FIRST PART IN A SERIES, written by yours truly Maestro

Marine on a Live Grenade- the log of Pvt. Dean Weber, #495409, NEG Marine Corps.

"Don't ever stand on a live grenade". That was the closest I got to a gesture of friendship of my first 8 months with the 209th, "The Ten Ton bastards". Grizzled old timers claimed the name came from the weight of the Skarrg killed by the battalion in the Skarrg-NEG war, but many people seemed to think that the name reflected amount of bullshit the battalion officers could spew at the local beer after a couple rounds of Ryker-7 cocktails. Whatever the name meant, the Bastards were a tough group. One could expect that - at the height of the fighting, the regiment had a 90% casualty rate and trooper survival measured in hours. The 209th was designated officially as the tactical operations surgical strike force-which generally meant sending in a small group of heavily armed marines against overwhelming odds to accomplish some impossible task...which the 209th had generally managed to do. The bulkheads on the NEG Wraith were covered with the marks of many soldiers, faceless heroes now remembered only a few scratches carved into the tough reinforced myonmer with a ultra carbon knife. For a group this tough, I wasn't doing that bad. I had moved up from "Krall shit, first class", all the way up to "fucking moron", which was what all the troopers generally addressed me as. That was before my baptism, or whatever you like to call it. Back in the 20th century, or perhaps earlier, some person had coined the expression "baptism by fire". I personally considered the person a idiot...anyone who had truly been through that nerve shattering hell that can be hardly contained in the word "firefight" knows that the roar of the guns and the whistle of bullets doesn't baptise you....it shanghais you, takes your soul and keeps it until the smoke clears and you can sit down and wipe the sweat, grime and blood from your face.

My first firefight was in the ruins of an old power facilty somewhere in Sector 4. Liandri had "aquired" the place from it's previous owners, and as part of our new "intensive training" course, the 209th had sent 8 men to face off against a group of warriors from the Professional League. I had drawn a short straw, which meant for the next hour of my life I would fight and most probably die many more times that I personally cared to think about. At no risk to myself of course-Liandri assured us it's Insta-Spawn machines would make sure we would be reborn again, our thoughts transferred via a massive V-thought link into a new body that would be instantly teleported into the battle, "All in the blink of an eye and at no cost to yourself!" was what the cheerful Liandri flyer told us. Which was nothing like it was, of course. I remember the last ten minutes vivdly, the glowing hum of the waiting teleporters, the smile on the Liandri armorer-bot as it cheerfully scanned me for hidden weapons, then dropped me a DRC-24 Enforcer and a clip of ammo. I picked the gun up, tested the trigger, then flipped it over and inserted the large clip into the front of the gun, bullets clinking against each other as the clip slipped in with a "click". The hammer slipped back and forward again. 1 bullet in the chamber, 29 in the clip. I slipped the safety off and walked over to the taped off box that read "06", directly in front of a glowing teleporter. The announcer began to read the name of the contestants. My mouth felt dry, but it might have been the air. My helmet was uncomfortable, and the gun seemed to increase in weight as I held it. I switched to a two handed grip and stood up straight. The final count began, as millions of TV stations around the universe trained their cameras and billions of viewers stared anxiously for the action to begin. The count reached 2, and I brought my gun up to shoulder level, looked forward, and as the announcer pronounced "Zero" the glowing light of the teleporter enveloped me. Whatever anyone says about teleportation, it's not pleasant. Imagine being grav car traveling at 100kps while flipping end over end and rolling, multiply 10 times, and you might have some idea of what teleportation might be like. For an eternity you feel this- then the next moment my feet touched ground and I materialized. I was standing in the hallway of an old powerplant. The place smelled of old coolant, gas, and a smell that I later realized was old blood. The lights were white and harsh. I looked around for a second, and brought my pistol up. Then all hell broke loose. The rest of that hour I remember now only as another haze of gunfire and blood, broken occansionally by fear and exhaustion. A warrior in a dark outfit of old myonfer sheaf armor suddenly rounded the corner. I remember his eyes glowed a strange white...it was the first necroth I had seen in person. And then he fired. The shot skipped by my leg, and the next one he fired impacted into my shin. The pain was fierce enough to taste. Suddenly, the adrenaline kicked in and my own hands came up and my own gun roared. The gun seemed impossibly loud, the kickback incredibly strong. But I kept firing, the shell casings seeming to waltz through the air as the smoke rose as I dove to the side, all the while the Enforcer roaring and my arm jerking from the recoil. I saw the warrior clutch at his chest, and I pulled the trigger again. A burst of light and a pale mist of smoke erupted on his chest as he crumpled to the ground. And I was already running, toward nothing in particular, and rounded the corner. I turned and saw a flash of white at the end of the hall. And the glint of metal off a very large rifle. And the reflection of light of the glass in the scope of that rifle. Then, before I could scream, stop or think, there was a flash of light. The sound an instant later. And very suddenly, a moment of pain, and the sensation that my head had detached itself from my body...blackness.

Then a sudden a burst of light, roaring pain through my body, then suddenly sensation as my new brain awoke, and my new eyes opened, and suddenly my new hands were gripping another Enforcer, and then suddenly the world crushed in on itself again, and then once more back in the smell of coolant, the glare of the lights and the roar of the gunfire. The rest, as I have said, is just another one of my countless battles, the visions I have of miniguns firing, teammates screaming, blood spraying through the air as I hear the clink of spent catridges on concrete. Then...the shock rifle in my hands disappeared, the world spun again, and I returned. The hum of teleporters, the taped off 06, and my body (my 10th for the day?) stood once again in the dim light of the ready room. I managed to step off the teleport pad before collapsing on the ground. Around, as my teammates stepped off their teleports, and there was the sound of clasps releasing and helmets being removed. I stood shakily to my feet and managed to pry my helmet off. My hair was drenched and matted against my scalp, and I stank of explosives and blood. As we began to file out, one marine walked over and turned to look at me. His tough face was hard as he nodded once, and spoke. "Good fighting today, Weber." I nodded back, and slowly realized it was the first time anyone in the 209th had addressed me by name. He walked off, and I tucked my helmet under my arm and staggered out to greet the waiting crowd. That was my baptism...or whatever you really want to call it.