Chapter 19

On our run back through Amy diverted us to the tunnel. The Lizards were in disarray and had reverted to a chaotic mess. Just the way we liked them.

"First and Second platoon, Sacred Ground. Third, start digging," Amy ordered.

Immediately, first and second squad started playing 'ring around the rosy, ' with first skipping clockwise and second counter clockwise, at about fifteen meters out. Quickly the Lizards got thinned out and we enlarged our perimeter.

Amy was splitting her attention between the recovery effort and the tactical. We held at a hundred meters. The Lizards did not know what to think of us and were too disorganized to do anything about it. There was only an occasional green or yellow dragon along with black gator challenging us. Most of the gators were just the common snailed up variety who almost always got excited when they saw one of us skip away from them. Whether it was a prey instinct or no being able to resist an easy kill they tried to engage. The Marine behind though was watching for that and killed sneaky bastard first if the Marine coming in the opposite direction didn't get it first. Whisky had come a long way since Amy first came to the Regiment.

It was effective but even the most sound tactics have to give way to the odds. The Lizards shifted. Whether it was a direct response to our rescue attempt or just chance the result was the same. Disorganized and random became disorganized and mob like. We had to speed up our skipping to close the gap time.

Highlighting some on the grid Amy ordered us to "break those groups up."

A handful of grenades were tossed initially. Lizards pieces rained down and the groups were indeed scattered but they responded in typical Lizard fashion and went nuts charging. We didn't respond like they were used to and it confused the smarter ones. Nobody charged nor did we dig in. We at was the fastest pace most could move at and still effectively fire. I kept my ax on my back and had both coilguns sending slugs down range.

We halted their advance but we also created a large pile of dead Lizards. That drew more.

What we needed was a fire team from weapons to break them up.

"Amy get some ordinance on them," I told her.

"On it."

A few tics later mortars were landing. Elite or not they panicked wanting to get out of the killing zone as quick as possible. That sent some at us, but also away.

Soon as enough of the rock was cleared away the Captain and the others popped back up on the tactical. Guatorama was still KIA but the rest were rip van winkle.

"Med evac is inbound. ETA 5 mikes at 2165.765," Amy informed the platoon.

Our diggers dug a little faster. I know I've mentioned this before but a Marine in Class V Assault Armor can dig at an astonishing rate. Large rocks, a cubic meter in size, were tossed aside like children's toys. If we didn't make the evac in time they would leave without. It was too dangerous to linger.

Soon as they had the sleepers and our KIA Amy got us moving, "Gregs, make a hole on the double. Sweeney cover our ass."

"Aye Aye Sir," I said skipping off to the rear a little. We didn't leave random Lizards intact for trailing ranks to pick up. If it was in the way or was going to be it got killed. The platoon was sending slugs into Lizards at an unsustainable rate but med evacs also dropped supplies.

The lead elements would throw a grenade up ahead to thicker knots of targets as we advanced. I was making sure that nothing got on our six and shot us in the back. It was a real risk as we moved independently of the rest of the regiment. Skipping on the double helped.

I followed rotating as I skipped shooting anything within a reasonable range. I was glad I had Guatorama's coilgun with all the Lizards that needed attention following the 'fleeing' humans. The colorful targets always got priority.

We made the evac site early.

"Mill about," Amy told us.

We all skipped off in fire teams moving around the site. In our regiment at least, Force Recon was not allowed to sit unless it was down time. We moved constantly. It got more Lizards and less Marines dead.

"Think the Captain is gonna make it?"

"Hell yeah. He gets a major medical every so often. You can set your calendar by it."

"How many has he had?"

"Five?"

"Seven I heard."

"Sweeney, how many he had?"

"Seven here with Whisky," I said.

"Butterbars?"

I confirmed that this was his first posting, "Yeah."

"This is eight then?"

"Yeah, I've had three."

"Only one here. What about you Sarg?"

"Four."

Lots of others called out with the numbers they had.

"Sweeney how many you had?"

"I don't know," I said. It was not something I liked to talk about.

"Bullshit. How many?"

I didn't answer.

"LT, home many majors has Sweeney had?"

"More than years any of you have been alive."

"Fuck," and other various tokens of disbelief or sympathy came several people.

They stopped talking about it after that.

A major medical involved tank time. You rarely left the drop on your own power if you needed tank time and only woke up when they pulled you out of it. The nanites could fix about anything. But they only worked in a tank as they had to be controlled by some serious hardware or they were just so much junk your immune system fought tooth and nail. The docs boasted that if they only got your head back and it was in good shape, no brain death, they could give you a new body. Your days as a Marine were over but you were alive. I've never seen that so can't say if it's true. I do know that a limb or four were replaceable but it took over a year to get control and back to the shape it was in before you lost it. Most of the time, you got a medical retirement.

Ten major medicals generally got you medical retirement even if you were physically and mentally capable, which was rare, of returning to duty. Lifers didn't get that relief. If you couldn't qualify for duty your next stop was the penal mining colony. All you had to be was breathing to qualify for the mining colonies.

I had not had a major medical in thirteen years. Most of mine were in the first ten years with the first five being the most dangerous. The casualty rate was considerably higher at the start of the war. Class IV Armor was weaker and we were always on the defensive. I never lost any body part per se but my liver and several other organs were regrown from my stem cells, sometimes more than once.

The rest of the regiment's criticals started to be brought in. Nobody else from Whisky was on the evac list.

"The skies are empty. Losing the mother hive must have fucked the bugs up big time," Amy told me on our private channel.

"Yeah and the Lizards sort of lost it too. I noticed that their command and control went with the hive as well."

"You're right. Hey, get your leg looked at."

"I will. It's just the plate."

"Sorry about telling them your majors. I just want them to see you and what you have given to the Marines and the society that failed you."

"I know. They would have kept pestering me about it. It always happens at some point. Nothing ever comes of it."

When the Osprey left I was fully loaded with spare slugs and power pack. I kept the extra coilgun. Neither Amy or Hague said anything. My armor was repaired as well.