The Biomass Revolution

Chapter 2: Scorpions

Night was Obi’s favorite time in his day. It was, for the most part, the only time he had any peace, if you could call it that. During the day his unit moved about the outskirts of the great Tisaian walls, scavenging for weapons and food buried by the never ending dust and ash from the Biomass Wars. When he wasn’t training or looking for his next meal, he was telling jokes and stories with his friends in his unit—Squad 19.

The number assigned to the small group of soldiers was nothing more than a few strands of string sewn carelessly into his uniform, but what they meant was a different story. The entire rebellion knew Squad 19 as a beacon of hope. They were the most respected unit in the entire Tisaian Democratic Union and even the CRK had grown to fear them.

It was an unusually clear night. The stars were bright and plentiful in the small opening at the top of the old windmill. Obi took great interest in examining them. When he was a child, his uncle brought him on a number of camping trips, pointing out different constellations and teaching him how to tell time by the position of the sun. A few years later he taught Obi the art of orientation, and he quickly became skilled with a compass and map—one of the main reasons he was the lead scout in Squad 19.

Obi shivered. It was now late winter and with the days getting longer and warmer he opted to leave his thermal gear at headquarters to cut down his load. Tonight the decision haunted him, the cold wind biting through his fatigues. It was only the crackling fire that kept him and his squad from freezing.

Obi sat dangerously close to the flames, warming his hands and wind burnt face. He checked his watch, realizing it was going on midnight. He should be asleep like the rest of his squad, who were already curled up in their sleeping bags.

A deep cough from one of his soldiers startled him. His eyes quickly darted from his watch to Nathar, a 24 year old former refugee from the east coast. He had fallen sick days ago and the crackling in his lungs was getting worse each day. Obi knew the young man needed medicine soon, before his cold turned into something worse.

The Wastelands was not the place to fall ill. He had seen men die from lesser things than a cold. It had a way of catching you by surprise, when you least expected it. But Nathar was no ordinary man. He was a survivor, like the rest of the squad.

Obi recalled the day he helped rescue Nathar from the mines. Nathar, like so many others, had snuck into Tisaia through an abandoned storm drain, only to be captured and placed in an immigrant camp. The conditions there nearly killed him, and if it wasn’t for Obi and several other rebels, Nathar would surely have perished in the mines. It was at that point Obi offered him a chance to fight for immigrant rights and freedom, something Nathar couldn’t turn down.

It was a dismal story and a common one. For a moment it reminded him of Sasa, another young immigrant he had rescued. The memory was too terrible—too painful to remember. She was still a teenager when Squad 15 brought her to him, but unlike any teenager Obi had ever met. She was mentally broken in the beginning, but she had a wild spirit and wanted so desperately to fight. Reluctantly he agreed to train her to shoot, in exchange for her loyalty. In the end she had died with her fingers gripped tightly around the .45 he had given her. She had sacrificed her life to save several members of Squad 19, taking two Tin Cans out in the process.

Obi felt nauseated. If only I had been there—if only I had…his thoughts trailed off. He couldn’t go back there, not tonight. He had to keep his wits. His squad was in the Wastelands and falling prey to his demons would do nothing but get more innocent people killed.

His fingers found the cold silver of the necklace around his neck, the one she had given him the day of her death. It was the only thing that gave him solace—the only thing left of her.

He sucked in a lungful of air and continued to scan the room, his eyes falling on Alexir Jahn next. He was known to his friends and fellow squad mates as Ajax. The 30 year old soldier was given his second name by his companions after he single handedly killed two Tin Cans with nothing but a knife. Named after the Greek warrior from Homer’s Iliad, Ajax had perhaps the most fitting nickname of anyone in his squad.

There was also Creo Saafi, lying in the middle of the pack. A Spaniard military refugee, he was considered the wisest of Squad 19. And while he did not have physical command of the group, he was often consulted by senior leadership about military strategy.

Squad 19 was made up of the best the TDU had to offer. If the rebellion had special forces, they were it.

Obi knew better than anyone that The Biomass Revolution would be won with flesh and bones, something the TDU lacked. The entire army consisted of around one hundred soldiers, a mere fraction of the CRK forces. And while they could always replenish their ranks from immigrants and Rohanians looking for work, they weren’t trained soldiers like the Knights. Most of the new recruits didn’t make it past their first year.

Obi groaned, trying not to let the numbers affect his judgment. He knew his life expectancy was cut in half the day he joined the rebellion, but he did so because he believed in the cause. Nothing would change that, not even if the TDU were outnumbered one hundred to one.

He looked back down at his watch. Time to check the perimeter, he thought, rising and walking to the entrance of the ancient stone windmill. He swiped his sniper rifle off the ground and glassed the darkness. The infrared scope allowed him to see any heat signatures approaching their camp, but tonight the small circular screen didn’t pick up anything but several small rodents scavenging the barren dirt ground.

He placed the rifle back down, resting it against the thick stone. Next he checked the roof to ensure no smoke was escaping from the top of the windmill for anyone to see. Satisfied, he walked back to the entrance to examine the broken door hanging loosely off its hinges.

“Go to bed,” Ajax grumbled.

His rough voice was almost soothing to Obi, comforting in the perilous world filled with danger at every turn. He watched Ajax turn over in his sleeping bag, his monstrous arms poking out from under the nylon blankets, revealing his chest plate of armor. The lightly bearded man rarely took the metal off; it was as much as part of him as the radiation scars on his arms.

Ajax scratched his receding blonde hair. “Creo already checked the place out, it’s safe, boss.”

“We’re never truly safe,” Obi shot back.

As lead scout it was his job to keep the squad out of harm’s way. “I just wanted to make sure there isn’t any smoke escaping from the roof.”

The noise awoke Nathar as he stirred in his sleep. “Guys, go to bed. Goddamn, you’re being loud,” he moaned.

Obi walked back to his sleeping pad and took his .45 out of its holster, placing it under his small pillow. It was the same gun he had let Sasa borrow the night before she died.

He stretched out his fatigued body carefully on the rocky ground, caressing the silver of the necklace before folding his hands behind his head. He was so tired from traveling that he was dizzy, but he still couldn’t sleep. He was too worried about the next few weeks of the campaign. More innocent people were going to die.

It was necessary to achieve their ultimate goals, but it was nonetheless disheartening to think of innocents being caught in the crossfire in a war that had already claimed so many lives—lives like Sasa’s. His superiors made it quite clear he should take necessary steps to ensure innocent people were not killed in the next attack. But Obi knew from past experience that when bullets started flying he had little control over their final destination.

Obi opened his eyes again and glanced over at his men who were now all fast asleep. For some reason he scanned the youthful face of Nathar again. His thick brown hair was cropped short, and his eyes were crystal blue and kind—the type you couldn’t help but trust. The combination of youthful features gave him the appearance of a teenager at first glance, which by TDU standards equated to a grown man, battle ready. It was the unfortunate fate of so many young people trapped in a never ending war. Nathar should have been in college or starting a career, but instead he was forced to fight.

I bet he misses his family.

All Obi knew was that Nathar’s family had been killed in the first part of the Biomass Wars in the last offensive of the United States Army, just months before most of the country collapsed into ashes. Nathar sought refuge at a camp in New York City, before it was leveled by a tactical nuclear weapon.

Obi knew loss wasn’t specific to Nathar. His entire squad had lost their families. They were all orphans now. Sasa had been too, like so many others, their innocence robbed from them at an early age. In an odd way Obi thought of them as his children, wanting more than anything to protect them and keep them safe. If it came down to it he would take a bullet for any one of them, but he couldn’t save them all—he couldn’t even save Sasa.

In his mind the only difference between his men and his biological son he chose to hide with a Rohanian family years ago was blood.

The thought of his estranged son filled his eyes with tears. It was a painful memory, recalling the look in his son’s eyes when he was forced to say goodbye. It was a decision he lived with every day, but he sought comfort in the reality of the situation—giving up his son had saved him from the world of constant war. And growing up without a father wasn’t as bad as not growing up at all.

Obi closed his tired eyes and massaged his temples in an attempt to relieve the pain of the past and his worries of the future. He thought once more of his duty to Tisaia and Squad 19 before he drifted off to sleep.

Obi’s radio blared to life, the static crackling over the fierce wind.

“Obi, this is Jackson, standby for report. Over.”

“Roger, Obi here. Standby to copy. Over.”

“Reports of a convoy of Scorpions heading your way. Over.”

“Copy that. Standby.”

Obi crawled out onto the edge of the massive bluff overlooking an abandoned highway below. He covered his mouth with his bandana and glassed the valley, watching a trail of dust follow a few black specks in the distance. They were still about two clicks from the western wall surrounding the border of Tisaia.

He discarded his binoculars and pushed a button on his goggles, zooming in to get a better look. Sure enough a convoy of CRK Scorpions was racing towards their location.

The dune buggies were covered in gmetal, equipped with .50 cal machine guns, shocks for off-roading and massive Biomass fed engines. Their most infamous trait, however, wasn’t their deadly equipment, it was the humming their engines made. Any reasonable TDU soldier knew when you heard that humming, you didn’t stand your ground; you ran, or hid.

Scorpions were one of the most effective weapons the CRK had in its arsenal against the TDU, who primarily traveled by horseback, by foot, or in a vehicle if they were fortunate enough to steal one.

“Jackson, this is Obi. We have four CRK Scorpions heading our way, waiting for your orders. Over.”

“Roger, Obi, sit tight, we’re on our way with armor piercing rounds. Prepare to defend your location; we’re still about three hours away, over.”

Three hours? We aren’t going to last 30 minutes against that type of firepower.

“Hurry the hell up, Jackson,” Obi said, grabbing his rifle. He rose to his feet and stumbled over the broken ground.

“Nathar, you and Creo take up positions on the highest part of that rock formation you can find. Creo, you take my sniper rifle; I’m going to use our missile launcher,” he said, pointing into the distance.

“Yes sir,” they said simultaneously as they raced off towards a narrow path leading up to the rock formation. Obi watched them leave, his eyes following them as they turned their backs and began to climb up the steep trail.

The gray of morning consumed the landscape as a weak sun struggled to rise, the rays of crimson splitting the horizon in two. He turned, looking at Ajax, who still sat at the edge of the rock, peering out through his binoculars at the approaching vehicles.

“It’s just you and me, Ajax. How many grenades are you carrying?”

Ajax turned his massive torso, gripping his black CRK assault rifle. It was his weapon of choice, and it came equipped with a double blade bayonet, a design the TDU gunsmith created at his request. Ajax was dressed completely in black fatigues outfitted for the severe cold weather they were experiencing in the Wastelands. If it weren’t for his size he would look like one of the ninjas Obi remembered seeing in movies as a child.

“I have four, including the one I keep in my pack; what do you got in mind, boss?”

Obi thought for a moment, trying to contemplate the best way to approach the Scorpions. He remembered what he had learned in the CRK military academy before he dropped out and joined the rebellion.

The best defense is a good offense.

“Ajax, we’re heading down to the road. Just follow me, and trust me.” Without hesitation, Ajax fastened his assault rifle onto his back and they began their descent into the valley below.

Ajax and Obi lay waiting for the dust storm to pass. They sought refuge in the bed of a charred pickup truck, the paint now nothing more than a distant memory, a faint blue peeling off the weathered metal. Gray ash and dust drifted across the cracked blacktop. An army of limbless electrical poles lined the edge of the highway, a single remaining wire swaying violently in the fierce wind.

Obi pulled his mask tighter over his face, wiping a single bead of sweat off his nose. He wanted to ignore the death, the stark reality that the stumps of charred trees and the sun bleached bones jutting out of the scorched earth were not real. But they were. It was an image he had seen many times before and a reality he had accepted long ago.

“Men, I want radio silence from here on out,” Obi whispered into his radio. “Nathar, you and Creo take out any foot soldiers from your position. Ajax and I’ll take care of the Scorpions before they can call in reinforcements.”

The dust storm shook the sides of the pickup truck, rattling it like a toy. Blasts of dust and rock bit Obi intermittently through the rusted out holes in the side of the metal truck, while the wind continued its tirade. The humming of the Scorpions in the distance sent a chill down his spine. The sound of their engines was deafening at close range, and even over the noise of the fierce wind, Obi could hear them buzzing through the Wastelands like a swarm of hornets.

Obi wasn’t sure where they were going, or what their mission was, but he assumed they were scouts responding to intelligence they had received on TDU positions. His plan was to stop them before they could call in reinforcements.

His main concern wasn’t the Scorpions racing towards his squad’s position. It was the proximity of their location to the Tisaian walls. If the Scorpions had time to call in reinforcements, they could be there in minutes. And there was no way his squad could escape the Scorpions on foot. Not now. They were forced to fight, forced to stand their ground. It was the opposite strategy other TDU squads used in the past and exactly why Obi thought it would work.

Within minutes the dust storm passed and visibility returned to normal. Obi peeked over the bed of the pickup truck, watching the small black specs of the Scorpions growing in the distance.

“Time to move,” he said, shaking Ajax’s shoulder and jumping onto the blacktop, a cloud of recently deposited ash billowing into the air. Within seconds he was trotting through the maze of charred vehicles, Ajax following close behind, his weapon bobbing up and down on his back. As the humming got louder the pair broke into a sprint, grimacing when the intermittent wind stung their bare skin with sand, dirt and rocks. Obi raised his right hand and pointed to a slab of concrete bunker. “There!” he yelled. Ajax stopped, panting heavily, and squinting into his goggles to make out what appeared to be the basement of an old gas station.

As Obi neared the structure he saw it was about eight feet deep, a perfect foxhole for someone Ajax’s size. It was also three feet above grade and would provide the perfect sniping point.

“Ajax, this is going to be your position. I’m going to take cover in…” Obi paused as he scanned his surroundings for the perfect spot. His eyes came to rest on a fully intact minivan not 100 yards away.

Out of all of these cars, the one to survive was a freaking minivan.

“Your grenades,” Obi said, holding out his gloved hand.

Ajax reached into his side pockets and pulled out a handful of the explosives. For a second their eyes locked through their goggle lenses, and a look of uncertainty passed between both men. It wasn’t fear, or nerves, just the feeling they might not see each other again. The feeling lingered momentarily before they nodded and parted ways to take up their positions. They were soldiers and were trained not to have emotions in combat situations, and the sharp buzz from the Scorpions was growing louder by the second.

Luck was on Obi’s side today. The Scorpions were headed right for their location, blind to the danger ahead. By the time Obi detonated the first grenade the lead Scorpion was already in the air, the explosion lifting its front end off the dusty road and turning it into a spinning ball of flames. As the Scorpion smashed back onto the pavement, the collision caused the soldier manning the rocket launcher to fire prematurely into the blacktop, the explosion instantly enveloping the entire vehicle.

The other three Scorpions zipped away in different directions, one of them only narrowly missing the burning hull of the first destroyed Scorpion. Clouds of dark smoke erupted from the belly of the vehicle, now nothing more than a crater in the ground.

Obi peeked through one of the van windows, trying to keep track of the Scorpions as they raced away from the ambush. He pulled the mask down from his face and wiped the sweat from his scorched forehead. A piece of shrapnel from the first Scorpion had torn through the thin metal of the minivan door, narrowly missing his scalp and leaving a black streak of grease across his forehead. He wiped it clean and nodded to Ajax across the road, ready for the next phase.

Quickly, Obi opened the van door and took off in a sprint down the remnants of the old highway, his head down and tucked into his chest. Ajax followed closely behind, his rifle at the ready. They found the perfect refuge under the belly of an old semi-trailer on its side. The trailer looked like the skeleton of a large whale, with metal ribs poking out from the torn canvas.

He took a knee at the edge of the trailer where the twisted metal created a cage for them to set up position. The canvas clung to the metal columns like skin and provided the perfect camouflage.

“This gives us little protection if the Scorpions find us,” Ajax whispered, taking a knee next to Obi.

“Don’t worry, their heat sensors won’t be able to pick us up in this storm. And besides, I’m not going to give them that opportunity.”

“What do you have in mind?” Ajax asked, with a strained look of concern.

“I just need some bait,” Obi said, surveying the stark landscape.

A mile away the three remaining Scorpions regrouped, their gunners anxious to start a search and destroy mission. Their engines humming, they sat paused in the dry gray ash.

In the middle of the unit Captain McNeill stood on the hood of his tan Scorpion. He was covered from neck to toe in gmetal, the polished silver armor glimmering naturally under the gray sky.

His men watched from the comfort and safety of their vehicles, wondering why he would risk making himself a target on the hood of the Scorpion. But the rookie Knights had not heard the stories of how Captain McNeill gained the respect and loyalty of his superiors. It certainly wasn’t by hiding his face behind the armor of vehicles or the walls of bunkers. He rose to the top of his unit by fighting the rebels face to face for over two decades.

His skin was a canvas of scars, like a battle map; peppered with red streaks, each scar revealed a different story. It was his bravery, which appeared to some new recruits as foolishness, that earned him the rank of Captain from Commander Augustus personally. His wounds were a constant reminder of all the injuries suffered over his years of service; from his left cheekbone wrinkled and dark from radiation exposure during the Biomass Wars, to his prosthetic knees—they were all medals gained in the loyal service of a Royal Knight.

A blast of wind tore into his armor, whistling across the gmetal. He grimaced as his leg began to ache. The memory of the TDU ambush that had caused it slipped into his mind.

He could recall it vividly, almost able to taste the smoke from the bombs Squad 19 had planted in an apartment building. The trap had wiped out half of his squad.

Squad 19.

McNeill snarled. He had hunted the squad and Commander Obi for years, trailing their scent into the tunnels snaking deep beneath the cities and into the Wastelands.

Are they out there? he wondered, massaging the metal skin of his robotic arm and staring into the distance.

He shook the painful memories out of his mind and glassed the horizon for the rebels. His eyes read the landscape like a hawk searching for its prey, combing the dark gray ground, dry and peppered with ash. There was no sign of the people who once lived here, save for their charred vehicles and bones. The Wastelands were a graveyard, and disgusted him almost as much as the rebels.

As his eyes continued to scan the terrain he came across a rock structure jutting out of the ground like the spikes on the back of a prehistoric monster. Underneath the formation were the remains of an old highway. He could scarcely make out the shapes of ruined cars, but there was no mistaking it. He instantly knew it was where the rebels would be hiding. He knew because this was where he too would be hiding if he were them.

He jumped off the hood of the Scorpion; his assault rifle clanking on the back of his armor.

“Hand me your radio,” he commanded, reaching into the vehicle’s open window.

“Base this is Captain McNeill, over.”

“Roger, base here, go ahead.”

“We’ve been ambushed and suffered the loss of one Scorpion. I’ve identified a possible enemy location and request permission to engage, over.”

The sound of static followed as McNeill waited for a response. The driver of the Scorpion shook noticeably, his armor-covered hands gripping the steering wheel as if he was clinging on for life.

“Captain, this is General Logsdon. What’s your current location, over?”

“We’re about 20 miles due west of the walls. The rebels are dug in close to a large rock formation. We do not know their exact location,” McNeill paused for a second, more than enough for any veteran to notice a hint of reservation. Luckily none of the rookies seemed to notice it, or at least acknowledge it.

The static of the radio blurred to life. “Captain, do you need reinforcements? Over.”

McNeill paused and stared at the rock formation in the distance. “No sir, I can handle this one. Over,” he said firmly.

He had failed to eliminate Squad 19 many times before, almost losing his own life in the process. This time was going to be different—this time he had them cornered. He didn’t need help to bring Obi’s head to Commander Augustus.

“Roger. Keep us updated Captain. Over.”

McNeill handed the radio back through the window to the rookie Knight, who fumbled with the small device before placing it back into its charger.

“You better get with it,” McNeill shouted before strolling confidently over to the passenger side door.

With over 20 years of experience, he had grown accustomed to routing out rebels and finding their leaders. Today, in his opinion, would be no different—today Obi’s time as commander of Squad 19 was coming to an end.

Obi and Ajax knelt patiently under a sheet of torn canvas shaking violently in the wind. For a second Obi took his eyes off the terrain and looked over at the massive frame of Ajax beside him.

He recalled all the times the monstrous man saved his life in other battles, before the buzzing of the Scorpion engines tore his eyes back to the black top. He gripped his rocket launcher and tucked it under his shoulder, nodding at Ajax as he began to crawl under the metal planks of the trailer.

I’m only going to get one shot at this.

Obi knew the senior officer of the Scorpions’ unit would use the cover of the dust to shield them during their counter attack. And while the conditions would likely confuse the drivers, the gunners had the advantage of a turret that rotated 360 degrees.

Obi froze as he saw the first Scorpion in the distance. Just as he predicted, the commander of the unit split the Scorpions up, something he should have done in the first place to protect them from possible ambushes. The commander probably didn’t expect Obi’s men to be so close to the wall, which would signal to the CRK that Squad 19 might be planning a larger attack. This was only a small concern; he didn’t have time to think about that now. He just needed to find a way to stay alive and to keep his men alive.

The first Scorpion slowed and came to a complete stop, its engine humming as it sat idle near the rock formation.

Holy shit, he’s using it as bait.

He brought the scope of his rocket launcher to his eye, lining the cross hairs up with the vehicle. Minutes crept by and Obi began to worry. He glanced down at his watch, knowing the CRK commander would have called in reinforcements by now. His only hope was that Jackson’s units would show up before the reinforcements arrived. Either way Obi realized he was going to have to move to a different location in order to take out the commander of this unit.

Slowly he began to crawl out from the canvas canopy and signaled for Ajax to maintain at his position.

Obi pulled himself to his feet and took off in a sprint down the highway, his head tucked into his chest. He stopped twenty feet from Ajax’s position and kneeled next to the front of an overturned pickup truck. Glancing around the front bumper, he checked for the location of the other Scorpions.

To the east he could make out the shape of a Scorpion patrolling the edge of the highway, the gunner bobbing up and down as the vehicle made its way over the rocky terrain. Obi rested his back against the charred metal of the pickup and then crept along the pavement to the back end, once again peering around the bumper to find the location of the other Scorpion.

A fierce blast of wind ravaged his face as he stuck his head around the corner. The wind was picking up again, with rocks and pieces of dirt sailing aimlessly about. Obi knew it was only a matter of time before he wasn’t able to see five feet in front of him, and it was imperative he found the commander’s Scorpion before it found his squad’s location.

He crouched, waiting for the two Scorpions to make another pass before taking off in a sprint, hoping the swirling debris would disguise him.

Through the dust he could hardly see the outline of the third Scorpion. If it weren’t for the faint humming of its engine he would have run smack into the middle of it. He dove for cover behind the wreckage of another truck, his heart pounding in his chest.

Deep breath, deep breath.

Quickly he snuck a look around the corner of the truck’s deflated rear tire. He crawled underneath the bumper and maneuvered the rocket launcher onto his shoulder, waiting for the crosshairs to lock onto its target. He gripped his weapon tightly.

Patience.

Obi lay in the ash, reciting a customary prayer for the soldiers he was about to kill. And then, without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, watching the fiery trail of the missile streak towards the idle Scorpion before exploding under its brush guard. The crimson wave of heat blasted the vehicle ten feet into the air before bringing it back to the dirt in a flaming ball of fire.

The second the missile exploded Obi was up and running, the fire singeing the hair on the back of his neck. The remaining two Scorpions were on him immediately, their mini-guns spitting hot lead into the pavement around him, sending chunks of asphalt into the air. He tossed his weapon to the ground and brought his hands to his face, shielding himself from the concrete shrapnel as he ran past a charred sedan. The bullets narrowly missed him as they blew holes the size of melons in the ruined torso of the car. Behind him the ping of the bullets rang out, the white streaks of lead zipping past his head. It was only a matter of time before one of them would tear into his exposed flesh.

It was at that moment, when Obi couldn’t differentiate the howling wind from the bullets racing towards him, that the world slowed to a crawl. He watched as razor sharp bullets exploded out of Ajax’s assault rifle. The muzzle erupted with flames as his friend fired blindly in the direction of the Scorpions—first at the one opposite his position, and then at the one heading towards him. But the bullets had little effect as the rounds bounced off the armor harmlessly on impact.

Obi closed his eyes. He had never felt so vulnerable, knowing at any second a .50 cal round could tear through his soft flesh. The ping, ping, ping of bullets exploded around him as he continued to run, holding his hands around his face as bullets whizzed past his goggles. He was now within 15 feet of Ajax’s position, so close to safety and yet so far. He stole a quick glance behind him, to see the blue glow of the gunner’s goggles as he slowly trained his mini-gun on him.

His legs were now carrying him faster than ever before. The muscles stretched, pulled and groaned as he leapt onto the hood of a car and then into the air, before coming down on the concrete floor of the bunker. He tucked his knees to help break his fall, landing with a thud. Obi coughed into his bandana as a thick cloud of ash rose into the air.

Ajax stopped firing and slouched down onto the bunker floor, scanning Obi from head to toe for injury.

“How did I just survive that?” Obi yelled, laughing as he frantically dusted himself off and scuffled across the floor next to Ajax.

“Holy shit, sir, that was awesome!” Ajax yelled, as he stood to fire off another clip.

Obi coughed again and massaged his inflamed right knee. “Don’t waste your ammo, Ajax. We’re going to need every round we can get,” Obi said, bringing his wrist radio to his face.

“Creo, this is Obi. I took out another one of the Scorpions. Can you get a visual of the remaining two from your position, over?” At this point, Obi didn’t care if the CRK heard their radio transmissions; they were cornered and needed help fast.

“Negative sir, the dust storm is too violent for us to get a visual, please advise, over.”

Obi cursed under his breath, pulling his pistol from the holster attached to his right boot.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” Ajax shouted over the gunfire.

“I know, god damn it, I know, but Creo and Nathar are too far away to get a shot. I think we’re going to have to make a run for it.”

Obi stood with his pistol at the ready. Ajax followed suit, jamming a new clip into his rifle with a click. They both peered over the edge of the bunker and were immediately forced back down as a barrage of bullets rained down on their position, sending chunks of concrete into the air.

“Creo, Ajax and I are going to try and make it back to the rock formation. Can you give us covering fire?” Obi asked, slumping back down next to Ajax.

“Negative. Visibility is zero,” he said, an obvious quiver in his voice recognizable even over the static.

Obi paused, memories of past battles racing through his mind. Never had he been in a predicament like this: Cornered and outgunned. Sure, he was used to overwhelming odds, but a squad of Scorpions? No one in the TDU had lived against those odds.

Another barrage of bullets snapped him back to reality. He knew he needed his wits if they were going to survive. Reliving the past wasn’t going to help.

“Ajax, on the count of ten, I want you to take off out of here. I’ll lay down suppressing fire for you. Hopefully that will distract them enough for you to get out of range.”

Ajax looked over at Obi. His face was covered with a black handkerchief and his eyes were hidden behind his goggles, but Obi could still see the emotional strain on Ajax’s features.

“That’s an order, Ajax. Go!” Obi shouted, firing off a round from his pistol into the air.

“Roger boss, you get back safe,” he said, patting Obi hard on his shoulder.

“You got it, man, I’ll be back with you guys as soon as you know it! Now go!” Obi yelled again, pulling the pin out of a grenade and cooking it in his hand. He stood up and looked for the outline of the nearest Scorpion through the dust before tossing the grenade like a baseball. As soon as the grenade left Obi’s hand the wind took control of its destiny, sending it on a trajectory straight for the Scorpion closest to the highway.

He turned to watch Ajax strap his assault rifle to his back and shove himself against the wall of the concrete bunker, bracing for the impact of the grenade. Obi followed suit and put his hands over his ears. Before the gunner had time to react the grenade exploded in mid air, sending red metal raining down on the turret nest. The soldier was killed instantly as the red hot jagged pieces of shrapnel tore through his goggles and lodged in his skull.

Obi peeked over the concrete ledge again, squinting in time to see the dead gunner fall out of the turret and slump down the front of the Scorpion. A bright streak of red trailed his lifeless body. The blood looked almost surreal against the gray landscape, like an alien on a foreign world.

In the distance Obi could make out Ajax’s vague outline through the dust. He was halfway to the rock formation, climbing up a steep path.

Obi took a deep breath in his bandana, relieved the dust storm disguised his friend’s retreat. The remaining two Scorpions hadn’t seen him leave the bunker, or were too busy painting Obi’s position with bullets to care.

Obi kneeled back down on the floor of the bunker, pausing to think over his next move.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Another blast of dust swirled into the bunker, clouding his vision. Once the grime cleared from his goggles he scanned his belongings, looking for something, anything to keep him alive. He scrambled through his gear, tearing through his pack, but his hands came up empty.

Overhead the roar of mini-gun fire broke through the wind. Obi turned to shield his face as chunks of concrete rained down on him; then he saw it—Ajax’s bag of grenades lying in a heap in the corner of the bunker. Why hadn’t he thought of them before? The first grenade had been lucky, but with an entire bag of grenades he might not need luck.

He brought his radio back up to his mouth to radio a message to his squad. He pressed the speak button, but static crackled over the channel. He could hear faint voices over the channel, but could not send a message. His eyes shot down and fell upon the broken screen, cracked from his earlier fall. The panic crept through his veins.

“Shit!” He stomped and raised his pistol above the bunker wall, fired off a few random shots. The wall shook as another armada of bullets tore into its outer concrete shell. Obi shook from the blast and kneeled back on the ground.

Patience. Remember what you learned at the academy; the best defense is a good offense.

Obi took a deep breath and grabbed the bag of grenades. Standing up, he cocked his pistol and peered slightly over the edge of the concrete wall. The two Scorpions were less than 20 feet apart and were not firing, conserving their ammo for a solid target. “You cowards!” he yelled, standing and firing another couple of rounds in their direction before retreating back into the bunker.

The bag of grenades was his only chance. If he could land the bag in the middle of the Scorpions, he had a chance of getting out of there alive.

It’s a long shot, but worth a try.

Obi had never been a man to contemplate his fate; he knew he might die on the battlefield and he accepted it for what it was. He was a soldier and had been his entire adult life. In situations where his demise seemed almost certain, he didn’t waste time. He did what he was trained to do.

On the count of five, he thought, sucking in a chest full of dust as he tossed the grenades into the air and pulled himself out of the bunker high enough to get a decent shot.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

A fiery blast erupted from the Scorpion’s mini guns as he watched the bag land in the dirt directly in the middle of the two vehicles. He stopped counting and pulled the hard trigger of his pistol, watching the first bullet whizz past the bag and ping off the shell of the closest Scorpion harmlessly. Before he could fire another shot, a bullet ripped through his right shoulder, coming clean out the other side. A spurt of blood exploded out of his back, the bullet piercing the small bunker wall behind him.

He screamed in pain and fired another shot into the sky wildly, losing control of his pistol. Another bullet from the Scorpion’s gun grazed his lower left thigh seconds later. Blood poured down his failing body as he began to fall backwards, down into the gray abyss of the bunker.

Time crawled to a stop as he fell. Above the world spun, ash and dust colliding, but inside him the terror of his impending doom mounted. It was a feeling he was accustomed to as a soldier. It was different every time, but this one was more powerful. The terror was deeper, gripping him with jagged claws.

He blinked to see the gray clouds splitting the sky, and then something that didn’t belong, a flash of metal in the distance. It was another vehicle on the horizon.

Obi squinted to make out the shape and saw it wasn’t one, but two vehicles, and then three. He first thought they were CRK reinforcements, but as his eyes focused on the small shapes in the distance he knew it was his own.

“You save any for us?” a voice said, crackling over the radio. Obi smiled, recognizing the hoarse voice of Jackson, seconds before a flash from an anti-tank missile raced through the air. He closed his eyes, the heat from the explosion searing his eyebrows, before he crashed onto the bunker floor and slipped into unconsciousness.