The Last Hero (18 page)

“Sergeant Roth, are you in the back of the dump truck?” 

An enemy grenade exploded beside the truck. The ground shook.

“Christ...it’s me, Captain.”

“Keep their attention. We’ll take care of the rest.”

“That’s the only thing I can do.”

Pivoting to face her unit, Thomas rattled off orders, “Alpha is on me. Bravo, Charlie you get in here through these windows and clear this damn building. Delta, I want you to work your way around this building and be ready to rush in if we need you. Everyone got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Get moving then. Alpha and I open up on these fuckers in thirty seconds.”

The final words hadn’t escaped her helmet before windows broke and Delta took off on its run. It only took twenty seconds for Bravo and Charlie to begin the show.

A deafening bang emanating through the wall behind Thomas signaled the destruction of the Bearcats firing out the windows. Peering around the corner with the MRG, she witnessed smoke barrel out. Paralyzed with shock, the troops by the boulders ceased fire.

Thomas shouted, “Now!”

She and Alpha ran out screaming. They hurled a volley of death at the enemy. BBs and grenades slammed into flesh and rock, sending blue blood and body parts flying.

Running for the truck, she held the trigger long after the need to had passed, stopping only after reaching the endangered sergeant. Standing guard below the back end of the bucket, she called out, “It’s clear, Sergeant.”

Roth rose, slowly walking to the end. Jumping down, she landed with a thud next to Thomas.

“Thanks for coming, Captain,” she said. “We were heading for this building when they...they cut us down. I led them right in to an ambush. I’m the only one to make it out. It’s not right. I should be dead too.”

Thomas placed a hand on Roth’s shoulder.

“It’s war, Sergeant. These things happen. It’s no one’s fault. Let’s go and get you some revenge.”

***

Trent threw his body against the headquarters outside entrance. Bodies of the defenders littered the small courtyard surrounding the structure. Their blood blanketed the smooth gray surface in an uneven coat.

“Major Jones,” Trent said on a wide channel. “Take command out here. Secure the area around the building. I’m going in with squads Foxtrot through Juliet. Bring up reinforcements if needed. Just hold this position!”

“You heard the, Colonel,” Jones shouted. “Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, and Echo on me outside. Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, India, and Juliet rally around the colonel for incursion. Move it! Move it!”

Scores of blurs scurried left and right as the lead century divided itself into two parts. Anxious to strike while the iron burned hot, Trent ran away from the wall several paces before whipping around. Raising the MRG, he yelled, “Clear!”

As fast as they could be fired, a string of five grenades slammed into the door. A violent concussion reverberated off the metal. The smoke drifted away, revealing that the door still stood strong. Trent’s heart sank and his shoulders slumped.

“Get some demo charges here. We’re gonna have to do this the hard way.” He kicked a dead Bearcat lying near him.

The five minutes it took to gather the charges were some of the longest of his life.

Every unit carries explosives with them next time. 

Pacing back and forth along the wall, he monitored the progress of the broader battle. The enemy’s tactical disposition degraded with each kill. The totality of the surprise combined with the Bearcat’s lack of numbers created an untenable situation.

The shear hopelessness of the fight seemed to fuel the Bearcat’s lust for blood. They would die, but they were determined to go out in a blaze of glory.

For Trent, the only question remaining was how complete would their victory be? Like a Roman general of old, he wanted spoils to present back home. The most promising prospect for greater glory lay behind the metal door mocking him.   

The charges detonated. A wide section blasted open for penetration.

“Attack!” Trent darted out from the occupied barricades.

Five squads of battle worn but motivated troops leaped from their own cover to join their leader into the lion’s den. 

Holding the MRG at his side, Trent fired five grenades into the hole. Each was set to go off a little further inside the building. Diving head first through the thick cloud of smoke, he somersaulted and ended up with one knee on the ground and his weapon ready.

Taking no chances, he hosed down the room before he could determine its layout or the position of enemy soldiers. Following the tense seconds of spraying and praying, Trent darted to the left for the protection of what he thought was a security checkpoint desk.

He had finally gained an understanding of the environment he had launched himself, and his troops, into. The large room reminded him of a typical lobby, complete with a waiting area for visitors and a wide open set of stairs leading to the second floor. Causalities of flying shrapnel from the demo charges, and his grenades, dotted the entryway and stairs, Most still clutched their rifles.

The squads filtered into the room.

“Foxtrot head left. Golf go right. I want you to clear the first floor. Hotel and India, get up the stairs and start sweeping the second floor. Juliet, hold in the entry area. Respond to any request for assistance.”

A few wounded and stunned defenders recovered enough to offer desperate resistance. The swarming invaders met sporadic and ineffective fire. A lame enemy trooper managed to stand at the top of the first flight of stairs and bring a massive rifle to bear.

Reacting without thought, Trent swung his MRG to the right, letting loose a fury of rounds at the warrior. The pellets riddled the Bearcat’s weakened body, hurling him against the wall. The creature collapsed to the floor in a tattered mess of gore.

Clambering over the desk, Trent joined the squads sprinting up the stairs. At the landing, the stairs divided, one leading left and the other to the right.

“Hotel right, India left,” a sergeant yelled.

Seamlessly splitting in two, the squads raced up their respective stairs. Trent tagged along with India for no other reason than he was already on the left.

The squad of seven approached the final step with trepidation. The sergeant edged his barrel around the corner. It was met with a rolling grenade.

“Get down!” someone yelled, sending eight combatants plummeting.

An explosive bang was their only warning. They hunkered down further. Hot fragments zipped over their heads. The deep steps provided plenty of protection for the humans.

The sergeant set the grenades to explode in a similar cascading fashion Trent had used on the way in. With his blood running hot, he launched ten down the hall as a quick thinking private had done the same down the opposite direction. The area erupted in twin waves of destruction. If not for the helmets, all would have lost their hearing for a short period of time.

The explosions turned day into night inside the building. Broken lights couldn’t fight against the dense smoke and dust filling the corridor.

The sergeant sat inactive for a second longer than Trent liked.

“Let’s move out, Sergeant!” He announced his existence. “You take three left. I’ll take three right.”

The sergeant acknowledged the command with a nod. Six other members of the squad self-divided by moving to the wall of their choice. Firing a burst in both directions for good measure, Trent stepped onto the second floor and headed right.

Flinging the door open, he stood tall next to the frame, covering two members of his team. They shot into the room, crisscrossing their paths for a quick sweep. Meeting no resistance, the four bolted for the next door.

Room after room bore the bitter fruit of disappointment. Frustration’s sharp teeth sank deeper into him with each new failure. The team approached the end of the corridor. He could hear another Legion team coming close to meeting them at the corner. Outside the last door, he expected to do no better than before.

The door flew open. Trent covered his charging teammates. This time, they found a prepared Bearcat.

The first one took a rifle round squarely in the chest. His body broke apart like a child’s kite in a hurricane. Before Trent could take a clear shot, the monstrous creature grabbed the barrel of its exhausted weapon and wielded it like a club at the head of the other attacker. The soldier’s helmet didn’t save him. Blood spattered Trent’s visor when he squeezed the trigger, ending the valiant defense.

In the back of the room, Trent noticed a curious sight. A Bearcat worked madly at a computer terminal. He somehow seemed unaware, or uninterested, in the events taking place behind him. Sensing a rare opportunity, Trent rushed forward, throwing all of his weight behind the butt of the MRG, planting it on the base of the enemy skull.

The huge lion titled to the right, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

“Sweetie, is it still alive?” Trent hovered over the trophy.

“Life signs are stable, Colonel.”

“Sweetie.” Trent expelled a mountain of stress. “Get a medic here now. We have to keep this prisoner asleep until we can take something out of his head.”

The prize was his.

***

The battle ended soon after the medic arrived to sedate the napping prisoner. He had on hand a pair of animal tranquilizers used at zoos on Earth. DNA taken from the aftermath of Big Red suggested it should work on the Bearcats. If the beast awoke for even a second, he could detonate the tiny charge in his brain. Transporting it to
Earth’s Fist
for surgery became a top priority.

Trent walked behind the four soldiers carrying the present for military intelligence.

They’ll pee their pants with excitement when they get a hold of him.
The sense of a job well done gave Trent satisfaction.

General Banks waited at the bottom of the stairs in the lobby.

“Well...I’ll be damned. If I didn’t see it, I don’t think I would believe it. An old fashioned live POW.”

“I am not sure the old fashioned part fits.” Trent removed his helmet. Sweat, grime, matted hair, and a short beard disguised the war hero as a homeless man. “He sure as hell is a POW.”

“Fine work, Colonel.” Banks clapped a hand onto Trent’s shoulder. “If the Legion gave out medals, I’m sure you’d be getting more hardware.”

“The mission patch will suffice.” Trent glanced at the prisoner. “This is an achievement for the entire 1st. How did the rest of the fight play out?”

The general took a few steps into the waiting area of the lobby to make room for the tech personnel, scavenging for more spoils. Trent remained at his side.

“From what I’ve gathered, we killed most of their heavy infantry in your trap outside the walls. Those we encountered in the compound were rear guard troops. We took them by complete surprise

“Your center column’s knife thrust to the heart really seemed to throw off balance whatever response they could muster.

“By the time you made your final assault here, their lines had collapsed. A few squadrons of their dart fighters made a desperate attempt to fly away. The fleet made quick work of them. We even managed to capture one fighter on the ground with only minor damage. They sabotaged the rest.”

“Causalities?” Trent asked.

“Even with all of our advantages...well...fighting room to room under any circumstances is a messy affair,” Banks commented. “They went down swinging and took a good number of us with them. Early count has causalities at twenty-five percent.”

“Christ! Any wounded?”

“A few more than expected. The rear guard guys use the less powerful sidearm. But still, eighty percent of them are KIAs.”

“General, I have something you’re going to want to see,” Captain Simms said from the top of the first flight of stairs.

His voice sounds natural, not muffled.
Trent jerked his head upward. The captain had removed his helmet.

“On my way, Captain.” Putting a hand back on Trent’s shoulder, the general continued, “Sit down and take a breather, Colonel. You did enough of the fighting. Let me take care of the cleanup.”

Trent let his legs go limp. He slumped onto an oversized couch.

“Roger that, sir.”

Leaning his dirty head back against the large cushion, Trent closed his eyes. He felt himself drifting away to a seductive sleep when a familiar voice pulled him back to the living.

“Colonel?”

Slowly opening his tired eyes, Trent saw Sergeant Roth standing in front of him, helmet off. Even with a dirty face and blonde hair resembling a rat’s nest she was a beautiful sight amidst the sea of death.

“Sergeant Roth.” He smiled. Her mere proximity lifted his spirits.

He noticed that her eyes held deep sorrow. “What’s wrong?”

Roth fought with all of her strength to hold back the tears. Warriors didn’t cry, especially female warriors.

Seeing the tremendous pain her soul bore, Trent stood, placed an arm across her shoulders, and walked her to a nook out of view of the others. There he turned to face her with a hand on each shoulder. Her head bent down. Using his right index finger, he gently placed it under her chin, lifting her head until she looked him in the eye.