Merkiaari Wars: 02 - What Price Honour by Mark E. Cooper Page A

getting away. She couldn’t allow that. Her eyes narrowed as an idea came to her. Without hesitation, she ordered five squads forward, and another five down the side streets with the aim of squeezing the rebels between multiple fields of fire.
    Gina was in her element, never had she felt so complete. The rebels were withering under a storm of plasma bolts as more and more Marines added their own fire to the weight already hammering them. One or two rockets went out but not many. Most were expended on the vehicles at the beginning of the action. The heavy thudding of multiple AARs blotted out the hiss-crack of plasma rifles. The occasional grenade exploded with men and pieces of men raining in all directions. Over it all, she could hear the battle chatter of nearly a full battalion, and she, a lowly gunnery sergeant, was directing it into battle.
    She snatched a grenade free of her webbing and rolled it through an open door. She ducked back as the hiss-crack of a rebel pulser sought her life. A second later, the rebel’s fire was silenced by the dull whump of her exploding grenade. She ducked forward and back taking note of the building’s interior and the bodies lying motionless upon the floor. When no one fired at her, she dove inside and up the stairs. The second floor seemed deserted, but…
    She raised an eyebrow at Eric. “Anyone inside?”
    “Two,” he nodded at the first door. “One near the window... he must be a spotter—I’m picking up his comm traffic. The second is hiding behind the door—left side. Only the sound of breathing from him.”
    Gina nodded and aimed her rifle at the wall. “About there?”
    “Just a bit to your right… that’s it,” he said as she made a correction.
    She squeezed her trigger and held it down. The wall exploded into dust, and Eric charged through the hole. She quickly followed, but it was over before she could blink. The rebel by the window was dead. Only a red stain remained where the other one had stood by the door. She took a quick look out the window, and noted another attempted breakout by the rebels. She estimated their numbers and trotted back downstairs already calling ahead to Alpha Company’s Second Platoon. Eric followed upon her heels a moment later.
    Two hours later it was all over, and Gina found herself feeling depressed. A strange quiet had fallen over the city broken only by the wailing sound of the emergency services tackling the blazing buildings.
    She made her way back surrounded by her squad, and entered the parliament building—what was left of it. Fire had damaged what had survived the rebel attack. It was in a bad way, but it was repairable. She pulled off her helmet to run a hand through her sweat-soaked hair. She reeked of blood and smoke. The stench clung to everything. She didn’t want to consider some of the things she had seen burning in those now collapsed buildings. It would take days for the burned pork smell to fade.
    She frowned at a scar running along the right side of her helmet. The nanocoat was completely burned away. She slid a finger along the groove trying to decide if the damage was repairable. Going by the depth of the burn, it wouldn’t be. She would have to requisition a new one.
    “Damn,” she muttered. Setting up a new helmet’s systems could be a royal pain in the butt.
    “Stein’s awake,” Staff Sergeant ‘Bulldog’ Denton said as she entered the reception area. “He wants to see you.”
    Gina needed a shower and about two weeks sleep in her rack, but she had to make her report first. “Pete, see to our people. Food, water… whatever.”
    “No problem,” Westfield said.
    Gina nodded and followed Bulldog to the Major. “How bad is he?”
    “He’s got a concussion, but the Doc says he’ll be fine in a few days.”
    “That’s good.”
    “That civ friend of yours was with him a while ago,” Denton said.
    “Eric?”
    “Yeah. He walked in bold as you please. The Major ordered everyone out while they