Tales From The Mind of Thomas

Private Davian Miloy, a support rifleman armed with a heavy automatic plasma rifle, with the treads of his boots still fresh, was part of Team Aurelius, led by Senior Lieutenant Alin Voss. They approached the front lines with a sense of growing dread. The heavy weapon fire and booming explosions vibrated through the air, assaulting Miloy’s senses with relentless intensity. Every step closer made the sounds more deafening—a cacophony that threatened to overwhelm his already frayed nerves.

Team Aurelius had been ordered to report to the spearhead attack Battle Commander, High Captain Eridan Thorne. Thorne was positioned in a hastily established command post, nestled within a damaged structure dangerously close to the front. From the structure, heavy weapons fire rained down, providing crucial support for the troops advancing on enemy positions.

Miloy, attached to First Squad under the direct command of Voss, with Sergeant Jakon Ren as the squad leader, followed his team into the structure. The air inside was thick with tension and the smell of ozone from discharged energy weapons. The building shook with each nearby explosion, dust and debris falling from the cracked ceiling as they made their way to Thorne’s command post.

High Captain Thorne stood in front of a holographic map projecting a real-time image of the ongoing battle. His expression was focused, his eyes scanning the various icons representing both friendly and enemy positions. His hands moved quickly over the controls, adjusting the map and issuing commands to units scattered across the battlefield. The holographic display flickered slightly with each rumble of an explosion.

Voss entered the command post. “Senior Lieutenant Voss of Team Aurelius,” he reported. Thorne looked up as the team leader approached. The High Captain’s presence was commanding, his demeanor unfazed by the surrounding chaos. His uniform was covered with dust and mud, a testament to how close the fight had come.

Thorne gestured to the map, manipulating the image as he showed the objective. “Your team will link up with Team Cobalt. Your objective is to assault this location, Checkpoint Plag. It’s heavily entrenched and fortified. Command wants this area secured—it’s the only location where we can get armor through.”

“Understood, Sir,” Voss replied.

“We need them dislodged from there quickly. The convoy is already en route,” Thorne added.

“We’ll get it done,” Voss promised. Dismissed, he returned to his team. As he briefed them on the objective, Private Miloy’s chest clenched with panic, a cold sweat forming on his brow. The thought of storming the enemy position made his hands tremble. He gripped his plasma rifle tightly, trying to control the shaking. He followed his team as they marched hastily to meet Team Cobalt. Artillery fire screamed overhead, deafening all other sounds with each blast, vibrating Miloy’s spine. The dust barely had a chance to settle before the next round went off.

They advanced up the line, drawing closer and closer to the front. Miloy struggled to keep up, the scarred terrain challenging his footing. Enemy fire soared just above their heads, while enemy artillery forced them to take cover more than once.

Team Aurelius reached Team Cobalt’s position as Cobalt’s gunners fired endlessly toward the enemy. Senior Lieutenant Tescher approached Aurelius. “Welcome to the party,” he said, activating the TacMap display on his wrist. “We’ve identified a potential weak spot we could use to breach that position. We’re expecting heavy enemy fire, but this is the best chance we have at breaking through.”

Voss studied the display, spotting the breaching location on the left side of the fortified position. “How many are we sending?”

“Almost all,” Tescher replied. “We’ll leave the gunners back here; they’ll try to keep the enemy’s heads down. Everyone else will advance using the trenches as far as they’ll take us. Then, we’ll have to hustle up to the wall, using whatever cover we can—hopping into any craters that are big enough. Hopefully, the supporting fire will give us enough cover to reach the wall. Once there, we’ll be out of the line of fire and can breach the wall.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Voss said, his voice lined with concern and sarcasm. “Ren, get our gunners set up, spaced apart to provide as much supporting fire as possible.” Sergeant Ren started positioning the gunners. “Everyone else, make sure you’ve got some testicular fortitude. You’ll need it.”

Miloy’s lungs raced, drawing in shallow breaths. The smell of ozone did little to calm his nerves as the friendly gunners began their fire. The sounds drowned out his thoughts, and the flashes of plasma bolts racing from the barrels mesmerized him. His mind wandered to how the pain would feel if he got hit. His heart pounded against his chest. A sudden jolt shot up his arm, pulling him back to reality. Private Jorel, a fellow rifleman, had his hand grasped around Miloy’s arm.

“Don’t freeze up here, man,” Jorel said. “We’ve got a job to do. Just focus on surviving this; panic later.” Miloy nodded rapidly, trying to quell the panic within. Team Aurelius and Cobalt moved forward through the trenches, plasma bolts screeching above them. Their faint yellow light flashed across the trenches. Miloy stumbled in the narrow pathways, his feet sliding across the mud with every step.

An explosion knocked him on his back. His ears rang in pain as he wiped the mud from his face. Getting yanked back up, he was ordered to keep moving. He saw the end of the trench as fellow soldiers rose into the hell that awaited them. Sergeant Ren directed the men exiting toward the next bit of cover. Bolts flew past, narrowly missing them. Miloy, almost pushed out of the trench, was greeted with a true hellscape. With no time to observe, his legs moved quickly across the field.

“Miloy!” a teammate called out in front of him, directing him to cover. Jumping into a crater, he caught his breath. “I’m moving. Cover me!” his teammate said. Miloy, still wearing panic on his face, rose up. Pulling the trigger on his heavy automatic plasma rifle, he sent a few bolts of plasma toward the fortified position. The recoil jolted into his shoulder.

He let a few more bursts fly. “Cover me!” he instinctively said as he moved forward. Pulling the trigger as he raced across the field, he took cover wherever he could. He dove behind a berm where both teams regrouped. Miloy’s torso slammed into the ground as he ducked behind the berm. He popped up, firing a few plasma bolts before ducking back down.

“Ready?” Voss asked rhetorically. “MOVE! GET TO THE WALL!” His voice screamed out. Team Aurelius and Cobalt charged the wall. Plasma bolts crashed into the ground around them, burning and kicking up dirt. A short sprint felt longer than a mile, each foot pushing off the ground with urgency, as they desperately tried to reach the perimeter wall.

The men crashed into the wall, their chests heaving with exertion. The cold, hard surface of the wall provided a momentary refuge from the chaos. Miloy pressed his back against the wall, his heart pounding in his ears as he caught his breath. A small chuckle escaped his lips; feeling relief, he smiled, having survived the charge. Looking around, he noticed a few men were missing. He thanked his Lord for letting him survive.

“Get ready to breach! Stack up, equal sides!” Tescher commanded, his voice sharp and clear. The men of Aurelius and Cobalt scrambled into position. Miloy checked his rifle, his hands still shaking as a mixture of panic and adrenaline surged through his body. He readied himself for the next phase. There was no time to dwell on the outcome, no time to hesitate—only to act.

A demolition specialist placed the explosive device on the wall. “Breaching in three… two… one!” The explosion went off, a fireball mixed with dust, sending chunks of debris flying into the checkpoint.

“GO! GO! GO!” Voss ordered, rushing through the breach. Passing through the cloud of dust, Miloy had entered the fray. The enemy finally came into view, and without hesitation, Miloy raised his rifle. Pulling the trigger, he watched as plasma bolts raced toward their target, tearing through the enemy and leaving partially cauterized wounds behind. Miloy had secured his first kill. There was no time to process the gravity of it; he pressed on, following behind his team. The enemy stumbled, trying in vain to defend their position, but they were quickly overwhelmed by the onslaught.

Stacking up on a door, Miloy joined Jorel. “Breaching!” Jorel shouted as he kicked down the door. Miloy followed close behind, his rifle at the ready, and opened fire on the enemy inside. Sweeping through the small building, they secured it. Exiting the structure, they rejoined the others.

“Checkpoint Plag secured. I say again, Checkpoint Plag is secured. Standing by for further instructions,” Senior Lieutenant Tescher reported.