He grabbed his com, but then he clipped it back on his belt. Words weren’t the answer, he decided. Deeds would win this fight. He reached around, grabbed the assault rifle strapped to his back. Then he started forward, a brisk walk at first, but then almost a run.

His forces would push those last few meters, take that position. And he would lead them there himself.

*   *   *

“Hold! Maintain fire.” Rogan was bent low, keeping himself behind the ridge as he moved along the line. The enemy attack had shown signs of petering out, the enemy troopers stopping, looking for cover, firing back at his forces. He’d been worried the attackers would keep coming, heedless of the casualties his Marines were inflicting…and indeed they almost had. For a brief moment he’d considered ordering a retreat, but something had held him back. And the slackening of the enemy attack had put the thought out of his mind completely.

Then something changed. The enemy was moving again, rallied, driven forward. His best guess was his people had taken down seventy or eighty of the enemy. But his forces had taken losses too, and the enemy still outnumbered him close to two to one. They were right below the ridgeline now. If his fire didn’t drive them back in the next few seconds, they would be up and over.

And then it will be hand to hand…

Numbers would tell in that kind of fight. Every enemy his Marines took down now was one less when it came to close quarters.

He hadn’t known what to expect from the enemy, but he was wary about underestimating them. Their tactics were crude, wasteful of lives…but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t prevail. The troops were clearly well-trained and courageous, and that meant this was going to be a bloody day.

He glanced down and saw two of his Marines lying on the ground, both dead. His people had good cover, but the enemy fire was hot and heavy, and even behind the makeshift fortifications, more of his people were starting to fall.

He crouched low, going prone and bringing his own rifle to bear. There wasn’t a single one of his people to spare, including himself. He stared out, keeping his head as low as he could. There was an enemy trooper approaching, less than thirty meters ahead, he guessed. He stared down the sight, taking aim. Then his finger tightened, and a single crack rang out. The enemy fell backward, shot dead center in the chest.

Rogan sucked in a deep breath, struggling to focus, to stay calm. He’d been in a few fights before, but this was the first time he’d commanded this many Marines in battle.

Just do what you were trained to do…

He scanned the field in front of him, searching for another target. Then he stared down the sights and fired again.

*   *   *