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Still shocked by it all, Dez scanned the carnage for any survivors. The handful of other soldiers that made it this far – deep into enemy territory – slowly tended to their wounded and gathered what equipment they could find. Smoke, ash, and rubble were everywhere. Comms were down, which ruled out medics or even EvacPods. Anyone who survived was drained, having spent months trying and failing to break through the lines. Until today. They should have been celebrating. Instead, they were dazed, stunned.
Dez Delgado hadn’t signed up for this. Literally. He was conscripted 8 months prior based on his expertise as a radio tech, along with many others who had similarly valuable skills. It had been just another job for a while, until it wasn’t.
“Movement!” shouted a younger soldier ten meters away from Dez. “Here!” he said, pointing at a bombed-out command unit. Dez and the others quickly poured over it, pulling off scraps of reactive armor tiles.
“Down here!” yelled another soldier. He, Dez, and two others lifted a huge section of plating with United National Alliance stenciled on it, then threw it aside. A limp hand stuck out from the rubble. They pulled away more debris. They lifted the last chunk then pulled a survivor out and helped him to his feet.
He was older than the others, early 60s, tall, fit for his age. He looked around, unsteady at first, coughing, swatting the dust and grime off his uniform. He paused, saw something on the ground, then bent down to retrieve it. His hat. He dusted it off, flicked off what might have been a bug, wiped the chrome stars with his thumb, then donned it. He wore it at a very slight, yet deliberate angle. “Boys,” he said, beaming “It’s great to see y’all!”
The man gladhanded the soldiers who rescued him, asking their names, their hometowns, commenting about teams from their regions. They all recognized General Mallory. He cracked jokes, smacked one of the men on the shoulder, and muttered “attaboy” to no one in particular. He turned to Dez.
“Whatcher name, soldier? Where you from?” he said, smiling, fumbling for sunglasses or cigarettes. He frowned when he realized neither were in his usual pocket.
“Specialist Desmond Delgado, sir. From Dawson.”
Mallory nodded, not really paying attention to Dez. “So, what’s the situation here? We win this thing or what?”
“We don’t know, sir. It got pretty rough. Lt. Adams had me call in an airstrike, but before it arrived there was this huge explosion from the North. I’ve never seen anything like it. The shockwave flattened everything. Almost everyone is dead or wounded, both sides. No one knows what happened. Comms are down.
We’re trying to get them back up.” Other soldiers, dazed and injured, slowly gathered around Dez and the general.
“That’d be the mass drivers, son. Looks like they work as advertised. Wish they would’ve given us a little more time to hunker down, though…”
“Mass drivers? We used mass drivers?”
Mallory took off his hat, wiping the grime from his forehead. He looked through Dez. More soldiers trickled in. “Sure did. They had us on the ropes, so we pulled the trigger. Gotta admire what Sci-Ops can do when they put their heads together.”
Dez grew alarmed, as did others. “Sir, are you saying we intentionally flung asteroids at the enemy from orbit?”
Mallory stopped and looked at Dez, eying him suspiciously as the others moved in closer. “So?”
“We’re not even supposed to have mass drivers, much less use them. They’ve been outlawed for decades.”
“Listen, ‘Desmond Delgado from Dawson’, you gotta problem with that? I just saved all our lives down here and you’re questioning how it happened?” he said, jabbing his finger at Dez.
“No, sir. But…”
“But nothin’, son!”
“Doesn’t that make us war criminals?”
“The United National Alliance pays us to win wars, right? That’s what we do and – by the Gods – we sure do it well. I’m not gonna let some milquetoast country order us around. We’re pioneers here!”
“But, didn’t we invade them? This moon has been their colony for at least two generations…”
“Let’s not get in the weeds here, soldier.”
“Yes, but…”
“Son, we cannot let a bunch of godless technocrats dictate terms to us. This is about self-determination, individuality. Y’know, Alliance Exceptionalism. Our lives – our way of life – were at stake here. Isn’t that worth fightin’ for?”
“Sir, I mean no disrespect but isn’t this…” Just then, the commlink in Dez’s ear crackled with chatter. “Hold on, comms are back up. We’re getting casualty reports.” Everyone paused and moved closer to Dez, waiting.
“Sir, we’ve lost over 68% of our entire phalanx!”
All eyes turned to Mallory, who looked around nervously.
“Damn! How ‘bout the other side?”
“Sir, it appears… Homeland lost 73% of their forces.” Dez lost it. He glared at Mallory. “Tens of thousands of people – most of us – dead! Because of you!”
Mallory looked down, silent, his shoulders slumping. The remaining soldiers moved in. Someone cocked a pulse rifle. Then Mallory looked up, more determined than ever.
“Not because of me – because of you.”
“What?”
“That wasn’t an airstrike you called in. That was the strike. Adams had his orders. You had yours. Congrats, son.”
“But, I didn’t…”
“Oh, yes you did!” Mallory put his arm around Dez and motioned to the others. “Boys! Let’s give it up for Specialist Delgado here for savin’ all our hides and turnin’ this thing around! This man is a hero! A hero! U-N-A! U-N-A!!” Mallory pumped his fist in the air as he shouted.
The soldiers packed tightly around him and Dez, silent, as the smoke and ash clung to them all. Then, from the back, someone else shouted “U-N-A! U-N-A!”, followed by a few more, until everyone shouted it. Everyone except Dez. They hoisted him and Mallory into the air.
“Hold on! Wait!” said Dez, helpless as the crowd carried them away, still chanting.
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Alliance
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