We looked a morose group as we marched quietly along the narrow bridge. None of us spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.

I'm sure the others were mourning Robinson's passing.

Mine were not of our lost comrade, but more selfishly fearful. Each footstep I took was measured and controlled as I worried about the height transversed. Even when I stayed in the center of the structure, the edge seemed far too close.

Strong gusts of wind pulled at my clothes as we moved, each attempting to throw me to my doom.

The bridge had no handrails, walls, or other protections along its edges. Whatever bastards had built this bridge had deemed such things unnecessary.

I slanted my stance against the wind and kept plodding forward, my mind laser focussed on reaching the other end of the bridge and safety.

One foot in front of the other, rinse and repeat.

I couldn't give in to my fear and show my weakness to the others.

I fucking hate heights.

**

Kuwta lagged behind as the squad walked across the narrow bridge. She was lost in thought as she studied the weary squad.

She was concerned about whether the squad would survive. It must; her legacy depended upon it.

The brute they have called Robinson had been their most belligerent member. With his demise, the clan now seemed toothless and subdued.

Their numbers were low, and she wasn't certain the survivors would be able to flourish.

The weasel walked beside the alpha male, listening to his every word attentively. Westcott was typical cannon fodder. A man with no backbone, he was a follower of others, and as such, would find himself used and disposed of when convenient.

In front of her, Peters walked beside his insectoid companion. The man was a bespectacled weakling. Within Orc society, the feeble and weak are culled as a drain on society.

Kuwta spat onto the floor in front of her.

Peters would have never survived until maturity if he'd been an Orc. Yet the youth showed great spirit and had stood up to the warchief when he thought it needed. It was a shame he was the clan's historian. At some point, he would have to be dealt with if Kuwta was to take her rightful place.

The insectoid, Brzzktal, she couldn't comprehend at all. A sentient creature, it appeared to have been bonded to the scholar. Like a trained animal, it responded happily to the puerile nickname the humans had given it and was well behaved and meek, yet when called for, it had the viciousness of a warg.

A replay of the bug decimating a squad of trained soldiers without hesitation swam into her mind. The creature demanded respect.

Sarge, the alpha male, was old and no longer dominant. He received unasked advice from underlings and failed to punish those who gave it. Poor discipline was a breeding ground for insolence and disobedience. This, combined with the squad's current lack of manpower, placed the warchief in a precarious situation.

In Orc society, an ambitious warrior would have challenged him by now and taken his place. Likely, dooming the group to failure by attrition.

Fortunately, not all societies were as efficient as the Orcs, however and she was unsure how this situation was going to play itself out and indeed what side she would take should a challenge arise.

**

"Hurry up! We're exposed out here," Sarge shouted, encouraging the slow moving Kuwta to catch up with the rest of us. The Orc warrior picked up her pace, and we covered the remaining span, quickly reaching the dilapidated sentry box on the other end.

Grimy with dust and dirt, it was obvious the building hadn't been occupied for some time. Inside was a lonely desk, with some forgotten papers scattered upon its surface.

We left it to its solitude and continued past, heading for the desolate plain beyond.

We'd only gone twenty yards when whirring sounds echoed from in front of us—the sound of large gears turning after long neglect.

I exchanged glances with the rest of the squad as we looked around in anticipation. Surprises on the battlefield were rarely pleasant.

Popping noises followed the whirs as small cylinders popped up spaced some twenty feet apart. As with the wire on the other end of the bridge, these formed a semi-circle around the bridge.

Mixon ATMMk III

Designed by the Mixon Corporation, these Automated Turrets are designed to be an automated security system. The turrets are equipped with motion sensors and will track and destroy any life form entering their one hundred feet target radius.

They can be armed with various weaponry as desired by the purchaser.

Disclaimer: These turrets are prohibited from use on several worlds due to their inability to distinguish between individual life forms. The Mixon Corporation takes no responsibility for any loss of life due to accidental discharge.

The others stood with their mouths gaping open like frogs as small holes opened in the cylinders' front.

I tugged at Kuwta's shoulders frantically, dragging her back with me as I broke into a run, "Turrets, take cover!"

Behind us, gun barrels now protruded from the holes, and the cylinders rotated slowly to face us.

The repetitive thud of gunfire echoed out as Kuwta's boot kicked the sentry post door off its hinges, and I skidded into the small room behind her.

The others bundled through the door right behind us.

We were all in one piece, for now at least.

The rattle of bullets dribbled to a halt, and the turrets sat silently watching us, waiting for us to emerge again. Then, with the sound of grinding gears, they descended once more into the earth.

It was then that I realized not all of us had run.

Buzz Kill had apparently taken my words literally. The stupid idiot had bunkered down on the spot, pulling his limbs within his shell. He remained in no-man's land. Fortunately for him, the turrets appeared to be ignoring him at present.

However, I feared at some point he'd poke his head out and have it blown off.

"What is that idiotic creature doing out there?" Sarge asked as he peered through the window.

Never one to have an opinion when someone else could decide for him, Westcott shrugged.

"Fucked if I know," I muttered as my brow furrowed.

How on earth were we going to get Buzz out of there safely and get us past the turrets?

“We won’t be able to get out of range before the turrets activate.” The old man scratched his chin absentmindedly before continuing, “We need to distract the turrets while we move past. Peters could you persuade Buzz to act as a distraction?”

I looked at the old man askance, “Buzz is one of us .. a member of the squad.” My voice was laced with anger.

“Sacrifices must be made for the greater good,” Sarge’s face was impassive. “Besides that overgrown bug gives me the creeps.”

Anger rose up inside me. If Sarge was willing to sacrifice Buzz then I had no doubt he’d do the same for any of us, all the name of completing the mission.

“No man left behind. Remember?” I stated willing Sarge to argue with me.

Sarge stared me down, spitting back a challenge. “Offer me an alternative then, Brains.”

He had me there. We had to do something and I was drawing a blank.

The old man tapped his foot annoyingly as he waited for me to present my plan to the squad. He was an ass, and at that moment I hated his guts.

The only option I could see wasn’t one I wanted to use.

I wasn’t a hero, but there was no way I could ask another person to try this.

Fuck it, we were all going to die one day. Why not today?

“Hold this,” I requested of Kuwta as I took my flak jacket off. It was heavy and would slow me down. Speed was going to be everything, if those turrets tagged me a battered flak jacket wasn’t going to make any difference.

The others watched me with interest as I flexed my legs, squatting down slightly to warm up my tendons.

I wished I’d taken exercise more seriously.

Moving to the doorway I looked out across the open landscape. Buzz was stationary where he’d been earlier. I knew that fifteen feet beyond that was where the turrets had appeared.

For this to work, I’d have to cover that ground quickly.

“Wish me luck,” I commented, and then without waiting for a reply, I was off. My legs pounded across the terrain, kicking up dust.

I leaned forward as I pushed my muscles to their limits, trying to squeeze more speed out of my limbs.

The sound of gears announced the imminent arrival of the turrets.

I kept running, putting the likelihood of my imminent death out of my mind.

The cylinders were visible now, and I could hear a faint whirr as they rotated around to face the intruder.

Me.

This was it. One way or another, this would play out fairly quickly. Either I’d be a big goddamn hero or dead.

I skidded in beside the nearest turret.

As the gun barrel slowly emerged and clicking rapidly, it tried to continue rotating to get me in its sights.

The turrets jerked slightly but were unable to rotate fully to face me. The gears reached their limit.

I’d been correct. The turrets couldn’t rotate the full three hundred and sixty degrees. Otherwise, they’d have shot and destroyed each other by now.

The guns all sat slightly askew. Clicking as they tried to target me, but helpless to do anything.

A feral smile hung from my lips as I drew my knife and thrust it into the turrets opening. Time and again, I plunged it down, recklessly tearing it through the delicate electronics inside.

Then I grabbed hold of the gun barrel and yanked hard. Something snapped, and it came sagged forward drunkenly.

One down, a dozen more to go.

It took fifteen minutes to stalk the length of the line, assassinating the helpless turrets.

Only when the job had been completed, and the last one was destroyed did I allow myself to relax.

I collapsed in a heap beside the last turret. My body shook as the realization that I was still alive set in.

It had bloody worked.

“You’re absolutely insane,” Kuwta shouted from the sentry box.

Even Sarge inclined his head respectfully, “Good work, lad.” Then without pausing he marched forward, “Move out, men.”

No rest for the wicked.