Off World · Ragnarok

When nuclear war erupts on Earth, the American colony in the Alpha Centauri system is left stranded. As the new day dawns, a furious attack by the native inhabitants threatens to overwhelm the colony's defenses. It's left to the thin red line of the US Army's 9th Regiment to stem the tide and ensure humanity's survival in this harsh new world. From two time Dragon Finalist and author of the best selling series "Irregular Scout Team One" and "Invasion" comes a new tale that tells of the struggle for survival on a brutal planet.

Now Cobb was down, gone, trampled into a red paste, and they were only two thirds of the way across. The team had spread out, Alverez falling further and further behind, the 240 slowing him down. Ahead the road was choked with dead bodies from the artillery, which had stopped falling a while ago. The tail end of the first Gvit column had just left the bridge, ignoring the COP.

“STOP! FIRING LINE! CLAYMORES!” yelled Johnson, and he wheeled around at the first corpse, setting his M-14 on the body, ignoring the smell of blood and guts, to line up a shot. The Gvit were close, less than three hundred meters, and he aimed for the throat of the nearest, firing as soon as he had a steady sight picture. No effect, and he fired again, the alien tumbling onto the pavement. Beside him, the rest of the scouts opened up with their weapons, firing low with their M-4s, aiming for legs and joints, Alvarez hosing them down with the 240 as he caught up with them, emptying his two-hundred-round box, and probably burning out the barrel.

Crane hastily dumped out a claymore, opened the legs, and set FRONT TOWARD ENEMY, muttering “No shit” to himself, then ran the cord back behind another body fifty meters away. “SET!” he yelled, and the team peeled off, running past him.

Baird stopped to help him, but Alvarez, who’d dropped the smoking 240, grabbed him by the collar, hauled him up on his feet, and shoved him into a run. Their fusillade had halted the charge momentarily, and Crane waited patiently until they were less than fifty meters in front of him, spears flying past him as he peered over the legs of dead Gvit. Then he hit the detonator, yelling, “FIRE IN THE HOLE!”

The claymore went off with a deafening CRACK! that made the specialist’s ears ring. Without looking at the result, he grabbed his rifle and ran as fast as he ever had in his life.