The Immortal Ma Deuce

"Marines to your stations. Repeat. Marines to your stations."

The tannoy continued to repeat the message as I ran for my assigned dropship. Fresh out of boot after my conscription papers came through and thrown directly into the shit.

In this conflict heavy era of colonial rebellion it should have come as a shock but what sat on the vehicle pad made me wonder if my first battle would be my last.

With the amount of material we've been losing command have grabbed anything vaguely fit to fly and put it back into service including the relic from the 40s that I climbed into, being helped aboard by a crusty old dude with rusty plates on his combat vest.

"Son, you're on the door gun. We're going to blaze it past the enemy lines a few times and I want you to lay down all the fire you can manage." He pointed to the boxy weapon on the pintle mount at the side door.

"Sir, is that thing even functional?" I said as a gave him a salute.

"First off, don't call me sir. I work for a living. Second, that weapon there will serve you just fine."

The engines of the dropship kicked in with a might roar and we both settled in place and dropped our helmets over our heads. It muffled the noise enough to make it suck less but it was still a little difficult to hear the pilot over the comm set.

"Welcome aboard this tour of the majestic west slopes of Olympus Mons. Today we are riding in a vintage vehicle of indetermined manufacture date and only the best of servicing provided by the lowest bidder.

"Flight time should be around thirty minutes there and back with a short stop at bad guy central for a delivery of ordenance. Strap in and enjoy the ride because it's going to be a little bumpy."

I reached up for the helding straps and hooked them onto my chest rig at the sides. Hopefully they would hold me steady enough to get some use out of the antique I was assigned.

The back end had two handles that were attached to a boxy central section where an ammo belt was fed into. The barrel was of a decent size and the rounds themselves looked like they could punch through most of anything.

Looking to the other side, I saw the crusty old guy lift the top of his weapon and check the rounds were laying correctly before closing it again and pulling the charging handle.

Mirroring his actions I found the weapon easy to manipulate and the satisfying clack of the handle helped calms my nerves somewhat.

With a huge rattle the dropship lifted from the pad and started on its journey from our base to the battlefield.

The flight there was largely without issue apart from the constant vibration sent through the deck and into my legs. Just as I was getting bored of standing there, leaning on the gun the pilot came back on the comm set.

"One minute to action. Doors opening in thirty seconds. Our guys are marked with IR strobes so turn on the ENVGs and smoke anything that doesn't blink."

A quick tap on the controls on the side of my helmet and everything swapped to a burnt orange colour with sharp, bright outlines picking out edges. A moment later the door slid open and the air rushed in, knocking me back a little and causing the straps to snap tight.

Outside the landscape rushed by and I resettled myself and grabbed hold of the weapons handles with my fingers above the triggers.

"Ten seconds, make it rain boys!"

I was forced towards the front of the dropship as it slowed with some force and all I could see outside was a mass of moving people. Directly below me was a strip of blinking lights but ahead was just the enemy.

Depressing the two buttons on the gun set it roaring and throwing death outwards from my position. As the rounds hit people were cut down quick and before too long gaps opened in the lines where rebels were dead or retreating.

The final round in the belt exited the barrel and the gun settled down. I yelled into the comms, "Right weapon dry!"

The dropship rotated round and I heard the other weapon open up and then a minute later go quiet. "Left weapon dry!"

The vibration began again as the dropship engines spun back up to bring us back to base.

As we made our way back over the arid landscape, I took some time to inspect the weapon I had just used. Flipping up the top I cleared the tray of some errant links and gave it a quick once over, finding no problems.

Turning the gun round so its side was in view a plate became visible. On it was printed the words 'Cal .50 M2 - 1944'

The other gunner put a hand on my shoulder, making me jump a little. "I see you've met the immortal Ma' Deuce. Best damn thing Browning ever gave us."