The guns of the sentries crackled ominously against the backdrop of the sky of Persephone. This part of the planet was simply a giant battle-zone, the one that the brass indicated as Killzone 42. Truth be told, Malcolm Reynolds didn’t know if they meant them or the Bugs. It was about equal, truth to tell. He decided that sleep was out of the question, and went to get some early morning coffee. Rank doth hath it’s privelages. He heard the merry crackling of the Fire Pit Mines, or simply Friends. Mortars and conventional (read, pre-outbreak) artillery were all but gone out here, so close to the core. Normal Shock and Awe tactics would never work on the Bugs, as they were biologically bred to not have fear as an emotion. Or any, for that matter. That was probably why Hera, Greenleaf, and Shadow all fell so quickly to the Bugs. Mal grimaced at the thought of the last name. His Ma had still been ranching on Shadow when it fell, and he didn’t know if she was one of the few survivors. He heard the screech of the enemy as fire from the Friend Mines put them out for good. ‘Bout damn time, too. He walked into the mess hall of their ramshackle base, his brown colored trench coat swaying about him. He wasn’t alone. Zoë, Tracy, and Picard were there, all apparently having the same idea as him. Zoë was a Sergeant now, in command of forty some odd grunts. Tracy was a Corporal in her place, and then Picard was… Picard. He was the odd ball of the small group. He was Alliance, along with maybe two dozen others. They were the survivors of the disaster at Archen-welth, the ghetto town that was occupied as a defensive position. They were overrun in three days of heavy fighting. And that’s how the 57th got some reinforcements for its slightly depleted ranks. Picard was technically a Colonel, but he could only technically command his own troop, which placed him below Zoë in the Chain of Command. Mal yawned as he stepped in. “Mornin’, folks.” Only Picard stood and saluted, Zoë and Tracy merely sipping their coffee nonchalantly. Even as a Lieutenant, Mal was never a stickler for formalities. Those two had saved his ass, and he theirs, that salutes weren’t really needed. Respect was mutual. “Sah!” “At ease. Now, someone bring me some ruttin’ coffee!” An orderly rushed out, holding a steaming mug in his hands. Mal didn’t bat an eyebrow. Folks here probably could predict his moves an hour before he thought to think about thinking ‘em. He eased himself in to a chair, sighing in relaxation when he could finally lift his feet and rest for a little. Tracy finished the rest of his brew in one long gulp. He stood, stretching out his arms experimentally. He saluted sloppily in Mal’s general direction. “Since its so early, I think I’ll round up a few folk to relieve the sentries. Sound good, suh?” Mal merely nodded in his direction, mulling over how Tracey head grown from a unwilling target into a full fledged soldier. ‘Course, he’d been signed on to shoot Alliance folk, not some weird ass alien bugs. Still, Command said that humans were against Bugs, and not Independents versus Alliance now. Well, not for a while. Either way, it was mostly the rim what got thrashed when the Bugs first came from Out-System. A few folk said that a colony had been traveling, self-sustained, for a few hundred years to get here, maybe even a few thousand. Lord knew what they did to pass the time. As Tracey left, he nearly knocked over Simon, who was caught by Kaylee. He thanked her hastily and stood up. Simon was head Doc here, a boon to the Overlanders. Alliance, born and bred, but he surely was the best Doc that Mal had ever seen. Kaylee was likewise head mechanic, but from the rim. Apparently, her folks and her entire family had only just managed to escape the initial Bug invasion corridor. Most had enlisted in some way, he heard. He had met a giant of a man with a nametag that said Frye on his lapel, so he hoped it was her Pa. Maybe he was still alive, even. Simon ordered a weak coffee, and Kaylee an even weaker one. Gorram seventeen year olds… always so ruttin’ energetic. Maybe if they’d… or if Simon would… oh dear God no… He shivered, and pushed the thought from his head. He knew that Kaylee carried a torch for the pretty boy doc, but he didn’t need to know the details of what they would do if-when- Simon came around. “Mornin’, L.T.,” said the chipper mechanic. A gem, she was. “Morning,” said the pessimistic doctor. He, unlike most of the folk here, was drafted into the 57th, which made him one of the few things the Alliance had ever given them that was of use. Most of the time, excess Browncoats were used as cannon fodder. Mal waved him off nonetheless. He was fine with pessimism, long as he still was a good doc to his men. More mines went off in the distance. He smiled. His coffee tasted a little bit better, after hearing one of those freaks die. He drained it away in one long gulp. *** Tracey dozed a bit at his post. He manned one of the sentry towers along the perimeter, leaning slightly against the die-cast metal. His eyes were open yet unfocused. The bugs would normally probe the mine field, usually blowing a limb or two off, leaving them to be finished in a few shots by a caring gunner. There was still a good twenty yards of mines surrounding each bit of the perimeter. Reinforcements were still some two days off, and hopefully with some real food. Ammo would be helpful, but he’d rather have a hot meal in his belly than fresh bullets in his rifle. Better to die content than safe. They were in the very middle of bug country. A bug screeched in pain as it lost a leg, and it was silenced by the chattering of a machine gun in the tower across from his. He winced. You were only supposed to hold the trigger long enough to say “die motherfucker die”, to conserve ammo. He’d have to crack down on the waste, or they really would need all the excess ammo from the Tigers, the company that was to reinforce them. Gunner was probably Alliance. They never needed to conserve ammo, as they always had a few more than was needed. Browncoats, they knew what conservation was. A fireball streaked overhead. It was blue. “Ta ma duh…” The alarm sounded. “Attack! Plasma in the sky! Take cover!” Two more hurtling glowing balls of death hurtled after the initial one; which landed in the parade ground, causing little damage. The other two, however... One of them landed in the middle of the mine field in front of Tracey, and the other along the barbed wire fence which would snag any bug lucky enough to get past the mines and gunners. “Go se!” Another landed in the mine field, causing two dozen to go up in a spectacular BOOM!!! They weren’t aiming for the base at all! He cursed. “Tzao gao!!! Prepare for attack!!!” As soldiers rushed about, he heard the distinct rumble of a tanker bug, which had the nasty habit of spewing acid. Tracey crossed himself. The guns opened up.