only response. Something small and round sailed out of a second story window and into the lobby. It took her mildly concussed brain a moment longer than normal to process what exactly it was and by then there was no time to get away.
It landed a meter and a half in front of her. She did the only thing she could think of at the moment and threw Rand onto his face on the other side of the room, darted out from behind cover, and kicked the grenade as hard as she could. It jumped off her boot and skittered out the open door and down the street another few meters. She crouched and turned away just as its jump charge launched it off the ground and a meter into the air for maximum effect. The explosion knocked her off balance and onto her side. Her vision was swimming from concussion and there was the sensation of something warm running down the back of her right leg.
She tried to stand up, but a tearing sensation emanated from her right hamstring as she did. Rybeck just stared at her wide eyed. Even with hearing protection integrated into her helmet, she couldn’t hear a thing.
She steadied herself against an overturned shelf and pointed to the second floor screaming at the top of her lungs, “Kill them! Fucking kill them!”
Even dazed, she was still in danger. She grabbed the edge of the shelf and sidled over, sloppily tumbling down the other side with a thud. Rand staggered back to his feet as well. Riflemen Milano and Gorshkov sprinted across the street to check on them. Gorshkov’s hands were suddenly on her, rolling her onto her back. She thrashed and shouted until he stopped, still mostly deaf. “What the fuck are you doing! I’m fine! I’m fine! Get the fuck back over there and assault!”
Milano shot her a confused look, but let go of Rand who was basically unscathed. Gorshkov finished opening the pressure dressing he’d torn out of her IFAK and shoved it into her hand guiding it to the source of the bleeding midway up the back of her leg.
“Go! Go!” She commanded while holding pressure and waving them off.
Gorshkov persisted for another second, mashing the buddy-aid override on her CES. A wave of relief washed over as her second dose of anti-shock for the day hit. She sat herself up and fixed the bandage in place, cinching it down while her two riflemen moved back across the street joining Alpha as they made entry. She let her rifle hang free for a second and hauled herself back to her feet and limp-sprinted as fast as she could in behind them. Rand followed. The pain was dulled for now, but it became evident that running, or at least fast hobbling, was making it worse. She leaned against the entryway wall to steady herself, dumping her rifle onto her back and drawing her sidearm. Sound tickled at her ears through the ringing and she glanced at the hand on her shoulder and then behind it.
He must’ve been shouting by the way his mouth was moving.“Ma’am what are you doing!?”
Lt. Petrov shook his hand off wearing an expression of pure fury. Her head turned away from him and she turned to make entry. This was suicidal, he hooked her off arm this time more forcefully. Mouthing some incoherent protest, she tried to push through, but her right leg gave out when she tried to power away. Gunfire thundered inside.
Rand hauled her up to her feet and threw her free arm over his shoulder, leading her back into the apartment lobby they had just come from. He eased her down into a dust covered lounge chair in the 1st floor atrium. She awkwardly scooted onto her left side to ease some of the pain as ringing waned and sound slowly became intelligible.
“Don’t you dare call Doc over here. I’m fine, god damn it! He can look at me later,” she cautioned Rand. The gunfire inside the boutique trailed off and once again silence took over the immediate area. She took a deep breath. “Platoon, status.”
“1st Squad Yellow, Green, Up.”
“2nd, Red, Yellow, Up; Formosa’s got a couple GSWs to the upper extremities. Ambulatory, Priority. Black on LAT’s, 60% on 6.7.”
“3rd Yellow, Yellow, Up. Michaelson GSW lower torso, urgent surgical. Black on LAT’s”
“Pioneers, Red, Green, Up. Down to 40% on 6.7, Black on 40mm.”
“Weapons, Red, Yellow, Up. Svertson, shrapnel left hand, left arm, stable, routine. Lachenski, concussion, stable, routine. 70% on 7.5, 3 rounds AT remaining each MAAW.”
“Red 1,Yellow, Green, Up.”
“Red 2, Red, Green, Up. 60% Cannon remaining, 2 remaining AGM’s, Black on coax.”
“Red 3, Red, Green, Up. 40% Cannon, Black on AGMs.”
There was a pause while CAAT patched themselves into the net.
“Cutlass 2, Claymore 1. Red, Green, Up. Black on AGMs, yellow on 110.”
“Status on Red 4?” she asked.
“2, 2-Mike, Muchen, 2nd and 3rd degree burns, shrapnel to the lower back, Urgent. Nikolaev, shrapnel to the upper torso, neck, and face; ambulatory and stable, Priority. Track’s trashed.”
“Rodge, load all casualties priority and above on Red 2 and get them to the Battalion Aid Station ASAP” There was a chorus of acknowledgement chirps as the battle net synched once again. It was obvious that higher was already monitoring the live updates but she packaged the combat data and sent it up anyway.
“2, 2-Mike. Casualties are loaded and enroute. Are you alright? Your vitals are in the yellow.” Restrepo questioned over comm. The effects of anti-shock were beginning to fade and she suddenly felt freezing. She touched the back of her leg, a warm wetness soaked through her glove instantly and it was stained crimson. Pain was the next thing that returned. It hurt and it hurt badly, a shooting stabbing pain radiating out from the injury site. She could feel something sharp in her leg sliding around every time she made even the smallest of adjustments. Rand’s face wasn’t inspiring any confidence either.
“2-Mike, 2-Romeo. Uh, the boss is lookin’ pretty pale,” Rand answered for her.
“Can she walk? How many hits of A-shock has she had?” Restrepo asked over comm while Rand glanced at her vitals display.
“Can you get up ma’am?” Rand offered her a hand.
She took it and tried to stand but nearly screamed when she put weight on her right leg. Just straining her hip flexor to get her foot off the ground gave her the same agonizing straining sensation though her leg. Rand took up the slack and hauled her up.
“She’s up. Two hits: one auto, one override” Rand replied.
“Rodge. Don’t give her anymore. I’m working on Svertson right now. Get her over to the CCP,” Restrepo ordered.
SSgt Karoff must’ve already grasped the gravity of the situation because he immediately took command and began issuing orders and communicating with higher on her behalf. Rand steadied her, but she felt dizzy and the pain was getting worse as the last traces of chemicals faded from her system. She grit her teeth regardless. She maybe wasn’t fine, but they didn’t have far to go. Each step felt like torture: any tiny contraction of her right leg was moving something around. Quick-clot or not, blood was running down her leg again. Half-way across the street, the tourniquet embedded in her CES finally tripped and cinched down suddenly. She collapsed again, vision narrow and sound muffled. Rand caught her half way down and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, jogging the last hundred meters to Pavol’s House.
Had her own hubris really brought her this low? She wasn’t really aware of what was going on around her as Rand carried her downstairs into the basement. She faded in and out of consciousness as Doc Restrepo triaged her.
She came to when Doc waved some smelling salts under her nose after dumping most of an art-blood bag into her. He’d yanked her helmet off and was waving a light in her face.
“Ma’am? Lieutenant Petrova, can you hear me?” Doc was still smiling somehow.
She held up her hand to shield her eyes.“Yeah, yeah.”
“Heard you were playing grav-ball out there with live grenades,” Restrepo joked while rummaging through his bag. “Rand, roll her on her side.”
Rand pushed her over and Restrepo ran his shears along the cut-away panel on the leg of her CES.
“Something like that…ow. Fucking Feds. FUCK!” she yelped as he poked at her wound. It was worse than it had first appeared.
“Well, there’s your problem right there. Dive-spinter, right to the bone. Pretty nasty of ‘em,” Restrepo remarked while he examined her with his hand held viewer. The explosively formed metal fragment was designed to work itself deeper and continue cutting after it was embedded. It had entered her hamstring at an odd angle leaving a roughly 8 cm ragged gash on the surface across the muscle grain. It had then cut all the way to her femur and along it separating muscle as it went for another few centimeters.
“How bad is it?” she asked, even though she sort of already knew the answer.
“Surgical problem at the very least. You also dumped a lot of blood, lucky it didn't hit an artery,” he explained.
She glanced over her shoulder SSgt. Karoff had made his way down the stairs and now was quietly observing.
“Can you get it out?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Doc looked over his own shoulder to SSgt Karoff, who shook his head disapprovingly.
Thought of being taken off the line for this boo-boo stoked that flame again.“Senior,” was all she managed to growl.
He rubbed his temples.“You’re so god damn stubborn,” he cursed. “Doc, what can you do?”
“I mean, I can yank it out and double dose her with Regen but she’s still gonna be out of the fight for a day or two at least, probably best to let BAS handle this one. Oh and no anti-shock for a while, she’s had too much already.” Restrepo advised while digging through his kit bag.
“Just do it.” she commanded.
“Glad to see you’re still lively enough to issue orders, ma’am.” She felt a pinprick as he dosed her with local. The pain dulled for a moment and she sighed with relief. Restrepo thrust his kit bag into Rand’s hands and immediately pressed him into service.
“I’m gonna make like a 2 cm long incision here just hold the top edge. I’ll grab it with forceps. You mop up the blood as it comes out alright? If we’re lucky this’ll be a one-and-done. Feeling lucky ma’am?”
“Considering I’ve cheated death thrice today, I’m either set for life or fresh out, so who knows?” she remarked, while the dull carving sensation of Doc’s scalpel ran down the edge of her wound.
“I’d say we’re all pretty lucky. Things could’ve been a lot worse,” Restrepo commented.
“Reg sig-int put out that the No-aks were generating combat power for a big push just to the east. We reel'd 'em in before all of their elements could link up. Though I suppose we have their dead-ass company commander to thank for falling for it.” SSgt Karoff spoke, obviously trying to keep her mind off of the sensation of forceps being dipped into her wound. Her leg twitched involuntarily and a burst of electric pain shot from her foot to her hip.
“Whoops, sorry about that one. Nerve,” Restrepo chuckled.
She pushed her mind off it as fast as possible.“And what’d the BDA turn up… first of all how long was I out?” she asked.
“Not long. As far as your first question: 3 Maddox’s totaled, other 2 are prize worthy, the one we mobility-killed and the one Red 2 capped with AGM’s. Ammo’s all burnt up and the crew bailed but it’s still recoverable. Fat captured equipment bond headed our way at least.”
“Any EPW’s?” She could feel the end of the laparoscope and forceps wiggling around. Despite the local, it was gut-wrenching.
“Ehh, few guys who were pretty fucked up that Doc managed to save, 3 Feds and a No-ak crewman who hopped onna mine. Rybeck and 1st shot the ones you had cornered to pieces. Maybe 16 other KIA?”
“Maybe?” She winced as she felt the forceps lock onto something.
“There were a lot of unassigned parts. Two arms plus two legs, torso and a head makes one, but maybe more, maybe less.” Karoff stated rather matter of factly.
The forceps slipped and she slammed her free hand down onto the table.
“FUCK!” Her sudden outburst only made it hurt worse as Doc’s tools shifted inside her wound.
“Ma’am, if you could please refrain from abusing my operating table, it would make this just a tiny bit easier,” Restrepo chided through a smile.
“Sorry… shit, ow! Just get that fucking thing out.”
“Relax, relax, ma’am. I’ve almost got it.”
“Doc, is there supposed to be uh—” Rand questioned, but Restrepo instantly cut him off.
“It’s fine. See? Everything's fine. Now…” The tools moved back into place and she felt a gentle but utterly agonizing tug as he wiggled the barbed piece out. There was a ting of metal as he dropped the piece off to the side. “Hold the edges together as best you can, boyo.” Rand did as instructed and there was the welcome but uncomfortably hot sensation of wound glue being applied.
He quickly knocked in a few staples for extra security and then dressed the wound with a fresh bandage. “There, all done, Battalion surgeon be damned,” he commented.
She rolled onto her back and caught her breath.
Restrepo tapped an air hypo into her medport. “I’ll give you another hit of regen later, just take it easy. SSgt Karoff’s got it alright? Eat something and get some sleep; your blood sugar’s low.”
She still felt weak, but at least there wasn’t the feeling of something slicing around from the inside. Rand helped her up and onto a couch.
“Oh, and before I forget,” Restrepo dug around his pockets and retrieved a single piece of individually wrapped hard candy and handed it to her. It looked like a little wooden barrel.
She tore open the package and ate it.
“And one for the best Hospitalman Corporal in the Battalion,” Restrepo commented out loud before popping one in his mouth. He then tossed one to Rand. “Of course I can’t forget my lovely assistant.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Rand smiled.
SSgt Karoff just shook his head and motioned to the door.“Rand, let's go. Scream bloody murder again if you need anything, ma’am. We’ll be upstairs.” He waving over his shoulder as they exited.
Restrepo set about collecting and organizing his gear. She sat in silence for a moment before the next thought inevitably crossed her mind.
“Hey, Doc, how were Muchen and the others?” she asked.
He continued working while he answered.“Eh, let’s just say he’s not gonna be winning any beauty contests until they can grow him a new face, but his odds are pretty good. Michaelson was actually worse; they flash-froze him as soon as he got to BAS. Not much even they can do for a gut-shot here. He’s headed back to Ridge City right now.”
“And the others?”
“Eh, despite not actually getting shot, you were actually in a worse way than most of them. They’ll be alright.”
“What flavor is this thing supposed to be by the way?” she asked, idly sucking on the candy.
“Huh? Uh… ‘Sarsaparilla’, whatever that is,” he read off the packaging.
“It’s pretty good,” she commented. It was a pleasant distraction. She was still in pain but it wasn’t terrible. The days prior were finally starting to catch up with her. It was getting into night again and she had barely slept outside of her two hour catnap for a while. Everyone had been pushing through fatigue to the limit of exhaustion. It was no wonder her body was feeling heavy.
“Hey, Lieutenant Petrova…” Doc Restrepo turned around. She was out like a light. Normally he would’ve liked to be sleeping on that couch but patients came first.
He returned to taking stocks of his remaining supplies and updating logstats. Enemy situation permitting they were supposed to receive a resupply drop later on in the night. They were running low on critical supplies, medicines and ammunition most pressingly. SSgt Karoff doubtless had things under control.
With his last bit of administrative work done and his only charge for the time being racked-out, getting some rest himself seemed like the most prudent option. He’d set up his alternate sleeping position on top of a few flattened out ‘gano-fiber boxes. They were a little musty, but it beat sleeping on the rockcrete floor. He took off his helmet and threw his poncho liner overtop of himself, letting the intermittent and distant sounds of rifle and cannon fire soothe him to sleep. Just as he was about to finally knock out himself, a small party of guests arrived evidently just gathered upstairs for a meeting.
Sgt. Rybeck approached him, first helmet tucked under his arm, fluffing his squashed-down curly hair with a free hand.
“Hey, Doc, how’s the boss?” he inquired a bit too loudly.
Restrepo simply held a finger up to his lips and pointed to her across the room.
Rybeck lowered his voice immediately. “Heh, sorry. But how is she?” he asked again, staring for a long moment at the blood soaked makeshift operating table.
“Stable, probably 100% in another week. Knowing her, she’ll be back on her feet before then,” Restrepo responded, taking a moment of pause. “Dan, what exactly happened out there?”
“Probably one of the wildest things I’ve watched in my life.” Fed’s hucked a G-5 at her, she tossed Rand to safety and then penalty kicked the fuckin’ thing without missing a beat. Only reason they both aren’t paste.” Rybeck relayed while shaking his head in persistent disbelief.
Sgt. Weiss sauntered down the stairs behind him, hands stuffed in her pockets, helmet dangling by its chinstrap from her kit. She glanced around taking stock of the room and bent over to inspect Lt. Petrova’s kit which was propped up against a table leg as Rybeck retold the story. Running her hand over it confirmed there were another dozen splinters protruding from the back plate.
Weiss let out a low whistle. “Tough bitch, she’s definitely the real deal.”
“You think suicidal bravery runs in the family?” Kreiger asked
“Considering she’s the only one of the house left I wouldn’t count it out, Petrova and all.” Rybeck responded.
“Well she’s certainly got a fuckin’ temper that matches the stories,” Weiss chimed in
“Say Doc, what’d ya make of her?” Rybeck asked, turning his attention back to Restrepo.
“Well considering she put off seeing me on account of you all and did her best to put herself at risk on your behalf: her heart’s in the right place.” He responded dismissing any potential jabs at their boss's character.
“Hm, heart may be in the right place, but she’s as crazy as they come. Lucky I count myself in the same category,” Krieger interjected with a grin. He paused and all three of the squad leader's eyes wandered to Restrepo’s daypack. It was suddenly obvious they had ulterior motives for coming downstairs.
“You got any more of those moral boosters Doc? Rand said you had some,” Sgt. Rybeck asked while fidgeting with his chin strap.
Restrepo reached into his daypack with a sigh and tossed the rest of the bag at him. “Just give some to your Riflemen on my behalf.”
Rybeck’s face lit up when caught the bag and immediately fished a candy out for himself before tossing the bag to one of his peers. “Doc, you’re the lynch pin of this platoon.”
Restrepo waved off his compliment. “And consider yourself on a no-shave chit until we get somewhere you can clean up, Dan. Scratching that shit will only make it worse,” Restrepo tacked on while they exited. Rybeck gave him a thumbs up and then promptly ignored his advice scratching at his razor bumps mindlessly as he trudged up the stairs. Restrepo rolled back over and tried to get some sleep.