Decisively Engaged (Warp Marine Corps Book 1) by C.J. Carella Page B

useless crap they’d tried to teach him at boot camp, but the history lessons had sunk in.
    The two massive iron-bound doors at the gate were wide open, which was about the only piece of good news so far. Rover Two headed towards it and the troops standing guard in front of it. None of the Ruddies leveled their assault rifles in its direction, but they were holding them at port arms, so that could change in a hurry. If the shit hit the fan, Gonzaga and his ALS-43 would unleash hell on the Ruddies on the ground floor while Rocky on Rover Three raked the battlements above and Nacle and Conroy dropped 15 and 20mm death on them. That should suppress them well enough for the three technicals to roll out without taking too much fire. Should. If Russell had a buck for every time things didn’t turn out the way they should, he’d be sitting pretty.
    That left the small problem of what would be waiting for them when they got back. The Ruddies would have plenty of time to warm up their tanks and assemble their arty by then, and they might be pissed off enough to use them.
    The whole situation was weird. Whatever happened today, the fleet would show up sooner or later, and every ET involved in shooting Americans would end up dead. The city might even eat a bloomie if things got bad enough. Americans frowned on using city-busters but were willing to make exceptions, as the Snakes had found out. The Ruddies would have to be crazy to get in the way of a rescue. Problem was, people didn’t have to make sense, be they alien or American.
    Russell decided to let leave the big questions to the assholes in charge and concentrated on marking targets for his IW-3a with his imp; he could drive with one hand and fire his Iwo’s missile launcher with the other. There was a Ruddy officer off to one side riding a fucking horse – the Ruddy version looked more like a skinned deer than a horse – who was begging for a 20mm frag round, and Russell would be happy to oblige him.
    Obregon’s voice came on again. “Rovers, we’re clear. Proceed.”
    The Rovers got moving. Russell’s fire team kept an eye out in case the Ruddies were playing games, but they rolled without incident past the guards, through the thick walls surrounding the gate, and out into the open. Other than the fires still burning out in the distance, the only sign of trouble was a much nearer mess of smoke less than a klick away.
    “Here we go,” Russell muttered as Rover One drove towards their date with the Ruddies.

Five
     
    Year 163 AFC, D Minus Ten
    Heather McClintock hated violence. Shots fired meant she’d failed at her job, which was to get things done without the enemy’s knowledge. And she had a dim view of war, which she considered a mostly irrational activity. Both sides in a conflict entered it with the expectation they would win, and at least one of them was dead wrong; often everyone involved was.
    Case in point: the Kirosha mob outside had to know the most they could accomplish today would be to commit a few dozen murders, and that the consequences would be dire. The implants inside their victims’ skulls would record the identities of their attackers, and the US government would demand no less than death for anyone involved. Given the Kirosha penchant for judicial torture, a quick death would be the best outcome for the rioters.
    The hundreds of screaming aliens outside didn’t seem to care for the facts, though.
    Half a dozen of them had managed to make it to the top of the walls and tried to throw rugs or other heavy chunks of fabric over the razor wire barrier on top. Heather had shot two of them herself: one head shot, one center of mass hit. Each beamer shot sent a stream of charged particles towards the target that packed about as much punch as a twelve-gauge shotgun; a kinetic baffle made it effectively recoilless. The weapon had shitty range but was very effective against unarmored opponents, provided you could shoot straight, which she did.
    She