A Loss of Innocence, Part 4

The aftermath of the firefight sent a rush of relief flooding through me.  I felt slightly guilty as I looked at the bodies of my comrades.  I valued their sacrifice, but at the same time, some small part of me was glad that it wasn’t me lying on the deck of an alien space station, a hole bored through my body. 

I glanced at O’Leary and saw that her face was twisted in a rictus of anger and relief.  Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, we shared a communal flash of relief.  She swallowed and tugged at the quick seal collar of her armor.  If she was anything like me, her throat felt involuntarily constricted.  

Dunkel was quickly checking the casualties while the squad from the first section held her position.  “Collins, O’Leary, Rosenberg, Johnson,” she said.  “Go investigate the Rak’Lan casualties.  See if you can figure out what the hell that thing is that put holes in our people.”  She gestured to some of the marines from the first section.  “You lot, fill in my gaps.  Cover our recon group.”

O’Leary and I took point, trotting down the corridor with every sense working at full extension.  We reached the pile of bodies and saw that three of the Rak’Lan carried rifles not too dissimilar from our own.  The last one carried a bulky backpack, connected to a rifle-like device by a thick cable.  The backpack and its straps were intact, even though the torso of the Rak’Lan carrying it was reduced to charred bits of stringy flesh.  None of the rest of them showed any movement but the remaining three four had almost nothing left of their legs and lower torsos. Whatever their armor was, it didn’t stand up terribly well to a plasma grenade.  With a grunt, I heaved the remains out of the way to get to the backpack and rifle, motioning Rosenberg and Johnson forward to cover me while I did. 

“Ugh,” O’Leary said.  “These bastards stink.”

I hadn’t noticed.  Truthfully, I was so afraid that the only senses that were working were my hearing and my sight.  I couldn’t even feel what I was doing through my gloves.  Almost every part of me had gone numb, but I moved mechanically and competently.  I’m not sure where I drew the reserves, but somehow I was still functioning.

I finally freed the backpack and the rifle and staggered under its weight.  Even at point seven gee, it was heavy.  Given the fact that it was some kind of laser or particle beam, it made sense that it would have to have a heavy power pack.  The rifle portion of the weapon seemed to be undamaged, aside from some scoring from the grenade.  It had a pistol-like handle with a stud rather than a trigger.  It felt reasonably comfortable in my hands.  “Built tough, isn’t it?” O’Leary asked.

I nodded.  “Dunkel, this is Collins. I have the heavy Rak’Lan weapon.”  I took a deep breath.  “Permission to test it down the corridor.”

“Permission denied, Collins.  We don’t know where the LT is, and I’d hate to have that thing punch through an interior wall.  Bring it back this way.”  There was a pause.  “Any live Rak’Lan down there?”

“Negative.” I replied.

“C’mon back then,” she said, a slight drawl creeping into her usually crisp voice.  The stress was getting to her, too.

“Cover me, ladies and gents,” I said, as I picked up the power pack and the rifle.  We made it back to the squad strong point without trouble.

Dunkel fussed over the weapon, going over the backpack carefully.  Reaching in a cargo pocket, she pulled out a small Geiger counter and turned it on, running it over the backpack.  The needle moved slightly above the background, perhaps three hundred counts or so.  “Hmm,” she said.  “I think this is a miniature reactor.”

People in the squad took an involuntary step back. “Oh for Christ’s sake,” she exploded.  “If the thing was going to blow, it would’ve already blown by now.”  She gave the backpack another once over.  “Besides, I’d be seeing a lot more instability in the readings here.”  She sighed.  “We’ll save this for the intel group when they get here.  Maybe the geeks will make something out of it.”

O’Leary and I made to resume our post, but Dunkel interrupted me.  “Collins,” she said.  “Front and center.”

I came over and stood in front of her.  She motioned for me to turn the comm off.  “Our corporal bought it throwing that last grenade down the corridor.”  I could see the restrained fury in her eyes through her helmet visor.  “All I have from first section are either privates or specialist ratings.”  She glanced down at the bodies laid out in the center of the corridor.  “I need you to take part of our squad and hold down first section’s real estate.  If the LT tries to retreat, he might be in trouble.”

I gulped.  Go down the corridor alone–in command of other men and women?  “Yes, ma’am.” I said.

“Collins,” her tone was warm.  Her face was almost motherly in sympathy.  “You can do this.  Your test scores were better than anyone in the platoon.” She tapped my chest with a gloved finger.  “You have officer written all over you.  Just don’t buy the farm if you don’t have to, all right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, standing a little straighter in my armor.

“Good man.”  She switched on her comm.  “O’Leary, Rosenberg, Johnson.  You’re with PFC Collins,” she paused for a minute.  “Make that brevet Corporal Collins.  Move down and secure first section’s real estate and report back when you’re in position.”

A chorus of “Yes, ma’am,” answered her as we moved down the corridor, Johnson on point.