Invasion of Kzarch (16 page)

Smiling cheerfully, Bloody Jack held tight as the gunboat spun away and snapped its shield up. Then the gunboat’s beams fired.

The gunboat’s screens darkened as the general exploded, the bombs he was wearing detonating in a fierce and flashy
boom
.

Releasing his hold, as the gunboat finished riding out the shock-wave, Bloody Jack nodded cheerfully to the pirates on the bridge, some of whom who were staring at him.

“Made a nice firework, didn’t he?”

The pirates let out startled guffaws, beginning to settle down.

“All right. Take us to the site of the battle now,” the pirate chief ordered. “We might as well help with the clean-up.”

As the gunboat obeyed his orders, Bloody Jack settled back in his seat, still smiling slightly.

The trick had worked magnificently. It had been a ploy the gunboat’s former captain had used once or twice, to get rid of troublesome crew-mates, and it had worked
just
as advertised.

It almost made him regret killing Grinner. Almost.

***

“Sir, we need to do something
now
!” Sergeant McKain urged.

“I know! But I don’t know what to
do
!” His voice was surprisingly close to a wail for a tough-as-nails Marine officer. “We’re almost surrounded, they’re about to fall on us, we’re tired and wounded-”

“Sir,
shut
up
. Reciting our problems isn’t going to help.” Frank goggled at the platoon sergeant, whose pessimism had been a constant feature ever since the lieutenant met him. He was still right though.

“Okay. Right. But I still don’t know what we should do. Even if we try to run, they’ll simple crush us unless we can build up a lead. And that assumes we can somehow stop the pincer.”

“Why don’t when send Marines to hold them, while everyone else retreats?”

“Not enough Marines left for that. We can’t hold back each force with only, what, fifteen men each? Twelve?”

“We don’t need to hold all of them, just the outer edges. With everyone retreating fast…”

“It
might
work,” Lieutenant Harsmith conceded. “But it’s ris-” The pirates’ shots, which had been on the light side, heavily intensified.

“THEY’RE COMING IN!” a Marine screamed over the com channel, as the battle began to swing to a higher pitch again.

“Shit. We’re outta time. McKain, organize the Marines. We’ll try your plan… And hope to God that it works. You take the left, I’ll handle the right.”

“Yes
, sir
!” The sergeant snapped a salute, and spun away, ordering half the Marines to form up on him.

Doing the same for the other half, Frank paused, and, setting his battlesuit to loudspeaker mode, ordered, “EVERYONE, RETREAT AT FULL SPEED! REPEAT, RETREAT AT
FULL SPEED
!” Snapping his battlesuit’s speaker off, Frank figured he had gotten through to everyone. Now, if only he hadn’t deafened anybody…

Then he was leading his group forward, pouring fire into a human wave of pirates. Frank had lost his exby rifle, and so had to rely on his one remaining weg, with an occasional shot from his back-up exby pistol.

The firepower coming at them was horrendous, and the Marines literally couldn’t stand up to it, all of them dropping to the ground.

From their prone position, they did their best to hammer at the pirates, whose return fire kept getting heavier and heavier, as more of them reached the point of contact and joined battle.

Still, Lieutenant Harsmith and his men held, keeping the pirates from breaking through them by the application of constant and rapid firepower. But try hard as they could, they could only
slow
the pirates, not
stop
them. And the shots kept pouring in, weakening and piercing through their shields and armor, draining their reserves of power, and damaging and killing the Marines themselves.

Energy bolts, bullets and exbys hammered down like rain, the Marines’ shields, what remained of them, regularly failing to stop them. And yet, they stubbornly held, firing with the precise rapidity that could only ever come from a United Federation Marine.

Twenty-five Marines weren’t much to hold off a whole army, even if only two corner edges of it… and yet, they somehow how did it. Managed to hold the pincers open long enough for the Kzarchians to escape.

But not without cost.

Another four Marines lay dead on the field, as the still living ones performed a fighting retreat.

Panting, glaring at his battlesuit’s power read-out -it had just dropped below thirteen percent- Frank, along with what remained of his Marines, managed to outdistance the pirates and catch up with the still running Kzarchians.

“Sir, we’ve got a problem,” McKain said dourly over the com channel.

“Tell me something I
don’t
know,” Frank snapped. Then he sighed.

“All right. What?”

“We can’t run, sir. Not like this. They’ll catch up sooner or later, and overrun us.”

“Yeah, I said that already. But if we can manage to stay ahead long enough,
maybe
we’ll be able to get reinforcements from the camp.”

“That’s not likely, sir.” The platoon’s sergeant tone was pessimistic as usual. “The Kzarchians can’t reinforce until we’re close to their camp. If they try to send any sizable relieving force beforehand, without any Marines for cover, they’ll be easily spotted and taken out by the gunboats.”

Frank grimaced.

“Then we’re just plain out of luck.”

The sergeant’s voice came over the com, sourer than ever.

“We’ve been out of luck from the start of this whole mess.”

“No kidding. Okay, we need to do something. But what could possibly…?”

“A sacrifice.” McKain said flatly. “I’ll stay behind with fifty men, the most wounded; those who’ll slow down the others and so on. We’ll hold them off until we’re all dead.”

“
Absolutely
not
!
”

“It’s the only way,” the sergeant said calmly.

“I-” Then Frank stopped. His sergeant was right.

He clenched his teeth, and said, “All right. But
I’m
commanding it. It’s my responsibility.”

“No. Sir, maybe you’re wounded, but your legs are fine. Besides, your battlesuit’s getting low on power; and you’re needed to get everyone back to base.”

“And what about
you
-?” the lieutenant began. Interrupting him, the sergeant actually chuckled slightly.

“Sir, I don’t think I’m going much of anywhere.”

“What?” Craning his head, Frank tried to locate the sergeant. When he found him, he was surprised to see that the sergeant looked twice as wide as usual… until he realized McKain was being supported by another Marine. And that his left leg had been blown clean off.

“Damn.”

“Sorry, sir, but it looks like I’ll be staying behind one way or another.”

Frank closed his eyes and cursed softly.

“All right,” he finally said. “You’re in charge. Gather whoever you think best, and try to hold them. Let’s see… There! You’ll use that ridge. The contour of the ground should force ‘em to you, and they won’t be able to flank too easily. And you won’t have to worry too much about missiles; it looks like we’re finally out of range. Get to it, sergeant,” he finished harshly.

“Yessir.” Then the platoon sergeant began barking orders over the com, hopping along with the help of his Marine.

Feet churning as he tried to keep up with the rest of the pack, Frank’s mind desperately searched for another answer.

But he knew there wasn’t one.

Bile rose in his throat, at what his orders were about to do. To set in motion. To get men killed, with no hope for survival.

They were at the ridge now, and the Kzarchians McKain had selected, as well as two injured Marines, split off from the main party, taking up defensive positions. They knew they were likely dead anyway, and so they prepared themselves to sell their lives as dearly as possible. For the sake of revenge; for the sake of hate… and for the sake of their comrades, who just might make it in their stead.

The main group drew away from the sacrificial defenders, and the pirates began to come in range.

Immediately firing on the pirates, doing their best to stay under cover, the defenders on the ridge attempted to force the pirates to stop short.

The pirates recoiled slightly, then sought cover themselves, before returning fire.

Volleys of fire ripped back and forth across the battlefield, as the two sides strove for their respective ends, one, to get past, and the other, to hold up for as long as possible.

The defense had a better position, but the weight of the attacking force’s fire kept getting heavier. More and more pirates arrived, and added their guns to the field. Slowly but steadily, they were wearing away the defenders.

And then the inevitable happened. The pirates began flanking the defender’s position.

The defenders did their best to prevent it from happening, and the ground made it hard for the pirates, but onwards they came.

Nearly a third a mile away by now, Lieutenant Harsmith bit his lip, as he watched the situation through his battlesuit’s connection with McKain’s. A red rash had begun to encircle a small green group, as the pirates began to surround the defenders.

And the small green group kept getting smaller. Dot by dot, they were disappearing. One Marine was gone already, along with nearly twenty Kzarchians.

But the defenders held.

They were now beginning to take fire from the sides as well as the front, and so began firing back towards their sides, where the pirates were attempting to flank them.

That, however, only encouraged the pirates in front, who started moving forward under the cover of heavy firepower.

Mixing their volleys, the Kzarchians and McKain, the only remaining Marine alive, tried to keep each group from getting too close.

It was inevitable that the defenders wouldn’t be able to keep it up.

And they couldn’t.

Down to less then ten men now, the pirates in a tightening ‘c’ around them, the defenders threw all they had left at the now charging pirates. It wasn’t enough. It couldn’t have been, and they knew it.

But to the last, as the green group disappeared under a wave of red on Lieutenant Harsmith’s screen, they kept firing. Doing everything they could, until the very last second, so as to make their sacrifice count.

Tears began to leak onto Frank’s cheeks as the last three dots on the screen, McKain and two last Kzarchians, still fired and fought against an enemy that outnumbered them several hundreds to one.

“Good luck, Frank,” a broken voice came over the com, heavy with pain and weariness. “Get ‘em ho-”

Then a death notification popped up on the lieutenant’s screen, followed a moment later by a message informing of the loss of connection.

“Damn… Happy journeys, sarge.” Then the lieutenant was shouting orders, getting his wounded and tired group to speed up and prepare itself. This wasn’t the time for mourning. With the blocking force gone, they could expect the pirates to soon be getting in range.

***

And they did. Group after group of pirates would make contact, only for a quick volley of fire to send them reeling back, as the Kzarchians and the Marines struggled to reach their base.

Time after time it happened, mile after mile. The total distance left to the camp had been just seven or so miles from where McKain and his group had made their last stand. But to the Kzarchians and the Marines, it was to be another seven miles of hell.

A wearing march, after a tiring day, combined with regular skirmishes with pirates attempting to catch them and slow them, made them all nearly dead on their feet.

But still they pressed on.

They had to.

***

“We’ve almost got them
now
!” The pirates had again attempted to flank the fleeing group, and now had five hundred on either side, ready to fall upon them as soon as the order was given.

Bloody Jack raised his eyebrows to his second-in-command.

“Really? Just like the
last
, oh, what,
three
times we ‘
almost got them
’?”

Mad flushed. She opened her mouth to say something, then hesitated, and shut it.

“All right.” Bloody Jack said finally. “What’s done is done. All we need to do now is
crush
them. It shouldn’t be too difficult. They’re tired, worn out, and out-numbered ten to one.”

Mad immediately perked up.

“So we’re going to kill them?”