A cascade of dust and debris washed off a rising pile that managed to grunt, “I’m here, Colonel.” Morgan dusted himself off while still sitting in the rubble, feeling slightly concussed from the blast, managing to quickly glance around before continuing, “but our bunker got shelled. Our position will be overrun by Martian armour within the hour. Recommend pulling back to Rusholme.”
“Copy that, Major. Recommendation acknowledged but rejected. Hold the line.”
“Affirmative”, Morgan grumbled, sighing, increasingly convinced that to command and management, the common soldier was currency to be spent. Well, he supposed, that was why they referred to the recruitment offices as “Human Resources”.
Morgan got to his feet, rubbing his head where it had hit the back wall; the hair was slightly matted with blood and sweat. Private Marshall, the man who was manning the heavy pulse cannon, was lying on the floor in a pool of blood and mangled remains by the slagged pulp of what had been the cannon. Private Rogers' antipersonnel gun was nowhere to be seen, nor was the man himself. Lieutenant Johnson was attempting to lift the other antipersonnel gun from where it had fallen after being blown from its tripod. Going to help Johnson, he assumed the rest of his bunker crew were buried under the rubble of the bunker, and right now he didn’t have time to man a rescue operation.
“Beta and Epsilon bunkers, we need increased anti-vehicular coverage over Delta’s line of fire”, he grunted into the com as he helped Johnson heft the gun up to the remains of the wall to use as a brace. “Repeat, Delta bunker is down and out. We need more cover!”
Getting the gun in position, Morgan and Johnson poured pulsefire into the oncoming Martian troops.
Leaving the war room, she spotted Lance, one of the POWs she had helped rescue in a recent raid on Cheney Prison and a victim of the mind control experiments the Corporation had been conducting there. Lance had been subjected to unbelievable tortures in Cheney – the bastards at Dermis had learnt from him that pain can override other memories, and now he was condemned to relive his torment indefinitely in the confines of his own subconscious. She forced a smile for him, and shrugged off the glare she got in response as she wearily continued towards the residents’ quarters in the basement.
In the basement, she fell limply onto her bed, not bothering to remove her cybernetic foot, and lay there for what seemed like an eternity, sleep continuing to dance on the edge of her reach, drained in body but restless in mind.