Enemy Territory: Quake Wars Short Story
My beloved Shacknews hosted a community competition, where the challenge was to write a short story within the ET:QW universe, from either the perspective of the invading Strogg, or defending GDF. Below is my submission.
"That's five," whispered the private. "Six...and seven. I guess we'll still be alive for a while longer."
"I was hoping that last round would shut you up!" All eyes turned to the Sergeant as he entered the room. A few laughs, but not many.
The platoon had been hiding in a local electronics store for the past few hours, hoping the store's demo machines would mask their communications gear and also that the aliens wouldn't think to look behind the counter at a retail establishment.
The word was that command expected the airport retaken ASAP, but the frequent bombardments were causing casualties and devastating morale.
The Lieutenant in charge of comms softly informed the platoon that the batteries were firing again. He was a quiet man, speaking only when spoken to and always watching. In a way he made others uncomfortable, and many feared his eyes over the Sergeant's screaming any day. It was widely rumored he was in charge of a black ops detachment.
The lights were killed and all chatter ceased as the first round hit.
"I got the count," muttered the private.
Shortly after the fourth blast, every sensor and headset rocked to life.
"HQ this is sentry 4. North perimeter is breached, requesting fire teams now!" Similar requests arrived from every perimeter position.
"Johnson -- take 2 and assist first squad. Mendez, Avery -- same, with second and third." Troopers erupted from their cots as the noncoms rallied them. The Sergeant barked and flailed like a pissed off animal and the troopers left behind contemplated volunteering for an assignment to get away. But you never volunteer, so they double checked their gear and waited.
One final squad was dispatched with a medic to collect the wounded and bring them back inside.
The Lieutenant watched the monitors to direct the medic squad to the wounded. Comm chatter was disciplined and light, so there was no trouble getting through. When the seventh alien artillery blast finally hit, excess noise was limited to rifle fire and the occasional grenade. Losses were light, surprisingly.
The remaining troopers were tasked with preparing an area for the wounded -- morphine drips, cots, water. They dropped their weapons and moved quickly to prepare.
"HQ this is sentry 4. They seem to be retreating. We'll send back our wounded and try to plug any holes we can find. We'll keep you posted." The Lieutenant acknowledged the sentry and began analyzing the assault footage.
Each second of footage revealed new problems for the GDF. The aliens moved with astonishing speed, even with their weaponry. Their tactics were brutal and merciless, with very little regard for individual life. The Lieutenant's final analysis wasn't optimistic, but he knew better than to share that information. Command could review the file at their leisure, as they typically did.
The cots began to fill with bodies -- some barely scraped and some already dead -- and replacements began moving out to relieve the current sentries. There was no bravado, bragging or speeches made by superiors. The platoon had no use for "movie shit" and everyone knew better than to start.
The medics returned with a final pair of bodies. One, that of a recently promoted Lance Corporal, was beyond repair. The color was completely drained from the soldier's face and the hair that wasn't singed off his head was matted with gobs of dark blood. He stank, unnaturally, but still breathed.
"Put that one, Richardson, in the back," instructed the Sergeant as he pointed at the Lance Corporal. "Give him a morphine drip...let him die."
One trooper moved to carry out the order, while the others took care of the other soldier.
Blips streamed from the scanner as the Lance Corporal's body was dragged deeper into the base.
"Sergeant," called the Lieutenant. "Something's wrong with Richardson. He's setting off the scanners."
"Probably has some alien shrapnel lodged in 'em," replied the Sergeant, followed by a curt "Sir."
"A fair assumption. Tend to the wounded." The Lieutenant went back to his report and monitored the updates from the patrols.
Time passed and the exhausted platoon rested in silence. The enemy artillery continued to thump. Everything else was quiet.
A disgusting stream ripped out of the back of the store, towards the temporary morgue. "What the hell was that?" shouted the Sergeant.
"It...it sounds like Richardson, sir."
The Lieutenant was already navigating the security cameras to the location. Richardson was the cause of the sound. Several aliens were pouring out of the room. It seemed like entire squads were appearing out of nowhere. Or...Richardson?
The camera was moved closer and the scanner activated. There was a gaping hole in Richardson's side, with a flashing metallic object protruding out. "A transport mechanism," thought the Lieutenant. "Fascinating."
"Sergeant" shouted the Lieutenant. Every eye in the room shifted to focus on the usually composed officer. The sound of footsteps and weapons discharging grew louder and louder. "We're about to have company from the morgue."
"What the --"
"Just do it Sergeant! Move!"
For once, the Sergeant was silent. He took a moment. Said a prayer. "Move your asses! Heavy weapons get back. Engineers -- fortify those goddamn doors!"
The Lieutenant's fingers flew over his keyboard as he composed his findings into his final report. Command would benefit from the information gained -- a fair trade. He hit send and the Division Field HQ acknowledged receipt of his message.
The men were waiting for the aliens to bust in. Only the footsteps could be heard, along with the occasional final cry from wounded soldiers being murdered by the approaching aliens.
"Were done here men," the Lieutenant shouted. "Make this count."
A resounding "Sir!" echoed through the room shortly before a greater explosion rocked a hole in the wall. And for the last time that night, the GDF fought the enemy.
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