“Let’s move it, Marines! Surprise is what we got!” Hargraves ran into the center of the enemy camp, his rifle grasped tightly in his hands as he looked back and forth for targets. His people had taken out six guards, and now it was time to finish the job. The camp had been lightly protected, the approaches not nearly as carefully watched as normal. He’d known the enemy had deployed most of their strength to attacking the newly-arrived reinforcements. But he was still shocked at how open they had left their camp.

They’ve underestimated us from day one…otherwise they’d have wiped us out weeks ago…

He jerked to the side, firing a three-shot burst as an enemy soldier ran out of one of the shelters. The man fell back the way he’d come, blood pouring from a trio of holes in his chest. Hargraves fired again…and again, whipping his weapon upward, firing over the dead man’s shoulder and taking the trooper behind in the side of the head.

He ran toward the building, standing to the side of the door. He doubted the walls of the light, semi-inflatable shelter would provide much protection against bullets, but he was acting on training now, on instinct.

He swung around, moving through the door and into the shelter. It was some kind of storage facility. Food, he guessed, looking around at the stacks of crates, confirming that he was the only one left alive in the room.

We could sure use this food…

He shook his head. No…his people were there to destroy the enemy camp. His eight Marines couldn’t hope to hold the place, or even carry off any of the supplies. They’d had enough trouble carrying the lieutenant with them. Hargraves’ thoughts shifted to Plunkett for an instant. His people had left the sick and wounded officer about a kilometer from the camp, in the most sheltered spot they could find. He’d been nearly unconscious, and Hargraves wondered if Plunkett would still be alive when he got back.

You won’t get back at all if you don’t stay sharp here…

He reached around, pulling a small sack from his belt. It was the last of the explosives, enough to take out this building for sure. But finishing off the camp would require finding the invader’s own weapons. He pulled the bomb up and looked down at it, his fingers flipping the timer to thirty seconds. Then he set it down on one of the crates and moved back out, looking in all directions before he lunged out into the makeshift street.

“Fire in the hole,” he yelled as he jogged forward, away from the storage hut. He counted down to himself. He’d gotten to three when the explosion erupted, sending debris all across the camp.

My timing’s off…