The remaining members of Mac’s platoon looked as worn out as he felt. They grumbled, trading dark looks, as their newly-minted lieutenant barked out orders. A day after he’d led them bumbling into a xenomorph’s nest–Hudson, Long, and Nichols ripped to shreds, Rodriguez’s helmet seal tearing as they fled, their comms broadcasting him suffocating–and the idiot wanted them back on patrol.
“El-Tee?” said Mac. “Can you c’mere for a sec?”
“What is it, sergeant?”
Two cracks of Mac’s rifle butt shattered the lieutenant’s faceplate, and he fell, frothing at the mouth.
Mac eyed the others. “He tripped.”
The others nodded.
Matt Krizan is a former certified public accountant who writes from his home in Royal Oak, Michigan. His short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in various publications, including Daily Science Fiction, Dark Moments, and, previously, in Martian Magazine. Find him online at mattkrizan.com and on Twitter as @MattKrizan.
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