The Man in Charge

-December 21st, 3246-

The initial onrush of the shvir melted instantly, pyrakite explosives tearing through their lead ranks. Those that followed came in an unstoppable onrush, ignoring the shorn off limbs and gore spattered walls, all that remained of the leading elements. The clatter of Akarn rifles filled the crowded space, interspersed with the paratroopers Type 84 assault rifles and shviri laser carbines. The aliens were dying in droves, choking up the couple meters that lay between them and the human defenders.
"Grenade!"
Moore cursed and punted the sphere back towards the shvir. The room was in the midst of absolute havoc. The last staff members were exiting out the rea. One of the paratroopers standing next to the sergeant dropped dead, a laser having cut cleanly through his throat. The commando pushed the body aside, firing his rifle one handed as he struggled to retreat towards the exit. The clip clattered to the ground and the sergeant fumbled for a second, firing the moment he had reloaded.
"Fall back!"
Ryss shouted the command, entirely redundant in the situation at hand. Moore was the last man through the doorway, seconds later, a trio of plasma grenades obliterated the insides of the command bunker. The trench-line was crumbling under a seemingly unending barrage of artillery fire. Everyone had already retreated, the only thing left along the path back to the second defensive line was the dead who had fought for control of the defenses, dozens of paratroopers and seemingly hundreds of shvir, having choked the defenders in their own corpses.
"Sheevee tank, range five hundred!"
Val shouted, barely peering over the edge of the wall.
"Ignore it and keep moving!"
Moore responded, ducking down as he heard the shriek of incoming artillery fire. It was the human artillery, firing on their own positions to slow down the shviri advance.
"Great, now we can try to avoid everybody's fire!"
"Shut it Val! They're right behind us Ryss, fucking sheevees. Pass me another charge."
"Get in the goddam dugout! What the hell are you doing Moore, get inside!"
 Ryss dragged Moore through the doorway of the dugout just in time, the fizzle of shviri lasers missing their target filling the air where his head had been split seconds earlier. The room was barely lit by emergency lights, a single lantern and some empty cartridges of ammunition littered the ground. A tunnel entrance lay directly ahead. Whoever was supposed to be here had long sinced abandoned the position.
"These fucking things should lead back, let's move!"
"Ryss, they're rigged with explosives. And everyones gone, they're gonna blow 'em!"
"Screw that, get moving, Moore, you take point, I got the rear!"
Moore rapidly complied, opening the bolt-hole and dropping through it. His ankles screamed in protest as he fell nearly two meters. The hole was deeper than he had expected. He should have used the ladder. The tunnel networks were the arteries of human resistance, the aliens may have been able to block resupply routes above ground with artillery and air support, but not down here. Here all was safe. Unless the aliens took the front lines, then all would have to be destroyed. Moore could already see the charges lining the walls, lights softly blinking where they lay wired along the support beams. The tunnel itself was compact, narrow and low ceilinged. Moore was not a tall man, but even he had to hunch over slightly. Behind him he could hear the thuds of the remainder of the two commando squads dropping inside. There were multiple annexes leading off from the main tunnel in which they were, it was all a veritable warren of pathways leading to various points along the line.
There was shouting, screaming up ahead. A few squads still moved past them, breaking off for the farther reaches of the front-line, seeking to reinforce portions of the trench lines that had ceased to exist. Order was lost. Moore shook his head in disbelief. With that disorder, the front was lost, and far too soon. How could they ever hope to hold. Behind him, men were moving down the tunnels, seeking to set up and recover the defensive positions lost. A full platoon of infantry moved past, looking at the commandos with a mixture of disgusted and questioning glances.
"Scipios golden boys."
One of them spat. Moore wondered if the rest of his men were annoyed with this treatment. The paratroopers didn't realize that their orders were different, and loose at best, but holding action was not what they were meant to do.
They emerged in a cramped ante-chamber. A few hallways further down, and the whole group had successfully returned to the command bunker. This wasn't the front-line control dugout, relatively weak and indefensible. This was a massive structure. There was a heavy hum of electronics. Dozens of computers and holographic maps with hundreds of officers, soldiers, medics and other staff moving back and forth.
"We need our fleet, or we're all dead men," Kwame hissed angrily.
Instantly, Moore spotted the figure of one of the officers, a smartly dressed young lieutenant, bellowing orders. Instantly, he was up in his face, shouting at the man. The sound made gravelly through his respirator.
"The fucking front line is lost, we need to retake it, we need to reinforce, the sheevees are pushing in!"
"Reinforce with what you idiot!" The man angrily shouted back, snarling at the commando sergeant. As he turned around, Moore could make out the mans other arm, wrapped in bandages and bleeding profusely.
"Where's your colonel?! Where is Colonel Zhukov?!"
"I don't know! They got to main bunker in center of 'Kursk', trying to organize overall, I'm in charge here right now."
Angrily, the officer turned away from Moore, hollering at one of the comm operators.
"What the hell do you mean, they're lost. How the hell did we lose communication- Damnation! See if you can raise first company."
"Sir, there's a lot of wounded in the eastern tunnels. We can't move them. They're all gonna get swarmed. The shvir broke through in B sector, by the Boarder."
Moore was furious, he was being ignored, there was no escape from the present situation and he was entirely uninformed as to what was happening. Beside him, Ryss chafed in similar impotent anger. He pulled off his helmet, it was something he always did when he felt the need to think, to calm down.
"Raise a platoon, get them help, we have to pull them out!"
The young airborne officers voice was almost rising to hysteria, panic.
"There's nobody sir, we've moved everybody to the front line, the rest are holding at least two hundred-meters west, in the tunnels. We'll never get somebody to them in time."
Moore swore silently under his breath. Ryss looked at him sternly, he was the senior sergeant and he rarely, if ever approved of Moore's impulsive decision making, let alone his decision to become involved whenever and wherever he felt he could make a difference.
"You aren't doing it, those wounded aren't our problem Moore. Our problem is us, you already risked too much out there. We should have never been at the front."
"You'll just stand here, let our own flesh and blood die to those, those fucking things!"
"We have our job, they have theirs!"
"We have no fucking job, we're trapped, the only difference we can make is here, and now!"
"Get your shit together. We're moving back towards Centerpoint. This situation will have to be sorted out by them."
Ryss motioned to the airborne troops that surrounded them.
Moore bared his teeth in a soundless snarl. The mop of black hair that surmounted his head, far longer than permitted, gave him a dishevelled, savage appearance. There was rabid conviction there, fanaticism. The young sergeant was convinced of his own truth, of his own correctness, and would not be persuaded otherwise. The greatest weakness of the commando, lack of purpose and objective, even for the briefest of moments, could lead to bickering and disagreement as a course of action was charted.
"We have to wait for orders, once we know exactly what they wanted, we can start risking actual missions."
"We were given an order to assist if reasonable. We don't assist now, they're all dead."
Moore drew himself up and turned to the Lieutenant.
"Where the hell are these wounded, give me a map, quickly."
The man looked at him as if he were mad and might bite him at any minute, but complied and handed him the necessary intel, pointing to where the wounded were in the tunnels.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Gonna go kill some shvir and hopefully get your people out of there."
"Alone?"
"If I gotta, then yeah."
The man stared at him incredulously.
"You'll never make it. The shvir are already breaking through. We need at least a platoon to fight through. Shit, Vlad's cut off."
"Close enough for me, damn sheevees can't fight in tunnels."
Moore growled and pulled his helmet on. The airborne officer was about to protest again but it was too late, the commando officer was already gone, heading back down into the tunnels from whence he'd come. His voice crackled over the internal comms.
"Val, Kurt, Willy, follow me, we're gonna bail our new friends out of trouble."
"Should we follow?" Val asked.
"He's impossible. The idiot seems to forget that I'm in charge. He's letting his emotions cloud his judgement," Ryss sneered. How the hell had Moore become a sergeant he thought. The man was tactically capable and a peerless soldier, albeit with somewhat shoddy marksmanship. But his volatile, impulsive attitude was not a good quality for any officer in the commando.
"Do we follow?" Val repeated. He was by far the most loyal of Moore's men, generally in full agreement with his insubordinate commander. Ryss didn't answer, angry and undecided. If he didn't help Moore, the man would probably die. If he did, he would only reinforce his own lack of control in the two squads, allowing himself to be dragged back and forth on the impulsiveness of the younger sergeant.
"Sir?" Val asked.
"You're his men, do as you see fit," Ryss almost spat the words out. He was being impulsive too, hot headed and letting anger get the better of him. He could see the six helms of the other men standing still, watching their officer rage, all emotions hid behind those black faceplates. The only sound coming from them was the rasp of breath through the rebreathers. Light glinted off those insectile black eyepieces, judging, waiting.
"Grab another map, lets go follow Moore."
He whispered quietly, almost inaudibly.
"What was that sir?"
Willy inquired, cocking his head to the side as if it would let him hear better.
"You heard me, get a map from the airborne and we're going down there. See if you can scrounge up some grenades and ammo real quick."
His men dispersed, moving as quickly as possible. It would be less than a few minutes before they'd head down. Slowly, Ryss dragged his hand over his helmet, drawing in a deep breath of filtered air.
"That bastards gonna be the death of me. Fuck Moore!"
He cursed to nobody in particular, the sound of his voice lost in the commotion of the surrounding bunker.