Marsh Silas IIS: Squad Stories

Chapter 10

The Valkyrie shuddered momentarily and banked slightly. Warrant Sergeant Honeycutt and the other occupants shifted in their seats. One of the door gunners shouted something and fired his Heavy Bolter in long bursts. Seconds later, the other gunner started shooting. Despite the roar of the engines, the rapid ringing of bullets against the aircraft's hull was still audible. Soon, there were dull thuds reverberating against the armor plates as flak guns targeted the formaton.

Yet, the Kasrkin inside did not appear perturbed. Everyone remained calm and still. All the usual physical ticks the men displayed as they clandestinely approached their objective—bouncing legs, drumming fingers, nodding heads—were absent as the enemy made their presence known. The waiting period these veterans despised was no longer a factor; the fighting had already begun and their minds were focused on upcoming tasks. This was the true steel of the Kasrkin.

Even Freya the canid, fixed to the deck at Cobb's feet, was undeterred by incoming rounds thundering against the hull or the flak exploding in the air. Cornelius sat up straight with his hands crossed on his chest, making the Sign of the Aquila as he prayed. Walmsley Major rested his head against the hull and appeared so relaxed it seemed as though he were asleep. Babcock had an arm wrapped around the unfurled flag of Bloody Platoon. He whispered to it, then raised the end and kissed it. Etched upon the white spaces between the green cross's arms, in small golden fields were the names of every battle, operation, and campaign the platoon served in since the formation of the 1333rd Regiment. Another name will be added after today, Honeycutt thought.

3rd Platoon had run into heavy resistance en route to the next compound of the Traitor Guardsmen bearing the blue mark. Worse yet, another element of the same traitors arrived and were attacking them on another side. Pinned down since last night on a hilltop below an even higher peak, they were suffering a heavy mortar barrage and withering fire from the elevated position. Their Taurox Primes, which could negotiate some of the harshest gradients, had been cut off and suffered their own ambush in the valley below. The vehicles simply could not cover the ground fast enough to reach Gabler and her Kasrkin.

Marsh Silas's prediction that a QRF was necessary for the mission proved to be a wise decision. Bloody Platoon was rapidly approaching the target area and planned to drop right into the thick of the fighting to relieve their comrades.

"Sir, it's Major Rosenfeld on the link," Drummer Boy said to Marsh Silas, who was sitting between Honeycutt and the Voxman. The platoon leader took the handset and slid it up into his helmet. Bloody Platoon's inter and extra-platoon communications were already open. Any transmission could be overheard by their helmets internal, encrypted micro-bead.

"Red Six," Marsh said.

"Avalanche Six to Red Six; advise that you abort. We don't want to risk unnecessary casualties when one platoon is sufficient for this kind of engagement, over."

Honeycutt saw Marsh's expression darken. The platoon leader's fingers tightened around the handset.

"Avalanche Six, we are less than ten minutes out from joining the platoon. I cannot and will not cancel this mission. They need our help, over."

"Red Six, we do not want to risk losing a flight of Valkyries for one platoon, over."

Marsh Silas glanced at Honeycutt. He smiled confidently, rolled his eyes, and shook his head.

"Avalanche Six, you won't lose any birds nor will you lose a platoon. Bloody Platoon won't let that happen, over."

The conversation paused. Both Heavy Bolters continued to rattle away like rapidly slipping metal chains. Bullets rang against the hull as the VTOL banked again. A burst of high caliber rounds shot through the bottom of the compartment by Walmsley Major's feet. Nonchalantly, the platoon sergeant raised his head, peered at the five holes next to his boots, and then leaned his head back. Another burst busted the deck by Babcock while a third smashed through the hull by his shoulder. Ricocheting rounds and bits of metal flew and settled across the flooring. Streams of light flooded through the new holes.