Shadow Play

by P. R. Adams

That was when the Commando officer in charge had radioed a change in plan. He had lost two men to an ambush site before even leaving cover. It was too risky.

  He was calling in artillery and advised a retreat.

  Except the artillery rounds were already incoming.

  O’Bannon ordered a full retreat, but the young men were just as winded as him. Their legs felt like so much dirt stuffed in their pants. They tried to follow, huffing, gasping, streaming steam behind them.

  Trying to stay ahead of the incoming shells that fell with the howl of the gods.

  The explosions. The screams of his men.

  O’Bannon curled into a tight ball, and despite the frigid conditions felt sweat on his brow and under his arms.

  How different things could be with better officers.

  Someone shouted over the comms, “Flares!”

  The major looked up to see the sky awash in a bright, red glow.

  More of the damned flares. Erasing shadow when it was most needed.

  The flares drifted toward the south wall. To where Lyonne was leading the lower group. At that moment, they were all exposed, their black outer wrapping aglow in the flickering light.

  “Cover!” O’Bannon brought up the assault rifle he’d taken from Franke and fired at the Kedraalian positions below. “Get to cover!”

  But it was too late.

  The enemy fired, and sparks tracked the gunfire. Then there were no sparks, and the clatter of bullets against stone went silent, and the major’s soldiers fell.

  Lyonne jumped to the position that offered better cover, but the shooters seemed to anticipate it. Just as he landed, a burst, then another, then a third thundered.

  He staggered, then twisted, facemask turned to his commander’s position.

  Why? Why? The young man’s voice was in O’Bannon’s head. It joined the chorus of so many dead.

  Then Lyonne pitched forward, slid over the rock cover, and tumbled down the crater wall until he was out of sight.

  O’Bannon sucked in air. He fought the wild panic that had been in his head all those years ago, when he and nine of his men had struggled clear of the explosions that had blasted comrades into a fine, pink haze that clung to armor and uniform. He ground his teeth and exhaled with a force that left his throat raw and lungs burning. He clenched the weapon so tight to his chest that the grip bruised his sternum.

  None of that would bring back Lyonne and the others.

  “Why? Why?” It was O’Bannon’s voice demanding answers now.

  He had sent the men down. Why had he assumed they could reach cover fast enough?

  Why hadn’t he thought that the enemy might have more flares?

  Why were they so focused on his small force?

  Madness floated just behind his tight-squeezed eyes.

  Shouting filled the open channel, and this time it wasn’t his.

  “Major! They focus on the eastern area. Should we descend?”

  “Major O’Bannon, we must flee!”

  “Major! I have the grenade! Should I throw it?”

  O’Bannon shook his head. Andressen had found the grenade. He waved from the western side of the crater.

  Then the flares settled against the wall, and there was no light to see the young man.

  “L-listen.” O’Bannon swallowed. The tang of blood was in his saliva. He’d bitten his tongue. He’d allowed the fury and pain to touch his awareness and to burn it away. “Seek cover. Hold to cover.”

  How little cover there had been in the snowfield. And when they’d reached the trees, they’d found so many cracked and splintered by the first artillery rounds. Once the eternity of bone-jarring explosions had come to an end, he and the few survivors had poked their heads out to see what remained of the fortification.

  Surely it still stood. Impregnable. Invincible.

  It had sucked away so much life, it couldn’t possibly fall.

  But only the hill remained and that beaten down into submission. No rock from the walls stood higher than half a meter. What timber hadn’t been flung into the air to land in the low area where O’Bannon’s men had died was twisted and splintered and smoking. The dirt had been swept away, the interior gouged and pummeled, leaving nothing but a blackened stain against the pristine white of the surrounding snow.

  Forms moved through the rising smoke, but it was the proud Commandos. Their officer waved one of his men forward, taking an Azoren flag from the young man’s mighty hands and plunging it into the shattered ground.

  How proud the senior command would be of their youthful charges.

  Their perfect, brave little monsters.

  O’Bannon connected to Knoel. “Captain Knoel! Knoel! Do you hear me?”

  The Commando didn’t respond.

  “We are leaving. You hear me, you bastard?”

  That got through. “No! Major O’Bannon. Halt!” The other man’s voice was a snarl.

  “You have left us exposed. My soldiers die from—”

  “If you flee, Major, I will execute you and your men. Do you understand?”

  “We have fought. We have provided—”

  “Execute! Every. Single. One of you! As rebels! Traitors!”

  O’Bannon’s jaw ached from how hard he clenched it. “We are loyal soldiers.”

  “Then hold your position, you coward! We have penetrated their perimeter.”

  “Victory is yours, then.”

  “Soon, yes. But for now, we need you to keep them occupied.”

  “There are too few of us to be a threat.”

  Knoel’s breathing grew deeper. “Dig into your inferior guts and find some semblance of bravery, Major. These are the orders of our glorious Supreme Leaders, and they are the orders of your superior.”

  There was no accepting the Commando as a superior. Not by rank. Not by birth or production or whatever method the propagandists called it.

  O’Bannon swallowed the bloody spit that filled his mouth. He drove his shoulder into the rock that protected him. “Let me tell you this, Captain Knoel: You had best pray I die in this dark pit of hell. Do you understand me?”

  “You speak foolishly, Major. Say another word—”

  “Because if I see you after this, you motherless bastard, it will not be you executing me, but me ridding the universe of your unworthy existence.”

  O’Bannon disconnected and squeezed his eyes shut again.

  There was no driving away the vision of Lyonne being raked by gunfire. Nothing could block out the way he’d looked up before falling down the south wall of the crater.

  And nothing was going to bring back Lieutenant Franke.

  The major’s fate had been set the moment his commanders had sent Knoel and the Commandos to Jotun. The entire unit had been deemed obsolete.

  Redundant. Expendable.

  If there were a final act of defiance to be had, O’Bannon intended it to be a strike against the abomination, the false life Knoel and his people represented. And no firing squad or hangman’s noose could act as deterrent now.

  There would be vengeance for Lyonne and Franke and all the others.

  Mia would understand. The children would forgive their father.

  He would need for them to escape, to flee, but that was a contingency he’d planned for going on years now.

  All that was required was to outlive Knoel and his brothers.

  It was a task more daunting than the greatest heroes might attempt.

  22

  Everywhere the driver turned the Badger’s lights, the cliff wall seemed to rise straight up from the ground, almost as if a giant laser had cut the walls away. Stiles ran a gloved hand over the surface near the base—smooth as glass and twice as hard. The material whispered softly over the stone.

  Halliwell brushed past her. “We should’ve brought climbing gear.”

  He struck the wall with the butt of his weapon, which didn’t even manage a meaningful scuff. Grier used the heavy tire iron taken from the Badger like a club. It bounced off
the stone but produced a slight chip.

  She flicked the loose stone away. “If we had a few months and a couple more of these tire irons, we’d be okay.”

  But there had been only one iron in the tool compartment, and nothing else came close in mass or hardness.

  Stiles twisted around. “How far back was the area where you found a way up?”

  Grier shrugged. “A couple kilometers. There were maybe some other spots.”

  Halliwell joined Carruth at the northern wall, then turned and drifted west. “We don’t have time to go back that far.”

  They didn’t. If Benson’s forces were already under attack, the mission really was on the clock. And if they chose to go back the way they’d come, they’d have to do so without the Badger. It had sputtered its last bit just ten meters shy of the wall.

  Stiles cocked her head as she studied the vehicle. “What about the gun?”

  Halliwell stopped. “You mean try to gouge some holes?”

  “This stone is hard, but it’s brittle. It’s like obsidian.”

  “You don’t want to climb up obsidian using fresh-gouged handholds.”

  “Like obsidian. It’s not the same.”

  Carruth hurried to the Badger, then scrambled inside. He popped out the turret and brought the big weapon around. “Might as well give it a try.”

  Stiles waved everyone back. “Get behind it, in case of ricochets.”

  “Great.” Carruth hunched lower behind the weapon’s screen.

  In the narrower gouge where they’d come to a stop, the gun thundered. It cycled, stopped, then cycled again, and between each cycle, the turret motor made its soft, dying, grinding noise.

  Boots stomped across the top, and finally Carruth was looking down at them. “That’s done something. Hope it’s enough, because the turret’s frozen up.”

  Halliwell was the only one who could reach the lowest hole. Stretching, he got fingertips in, then dug them around for a second before yanking them out. “Shit! Cut right through.”

  The fingertips of his glove were frayed. In the Badger’s dying light, he plucked black splinters out. Grier helped, then pulled a tube from a hip pouch.

  “Spread ’em wide, big guy!” She cackled, then sprayed the glove fingertips, sealing them closed once more.

  But that wouldn’t be enough to protect against the shards when they tried to climb.

  Kohn had been hanging back, watching from behind the protection of the driver door. He came around now. “Hey! I-I’ve got an idea!”

  He disappeared around the back of the vehicle and dug around inside the tool compartment, then came out with a couple tubes similar to the one he’d used to seal up the manifold. “Silicone sealant. This hardens in less than a minute, and it should be good enough to get us up without shredding our hands.”

  Grier playfully bumped a shoulder into the petty officer. “How you gonna get that into the hole, huh? You know how to do that, right?”

  The young man straightened. “Well, um, I was thinking Staff Sergeant Halliwell could give me a boost up, and I could fill—put the silicone in the first couple…handholds. Then someone could pull up to those and I’d go up and do the next.”

  “Yeah? You okay crawling up my back, Kohn?” She shouldered him again.

  The petty officer turned to Stiles, and she knew just how red his cheeks would be. “Lieutenant, is it okay? The idea?”

  Other than the time it was going to cost them, it seemed about the only reasonable approach available. “Let’s give it a try.”

  Halliwell cupped his hands. “Let’s go, Kohn.”

  Carruth shook his head. “I don’t think he could handle you, Corporal.”

  Grier twisted around, and the light caught her smile. “Not many can.”

  The Badger lights flickered, then died. Lemke climbed out with a groan and hooked her thumbs around her narrow hips and stretched her back. She was fairly lithe for her age, but it sounded like she was having a time of it. “That’s it. Damned thing’s dead.”

  "You gonna make it, Grandma?”

  “Fuck you, Grier.” Lemke kicked the front tire. “This idea better work.”

  Kohn already had the first two holes sealed. “Okay, let me down.”

  Corporal Grier helped the lanky petty officer to the ground, then slapped him on the butt. “All right. Time to see what you got.”

  Halliwell cupped his hands again, then raised the corporal up. “Check that sealant.”

  Grier stuck a finger into the hole cautiously. “Tacky, but it’s solid.”

  “Kohn, let’s go.”

  The petty officer studied the situation for a moment, apparently realizing for the first time what he had to do. He reached a hand out tentatively, then pulled it back. “Corporal Grier, I’m going to need to—”

  “Grab me, yeah.” She leaned against the wall. “I’m excited already. Let’s go.”

  Kohn grabbed her belt, put a boot onto Halliwell’s knee, then pulled himself over her back and onto her shoulder.

  Grier whistled. “Hey, sailor, is that a tube in your belt, or are you happy to see me?”

  “What? That’s the tube. Of silicone.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you know all the magic words, Kohn?”

  “N-no.”

  He had trouble figuring out the next step, but eventually got up to her shoulders. It was ugly and shaky, but he filled the next two holes.

  Halliwell grunted. “Okay, c’mon down.”

  Kohn tossed the silicone tube aside, then descended shakily. Grier squealed with simulated pleasure when he almost slipped down and grabbed her for support. Then he was on the ground and she was doubled over at his side, both of them gasping.

  “Kohn, you always leave a gal panting like that?”

  Stiles could feel the discomfort radiating off the young man. She stepped between the two to get a better look at the sheer wall. “Actually, Corporal, he does.”

  Grier whistled.

  Halliwell seemed about as winded as the corporal and Kohn. “Don’t know if we can do this, Lieutenant. No offense to Sergeant Carruth, but he’d tack on another eighty or ninety kilos. I don’t think I can hold all three of them up long enough to seal that last set of holds we’d need.”

  Stiles imagined stretching as far as she could. “What about another sixty kilos?”

  The staff sergeant studied the wall. “That’s a long gap to the next holes.”

  “I’m game if you three are.”

  Grier stretched her back out. “Let’s do it! Kohn, you ready for some more grab-ass?”

  The petty officer nodded hastily. He shook the last silicone tube. “Lieutenant, I’ll walk you through how to activate this.”

  Stiles listened as he carefully went through the process of activating the tube, sticking the nozzle into the hole, then squeezing the trigger until the gel came out. The whole time, Grier watched over his shoulder and made faces as if she were orgasming.

  When Kohn said, “And you can roll the tip around inside to spread the gel around,” Grier shouted, “Just do me now!”

  Halliwell pulled her aside and took her to a private channel.

  But the moment seemed to calm Kohn a little. He pressed his faceplate against Stiles’s. “You sure you can do this?”

  “I’m in good shape, Chuck.”

  “I-I know that. I really do. But you’ll be something like three and a half meters off the ground up there. That’s an ugly fall.”

  “Then I won’t fall.”

  He secured the tube to her belt. “Please don’t. Okay?”

  The emotion in his voice carried through even with such a crude connection. It was touching, and it made her wonder if the feelings she’d pretended to have for him might have wormed their way into her memories and thoughts somehow.

  Grier went up Halliwell’s cupped hand quickly, but Kohn was a little slower than before. She didn’t tease him this time, and once he was on her shoulders, his voice was shaky. “Ready.”

&
nbsp; Halliwell grunted agreement. His breathing was rapid. He didn’t reject Carruth’s support when the sergeant wrapped his hands underneath.

  Stiles found the climb easy enough—up the corporal’s back, onto her shoulder, then up Kohn’s. Once on his shoulders, though, things became trickier. The whole structure seemed to sway.

  Concentration. That was the key. Stiles focused, drawing out the tube, activating it as she’d been shown. Then she stretched out as tall as she could.

  It wasn’t enough.

  She looked down, then looked back up immediately. “I need several more centimeters.”

  Grier groaned. “I don’t know how many times I’ve said that.”

  Halliwell snorted, then the group rose higher. People must have straightened and stretched their backs, because Stiles had enough reach now for both holes. She quickly pulled the trigger, filling the first and smoothing the gel out, then filling the higher one.

  There wasn’t time to smooth it out, though. Everything was shaking.

  She tossed the tube and scampered down, using the others just to slow her fall rather than actually climbing down. At the bottom, she backpedaled to give Kohn room. He made it about halfway down Grier before losing his grip and falling backwards.

  Then Grier fell.

  The lieutenant caught Kohn and fell to the ground beneath him. The impact sent a jolt up her back, and she screamed without meaning to.

  He rolled off of her. “Brianna? Are you okay?”

  She twisted, and the jolt flared again. “Yes. Just wrenched a muscle.”

  Kohn helped her to her feet, and the way her back throbbed, she knew it wasn’t “just a muscle.” She’d tweaked something, and it would require treatment.

  Later.

  For now, they had a way up.

  Carruth circled the others, hands on his hips, gasping. “Okay. My turn.”

  Halliwell shook his head. “I’ve got centimeters on you—”

  “And you can come up right after me.”

  They looked at each other, breathless, then the staff sergeant nodded. “Okay.”

  Lemke hustled to the back of the Badger. “I’ll get the rope.”

  Carruth hooked the rope over a shoulder, then took a boost from Halliwell. Moving from hold to hold went fairly uneventfully, but there were a few holds where it would’ve been nice to have filled in one of the interim options. He stopped at one point to warn that ice was collecting already, then he was up to the final holds. It was terrifying watching him bring a boot into the next-to-last hold, then stretch up for the lip at the top of the shallow canyon. For a second, it looked like he would have to crawl back down and let Halliwell try, then the sergeant pushed himself and got fingertips on the rock above. He dug around, apparently searching for a more definitive grip, then pulled himself up until his boot tips were scraping against the rock face.