The Marines and sailors moved at his order, though not with their usual alacrity. And they’ll only get slower if I’m wrong.
“What about the fourth corner, sir?” Stiles asked.
“You and I will search there, lieutenant. Grab the tools. I’ll meet you down there.” This left six armed Marines on the catwalk to arrest the Borjia duo if the searchers found anything.
“I cannot take this anymore,” Yuri said. “You, sir, are out of your mind!” He pointed at Mako, his arm quivering in time to his enraged heartbeat.
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
Yuri threw up an arm in frustration, rolled eyes to the ceiling. “Very well, then! Search away, because I guess you haven’t noticed how your men are looking at you. They think you’re as big an ass as I do! So enjoy yourselves down there. I’ll even fetch some dust masks for you and your men.”
Mako nodded, pointed to a corporal on the catwalk. “Go with him.” He then dropped two meters and landed in the grain, sinking to his knees.
Yuri returned with the masks in short order. A dust cloud arose and thickened as they probed with broom handles. Five minutes passed, then ten. Nothing. None of his men said a thing, though the search plainly annoyed them. The hold is too big, even with eight men searching.
Sweating, covered in dust, Mako turned from his work to rest a moment and noticed a tiny depression in the grain near the center of the hold, perhaps two centimeters deep and five across.
“Bring the shovels in! I want everyone digging in this spot. Make it happen.”
Yuri laughed like a lunatic at full moon. Mako caught several angry, exhausted looks from the Marines but again held his tongue. It’s there or nowhere.
“This is not necessary, sir,” said Captain Borjia. “There is obviously nothing here.”
Really? Fifteen minutes ago you gave me run of the ship. And now you want me to stop?
“Just let them search, Father,” said Yuri. “Let the commander play the fool.”
Ten minutes later, Lt Stiles announced, “I’ve hit something!”
“Let’s go; dig it up!” Mako commanded.
“Do not bother, commander,” the captain said, a long sigh following. “You have found what you are after.”
“What?” Yuri barked. “What in hell did you just say?” He stalked toward his father, fists balled. Not the most enraged man Mako had ever seen but damned close.
“Arrest both of them!” said Mako.
The captain immediately raised his hands, while Yuri took a run at his father, intent on throttling the old man. He didn’t know. Mako was sure of it.
Yuri resisted during apprehension, yet little of his anger was directed at the Marines shoving him to the deck. He shrieked epithets at the captain. “Goddamn fool! What were you thinking?”
“Unbelievable, sir,” Stiles said through his mask. “I thought we were hunting wild geese there for a while, but there’s definitely some military hardware down there”
Mako quickly cut off the congratulations of other sailors and Marines. “We’re done here, men. Call the Astoria, chief; have them send a recovery team and a crew to run this ship.” He ascended a rope ladder to the catwalk.
“I don’t know what to say,” said Yuri when Mako stood above him. The Marines had kept him face-down on the floor since his arrest. “I had no idea what he was up to.”
“He is telling the truth,” the captain said. “I am completely responsible for this.” He moaned to Yuri, “I am sorry, son.”
“Your fucking apology doesn’t get these cuffs off me, old man! So just can it already!”
“You can make this easier, captain, if you tell me what my men will find down there.”
“Ten tons… ammunition and weapons. The bots must have left part of the shipment exposed during loading.”
“So you had them dig down and readjust the sensor-scattering tarp while you waited for us, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“They did an excellent job covering their tracks, but they weren’t quite perfect.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Idiot!” Yuri spat the word so forcefully that his mask came off.
“Yes. It was a foolish decision.”
“Why? Just answer me that.”
The older Borjia sighed. “We needed money. We were short on the ship’s lease payment.”
“You gambled it away, didn’t you? We could have just borrowed it!”
The captain shook his head. “Our credit is shot, nothing; I’ve borrowed too much already. I didn’t know how to tell you…”
The admission propelled Yuri on a new tirade, his most vitriolic yet.
Mako could stomach no more. “Sergeant, notify the brig aboard the Astoria that prisoners will be arriving shortly. Take these two back to the Condor.” He paused, remembered the captain’s family was aboard. “And then take the family members into custody.”
The captain pled, “Commander, please, be gentle with my family. They likewise knew nothing of this.”
“At least you had the sense not to tell mother,” Yuri said. “About the only smart thing you’ve done lately.”
“All of you will questioned by intelligence, but I give you my word that your family will be well treated so long as they cooperate.” He turned to Yuri. “That includes you, if you can keep a respectful tone in the future.”
“I surely will now.”
“Thank you, commander. I am certain they will cooperate.” Captain Borjia bowed his head, looking forty years older than he had half an hour before.
“Take them away, sergeant.”
Mako deemed cuffs unnecessary when arresting the family, two crying women and one dumbstruck little boy, none offering resistance. He couldn’t watch the boy being taken away. I hope you’re innocent, Yuri. Then your boy will still have a father.
After they were gone, Mako stood alone in the captain’s comfortable quarters as he waited for a search team to arrive. A large plaque topped with the sigil of the Orion Navy hung on the wall, its woodgrain faded with the passage of time. An inscription in gold leaf read: “Captain Constantine Borjia: We congratulate you upon completion of twenty-six years of honorable and faithful service. We wish you the best of luck in your retirement. Be safe in your travels through the stars. The officers and personnel of the ORNS Zebulon.”
All down the shitter. For nothing more than a lease payment. Mako turned in disgust and marched from the room.
CHAPTER 25
“Attention on deck! Good morning, sir.”
Brisk footsteps sounded on the concrete floor as Captain Carr marched forth to address Murder Company, assembled for a mission brief in an empty maintenance bay, the Scorpion fighting vehicles parked outside to make room. Time on deck: 0310. The staff and officers appeared alert and ready, but the NCOs and non-rates looked in need of serious caffeine.
Something big is going down. Murder usually deployed in squads or platoons, rarely as an entire company.
Carr came to attention before them. Like his Marines, he wore the basic camo jumpsuit. They would don armor and draw weapons after the briefing. “At ease! Good morning, Murder. Take your seats; let’s get started.” A mustang with almost twenty years in the Corps, Carr would generally begin with some motivating words or a joke—most were funny—when addressing them at formation or before liberty call. But the downcast corners of his mouth and his stiff posture portended grave news.
He addressed the company in a severe tone. “We have a long day and a demanding mission ahead of us, as I’m sure you’ve all figured out by now. I don’t like to leave my Marines in the dark, so here’s some context to put this mission in perspective and stress its importance.
“As some of you might have heard, 41st Battalion executed a large-scale raid four days ago on a heavily fortified insurgent stronghold to the north. Their mission was to apprehend a man named Gallardo Perez, an arms dealer reputed to be supplying most of
the insurgent forces. Long story short, they found him, but he escaped in the heat of battle along with some of his forces, though most of his men were annihilated at the cost of a dozen dead Marines and twenty wounded.” As Carr spoke, a holographic projection beside him showed a brief overview of the previous operation, including combat footage and images of wounded Marines being carried off on stretchers to medivac.
“Intel believes he is now hiding in Harkness, a farming village about 110 klicks northwest of here. We will be sweeping the village to capture him and any caches of weapons we might find. Your commanders will go over the plan in greater detail when they brief you as platoons. His photo has been downloaded into your HUDs for quick identification.” Carr paused as a brief mission overview displayed, complete with blue arrows and computer mockups of the dropships approaching the target and unloading Marines. A three-dimensional hologram of Perez’s face rotated back and forth in an adjacent projection.
“It’s going to be all hands on deck for this one as we are the focus of effort for the battalion. General Hella himself has given this mission the highest priority, and he will be monitoring our progress closely. Perez is a high-value target, wanted dead or alive. But command would prefer alive, and if there’s one thing we know about General Hella, it’s that he rewards his Marines for a job well done.” Mumbles of agreement arose around the company, and Carr raised a finger. “However, if capture presents too great a threat to yourself or your team, just kill him outright. Do not risk yourself unduly. General Hella has been known to hand out meritorious promotions and decorations, but they won’t do you any good if you’re dead, so use proper judgment if your team runs across Perez. Your lives are more important than his—remember that.
“As always, you will likely encounter civilians in the combat zone. And Mr. Perez is not above taking hostages for human shields. You are to keep civilian casualties to a minimum, but do not let them interfere with taking Perez. That order comes from General Hella himself.
“All of you have done an outstanding job in the field over these last few months, even when your missions were ill-defined and when you lacked proper support. That won’t be a problem today. We’ll have armor backing us, and all elements of weapons platoon will be deployed, a heavy MG with each squad. In addition to that, weapons company is supplying two mortar sections for fire support, along with a plasma thrower squad to help us mop up. Each fire team will carry two disposable rocket launchers. We’re not foolin’ around this time, Murder. You’ve stomached your share of bug hunts these past few months but not today. The insurgents grow more active; they’re engaging in the open more often. It’s gonna be ugly up there. Stay focused. Stay hard. Make every round count. That is all.” Carr came to attention.
“Attention on deck!” Gunny Hobson ordered.
“Carry on. I’ll be in the area.”
The company gunny continued: “At my command to fall out, you will assemble as platoons for your commander’s briefing. Fall out!”
Lt Snider bellowed an ooh-rah that sounded like a pissed-off seal’s bark. “Let’s go, first platoon; bring it over here!” Many of his Marines responded in an uneven chorus of barks. All moved with alacrity toward their leader, motivated to get briefed and underway. Of course they’re motivated; he’ll be right there with them.
Lt Dupaul, standing nearby at another hologram projector, said, “Come on, second platoon! Let’s go!” His weak, nasal order embarrassed them all, but it got them moving… like a platoon of turtles. Suuuuch a pussy…
“Move your asses, second; I’m waiting!” SSgt Len barked. “We got Vics to waste and scalps to take!”
Len’s words sparked a motivating fire. “Aye, staff sergeant!” second shouted, scrambling to brief.
That is how it’s done!
***
“Get ready, Doom, two minutes to LZ,” said Sgt Cardona, who sat at the front of the Condor’s cargo bay by the cockpit door. “Check your weapons and maps one more time.”
Rizer brought up the map of Harkness on his HUD, overlaid with their starting positions and projected routes. Harkness lay in the upper reaches of a broad, isolated valley way out in the boonies. Capturing Perez might prove a hairy proposition, but the battle plan was straightforward. Doom and Ghost Squads would land near the southern edge of Harkness, in one of the ubiquitous burned zones left behind by the Verdant Guard, then work their way through a short stretch of jungle into town, sweeping toward a central square. Evil and Fury, inserting to the north, would push southward to rendezvous with Ghost and Doom at the square.
Lt Snider must have been disappointed at first platoon’s assignment: guarding the one main road leading into Harkness. They might see some action anyway. Insurgent forces were known to materialize from nowhere when major engagements took place. Carr and his SNCOs—along with Lt Dupaul in his usual remote, supervisory role—would be with first platoon. Imagine that.
Rizer often wondered why a competent infantry officer like Carr allowed Dupaul to hang in the rear so often. Surely he sees how cowardly he is. Yet nothing was done about it.
A dull explosion sounded outside the ship, rocking the Condor slightly. The pilot veered and rolled sideways.
“Shit, are we taking fire?” asked Bach, busted to PFC for not ratting out his friends. He now sat alone atop Dupaul’s shit list, having dethroned Rizer.
“I dunno, ya think?” Stiglitz jibed.
A direct hit the next moment removed all doubt, the blast jolting the ship and rattling Rizer’s teeth. Hundreds of metal fragments pelted the craft, audible over the cabin noise. Panicked shouts filled the air as the Condor tilted 45 degrees. The harness over Rizer’s armor kept him from falling across the hold into Stiglitz’s lap.
“Hit!” someone shouted.
Leone hollered, “We’re gonna fuckin’ die!”
Rizer felt the Condor plummet, but the pilot got her almost back on an even keel. Maybe it’s not so bad.
“Crash positions!” the pilot announced via radio.
Another jarring impact sent the Condor spinning sideways through the air, Doom Squad eating g-forces as the dropship whirled about like some horrific carnival ride. Smoke spewed into the cargo hold. In what were certainly the last moments of his life, Rizer wondered how his parents and brother would react when notified of his death.
The next jolt was prolonged, punctuated with cries and shouts, and so forceful that Rizer’s harness straps dug into his power armor. With a grating rumble, the still-spinning Condor plowed across the earth. It hit something and flipped over, landed briefly upside down, and rolled once more, coming to a smoking halt on its belly.
Several Marines raised their face shields and vomited. Rizer felt blood trickling from his nose, tasted it on his tongue. A sharp pain stabbed him in the neck. He could barely breathe, the wind knocked out of him, but he gagged, “Door,” and pointed to Stiglitz, who sat by the control switch for the rear cargo hatch. Hydraulics whined, then sputtered as they encountered immovable resistance.
“No go!” said Stiglitz. He spat out a mouthful of blood.
“Can everybody move?” Cardona asked.
“Michaud’s out!” Hagel said. “I’ll get her.”
“Out the side door, Doom! Move!”
Rizer and Stiglitz were last out the side door near the front of the aircraft. They emerged into a cloud of gray dust mixed with black smoke from the starboard engine burning very close to the door. Cardona had third and fourth teams in a hasty 180 facing the jungle to the north. They were supposed to have landed at the tree line, half a klick further, where SSgt Len and Ghost Squad currently unloaded from another Condor.
“Doom 6, Murder 2-7, status report,” Len ordered over the radio.
“One Marine down, but it looks minor,” Cardona said.
“She’ll be up in a minute, staff sergeant,” Stitches said. The bot had LCpl Michaud from third team propped against a fallen log; the med bot waved smelling salts beneath her bleed
ing nose as he checked her vitals. She appeared to be coming around.
“Carry her! Get out of the clearing now!” came Len’s reply. He and Ghost disappeared into the jungle, their figures barely visible through the dust obscuring the dawn.
“Copy, Murder 2-7.”
The female copilot emerged through the side door holding a large halon fire extinguisher and sprayed the burning engine. Half the starboard wing had been blown off. The Condor—smashed, dented, pieces missing—resembled a beer can that someone had crushed and then attempted to straighten out.
A thick, charred log, kicked up during the crash, now protruded from the pilot’s side of the cockpit window. Rest in peace. If insurgents reached the Condor before the search and recovery bird, the copilot would destroy the ship to keep it out of enemy hands. It wasn’t salvageable, but its highly advanced flight systems were classified.
Cardona approached the copilot. “You okay, ma’am?”
Though quite shaken up, she seemed coherent enough. “Yeah, I’m fine. I already called in a recovery bird. Go; I’ll be okay.”
Cardona nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to Doom. “Move out in fire team order! Scrap, get the fuck up there!”
“Can I get a please with that?” muttered their current sensor bot, Scrap, as Rizer, Stubs, Hood, and Leone, first team, assembled at the front of the Condor.
Scrap led them across the burnout, Rizer on his heels. The other teams followed at ten-meter intervals. Cardona did not order jump packs to speed their progress; they needed to conserve suit power for the battle ahead.
They encountered no insurgents, mines, or IEDs in the burned stretch or the klick of jungle beyond. But on the outskirts of Harkness, dozens of square orange IEDs appeared on their HUDs, strategically rigged in a vast field of banana trees they needed to cross.
“Clear a path, Scrap,” Cardona said. His desired approach route appeared on HUD as a red arrow pointing through the field.
Scrap, a font of smart-assed remarks when the pressure was off, moved quickly to obey. First team followed, Rizer keeping at least five meters behind Scrap as the bot disarmed the IEDs, simple notched aluminum tubes filled with trialex explosive with a proximity laser sensor set at one meter. Scrap crawled to the fourth bomb as Doom came under sporadic fire from a few insurgents stationed in the field to slow their advance.
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