Fear

Fear
C.R.V.
3232
Talahan V, Fratelli continent
20,000 Feet and Descending

Oh God. Oh Christ. This is it.

"Twenty seconds to LZ, boys!"

I'm not ready. I'm not ready!

"Heads up, AAA fire coming up, Tallies are peppering the sky!"

An explosion rocked the dropship as it continued its hellbound journey towards the jungle below it. The pilots screamed over the COM that another landing craft had just been destroyed.

Chris adjusted his helmet and gripped his seat with white knuckles. All around the passenger bay, other Marines were just as petrified. Some were getting sick, others were praying to whatever god they felt was there, and they were all barely older than he was. Barely older than kids.

And there was a good chance they were all going to die.

All the young man could think of was his home, his bed, Earth. That was all that was on his mind. He could not accept that this was going to be a real war. No more live fire exercises, no more DIs correcting your mistake… one wrong move, and this planet would become his grave.

"FIVE THOUSAND FEET! GET READY TO ROCK, MARINES!"

The Senior NCO, a thin man named Corwin stood up and paced around the bay with one hand holding his rifle and the other gripping the webbing above him. "OK! Listen up ladies! Boot camp might have seemed like a five star hotel to you, and you may have been brought across 20 lightyears of nothing to beat down some corporate malcontents, but if anything, you are my personal property, and I don't like my property damaged! You won't let that happen, will you?"

"NO SERGEANT!"

"That's what I like to hear! Just keep your head down, follow my orders, and you might even live long enough to get off this hellhole!"

Oh Good. Oh man… I just need to shut up and follow what he says. We'll be fine!

But the universe had a way of shattering dreams. The dropship rolled as AA rounds pummeled the hull, and shots tore through the troop bay. Sergeant Corwin and the Pelican's crew chief danced as the stray rounds punched through him, splattering the webbing with blood.

Then, panic.

"Oh shit! Oh MOTHERFUCK!" a Marine named Aer cried out. "He's dead!"

"Fifteen hundred feet! What the hell's going on back there?!" The copilot came into the bay. "Oh man… Jimmy! Corwin and Quigley bought it! Who's in charge now?" He held onto a grip as the Pelican dipped and dove over flak. "Who's the highest ranked here?"

The Marines looked around, hoping to receive an order, but soon, their gaze was on Chris, who gulped and looked on his armor. The twin chevrons of a Corporal met his eyes.

"Congratulations, Squad Leader." The copilot said. "You're in charge now."

In charge?! I'm gonna get these men killed! He looked around to see his new subordinates. Eighteen-year old Private Malmsey rocked in his chair, and a quiet Army Specialist named Tartokov hit his helmet off the back of his chair, chanting "My vse umrem! My vse umrem! My vse umrem!"

"Are… are you sure?" Chris whispered in a voice barely loud enough to be heard.

"Five hundred feet!" The pilot called. "Get ready to rock and roll! We hit dirt, and you're OUT!"

The troop bay opened, and the sound of cannons and gunfire engulfed them. The sounds of battle. Real war.

"No choice!" The copilot cried out. "Listen, kid! Head straight through here to the outpost! Defend them while they get the base security up! Stick to the South side of the hill! You'll be fine there! It's your show now, Marine! Godspeed!

With that, the aircraft slammed into the moist jungle ground with its landing gear barely out.

"TOUCHDOWN! TOUCHDOWN! OUT NOW! GO, GO, GO!" the pilot screamed.

Without thinking, they jumped out and took their first steps onto Talahan V.

Their first steps into hell.

Chris was frightened. He heard gunfire. He heard screaming. He heard dying men cry out to their mothers, God, to the man or woman next to them, and then he realized that he was out in the open. "FOLLOW ME!" He shouted. "TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HILL!"

Within three seconds of touching down, Tartokov caught five bullets in his chest and spun around without time to cry out!

"JESUS CHRIST!" someone cried out in fright.

No, no, no! NO! FUCK! NO! Chris thought in his mind as sweat matted his face. He nearly dropped his rifle out of fright. Then went another Marine, who fell screaming to the ground grabbing his leg. His friend ran back to get him. Chris screamed to him to come back.

"I got you, buddy! Come on; I go--" His head snapped to the right as a sniper got a lucky shot. The man collapsed next to his wounded friend who started screaming even louder.

Chris then screamed at the top of his lungs, "YOU WANT TO DIE? FOLLOW ME, OR I'LL SAVE THE TALLIES THE TROUBLE AND SHOOT YOU MYSELF!"

It was cruel. It was a mean threat, but the greenhorns were so terrified, they'd believe anything. They rushed to meet him sprinting. They slid over the hill to a group of other Marines. They seemed happy to see them.

"Are you guys the reinforcements?"

Chris waited for the response, but then realized Sergeant Corwin was dead. He was in charge.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah… I guess that's us."

"Jesus Christ! Did they nab your CO?"

"Before we even got off the dropship." A series of bullets struck the dirt with whining ricochets. Dirt splattered his goggles. He flinched.

"Oh, we're FUCKED!" The tired defender said. "This is bullshit! We can't defend this base with you! You look like you should be in pre-school or something!"

One brave PFC said, "He's still your superior!"

"Yeah? Well… hang on…" The base Marine leaned up over the hill and fired at a rebel who got the balls to charge the hill. He screamed in Talahase as the rounds punched through him and stopped as soon as he splashed in a puddle of his own blood. "…and I don't give a fuck if he's my superior. I'm not taking orders from a freak teenager!

Chris resisted the urge to shoot the bastard then and there, but before he could respond, something shaped like a cylinder bounced in the dirt.

Before his brain even told him that it was a live grenade, he was on the move. He screamed for his men to run for it. Half a second later, the explosive went off.

He lost his hearing for a few brief seconds, but in that silence, he saw a ballet of death and destruction. Chunks of earth and grass flew across his vision like an organic snowfall, and to accompany it, a crimson rain of blood and meat followed it. The shock was broken when he saw something land right in front of him. A hand.

Then he screamed, but he didn't hear a note of it. He hurriedly checked his arms for a bloody stump, but didn't find one. He continued to yell though until someone got to him.

Chris wasn't sure he was hearing right. The Marine in front of him seemed to be speaking, but it wasn't English nor Tallahase. Then the silence was gone, replaced by a loud buzzing, like a scream, but a little softer than that. He realized that he was shaking, like he had Parkinson's, but less vicious.

Then he recognized the Marine, Malmsey. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "Are you in there, Corporal? Please, we need your help! DAMN IT, COME ON!"

He forced words. "What happened…?"

Gunfire made Malmsey duck his head. "They're gone sir! They're fucking gone! Beecher, Cookson, Chun, THEY'RE JUST FUCKING GONE!"

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Why wasn't he dead? Why? Why?

"Who's left?" Chris found himself saying.

"Just four of us including you. Me, Aer, and Madison."

Four. Four men out of nearly twenty that came in on the dropship had been
slaughtered; a textbook definition of clusterfuck.

In a split second, he noticed something different in his voice. It was low, gravelly, and serious. His normal joking demeanor  was gone, replaced by something he didn't recognize.

Then again, he did recognize it. He sounded the same way when he found out his parents were dead.

He just didn't care anymore.

"Can you give me an order?" Malmsey said, his voice cracking.

"We stay right here." Chris said gravely, holding his weapon tight. "We wait for whatever reinforcements are coming."

Malmsey wasn't having any of it. "We're gonna get fucked here!" To accent his concern, a man cried out over the hill. They didn't know if he was friend or foe. He took about ten seconds, and then  stopped. Gunfire was over the whole thing.

"We're probably gonna get fucked one way or another, so I suggest you make sure your rife's fully loaded. We're holding this position."

"THIS IS TWO ECHO! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GUYS?!" A squad commander further up the fort's walls cried out. "THEY'RE HAMMERING US!"

In his grave voice, the young man clicked his COM. "Hang on, guys. We're gonna be laying down some fire support."

"Hurry up!" The man said.

"Pick your targets." The Corporal ordered. At once, the surviving men of Mantis Platoon fired on Talahan rebels in the field. They had the advantage of height, so they could track the rebels with ease.

The rebels, being men who were in the mines or factories of this planet, had very little experience in fighting. They found themselves being fired upon from two different angles and started to panic. Now, it was Chris' turn to feel like he was the one dominating. They had the upper hand. He heard Malmsey laugh as he sprayed fire at a retreating Tally, who fell to the ground.

"YEAH! Yeour bosterd rot Hellid!" he cried out, reloading his rifle.

Tallies fell one by one. Chris imagined being down there as he fired and took his first lives. He imagined being down on the ground, realizing that their lives were drawing to a close. He imagines the fear that those men felt.

But he had no sympathy.

An explosion sounded from beyond their position in the jungle. At once, the lines of AA fire stopped and the thunder of the large guns were silent. There was only the staccato weapons fire around the fort. He heard another voice over the radio, one he didn't recognize.

"Anti-air batteries eliminated. You should be clear to run supplies down now. We're moving towards Fort Peerson."

They sounded like UNSC, like them. Oh God, it was done. His first mission and he had survived.

No. he realized. He had gotten lucky. A routine defense mission, and sixteen men were dead from his group. His entire platoon had almost been exterminated, and it was because of dumb luck that he was here.

The last of the attackers had been driven off back into the jungle as the Marines on the fort wall cheered their retreat. Chris stood at attention with the survivors of the Defense of Fort Peerson. Out of fifty men who were defending the gate, only about sixteen or seventeen were still alive. Forty-three men were dead, and for what?

Fuel.

Chris learned that the only reason the Tallies had attacked this base in the first place was just for fuel for their trucks. They planned to keep UNSC air units away while their own helicopters carried the gas away.

Fuel.

What a fucking waste.

A column of men that glowed green on their radars walked along the path, heavily armed, with an air of satisfaction. Chris eyed these men and knew right away that they were heroes.

Chris' HUD identified the leader, a stocky, incredibly strong man with dark skin, 'BENEDICT, R – CPT'. On his shoulder was a black flag with a red orb in the center and two grey blobs flanking it – the Martian flag.

Damn, it felt good to see another Solarian.

Chris raised his arm, but Captain Benedict barked, "Put your motherfucking hand down before someone blows it off!"

Chris did as he was told. It occurred to him that saluting a superior was an excuse for a sniper to blow someone's head off.

"Is this it?" Benedict asked. "Where's the rest of your platoon?"

"This is all that's left, sir." Chris said. "They're all dead."

"What's your unit?"

Chris looked to the bodies and sighed sadly. "Sir, we were 5th Battalion, Mantis Platoon."

Benedict looked to the bodies. "Hmm… You must had had some serious balls to still be alive after this. There were some badasses that were protecting this gate."

"Sir, I…"

"Corporal, you and your men are to be immediately folded in to my unit. 5th Battalion is now part of the 182nd Division."

Chris didn't see his friend Charles Madison's jaw hit the jungle floor. The Corporal didn't appreciate it just yet, but his squad was to fight alongside the UNSC's equivalent of Norse Gods.

"Sir, won't you have to talk to someone about this?"

"Already did. Got the news while we were blowing that flak to Kingdom Come. Higher's mixing some outfits together to coordinate better over the theater. Go in there, get some rest, and we get ready for your next mission."

Bruce Aer piped up, "What next mission?"

Benedict smiled. "We're gonna find the bastards who wanted this fuel , and shove our boots down their throats."

Great. Wasn't enough I almost died today, but now I'm going on suicide missions.

I… I just want to go home.

"Corporal, one last thing… who's winning the Eastern Conference right now?"

"S… sir?"

"My grandma's from Brooklyn. I can tell an accent when I hear one."

"Ah… Yankees, sir."

Benedict gave a short, but energetic laugh. "Best damn news I heard all day!" With that, he ordered his men into the base.

As Chris ordered the survivors, all of them Privates, all of them 20 and under, to follow the men of the 182nd. He knew that there was no way off this planet. He was no longer afraid, but angry. He wanted to kill every single rebel that killed the men aboard that dropship. If death was the only way off this planet, then so be it.

He picked up one phrase of Tallahase before he landed on the planet, and he felt that it should be his personal motto: Ate to ultime respire, lut con honor or morr tendado.

Fight with honor or die trying, to your last breath.

If that meant that he would get off this damned planet and go back to Earth, back to Michelle, he would fight.

Until his dying breath.