Artemis Files 0.5: Lexington by Bradley Warnes

ready.”
    Sliding the works of the combat shotgun to chamber a round, he ignored the unused round that flew out of the chamber and then checked the ammo count on the bottom of the small magazine inserted into the base. He had ten rounds, almost a full magazine plus the two spare magazines he’d retrieved now sitting in his thigh pocket.
    Grinning at Harry, he motioned toward the remaining corridor. “Let’s finish this so we can save Gibney and give him a chance to tell the tale of how he saved a Packet Boat singlehandedly… without a harem.”
    “I heard that!” The man grunted from behind, following the comment with a curse at his pain.
    Following Harry as the man quickly dashed to the end of the corridor and the hatch that would open to the final passage to the bridge, he tried to focus. With every step, the bulging eye of the man he’d killed stared at him with a bloodied throat and face offering astonishment at his pending death. He knew he’d be haunted by the memory if they survived the battle for the ship, and it would be another one to add to his growing collection of dead bodies and defeated enemies.
    It was different when you were on an attack boat because you never saw their faces or thought of them as anything more than an enemy boat trying to shoot you out of space. In person, as he’d discovered long ago during a shore action with a naval brigade sent to restore order on a troubled world, the dead clawed back at you and never left you alone once battle was over. He knew the old adage shared by veterans, that when it came to killing someone up close it was always a choice of them or you, but hearing the phrase and actually being there to experience it first hand were two different things that people didn’t understand if they haven’t been there.
    Some of the other’s he’d served with never let the memories go, turning to drunken binges or drugs to overcome the guilt, while others went emotionally dead, closing their emotions down and shutting off friends and family. He’d struggled with the morality when he was young, especially after that first boarding action on the slaver and death almost took him. He didn’t know how he managed it, but the advice of a senior rating was probably what kept him sane; and that advice was to compartmentalise the experience. You’ll never forget it, he said, but over time you’ll find a way to keep them with you but get on with life. If you don’t, then it means they win in the end and you die.
    Pausing at the hatch, Harry palmed it open and then leaned through as the echoes of gunfire sounded from around the corner. The noise pulled him back from the wandering thoughts, enabling him to focus on the struggle to save the ship.
    With Harry leaning low, he leaned over the man and saw three boarders at the gaping bridge hatch, firing inside and then ducking for cover from return fire. Behind them, two more waited at either side of the hatch, although in the quick glance he noticed one was clutching a leg instead of a weapon and tying a compression patch around the upper thigh. The second was changing out the magazines of his Minié, discarding the empty and tapping a new one into place while gathering his courage for the next time he was needed to fire into the bridge.
    “On my count, we charge them.” Harry whispered. “No more stuffing about taking potshots and getting hit in return, we’ll charge them and go toe to toe until they’re down. On three….”
    He barely heard the counting, his mind fixed on the targets and gripping the shotgun. Sliding his thumb over the selector, he unconsciously double-checked the safety was off and it was set to the second notch for semi-automatic fire. As the man beside him let out a roar and pushed around the corner, he followed suit with the same banshee cry he’d been taught to use as a rating all those years ago in basic training. With his legs carrying him forward, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
    Charging