Finished this one a bit earlier than expected, so ya'll are getting it a day early; I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter Five - The Summoning
July 4, 2338
DesertStar Planetary Research Facility, Planet Aridia
Sergeant Isabella Blaisdell U.L.M.C. Mechanized Recon Element
The Sergeant sat in the bay of the Lockheed Stork, a heavy lift inter-atmospheric shuttle listening to the older designed bird rattling and clanking as its engines fully spooled on approach to the landing zone. She looked over her equipment one last time before needing to mount up in their vehicles. Rolling her sleeves up, she exposes the burnt sienna-shaded skin of her forearms and a simple watch lazily draped over her wrist, before putting on and buckling the ballistic helmet and goggles over her medium-length black hair, just barely in grooming standards- probably due for a trim in another week or so. Next, she grabbed her rifle, the standard issue MX A.C.S. with the only modification being the optic; she found it functioning as it should, and the rock-solid, far too heavy scope mount was still holding the L.P.V.O. in its place. Making sure it was securely slung, she checked her 40 mm standalone on her backpack next; she favored these style grenade launchers over the under-mounted ones; the added weight would make her already heavy rifle unbalanced; she found out more than a handful of operations ago; besides she kept the grenades in her backpack so she'd have to take it off anyways if she wanted to use it. Finally, with a quick glance, she checked over the men in her Squad of eight, ensuring they were doing the same. Seeing that they were, she left them to their devices and idly watched the Gunnery Sergeant talking with one of the IFV commanders animatedly.
He had suddenly received temporary command of the Platoon just three hours before the current deployment because their lieutenant had fallen ill from some bad food he had received in a care package. She wasn't nervous. However, it was arguably a good thing; the man had practically run the element by himself following the classic problem of experienced N.C.O. vs. fresh out of school C.O., it was a bit of a misnomer to say that the Lt. was fresh out of school, it was more like half a year or more really, but there had been a distinct lack of practical experience in that period to mold the man into an effective commander. The sparse training simulations could only take it so far. Besides, she had experience in the form of a handful of tours under her belt and the scars to prove them, so it was hard to shake the feeling that she might know a bit more about how to handle a combat situation with the green lieutenant. She couldn't really blame him for not having experience in those six months; hell, all they had been doing was peacekeeping operations in the outer rim for the entire time he was put in command. It wasn't a surprise that farmers didn't precisely want to fight a mechanized unit of pissed-off Marines in IFVs when they got reasonably annoyed at the United Leagues' blatant mismanagement of the outer colonies.
The outer colonies hadn't always been so willing to push boundaries. Blaisdell thought of how her Grandmother used to explain it when she was a young child when the outer colonies had rebelled briefly. It was a cultural shift that had happened years before she was born. The innies - a derogatory term for people born within the inner sphere of the U.L.'s influence had begun to see the outer colony people as a sort of hillbilly-like people even despite the vast amounts of corporate businesses sticking their fingers in finding the lack of government control in the regions as a perfect place to overstep ethics and overwork the steadily growing population, or at least that's how her Grandmother explained it. The planet they were going to deploy on was a lot like that.
Aridia was a big planet that found itself vaguely resembling the environment of the Sahara in Africa, the whole planet almost being cooked to death by the binary stars it found itself orbiting. Still, even the planet of sand had its value, and DesertStar, some big megacorp that had made its riches off mining worlds dry of their resources than using the copious amounts of useless free space to build research stations on top of, had been eager to buy property rights of the planet. Typically the U.L.N. wouldn't even involve itself in corporate-owned worlds like these, but given the current situation had forced its hand.
A giant pirate group had decided to raid one of the research stations, probably looking for some experimental tech to sell off to the black market, or maybe if the pickings were good enough DesertStar themselves. The problem was that of all the numerous research stations they picked on the planet to attack, they had chosen the one non-corporatized colony on the planet. It was corporate in everything but name but had given the U.L.N. battlecruiser and the contingent of U.L.M.C. jarheads onboard that were traveling through the system an excuse to wipe out some pirates, something that Blaisdell and her Platoon were happy to assist in doing, many of which had suffered first hand from the all too common pirate raids. The situation was muddy, though, in a rare sense of compassion, the Head researcher had apparently allowed the small civilian colony to hide within the corporate research facility- turning it into a pseudo evac shelter, it could lead to some political blowback, but Blaisdell wasn't one to really care about the politics of the situation and had tuned out the briefing when the higher-ups began to talk about the ramifications of the case, and had only listened to the battle plan as they had called it. Under the callsign 'Charlie,' her Company was to punch into the facility from the main entrance. After flushing out, the raiding pirates were to take a defensive posture around the base, with each Platoon to take a specific position.
Her Platoon was to watch over the medical facility; it was the place with the most civilians, according to the head of the facility, but also the least likely to be attacked with significant numbers and the smallest area of ground that needed coverage. This would work out in their favor, so it was sound. Her Platoon was one IFV short of the traditional three-to-platoon standard, given that they were the recon element. The lack of an extra IFV wasn't the only issue pertaining to their combat effectiveness, however. The IFVs they deployed with - referred to as Sentinel Strikers, had been retrofitted with a different package, one meant more for recon than the others in the Company. They lost the extra armor and the ATGM but gained a fancy sensor suite that would cramp up against the back of anyone trying to use the pintle-mounted .50. At least it still had the hyper-cannon.
Blaisdell had finally finished checking off all her equipment just in time for a command to broadcast over the battlement with the distinctive crunch of radio noise.
"Charlie, Actual to all elements commence radio check, over."
"This is Charlie 6-2, loud and clear, over."
The Gunnery Sergeant of her Platoon follows, quickly keying his mic. "This is Charlie 6-3, solid copy, over."
The other platoon commander followed swiftly after
"This is 6-4 reading you over."
After the Platoon commanders finished, the communications continued to the IFVs, Charlie 2-1. to 2-8.
With all comms checked, Charlie Actual continued. "Charlie Actual to all infantry elements, mount your vic's and prepare for hostile engagement and full readiness; I want us swinging when we hit the dirt, out."
/-/
Charlie Companies' two recon IFVs had taken spots in the forefront and rear of the convoy to establish an effective spotting net with their advanced sensors to find and broadcast the positions of any pirate vehicles trying to get the drop on them during their push to the Research Facility. So far, it had worked with extreme effectiveness, and no IFVs had been struck by AT; the only issue was that whenever the robust sensors suite had detected something with an engine signature, the Company Commander, fearing ambush of some sort, would order the convoy to stop rapidly and wait until the convoys guns were in range, it was effective. Still, the sudden stops gradually made the infantry within the vehicles sick. This, on top of the blazing Binary Suns of Aridia effectively turning the crew compartments of the Sentinel Strikers into an oven in spite of the air conditioning, had turned the earlier excitement at finally being on mission for once into annoyance, at the Company Commander and at those whose stomachs were weak.
"Charlie 2-1 to all Charlie elements possible pirate vehicle bearing 10 o'clock on my relative."
"Charlie Actual, all victors halt."
After the third time, Charlie 2-1's driver had figured out that the convoy would stop every time and had already begun easing on the throttle before the command was issued, saving the stomachs of Blaisdell and her Squad inside. The same could not be said of Charlie 2-2's driver, who must have slammed the throttle back something fierce enough to cause one of the Corporals leading one of the other two-quarters of Fireateams to yell on the Platoon's comms.
"Christ's sake, can someone tell Actual to stop with the fucking stop and go? My bays going to be filled with vomit before we get anywhere near our target."
Blaisdell keyed her mic, knowing instantly who it was, "Stow it, Simone. I ain't listening, and surely no one else is." The Commander of Charlie 2-1 gave a chuckle from his command seat, thinking of something funny to say, and then keyed his mic.
"Come on Simone, just think of when we get there, my thermometer reads 118 degrees; that's vacation weather; once we're stopped, ill pull out some of the lawn chairs I keep in the trunk and we can have some mai tai's to pass the time."
Before Simone could bite back a response, one of the IFV commanders from a different platoon chattered over the net. "This is Charlie 2-5 positive ids on the vehicle, requesting permission to engage, over."
"Charlie Actual to 2-5 permission granted out"
Just as soon as the communication ended, a short but rapid dispersion of fire sounded from the IFV next to 2-1, sounding akin to a zipper being pulled, dulled from the metal hull of 2-1's hull but distinctive enough to still blatantly tell with no doubt that it was the 35mm hyper cannon on 2-5.
"Charlie 2-5 to Actual, vehicle destroyed."
"Charlie Actual to all Charlie victors, continue moving towards designated nav-point, maintain your spacing."
The engine of the IFV spooled up with its distinctive whining as the driver pushed the throttle forward, matching the convoy's speed while the gunner took on his secondary role of scanning the radar again. Eventually, after a couple more stops to engage the underequipped pirate vehicles that revealed themselves, the convoy had made it to the research facility, its large gates opening up automatically by the station's staff having expected their arrival.
The company commander rattled over the net the final steps of the plan, "This is Charlie Actual to all Charlie elements, proceed to designated points and maintain a defensive posture; we haven't received heavy contact like command said, so assume we'll be in for the worst of it once were dug in, Out."
/-/
"Man, it is hot as fuck out here!"
"The hell you expect, Douglas, Disneyworld? Planet's got two suns course, it's gonna be hot as fuck."
Blaisdell idly listened to the conversations of her marines as she glassed her surroundings atop Charlie 2-1. When the briefing stated that the research facility was in the middle of the town, she assumed it would be so. The research facility was not; it was, in fact, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Well, maybe not quite. She could faintly see what appeared to be CHUs or Containerized Housing Units through all of the heat haze, roughly the same type she had seen and lived in on military bases on numerous occasions. That type of housing was typical for colonies, at least starter ones, but once any form of serious infrastructure got down were usually abandoned and scrapped. If the briefing was proper, the settlement was around twenty-something years old; something didn't quite add up in her head. Still, she chose to ignore it in favor of looking for possible points of egress the enemy could use that weren't watched by the rest of the Company's positions. They only had 8 Sentinel Strikers; they couldn't possibly watch every spot with the size of the facility. In fact, Blaisdell was hard-pressed to believe they could watch it with twice their number. The facility was so massive. No wonder the pirates wanted to attack this place; a facility of this size could've been working on anything. With that being said, their section was small enough to manage, thankfully.
"Yo, Sarge!" one of her marines shouted from below her on the side of the Striker.
"What is it, Dunn?" she responds, taking the binoculars off the barely visible CHU's
"Got a civvie approaching from the medical facility."
Half twisting around, half getting up from her reclined position atop the vehicle, she mutters, "What the fuck are they doing out here and not in the facility?"
She wraps her knuckles on the Commander's hatch, which opens after a moment, and wordlessly hands the binoculars over to the IFV's Commander, who she borrowed from. He mutters a quick 'thanks' and buttons back down a moment later as Blaisdell hops off the side of the IFV with a grunt as she hits the hot sand below.
"Dunn, let's meet them halfway; I don't want them touching our shit."
"Yeah, let me just pack this shit back up." Dunn had leaned against the treads sitting in the shade, idly picking through an M.R.E. before lazily shoveling it back into his pack at Blaisdell's order. He grabbed his belt-fed leaned up against the IFV, and slung it before falling in line behind her.
"You still looking for a pack of Skittles, Dunn?" Blaisdell asked, starting up a short conversation before they reached the civilian walking towards them.
"Yeah, past six packs, and all I got were lifesavers and M&M's."
"Well, I tell you what, if I end up finding some in my M.R.E.'s, ill trade you them for a pack or two of peanut butter; I know you've been saving them."
"That sounds like a good trade Blaisdell; ill take you up on that."
They walked in silence for about a minute or two longer before the civilian, a woman with some very out-of-ordinary shiny blue cyber-arms, reached them and breathily gave a greeting.
"The hell are you doing out of the safe house?" Blaisdell instantly asked as soon as she was in earshot.
The woman leaned over, out of breath, clearly not used to doing any form of exercise, "Ah- I'm sorry."
She manages in between huffs, and after Dunn gives her a swig from his hydration bladder, followed by a moment of breathing continues.
"I just needed a moment to catch my breath. Sorry, I am Belmonte, im the head of the Medical Wing."
Blaisdell looks at the woman for a moment; Dr. Belmonte is a young woman of about 19, if she had to guess, a head or two shorter than her, which was typical. She was always a little taller than the average woman and had long, straight, raven black hair down past her shoulders with some sort of strange hidden hair color dyed like her arms. She struck an odd appearance, but Blaisdell figured that was because she was a corporation worker; they always had bizarre fashion sense.
"Sergeant Blaisdell, charmed, I'm sure, now for an answer to my question, what the hell are you doing outside of the safehouse?"
"Im Dunn." Dunn responds, to which Blaisdell gives a sharp look and utters a quick, "Stow it Specialist, the adults are talking."
The doctor lets a stupid expression enter her face, unsure if she should interrupt before straightening out with a practiced professional look.
"Well, uhm, I or really we were hoping you would be able to assist us inside the facility. You see the last pirate attack injured a fair amount of colonists inside, and we are already low on medical personnel, especially supplies. I know you soldiers always have someone who can stitch up wounds and stuff like that, given your nature of dealing with violence."
She almost whispers the last part as if she is afraid of offending the Marines, which drew a slight, confident smirk from Blaisdell, getting a sort of high off the reputation her proud Corps still held.
" is it? First of all were not soldiers. We're Marines. Second given the situation at hand and our purpose on your lonely slab of sand, I don't see why we can't spare a handful of corpsmen to help you guys out. I just have to run it by command first give me a moment, Dunn; keep her Company while I call this in."
Blaisdell steps away just out of earshot of the doctor and Dunn and keys her mic. "Charlie 6-3 this is 2nd Squad."
A short correspondence follows, and after a few minutes of back and forth, Blaisdell spins around on her heel, walks back to the marine and doctor, and interrupts their conversation.
"Damn, that's crazy; your like some sort of super genius or something then, I'm-"
"Stow it, marine; run back and get Clyde. She's on medical duty with ."
"Yes, mam," Dunn responds and begins to jog back toward their defensive dugouts.
Blaisdell looks to the doctor and responds, "You're going to have about four or five corpsmen to help you out, youll get mine pretty quick, and then the others in about half an hour or however long it takes for them to get rounded up, so expect a knock on your door. But as a consequence, we're moving our wounded into there as we get them since you guys are getting all of our good meds."
Veronica begins to stutter, but Blaisdell interrupts her before she can start to give thanks.
"Can it I don't want to hear it; go back inside." Blaisdell then sharply turns around and begins walking back to the defensive line.
/
"Dunn, why isn't that machinegun talking?" Blaisdell shouts over the rapid cacophony of automatic fire flies over her position."
"Sands got her all fucked up Sarnt, im trying to fix it!"
Blaisdell slightly jumps up from her position and squeezes a couple of rounds of her rifle in the vague direction of pirate gunfire. She turns back to Dunn, and whatever her response is, it is heavily drowned out by everyone nearby. Charlie 2-1 as its autocannon opens up in rapid zipperlike bursts.
The pirates had attacked shortly after the corpsmen had arrived at the medical facility; they had started out reasonably small at first, as if prodding their positions, but as the day waned, gradually grew stronger until it was an almost constant attack, Blaisdell had never seen pirates with such tenacity before usually, they would run away after the Sentinel Striker minced enough of their boys, there must have been something they really wanted in the facility.
Dunn finally cleared the jam in his machine gun and started rattling rounds downrange with a rhythmic singing. The pirates were beginning to fall back again under the fire, and Blaisdell seeing her moment, shouted down the line, "Someone get me some more grenades from Charlie 2-2." She waited a moment and was about to call again before she heard a faint "On it, Sergeant!" Blaisdell was thankful that they all could get ammo relatively quickly without exposing themselves to fire; instead of the usual situation of digging individual deep foxholes to protect themselves, they had been lucky enough to find a small series of mostly waist-deep riverbeds that led through the base forming as a sort of trench system with the added benefit of giving them another place to fall back to in case they were in danger of being overran. Something that was gradually becoming more and more of a possibility as the pirate attacks kept growing in strength, and they weren't even getting the worst of it. Roughly an hour ago, the Company Commander gave a rapid warning to watch out for armored vehicles. Apparently, the Platoon under Charlie 6-2 had met with it and had nearly knocked out one of their IFV's before it was violently blown apart by an ATGM.
"Got your ammo here; Blaisdell took the liberty of grabbing another belt for Dunn and Hawthorne as well. Already gave Hawthorne his." the marine grabbed a handful of 40 mm's from his dump pouch and dropped them next to Blaisdell's standalone, which she had left leaning against the natural barrier of the river bed. Then tossed the belt to Dunn, who placed it on his backpack to keep the sand from getting on it too badly.
Blaisdell's communication headset crackled to life as Charlie 2-2's Commander spoke from inside his IFV. "We have more movement at 2 o'clock, my relative engaging now."
Blaisdell relayed to the infantry in the riverbed with her, leaving the Fireteam leaders responsible for properly having their fire teams shift fire. Grabbing her standalone to her left side, she opened the chamber. She plopped one of the several high explosive rounds from the ground inside and leaned it against the berm, waiting for the hyper-cannons of 2-1 and 2-2 to guide her onto the enemy position in the dying light. Both cannons opened up with short bursts laying down hellfire on any pirates, not in significant cover. Adjusting the sights on her standalone and roughly gaging the distance, she shot off a grenade with a distinctively loud *ploop*, then another, then another before a sudden shout of "Rocket!" and its impact rattled her skull and forced her to eat sand for a second in reaction. It was aimed at Charlie 2-1 but had fallen short, hitting the ground in front of their defensive position by a couple of feet, leaving a small fire in its crater and flinging sand over into the river bed, covering some marines with it.
One of her marines noticed the fire and shouted, "Yo, they have incendiaries!" She had heard it, but the fireteam leader of the marine shortly followed over comms relaying it so everyone was informed.
Before she could respond, however, another rocket sailed past, this time even farther off target, with a loud boom resounding through the ground. Then another rocket shot out, only this one hit with a sudden shriek of metal scraping. Charlie 2-2 was smacked by the rocket with a loud rattling bang as metal gave way. That one didn't seem to be an incendiary given the lack of a rapid spanning fire over the hull of the IFV, Blaisdell thought as she looked at the damage while keying her mic.
"2-2, you guys good; that looked like a bad hit."
A shrieking whine followed suit as the turret of the Sentinel Striker tried to rotate but couldn't. "That rocket fucked our turret ring up; our shields didn't even flair to protect us."
Energy Shielding had become relatively common on the U.L.N.'s vehicles; they were big enough to have the space to fit ones serious enough to protect them from small arms and M.A.N.P.A.T.S., unlike the more minor personal shielding that was comparatively more expensive and less effective being compared to level I.I.I.A. body armor it was something no one was really issued except for private security type jobs.
The Gunny had decided he didn't want to risk more rockets getting lucky hits, and Blaisdell's comms crackled, "Alright, Platoon were falling back to the second line, infantry. I want you falling back with me first, 2-1, 2-2 disperse your smoke canisters, then follow."
A moment later, a burst of smoke shells flew out of the IFV's projectors in front of the first defensive line forming a rapid smoke screen. Shoveling the remaining grenades from the sand into her backpack, she shouts, "High tail it, marines, get the fuck out of this hole!" and then waits for her marines to climb out of the pseudo trench before following. They had a lot of open ground to cover, the second line was much closer to the medical facility than the first, and Blaisdell could only hope the smoke screen would keep them effectively covered. Thankfully it had, and her marines had made it into the trench before the smoke dissipated too much. The IFVs followed shortly after simply reversing in a straight line until they reached the nav points the commanders had put in for the driver.
Pointing to one of the machine gunners, Blaisdell quickly tells him to put the gun over at the spot she points out. The marine follows, quickly hitting the dirt and yanking on the cordage tied around the legs of his bipod so he didn't have to individually move each leg to the down position.
Blaisdell's comms flared up again while moving down the line to ensure every marine was in position. It's the Gunny again "2-2, what's your status,"
"Internally speaking, the 'Plant Eater's' fine; I think it's an outside issue, I've got one of my guys checking it out now, but if it's anything more serious than that, we'll either need to pull back to the facility and repair in cover, or be stuck with just the pintle-mounted .50." The Commander had used the nickname painted on the barrel of 2-2's vehicle a small joke in the Company referring to the lack of action the recon vehicles typically saw even in active combat zones such as this.
"We can make do with 1-1 if we have to; im not risking one of your crewmen getting shot unbuttoned out here; tell your guy to be quick about it; pirates should be out of range right now."
"Understood, Gunny; we'll tell you how bad the damage is as soon as we see it."
The second line's natural cover was a lot rougher around the edges compared to the deep cutouts of the first; it was much more shallow than their last line had been, and Blaisdell and her Fireteam had to squeeze down on their stomachs, letting the scattered rocks worn sharp from the planets sandstorms dig into their bodies. Still, it was better than risking flak from the rockets on the open sand.
The binary suns had set by the time Blaisdell had confirmed the Fireteam's positioning and got down onto her stomach in the riverbed alongside them. A pale moon was the only thing providing light for the team, effectively making the dismounted infantry useless for spotting anything and relying on the IFVs or, more specifically, their thermal optics to detect anything that got close. It's not that the Marines weren't issued night vision. It's just that command wouldn't let them bring them onto the planet as they were sensitive equipment and, as per usual, had vastly overestimated how long it would take to deal with a pirate raid.
One of the Fireteam leaders was lying next to her and, in between, adjusting the brightness of his optic, complained to her in a lowered voice. "Hey, Blaise remind me again why they didn't let us bring nods. Any of them would do; it's not like we want those fancy fucking full visor special forces shit; I mean, we do want them but fuck, they could've at least loaned us a couple of crusty pvs units or something."
"It's simple, William, we're jarheads, and that means we break the fancy toys that we are given because we actually use them; brass doesn't like that, I guess, so we get nothing," Blaisdell responds idly, entertained at the Corporal's antics, still not being able to find his perfect reticle brightness. He never would; she had always seen him fiddling with it whenever he had the chance.
The sudden electronic groan of a swiveling turret had her staring out into the growing blackness in front of the Platoon and then, just as suddenly, ducking her head in reflex as the 35mm opened up into the darkness.
Her comms flared up as soon as the first burst tapered off before continuing in another series of shots.
"Pirates front about 250 meters; they got past our thermals somehow."
A brief panic took over Blaisdell momentarily before she shut it down; that was much too close for comfort. Popping her head up slightly, she pushed her rifle into a spot she could shoot from and watched to see where the tracers of the 35mm were hitting. She squinted her eyes to make out anything before suddenly she could see human shapes briefly illuminated by the tracers; keying her mic, she quickly ordered her Squad,
"The 35 mm's tracers are illuminating them, have your fireteams watch for shapes and to fire at will."
A series of affirmatives follow, then a couple shots ring out on Blaisdells left; in a sudden torrent, nearly the entire Platoon opens up, the other squad leader seemingly having the same idea, as another series of tracers fly over the pirate's position, the muzzle flashes of the Platoon are so bright and sudden that Blaisdells ballistic goggles auto tint function engages and she can't see anything past her own hands for about thirty seconds. That half minute is all it takes for silence to take over their end of the facility again. With her auto tint disengaging, she finally turns her head up and down the line, eyes narrowed.
"Anyone hit?"
"I don't think they even got a shot off, my teams good."
"All good down here!"
/
The Marines all mostly stayed awake through the night; some were too high off the adrenaline rush of combat, others out of fear of another pirate attack during the night. Blaisdell had even witnessed one of the gunners under her steady gaze put tabasco sauce from an M.R.E. into his eyes to stay awake; they sat ever-vigilant for an attack that never happened. Apparently, it got too cold for the tankers during the night, as Blaisdell had heard the loud heaters turn on at one point. Charlie 2-2 couldn't gauge the damage in the dark; they could have used a flashlight but were afraid of giving away their position, and only now, as the sun rose, were checking the severity of the rocket hit. The Platoon Commander radioed the rest of the Company and found out that the others had also not really been attacked, the main entrance was probed briefly but had handled with no damage to their vics, and with good news, the brass had finally gotten a bearing on the situation. They were to be relieved within a few hours by a Company with heavier assets; that information was received with an almost collective sigh of relief from Charlie Company.
Blaisdell watched the two suns rise in the sky, lazily drawing long shadows across the highs and lows of the terrain; it was pretty enough to almost forget the violence the planet had just been witness to, almost. Distant gunfire began to ring out faint to the ear but legible enough to tell that it was the hyper-cannons of the other Platoons coming into contact again.
"Fuck me, they can't give us a break, can they?" One of her marines shouted in exasperation, throwing his tired head into the buttstock of his rested rifle.
"No, it appears they can't eyes sharp marines; we can see them, which means they can see us." A Corporal responded in a stoic voice.
Sure enough, as was typical at this point, the gun of Charlie 2-1 suddenly barked before anyone else had seen anything, completely waking up the marines and no doubt surprising the pirates at the end of her gun. Blaisdell had been watching the crew of 2-2 assess the damage to their vehicle and keyed her mic almost lazily at this point, no longer surprised at the concept of being shot at but taking it as just something that was going to happen at this point,
"2-2, you best button back up; I know you hear those pirates coming."
"Copy; I'll get my gunner back in now."
At this point, the pirates had gotten close enough for the infantry elements of the Platoon to open fire again, only this time, the pirates engaged back with a staggering amount of fire. Feeling the recoil impulse with every squeeze of the trigger, Blaisdell quickly got into the rhythm of pop-up fire a couple rounds, pop down, tell the gunner to her right to shift fire, and then pop up again. However, the pirates kept getting closer despite a whole platoons worth of firepower hitting them across the open country.
"They aren't letting up this time!" One of the Grenadiers shouted somewhere down the line in between occasional shots of his 40mm.
"Just keep fucking hitting them!"
Blaisdell was in the middle of reloading her rifle, the bolt throwing forward with a slight thumb push, when she realized that it had been a little while since she heard Charlie 2-1's main gun. The Gunny down the line must have also noticed as her mic flared, "2-1, why isn't your cannon shooting? We need that firepower."
"The guns jammed Top; we're trying to fix it right now!"
She grits her teeth in frustration; they needed all the guns they could get, and both 35 mm's being down was a serious issue. Listening briefly as the gunfire grows more intense as the pirates, she's suddenly struck with an idea. The pintle mounted .50s! She gets up in a rush and runs towards 2-2.
"Sarge, what the fuck?" The Corporal that layed with her throughout the night asks in shock.
Not even stopping, Blaisdell shouts, "Someone get on 2-1's .50!"
Reaching the hull of 2-2, she clambers clumsily on board, half shaking in fear of being shot in her side and half on realizing she could have just had a marine do for her. She should have a marine do this for her, she was a crucial part of the command structure, and this was needlessly dangerous, but it was too late now. She was already behind the gun. Popping open the feed tray, she throws the belt in, slaps the tray shut, and pulls on the charging handle, the bolt sliding forward with a loud KaChunk. She depresses the trigger on the spade grip in an instant throwing rounds out across the area they were taking fire from; shortly after, she hears 2-1's .50 open up with a rattling chorus.
She forces herself into the rhythm, watches for where one of the machine gunners fires, and then decimates the entire area around it with a hail of gunfire before repeating it again. A couple rounds impact the shield protecting her, and it shocks her out of it for a moment, then just as soon, she's back on it hearing nothing but the .50 shooting. Then, as soon as the fighting grows to its most intense, it stops momentarily. It felt like an hour to Blaisdell, but it was only about a few minutes before her brain started working again. She reaches a hand to key her mic and says over the Squad's channel,
"Someone take over this .50, I don't wanna have to do everything myself."
"I got a guy coming up to take over right now, Blaisdell."
She's briefly overcome with exhaustion as she listens to the quiet momentarily. Then, with a huff, she pulls herself out of the turret and goes over the side.
"Rocket!" The marine moving to replace her hits the deck before her, having seen the projectile be fired. It's all she manages to see before everything moves in slow motion for her, finding herself flying through the air. She feels her ears ringing and the sudden pain of hitting the sand below her. Blinking slowly, she tries to correct her vision. She's seeing double, and that ringing is so loud she can barely think, 'my right side burns,' is all she can manage to process before her vision fades to black.
Thanks for reading, everyone; at this point, I think I've got a consistent schedule worked out of at least one update a week, and I think im going to stick with that just to keep from burning out and/or realizing absolutely horrible unedited stuff. Like, im not exactly great at writing, I think, but damn, dude, this chapter fucking blew before I read it over six or seven times and fixed a ton of grammar issues. So yeah new chapter next week, either Thursday or Friday depending on how much I need to edit down. It's going to be a vague continuation of the current chapter since I blue balled yall.
Feel free to leave a review or a favorite if you liked it, and thanks to the one dude who left a review on the last chapter, your rad dude.
