I could use my ACR one-handed if I had to, especially as pissed as I was and at ranges we were likely to encounter in the city. I was hoping somebody would try to mess with the people under my protection, just to give me an excuse.
We made it to the airlock. Sergeant Hernandez and his team had the corporate security disarmed and under guard. Lieutenants Mitchell and Evers were discussing our options with the ambassador, roaring over the wind. Gunny Taylor trotted up to them.
“How many?” I heard Mitchell demand.
I looked around the airlock. It was a total clusterfuck. Everyone who could was trying to worm a place on one of the docked shuttles. They steered clear of our craft only after Sgt Pilsudski drew his machete and started to stalk menacingly toward the crowd, the mad light of slaughter in his eyes.
I sincerely hope some of what he does is for show.
The commanders’ pow-wow was heating up. I couldn’t make out the words, but Lt Mitchell’s harsh Chicago accent was clashing with Ambassador Merrill’s polished Ivy League. As usual, Lt Evers was acting as moderator, his Virginia drawl strained as he tried to smooth the conflict.
I decided that since nobody was making any decisions, I would.
“Get the children, the wounded and the social workers on the damn shuttle!” I ordered. “If there’s still room, start with the dependents of the embassy personnel. Anybody not collecting a check from the government gets off first.”
“What about us, corp? The round trip is too long,” said one of Chan’s Marines.
“We’re armed, shit-for-brains,” I explained patiently. “We’ll overrun and secure one of these tubs if it comes to that.”
A crowd will take orders from anyone who acts like they should be giving them. Sabatini and Johnson began herding our charges onto the assault craft. I directed the social workers to get O’Rourke strapped in. When they’d finished that, I started loading dependents. Sgt McCray got the civilians lined up and filing on as space was available.
This was a shit situation. We might not all get out, but I would be damned if I was going to see the kids I trekked across this rock to save go down. Lt Mitchell would either promote me or shoot me if we ever got back, but I had to answer to my conscience. If we died, it would be with honor. We all die eventually.
Before that happened, we would make a credible attempt at commandeering a corporate shuttle. Let those bastards asphyxiate. They started this mess, they could clean it up.
Our assault shuttle was designed to carry thirty heavily armed Marines and supplies. We now had nearly ninety people aboard. It was straining the equipment, but we could do it in two overloaded trips. On the first, we got everybody loaded except for Marines, a handful of Navy men and the embassy officials. A gunner’s mate got off the shuttle to make room for the ambassador’s daughter. That made me decide to go easy on the Navy for a while. At least everyone left hanging was on the government’s payroll.
We backed everybody out beyond the docking chamber and the shuttle took off. My ears popped as the pressure in the asteroid sank lower. I crossed myself half unconsciously. I’d been raised Catholic, back when the Earth was young, but had lapsed a bit since.
I was lost in thought when Sabatini grabbed the collar of my armor and pulled my head down. She planted a kiss on me. I was so startled I almost didn’t respond.
Almost.
“You looked like you needed that, chief,” she said. “Johnson wanted to do it, but I pulled rank.”
I grinned like an idiot. “Well, it sure as hell hasn’t been a boring deployment.”
“So, how long till we board a corporate scow and go out, guns blazing?”
“Since I made the call at the shuttle over six higher-ranked Marines, I think I’ll let the Old Man sound the charge on this one.”
I waited for the order with a strange calm. The pressure drop might be playing hell with my reason.
Lt Evers walked up to me. Oh shit, here we go.
“Cpl Collins.”
“Sir!”
He eyed me from under lowered brows, a neutral expression on his face. “You made the right call back there. The Old Man can’t decide if he should tear off your stripes for jumping the chain of command, or give you another one for keeping your head.”
I waited for him to go on. The best thing to do when you aren’t sure how much trouble you’re in is keep quiet. Talking can only make the trouble bigger.
“Just wanted you to know that it was the right choice. We all agree on that.”
Was he reassuring me because he thought we were dead anyway?
“By the way, we caught a lucky break. A rescue rig showed up. They’re trying to seal the breach now. Don’t get too excited, it hasn’t worked yet.”
“Still nice to know somebody gives a rat’s ass, sir.”
He nodded. “Yes, it is. If it doesn’t work, we take the next corporate boat. They won’t like it and we won’t all make it. If this is it, good luck, you’ve been a good Marine. I ain’t gonna kiss you though.”
This last was said with a look at Sabatini. She put on her innocent face, the one that made the Virgin Mary look like a pickpocket. The lieutenant walked back to his place by the boss.
Gradually, it seemed the wind was slowing. It might even have stopped. Son of a bitch! They must have gotten that seal in place.
A cheer went up from the platoon. If we met that Rescue team, they wouldn’t have to pay for their own drinks for a year. We settled down and waited for the assault shuttle to return.
It was nice to know we might get off this rock.
Now that we were going to live, I had to worry about things like the crowding on the ship, O’Rourke’s commendation, my insubordination, and where we were going to get a fourth for poker until Terry got back to duty. Maybe some of the social workers could play.
All things being equal, there were worse problems to have.
Chapter 7
8 JUN 2078
ASTEROID BELT RESCUE SUBSTATION ECHO 7
“Those bastards set us up?” I asked. “And were willing to let ten thousand people die to sell their version of events to the world? What kind of asshole would wipe out the population of an outpost to make a few bucks?”
“Warlords.” Jensen shrugged. “Pirates. Slavers. And captains of industry, of course, but they get to plan it over cocktails and have somebody else get bloody.”
I grunted. I had seen it. Whole villages in Africa wiped out because they were inconveniently located near some precious resource. And when I thought of it, history was full of colonial land-grabs that amounted to genocide. Smallpox laden blankets, the Trail of Tears and Wounded Knee opened a lot of space for US agriculture. It’s not like my ancestors left Ireland for America because things were so good in the Old Country. The Famine was just a grand opportunity for the Ascendancy to clear the rabble off the land and graze cattle on it.
“If it makes you feel better,” he said, “we did get most of the truth. After a lot of people went to jail.”
SNN News File 2, courtesy Brian Jensen
15 Nov 2075
United Belt Mining Corporate Headquarters, Austin, Texas
Bart Rodman, Chairman of the Board of Directors, scowled as he watched the replay of the newscast. He angrily rewound it and played it again. It was the last thing he wanted to see. Corporate officials panicking, pushing toward the escape vessels as armed Marines held them back and loaded the miserable riffraff onto their craft. It was just the thing to inflame the masses, he thought. Ragged, starving orphans and pretty, earnest young women being saved from the indifference and incompetence of the corporate suits and their hired thugs.
He swore and killed the image when the video closed in on a Marine scooping up a crying child and carrying her to safety. God damn it, he thought, who does their publicity? Is the frigging news sponsored by the damn Marines?
“How the hell did it get this far, Joe?” he asked. “I thought I said I wanted this one controlled?”
His ass
istant shrugged and rubbed his receding hairline. “I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but I told you I thought it was getting out of hand. You pushed the miners too far and it got crazy. It was only a matter of time before the military stepped in.”
“Don’t we have contacts? What about our man in the fleet?”
“Burton?” Joe shrugged, “He’s only a lieutenant commander. He can’t change orders. And he tried to keep the rescue team from going in, but they don’t have to listen to the Navy in peacetime. They pulled their usual justification that the station could become a hazard, and went in.”
“Bullshit!” snarled the older man, his complexion reddening.
“Sure it is. But prove it to the public.”
“We can’t do anything?”
“Like what? You can’t arrest an ambulance for responding to an accident. Even with a liability suit, it won’t fly if they didn’t do any damage. And they were called heroes by the Fleet.”
“How the hell did they get that breach sealed, anyway?”
Joe O’Leary consulted his pocket digital assistant. “Our contacts on the scene say that the rescue ship sealed the hole with the foam they use for a hull breach on a spaceship.”
“The hole should have been too big for that.”
“It was. They used a UBM shuttle as a patch and sealed it into the breach. We could maybe sue them for the cost to free the ship, if you want even worse press.”
Rodman silently considered his situation, his white hair and beard throwing his angry flush into even starker contrast. “How many senators do we still own?”
“James and Donovan are solid. Peters can be bullied. We have plenty of dirt on his little addictions.”
“Let’s get in touch with them. I need that damn station shut down. I need the insurance, and I need to clear the facility if we’re going to work this deal. Have our friends in high places lean on the cost of the patrols and lean on the unions.”
“Got it,” said O’Leary. Then, almost as an afterthought, “There is something else we can work on...”
Chapter 8
14 NOV 2075
USS TRIPOLI
Once the pressure stabilized, we had a long, uneventful wait for the assault craft. Now that the crisis seemed less imminent, the crowds weren’t willing to face our rifles to get to the shuttles.
When the boat arrived, we filed on. It was a tight squeeze, with the embassy Marines and diplomatic personnel, but we made it. I was covered in sweat, cramped and shaking with spent adrenalin. I was also worried about Terry. If the docs could get his arm patched up, I would see if I could get him promoted to Lcpl O’Rourke.
“Hey boss,” Sabatini asked, “how come they screwed up the ambush that bad? At that range, why aren’t we all dead?”
I paused for a moment. Come to think of it, why weren’t we all dead? “Gunny! You got any theories?”
The more experienced Marine’s lip curled in a sneer of contempt. “Because they were undisciplined shitbags. Specifically, they were firing downhill, and didn’t train to account for that, and they probably never thought about the lower G. Add close range to that equation and they were shooting high. They didn’t hold fire long enough to let us all in the kill zone, and they bunched up around their heavy weapon. If they’d spread out and made a longer ambush, extended the killing ground, and learned to shoot, we might’ve been in trouble.”
“Good thing they don’t train them better than they do.”
“If my platoon ever screws up an ambush that bad, they better hope the enemy kill ’em before I get the chance,” Gunny Taylor growled.
We made it back to the Tripoli without any trouble. I actually welcomed the drag of my equipment in the full G of the ship’s artificial gravity. We climbed the ladders out through the hatches into the main vessel.
Lieutenant Mitchell dismissed us, allowing everybody two hours’ free time before we resumed normal duties. The Navy could run the ship for now.
I tossed my helmet on my rack and unzipped the heavy body armor. I hated stewing in my own sweat. My faded olive drab blouse was dark with it.
“I’ll meet you back here in a few,” I told Sabatini and Johnson, securing my ACR to my rack. “Get cleaned up. I’m gonna check on O’Rourke.”
“Tell him we aren’t gonna let him rest his lazy ass in sickbay too long while we carry the load,” Sabatini said, removing her helmet. Her dark hair was matted with perspiration.
“Give him my love, too, Corp,” said Johnson.
Wow. His first smartass remark. He was going to be a good Marine.
“Call me Mick. You just joined the Brotherhood of the Damned. No titles between us.”
I hiked over to the sickbay. It was overrun with refugee children. The Navy medical personnel were running around doing tests and writing out instructions for care. I caught the attention of the doctor, a Navy lieutenant. “Excuse me, sir.”
He looked up at me in a distracted fashion. “Hm? One of the Corpsmen can put some antiseptic on that knee, Marine.”
“Wh—?” I looked down. I hadn’t noticed in the excitement, but the knee of my uniform trousers was torn and bloody. I must have skinned my knee on the rubble at the ambush and not noticed.
“Actually, sir, I was wondering about PFC O’Rourke.”
“O’Rourke?”
“Marine with a bullet wound to the arm, sir.”
“Oh yes.” Recognition lit his features. “The lacerated biceps and arterial bleed. He’s doing well. We repaired the damage to the muscle and blood vessels. We took a cell culture and we’ll regrow him some muscle to replace the scar tissue. After he heals up, we’ll see how much movement he’s lost and how much scarring there is. If we need to, we can replace the damage with new muscle tissue. He’s lucky the humerus wasn’t hit. If the bone had taken that round, it would have shattered into bits.”
“So he’s doing OK, sir?”
“He’s stable. His prognosis is encouraging.”
“Could I see him? I’m his team leader.”
The doc shook his head. “He’s still heavily sedated. Check back after nineteen hundred.”
“Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
We had to be a lot more formal with the Navy than our own officers.
“Have somebody clean that knee before you leave, Corporal,” he said, looking at another patient. He wasn’t a very friendly individual, but he cared about his patients, even if he only knew me as “minor abrasion to the epidermis of the knee.”
Doc Roy caught my eye. “Hey, Mick.”
“Hey yourself,” I replied. “Thanks for taking care of Terry back there.”
“Any time,” she said, smiling. “Thanks for taking charge back at the airlock.”
“Just got impatient,” I replied. “The Old Man would’ve said the same pretty quick.”
“If you say so.” She smirked. “I’m just glad you did it when you did.”
“Thanks. Oh, the doctor wants somebody to slap a band-aid on this knee. Do you mind?”
“Let’s take a look.” She pulled a curtain to close off the section of sickbay. “OK, Mick. Drop ’em.”
“It’s my knee,” I said. “I can roll up the leg of—”
“Who’s the corpsman here?” she asked. “I’m a trained medical professional. There’s nothing down there I haven’t seen before.”
I shrugged and unbuckled. “I heard that about you.”
“Ha!” She swabbed my knee with a gauze pad soaked in stinging antiseptic. I winced and drew in a sharp breath. “Toughen up, Marine. It’s just a little iodine.”
“Stings like hell.”
“That just means it’s working.” She finished scrubbing at my wound. “You don’t know what kind of bacteria might be on that rock. I don’t want to leave anything behind. There.” She peeled off a square of Nuskin and gently smoothed it over the knee. It was some kind of synthetic skin that would adhere for a few days until my own new tissue replaced it.
“You done torturing m
e?” I asked.
“Almost.” She planted a kiss on my thigh, just above the bandage. “There. All better?”
I swallowed hard. “I think I’ll live.”
“Wow,” she commented. “You Marines stand at attention at the drop of a hat.” She stood, grasping the curtain with her left hand, the one with the ring winking on the third finger. “Better secure that thing. Don’t want to scare any of our other patients.”
I pulled up my trousers, adjusting myself with difficulty. “You’re an evil bitch, you know that?”
“See you around, Mick.” She sauntered away.
I gave myself a moment to stop hyperventilating, then hiked back to the rest of my team, reassured that O’Rourke would be alright.
As I entered the room, I found Johnson cleaning his TAR. The light machine gun was spread out over a poncho and he was sliding a cleaning rod and swab through the barrel. He looked up when I came in. “Sabatini’s taking her sweet time in the shower.”
“Shit, Johnson, if you promise to look that good, I’ll let you have privacy privileges too.”
“How’s O’Rourke?”
“Doin’ good,” I replied. “They got him sewn up. They’re growing some new muscle for him.”
“He looked pretty bad.”
I shrugged. I had seen a lot worse. “That wound was ragged, and bled like crazy, but the bullet missed everything vital.”
“I just never knew how bad a gunshot wound looked.”
I sat down on the rack and broke my ACR open shotgun-style, swinging the barrel down away from the lower receiver. I removed the bolt, then swabbed out the chamber. “Combat wounds can get pretty ugly. Get used to the sight of blood.”
“I still can’t get over how that guy’s head got opened up like that.” He shook his head.
“Better his than yours, Marine. Just remember that.” I wiped off the bolt, removing the powder residue. We cleaned our weapons in silence for a while. I don’t particularly care for the sight of slaughter myself, but there are people who ask for it, by shooting at us or letting children starve to death. I was at the point where I no longer had doubts or regrets about killing an enemy. They chose to die when they chose to screw with the Corps.
In Every Clime and Place Page 6
