One Final Effort

The Insurrection mounts a final defense as UNSC armor overruns a town on war-torn Mamore.
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The UNSC tanks ripped through Concorde. Metal-plated war machines, the Scorpions smashed through the town’s makeshift dugouts and barricades. Bullets from Concorde’s Insurrectionist defenders plinked harmlessly off the tanks’ armor as they blasted apart buildings with their heavy guns. The marines manning the Scorpions’ machine gun turrets chewed through rebel fighters as they scrambled for cover in the rubble-strewn streets. Tracer fire cut apart the night, illuminating the looming tanks and the dark figures of the infantry squads advancing behind them.
As one such Scorpion maneuvered through the rubble that had once been the defenders’ home, a daring rebel seized a rocket launcher and raced out for a point-blank shot at the tank’s side. In the seconds before the machine gunner cut him down, the rebel got his shot off and blasted the Scorpion’s rear treads to pieces. Now the Scorpion sat square in the middle of the street, crippled but still relentlessly pounding Insurrectionist positions with its main cannon. Marines took up firing positions on either side of the tank, shooting any rebel who dared follow the first’s example.
Huddled in a ditch just behind the collapsing rebel lines, Adam felt the tank’s blasts shake his entire body. Bracing himself against the ground with a rifle nearly as tall as he was, the boy stared around at the motley crowd of militia—the “assault force” Lieutenant Nowak had gathered in the rubble of Concorde’s town square. A few dozen rebels crouched in a semi-circle around the lieutenant—one of the officers sent by the People’s Independent Mamore Army to lead towns like Concorde in defense against the UNSC invaders. Flames from the fires consuming the town cast a dim light over the rebels’ dirty, weary faces.
He glanced to the side, adjusting a helmet that was several sizes too big for him. Beside him crouched Emily and Stray—all that remained of Rat Pack, the gang of urchins he’d run with ever since his parents died. A new family, to replace the one the war had taken from him. Now war was taking this family, too.
Adam gritted his teeth, fighting the lump forming in his throat. He thought of Sal, eleven years old and killed by the marines three days ago. His little brother, Marco, shot in the street yesterday morning. Lieutenant Nowak had caught him crying over Marco’s body before Stray and Emily could drag him away.
Your friend gave his life because he believed in a free Mamore, the lieutenant said then, standing Adam in his crisp uniform. He believed, and because he believed the imperialists shot him. Don’t let his death be in vain. Use your grief, and if it kills even one more oonskie then it will mean something.
An hour later Lieutenant Nowak had Adam on a firing squad, executing the last of Concorde’s citizens who would not rise up against the invaders. These cowards are counter-revolutionaries, traitors to the people of Mamore. If they will not fight against the imperialists then they die with them.
The lieutenant liked words like “counter-revolutionary” and “imperialist.” He also liked firing squads. Adam thought of old Mr. Chua, who owned the fruit stand Rat Pack stole from back before the secession. He’d been up against that wall with six other traitors. Adam wondered if his bullet was the one to kill him.
It was all coming apart. Adam didn’t know what to think anymore. His world was burning all around him and all he could do was point his gun where other people told him and pull the trigger.
Someone had a radio playing across the street. The twang of guitar strings accompanied another propaganda broadcast from Lieutenant Dunn at headquarters. Tales of Mamorian heroism drifted over the ruins of Concorde alongside the soothing music.
“I hate that damn music,” Stray hissed. The other boy—Rat Pack’s newest member, one they’d picked up just before the war—stared into the dirt with wild, angry eyes. His mess of dark hair was filthy with smoke and dirt and blood. He loaded a fresh magazine into his own rifle with an ease Adam had envied since they’d first met—as if Stray had been around guns all his life. “We need to get out of here, before they call in more troops.”
Emily growled and smacked Stray across the head. “Stop that,” Rat Pack’s leader, the girl who had led them all through cold and hunger and now the UNSC’s best efforts to kill them all, ordered. Stray gave her a cold look but did as he was told.
Fortunately Lieutenant Nowak had not heard Stray’s comment. Adam had no doubt the young officer, with his uniform and pamphlets and slogans, would have found it counter-revolutionary. He paced in front of the assault force, hands balled into fists. His eyes burned alongside the flames from underneath his cap as he glared over the rebels.
“Ten years!” Nowak bellowed. “Twenty years! Thirty years! Mamore has yearned, fought, and bled for freedom from Imperial Earth! It’s all led to this moment! Our mothers and our fathers gave their lives to bring us to this final battle!”
Adam thought of his own mother and father, shot down in the street by colonial troops before the UNSC ever arrived. He felt his fingers reaching into his jacket pocket, closing over his mother’s Bible. The only thing he had left of her. He’d taken it off her body, and then off of Anne’s just a few days ago. Rat Pack’s quietest member had always been stealing it from him. The UNSC had made sure she wouldn’t steal it anymore.
“They are running low on ammunition!” the lieutenant snarled. “Finish these imperialist pigs! Their assault stops here! One final effort, that’s all it takes!”
He gestured at the ruins of Concorde. "This is our land!"
A tank shell exploded across the edge of the square. A militia sergeant stepped up beside Lieutenant Nowak, rifle in hand. “On your feet!” she barked. “Into position, move it!”
The rebels rose as one. For a moment Adam remembered the pride he’d felt when the Insurrection gave him and the rest of Rat Pack rifles and counted them among the rest of the militia. Then they were moving, hurrying through the ruined streets like phantoms. The last Adam saw of Lieutenant Nowak was him standing alone in the middle of the square watching the assault force depart. The lieutenant turned on his heel and vanished into the smoke.
Stray and Emily were beside him, trailing to the rear of the pack. None of the other rebels hesitated as they hurried towards the crippled Scorpion. Adam thought of Mr. Chua and the others he’d helped shoot. A cold stone settled in his gut as he realized he would die on the same streets as the old man. But his legs carried him forward all the same.
“This is suicide,” Stray hissed in his ear. “That prick’s just using us as meat to keep them busy while he gets away.”
For once, Emily did not correct him. She stared out at the ruins of the town they’d called home. Maybe even she thought that Stray was right. But Adam couldn’t run, not anymore. He thought of all his friends who had died for the Insurrection, of the people in front of them still willing to give their lives in the face of the UNSC’s brutal might. Mr. Chua had died for them too, in his own way.
If Stray were right—about Lieutenant Nowak and this attack and everything else—that meant they’d all died for nothing.
He couldn’t run.
“Please,” he whispered back. “We can’t run away. Please don’t be a traitor.”
Stray glared at him with a weary anger. “Fine. We can flank left through the rubble, hit them from the side while they’re distracted. Get a satchel charge on that Scorpion, blow that monster up.” The plan came easily out of his mouth. One last time Adam admired how the older boy seemed to know what he was doing. But he knew Stray was lying. It was just a lie to get them out of the streets and back into cover.
Adam smiled in spite of himself and hoped his friends made it out.
Stray raised his rifle and motioned to Adam and Emily. “Just follow me, got it?”
“First wave!” the sergeant ahead of them yelled. “Charge! Everyone else, cover ‘em!”
A dozen rebels leaped up into the street and vanished in a storm of smoke and bullets and blood. The sounds of gunfire hammered into Adam’s head. He thought of those hungry days before the fighting, when Rat Pack was together as a family. In a few moments he’d never be hungry or hurting ever again. And maybe he’d be back with his friends. Back with his parents.
The thought of seeing them again urged him forward towards the street.
“Second wave, charge!”
Stray was calling his name, yelling something at him. He had Emily by the collar, dragging her back into the shadows even as more rebels pushed forward. The press of bodies drove them apart and Adam smiled to his friends one last time.
“Third wave, charge! Everyone forward!”
One final effort. One last attack. Adam was out in the street with the other rebels now, rifle held out in front of him. The Scorpion at the end of the road filled his vision, its machine gun roaring in his ears.
“Mamore!” the sergeant in front of him yelled defiantly even as the UNSC bullets swept over her.
The rebels were close now, leaping over the bodies of their fallen comrades. They were almost at the tank, ready to swarm over the UNSC and drive them off Mamore once and for all.
The final wave slammed into the Scorpion. Rebels dragged marines to the ground, shooting and stabbing and scrambling through the enemy. Adam fell to his knees in front of the enemy war machine. He rested a hand on the tank’s hull, smiling even has he gasped for breath.
And then a marine was standing over him, rifle trained on his head, eyes wild. Adam brought his own rifle up, hands fumbling for a trigger made for larger fingers than his. He closed his eyes and saw his friends in a world without pain.
A final howl of gunfire and the world went tumbling away.
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