Mark “Coop” Cooper

Location: Unnamed Planet, Contested System, Unaligned Space

“Set!”

“Moving!”

Coop listened to the grunts and huffs of an entire squad breaking cover and rushing forward. They were instantly met by the sound of incoming and outgoing fire. Theoretically, the other squad in that sector should be keep the enemy’s head down; but this was modern warfare. Both sides had individual and squad-level shields, so these forward rushes were done on a whim and a prayer that you didn’t end up shit out of luck. This was where all the preventative maintenance checks and services soldiers were supposed to do on their gear, and constantly whined about, paid off. At least for most of them.

There was a miniature flash as a personal shield failed. For whatever reason, maybe the terrain or spacing to keep away from teammates, some private fresh out of basic had wandered outside the squad shield’s radius. There was a grunt as the PVT went down, followed by a moment for the pain to get through the adrenaline, and then the screaming started.

“Shit,” Coop mumbled as the Commonwealth’s advance in that sector faltered. Naturally, PVT Dumbass’s friends wanted to help him. “Man down! Medic,” Coop called over the command net, and tagged the position.

“Mortars!” someone yelled.

“Oh, come on!” Coop groaned. He’d taken his attention off watching the sky for one second to help a fallen soldier, and the enemy commander took the moment to bring the iron rain.

Thankfully, AIs didn’t care what happened to stupid privates, unless it was part of their programming. They didn’t take their eye off the ball. They didn’t take coffee breaks, and they didn’t need to take a piss at the most inopportune time. Coop’s MOUNT’s AI spun up the swatters, and waited until the best moment to open fire.

Only two shells came screaming in. Every time the mortars fired, the SGT, and the aircraft circling high above, got a better idea where the Confeds were hiding them. The drop in offensive firepower was a surefire way to know Coop and company were gradually taking them out.

he was nearly dry on swatter rounds; and while he could technically use the 6mm anti-personal cannon, it really wasn’t meant to knock down incoming rounds. Plus, he might need that shit soon.

He’d have to switch with the SGT soon, but the mission would stay the same. The two armored cavalry soldiers were on overwatch and indirect fire missions. The LT leading the attack would tell them when and where he wanted the as he advanced his squads under fire. It was a rough business, and the PVT wasn’t the first person to go down.

Coop had yet to see the Confed soldiers, except for muzzle flashes, but a quick look at casualties told him they had to be better armored and equipped than the Commonwealth grunts. So far, they had three more KIA, and twice that WIA on the charge alone; and the enemy commander had rigged up the defense as best he could.

From what Coop would tell, they’d been digging defensive trenchworks since Summer popped into the system. Since the outpost’s entire purpose on this random planet was to look for precious metals and other natural resources that would rake in the cash for the corporate overlords, there was bound to be heavy excavation equipment.

Coop thought as another grunt’s health icon went yellow.

Rows of trenches were laid out on the slight incline up the enemy camp. Since no soldiers had jumped up from those lines to retreat, there must be underground tunnels connecting the lines. So far, Coop counted half a dozen lines, and in each case, due to the terrain and enemy ingenuity, the only way for the Commonwealth squads to take this hill was to fight up to the lines one by one. Two of the trenches had fallen, but there was at least fifty meters between each trench. That was knife fighting range for modern infantry combat, and both sides were getting the equivalent of shanked in the shower.

Half the fucking fight was shields just blazing away like two walls in front of each side as they poured rounds into each other. It was madness, but Coop would be lying if he didn’t love it.

“Ballboy, this is Six,” the LT radioed. “Give me a missile volley at . . .” he sent the coordinates. The guy could have let the AI transmit the data while he coordinated, but Coop had to respect him doing it the old-fashioned way. Letting machines run everything was just lazy; especially when there was basically an overstrength company on the fields of battle between both sides. If thousands of guys and gals were trying to kill each other, I’d understand not hearing personally from the commander. So far, this LT was all right; considering everything he’d had to deal with on a seemingly simple mission.

“On the way, sir,” I set the AI to the task, and quickly checked the targeting data. A countdown went out as the M1 armor shifted to reveal the mini-missiles that I was about to shove down the Confed’s throat.

Their sensors were good enough to decipher the targeting locks. Coop’s position came under heavy fire from everything the Confed’s had; but it wasn’t enough. Heavy machine guns were good against advancing infantry; not armored cavalry. He popped up as his shields rearranged to let the missiles out while not making him too vulnerable. To the Confed’s credit, a heard a few pings of heavy rounds hit the armor, but they just scratched the paint.

There was a roar as the missiles left, and a second later a boom, followed quickly by a second boom. The targeting package was designed to deal with their defensives. The slight staggering of the missiles was necessary to take down the shields in the first wave, so the second wave could get in and do the real damage.

Gouts of flame and debris reached for the sky as the second wave detonated. In the heart of the tired trench, just as the squads pressing the front surged forward. It was solid coordination by the LT. Take down their shields, rattle their cage, and then shove grunts down their throat to finish the job. Even though the enemy commander knew what was going to happen, he wasn’t able to stop it. His guns weren’t big enough, he didn’t have enough people, and if anyone exposed themselves too far from the enemy camp; the Spyders circling above, or the MOUNTs in overwatch ended them.

Still, he had a few moves up his sleeve. Commonwealth grunts overran the position, and brought the fight hand-to-hand for the first time. Coop toggled to a feed on TACCOM.

he gulped as Commonwealth soldiers met Confederation marines for the first time.

It didn’t go well for the Commonwealth. The Confed’s armor was bigger and better. Their weapons were stronger, and their exoskeleton’s pseudo-muscles were capable of crushing the grunts. Still, the grunts were no cowards. They gave the marines everything they had. Focused fire from every rifle, grenades, and the kitchen sink went flying at the Confeds.

Five more KIAs were recorded before the last marine went down or withdrew. A few were forced to go over the top and run for the next trench. The SGT’s new-gen accelerator barked, and they exploded in a cloud of gore. Every Confed marine might be a wannabe HI trooper, which sucked ass for the Commonwealth overall – the whole quality over quantity thing – but they were still no match for a MOUNT.

Then, when the grunts were celebrating their hard-won victory with a second of rest, the enemy commander detonated the mines buried under their feet. It made my missile explosion look like a bottle rocket going off.

every icon in the trench went black, and suddenly, Coop wasn’t sure their superior numbers would carry the day.

“Chief,” the LT’s voice was tight. Coop didn’t blame him; he’d be pissed if he saw a chunk of his men literally get blown to kingdom come. “You or the SGT get in there.”

“Roger, sir,” Coop’s voice was calm and cold.

He looked over the SGT, and the man held out his fist. Coop did the same.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”

Coop lost, so he had to sit there while the SGT went to kick some ass.