Cole let out a low whistle. "How are you set up?"

"I have the platoon split into three squads of eight men each. One is commanded by a corporal, the other two by lance corporals," explained James. "The remainder of your people are in the platoon headquarters."

"Heavy weapons?" asked Sheridan.

"We have a .50 cal. It's not automated, sir. In fact, the d.a.m.n thing really belongs in a museum. The soldiers in the headquarters are responsible for operating it in the event of an attack."

"With an attack perhaps only hours away, the machine gun has to be manned twenty-four and seven from now on," said Sheridan. "I'll let Sergeant Cole decide how we're going to do that."

The sound of combat boots coming down the stairs made Sheridan turn his head. In walked the squad leaders. James introduced them. Corporal Lanihan, a man with a loud voice and permanent smile on his dirty face commanded the first squad. Lance Corporal D'Amato had the second. She had dark brown, almost black eyes and a confident air about her. The last squad was led by Lance Corporal Singh. The man dwarfed everyone in the room.

Sheridan looked over at his first command and tried to remember all of the things Cole had told him to avoid saying. He decided to keep things short. "Alright Marines, my name is Second Lieutenant Sheridan. We're going to be hit hard sometime tonight or in the early morning. I want you to make sure that you and all of your people are ready for the fight of their lives. I'll be coming around in a couple of minutes to orient myself to your squad positions. Save your breath pointing out that you don't have enough men because what we've got is what we're going into battle with."

"d.a.m.n," said Lanihan. "So much for all the c.r.a.p we heard about reinforcements being on their way."

"Corporal, you're looking at it," Cole said. "Get used to the rumor mill churning out worthless tidbits like that on a daily basis. Unless you hear it from me or Mister Sheridan, you and your men are to ignore it."

Singh cleared his throat. " Sir, is it true that the enemy are humans like you and me?"

Sheridan could see the unease in the man's eyes. Obviously the thought of killing Kurgans was easier than shooting at fellow human beings on the soldier. "Yes, it's true. They are called the Chosen and they won't hesitate to kill you and all of your men to achieve their goals. I've seen what they can do and trust me they may look human, but they're not, they're Kurgan soldiers whose job is to kill you, so don't let them. Do your job and you'll all come out of this alive."

"Yes, sir," replied Singh, nodding his head.

"That's all for now. I'll be coming around shortly with Sergeants Cole and James, starting with first squad."

"You'll find us shipshape," announced Lanihan.

"I'll be the judge of that," replied Cole.

Two hours later, with his head still spinning, Sheridan took a seat in his headquarters, removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. Cole had decided to have Agnar, Obermman and one of the older soldiers operate the heavy machine gun while Garcia was brought into the headquarters as the platoon's medic until a trained corpsman arrived to relieve her.

"So what do you think of the platoon layout?" Sheridan asked Cole.

"Not bad. They've clearly done the best they could with the ground they were a.s.signed to hold."

A Marine walked over and handed a couple of warmed up ration packs to them and then left the room, leaving them alone.

Sheridan got up, walked over to the door and closed it. He took his seat and looked over at Cole. "Sergeant, what was all that stuff about being an alcoholic? You seem to have a bit of a reputation with Gunnery Sergeant Wilson."

Cole took a deep breath. "Sir, I'd rather not talk about it. It's old news."

"Staff Sergeant, we're about to go into combat. I need to know that the man I rely on for advice and guidance is not going to have a relapse when I need him the most."

Cole shook his head. "Sir, I won't have a relapse and I'm not one to talk about personal matters."

Sheridan wasn't about to let the matter drop. "Ok, then I'll go first. My father is an admiral who had more time for his ships than he ever had for his children while they were growing up. My mother is a racist and an alcoholic who wrapped her car around a tree, killing my sister and nearly killing me when I was ten years old. The police buried the fact that she was drunk so it wouldn't affect my father's career. There wasn't a Flag Officer on base that she didn't sleep with while my father was away, which I might add was nearly all the time. So I became an over-achiever in everything I did to compensate for the attention I never got at home."

Sheridan took a sip of water from his canteen and continued. "The family name was all that mattered when I was growing up. A Sheridan was the first man to do this, the first man to do that. It was more like being in a cult than a family. And I stupidly went along with it right until I woke up one morning and realized that the only good thing in my life was gone because my mother objected to her being black. So there, that's the Michael Sheridan family closet laid bare."

Cole placed his ration bag down and looked into Sheridan's eyes. No man had ever opened up to like that to him. His father was a man who hid his feelings and thoughts and he had grown up to be a man just like his father. "Sir, my wife, Ariel, left me while I was on a yearlong a.s.signment far from home. She took our daughter, Violeta, and moved back to Earth. Violeta now calls a salesman daddy. I can't blame my wife, I was never around."

Cole paused for a second. "It was about a month after she left that I started drinking. I even drank to begin the day. I had booze hidden all over the place. It got to be that I could do my job drunk. Gunny Wilson found me pa.s.sed out one day on the john. He was the one who recommended that I be sent back home for a few years to dry out and to get my life back in order. It was the best thing I ever did. I've been clean and sober for nearly two years now."

"Sergeant, if the Corps didn't think you were worth saving, they would have kicked you out years ago. I for one am glad that they chose to keep you. I don't know what I would have done without you after we landed here."

Cole patted Sheridan on the back. "You did ok, sir, you did ok."

"Just ok?"

"Come on, sir, a boy scout could have found his way here."

"Well, as I recall there wasn't one around to help."

There was a knock on the door. Cole opened the door. It was Garcia. "Sir, a runner just came from company headquarters. The CO will be doing a line tour in thirty minutes."

Sheridan thanked her and then said, "Well, Sergeant, it looks like it's show time."

Chapter 17.

The dull crump of incoming artillery hitting their targets all along the front line seemed to be never ending. For the past three hours, the Kurgan guns had been relentlessly pounding the houses occupied by the Marine defenders.

Sheridan's building shook from a near miss. Dust trickled down from the roof like snow onto everything below it. Sheridan sat by a viewport looking out at the horizon, lit up a h.e.l.lish red by the enemy's long line of guns. Inside the bas.e.m.e.nt command post, each person awaited the coming a.s.sault in their own way. One of the Marines sat in the corner praying while another was flat out on the ground fast asleep. Garcia packed and unpacked her med kit. Sheridan had lost count how many times she had performed the ritual. Staff Sergeant Cole was absent, having been trapped over by the heavy machine-gun when the barrage started.

With a growing sense of apprehension, Sheridan knew that the instant the barrage lifted that the enemy would be coming in their thousands. He was surprised that he wasn't scared. Nervous perhaps, but definitely not afraid. He chalked that up to inexperience. Sheridan doubted he would feel this way the next time...if there was a next time.

He edged over to another viewport and looked over at the buildings where two of his squads were holed up. Through the swirling dust, he could see that both house still stood. He was relieved. If either one of his squads had been destroyed during the barrage, he knew that there would be no way he could possibly hold his position and would be forced to pull back.

The sh.e.l.ling, like a demonic wave, shifted behind them and onto the depth units behind them.

They were coming.

"Stand to," ordered Sheridan. He reached down to flip his rifle's safety to automatic and saw that his hand was shaking. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. With a quick flick of his thumb, he placed his weapon on full-auto.

In the gray light of dawn, Sheridan could just make out the Kurgan trenches. The scene reminded him of a picture he once saw of the First World War. Although centuries removed from that time, the similarity wasn't lost on Sheridan when he saw all along the Kurgan lines, hundreds of crimson red banners being lifted aloft. Crimson he knew was the color that signified the Kurgan religion.

Suddenly, thousands of voices all called out as one. The word they chanted was Kurgan for G.o.d. Sheridan found it be both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. His orders were to hold at all cost. There could be no withdrawal from their positions.

He lifted up his binoculars and focused them on the Kurgan trenches. A second later, like creatures crawling up from the pits of h.e.l.l, ten thousand warriors climbed out of the jagged line of lines dug in the ground and began to surge forward. Without any supporting artillery to a.s.sist them, there was nothing left to Sheridan and his Marines, but small arms to bring down the long white line of Chosen soldiers.

All along the line, the crew-served heavy weapons opened fire. The rhythmic noise of the machine guns firing filled the air. Tracers reached out like a long line of deadly scythes, cutting down dozens of Kurgans at a time. It, however, was precisely what the enemy wanted. They had sold the lives of their soldiers to identify where the Marines' machine guns were located. Seconds later, dozens of drones swarmed over the Marines' positions, firing off all of their missiles until all of the heavy weapons fell silent. Sheridan swore when he saw two projectiles slam into the side of the building where Cole and the .50 cal team were dug in. The building exploded and collapsed in on itself sending up a swirling plume of smoke and dust into the sky.

The long line of Chosen warriors was now less than one hundred meters away.

Sheridan placed his laser sight on a soldier and pulled the trigger. He never saw the man fall. All along the line, the Marine defenders opened fire. It was impossible to miss; the Chosen were packed together running forward almost shoulder to shoulder. Everyone in Sheridan's bunker was firing as fast they could trying to stop the white-coated ma.s.s from reaching their lines. Quickly changing his magazine, Sheridan was surprised how fast he went through one-hundred rounds.

Out front of their position, the long line of Chosen soldiers began to falter. It was like charging into a hailstorm. Men bent down and slowed down to a walk as they made their way over the mounds of dead and wounded in their path. Bloodied bodies littered the ground. The wounded knew they were on their own and began to crawl back towards their own lines. A Kurgan officer grabbed a banner and waved it over his head, trying to get his men to continue forward. He fell with a hole blasted through his head. All along the line, hesitation took hold of the Chosen as more and more of their officers fell under the lethal fusillade. The warriors had given all they could. At first in ones and twos, they began to run to the rear and then, like a dam bursting, the entire a.s.sault force turned and ran for the safety of their trenches.

"Cease fire," yelled out Sheridan as Kurgan smoke rounds fired by their artillery fell from the sky obscuring the enemy forces as they fled back to their own lines.

A loud cheer broke out from the battered Marine defenders. A young soldier patted Sheridan on the back and then let out a whoop.

"We got 'em sir,' said the Marine. "They ain't so tough."

Sheridan shook his head. "That was just a probing attack to pinpoint our positions. They'll be back and next time they'll bring armor for intimate support."

"Armor?"

"Yeah, the Kurgs are just like us. They have tanks and I'm sure they're not afraid to use them."

Sheridan turned to look out on the battlefield. It was a sickening spectacle to behold. In front of his platoon, were several hundred Chosen soldiers. Most were dead; however, several dozen lay there moaning in agony, while several more dragged themselves over the bodies of their comrades as they tried to make it back to their trenches. Sheridan knew from reading about the last war that Kurgan commanders did not believe in evacuating their wounded off the battlefield. They didn't have medics at unit level. It was G.o.d's will if you lived or died.

He shook his head and turned about. "Garcia, I'm going to check on the platoon. If a runner comes from the CO, send him my way." With that, he opened the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt and climbed the stairs. The smell of burnt wood filled his nostrils. Carefully, moving over to an open door at the back of the building, he peered out and saw that the path was clear. Stepping out, he heard gla.s.s from the shattered windows break underfoot. He sucked in air through his teeth as his heart raced in his chest. So much for being quiet, he thought to himself. Sheridan lifted his foot and looked for a better place to put it down. He warily edged to the side of the house and peered around the corner. When he didn't see any movement coming from the long line of Chosen bodies, he sprinted across the open ground to the next closest house and slid inside through a hole blasted in the side of the building.

Sergeant James greeted Sheridan with a weary smile. "Looks like we gave them a good a.s.s kicking, eh, sir."

"They'll be back," replied Sheridan. "I want you to adjust your positions in the house. No one is to be where they were the last time the enemy attacked."

"Why's that?"

"Because they've probably identified all of our positions with laser target designators and when they come again, they'll blast the h.e.l.l out of those locations first."

"Got it, sir," responded James.

Sheridan pushed on through the wrecked house until he came to another opening in the wall. As before he made sure it was clear before dashing over to the building where Cole and the heavy-weapons team had been. He climbed over a pile of rubble and made his way up inside the home. It was unnervingly quiet. Sheridan called out, "Sergeant, are you in there?"

"Is that you, sir?" replied Cole.

"Yeah, where are you?" asked Sheridan unable to tell where the voice was coming from under all the debris covering the floor.

"Believe it or not, we're on the floor below you. When the missiles. .h.i.t, the floor gave way and dumped us down here."

Sheridan pushed some burnt timbers out of the way and bent down so he could down into the next floor. He gritted his teeth when he saw Cole wrapping a field dressing around Agnar's bloodied head. The front of the soldier's uniform seemed to be caked with blood and dust. "Where are the other men?" he asked Cole.

"Obermman and Shields are both dead."

Sheridan swore. "What about the machine gun?"

"A total write off," replied Cole. "There's no way it could be repaired unless there was a weapons tech around and I doubt we're gonna see one of them in our neck of the woods for a long time."

Sheridan asked, "Is there a way out of there?"

"Yeah, there's a hole in the wall large enough for us to crawl through."

"Ok then, you and Agnar head back to the command bunker and wait for me there. I'm going to check on the rest of the platoon before I head back there."

Cole looked up and nodded his head. "Hey, sir, keep your head down out there."

"Trust me, I will. I have no desire to end up as a notch on some Kurgan drone operator's desk."

Almost an hour pa.s.sed before Sheridan made to back to his command post. Cole and the rest of the people there had moved into the next room and were busy sandbagging the new firing ports.

"How are the squads holding up?" Cole asked.

"James' squad is alright. Singh lost a man and Lanihan has two slightly wounded who refuse to go back to the aid station."

"So, three dead and three wounded. We came off fairly light, if you ask me."

"Yeah, I doubt we'll be so lucky in the future."

An out of breath soldier staggered down into the bunker and gave Sheridan a message. While he read it, Cole made sure the young man got some water. With all of their communications gear jammed, they had reverted to using runners to pa.s.s messages. A hazardous duty with all of the Kurgan hunter-killer drones circling the city ready to blast anything that moved out in the open.

Sheridan signed the note and handed it back to the Marine, who headed out to the next platoon position.

"What's up?" Cole inquired.

"Just an update from higher. We're to expect another attack in the next few hours. This time they'll be backed up by armor."

"You called it, sir," remarked Garcia.

Sheridan grinned. "I'm not that bright. It's the benefit of studying the last war that gave me the foresight to know what to expect. Their equipment may have improved like ours, but for some reason, their tactics are still mired in the past."

"It worked for them before didn't it, sir," said Agnar.

"Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn't," responded Sheridan.

"Hey sir, look, it's snowing," said the Marine who had been praying during the artillery barrage.

Sheridan grinned. At last Lady Luck was shining down on them. The enemy's thermal vision equipment would be severely degraded in the blowing snow. For as long as it snowed, the enemy would be blind.

A voice called out. It was a Chosen speaking Kurgan.

Sheridan edged to a firing port and peered outside. He could see a wounded man shot through both legs trying to sit up.

"What's he saying?" asked Garcia.

"He's asking for help," responded Sheridan. "He wants us to put him out of his misery."

"I'll gladly do it," said Agnar as he reached for his rifle.

Sheridan shook his head. "I'd rather take him alive. I'm sure regiment would love to interrogate him."

"No one's going out there!" warned Cole. "I've seen this kind of c.r.a.p before. On Setius-5, the rebels told their people that if they were wounded to call out for help. Same thing's happening here. He's trying to draw someone out so a Kurg sniper a kilometer away can kill him. He knows his life is forfeit, he just wants to take one of us with him."