By William S. Frisbee

Laser fire flashed through the air across the broken ground between the two fire teams engaged in battle. Halfway between the two groups lay a pair of motionless figures, casualties, one casualty for each team. Overhead the sky was gray and overcast with a chill wind blowing on the armor encased combatants who were too busy firing and yelling at each other to notice the bad weather. Finally one team gained fire superiority and by luck, skill or both, forced the other team to duck down behind cover, returning fire only sporadically. The winning team leader gave a command and a figure left the protection of it's trench running toward the two casualties, half crouched in his desperate sprint. Heavy fire kept the losing team pinned down and unable to fight back effectively. The most they could do was stick only their weapon around their cover and fire a blind burst in an attempt to hit the low running legionnaire they knew would be making his move. It was a desperate tactic but it occasionally paid off. This time it didn't seem to be working though.

The running Legionnaire hit a rock and slammed to the ground, his weapon went flying but he got back up as if nothing had happened, grabbed his fallen assault rifle and continued the sprint to his fallen team mate. The lumpy, cold, mud on his faceplate partially obscured his vision, but not completely. When he finally reached his fallen team mate, he was breathing hard and began trying to pull the limp figure onto his shoulder, however in full combat gear and under fire it was no easy task. When finally the legionnaire had his fallen comrade on his shoulder, he began making his way to his firing teammates. Struggling under the heavy weight of his boot camp friend Private Tate, Private Stuart didn't make it five steps before he stumbled and fell, landing heavily. Another armored figure materialized out of the sidelines, but he wasn't there to help. The silent individual just stood there watching the new legionnaire struggle under his burden while laser fire buzzed through the air, luckily missing them both.

Private Jason Stuart looked at the glaring sergeant through sweat filled eyes and a muddy visor while fellow teammates fired on opponents less than one hundred and fifty meters away. Staggering back to his feet under Tate's weight in full combat gear Stuart stumbled and fell - again. Stuart tried to get to his feet while shouldering Tate's limp form but his foot slipped in the mud, slamming him and his friend into the wet, cold ground for the third time.

The laser fire from Stuart's team suddenly slackened and Lance Corporal Mosley, the team's automatic rifleman swore and dropped down behind the mound he was using for cover. Corporal Estrada screamed for Stuart to stay down as he clamped down on the trigger spraying the other team with laser light, attempting to keep them from sticking up their heads long enough to acquire a target. Private First Class Hendricks also switched to fully automatic and began draining his power cell. Stuart stayed where he was trying to regain his breath and strength. There were still twenty very long meters between him and the safety of a small, narrow trench. Corporal Estrada started to yell something but it was lost in the static of a hail of heavy laser fire from the enemy automatic rifleman. Another enemy rifleman popped up and started firing and Stuart's team began to lose fire superiority. Dirt and mud still covered Stuart's visor as he turned and looked toward the enemy team and saw Sergeant Melendez standing still in the middle of the firefight staring strait at him. Stuart wanted to abandon Tate and run for the safety of the trench until his team regained fire superiority but knew that if he got up he would be shot in the back. A lucky shot by the enemy automatic rifleman strafed Corporal Estrada across the chest and arms, turning his armor to bright orange and deactivating his assault rifle. Estrada jerked suddenly and swore as he ducked back behind the mound. He was out. Laser fire crept closer to Stuart who tried to crawl up into a ball, unwilling to use Tate as cover and unwilling to abandon him. Forced to duck more often, the only person firing on Stuart's team was Hendricks who's firing was becoming increasingly erratic. Glancing back at the enemy team Stuart saw an unarmed rifleman dart out from a trench to their fallen teammate and began dragging him by the leg toward the safety of their trench. Mosley stuck his head up and started firing with Estrada's weapon, held by a 'live' legionnaire the weapon began working again. However, it was too late, an enemy rifleman's fire found Stuart and turned his huddled form orange.

The electric surge caused Stuart to jerk as it punished him when a beam slashed his body. `Well,' Stuart thought, `at least it's over for me.'

"FREEZE! Every body stop!" Sergeant Melendez's voice boomed over everyone's comm unit. The firing stopped but all the legionnaires remained in their positions.

Stuart thought again. `It just got worse.'

"THAT was PATHETIC second team, I am ashamed! Everybody gather around!"

Sergeant Melendez glared at all the legionnaires as they approached, Stuart walked with his head down, now they would really suffer, but Corporal Estrada held his head up high as if he had won. It would have helped if Sergeant Melendez hadn't been staring strait at Stuart as he spoke.

"Second Fire Team . . ." the sergeant said like a patient parent who was giving the same lecture he had given a billion times before, "YOU FRAGGING ZOMBIES!" He suddenly screamed at them.

Corporal Estrada and the rest of second team flinched.

"All you stupid sloggers are Dead! D-E-A-D, dead! Game Over! History! Finished! Terminated! Killed in action! Wasted! Slagged! Fragged! Scragged! Bought the farm! Bit the bullet! Received the Kiss! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?"

All of second fireteam stared at Sergeant Melendez who shook his head in disgust.

The sergeant took a more lenient tone, looking at the disgraced fire team. "You will now do push ups, many of them. You will do push-ups until I break into a sweat watching you. And you Stuart, why the hell did you insist on the Fireman's carry?"

"It seemed appropriate, sergeant." Stuart said looking up at the sergeant in time to see an open hand smack the side of his helmet, rattling his brain. Silently Stuart vowed that if he ever got a chance he would shoot Sergeant Melendez.

"Wrong answer Stuart. You have the book, `which seems appropriate'" the sergeant said mimicking Stuart. "Then you have one who has common sense. You need to learn how to think you damn fool. Now get down and push, you are the primary reason your team is pushing. First you want to make an oversized target of yourself and then you just want to lie there in the open, cowering while your team is slaughtered trying to cover you. You should be sent to an administration unit. You aren't combat material, damn coward PUSH!"

Stuart felt his face go red. Nobody talked to him like that. He would get his revenge, one way, or the other. He hated the sergeant, had since he had first come to the unit a little over a month ago. The sergeant's first introduction had been proceeded by a squad death run, led by the sergeant, their new squad leader, at mach five.

Second fire team got down and assumed the position, there was no grumbling, everyone knew better, and he would only make it harder for them. Stuart glanced at the sergeant. How he hated the overbearing, overconfident, over demanding sergeant. Even their best wasn't good enough for Sergeant Melendez.

"All except you Corporal Estrada," the sergeant said, singling out the team leader. "What is your excuse for that piss poor performance."

Stuart, Tate, Mosley, and Hendricks began doing push-ups. They didn't bother counting, it was going to be a long time until they could stop, and counting wouldn't help their morale. Counting took mental energy they wanted to save for later.

"Lance Corporal Mosley's SAW malfunctioned, sergeant." Corporal Estrada said, standing at the position of attention.

"SO!"

"We were unable to maintain sufficient suppressive fire on the enemy until our team mate had been moved to safety, sergeant." It sounded as if he were reading out of a textbook.

Sergeant Melendez looked at the ground and sighed forcefully as if holding his temper in check, before looking back up at the Corporal. "Why didn't Stuart return fire from where he was at until Mosley did something about his SAW?"

"Private Stuart was suppressed by the enemy fire, sergeant."

"Bull shit Legionnaire. That's a bull shit excuse corporal and you know it, don't make excuses."

The Sergeant's words and tone stung Estrada. "You may now join your fire team on the ground Corporal."

As Corporal Estrada dropped to the ground and began pushing against the wet cold mud, Sergeant Melendez faced the rest of the squad. "Corporal Collins, why did you send PFC Walker out into the open without his primary side arm."

"Our SAW gunner had it, Sergeant." Corporal Collin's said standing at a loose attention, feeling confident he had made the right decisions.

"And why did the SAW gunner have it?"

"Walker would have been burdened with Smitt and would have been unable to return fire. In the event Crame's SAW malfunctioned like Mosley's, Crame would be able to immediately return fire before we lost fire superiority."

"Good thinking Corporal, but what if Crame was slagged, a SAW gunner is high on the enemy's priority list, or DIDN'T YOU KNOW! That would have left Walker without an automatic weapon to retreat with if Crame bought it."

"He could have used Smitt's weapon."

"Corporal Collins," Sergeant Melendez said as if speaking to a child. "Smitt was wounded, if you recall. The extent of his injuries was unknown. What makes you so sure his weapon hadn't taken a stray round and was no longer functional?"

Collins was speechless.

"Third Team, you may now begin your pushups. Dragging Smitt by a leg was good, a lot smarter than trying to carry him over the shoulder, which was plain stupid. One legionnaire carrying another in the fireman's carry makes a very big, very juicy target, stupid unless you have to carry your comrade over a long even distance and you aren't under fire. HOWEVER, dragging him by the leg could complicate injuries, did you check to see what kind of injuries he had suffered Walker?"

"No sergeant," the Private said from the ground.

"Smitt, what kind of wound did you receive?" the sergeant asked like a detective revealing clues.

"Left arm, leg, and chest wound sergeant," Smitt said between pushups.

"Leg wound, huh? And how, Private Smitt, would he have known that?" Sergeant Melendez continued with a Sherlock Holmes tone of voice and attitude.

"It was written on my chest, sergeant."

"However," the sergeant said again changing direction. "Pulling him along the ground kept him lower to the ground, thus making him a harder target to hit, get up third team. Good job, you just need to put some more thought into what you do, now, first and second team, take your position. We are going to do this until everyone has succeeded in retrieval at least five times, even if it takes all cursed night. If anyone scores more than ten retrievals before everyone has scored four, I will personally buy them a case of beer."

Nobody won the beer and the squad was out until 0200 the next morning on a weekend when the rest of the platoon was on liberty.

Stuart slammed his load-bearing vest into the corner near his bunk and mud splattered everywhere, but the irate private didn't care.

"What does he expect, that stupid sergeant. Battle suits at half power, hell, in real combat I could have carried you without problems!" Stuart snarled.

Tate nodded agreement, "No shit. We would also have had real grenades. All we would have had to do was pump a Heavy Acid Anti-Personnel round or a missile into their position once we gained fire superiority, then it would be no problem to waltz in retrieve a casualty and waltz out."

"I'll say," scowled Lance Corporal Moore from a nearby cubicle door. "And since when will a team mate become a casualty a hundred meters from his team. It's stupid, plain stupid. Admitted it might happen occasionally, but damn it not all the time."

A group started to collect around Stuart's cubicle door to complain about the sergeant’s treatment of them. What really irritated everyone though was the fact that it was 0300 on a Sunday morning and Sergeant Melendez hadn't allowed them to go out on liberty, even though the nearest warzone was on the opposite side of the Empire and the 26th Imperial Legion was not scheduled to participate. The mission of the 26th Legion was to provide a garrison for the numerous military outposts on the border between the Federation and the Empire of the Rising Suns. Garrison duty meant a lot of training, little risk, and not much chance of combat unless hostilities broke out with the Federation, which didn't seem likely.

"Ever since that damn Sergeant arrived we haven't had a single weekend off!" Mosley said.

"We could have done all that shit in the Computer Virtual Reality, done twice as much and still have time for libo. But no, he has to make us sweat and get our gear all filthy."

"If you ask me he fell off his rocker when he fought on Tau Ceti Four," replied Parker. "Lost it so they sent him here, even though he wants to be posted to a operational combat unit."

"The little slagger is taking it out on us too," said Moore sliding the magnetic slide along the leg of her armor, deactivating the clamps that held it together. Other legionnaires were doing the same thing.

Corporal Rucker came through the hallway of the barracks, still wearing her mud spattered armor and gear. Immediately after they had gotten back Sergeant Melendez had called a team leader meeting and now they were just getting out.

"Better get some sleep now," the shapely NCO said looking at the legionnaires. "You’re going to love this."

Several legionnaires groaned. That meant they wouldn't, and a few feared they knew why.

"PT formation at 0900." The bad news was official and more bitching broke out in the ranks. "First Team, muster in Becker's room, I have some word to pass." As first Fire Team started filing into Lance Corporal Becker's room Corporal Estrada showed up, pointed at Stuart and Tate's room and by unspoken agreement second fire team filed in. Third team made their way for Parker's room, which is where Corporal Collins held his meetings, it was time to get `the scoop' from their leaders.

Once everyone was inside Corporal Estrada pushed the door shut and began.

"Well people . . ." Estrada paused, looking at the young faces around him. "I want to say good job on today. If the truth be told, you didn't do badly, regardless of what Sergeant Melendez said. After a month, we are now probably the best squad in the battalion. Now, I have some good news and some bad news. What do you want to hear first."

The fire team looked at each other, unsure.

"Well the bad news first, PT tomorrow at nine and it is going to be a three mile run in full gear. Following that will be a full hour of calisthenics, an hour of close combat training, and then two runs through the obstacle coarse as a team. The team with the slowest time does two more times, second slowest time gets to do it again, but after that, you get libo. If Sergeant Melendez thinks you put out maximum effort, he'll give you next weekend off.

"Now I suggest you all get some sleep, reveille goes at 0830. Any questions before I go?"

"Yea Corporal," Stuart asked. "Why is the sergeant screwing with us."

Corporal Estrada was silent for what seemed like a whole minute. "Because he cares. He was a squad leader on Tau Ceti Four and Orion 7. With the casualties they took on Tau Ceti, I would guess he lost most of his squad and he doesn't want it to happen again."

"But the chances of us going into combat in the near future are next to nil, corporal. We're garrison. I know I'm doing my four years getting my first class citizenship and getting out. I have no intention of going into combat because the only way I'm going into combat is if I volunteer and I am not volunteering. The 26th is a garrison legion on the border with the Federation. We are just a garrison. All we have to do is defend the base, not attack some fortress on another planet. The 26th has and always will be a garrison Legion, unless the Feds make a move on us."

The other team members agreed. They trained on regular weekdays, which was more than sufficient to maintain a degree of proficiency.

Corporal Estrada shrugged, "He does what he feels he has to do. He is a combat vet, unlike the rest of us. I figure after a month or two he'll chill out. The sergeant has been with us for only a month and a half -"

"And he's driving me crazy," broke in Hendricks.

"No shit, let us get onto a live fire range and I might have an `accident' in his direction," said Mosley and a chorus agreed.

Estrada shook his head. "Chill out people. Give him some time. I realize we aren't going into combat any time soon, I also realize we haven't had much libo since Sergeant Melendez took over the squad, but you got to admit we are the best squad in the battalion."

"To hell with being the best," started Hendricks. "I just want to be treated human. I want some time to myself. I want to go to town, get drunk and get screwed, by a woman not the Sergeant. I really love the Legion, but not that damn much!"

"You got it man," piped in Stuart. "I'm just a man doing his five years of patriotism. I'm a civilian waiting to put on his civvies."

"The legion don't pay me enough for this dammit," said Tate taking off a mud covered breastplate and chucking it in wall locker. A muddy breastplate would get dirty enough tomorrow, no use cleaning it now.

Estrada stood up disgusted and tucked his helmet under his arm. "You children can whine all night I am getting some sleep, because your complaints, as legitimate as they may be, won't change the Sergeant's decision about tomorrow. He is concerned with our well being and he is the more experienced, senior leader, and while we are soldiers we will soldier, even if it means PT formation at 0900, now Good night!"

Corporal Estrada left going toward the cubicle he shared with Corporal Collins. He agreed with the junior legionnaires whole heartedly, but he couldn't outright say it. They called it supporting your senior, even if you don't agree. An old military tradition that was still in effect.

For more information please contact me at warcat@usmc.net