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an eye, the turret exploded, sending pieces of shrapnel into any Chosen warriors near the tank, killing and wounding dozens.

“Reload!” ordered Agnar.

The other Marine quickly slid another projectile into the back of the launcher and then tapped Agnar on the shoulder, letting him know that the weapon was loaded.

Agnar selected another tank and pulled back on the trigger. His aim was off slightly. The missile bounced off the side of the turret, exploding high in the air. Agnar swore in Danish.

“We’ve been here too long. Let’s go,” said the Marine with Agnar.

Agnar didn’t want to leave but knew that the man was right. He had just begun to crawl back when the top of the building exploded. The concussion from the blast knocked the air from his lungs. Attacked by several drones, the roof fell down on Agnar and his partner.

The sound of the roof being torn apart by missile fire loudly reverberated down into the basement bunker, shaking dust and debris lose. 

Sheridan cursed when he was showered with dirt. The room was filled with a swirling dust cloud that blinded everyone inside. Sheridan was thankful that he was at least wearing his combat glasses so the dust didn’t reach his eyes. Coughing and hacking to clear the crap from his lungs, Sheridan edged over to a firing port to get some fresh air and nearly jumped in fright when he saw a set of eyes looking back at him. In the noise and confusion, several Chosen warriors had sprinted from behind their tank to check out the building where the rocket fire had come from. The Chosen soldier was just as surprised to see another man looking back at him and tried to bring up his assault rifle. Sheridan, however, reacted faster and fired off a burst through the opening, killing the warrior.

Cole and Garcia rushed over. The firefight was short and deadly; the Marines couldn’t miss. Taking that as their cue to join the fight, Sheridan’s platoon opened fire on the enemy. Scores died before they knew they were under attack. Some took cover in the debris-covered streets and tried to return fire. Stuck out in the open, they were soon cut down.

Outside, a tank pivoted on its tracks and turned toward Sheridan’s building. It lowered its gun and took aim. Sheridan was wrong; the Kurgans didn’t care if their soldiers were in the way. With a loud whoosh, a shell shot down the tank’s rail gun and struck the ground floor right above the bunker. The explosion killed or maimed several Chosen soldiers near the house. Almost immediately, the building began to collapse down upon itself, trapping anyone still alive inside. For good measure, the tank emptied a three-hundred round drum of machine gun ammunition into the wreckage before continuing the advance.

With a loud ringing in his ears, Sheridan slowly opened his dust-caked eyes and tried looking around. Nothing of what he saw made any sense until he realized that he was lying on his back, looking up at what had been the roof. His body seemed to ache everywhere. Shattered timbers from the floor above them had crashed down, looking like the remains of an ancient prehistoric monster’s rib cage. He turned his head and saw that the bunker was almost entirely destroyed. He tried to move his legs but found that he couldn’t. Sheridan then tried to sit up; however, he discovered that his chest was pinned under a charred beam of wood.

His throat was parched. “Is there anyone alive in here?” he croaked.

A gloved hand reached over and gently rested on Sheridan’s lips. “Don’t say another word, sir,” whispered Cole.

After what seemed like hours, Cole leaned close and said, “How are you feeling, sir?”

“Like crap,” replied Sheridan honestly. “Sergeant, I can’t move.”

“I know. You’re pinned under a piece of the roof. Once the enemy moves, I’ll get you out of there.”

“What happened?”

“The building fell down on top of us, that’s what happened.” Cole grabbed his canteen and held it close to Sheridan’s lips so he could get some water.

Through the haze in his mind, Sheridan tried to remember what had happened to them. The last thing he could recall was a pair of eyes looking at him. He shivered. “Sergeant, what about Garcia, did she make it?”

“Yeah, she’s got a broken left wrist. Aside from that, she’s okay. I’ve got her keeping watch. The fighting has shifted behind us. The Kurgs cut through our front line like a hot knife through butter. By the sounds of it, the rest of the battalion is still in the fight. I’m not sure what happened to the rest of the platoon. I haven’t heard any gunfire near us in over an hour, so I’m not holding out much hope for them.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s just after nine in the morning. Sir, please try and rest. I don’t think we’re gonna be able to try and make it out of here before nightfall.”

Sheridan silently cursed. He didn’t want to lie on the cold floor trapped under debris for hours. Suddenly, a thought hit him; he had to go to the bathroom. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he knew it was going to be a long day.

An hour after nightfall, Cole and Garcia, moving about as quiet as a pair of church mice, helped Sheridan out from under the rubble. Garcia quickly checked him out and told him that aside from a slight bump on the head and a few scratches, he was alright. Sheridan looked about at the wreck that once had been his command bunker.

Cole whispered, “Okay, sir, here’s the skinny. The Kurgs seemed to have stopped for the night. Their wounded have been streaming by our position all day long. Looks like our boys gave as good as they got. The problem is that I have no idea how to get back to our lines from here.”

“I guess we’re going to have to sneak our way through the enemy until we bump into our own lines. Let’s pray that we don’t stumble into some trigger-happy individuals,” said Sheridan.

“I figured you were going to say that, so I’ve been studying the ground behind us. I think we can use that line of destroyed buildings running to the north for cover,” said Cole, pointing to the ruined homes.

“Sounds good.” Sheridan looked over at Garcia and asked her how she was holding up.

Garcia held up her bandaged wrist. “Nothing a sawbones can’t fix, sir.”

“Sir, I’m gonna lead if you don’t mind,” Cole said. “You took a good hit to the head and I’ve at least had a chance to study the route in the daylight.”

Sheridan nodded. “What about the drones, won’t they spot us?”

“With their wounded and dead spread out all over the place, I betting that we’ll just come across as another heat signature moving about on the ground. Right now the enemy is probably more interested in what’s happening in front of them, than behind.” 

With that, Cole put his shoulder on the door leading out the basement and pushed hard. It slowly slid open. He carefully looked out and then stepped out into the rubble. Using the debris for cover, Cole stealthily made his way to the back of the home. When he saw that it was safe, he waved for Sheridan and Garcia to join him.

The night was cold and dark. Clouds covered the sky, threatening to snow.

A horrible moan seemed to be coming from all around them. Hundreds of Chosen warriors lay in contorted poses in the streets. Most were dead; however, dozens of mortally wounded soldiers lay there waiting to die.

“This way,” whispered Cole as he led off. He hadn’t gone ten meters when he nearly tripped over Agnar’s dead body. Garcia gasped when she saw her friend lying there with his lifeless eyes wide open staring up at the night sky.

“Crap,” muttered Sheridan. He had grown to like the young soldier.

“He died doing his job. Let’s go,” Cole said quietly. They quickly made it across the street and into the row of abandoned houses Cole intended to use for cover. In the dark, each room they walked through was like a mini obstacle course. Trying desperately to not make a sound, they moved slowly through the devastated buildings. 

After nearly an hour, Cole raised his hand and got down on one knee. “We’re gonna take a ten-minute break,” he whispered over his shoulder.

Sheridan dug out his canteen and took a long sip of cold water before offering it to Garcia. His stomach rumbled. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a packet of something he couldn’t read in the dark. Food was food, he reasoned, so he opened the pack and was surprised to find that he was eating apples in a sweet, sugary sauce.

In the pitch-black of the room, a dog whined and was instantly shushed by someone. Sheridan’s heart skipped a beat. He peered into the darkness but couldn’t see a thing. A Chosen warrior could have been standing right beside him and he wouldn’t have seen the man until it was too late.

The animal whined again. A voice pleaded with it to be quiet.

“Roberts, is that you?” whispered Cole.

“Who’s there?” said the voice.

“Staff Sergeant Cole, that’s who.”

A second later, Roberts edged his way from behind a destroyed section of wall and made his way over to Cole. He was short and slender and wore glasses on his narrow face. His accent was Canadian. With him was his dog, a German Shepard.

“She’s hungry,” said Roberts.

“Get rid of the damned dog!” ordered Cole.

“I can’t do that, Sergeant. She’s all I got left. All of my friends are dead.”It was confirmation that Lance Corporal Singh’s squad had not survived the fight.

Garcia ripped open a ration pack and handed it to Roberts. “It’s stew,” she said.

“Damn it all to hell, don’t encourage him,” muttered Cole.

“Sergeant, there’s been enough dead for one day. I’d hate to see the dog added to the list,” said Garcia.

Cole looked at Sheridan to decide what they should do with the dog. 

“It can stay for now, but if it so much as barks once, it’s gone,” Sheridan decided.

With an angry shake of his head, Cole dropped his opposition to keeping the dog.

For the next few hours, they quietly moved from one building to another. The dead and dying from the day’s battle were strewn everywhere. A couple of Kurgan tanks stood silent in the narrow streets with their turrets blasted open. They came across some Marine and Chosen soldiers dead in one house, their bodies were still locked in a deadly embrace as they fought one another to the death. It was a disturbing sight to behold. The closer they got to the river that split the capital city into two almost equal halves, the thicker the piles of Chosen bodies became. Realizing that they weren’t going to make it to their lines tonight, they sought out a basement for them to hide in for the day. It didn’t take long to find a cellar that was big enough for all of them to hide in.

Once inside, Cole closed the door behind them and turned on his flashlight, illuminating the space. It was empty except for an old wooden table and four chairs sitting in