"Violence, naked force, has settled more issues in history than has any other factor, and the contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst. Breeds that forget this basic truth have always paid for it with their lives and freedoms."

Jean Dubois, History & Moral Philosophy instructor

Starship Troopers: Miner Disruption

Chapter 19: Blood and Water

Benito ran.

He ran as the rain poured down. As if the sky itself was weeping, filling every crack and orifice with its tears. As if this gouge in the earth was an affront to its eyes, and it sought to wash it away.

He ran as bullets cut through the rain from those on and around the Mammoth. As they fired at the advancing troopers – invaders, who had come to their world, who had brought the storm with them. He kept his head low, as he ran towards their lines. Not expecting a welcome, knowing the role he'd played in all this, but to him, it was a place of relative safety.

He ran, as the invaders opened fire. Fire that was far more accurate, and far more furious, than what the would-be rebels had mustered. Troopers advancing in lines, opening fire with their instruments of death in dark chorus. Shooting flares into the sky for illumination, as explosive rounds through that same sky. Somehow, miraculously, Benito avoided being hit by any of them. Be it through the sky's grace, Liang's mercy, or good old fashioned luck, he sprinted the full fifty metres and dived into one of the many holes at the base of the Mammoth.

Benito's legs had stopped running. His heart hadn't.

Men and women were shouting. Screaming. Firing wildly into the gloom. The rain was so thick, it was impossible to make anything out. Flares were being shot into the afternoon air, but while it served to illuminate Matthews's forces, so far, the Mobile Infantry were out of sight.

Them, and their Marauders, whose guns were silent.

"Get down!"

One of the strikers pushed Benito down into the dirt and swirling, muddy water that was forming inside it. He was soaked, his clothing drenched, but as he heard the sound of bullets, tearing through the soil, he knew he was lucky.

Why aren't they firing?

His question wasn't directed to the troopers (they were obviously firing, and doing a good job at it), but rather, the Marauders. Just one of those could have taken out the entire rebel band, but none of them had been committed to the fight. Why?

"Hey."

Had something gone wrong? It was possible. Tech that advanced had to have a lot of moving parts, the chances of it breaking down had to be fairly significant, not to mention-

"Hey!"

Benito was snapped out of his thoughts by one of the strikers. A security officer – the same one who'd pushed him down to avoid the Federation's gunfire. Through the rain, Benito could see the man glaring at him, as he held a rifle in his hands.

"You going to fucking shoot or what?!"

What's the point? Benito felt like asking. But despite his role as SSO, despite being the chosen representative of this band of brothers, he said nothing as the officer tossed the rifle into his hands.

For a moment, did nothing, as the officer rested his own rifle over the top of the hole. Firing in short, controlled bursts.

"Damn it you idiot, shoot!"

Instinct taking over, Benito rested his rifle over the top as well. Through the gloom, he could see the approaching MIs. Marching in lines, maintaining a steady stream of fire. He had no doubt that these were the tactics that they'd used against the Bugs. Lines of fire against an enemy that, as far as Benito could tell, was content to just charge at them, and rely on numbers to win the day. Against a human enemy equipped with Federal tech…

Is this the best strategy?

Benito's finger rested against the trigger. He knew that if he pulled it, people would die. Men, women, innocent. At least to some extent. Whatever else they'd done, these were the same soldiers who'd fought against the Arachnids. Here, and on more worlds than Benito could imagine. If he pulled the trigger now…

"Fire! Fire!"

But then, people had already died. They hadn't antagonized the Federation, the Federation had come here. These troopers had come here. Liang may have given the order to advance, but they were following it. They'd signed up to be citizens. They served a dictatorial regime on a far-away planet, and their faith stated only they would ascend to God's side.

After all, only citizens went to Heaven.

With a yell, Benito pulled the trigger. If only citizens went to Heaven…

Well, how could this be murder?

He pulled the trigger.

Hopefully, 'God' will forgive me.

Let out one burst after another. Months ago…a lifetime ago…he'd been firing at Arachnids. Creatures no less murderous than the troopers advancing on the Mammoth, but creatures that he couldn't call invaders. Creatures that, back then, he'd held the trigger down for, pointed, and shot.

Here, the training he'd received prior to becoming SSO kicked in. Short, controlled bursts. Training made in the expectation of wildcatters, or outlaws that had taken to Homecoming's wastes. Quick, accurate shots. His shoulder aching with every bullet, if not his heart.

The dye had been cast. All he could do now was weave what followed.

He could see figures dart to and fro in the gloom ahead, the flashlights of their rifles shining outward everywhere, and realized that the troopers had changed their tactics. Where once they'd advanced in a firing line, now, they were spread out. Taking cover in holes and behind detritus. The flares of their rifles clearly visible. Perhaps part of their plan all along, perhaps not, but whatever the case, the advance had stalled.

"Hold them," Benito murmured, as he kept firing. "Hold them!"

The strikers kept firing. Here and there, one of them fell. Here and there, a trooper did likewise.

We could do this, Benito thought, as he kept up his fire. We could actually do this!

A man stood up, screaming. Firing. Screaming all the more, as he fell, his blood pouring into the swirling muck around him.

"Fuck." Benito grabbed him as he fell. "You alright?"

The miner didn't say anything. His hand trembling, his face going white, he seemed beyond words. Gritting his teeth, Benito ripped off his shirt, and found the wound.

"Press down," he said.

The man's hand trembling, he didn't oblige.

"Press down!" Benito yelled, as he pressed the man's hand against his wound. "Keep it down, keep pressing down, and-"

He yelled and fell back, as another bullet tore through the miner's chest, killing him. His blood splattering against Benito's face, before the rain cleared it away.

What in the world?

He glanced down the line. The strikers were firing, and were clearly being fired on by the troopers, but they were ducking…falling…as something else hit them. Not from the front of the line, but the side.

Sharpshooters.

MI sharpshooters, stationed God knew where. Somehow good enough to take out the strikers even through this storm. That, or equipped with rifles so powerful, and so accurate, that they could still hit targets at this range.

Maybe both.

Another shot. Another striker fell into the ground, dead. His life slipped away, as did Benito's earlier confidence that maybe, somehow…they could hold out.

Hope, like life, was fragile. Somehow, he'd never fully appreciated that until now.

"Fall back! Fall back!"

Who was giving the orders? What was the chain of command? Benito didn't know. Did anyone? Had Matthews even planned for that?

"Fall back!" A security officer was shouting, as he walked up and down the line. "Into the Mammoth! Fall-"

He didn't fall back. He fell. And what was left of the defensive line in front of the Mammoth either fell back, or fell, alongside him.

Benito, letting out one last burst from the Morita before dropping it, did what he had minutes ago.

He ran.

Stumbling, spluttering, over the swirling mud. As bullets tore through the air. Hitting the odd striker, and when not, their rounds impacting the titanium-covered shell of the Mammoth. As powerful as the Moritas were, they couldn't damage such a behemoth.

But the Marauders could, Benito reminded himself, as he continued to run. If they opened fire, they could have-

His mind stopped, while his body carried him forward.

The Marauders weren't firing.

Liang had never intended them to.

With weapons of that size and power, they could have never had the accuracy required to take out the strikers without damaging the Mammoth. They'd been deployed, yes, but as a shadow of force, or potentially, a distraction. Something to direct the strikers' eyes while MI sharpshooters took up positions.

The Federation wanted its hardware intact. The miners, the security officers, even their own infantry was collateral.

Not daring to slow down, Benito allowed himself to slam against the Marauder's hull. Momentum had done its work, and he'd let it carry him forward. Keep him alive.

Gunfire echoed all around him – through air, through metal, through the bodies of the living and dying. Further afield, he could see the muzzle flares of the Federal troopers. Could see the troopers themselves, as a red flare was fired into the sky, illuminating the battlefield in a bloody light.

They were close, and getting closer. Their prey was cornered. Perhaps they'd sent another team to secure the armoury, but-

"Get down!"

Someone dived into him, as gunfire impacted the hull of the Mammoth where he'd once been standing. Instinct driving him, he pulled out his pistol. Pointed it in the face of Claudia.

"The hell?!" She exclaimed.

Benito, blushing slightly, lowered the gun. But if Claudia wanted a moment, she showed no sign of it.

"Get up," she said, as she got to her feet and pulled Benito to his. "Move!"

He followed her lead. Whatever the chain of command was, it didn't matter anymore. Following her through the rain, she led him into the Mammoth through one of the side hatches. More than one of Matthews's strikers had already taken position here.

Some of them were even still alive.

"Where's…where's Matthews?" Benito asked.

She shook her head, as she slumped against the wall of the Mammoth.

"Claudia?"

She rubbed her hands together, doing nothing to remove the blood on them. Not her blood, Benito realized – there was no sign of a wound – but the blood of others. Once a medic trained to deal with the types of injuries experienced on mining sites such as these, now, she was left to deal with bullets.

"Claudia," Benito repeated. "Where's Matthews?"

She looked up at him through water-filled eyes. "You don't want to know about Matthews."

"What?"

"He says you betrayed us. And when the sniper fire came, when Mugabe died right before him…"

"Oh my God."

She sniffed. "God," she murmured. "Where is he?"

Benito didn't answer.

"Still, I don't think you're a traitor," she whispered. "I mean, last I saw, you were being shot at."

Her smile was genuine. He hoped. But the question lingered in the air. She wanted to hear it from his own mouth.

"I-"

Claudia recoiled with a yell – bullets were hitting the hull. They had no way of penetrating it, but she could hear them all the same. Feel them, almost.

I'm not a traitor, Benito told himself. Am I?

Some of the strikers were still firing. There were two hatches on the base level of the Mammoth, and they kept leaning out. Letting out a few bursts before ducking back into cover. Whether they were hitting anything, Benito couldn't say. But given the volume of gunfire from the outside, the sound of bullets hitting the hull as surely as the rain, they weren't doing much good.

"We have to surrender," Claudia whispered. She looked at Benito. "Surrender. We have to."

"I…I don't…the authority…I have…"

"It wasn't meant to come to this! I didn't want to hurt anyone! I just…I just wanted us to be able to…to live like…" She grabbed Benito, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. "I didn't want this!"

Nor did I, Benito reflected. But he said nothing as Claudia hugged him, sobbing into his chest. He wondered, however briefly, if this meant something. Could mean anything. If, perhaps…he and she…if Matthews had found love, maybe she-

Someone screamed, and the fantasy ended. One of the strikers falling back into the Mammoth, dead, half of his face missing. It was enough to bring Claudia back to the waking world as well, as she broke her embrace and rubbed her eyes, uncaring of the blood her hands smeared around them.

"We have to surrender," she said, looking at Benito.

And you want me to wave the white flag, he reflected. I talked to Liang. Maybe if I…

More gunfire. More screams. Even the sound of explosions, as fragmentation grenades fired from the Moritas impacted the craft's hull. Doing no damage, but plenty to anyone on, or around it. The irony was that given the strength of the Mammoth's hull, it meant that the Federation could use such weapons against its occupants.

"Benito!"

He nodded, and taking a breath, headed outside.

"We surrender!" He yelled, waving his arms around. "We surrender!"

It was only now that he realized the futility of his plan. At best, the trooper would see his arms up, and interpret him as having surrendered. At worst, he was making himself a target. But both of those options aside, how could they hear him? So thick as the rain was, how could they see him?

"Stop this! It's done! We surrender!"

But he had to try. So many were dead already. If he died now, then what difference did that make?

A lot.

He winced, and ducked, as gunfire tore through the air around him. Chuckled grimly, as he looked ahead, at the shattered barricades the strikers had set up further along, and how they were now shattered. Federal troopers standing in the gloom, standing tall above the bodies of the fallen. Muzzle-fire still coming from the top of the Mammoth. The troopers had come within range, had eliminated most of the opposition, but hadn't taken their prize.

"Stop firing!" Benito yelled. "We surrender!"

Was he talking to the troopers, or the strikers? He didn't even know. And no-one could even hear him.

"We surrender! We-"

He screamed, as something tore through his chest. Causing him to fall to the ground.

"Benito!"

Claudia was down beside him. Bullets whizzed past her head as she tried to apply pressure to the wound.

It's so cold.

"I don't think they're listening to you," she whispered.

Benito didn't say anything. Instead, he was looking past her – up at the sky. And she must have noticed because she whispered "what?"

Benito didn't answer. But she followed his gaze. At the glowing projectile that had appeared above the Mammoth.

"What is that?" she whispered.

Benito, gritting his teeth as he struggled to his feet…as his insides tore themselves part…grabbed Claudia's hand.

"Move," he whispered.

She stared at him. "Benito, what…I don't…"

"It's…it's…" He was having trouble speaking. Breathing.

The projectile detonated. Like fireworks, blazing projectiles fell from the sky.

"It's white phosphorous," he rasped.

Whether Claudia Cotton knew what white phosphorous was, he didn't know. But as it made contact with those atop the Mammoth…she couldn't be unaware of what it did.

Men and women screaming. Burning. Fire incinerating flesh and fabric (including the miners' flag) alike. A fire that no amount of water from the sky could put out. That nothing at their disposal could save them from.

The phosphorus had touched them. And so, they burnt. The smell of burning flesh carried on the wind, filling Benito's nostrils. Like the smell of roasted meat, yet…not. A smell that made his stomach churn, rather than rumble.

As he beheld the atrocity above him, as he heard the wails of the dying, Benito Sanchez realized two things.

One, that as long as he lived, he would never forget this sight.

Two, that wasn't going to be very long.

"Run," Benito rasped. "Run…"

Holding hands, they did so. They ran.

Or rather, stumbled, as Benito's body threatened to give up on him. As his mind realized a third, and final thing.

That he'd had such thoughts before. In the dark, deep below the earth.

That this time, there might be no escape.

He groaned, and nearly fell down. Claudia, holding his hand, yanked him up.

The gunfire had quietened down. Screams had taken the sound of bullets. Benito, stumbling into the mud, glanced round, and saw what was happening atop the Mammoth.

Men and women screaming. Howling. Aflame. Some were rolling around in a bid to stop the burning, others were jumping off the side to their deaths. And above them all, the flag of Homecoming burning with them.

Benito knew about white phosphorous. It had been one of the countless weapons of war used in the Collapse, and even in the decades leading up to it. It touched you, you burnt, you screamed, and you almost certainly died. Whether it had practical application against the Arachnids, he didn't know.

But it didn't matter. The Federation had used it. Here. On Homecoming. Against his people…

Claudia fell to her knees. Her hand shaking. Her haw agape, her throat trembling. Her eyes wide, but apart from the rain, clear. As if the horror of such a sight was beyond tears.

More and more people fled the Mammoth. Some of those who were aflame, the Federation shot. Others, who'd escaped the white phosphorous, were shot anyway.

"Move," Benito rasped. "Move…move!"

He groaned, as Claudia helped him up. As they fled away from the Mammoth. Where to, Benito had no plan. How they could survive, he didn't know. Perhaps that was why, when he collapsed into the mud, he had no desire to get up.

"Come on, Benito," Claudia whispered, as she knelt beside him.

"Go…" he whispered. "Run…"

"We will. To the shafts."

Benito's eyes widened.

"The shafts," she said, smiling darkly. "We're all miners, right? Where we belong?"

Benito, looking up at her, returned her smile. This rebellion was over. The fight, over. But maybe, if they could get to shelter, their lives weren't. Maybe they-

He screamed, as Claudia fell atop him. Blood pouring from the back of her head.

"No," he whipered.

"Benito!"

"No…no…"

"Get…up!"

He recognized the voice. And as he looked up from where he'd fallen, he found himself recognizing Hieronymus Matthews. However barely.

"You…" the supervisor whispered. "You…"

Burns covered Matthews's body. His clothing had been burnt as well. Great open patches showed his exposed skin. The withered, reddened flesh, twisted and contorted by the sheer heat.

He'd been hit by the phosphorous, but somehow…horribly…he was still alive.

"You did this."

Strong enough to hold a pistol, pointing it at Benito. Keeping it steady, even as his body swayed in the wind.

"You betrayed us…killed us…killed her!"

Claudia? Benito wondered. Or Mugabe?

He winced, as blood continued to pour from his wound. Tears fell down his cheeks, as he looked into Claudia's blue, unblinking eyes. Her hair plastered with water and blood.

Had Matthews shot her, or the Feds?

Did it even matter now?

"You told Hassan…you're in league with them…"

There were a hundred things Benito could have said, as Matthews stumbled over to him, his blistered hand holding a soaked gun. None of which would have made any difference. Matthews wanted him dead. Even as the sound of gunfire continued to echo through the pit of Mining Site 51. Whatever they'd once had, having lost everything save vengeance, Matthews was determined to take what he could.

Even a life.

"Going to kill you," Mathews whispered, as he pointed the gun at him. "Like you…did her…all of…us…"

"Matthews, I didn't…please…"

"Go to Hell, Benito."

Benito yelled, and covered his eyes. There was a shot.

A body fell.

Eyes opened.

And Benito Sanchez looked at the body of his supervisor…his friend…lying down in the mud before him.

Mercy, he wondered? Unlikely. Bullets were being fired. Some of the strikers, even now, were firing back. Most likely, a stray bullet had found Mathews. Or maybe, a bullet had never found him.

Or maybe, he'd just…given out.

"I'm sorry," Benito whispered, as he wept. "I'm so sorry…"

He whispered his penance, even knowing the dead wouldn't hear it. But as he looked at Matthews, he remembered what Mugabe had told him.

My family was among those who left Earth centuries ago. Believed that God was to be found amongst the stars, since He hadn't come to Earth, and never would. They thought He could be found out here.

Benito hoped she was right. For her sake. For Matthews. That if Mugabe had found God in death, Matthews could join her.

But hope wasn't the same as fact. And the fact was, Benito knew he was already dead. And that there was nothing to suggest that there was anything after this life. That there were no pearly gates, or reincarnation, or anything to suggest that the thousands of faiths that had popped up on Earth over the millennia had any truth to them.

That death was death. And after it was just…darkness.

Run.

Oblivion.

Get up.

The end of life and consciousness.

Go.

He groaned, as he somehow managed to get to his feet. As he stumbled across the muddy surface of the pit.

His grandparents were dead. His parents were dead. How much would the universe lose if the last Sanchez died?

He had had no answer. He had no way of staying alive longer than half an hour, at best.

But even so, he did what he did best. What he'd done, while so many others had stood.

He ran.

Through the rain. Away from the fire, and firepower. Away from the last embers of Homecoming's resistance to those who had come to their world.

He ran.

How long had he been down here?

He'd entered the shaft. Which one, he couldn't say. He'd just run to the nearest entrance, fleeing from the battle, as his body fought within to keep him alive.

The shafts hadn't been used since the Federation had started its own excavation, but they hadn't been sealed up either. So he'd taken an elevator down to its lowest level. His hand had stained the numeric pad with blood before it had returned to his chest.

Still bleeding.

The doors had opened, and with a groan, he'd fallen out of the elevator. No longer able to run. No longer able to walk. He'd crawled…groaned…cursed…as he'd carried himself over the rocky surface, cutting into his body with every motion. Five feet…ten feet, perhaps more, or less, before he'd groaned and rolled over. Each breath shallower than the last. Looking up at the ceiling through eyes stained with blood and water. Speaking no word, but still, asking the question.

How long?

How long had he been here? How long did he have left?

Water marred his vision. Tears, now. Not rain. Here, in the depths of the earth, shivering in the dark, the sky's tears were beyond his reach, and the only tears were his own.

How long…since I was…

There was no answer. But still, a voice.

"Captain, over here!"

He coughed up some blood, as the elevator came back down. He'd never heard it head up. He'd never heard it land. Right now, he heard so little…saw so little…

"You really are a survivor, aren't you?"

Spoke so little.

A trooper knelt down beside him. The whir of cybernetic limbs cutting through his eardrums.

"Benito, I'm so sorry…"

He saw evil. Heard evil.

"I didn't want this to happen."

Saw Sonia Liang squatting down before him, a rifle slung over her back. Her eyes weary with sorrow. Her clothing and armour drenched. Her boots slick with mud and blood.

"I didn't want any of this do…didn't want to give the order, I…" She cursed in a language he didn't understand. "Damn it Benito, why did you make this happen?"

Benito tried to say something. But it was no use.

He was cold…so very cold…

"McKenzie, can you do something?"

Cold. And dark.

"No ma'am. He's too far gone."

Afraid. Weeping.

"Fine. Let's give it to him."

Trying not to go gently.

"Benito."

His vision, hazy.

"Benito, look at me."

Yet even so, he looked. At Liang, and the needle in her hands.

"This is a compound named J-ninety six," the captain whispered. "More commonly known as mercy serum. It's used on troopers in the field who are beyond saving, and whose only recourses are Bugs or bullets. I inject it, you're dead in ten seconds. It won't save you…but it'll make this easier…"

He struggled to keep his eyes open.

"It's your choice, of course, but-"

Benito spat at her, blood and spit hitting her uniform. Here, now…he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of this.

"I'll take that as a yes."

There was no malice in Liang's voice, or her eyes. But Benito's own widened as she saw her uncap the needle. His body went limp as its tip pierced his neck. And…

As he saw the numeric sign above her, he began to laugh.

"What?" Liang asked.

Tired…I'm just…so tired…

"What's so funny?" Liang asked.

In what he knew would be the last words of his life, Benito Sanchez looked Sonia Liang in the eye, and whispered that which had to be said.

"You'll never understand."

For a moment, he saw a look of bemusement on Sonia Liang's face.

A moment after that, he saw nothing.

As he lay there, on the cold, hard surface, in the depths of Shaft Nine.