Crimson

Contact

"COVER!!" I Yell to the remnants of my battalion.

Pushing off from a half-destroyed brick wall, I sprint to the other side of the street. As rounds kick up the ground around me, I release a gust of wind from my SM-57 Computation Jewel. Rapidly approaching the other end of the street, I lower my shoulder, ramming through the bullet-riddled wooden door on the opposite side of the street. Throwing me through the door at such velocity that I lose my rifle as the door shatters. In the prosses throwing not only me but 3 enemy soldiers from their fighting positions. Still dazed, I pull my sidearm and shoot the 3 defenders before they can get back up. Taking a moment to secure my surroundings. I throw a smoke grenade into the street to give my men some cover as they cross. After a couple seconds, I signaled for my company to take shelter inside.

The rest of my battered and beleaguered battalion, seeing the opportunity begin alternating between covering fire and running to the now shattered door.

After taking the building the Company Master Sergeant comes up to me.

"That was risky boss,"

"Relax Baker, I'm too pretty to die," I wink. "What's our Situation."

"Not good, sir" Baker replied. "As for now we cannot contact battalion headquarters. Worse still, not only our battalion but the division is about to be cut off from the rest of the army."

"How the hell is that possible, I reply shocked. "Who's in command of our rear guard?!"

"Stocklen," Replied Backer grimly.

"Of fucking course." I spat. "Another political officer."

The Roadian Republic. One of the richest and most prosperous of the capitalist unions on the face of Perturabo. A Republic by name, a Democracy at heart. It leads at the for front of innovation and is rife with the progress of man. But like all Democracy's over time, they grow rotten with corruption. The Political Officer or Blue Falcons as most of the solders call them are people backed by politicians and corporations in select parts of the military for a variety of things. Whether it is for smuggling out research for use in the private sector or having people drive military policy to better suit their corporate or political masters.

Though more often than not they are not picked for their competence, but for their loyalty to whomever their puppet masters are and Stocklen is no exception. I can only describe him as barely mentally fit enough color a children's coloring book. And now his Ineptitude is biting us back in the ass right now.

"Right," I say after gathering our thoughts. "No word from Headquarters?" I asked the radio operator.

"None, sir," replied the radio operator.

"How many guys we got on hand," I asked the Sergeant.

"What is left of the battalion without the HQ Company. So, we have 52 men still combat capable." The Sergeant replied.

"Out of 3 companies" I stare in pure bewilderment at him.

"Yes, sir," He replied with grim reassurance. "If anything, your company has the most people left. 31 from Alpha, 16 from Bravo, and only 5 from Charlie."

"Lieutenant Dan?" I ask.

"Dead sir. Got shot through the head with a penetration spell"

A long second passes between us. "Who's in charge of Charlie now," I ask.

"Corporal Weathers sir," Baker replies.

"Weathers?" I ask

He nods

"Alright." I say. After a long pause. "Sergeant, assemble the squad leaders in the main room," I order.

"At once, sir," He spins on his heel and trots across the building quickly assembling whatever remains of our command. Once assembled, we stood around what was once a dining table. Now turned into a mess of maps and charts. Marked on the map was where we were now in our encircled position. With a rough estimate of the new enemy lines based on what Army intelligence says. Which they in and of itself should be taken with a grain of salt.

"What now sir." Corporal Weathers asks. Her ash and soot covered looking up at me with renewed vigor. I gaze into her electric blue eyes feeling as if she already knew the answer.

I look back down at the maps. I can feel the other squad and platoon leaders drilling holes into the top of my skull. Waiting for some kind of plan to save them from this ruin filled hell scape.

"We push on," I say barely audible above the din of magic lamps.

"You can't be serious!!" Baker said in a harsh whisper.

"We are too far in to attempt a breakout. Our only choice is to find and destroy the enemy command center. Only then can we be able to secure a victory," I explain.

"It seems we have no other choice." Said Gunnery Sergeant Jackson. A grizzled old man by the army's standard at the age of 48 with more than 25 years under his belt. But he can still do his job the same if not better than his juniors.

"That's right," I say. "The federation is a conglomerate of many different states. All of which are always bickering and fighting amongst themselves to see which of the states will have one of their Mistresses sitting on the throne as the next queen. So, if we are able to land a decisive blow to their command and control center the opposing army will fall apart at the seams."

They all nod, agreeing with my assessment.

"Get your men in order. We move in 5 hours. Have your men set sleep rotations and get your rations in. You do not know when you will be able to again."

"Yes, sir" they said. As they started to file out of the room I called out, "Corporal, a word." Corporal Weathers catches herself as she turns around and starts to head to the table.

"How are you holding up," I inquire softly.

"Another day in paradise, sir." She replies. But you can see it in her eyes, the way she holds herself. She is anything but alright.

I see," I say. "Get yourself fed and get to sleep first. Dismissed."

"Thank you, Sir," she says. I watch her back as she disappears into the dark hallway connecting the room with the rest of the building.

'She's strong' I say to myself. To have the willpower to not only take command of a company. But to do so when all of your superiors had been killed in front of you, takes an incredible amount of resolve. Especially at the age of 19. To be One of the 5 survivors of a company of 155 is a testament to her prowess as a fighter.

I was told that it was an ambush. High Command in their infinite wisdom had sent Charlie to clear a crossroads for an advancing battalion. But they were cut down in the open when they realized that the battalion was running far behind schedule. So, when they started to fortify their position, that was when they struck. Starting with a precise mortar barrage accompanied by sniper fire.

The magic shields could only protect them so much. After getting saturated by fragmentation from the mortars. The snipers started to pick off the officers and other NCO's. This led to Charlie's fighting retreat to our current position. Being bleed white the entire time.

I have my lieutenant take first watch as I take a corner propping my back up with my rucksack. I closed my eyes for some brief but needed shut eye.