"Nice shot!"
Warren growled and ducked back behind the concrete cover, blasted down to half its original height. Scorching air thick with smoke and the stench of blood flooded his lungs.
He had no time to check the condition of the Rangdan Elite hit by the plasma blast. His Shotgun was empty. He swiftly plucked several heavy shells from the ammunition belt at his waist.
Then, with fingers slick with blood, he roughly shoved them one after another into the tubular magazine beneath the Shotgun until it was full.
He racked the fore-end with a clack, chambering a round. The scrape of metal sounded unusually clear amid the battlefield's din.
Just then, a brief, savage burst of clashing metal, the dull thuds of colliding bodies, and the screams and roars of dying men erupted on the position's left flank!
The sounds came not from the firefight out front, but from within—from the defensive depth formed by sandbags, trenches, and half-collapsed buildings!
Warren whipped his head around, his steel-blue pupils contracting sharply.
Through the smoke and swirling dust, he saw a dozen or so Skull Regiment soldiers who had been holding the flank surge madly in that direction, bent low, their bayonet-fixed lasguns leveled as though charging.
"The enemy's inside our position!"
"They've broken in! On the left!"
"Plug the breach!"
Hoarse shouts and warnings erupted over the comms and through the air.
The defensive line had been infiltrated.
Clearly, while drawing fire from the front, some Rangdan Elites had used their speed, stealth, or the cover of the ruins to slip around or break through a weak point, striking straight into the heart of the Skull Regiment's defenses!
"Damn it!" Warren's heart sank. The worst had happened.
Close combat. A melee inside their own position.
In these conditions, mortals facing