When the armor Division came rolling slowly in the next day, the hull scorched, we knew something was up. The armor had never taken a hit that bad, but when we saw that the metal was warped, we knew without a doubt the Chigs had redoubled their effort to take and destroy our planet.

"Who's in charge here?"

The lieutenant was out on recon with a few other marines, and he'd left me in charge. "Sergeant Delia Johnson, 3rd Marines, sir."

"I ain't an officer, sergeant. I'm a corporal." The man with the dirtiest face came over to shake my hand. "Our gunner and commander were killed. Sergeant and lieutenant respectively. That leaves me in charge of this whole tank."

"What about the rest of them?"

The man took a swig from his canteen. "Agh, remnants of everyone and everything we had out on Mount Zeus. Even the sergeants and lieutenants can't decide who's in charge." He looked at me for a moment. "Just goes to show the amount of desparation we've got to keep these bastards off our planet."

"Just about." I looked around at the other marines. All of them seemed to have some sort of scars. "What happened at Mount Zeus?"

"We were pinned down in the pass. Lidar had us at forty to one, their favor. There was nothin' we could do. We rained shells on 'em dawn to dusk for three days, and they just kept coming. Have you ever seen them coming at you like a colony of ants, sergeant?"

I shuddered. "I think we all have."

The corporal had a faraway look as he continued. "Fire ants and sand fleas... you think those are bad. No. Those are an itch. These Chigs... you kill one, and there are a hundred to take their place. Like a fuckin' hydra, man. Like a fuckin' army of hydras." He looked at me, not really seeing me. "Eventually their armor rolled in, and the shrapnel their shells kick up... I've seen it tear tanks to shreds. That's how half the fuckin' Division got it. Their tanks can take a couple of hits, but we got 'em eventually. They had a hard time figuring out exactly where we were, but we were all over the place. We were on ledges so narrow that just firing the guns was a hazard. But we got the motherfuckers.

"So we're about to charge down this slope when a shell lands forty meters in front of us. At first I didn't think anything of it, but when our gunner wasn't screaming 'Die motherfucking Chigs,' I knew something was wrong. I didn't look back, but when we were ordered by the one remaining sergeant to hold position and fire at their armor, I tried to talk to the sergeant and the lieutenant. Our loader told me they were dead, and that he'd do what he could to keep us alive. He was loading that gun and firing it like I've never seen, even when the gunner was with us. It seems like with him around, he took out a perfectly in-shape tank with one shot and went on to the next one. I swear to God that when he'd just taken out a seven-piece column on his own, this one tank the rest of our Division had been concentrating on turned its gun to us when the Wildcards took it out." The corporal swallowed, and even I was trembling in my boots. "I was literally an inch from death." A lump rose in his throat, and without thinking or being able to control his actions, the corporal threw up at my feet.

I moved around and patted him on the back, feeling so sorry for him.

When he'd finished retching, I popped the cap of his nearly-empty canteen and said, "Don't swig this. Take little sips." He finished and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeves. "You okay, marine?"

He nodded. "Yes. Yes sergeant. I'm fine."

"You're white as a sheet. How long's it been since you've eaten anything?"

He was silent for a minute. "Two, three days? We were all tied up at the pass."

"I don't doubt that." I reached into my pack and pulled out a random ration. "Here. I can't spare much, but this is better than nothing."

"Thanks, sergeant."

The lieutenant didn't get back until after 2100 that night, and when I saw him, he looked the worse for wear. Usually he came right up to me and shook my hand when he went on recon, but today he just looked at me, seeing me but not acknowledging me, and walked right past. He didn't march the way he usually did; he walked. It was then I knew something was up. I counted the marines that came after him. He'd gone out with six other marines, and when I counted properly, I saw that only two had come back with him. Two.

Corporal Barnes sat down in front of me, a blank, disbelieving look on his face.

"Corporal? You alright?"

The man just shook. He didn't cry; he trembled visibly from head to toe. His lip didn't tremble. It wasn't that kind of nervous reaction. It was quite a while until I got him to speak. "Four other guys got it. You know who they are. Edson, Eddings, Carter, Xanda."

I couldn't speak. It was a minute before I whispered, "What happened?"

"Chigs got something else. Somethin' they learned from us." He spit up a little but didn't notice it. "We were down in one of those house-sized craters that's been here since forever. We were behind some rocks when it went over my head. I looked back, and there was Xanda, face gone." He trembled more violently than before. "It took us until we lost two more, with Carter left, that we realized what was happening. Carter was up on the lip of the crater behind a boulder. She said she couldn't see any movement, but from the time it took the report to reach us after those marines had been shot, the motherfucker was at least two thousand yards out." Barnes was so bad now that he couldn't sit up of his own volition, so I held him and let him cry on my shoulder. "She'd just started to make her way back into the crater when she went limp."

I stared at Barnes in disbelief, unable to say the word. To say it was an admission of our own defeat.

Private Hernandez confirmed my suspicion when he came over and stood, staring out at the horizon. "Chigs got a brand new weapon." Shaking his head, he spat. "Fuckin' Chig sniper. We were pinned in that hole three fuckin' hours before we hit the sonofabitch. I don't know how many rounds we fired, but we used up a lot of our ammunition." Hernandez looked at me. "You know the lieutenant asked Brass for that mortar? You know they denied it? If they'd given us that weapon and we'd been operating it, we would've hit the motherfucker with one fuckin' round. Christ..."

I stood when the lieutenant came near. "Right, y'all, listen up. Take a knee." We obeyed as the lieutenant did as he wanted us to. "Here's the situation; we've only just started gaining some ground from the Chigs. That's all well and good, but we've got intel to suggest that they have a new field HQ somewhere a bit closer to earth. Couple billion miles closer, if what Brass says is true." He breeathed. "Brass just sent a probe into the clouds of Jupiter. They've confirmed a solid core of rock and iron ore about the size of Earth. From what little else they could tell us, the enemy may or may not have knowledge of this core, and we know damn well they'll take advantage of it. We've been deployed to this battlefield. Here's the thing, though... Brass thinks the enemy HQ might be somewhere on the core. They've already sent a naval force to search for it, but that means jack shit. They need someone to search for the fuckin' thing, and that means they've selected an invasion force.

"That isn't the whole of it. We're going to be working with Third Recon. We'll also be on rendesvous with SEALs and Rangers. The Air Force has their air crews working on our ships. That's about it." He paused. "Any questions?"

"I know you said rock and ore, sir, but what kind of terrain are we gonna be dealing with?"

The lieutenant rubbed his chin, thinking of a way to answer. "Brass didn't say. They don't know yet, to my knowledge, but when they do, we'll be the first to know. And when we've found the HQ, I'll stake everything I have that they'll send a full invasion force in after us to help clean up the Chigs." He looked us all in the eye. "Everybody understand?"

"Yes, lieutenant."

"' Right. Get your gear together. We'll be leaving at 0300 tomorrow. As you were."

I sighed and picked up my rifle, then took out my cleaning kit and started maintaining the weapon, paying careful attention to the Quaoran dust that had collected since I'd set it down before the armor had rolled into town. The teracotta-colored dirt was fine and powdery, clods scattered throughout like what you'd expect in a week-old package of sugar. Some of these were clumps of the dirt itself, but sometimes I came across a rock or two that had somehow jammed itself into the spot where the slide met the wall of the chamber. These I easily dispatched, and although I was one of the most competent when it came to maintaining my rifle, even I had difficulty dispatching some of the dirt that liked to collect in the grooves of the stock, and where the stock met the barrel of the weapon.

A half-hour later, when I'd slowly and meticulously cleaned the rifle for the third time, I checked the scope, liking the way the sight lined up parallel with the barrel.

"Enemy artillery! Get your asses down!"

I hit the deck just as a cloud of dust leaped into the air and enveloped the entire unit. "Anybody hit?" I shouted over the explosion of another artillery shell.

"Stupid rock 'bout crushed my fuckin' legs, that's about it!"

The lieutenant started screaming orders to re-secure the perimeter, and while he did I slid on my earpiece, a piece of plastic three inches long that contained a microphone and reciever. It was one of the older ones, one that didn't monitor the vital signs of whoever wore it. Fuckin' navy took all the money and left the Corps short of necessary equipment. "HQ, what the fuck's going on?"

"Chigs brought in some of their artillery! Everyone else is tied up at the moment! Dig in and stay low!"

The lieutenant shouted into his own earpiece. "This is Danson of the Third Marines! The fuckin' Chigs have us pinned down with that artillery! If you can't minimize their effectiveness, we can't keep you covered from enemy infantry! You want to explain that to the families, or should I? No? Good! Get on it!" A shell landed close to Danson. "Fuck Almighty!"

In spite of the heavy enemy fire, Willman and Matheson were on the .50, covering our flank. There wasn't much as far as I could see; a Chig here and there. There were more hiding behind the rocks, but keeping my head up too long meant rising my life for a faceful of lead.

"Johnson! Sniper on that ridge!" I peered over the top of the trench wall and looked over the lieutenant's head until I could clearly see a ridge four-hundred meters downrange, sporting a fair outcropping of rocks that could definitely hide a small platoon of Chigs. Just as I was about to crouch and move toward the wall nearest the cliff, I saw a faint movement that I knew immediately could only mean my sniper was up there.

I moved over to Danson's other side and dispatched a ragged-looking Thurman to cover our flank, then set my rifle on the Quaoran soil and peered through my scope, which contained a set of three concentric rings before the crosshairs hid behind a laser-green dot.

At first, I couldn't see anything; the dust in the air was so thick I almost choked on it a couple of times, but with each hit the Chigs seemed to become less and less accurate. Soon, I could see the ridge without effort, and just behind a rock the height of a small sandbag position was a Chig sniper. It was a little smaller than the average Chig, but I could tell immediately that it had a bead on me. I squeezed the trigger slowly. My breath became shallower, and as I stopped a millimeter from the shot, my breath was nonexistent. My heart spent an eternity between its normal routine, and as my aorta filled I felt the trigger give slightly. I had shot the Chig, and I knew before I had cycled the bolt and chambered a round that the Chig had fallen before he could have done a Goddamn thing about anything.

"Chig down, lieutenant!"

I ducked down and moved over toward a rouch underground barrack we'd dug a couple of weeks before, taking cover behind a crate of rats that had yet to be moved into it.

Just as I popped up for another view, the wonderous, steady thump of the Abrams guns brightened my dusty day.

On the other side of the viewport, a giant gas ball of a planet waited for me, the red, orange and pink hues of its clouds swirling, while the Great Red Spot raged on like the enormous hurricane it was. As I watched, a streak of lightning split the skies of the behemoth fifth planet.

The transport banked, and I was given a better view of the Spot, as well as the asteroid field that now stood between us and open space. To say this view was breathtaking was an understatement; the stars shone bright and dim from behind that wall of rock and ice, the gaps in the chunks of debris more stationary than they show on television. Their fate, hopefully, would not be mine. And if their fate had been mine, I hoped we could obtain vengeance for their sake.

"Alright, cunts," said Danson, eyeing all of us. "We don't know what to expect from this planet, so listen up. Our reentry procedures are going to be about twice as long as Earth's. So as of right now, no long-range communications equipment, no smoking. Seats will be in the upright position, tables will be locked, and seatbelts must be worn at all times. In addition, no cussing, firing your weapon or jerking off. If you get sick, put your head between your knees. If we hit turbulence, keep your head." As though to emphasize lieutenant Danson's point, the ship rocked. Three other marines started cussing their heads off. "That right there?" he said. "That wasn't even a 'fuck me' moment where I'm from. That was a 'take your drinks outside' moment."

"Where're you from, lieutenant?" said a marine I'd never met until we'd boarded. "San Francisco?"

The lieutenant turned to him. "No, San Antonio, wiseass!" The platoon laughed. "If we run into a fuckme, I'll let you know. Until then, shut the fuck up."

As I was sitting next to the lieutenant, he turned to me and muttered, "You keep an eye on that one. His name's Baker. He gives you any trouble, let him know it."

The ship lurched again, and I had a feeling that after penetrating such a thick atmosphere, there wasn't going to be a spot on the transport that wasn't burnt black.