The enemy found them at dawn.

They’d grabbed what ammunition they could from the cache point and destroyed the rest before falling back. An hour later they arrived at another ammo dump, part of the newly dubbed “Marne Line” as they started digging in once more. Stragglers filtered in from all directions throughout the night and were immediately thrown in to bolster their defenses, but unlike the mad dash for the ridge a few days earlier there was no esprit de corps to be found.

Just grubby and weary survivors, struggling to hold on.

The Havoc jets were now flying overwatch, having finally been released by the brass. Considering how few they had left, they’d held them in reserve until absolutely needed; with the collapse of the ridgeline it had decided that if this didn’t count as an emergency, then nothing would.

The last of the Centurions were covering their flanks, with the wheeled vehicles running nonstop to evacuate the wounded and bring up much-needed supplies and reinforcements. The Sappers had done what they could, throwing up earthen ramparts to help give them a chance, but everyone knew just how desperate a gamble this was. If the Marne Line collapsed, then all that remained was a long march to the sea, to be soon followed by a cursory execution.

Rúna swung her pickaxe at an especially stubborn hunk of rock, but there was little force behind it. Her muscles felt like limp noodles, barely able to lift the pick, let alone wield it. She’d stripped off her blouse and harness, the dirt and sweat now caking her body. Soot stained her face, there were streaks of Yendrick’s dried blood on her clothing, even her once proud mohawk now hung matted and clumped. She longed to empty a canteen over her head and just feel clean, even for a moment. Unfortunately, they’d lost one of their desalinization plants in the last attack, and official word had come down that water was for drinking only. It was far too precious now to be wasted on anything else.

No one spoke. No one had the energy. Besides, there was nothing to say. The enemy was coming, and there’d be a battle when they arrived. Maybe they’d win, but they probably wouldn’t. Then they’d retreat or die where they stood. The Demon Murphy had already shown her cards, and they’d all come up Jokers.

Raising the pick high, she swung it down once more, stumbling as it slipped out of her palms and clattered onto the rocks at her feet. Heads turned her direction as she struggled to retrieve the tool, but she was just so tired. Maybe she could rest here, just for a moment…

She started herself back awake as she lost her balance, almost toppling over. It took her a second to remember where she was, and what she was doing. Once she did, she reached for her canteen and drank deeply, rehydrating as best she could and clearing a few of the cobwebs away from her mental attic. They were all sleep-deprived, stumbling about like zombies, exhausted, while waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Flinching as she felt a hand touch her shoulder, she whirled around to find Kai standing there. One look at his face, and she knew.

“How soon?” she asked quietly.

“Twenty minutes. Maybe,” he shrugged. “The Havocs have been spotting for us from the air. They’ll try to give us some support, but…” His words trailed off as they both acknowledged reality. Once the attack came, knocking those aircraft out of the sky would be the enemy’s top priority. They could stay and risk destruction or seek refuge far from enemy lines.

Lots of that going around.

Looking nearby, she realized they were all done in. They’d drained themselves, scraping out enough dirt and piling up enough rocks for minimal protection, but it was far from adequate. Worse, they’d likely be abandoning these positions in a few hours, if not sooner. She’d dug foxholes now in three separate locations since the last sunrise, and the odds were good there were more to be dug come daylight. It was all so pointless.

She rubbed her face, trying to wake up, and then with a weary sigh bent down and picked up her rifle, slinging it over her shoulder. “Then I guess we should get ready,” she told him, even though her heart wasn’t in it.

“Hey,” he said, holding her arms as he looked her in the eye, “don’t you give up on me. This isn’t over.”

Rúna just shook her head. “Isn’t it? Whatever last-minute salvation the colonel was hoping for, it’s obvious that he gambled and lost. Whether it ends today, tomorrow, or the next, they’ll chew us up and spit out our bones.”

A dark expression clouded his face. “Since when did you turn quitter on me?” he demanded.

She barked out a sardonic laugh. “Kai, this fight is like nothing we’ve ever faced. We’d have hauled ass long before things got this bad. Sure, we’d lose the contract, but at least the battalion would still be intact. Now?” She looked pointedly around. “How many are dead? A hundred? Two? How many more when they finally come?” Rúna snorted in disgust. “Don’t you get it? We’re done. It doesn’t matter anymore what happens now; win, lose, or draw, there’s not enough of us left to rebuild. If we’re lucky, maybe the survivors get reassigned, but the 2/2 is finished.”

“I don’t believe that. I refuse to believe that,” he growled. “You want to roll over and die? Fine. Just answer me one thing.” Gripping her arm tight, he spun her around, so she faced the rest of the squad. “What about them?” he demanded. “You owe it to them to be the leader they need, but if you can’t do that?” Releasing her arm, he yanked the sidearm from her holster and pressed it into her hand. “Then finish it, by god! Stick it under your chin and pull the fucking trigger. Just do it someplace where we don’t have to watch.” He glared at her, daring her, his anger radiating off him like electricity.

Rúna stared silently at the weapon in her hand for several long moments, before her shoulders slumped in resignation as she slid it back into its holster. “They need you,” he told her, his voice gentler now. “I need you. So don’t you give up on me,” he implored her, “don’t you do it.”

Closing her eyes, she rested her hand on his chest, and slowly nodded. “I’m okay,” she told him, “I’m just tired.” Opening her eyes once more, she looked up into his. “I’m so very tired,” she whispered.

“We all are,” he answered, placing his hand over hers. The two stood silently for a heartbeat until finally he turned away. “Fifteen minutes, now. Make them count,” he told her, retreating to his own position.

She turned to see Arthur staring at her, his jaw hanging open. “You heard the man,” she snapped, locking down her emotions and falling back into habit to mask her fears, “we’ve got fifteen minutes. Have you coordinated with Tawfiq and worked out where his dead zones are?”

His jaw snapped shut with an audible click. “Y-yes, corporal,” he stammered.

Her attention turned to Becca. Right now she needed the distraction, any distraction. “You’re the closest thing we’ve got to a sniper. When they get here, look for the officers and heavy weapons. Shoot them first.”

“Sure,” she nodded, giving her an odd look. “Um, when this is over? You and me need to have a long talk.”

“Get in line,” Rúna told her, dismissing her concerns. She couldn’t let herself think about that now, because if she did the floodgates would crash open all over again, but especially not after what Kai had said to her.

Because he was right. Bastard.

There was nothing else to be done, nothing that would make any meaningful difference in the next few minutes. She swallowed down some stagnant water from her canteen, munched on a ration bar, tried massaging her aching muscles, but in the end, all they could do was wait.

A scream off to the left announced their arrival, as the Ixi appeared out of the mist like silent ninjas. One minute the sector to the front was clear, the next they were there, their swords slashing down like scythes as they stepped out from the morning sun.

“FIRE!” she screamed, her command echoed up and down the line as they opened up with everything they had. Return fire came almost immediately; they had relied on stealth to get them close, hoping for a quick victory, but with that no longer possible those not tangled up in their foxholes fought back with everything they had. The few Ixi that had penetrated their defenses relied on their swords, banking on their speed and terror to cut large swaths through the ranks. Most were cut down quickly, once the shock passed, but they wreaked unimaginable havoc before they died.

They earned more than a few new swords that day, but the price was too damn high.

The Ixi were like wraiths, materializing just long enough to fire a burst in their direction before disappearing once more. It was almost impossible to pick their targets, so instead they fell back on the oldest tactic in the book… saturation.

Throw enough lead downrange and you’re bound to hit something.

Tawfiq’s gun provided them with a comforting staccato as he strafed the ground ahead, punctuated with Arthur’s grenades. The Havocs made a grand total of two passes, dropping incendiaries and setting the scrubland ablaze and temporarily forcing the Ixi back, until a wave of surface-to-air missiles drove them off, taking out two of the precious aircraft in the process. One crew punched out and landed safely behind friendly lines. The other did not.

The fires bought them a temporary respite, enough to triage some of the wounded. Doc was busy treating patients up and down the line, but without dense forest to fuel the flames they eventually burned down, low enough for the Ixi to resume their assault.

Only this time, they weren’t alone.

With a roar, a wave of Zaitai surged forward, throwing themselves at the line and counting on their sheer numbers and ferocity to overwhelm them. The Valkyries redoubled their fire, but it barely made a dent as they swarmed their defenses. The barrel of her weapon grew red hot as she burned through one magazine after another, fighting desperately to hold them off. A dozen bodies lay heaped up in front of her position and still they came, eager to finish what they’d started.

And then a sledgehammer blow knocked her off her feet, throwing her to the ground.

She stared up at the murky sky, dazed, trying to understand what had happened. A dull ache seemed to radiate from her shoulder, and when she probed it with her fingers, they came back bloody.

I’m hit, she realized, struggling to sit up, but Doc was already there at her side.

“Don’t move,” he cautioned her, rolling her over on her side to check the wound. “Through-and-through,” he pronounced, as he prodded the injury before slapping on a couple of QuickHeal patches and whipping out a sling, “passed right between the clavicle and scapula, and missed the brachial artery completely.”

“... I’m... okay?” she said in disbelief.

“You’re not dying,” he corrected her, helping her sit up, “which ain’t the same as ‘okay’.” He looked into her eyes for a moment and then slapped her helmet. “No concussion. You’re good. Gotta go,” he told her, before darting off to his next patient.

She retrieved her rifle, using it as a cane to hoist herself back up, though once she was kneeling, she realized firing one-handed was going to be an issue. Propping it onto the berm in front of her, she socked it in tight to her good shoulder and fired, wincing as each recoil aggravated her wound even further.

The sound of incoming mortars almost brought her to tears, as they drove the enemy back once more. Explosions tore through the Zaitai mob, scattering them, while the Valkyries fought to regroup.

But the attacks had torn massive holes in their defenses, and they’d already used what meager reserves they still had to plug them. There was simply nothing left. One look at their situation, and Rúna knew what was coming. The call from Kai merely confirmed it.

The moment he contacted her, she slumped in defeat. “I know,” she said wearily, cutting him off, “... we’re falling back.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “the map shows a knoll about three kilometers behind us. The lowlands narrow at that point, should make it easier to defend.”

Three kilometers. It might as well be three thousand. “We’ll never make it,” she mourned, “not with the Zaitai and Ixi on our backs.”

“We will,” Kai maintained, “the colonel has a plan.”

Something in his voice made the hairs on her neck stand on end. “I won’t like this plan, will I?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment she thought he hadn’t received her message. Finally, though, he answered back.

“...no, you won’t,” he said at last. “No one will.”

The 2/2 was undergoing its own sort of triage, deciding what they could save, and what they would sacrifice. In the end, the math was brutally simple; infantry units like First squad were the outfit’s backbone and had to be saved if they were going to have any chance of holding out. Since they couldn’t stand off the enemy at their current location, they had to pull back, but doing so put them at risk. Without prepared positions, or at least a fucking hill to use for cover, the enemy would cut them to pieces as they made their escape. That could not be allowed to happen.

So Colonel Holme made the hard choice, dusting off their final contingency plan, the one he’d hoped they’d never need, throwing everything he had left into the fray. Every aircraft would sortie until they shot it out of the sky. Every Centurion would be used to hold off the Legion tanks until they destroyed them. Every artillery piece and mortar would shoot itself dry, and then the crews would be given rifles and sent to the front as reserves. The few vehicles that remained would ferry wounded and supplies until they too were gone. And when the enemy finally pushed them back to the sea, the medical staff would prop up the wounded still able to hold a weapon, as they fought to the bitter end.

They called the plan... Jericho.

And the walls were already tumbling down.