The DOOM Chronicles

Chapter 05: Extraction Point

Jack felt about as good as he had ever since learning that he'd arrived just in time to see the end of the world. All in all, there were a dozen Marines in Anderson's unit. They all looked battle-hardened and grizzled, and like they'd all seen heavy combat. Which he was sure they had. Probably nine out of every ten living human had seen heavy combat over the last few days. But it felt good to be back in the company of competent Marines once again. Although he didn't let it soothe his frayed nerves that much. He'd been in similar company more than once before now, and so far he and Jennifer were the only survivors.

Well, now Kyra, too.

They left the apartment complex after checking to see that the way was clear and gathering up everything they could manage. He was loaded down with guns and ammo now, most of it for Raptors or shotguns, and he'd donned a backpack stuffed full of radio gear and spare parts. As they began making their way down a street, he found himself walking next to another Marine, a large, dark-skinned man who had a grim grin on his face. The nameplate embedded in his armor read S. SGT. Hollenshead, S. His eyes spoke of years of combat experience, and the grim guile and dark humor some Marines developed by then.

If he had to guess, he'd say that Staff Sergeant Hollenshead was a man who took a bleak sort of pleasure in what was happening.

In a way, Jack understood the feeling.

He saw that the man was carrying a...

"Holy shit, is that a Sig-Cow?" he asked.

Hollenshead glanced over at him, then looked down briefly at his weapon and grinned. "Yep. Sure as shit is," he replied. "We've been arming almost literally anyone who can hold a gun at this point, and we ran out of guns. They had to pull them out of storage. How long you been around? You remember them?"

"Yep. The M Two Eleven Semiautomatic Gas-Operated Infantry Combat Weapon. Single shot, fifty round mag, ten millimeter rounds," Jack replied.

"Holy shit, how goddamn long you been around? You can't be that old."

"Twelve years," Jack replied. "Did one tour with the Sig-Cows and the AB-10s before they retired them and replaced them with the DX arsenal."

"Shit yeah, when we sold out to the goddamned UAC...I overhead some of what you told the el-tee. Look where that got us. UAC fuckin' sold us out to the demons," he muttered.

"I don't think that's what happened. I think they were just so fucking stupid and greedy and arrogant that they opened the door a crack and the demons saw their opportunity and kicked that son of a bitch wide open," Jack replied.

Hollenshead just grunted. "You know, I was actually tossing around the idea of retiring this year? Been doing this shit twenty six years. Signed up when I was just a twenty year old punk with a heart full of napalm and veins full of battery acid. Goddamn, I was staring down the barrel of death and daring that bastard to pull the trigger. I was fucking nuts man."

"I knew a few guys like you," Jack replied. "How'd you survive this long?"

Hollenshead laughed heartily. "Luck, mostly. And mostly I was just too fucking angry to die. Now I'm thinking maybe I stuck around for a reason. I felt like something was on the horizon, like a tidal wave or an asteroid blotting out the sun, you know? I figured I could offer some help, or at least do some damage when Armageddon came knocking."

"Given everything I've seen so far...you are going to more than have an opportunity to kick ass, take names, and stack bodies like firewood. There's an absolute fucking metric fuckton of demons out there that need their daily recommended dosage of lead."