A Loss of Innocence, Part 3

Have you ever had claustrophobia?  I’m told its one of the most common fears that humans have.  I was never bothered by elevators or dark closets, and before our assault, I would have thought that I was beyond such a petty fear. 

The passageway closed in around me, bending slightly with the torus shape of the station, limiting our visibility to about fifty meters.  It was long, longer than I would’ve thought possible from the briefing, and completely devoid of obvious doors.  I was beside O’Leary, moving in quickstep through the dimly lit corridor.  The sounds of heavy breathing, the rhythmic sounds of our equipment clinking and jingling, the trails of sweat coming from my hairline down to the tip of my nose…it all contributed to an oppressiveness that weighed so heavily on me that I thought I would stagger underneath it.  What if the Rak’Lan had an emergency vent system?  They could just depressurize an entire area and we would be left to the quick-seal function of our suits, with its twenty minute emergency supply of air.  I could be alone, drifting in the vastness of space, my last sight in this life would be of Jupiter as I drifted alone in orbit.

I shook my head to dislodge the stubborn drops of sweat collecting on the tip of my nose.  I could taste the salt, feeling the slight sting of chapped lips.  With my left hand, I reached up and tugged on the collar of my armor, ensuring that the quick seal clamp was in place in a fit of obsessive-compulsiveness.

Next to me, O’Leary’s breath was coming in heaving gasps.  Her eyes were wide through her visor.  Her fingers caressed the trigger of her assault rifle idly as she moved.  She looked to be as terrified as I was.  She glanced my way as we moved, and I could see a faint grimace of mutual suffering.  We saw in each other the fear and anxiety of heading into combat, and yet we each took comfort in the fact that we were not alone.  Whatever happened, O’Leary would be on my flank, watching my back, and I would be on hers.  I felt unexpected warmth for her, despite our earlier discussion.

Ahead of us, our point man called a halt.  We immediately deployed in a defensive position.  Curious, I peered over the shoulders of my squad and saw that we had reached a cross corridor.  I could see the LT with the first section just around the corner.  He and the Platoon Sergeant were conferring, their helmets almost touching as each consulted the tablet computer strapped to their forearm.  After several moments, the Sergeant turned to us.  “Our intel indicates that their control center will be down this passageway.  We’ll be using a squad deployed here to cover our retreat if necessary.”  He consulted his tablet computer.  “Dunkel!  Your squad will stay here.  The rest of you, follow the LT.”

“Squad, deploy and dig in!”  Dunkel’s words were mostly rhetorical, since there was no possible way we could dig in, and no cover other than what the branching corridors offered.  O’Leary and I turned our backs to the intersection and covered the passage we had just traversed.    The other six members of our squad each faced one of the other directions in pairs, with Dunkel herself watching the direction the Sarge had gone.

“Pretty quiet, don’t you think?”  O’Leary asked.  She shoved a gloved hand underneath her helmet visor and wiped at the sweat on her face.  “Jesus.  It’s hot in here.”  She giggled, a sound so incongruous with our surroundings.

I nodded.  “I wish we knew where the hell the Rak’Lan are.”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Collins,” she said.  “Maybe they abandoned ship.  After all, we could’ve cracked this place open from 100,000 klicks.”  She looked around.  “I would’ve if I were them.”

“And if they did, maybe they triggered a self-destruct mechanism to keep vital intelligence out of our hands?”  My palms were sweating through the gloves.

“You are so full of positive thoughts, today!” she said with mock cheer.  “Like I said, don’t borrow trouble.  We can’t change it if it happens.”  She looked me over like a side of beef.  “Tell you what, Collins.  If we make it out of this alive, we’ll go to dinner together.  My treat.”

I leered at her through my helmet.  “What makes you think I’d be interested?”

“Men love a sassy red head,” she replied, letting more of her brogue creep in to her voice.  She punched my arm playfully.  “And besides, we need a motivation to get us through this.”

We spent a few minutes in companionable silence.  From the direction that the platoon went, we heard the chatter of gun fire, followed by a mayday call over the comm.  “Sergeant Dunkel, this is squad two, section one.  We’re under heavy attack and are falling back to your position.”

I heard Dunkel reply over the radio.  “Steady.  Give me a sitrep.  Is the rest of the platoon with you?”

“Negative,” came the reply.  The sound of gunfire was echoing through the comm as well as down the corridor, creating an eerie stereo effect.  “The rest of the platoon proceeded to the main objective.”

O’Leary started to move towards Dunkel and the man watching for the other squad.  “Stay at your post, O’Leary,” she snapped, before triggering the radio.  “Squad two, give us a warning as you come around the bend.”  She paused.  “Are you in contact with the LT?”  She turned and looked at the rest of us.  “Get ready people, and watch your area.  I don’t want to be flanked while we’re saving the first section’s ass.”

“Negative on contact with the LT.  Before they entered the next cross corridor, we lost contact.  A runner came back to let us know that there was some kind of signal jamming.”  I knew I was supposed to be watching my area, but I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder toward the corridor where the Rak’Lan were pursuing our men.

“LT, this is Dunkel, do you copy?”  I could Dunkel’s voice, still calm and collected.  “Sarge this is Dunkel, do you copy?”  She pounded a gauntleted fist against the corridor wall.  “Shit!”

Three marines were dragging a wounded comrade between them as they frantically ran backwards.  Two more were in front, using short bursts from the assault rifles to keep the Rak’Lan at bay just beyond the curve of the torus.  “Stiffen our lines!” Dunkel called.  The wounded Marine was hastily laid in the center of our formation, while the remaining marines took up station beside Dunkel and the man from our squad. 

Four Rak’Lan in powered armor appeared just at the edge of visibility down the corridor and met the withering fire from four marines standing shoulder to shoulder in the corridor.  “Fire in the hole!” one of the marines from first section shouted, and threw a grenade in a beautiful, underarm toss that went the length of the corridor without hitting the ceiling.  My helmet clamped down on my ears as the explosion sent a shockwave of heat down the corridor.  One Rak’Lan was still standing, his armor shrugging off the fire from our assault rifles.  He raised his strange, tubular weapon and fired.  I heard a tiny boom, like a miniature clap of thunder, and one of the marines fell, a two centimeter hole bored through his sternum, the edges cauterized and smoldering.  The marine behind him, tending the wounded, looked down in shock at the severe burn on the front of her armor.  The smell of cooked meat and melting synthetics almost made me vomit.

“Give me grenades on that target!” Dunkel shouted.  I could see the aim point of the Rak’Lan shift toward Dunkel as she threw herself backwards.  “Get down!” she yelled.  One marine, rather than obeying the order, stood and tossed the grenade in the same fluid, underhanded motion of a softball pitcher.  As the grenade left her hand in a perfect, shallow arc, the Rak’Lan changed his aim point and fired on her.  The marine fell, a two centimeter hole through her helmet and forehead.  In what must have been instinct, the Rak’Lan caught the grenade in one hand and had a quick moment to peer at it before it detonated.