We Dare
Page 37
“Six, Red One. Some clearing down here. The wind has picked up from the east. I can see almost to Gaucho Six’s position.”
Mairin startled. I’d forgotten about them.
“Comms?”
“Working, ma’am,” Conner replied. “Red One has a laser lock on him. They’re up and moving.”
A millisecond later, her command display updated with information. She could see the charging Grey column clearly, more than fifty vehicles still moving fast toward them. Gaucho Six was there with three tanks.
Charging into the Grey’s flank.
Sonuvabitch!
“Six, Red One. On the attack. Covering fire!”
No, no no!
“Red One, hold off. CAS inbound!”
There wasn’t a response. On the display, she saw the six Vindicators take up their attack patterns in two three-aircraft formations. Her eyes flitted to the icons for Gaucho Six and Red One. The two formations charged at the Grey from the northern flank and the forward echelon head-on, respectively. If the Greys saw it and stopped, they’d be sitting ducks for the Vindicators.
<
Mairin reached for the transmit button and hovered her fingers over the radio controls. Where her stomach had twisted and turned on itself was an ethereal calm.
Wait.
Just wait.
Mairin sucked in a breath and held it as Storm Eye One rolled in on the Greys, and the two armored columns pressed forward. The Greys stopped and attempted to engage both forces at once.
Her mind calm, a voice not her own sifted up as if she was dreaming. The window is open, Storm Eye. Punch those fuckers in the throat.
* * *
Mairin watched the first group of three Vindicators roll in via the commander’s display and the mission data link. Two of the aircraft flew line abreast at an altitude so low the system couldn’t indicate it with precision, leaving a NULL reading. The third lagged behind the leaders by a couple of kilometers at a slightly higher altitude. Mairin guessed it was for mission analysis or suppression of enemy air defenses, but it ultimately wouldn’t matter. If the first two couldn’t get in and hit their targets, none of the others would. At the six-nautical mile mark, the two aircraft executed quick banks. Storm Eye One rolled twenty degrees to the left while his wingman rolled thirty degrees to the right, giving them dispersion. Each of the aircraft climbed and immediately, the Greys turned their weapons toward them, but to no immediate effect, as the two aircraft paralleled each other toward the Grey position.
“Interface, how fast are the Vindicators going?”
<
Mairin watched their distance and time to target populate on the display. Three miles from the target, they rolled over and pulled down toward the target. Storm Eye One’s path was straight into the Grey column while his wingman banked hard left to put his nose onto the same column.
<
Breath held in her chest, Mairin watched the indicators for weapons track flick on immediately. Both Vindicators executed a hard-right turns at full power and raced low over Springfield to the north.
“Saber Six, Storm Eye One is clear.”
<
“Saber Six, Gaucho Six. Attack stalled. Need assistance and covering fire.”
Hang on, sir. It’s almost there.
Mairin studied the attack profiles of the incoming Vindicators and realized that Storm Eye One had given her a wide berth for artillery. The aircraft accelerated low and fast away from the stalled main effort. “Redleg Six, fire mission, same coordinates and effects. Multiple batteries. Over.”
“Saber Six, we were hoping you’d say that. Shot, over.”
Mairin grinned. “Shot, out.”
“Splash in fifteen seconds. Good luck.”
We’re gonna need it. Mairin watched the Greys’ line erupt with multiple explosions as the Vindicator’s bombs fell on them. The explosions resounded through the valley, and there were several secondary explosions as well.
“Splash in fifteen. Cleared and switching.” Mairin stabbed the comms button. “Red One, charge. Everything you’ve got. White elements roll out and sweep in from the north. Artillery incoming for cover in ten seconds. Move out!”
“Red One, on the move!” Ulson yelped on the frequency. As one, her tanks charged into the dusty, cloudy terrain with their cannons blazing.
“Saber Six, Storm Eye One. I have targeting data. Can your interface connect?”
Mairin didn’t even have to ask. <
The Grey armored column’s positioning data came in in droves. The sixty Grey vehicles remaining were clearly identified. Better yet, Mairin knew that the Interface would feed the positioning information to the gunner and nearly automate the fight. With targets designated, Lee could laze and blaze, as the saying went.
That means your head is in the outside fight, instead of your turret. Mairin blinked. The information came so fast that she barely felt there was time to breathe and yet, her mind was clear and focused.
Get on it, girl.
Mairin nodded to herself. “Driver, move out.”
“On it!” Booker replied.
<
“Get me there, Booker. Gear five. Fast as you can make this beast go.”
The Slammer shot forward as Mairin stabbed her private channel. “Alex, SITREP.”
“Red One, we’re charging through Six. Greys are slagging right and left.” Ulson replied with a whoop. “Gaucho Six and his tanks are back in the attack now. We’ve got them!”
<
Mairin tapped the all frequencies button. “Red One, Gaucho Six, this is Saber Six. Vindicators inbound now. When they engage, tear the Greys a new asshole. Saber Six swinging to Gaucho Six’s right flank. Let’s sweep the field. Out.”
No sooner had she cleared the transmission when the division frequency crackled to life. “Saber Six, Gaucho Six. Thanks for the assist.”
“Gaucho Six, we’re not out of the woods yet, but I hope you’ll do the same for me or someone like me one day.” Mairin opened the upper hatch and stood in her seat. Hands on the venerable XM2 machine gun’s firing handles, she swung the gun over the front slope of the tank and grasped the handles tightly. The damned thing bucked like a mule and she wanted to make every round count to the extent that she could.
“That’s what it’s all about, Saber Six.” Davis replied. There was a quiet satisfaction in his voice. “That’s what we do.”
A glint in the swirling clouds above caught her eye and Mairin watched the second section of Vindicators roll in. Lee and the Interface found a new target, slewed the main gun and fired. Ulson and Davis coordinated their attacks and the pilots perfectly executed their mission and raced up into their patrol routes. Mairin heard the Division network come to life and saw a slew of friendly blue icons flicker to life on her display and move toward Springfield. The sudden cacophony of command blanketed her, but she was calm and content both in mind and body. Actions were natural. Decisions were easy. Even with the memories of a man she never knew racing through her mind and the challenge of leading troops when their leaders didn’t want to win failed to matter to the joy in her heart. The Greys might have the advantage, but they couldn’t dominate the human spirit. Especially hers. Her ancestor knew what it took to win the field, and she knew he was right about the war and her place in it.
Truth be told, there was no place else Mairin Shields wanted to be.
* * * * *
Kevin Ikenberry Bio
Kevin Ikenberry is a life-long space geek
and retired Army officer. A former manager of the world-renowned U.S. Space Camp program and a space operations office by, Kevin has a broad background in space and space science education and continues to work with space every day. He is the author of the Peacemaker novels in the bestselling Four Horsemen Universe (Peacemaker, Honor The Threat, Stand or Fall, and Deathangel) as well as the award-nominated Protocol War series (Sleeper Protocol and Vendetta Protocol. Kevin’s other works include Runs In The Family, Super-Sync, and Chasing Red. Kevin is an active member of SFWA and International Thriller Writers and lives is Colorado with his family.
* * *
Author Note:
This story takes place in a six-month interlude that appears in the novel Runs In The Family and features that protagonist, Captain Mairin Shields, as we learn how she learns to listen and ultimately trust the memory imprint of her great-great grandfather and the advantages it provides on the far future battlefield.
* * * * *
Follow Kevin Online
Web: https://www.kevinikenberry.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/thewriterike
# # # # #
Angel by Robert E. Hampson
A shadow moved across the bedroom window, a deeper shade of darkness against the overcast, moonless night outside. It moved to the dresser, resolving into a figure searching for something in the dark—picking and replacing several items before finding the object of the search. Next, it moved to the nightstand, pocketing an object that emitted a single red light—the sole light source in the room other than the pale clock numerals and the faintest of light from the window. It was that nebulous period of time often called “oh-dark-thirty,” and the figure seemed to be taking pains to avoid awakening the only other occupant of the room. The shadow stopped at the side of the bed, looking down where a sleeping figure stirred and made a faint sound.
Martin kissed his wife gently on the cheek. Claire brushed a hand in the general direction of her face and pulled the covers nearly over her head with a muffled “mmmpf.” He smiled to himself, and having long familiarity with the bedroom, stepped out into the dark hallway, closing the door behind him. With the same silent tread, he slipped into his daughter’s bedroom and knelt next to the child’s bed. Carefully moving a favorite stuffed rabbit, he kissed Sally on the cheek as well, this time eliciting a sleepy “Daddy.” He leaned over and hugged her, then placed Bun-Bun back into her reaching hands. She hugged the toy, turned over, and was back to sleep immediately.
Martin left the room and moved through the house to the garage, all without turning on a light. The duffel was exactly where he had left it the night before, right next to the door into the garage. The garage door was well maintained and opened with little more sound than Martin had made inside. His dark-adapted eyes found the dashboard lights of the car almost too bright; fortunately, he had disabled the interior lights, or he would have to adapt all over again. It was a long drive into San Antonio, and he needed to be there by dawn.
It was a warm night, and he kept the air conditioning off, preferring instead to be able to smell the salt air giving way to the earthy aroma of South Texas ranches. The call-up notice in his pocket indicated that he could expect to be away from home and family for at least six months. There were times he regretted the fact that Claire’s job had taken them to Corpus Christie while he still had to report to Joint Base San Antonio for drill and guard weekends. On the other hand, it was Claire’s job that paid for the nice house on the inlet, and there was interstate highway the whole way to S.A. The only real problem with the long drive was that it made him introspective, and that was a good way to have an accident.
The taillights ahead had been far in the distance but were getting closer. Was that one set of red lights? Or two? They were getting a lot closer, and might be stopped in the middle of the road. Martin slowed down and moved further to the right to pass the vehicle stopped practically in the middle of the left-hand lane. He caught a brief glimpse of two vehicles, an animal carcass in the road, and someone shining a bright flashlight on the mangled front end of one of the cars. It was dangerous to stop in the middle of the road like that. They needed to put out flares, reflectors, or something. Flashing lights ahead signaled the arrival of the highway patrol. The car passed traveling in the opposite direction, and Martin could see it in the rearview mirror as it crossed the median and approached the accident. He looked back ahead just in time to see an animal dart in front of him. Dog? Wolf? Coyote? It didn’t matter as his car swerved off the highway at too great a speed.
* * *
“Buddy, are you okay?”
Martin awoke hanging upside down. A bright light was shining in the window. He reached down—no, up!—to release his seat belt.
“Hold on, you’re gonna fall!” the voice said. The door was pulled open with obvious effort, and a hand reached in to provide support.
“Ugh.” Was about all that Martin could manage as he half fell, half crawled out of his car. His head hurt. There was a stinging sensation on his forehead, and a feeling like getting kicked in the belly. He stood—carefully—and looked at the vehicle. It wasn’t as bad of some of the shit he’d seen, but it was bad enough; he wouldn’t be driving the rest of the way to San Antonio.
“Buddy, y’all might wanna siddown, yer kinda cut up an’ bleedin.’ Ah called th’ nine-one-one, an’ they’re sendin’ an ambulance.” The man pronounced it ‘amble-lance’ marking him as one of the locals, probably a rancher. Now that Martin was out of the car, he could see the other person. Worn blue jeans, checked shirt, but heavy work boots instead of cowboy boots. He was just taking off the pair of heavy leather work gloves he’d used to handle the sharp metal edges of the door. More likely a drill-hand from Eagle Ford. That meant he was just another early morning commuter like himself.
Back down the highway, he could still see flashing lights at the other accident. It hadn’t been that long, then. “How—wha?’” He tasted blood, and his tongue was swollen. He’d probably bitten it in the accident.
“Ah seen y’all swerve, then head off’n the side’a th’ road. Ya rolled three-four times jist as Ah was comin’ up. Y’all lucky—don’ look as if th’ air-bag popped. Coulda’ kilt ya!” Martin looked, and sure enough, there was no popped-balloon appearance of airbags, no dust, and no ozone smell. “Look, y’all okay? Ah gotta git ta th’ rig. Boss’ll dock me if’n Ah’m late.” The reflected blue and red light started to move, and there was the sound of a distant siren. “Looks like Trooper’s headin’ up, he’ll take care’ y’all.”
The man gave a wave, headed back to his pickup truck, and took off before Martin could manage more than a muttered, “Thanks.” The highway patrol car’s arrival was followed soon after by the county’s Rescue Squad, fire truck, and ambulance. Clearly they’d been prepared to have to extract him from the wreckage. It was almost anticlimactic, sitting in the back of the ambulance while the EMT put ‘butterfly’ wound closures on several cuts. “Sir, please hold still!” the EMT said as Martin kept trying to look past the tech at a Highway Patrol officer talking to the tow-truck driver.
“Don’t ‘Sir’ me.” Martin mumbled automatically.
“Sit at attention, Soldier,” barked a voice behind him. Martin stiffened at the commanding voice and sat perfectly still, allowing the tech to finish the bandaging. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other patrolman. Tall, broad-shouldered, slight thickening at the waist, shaved head under the Smokey-the-Bear hat. He looked like every Drill Sergeant that Martin had ever known. As he walked around into Martin’s line of sight, his expression softened a bit. “You’re going to need some fresh ACU’s before you report, Top.”
Definitely a DS, Martin thought as he looked down at his scuffed and bloody uniform. “Yes, sir. Sergeant Major will chew me out, for certain.” He would have to get his things from the car before they towed it away. It was why he was fidgeting for the tech to finish.
The officer turned to the tech, “That’s a lot of blood, y
ou’re sure he doesn’t need to go to the hospital?”
“There’s no active bleeders,” the EMT replied. “You’d think he’d have a concussion or something, but there’s no sign of it. Not even a lot of bruising. We’d just send him to San Antonio anyway.”
“Officer, I’m due in to Camp Bullis this morning. I’ll report in and then head to Med Battalion. They will want to look me over anyway.” He looked over at his car, being dragged onto the flat bed of the transport tow truck. “I might need a lift, though.”
The officer noticed his glance and then grimaced. “True. Y’all better grab your gear. I’ll run you up there, that way someone can keep an eye on you and make sure you report to the doc.” He gave Martin that look that drill sergeants always gave when they didn’t really believe a story.
* * *
Martin came to attention in front of the colonel’s desk and saluted. “Sergeant First Class Martin reporting, sir!”
Colonel Wilkinson returned the salute and commanded: “At ease, Sergeant. Are you feeling okay? I have a report here from the Highway Patrol. That was a nasty accident; you could have been killed, from the description of it.”
“Ibuprofen and water, Sir. I also changed my socks.”
Wilkinson laughed, then stepped around his desk. “I have a briefing to give, and I want you to listen in. We’ll talk after.” The two exited the office and went down the hall to a meeting room.
Martin was still in a bit of shock from the rapid-fire pace of events. It had gone pretty much the way Martin had promised the patrolman. Upon reporting in to the battalion at Camp Bullis, his First Sergeant had ordered him to report to the medical bay. He’d been poked, prodded, and x-rayed over the course of several hours, then sent back to finish in-processing. Back at the Battalion HQ, he received a message to report to the brigade offices at Fort Sam Houston, 15 miles away in the heart of the city. Being ordered see the colonel was a bit unusual, as was the ‘invitation’ to an urgent briefing, let alone the mysterious, “we’ll talk later.” He took a seat in a folding chair near the back of the room, along with several other senior noncoms. Most of them wore medic insignia, the same as Martin, so whatever was about to happen, it looked like it would involve combat-related injuries.