Sanderson's Slackers

Note: Image associated is from Ironage.media, specifically their prompt, 'The Outfit'

It's funny how quickly your day can go from utterly average to plowed-wide sideways with a cherry of FUBAR on top. We'd been called in just 2 hours ago, as no one counted the week of hibernation in the ship's hold. Why would you, even if it was a 24/7 practice run of the mission. You were asleep, even as you lived and breathed every possible outcome of the drop and any potential assigned objectives. The Trial was its nickname, as it tested where and with whom you'd succeed or fail and the cost of most people being fresh recruits. The ever-present curse of Vanguard-class vessels. Old officers, a handful of veteran infantry for platoon leads, and everyone else a fresh-faced first-timer.

Not that we had exceptionally high casualties, only 1/100 didn't live through most of the missions, usually only a dozen or so out of the whole force. Our problem was that few people could stand The Trial once, let alone come back for seconds. A week of living through every possible hell a planet can throw at you, let alone the locals on it, breaks most people. They'd do the mission fine, but they'd never re-enlist. Can't say I blame them.

And definitely not today. Today, some fragging idiot didn't get the scans right and authorized orbital ordnance on a paper-thin crust planet. Pods hit the ground as the first bombardment struck key positions and unleashed an ungodly firestorm on us all. The only mercy was the nitrogen-heavy atmosphere couldn't ignite, but the sulphur and oxygen were definitely testing that theory. Jenkins didn't get out in time or was just plain unlucky enough to land on a vent. Doubt it hurt, though. That pod can stand up to re-entry, but not what engulfed him as we touched down. Command recognized their mistake quickly, at least, probably on account of the excess fireworks. All objectives were completed before I pulled my lot of newbies together, live recovery coordinates already spamming my screen as everyone scrambled for a chunk of the planet that wasn't exploding.

"Pull together Slackers! Keep on me and shoot anything without legs! We are LEAVING!" I shouted into the comms, forcing my voice into their helmets and the burning sky around us. To their credit, they heard and understood me quick. Not that they had much choice, as I overrode their suit displays to show only the LZ we were expected at. "Move it, Slackers!" I shouted before shooting the shadow that had moved in the fire and smoke around Jenkins's pod. Enemy or friend, I wouldn't learn till we got back star-side, but it got the newbies moving, and that's what was my priority. Quick as they could, they were running the right way, and I was hot on their heels, eyes wide as the constant inferno shifted shadows and the ground ripped itself apart around us. As the suit began mapping its predictions of where was safe, I forwarded anything above 90% certainty to the kid on point, setting a ping on them for the others to follow as I watched for any sign of our enemy hiding in the flames.

None appeared. Just the flames surrounded us for the run. Then we got out of what might have been a riverbed had the planet not been on fire. And our transport was swarming with them. Hideous things, some horrid mix of mammal and crustacean, all fur, claws, and eyestalks. My point man kept moving, though, not even slowing as he rode the lightning of the shotgun he'd been issued, dumping inch-wide, quarter-pound slugs into the teeming mass of aliens, the other newbies following his example, firing wildly into the now on-rushing horde. Checking Points's vid display, I ordered them into a wedge formation as I crested the lip, joining them as a wave dared to crash against our bulwark of screaming metal.

5 minutes, 5 seconds, or 5 hours, we could have been pushing through the crush of aliens, a dozen yards or less away from salvation, I couldn't tell you. What I can say is their wave broke before we did; the few smart enough to run away did so across a field of their dead as we rushed for the dropping door of our rescue. Another drop safe, another world pacified, another day alive. As my newbies filed their papers and reports to my suit, I pulled up the one file inside of it that was mine. Strictly speaking, it was against regulations, but the Captain had afforded me the privilege after I'd shown him what it was. A video, a few seconds long. The only thing of my wife and son I had left.

As the transport escaped atmo, I heard his giggle for the thousandth time, her soft voice teasing him back as he chewed on a toy. His first tooth was just starting to show. Then, the roar comes through the video. The sound of heavy timbers breaking as that blasted thing destroyed my home. Her scream, not for herself, but for our little boy as he was ripped away. The heavy slap as my wife is struck by the monster, the breaking bones fuelling my resolve. Every last planet of theirs was slated for my, our vengeance. The only other life in the universe, and it dared to attack us. Our only grace is that they were foolish enough to not kill us outright. A grave mistake that we aren't making.