Battered Bastards of Ida
Chapter One: Arrival
January 21st, 2527


"The Harvest Campaign. One of the first major battles of the Human-Covenant War, and one of the bloodiest that Charlie Company saw all war. To be honest, none of the men or women in Charlie Company thought we were making it off Harvest. We were dropped off in early 2526 and we weren't shipped off until well into the Harvest Campaign. We were there for all of it. In the first year, we lost one hundred and twenty three marines out of a two hundred and seventy five man group. That's when he showed up. He was just a lieutenant then, but the things he'd come to do in the days ahead..." Excerpt From Charlie Company Member CPL Jose Ortega's Personal Journal.


Twenty two year old Second Lieutenant Nikolai Cross hesitantly walked off the ramp of the D77-TC Pelican dropship that had transported him down to the partially glassed surface of the war torn human colony known as Harvest as the other enlisted marines aboard the dropship rushed off. He had been assigned as a replacement marine in Charlie Company, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment of the 17th Marine Infantry Division.

Harvest was once a agriculture powerhouse of the UNSC, but as of right now, the colony was nothing more than a trench covered planet of battlegrounds with over half of the planet glassed by the awe inspiring weaponry sported by the Covenant Navy. One massive graveyard for human military members, civilians, and the alien force known as the Covenant alike.

Cross was shaken to his core, to say the least, by what he saw in front of him. Tens of dead or severely wounded military personnel lay, scattered around the makeshift transport platform, awaiting transport into the space above Harvest where another battle was being fought. They'd be lucky if their dropships made it out of the upper atmosphere.

He was standing in what had once been a hamlet within the Plains of Ida, one of the main agriculture regions on Harvest before the arrival of the Covenant. Now, it was nothing more than scorched landscape with burnt out hulks of what had once been homes and small farms. It was sickening and showed just how outmatched humanity seemed to be. Cross was already discouraged and he hadn't even fired a single bullet in combat yet.

"Lieutenant Cross!" A fatigued marine shouted at the marines who were rushing off of the arriving Pelicans, brushing past them in search of Nikolai. "Lieutenant Cross!" The marine shouted once more.

Antonov jogged up to him, with his shoulder rank indicating that he was a corporal. "I'm Lieutenant Cross, Lance Corporal." He stated.

"Lance Corporal Isaac Jackson, L-Tee, forgive me if I don't salute. The alien snipers pick off officers like crazy. I wouldn't run around saluting anyone, sir, it's bad business when we have to cleanup the brains because of a mistake." Jackson explained with a yawn and a shrug of his shoulders. His appearance definitely left something to be desired from the fresh out of Officer Candidate School Lieutenant, but Cross knew these marines had been torn to shreds by the aliens for nearly a year.

"Are you apart of Charlie Company? I've been assigned to First Platoon."

Jackson smirked. "So, you're the lucky guy taking over for good ol' Patty Wiseguy, eh? The poor Irish schmuck never saw what hit him, I swear." The Lance Corporal stated with a chuckle.

Cross frowned. "Patty Wiseguy?" He questioned.

"Our last platoon CO. He tried to lead a charge across a hundred yards of open terrain with half his platoon already wiped out. He got fragged."

"Fragged?"

Jackson shook his head in seeming disappointment. "K.I.A. by his own side, L-Tee. A corpsman from the company took him out with a scalpel to the back of the skull once ol' Patty gave the order for us to charge over open terrain. Ramirez couldn't take seeing anymore of us die under that prick, I 'spose. He got rotated out and placed into military arrest." He explained with a half smile.

"Wonderfully reassuring, Lance Corporal. Is Captain Schmidt nearby, Jackson? I need to check in with him." Cross questioned the enlisted man.

"Yessir, he should be holed up in the cellar of the two story barn house across the way. That's company CP right now. When you want to see First Platoon, we're bunked out in the toppled silo. Can't miss it. It's about fifty yards east of the barn house. Right past the motor pool, or what's left of it anyhow. Watch out for plasma, L-Tee. Hate to lose a platoon CO his first day. They've been shelling us all week and we have no idea where their fuckin' mortars are." With that said, Jackson quickly disappeared from Cross' sight, without so much as a trace.

Cross sighed, picking up his duffel bag and grasping his select-fire M392 Designated Marksman Rifle tightly by its strap. Suddenly, a whooshing sounded out, followed closely by the cries of nearby marines. "Cover!" Most of them shouted, with corpsmen diving onto their wounded patients to shield them. A large plasma blast flew over Cross' head as the Lieutenant quickly hit the deck, covering his head with his arms.

It landed close to fifteen yards away, taking out two marines and wounding six others who had been gathered around, smoking cigarettes. "Not gonna see much of the war from down there, sir." A Sergeant commented, as he calmly passed by the cowering Lieutenant.

Cross shot up, his heart pounding from the nearby explosion, feeling lucky to be alive. He shook his head, ignoring the cries and protests of the wounded, before continuing onto Charlie Company's Command Post. The Lieutenant only had to avoid a mortar shot once more before reaching the two story barn house and being ushered into the cellar by a marine guard. Cross practically fell down the stairs from the guard's push, but he appreciated being under solid concrete.

An empty ammo crate was laid out in the middle of the room, being used as a table to hold maps and other intel vital to operations, and a single backpack radio was being operated constantly by a incredibly fatigued Private First Class. Three men, a Captain, a First Lieutenant, and a Gunnery Sergeant were crowded around the ammo crate, viewing a map of what Cross assumed to be the surrounding area.

"Sir." Cross spoke, gaining the Captain's attention.

The Captain was older than Cross, in his early to mid-30s. His face was currently untrimmed, with a jet black stubble, with several streaks of gray, covering much of the lower half of his face while his head remained clean shaven, devoid of any hair. "Who are you?" Captain Matthias Schmidt questioned, with a slight Germanic accent to his words.

"Second Lieutenant Nikolai Cross, sir, reporting as ordered"

"That's great, mister Cross. Now that I know your name, why exactly are you here? I need experience, not a child who does not know how to shave." Schmidt paused, taking a deep breath, whilst rubbing the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "God help us." Schmidt muttered under his breath. "Welcome to Charlie Company, Lieutenant. Excuse my comment, you surely understand my disappointment. It is in no part directed at you. This is First Lieutenant Geoffrey Killian and Gunnery Sergeant David Williams. I am your commanding officer, Matthias Schmidt, and I have little time to talk. Ask what you need to ask now." The Captain ordered.

Cross nodded. "Yessir, what is First Platoon's strength? I hear they took casualties." Cross stated.

Schmidt scoffed at the statement. "Saying they 'took casualties' is an understatement, Cross. You have eighteen men left of the original forty three, with sixteen replacement privates joining you today. That leaves you with thirty four men and women total, with half of them being inexperienced. Your acting platoon sergeant is currently Sergeant Westin. Lieutenant O'Connor, or Patty Wiseguy as his troops called him, did not do credit to his training and got many marines killed. I hope you do better. Now-" Schmidt was cutoff by another mortar shot, which shook the building to its foundation. "That is all I have time for. I must return to planning." Schmidt stated simply, dismissing Cross.

Cross stood, bewildered for a moment, before backing away from the Captain and exiting the cellar. He groaned as another mortar shot came sailing in, with him throwing himself to the snow covered ground for cover. The marine guard posted at the door of the cellar shook her head as she lit a cigarette, with the mortar shot landing near where Cross' dropship hand landed. "They generally shell where the Pelicans land, sir. They're pretty big targets. Took one of the dropships down two days back and command's reluctant to send anymore our way." She explained, exhaling a cloud of tobacco smoke.

Cross stood, brushing off snow and reclaiming his weapon, and nodded to the female marine. "Thanks." He stated, before jogging off towards where First Platoon was bunked with his duffel and rifle clutched tightly in either hand.

"FNG won't last a day." Cross heard the guard muttered under her breath as she inhaled another puff of her cigarette, but he simply ignored it.

It felt like a lot more than the fifty yards that Jackson had described when Cross was crossing it under fire. The motor pool, which consisted of half a cinder-block garage and four very haggard Warthogs, was under fire from an enemy plasma turret that was setup on a hill several hundred yards away from its position. Nobody seemed panicked by this and the mechanics working on the Warthogs simply worked under fire as several marines returned fire with their 7.62mm assault rifles.

Cross practically dived into the jagged hole that served as the entrance for the silo, which had sandbags around it to act as fortifications against enemy fire. A brick building, which was in shambles just like the other buildings within the Plains of Ida, shielded the silo from the plasma turret that was currently engaging the motor pool.

The thirty four members of his platoon lie, scoured about the fifty foot tall silo which laid on its side. They were in various states of appearance, most of them catching up on the much needed sleep. "Howdy, Lieutenant. Welcome to First Platoon's personal shit hole." Jackson greeted him from where he sat, propped up against what Cross presumed to be his duffel bag, before pulling a dirty and stained boonie hat down over his eyes to catch up on sleep.

The sixteen replacement privates that Schmidt had been speaking of were in the process of settling into the bunk spaces they had claimed for themselves. Some of them, who were fresh out of boot camp, stood at attention when Cross entered. He motioned for them to return to ease, while he moved to find his platoon sergeant. "Sergeant Westin?" He questioned, looking around.

A weary man, wearing a heavy winter jacket and ballistic armor plating over his chest, stood up. The man placed a square field cap, which had the UNSC Marine Corps logo on it, over his head and approached the Lieutenant. "Reporting." Sergeant Westin stated, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and taking one out. He offered Cross one, which the Lieutenant took, before putting the pack away and light both his and Cross' cigarettes.

"What's the situation, Sergeant?" Cross questioned, deeply inhaling the stale cigarette smoke that Westin's cigarettes emitted.

"Simply put; the platoon's fucked, sir. I'm the only Sergeant, we've got three Corporals, one Lance Corporal, and a shitload of Privates and PFC's. We've got no spare weapons, some of us are using scavenged rifles, carbines, and submachine guns from leftover Army and Militia supplies. Hell, I'm using an MA3C Assault Rifle. These things have been obsolete for almost half a century, yet, here I am. We've got nothing in the way of winter clothing and the snow isn't letting up anytime soon." Westin explained the grim situation that First Platoon was currently in.

Cross sighed, before nodding his head. "Right. How's ammo?" He asked.

"About as well off as weapons."

"Wonderful." Cross stated with an obvious tone of sarcasm. "How rested is the platoon? And what's being thrown at us? I noticed the artillery, which doesn't seem to be stopping, and that the motor pool was under fire from a gun emplacement. Is there anything else?" Cross questioned, setting down his rifle and duffel bag to cross his arms over his chest.

Westin shrugged as he contemplated how to answer. "Right now, you're well rested if you get two hours of sleep, sir. The Covvies probe our lines every night, two attacks at almost the same times every single night. Most of the time, our line is spread so thin that they wander right through and end up flanking us by walking straight up the middle. The company's got two machinegun emplacements, one on the road next to CP and the other back at the landing zone to cover the wounded and what supplies we've got left. We're the only unit that has pushed this far into the Ida Plains, so we get the most shit thrown at us. We get one dropship per day with little-to-no supplies aboard and getting the wounded evacuated is a hellish thing. All five platoons in the company, including ours, are currently filled with replacements." The Sergeant explained, going into detail.

"Any attacks during the day?"

"Two or three is common, but they seem keen on just wearing us down with artillery. They almost took out Schmidt and the rest of the CP when we first got here three weeks back and it wasn't even this bad back then. Anyway, the attacks during the day are sporadic in size, duration, and when they take place. A week back we got slammed by at least a company's worth of the squid fucks. That's when we lost Patty Wiseguy and the best corpsman I've ever known. No offense, sir, but I'm glad Ramirez offed Patty. That was the best thing that's happened to this platoon since we got here." Westin stated, dropping his cigarette onto the floor and stamping it out with his combat boot.

Cross nodded in grim understanding. "From what I've heard so far, O'Connor took a lot of unnecessary risks with the platoon. I'll do my best not to put you guys into the situations he did." The Lieutenant stated sincerely.

"Hmph, I suppose we'll see about that, sir."

"Has Schmidt told you about plans, patrols, anything of that nature?" Cross questioned.

Westin shook his head. "None that I know. We took the most casualties out of all the other platoons in the opening push to make it to this hellhole, so we're not getting shacked with patrols, unlike those poor bastards in Second Platoon." As Westin finished his thought, two ear-deafening whistle blows sounded out, driving the marines within the silo to their feet and grasping for their various weapons. "We don't have radios! Two whistle blows indicates enemy attack!" He shouted over the sound of projectile and plasma weaponry alike.

Cross grabbed his rifle and exited the silo, immediately shouting orders. "Westin, take two squads and reinforce the motor pool. Anyone else form up on me! We're moving to the CP!" The Lieutenant shouted, jumping straight into the action as plasma bolts flew overhead. The Sergeant grabbed most of First Platoon and sent them into the makeshift fighting positions within the trench-line that ran past the motor pool and almost all the way down to Charlie Company's Command Post.

Cross led the rest of the platoon behind the trench-line, bypassing most of the firefight, back to company CP. The ten marine group, led by Lieutenant Cross, l made it to Schmidt's CP and found it in chaos. The Covenant had made it past the middle of Charlie Company's defensive line and we're now laying siege to the two story barn house, which was defended by only a handful of marines. "Grab cover and return fire!" Cross shouted, raising his rifle to take down a handful of Grunts he had charged towards him with plasma grenades in hand.

One of the bigger blue armored aliens, commonly known as Elites, charged towards Cross with an ignited energy sword. A marine with an M90 Shotgun intercepted the Elite, firing two quick bursts into the Elites chest. The Elite dropped the sword and collapsed into the marine, knocking the shotgun wielding PFC down to the ground.

Most of Cross' marines were utilizing empty ammo and various supply boxes which laid about the courtyard as cover as the fanatic Covenant forces suicide charged straight into their lines with reckless abandon for their own lives. Several of the Covenant were close enough for hand-to-hand combat, with the marines winning in that category. The smaller Grunts and Jackals were no match for the knives and rifle smacks that the marines delivered to their bodies.

Cross continued firing, while the aliens were slowly halted by the ferocity of the marines, slowly beginning to back off from the company CP. Captain Schmidt himself had joined the firefight, utilizing his M6D Personal Sidearm against the retreating Covenant. When they were fully pushed back, Cross' group had suffered no casualties and the Covenant advance up the middle had been halted in its tracks, but the firefight continued around them.

As corpsmen took care of the wounded, Cross took his men and sprinted back to Westin's section, reinforcing the weak trench-line. "Lay it on!" Cross shouted as tens of Covenant charged across the snow covered plains to attack the reinforced position. Cross heard a machinegun open up on them, realizing that Schmidt had sent one of the company's two machineguns to reinforce his platoon's position.

It took a mere half minute to defeat the Covenant's halfwitted suicide charge. One marine in this portion of the trench-line was K.I.A., a female replacement from Fourth Platoon, while Cross' First Platoon took no casualties and one wounded. Corporal Jackson's shoulder had been grazed by a plasma shot. Minor third degree burns, but he wouldn't need to be evacuated, much to the Corporal's dismay. He was hoping it would be bad enough to get him off the line, but alas, he wasn't that fortunate.

"Keep them on line for another half hour, Westin, I'll be back as soon as I can." Cross stated, before clambering out of the trench and sprinting back to CP, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. It was his first time in combat and he was shaking ferociously, but there was a job to be done. Schmidt stood in the courtyard of the barn house, shouting out orders. "Sir!" Cross stated, gaining Schmidt's attention.

"Cross, any casualties?" The Captain questioned, his accent seemingly thicker.

Cross shook his head. "Negative, sir. One graze wound, but nothing noteworthy to report. We've repelled the attack on the left part of the line." The Lieutenant reported to Charlie Company's commanding officer.

"Good to hear. I appreciate the quick thinking earlier. If you had not come with your platoon, I fear we would have lost the command post. If we lose this position, they have access to the landing zone and what little supplies we have." Schmidt explained. "Send a team to assist Third Platoon's middle trench-line and have them take the machinegun team with them. They collapsed last attack and I still haven't heard from Lieutenant Barrackman about their status. I fear the worst." He ordered.

The Lieutenant nodded his head. "On it, Captain." He said, before running back to his platoon's portion of the trench-line. Cross clambered down into the trench, pausing to take a quick breath, before moving to one of the three Corporals left in his platoon. "Corporal-" He waited for the name to be supplied.

"Jack Hagar, sir."

Cross nodded. "Corporal Hagar, take a fireteam to help hold Third Platoon's line. The Covenant know we're vulnerable their. Take the machinegun team as well and hold the line until further orders." Cross stated the order quickly, with Hagar nodding and grabbing three other marines and the two man machinegun team before running off towards Third Platoon's fighting position.

Westin turned to Cross with a slight smile on his face. "That your first, sir?" He questioned.

"First what, Westin?" Cross asked, his knuckles turning ghastly white from how tight he was grasping his rifle.

"First firefight, L-Tee. Better than O'Connor, that's for sure." Westin stated, causing several of the veteran marines around him to chuckle upon hearing Patty's name. A mortar shot quieted the laughter, as the Covenant artillery resumed shelling their position. Somehow, this seemed to bring relief to both Cross and the other marines. It signified that this attack had failed and that the Covenant were returning to their usual method.

Cross sighed in relief, allowing himself to slump to the snow covered ground and take a break. The others simply broke out cigarettes and various scraps of food to celebrate their short found pause from the combat against their ruthless enemies. They all knew it would be short lived, but it was appreciated by the marines of Charlie Company nonetheless.

A marine jogged past the ones that occupied the trench, stopping in front of Cross. "Captain Schmidt is calling for you, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Cisneros is at the CP." The marine messenger explained, before sprinting away from the Lieutenant.

"Don't let the line collapse while I'm gone." Cross ordered Westin with a half smile, before following in the messenger's footsteps, running off towards company CP once again. He hadn't even been on Harvest for a full day, yet, and he was already missing the simple thing that was a standard issued UNSC backpack radio.

Upon his return to the company CP, Cross noticed that half of the barn house that held the company CP within its cellar had collapsed at some point during the firefight, with plasma scorching on the ground around the rubble. Captain Schmidt and a middle aged man with the silver oak leaf cluster insignia of a Lieutenant Colonel on his combat helmet. Cross knew that it was Lieutenant Colonel Roberto Cisneros, 3rd Battalion's commanding officer, walking with the Captain.

"Hold this fucking line, Captain. I've got Alpha and Delta pushing up as fast as they can and I'm working on lighting a fire under Captain Foley's ass to get Bravo Company up here as well, but Charlie is still the furthest company pushed into the Ida Plains in the whole battalion, hell the entire UNSC campaign in this region hinges on your unit right now." Cross overheard Cisneros explain as he approached the two, snapping to attention in front of them.

"Sirs." Cross stated, choosing not to salute as to give away their status as officers in case any enemies were watching them.

Neither of them did either, with Schmidt simply motioning for the Lieutenant to follow them. "I'm doing what I can, Colonel, but I'm losing men with each attack. My own company sergeant, Gunnery Sergeant Williams, was killed in the last attack. I just got word from the middle line and learned that my Third Platoon has eleven men left after that attack, with twenty five K.I.A., with Lieutenant Barrackman barely holding the line." Schmidt explained.

"God help us, Captain, but I don't have the resources to pull Charlie off the line, yet. I'm doing all I can, but the fleet in space is taking a helluva beating. From what I hear, they may pull out and leave us alone down here. I'm trying to get both 1st and 2nd Battalions to send a relief force, but they're entrenched in the ruins of Valkyrie, awaiting a counter campaign that isn't coming. Brigadier General Kennedy and his entire headquarters staff was reported K.I.A. last night after an attack in the ruins of the city of Gladsheim. I don't even know who's in charge of the campaign right now and high command seems just as confused. We're losing forces fast, but we need to hold." Cisneros stated with a defiant nod as they descended into the cellar which housed the company command post.

Williams' dead body laid under a tarp near the corner, with a corpsman examining another wounded marine who was slumped in the corner next to the deceased Gunnery Sergeant. "Very well, sir, but I cannot hold for another week. This company is on borrowed time and I'm losing more than I am receiving in the way of supplies and reinforcements. Lieutenant Cross here arrived just today and has already seen one off one of the largest skirmish forces we have faced yet." Schmidt explained morbidly.

Cisneros turned towards Cross, with his hazel eyes seemingly staring through the replacement platoon leader. "Have you had time to review your marines, Lieutenant?" The Lieutenant Colonel questioned.

"Yes, sir. I have thirty four men and women armed with a variety of weaponry. From what Sergeant Westin has told me, we have no winter clothing, little rations, little-to-no ammo, and most of them are using extremely outdated weaponry scavenged from dead Militiamen and Army forces. I haven't had time to extensively inspect my platoon's status, due to the last attack, but so far it looks grim, sir." Cross explained to 2nd Battalion's commanding officer.

Another artillery shot landed near the company CP, shaking the cellar once more. Cross didn't even react to the impact of that shot, as he did to the others earlier in the day when he had first arrived. Lieutenant Colonel Cisneros flinched slightly, but didn't throw himself to floor as Cross had done a mere hour ago. "Goddammit all to hell. You let your platoon know they're doing a helluva job for me, Cross." Cisneros stated.

"Lieutenant, reinforce Third Platoon's position with another squad's worth of your marines, including the team you just sent. And tell the motor pool to pull the mounted machineguns from the Warthogs. A group from Fourth Platoon will be there shortly to place the machineguns in defensive positions." Schmidt ordered, dismissing the Lieutenant.

Cross saluted both the Lieutenant Colonel and the Captain before ascending the staircase of the cellar back into the courtyard. He returned to his platoon's section of the line and hopped back down into the trench-line, turning to Westin. "I'm taking first squad to reinforce Hagar and Third Platoon. They've got eleven marines left." Cross explained to his platoon sergeant. "Hold here. The guns from the 'Hogs are going to be taken off to use as mounted turrets." He added, before turning to the rest of his marines. "First squad, on me!" He shouted, guiding them towards the makeshift motor pool. A burly looking Corporal stood, shouting orders to the various mechanics running around the cinder-block garage. "Corporal."

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" The Corporal questioned, not deviating from his current task.

"Captain Schmidt wants the guns dismounted from the Warthogs to use as emplacements." Cross stated.

"Son of a bitch..." The Corporal muttered under his breath, before sighing. "Get these turrets dismounted! Double time, boys! The Captain needed 'em five minutes ago!" He shouted out, putting all of his men to work.

With his job complete, Cross began jogging towards Third Platoon's section of the defensive line, leading his first squad to where Lieutenant Barrackman's platoon was. When they arrived, they found that the bodies of all those that were killed in action during the last Covenant assault had not yet been removed from where they lay, dead and battered. Their bodies were scorched and bloodies by the telltale signs of plasma weaponry.

A man Cross presumed to be Lieutenant Barrackman was leaned over the trembling body of a shaking female marine, who was ghastly pale and was clutching a wound in her abdomen that looked as if it had been caused by the ferocious Needler weapon that fired pink crystals, which shattered upon impact, sending heated glass-like shards through their victim. It was an almost guaranteed kill if it hit the victim's midsection. "Did we hold, sir?" She questioned in barely a whisper.

Barrackman nodded with a solemn smile. "Don't worry, Staff Sergeant. The line's all good." The Lieutenant paused and looked up at his platoon's corpsman, a Petty Officer Third Class who simply shook his head, indicating that she wouldn't make it through, even with medical attention.

"Take up positions and watch the line." Cross ordered his squad of eight, grabbing a well shaven PFC as he jogged past. "Man the gun." The young Second Lieutenant ordered, pointing to M247 General Purpose Machinegun that was covered with was assumed to be the dying Staff Sergeant's blood. As the Private First Class with the name 'Jensen' carved into his armor's breastplate moved to follow Cross' order, the Second Lieutenant knelt down next to Barrackman.

It looked as if the Staff Sergeant had died, cradled in Barrackman's arms, as Cross had given Jensen and the other members of first squad their orders. "She was good marine." Barrackman said to Cross as he gently lowering her to the snow covered trench floor, closing her eyelids afterwards. "I'm Second Lieutenant John Barrackman." Barrackman introduced himself, shaking Cross' hand.

"Second Lieutenant Nikolai Cross. I'm First Platoon's new CO." Cross stated. "I'm here to shore up your defenses." He added, pausing to reload his M392 D.M.R. with a fresh magazine of 7.62mm armor piercing bullets.

"That's good to hear, 'cause right now, Third Platoon has no defenses to speak of. I've got fifty three meters of trench-line to cover and have eleven men to do it. Now, with you, your squad, and Hagar's machinegun team we can cover most of the trench effectively." The thirty year old Barrackman explained to the younger, inexperienced Lieutenant.

Cross nodded. "Right. How's your platoon's ammo?" He questioned, only to be cutoff by the sound of a mortar shot flying overhead. Only this time, it wasn't going to overshoot its target. It was coming right for where the two Lieutenants stood. Cross had mere seconds to react, pushing Barrackman back and tossing himself atop the older officer. The last thing Cross recalled was the smell of burnt flesh and a single, agonizing scream.