Stark's Command Read Online Free Page A

flinched at the sight of the forces massing against his old Squad's position on the other flank. "Anita," he called. "How's it goin'?"
    "Been better, Sargento." Only someone who knew her well could have detected the worry behind her grim words. "They lost a lot of people trying to push us out fast, and now they're trying to do it smart. Nothin' we can't handle so far, though. Kinda busy to talk."
    "Understand." He broke the link, fighting off an overwhelming sense of dread. What was that story my friend Rash had told me about? Spartans. Yeah. Hold 'til you die. Why did it have to be my old Squad?
    "Stark?" The voice could have come from beside him, but the command display highlighted a location on the other side of the perimeter. "What's going on?"
    Stark took a deep, calming breath before replying in an even, confident voice. "We got problems in one sector. I'm heading there now."
    "Problems?" another Sergeant queried. "Looks like the front collapsed there."
    "Yeah. That's how it looks 'cause that's what happened. But the edges of the penetration are holding, and we got a coupla battalions headed to knock the enemy back on their butts."
    "How come they're running, Stark?" a third voice wondered.
    Count to five, slowly, before answering. "I'll ask them when I get there."
    "We're getting some pressure, too," a fourth Sergeant added. "They're pushing us in front and the guys guarding our rears are running away. We can't hold our positions with that happening."
    Stark stared bleakly at the display, feeling uncertainty rising on all sides, the small hesitations multiplying, every one inconsequential in and of itself, but together building into a force that could turn the defenders into a panicked mob. "I told you we're gonna seal this penetration."
    "Maybe we oughta fall back a little."
    "No!" Stark almost shouted it. Start falling back now, and they'll never stop. "Hold on! Everybody hold their positions."
    "Why?"
    Why. Simple question. One word. Very hard answer. Why get yourself killed for something and someone else? Just having that question asked meant trouble, because "why" was one of the things you were supposed to be able to take for granted that everybody knew. "Why" had been easier to answer before Meecham's offensive had slaughtered the Third Division in repeated attacks against strong defenses, before the long habit of obedience had been shattered as unit after unit in Stark's own First Division had revolted against their own officers in order to try to save the remnants of the Third. Now, every possible reply seemed to have too many words, explanations too lengthy to have meaning to someone staring at incoming fire. Stark spoke with forced calm even as his mind churned in futile search for the answer that would likely do the job. "If anybody falls back, they'll screw everybody on their flanks and everybody in the rear."
    "We're getting screwed now, Stark."
    "You're in fortified positions," Vic broke in. "If you run, you'll be out in the open and much easier targets."
    "Sure, Reynolds. But you'd still be at headquarters, and we'd be just as dead either way. Why should we do that?"
    Stark felt pain, looking down to see his fist clenched so hard the armored fist of his suit was forming a vise. What reason could he give these Sergeants, what cause, when so much they'd always believed in and depended upon had been swept away along with the authority of their imprisoned officers? But maybe "what" was the wrong question right now, right this moment. Maybe right now he could only give them a "who." Sometimes people who couldn't find strong enough reasons to fight for themselves could find the reasons to fight for somebody else.
    Stark let his anger and frustration boil over, spitting out each word with accusing force. "Okay, Goddammit. You apes elected me to this rotten job. I didn't want it, but I said I'd do my best because you guys gave it to me."
    "We trusted you—"
    "And I trusted you! So now you're gonna leave me