A week had passed since the start of the invasion. The enemy dominated, despite the arrival of extra troops and a newly organized command. Alien ships patrolled the ruins with cold logic, burning military bases and destroying remaining units before always returning to their base points. Humanity's only remaining argument was nuclear weapons. Two, sometimes three missiles for every alien body and that was only if it was a direct hit. The Earth Coalition had turned its men into human speed bumps: soldiers were thrown into the hellfire with the only purpose of pinning the enemy down for the incoming nuclear strike.
"Bravo-23, Bravo-23... confirm your location!" The radio on the soldier's shoulder was lost in static.
"My location?" The soldier spat out thick blood, his hands never leaving the trigger of the heavy machine gun. "I'm in the middle of ass, you copy?!"
"Bravo-23, clarify: are you currently in the back area of the enemy vessel?" The dispatcher's voice was dead, without even a hint of irony.
"Screw you! We're dying out here! We're the tenth squad today! Or are you already preparing the twelfth — for the slaughter?!"
"Bravo-23... a huge nuclear strike will be sent to your sector. Do you hear me? This is for the sake of the future. We are forced to make this sacrifice..."
"Cut the nonsense... My future is just as much minced meat as my present."
"Bravo-23... we understand..."
"You don't understand a damn thing, you HQ rat." The soldier grabbed the radio with a trembling hand. "Record the target coordinates: 40°" North. Bring it down right on top of me."
"Soldier..."
"You deaf, Lieutenant? Thinking of arguing about orders now? Do your job!"
"Bravo-23... Copy that. Out. We won't for..."
"Wait, Lieutenant. Do you promise to take out "Main CP-01"? I want to die knowing this wasn't for nothing..."
"Only with God's help."
Bravo-23 began to whisper the words of the "Our Father." He had never been a believer; all his life he had forgotten the lines, remembering only the beginning, perhaps from a movie, or from bits of someone else's speeches. But right now, it was the only thing that made sense. His time had run out. All around him lay those he had shared food with only yesterday. Aaron's cut-off arm... Bravo-23 remembered how they used to face off in arm-wrestling until their joints cracked. In those days, they had time for vacation and for a life that could have filled a novel, if only there were someone left to write it. And read. He remembered the officer who had once judged them, that "saintist," damn him.
Then the soldier remembered the news reports: "For every fallen soldier, there are 2.36 enemies killed." Statistics, damn it. In reality, every chitinous body was paid for with five thousand lives. Bravo-23 gave a bitter smile: clearly, he was that final unit needed to change the balance. Only one round left. Today he turned twenty-seven the perfect age to join the "Club." Bravo-23 slowly raised the pistol to his head. His finger rested on the trigger... Stop. Not a single sound.
The silence grew so heavy it made his ears ring. This wasn't like a normal break in the fighting. Behind him, from the crunch of broken glass, he realized — someone was coming. And then, the silence was ripped apart by a wild, human scream.
"You freak, get your feet off the flag! The best people of my country died under this banner, and you're stepping on it with your filth!" The Captain's voice rang with fury. "Now, get the hell away from it!"
He emerged from the smoke. In his hands was a heavy aircraft machine gun, pulled out by the roots from a helicopter tower. The scarred Captain marched straight ahead. Right at the invader, who was wrapped in living chitinous armor stronger than tank steel. Bullets broke uselessly against the shell like toothpicks, leaving only small marks. Bravo-23 didn't take his eyes off them. Only now did he realize that on this entire patch of ground, only the three of them remained. Him, the captain, and the enemy. Now the battlefield looked like a flat land, where the hills were formed entirely from dead soldiers.
The "meat-grinder trap" strategy was insane, but effective. The plan was simple: let the enemy believe in their strength, gather them together, and hold them. Hold them until the nuclear bombs fell from above.
"Who are you?"
The soldier heard the enemy's voice live for the first time. The sound was mechanical, dry — the translation played through the armor's built-in speakers.
"Get your feet off my flag, you beast!"
"Fine... I surrender." The speaker rasped.
"Captain!" Bravo-23 shouted. "Captain, I sent the coordinates! Grab this bastard and let's go, fast!"
"What did you do?.."
The alien aimed his cannon at the sky, trying to lock onto a target, but the weapon only clicked uselessly. With a furious roar, the enemy ripped off his helmet. Bravo-23's hand reached out to make the sign of the cross, his lips quickly whispering a prayer. The Captain froze, his eyes locked on the enemy's chest. Symbols were engraved upon it — the same combination of signs he had seen before but never understood. Now, he knew.
"Bucks?.." The officer said, barely breathing.
"What? How do you know my name, Earthman?" The alien stood still, shocked that the word had fallen from the lips of an enemy.
And the face... It was his own face. The same features, the same eyes, only the skin was a different color, and in his look, there wasn't a trace of the constant anxiety that destroyed the Captain from within. It was himself — only perfect.
The missile pierced the sky at a speed faster than humans can see. The city, which had held its defense for so long, began to fall apart. Thousands who hadn't managed to leave, who hoped to wait for the end behind strong walls, were turned to ash in an instant. Skyscrapers collapsed like houses of cards. In those final seconds, someone was watching an old comedy show, someone was crying to a song from a distant childhood, and someone just gripped the hand of a loved one tighter. The final moment had come.
But none of this mattered to the one watching the disaster from orbit. From that very flagship, "Main CP-01." From the height of the starship, the death of the huge city looked like a tiny spark, flashing and immediately disappearing on the blue-green planet. A faint pop, and it was over. The observer didn't hear how, down there, two creatures cursed him. He was beyond that — he was remembering how it all began, and wondering if it was time to return home. He was, at last, completely tired of it all.
And there was no more point in saving this planet!