We Dare

by Chris Kennedy

  As the tidal wave of sound and light ended, I drew my Sig and went through the door. Behind me, I heard the boom of Ivan’s riot gun as he finished the doorman. The suite had a large common room, a hallway, and smaller rooms branching off. Opposite to me, across the common room was a glass sliding door leading to a balcony. Behind the glass two men clawed at the air, disoriented by the flashbang.

  I shot them through the glass.

  The first, I centered my red dot sight on his chest and stroked the trigger, fast. The first micro-explosive hollow-point impacted the plate glass door and exploded. The resulting pop of the embedded charge shattered the glass, allowing the following rounds to pass nearly un-molested. As each round found their mark, they penetrated several inches and then detonated, opening up massive wound channels and driving tiny slivers of shrapnel throughout the body. The target jerked and folded to the ground, an oozing wreck of a body.

  My eyes tracked to the next, who was starting to claw for some sort of chest mounted holster. I rotated my body like a turret, finding him through the optic. I settled the red dot on his head and stroked the flat trigger once. A spray of red and pink filled the air. Watching a human being having their strings cut was always unsettling. All functions stopped, and the body went from being alive to simply another bag of meat. Gravity took full effect, and the body dropped out of my sight picture.

  Taking the briefest of seconds, I looked at the first man on the balcony I had shot. He was still moving slightly, and I shot him in the head. While likely overkill, I’d rather kill a man twice over, than get shot in the ass by one who was only partly on his way out.

  Ivan had been right behind me after dispatching the wounded door man, and I was damn happy for that. He had covered my blind side as I had engaged the men on the balcony, and he’d caught one coming out of the kitchen with some sort of long gun. Ivan’s shotgun had splashed the man’s innards and third rate cyberware across the wall.

  My instincts screamed for me to move, and I dove behind a couch as a stream of full-auto fire tore through the space I had inhabited. The deafening roar of the weapon filled the room. Tufts of couch stuffing and faux-leather filled the air as my concealment-not-cover was clawed at by the fusillade of rifle rounds. I crawled forward, desperately trying to not be where the gunman had last seen me. Getting the end of the couch, I could see the fire was coming from one of the bedrooms. I yanked my pistol out and emptied it into the doorway, causing the shooter to retreat deeper into the room.

  “You with me?” I heard Ivan roar.

  I rolled over so I could access my magazine pouch and quickly reloaded my pistol. Worried we might be dealing with a barricaded enemy, I selected a magazine of armor piercing.

  “Yeah, I am here,” I stated calmly.

  “Good. Let’s get this fucker. Shchit up!” Ivan said.

  I turned to look at him. The burst of fire had clearly hit him, his coat was in tatters and his shotgun was on the ground. He shook out his left arm, causing it at first to twist and bulge as the synthetic skin on it distorted, stretched, and finally ripped. From within, a thin ballistic shield sprang into life. Covering his vulnerable torso and head, it wouldn’t be able to take many rounds, but would be more than enough to cover him pushing the door. His right hand drew his first Glock from his waistline.

  “Moving!” he spat furiously. Ivan hated getting shot.

  “Move!” I stated, coming to my knees and firing at the problematic doorway.

  Ivan moved forward behind his shield. As he got closer to the door I stopped firing, stood, and followed him, slipping behind his armored bulk. I was protected but blind. Ivan stopped before crossing the threshold. I reached up and squeezed his shoulder hard with my left hand. With that, he exploded into the room taking a hard left. I went forward to cover my sector. I heard a burst of gunfire followed by several muted pops.

  I stayed focused on my sector. This had once been the master bedroom, but it was clearly now more of a work room. Cheap memory plastic tables and chairs held weapons, clothes, and...projects. In my sector I had no one living, but I could see movement under the crack of a door in the corner.

  I risked a glance over my shoulder to check on Ivan. The gang member who had opened fire on him was slumped into the corner, half a dozen ragged holes in his chest and a smoking Kalashnikov in his lap. Ivan stomped his head in with a cybernetically enhanced kick. As the body began to spastically twitch and gurgle, Ivan turned to me and flatly stated, “Clear.”

  I spoke, pointing my weapon at the door. “Movement. Door.”

  He nodded, dropping his half-empty Glock to the floor. He reached over and disconnected the spent shield, leaving it on the floor, exposing a skeletal arm of carbon fiber bone and steel cable muscle. He drew his second Glock awkwardly from his jacket pocket. I positioned myself to the side of the door.

  “Kick,” I ordered tersely.

  Ivan obliged me with his gore-covered foot, leaving an unpleasant-to-see-and-smell, dark red smear across the already stained door. As the door flew off its hinges, I glanced in. It was an adjoining bedroom. There were surplus bunk beds and a Ronin gang member stood in the far corner. He was using a frightened girl as a body shield. I looked at him through the optic of my pistol as I used the wall as cover. He had driven his machine pistol into her head and had his finger on the trigger.

  “Fuck you, cocksucker! Y’all come any closer, and I will blow her head off!”

  His voice was panicked. His face flush with fear. Our eyes locked as the situation played. As keyed up as he was, if I took the shot, there was a very real likelihood he might squeeze the trigger and kill the girl. It was a desperate plan on his part and ultimately...a flawed one.

  “Yeah…. But she isn’t the one I am here for,” I said and pressed the trigger.

  * * * * *

  Come Up Screaming by Kevin Ikenberry

  A Runs In The Family Short Story

  2265

  Rally Point Broadspur

  Radin

  “Guidons, guidons, this is Saber Six. Short count follows. Break.” Captain Mairin Shields released the transmit button on her helmet for two seconds. The Greys possessed particle beam weapons and ships that were faster-than-light. They could undoubtedly find and direct weapons onto human radio transmissions, and old habits died hard. The procedure wasn’t taught in any of the modern Terran Defense Force schoolhouses. It came from a memory imprint grafted to Mairin from a long dead ancestor. He’d been a tanker and cavalryman, too. Mairin volunteered for the experimental procedure more for the benefits of perfecting her myopia and eliminating her crippling allergies than the three-hundred-year-old memories. She hadn’t wanted a soldier’s life. Combat taught her the TDF was grossly outmatched. After the victory at Wolc, due in no small part to her newfound abilities and memories, she’d realized at the very least that she could make a difference for the soldiers under her command. Losses were to be expected, but as a commander, the ability to protect and lead her troopers in spite of the chaos and bureaucracy around them was enough to keep her in uniform. She depressed the transmit switch again. “Three, two, one, engine start.”

  Mairin felt the thrum of the Slammer magtank’s turbine engines come to life from the hull. Around her, the seven other tanks in her makeshift troop started simultaneously in an attempt to mask the number of vehicles under her command. Her unit was the Division Cavalry Troop for the 56th Armored Division, Terran Defense Forces, and her mission was simple: screen the main effort’s route of march and provide forward reconnaissance. The Fighting 56th marched toward Springfield, a human colony that had reported an overwhelming Grey attack six days before and had been radio silent ever since. Had the planet been scorched to embers, the outcome of the colony would have been known. The Greys seldom left a planet unscathed, and yet Radin’s lush grasslands and rolling hills appeared none the worse for wear as they surrounded the wrecked, smoldering colony.

  Orbital intelligence couldn’t confirm the presence of a Grey “jack,�
�� the tetrahedral shaped carrier used to drop armored forces, but there were more than five hundred vehicles in defensive positions on the ground above Springfield. From her location screening the western flank of the attack, Mairin lowered her binoculars and frowned. Visual confirmation of anything other than the Grey division encircling the compromised township had proved fruitless. Her cavalry protected the main effort’s advance and provided what reconnaissance they could, but without seeing anything in the gentle, wooded hills above Springfield, there was nothing she could do to calm the gnawing, twisting feeling in her stomach.

  The sensation was familiar enough. Ever since her imprint procedure, the prospect of combat operations triggered a fierce reaction—a combination of feeling hyper-alert and focused, while physically charged enough to sprint up Mount Everest. Adrenaline prolonged the effect and amplified her ability to think and react faster. For the last four months, she’d experienced the familiar nervousness and exhilaration in advance of combat. The unfamiliar rumbling in her stomach wasn’t hunger, nor sickness, which bothered her.

  What are you trying to tell me, Grandpa?

  Technically, the memory imprint came from her maternal great-great-grandfather, but she shortened the moniker to keep it simple. Of course, the imprint never really spoke in a voice she could audibly hear, but it manifested in her mind. Most of her direct interactions with it were unconscious triggers of soothing memories, experiences, or strange sensations focused on adjusting her instincts. Her stomach soured more while she watched the division massing to attack.

  “All Renegade elements, this is Durango Six Actual, your orders are to attack the Greys and drive them out of Springfield. Retake the town, search for survivors and all items of interest. Report all intelligence requirements. Good hunting.”

  Mairin felt her gut twist again. Durango Six was an odd callsign for a German Brigadier General. As much as it reminded her of General Talvio, her regular commander and his penchant for cowboy-isms and 19th century American frontier demeanor, Mairin knew that her presence on General Steinhauer’s flank was partly her own damned fault. Since dropping her cavalry on the hair-brained orders of her battalion commander at Wolc, her forces gained both notoriety and success. When Steinhauer decided to liberate Springfield, he called Talvio and asked for the cavalry to guard his flank. Talvio had been happy to assist. Mairin wondered if the two men were friends and decided against it. General officers, from what she’d seen, only seemed to look out for themselves. The reality was more that Talvio realized that her immediate commander, Lieutenant Colonel Bob Coffey, was an idiot who couldn’t find his ass with both hands and a map. If he didn’t give Mairin a break from her commander, they’d end up in a mess the TDF would solve by relieving the entire chain of command. Talvio included. Her vacation from Coffey appeared to be an even bigger shit storm of a combat operation.

  “Durango Six, this is Gaucho Six, crossing phase line Lincoln, time now.” Mairin glanced at the pilot’s kneeboard she’d strapped to her right thigh. Gaucho Six was the lead battalion in the coordinated attack. Mairin stood up on her seat and climbed to the top of the track for a look around.

  Mairin raised binoculars to her eyes and swept the hills above Springfield one more time. Seeing nothing, she lowered herself through the hatch and into the tank. Her feet found the seat below and she dropped neatly into a sitting position, cueing her intercom as she did.

  “Crew report.”

  “Gunner ready,” Lee replied from his position immediately in front of her knees.

  “Comms ready,” Conner replied from across the wide breech of the auto-loading electromagnetic rail gun that dominated the inside of the turret.

  “Driver ready,” Booker replied from his position in the hull.

  Satisfied her crew was ready, Mairin touched the intercom button again. “Gunner, index sabot and arm all weapons.”

  “Sabot indexed, sabot loaded.” Lee replied. “Master Arm is armed.”

  Like clockwork.

  She pushed the transmit button in the opposite direction. “Saber elements, this is Six. Main effort is hitting the objective in about two minutes. Get ready to advance the screen at my command.”

  The company of eight tanks chimed in one by one as Mairin powered up her command and control console and saw the icons of the main effort now forward of the small creek they’d named Lincoln and racing toward the Greys’ defensive perimeter. Through the deep thrumming of the tank’s repulsors and engine, Mairin felt concussive waves from artillery shells falling on the Greys’ position. With a glance, she confirmed that Gaucho Six, Lieutenant Colonel Maurice Davis of the 2nd Tank Battalion, was in contact with the Greys, and massed friendly artillery fire slashed through the defensive lines.

  “Driver, move out. Steering cues are active.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got good steering.” Booker replied. “Gear three selected.”

  Mairin tapped her console and sent the move out command silently to her vehicles. All eight icons representing her troop turned green on her tiny screen and moved south, paralleling the attack. Eyes on the battle to her right, Mairin couldn’t help but look into the hills over and over again, each time her stomach twisting on itself.

  They have the high ground, I get that. What are you trying to tell me?

  Mairin connected her helmet’s communications platform to the operations network and heard the command to lift and shift artillery fire from the massed point. Immediately after that call, she heard the 2nd Battalion commander’s deep drawl again.

  “Durango Six, this is Gaucho Six. Avalanche. I say again, avalanche.”

  Mairin gasped. The attack had breached the Grey perimeter, and the little bastards were in full-fledged retreat. Her stomach folded itself in two and then two again. She reached up to close her hatch and paused. Without thinking, Mairin stood again on her seat and stared into the hills. The three closest hilltops to Springfield held her gaze for twenty seconds.

  What are you doing, Mairin? There’s nothing—

  A bright flash at the top of the central hilltop stopped the thought cold. The intense purplish burst was a Grey particle cannon. Mairin stabbed the transmit button.

  “Durango Six, this is Saber Six, Papa Kilo on the high ground!”

  No sooner had the words came from her mouth, than the entire central hilltop and downslope facing Springfield erupted in a hail of inbound laser and direct munitions fire. The TDF attack stalled in a matter of seconds under the fusillade of enemy fire. The Grey vehicles in retreat stopped and fired into the forward battalion, scattering the tanks into the tight corridors and thoroughfares of Springfield.

  The concealed Grey strongpoint had been there all along, waiting for the attack. Once again, intelligence failed them. How many times is it going to be this way? Mairin dropped into the tank and zoomed her display in on Gaucho Six and engaged a direct laser link.

  “Gaucho Six, Saber Six. Shift artillery to cover your move. I’m on my way.” She disengaged the laser and found the operations network again, but she hesitated. There were only two options. The main effort would counterattack through the strongpoint, or they would retreat. In either case, Mairin knew she had to move the screen forward and maybe even draw fire from the strongpoint to protect Gaucho Six and allow them to move.

  “Saber Six, Gaucho Six. Comms lost to Durango Six. CAS is negative on this position. We’re cut off—”

  Mairin popped up through the hatch one more time and realized the main effort had not only stopped but pulled back beyond Phase Line Lincoln, leaving Davis and his battalion cut off inside what had been Springfield and under slowing, but intense fire. As she watched, particle cannons fired down from the adjacent hilltops. Springfield lay surrounded on three sides, and the forward tank battalion was pinned down and unable to move without risking severe casualties. The operations network was eerily silent, and the main effort sat motionless outside the maximum effective range of the Grey weapons. Stymied.

  Worthless.

 
; Afraid.

  The trap perfectly executed; the Greys could hold off the main effort at will. They knew human weaknesses to the letter. The enemy had all that they needed to take the field—all it took was time. The TDF wouldn’t attack and risk further casualties. They would retreat from an unwinnable situation. Her stomach settled and an intense calm washed over her as the word floated from her ancestor’s imprinted memories and into her mind.

  A honeypot.

  Sonuvabitch.

  * * *

  The silence broke and Mairin heard Lieutenant Alex Ulson’s voice in her ears. “Six, this is Red One. We have good terrain to the southwest. Should get us closer to Springfield without exposing us. Permission to recon forward a bit?”

  Mairin nodded. “Granted, Alex. Stay in visual range of Red Two and stay ready to backtrack as fast as you can. Stay behind the high ground to our three o’clock.”

  “Copy all, Six. Permission to dismount and get closer?”

  Mairin shook her head. “No, Alex. Stay on your track.”

  I’m not risking you out there, she finished silently.

  Ulson didn’t immediately reply. Mairin knew what he was thinking, and she really couldn’t blame him. Scouts pushed forward in search of information to detail an enemy’s position and strength. As the supporting cavalry to the main effort, reconnaissance was a part of their job, but not within Steinhauer’s construct. Mairin’s orders were simply to protect the western flank and ensure that more Grey forces didn’t surprise them.

  Nobody’s coming.

  Mairin blinked and shook off the thought. Leaning forward, she pressed her eyes to the extension of the gunner’s sight and saw what Lee saw as he connected the main gun’s sighting system to one of the Condor autonomous vehicles overhead. Mairin saw her position clearly, but there was good enough terrain to hide her cavalry until the time came to move. She watched Ulson’s tank creeping forward. His tank’s gun tube pointed off to the southeast, down a likely enemy avenue of approach through a quiet, wide valley. The idyllic scene, complete with a meandering stream widening in the distance, seemed out of place with the carnage in Springfield. In every operation she’d seen with the Terran Defense Forces, the shadowy enemy used lower terrain for either an attack corridor or a way to retreat off the battlefield. They protected such avenues vigorously and never dug into defensive positions along the high ground. Their very threat was predicated on rapid shifting, unified movement in the attack. Defensive positions were only for what the intel pukes called tactical pauses.