Boots of Oppression

by M. J. Konkel

  I slowly marched toward the direction from where Kova had first appeared. I needed to stall. I stopped about ten meters away and bent over and fiddled with my one of my boots. I wished I still had radio contact with my team so I could know their current positions. Of course, I would have known their positions if I had my own helmet, but then I wouldn’t have been likely to pull off the charade of being Conner.

  Kova started to slide around the boulder pile. Shit! If he saw the body, he would alert everyone. If I shot him now, that would alert the other guards, and they would send up the alarm.

  “Can ………..” I whistled the rest.

  “What?” Kova turned toward me. “I can’t understand a dribble of what you’re tryin’ to spit out.”

  I again whistled into my mic.

  “Put up that faceplate, bro so’s Kova can make out what’s you spittin’.”

  I was running out of time. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up the charade. I cupped a hand to my ear.

  Kova’s faceplate went up. “I said put your faceplate up so’s Kova can hear you.”

  I put a hand up to my helmet and pretended to be turning the dial, acting as if it wasn’t working.

  “Oh’s you’s havin’ all kinds problems with that helmet,” Kova said.

  Phit! Phit! Phit! Phit! The soft sounds of rifles firing off in the distance on both sides of me. I knew that was Tinny, AnnaJo, and Helm taking out the other guards.

  “What the …” Kova uttered as he raised his rifle and craned his head toward the direction of one of the shots. “Did you just --”

  I raised my rifle and fired directly through the armor of his chest. The man stumbled backward, slammed into the boulders with an audible bang, and then slumped to the ground.

  Alarms would be going off any second now back at the Spit’s base, but we expected that. Actually, counted on it.

  The silhouette appeared of a soldier running up from the darkness beyond the boulder pile. I knew that shape well though. I popped up my faceplate and made sure my mic was off.

  “Welcome to the party,” I said.

  Enceladus popped off her helmet, and I handed her the helmet from Kova’s suit.

  “What’s going on out there?” someone demanded. Was that the corporal or the sergeant for the platoon? “Stahls, Checknev, Kova, report.”

  I had to hold myself from laughing at all the crackling and whistling noises the others made.

  “What’s going on, Corporal?” someone else radioed.

  “Captain, shots have been fired,” the corporal replied. “All the lights for the guards are showing green, so they’re still all alive. I think they can hear us, but we can’t get any communication from any of them. Conner’s was the first to stop working. But now they are all giving some weird static.”

  “So we’re under attack. And it seems the natives have some kind of jamming tech,” the captain said. “Are the sergeants frickin’ up yet?”

  I thought it was so nice of the corporal to let us in on their conversation.

  “Sergeant Smith just arrived. The others are coming, sir.” Others - plural. So I was right. Three platoons.

  “By time! Get frickin’ reinforcements out there. I’m going to send a message to headquarters. Get a moving!”

  “Yes, sir.” Then our radio connection was cut off. The corporal must have just realized he had his set to the whole platoon.

  Enceladus and I occasionally fired into the ground twenty meters in front of us. We heard shots from in front of us, but we knew those were being aimed well over our heads. Most likely those rounds were hitting where the Spits’ trucks were parked. Unlikely to do any damage at that distance but giving the illusion of us being engaged in a firefight with an enemy.

  “Cosmos! That Kova guy had a big head,” Enceladus complained.

  “Stop jiggling your helmet,” I said. “That’s going to look strange to anyone coming up to us.”

  Enceladus stopped playing with the helmet, and we continued to peek out over the boulders while giving glances over our shoulders back toward the Spits’ camp. Three new Spits dashed toward our position. I peered up at my HUD and didn’t see them displayed. They had to be from one of the other two platoons.

  Enceladus fired a three-shot burst over the boulders and ducked back down and turned, facing the oncoming reinforcements. That was the agreed upon signal.

  She raised her rifle and fired several times at the same time I whipped around, raised my rifle, and also fired. A dozen flechettes cut through the surprised Spits a few meters away. They all dropped without even time to point their rifles in our direction.

  I hopped over to one of the fallen Spits and exchanged helmets again. I got a look at where all of the second platoon’s troops were located.

  “Volstonich, what’s going on out there? Displays are showing Conner, Kost and Hajahesh are dead. Even you appeared to be dead for a few secs.”

  “…. dead … send …” I said between crackling noises and whistles.

  “We can’t hear you. Fall back to base. Repeat your new orders are to fall back to base.”

  I popped open my face shield. “Crap! I’ve been ordered to fall back.”

  “Me too,” Enceladus said.

  We had hoped they would continue to send reinforcements that we could easily pick off.

  I didn’t want to remove my helmet again. I worried that the Spits might be getting suspicious, so I pulled out a small flashlight and blinked it three times toward where Marla and the others waited. It was our signal that we were moving back to the Spits camp. The others would then stop firing over our heads and fire into the air or ground instead. We were now into Plan B. I hoped it worked because, otherwise, we would have to start Plan C. Just winging it.

  “Ready?” Enceladus popped a new fresh magazine into her rifle.

  “I’m starting to feel like one of those characters out of a novel,” I replied. “Always in the action, but somehow invincible.”

  Despite the low light, I noticed Enceladus roll her eyes. “Keep feeling that way, and I’m sure a Spit will end that invulnerability for you,” she warned. Of course, I knew she was right as I thought about my shoulder. My next misstep could be my last.

  We put our faceplates back down and trotted toward the Spits.

  “Volstonich, report directly to me,” a voice yelled into my earphones. “I want to know what the hell’s going on out there.”

  The gruff voice had to be that of the platoon’s sergeant. I looked up at the HUD and Smith was not up there. I wondered which of the names was the sergeant’s.

  It didn’t really matter though. I had no intention of reporting to him. And besides that, I was pretty sure he was going to seek me out, and he would know my position.

  Tinny and AnnaJo were a hundred meters off to our left, and Helm was about the same distance off to our right. The five of us (all the Spit suits we had) fell back toward the Spit base camp. Marla had only a heavily damaged helmet. None from the third platoon had apparently been sent out.

  I spied the three huge Spit trucks ahead against the dark of the hill and then spotted the scout vehicle a moment later. Spits, taking cover behind boulders or dirt mounds, were spread out in front of the vehicles.

  Behind the scout a Spit sat on his butt and stared at a e-pad. That had to be the captain. I didn’t have time to deal with him right then though.

  “Volstonich, your ass is mine,” the sergeant yelled. “You were supposed to report straight to me.”

  I saw on my HUD that the sergeant approached from my rear.

  “I see them,” I yelled. “They’re attacking!”

  I turned and fired a couple of rounds into the ground about a hundred meters out. Heads around me all swung outward to spy the supposed enemy. I then spun and fired three flechettes directly into the chest of the sergeant. He dropped to his knees and then collapsed forward to kiss the sand.

  Fire burst out from around me, but it was directed outward at the phantom enem
y. I turned and fired at a nearby Spit and then found another.

  Meanwhile, Enceladus’s rifle fired behind me. I turned and saw two Spits were on the ground on her side.

  “What the frick?” someone yelled. “One of our own guys is shooting us. Over here on the south end. We got the motherfrickin’ bastard pinned. Someone bring a frickin’ grenade. We’ll mess the bastard up real good.”

  I turned and sprinted past Enceladus. Helm was our lone infiltrator in that direction, and he was in trouble.

  Twenty meters ahead I saw the trouble. Three Spits were taking turns firing at a boulder. Three other Spits lay still on the ground.

  I stopped and fired several flechettes through each of the Spits before they could turn around. Enceladus added a few more for good measure. I glanced around, searching for any more threats I could end.

  Then I raised my left hand, extending two fingers in a V sign. Our signal so that Helm didn’t shoot us.

  Enceladus popped up her faceplate. “Helm, it’s all clear. It’s us.” But Helm did not respond.

  Enceladus leapt toward the boulder, and I followed two strides behind.

  Helm sat with his back against the backside of the boulder. Although the suit sealed up the holes, I could see he had taken two shots through the gut. He had dropped his rifle.

  Enceladus put her hand down to Helm’s helmet, and his faceplate slid up.

  “Is it over?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I think so,” Enceladus replied.

  Helm’s eyes shifted to me. I had raised my faceplate as well. “When I first laid eyes on you, I saw you as my enemy. I just wanted so badly to put a bullet in you.”

  “I know,” I said. “Just hang in there.”

  “But now I … I die with you as my brother. ” He coughed, and he spat out blood. “To… together in battle.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder armor. “We’ll get you to help.”

  “These suits stop the ex… external bleeding. But we both know I’m totally f.. fricked up on the inside.” Helm coughed again, and more blood came up. He turned his eyes to Enceladus. “Tell my mother … tell her I… I love her. And tell my father …” He didn’t finish his sentence.

  “Tell him what?” Enceladus demanded. Tears rolled down her face. “Tell him what? Come back here!”

  “Tell him his son thought he would have been proud of him,” I finished for him.

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “Come on,” I insisted. “There’s still one more Spit alive in this camp.”

  Chapter 12

  I waved my hands with a flashlight up high over my head. That was the signal to Marla and the others that our end had been secured.

  Then I marched straight for the rear of the scout vehicle. I jumped out from behind it with my rifle out. Meanwhile, Enceladus had circled around to the other side of the scout.

  The captain, hidden on the backside of the scout, had been on a small thin e-pad. Startled, his eyes went toward a rifle leaning against the scout. But the rest of his body froze as he spied my rifle pointed at his head. He then realized he was surrounded as Enceladus came up behind him.

  “Go ahead. Reach for it.” I raised a light with my left hand and shined it into his face. I could easily have shot him. Deep down I ached to do just that. But I thought we might have some use for a live Spit officer.

  The captain remained frozen, although the fingers on his free hand visibly quivered. Then the free hand shot up toward the pad.

  “Stop!” I screamed as the captain’s hand continued upward.

  The captain’s head flew sideways as Enceladus’s flechette drilled through his skull. His limp fingers still flew toward the pad but sailed wide and never connected. His body crumbled to the ground, and the pad dropped down next to him.

  I picked up the pad and blew away the sand and dust covering its screen just as Marla rushed up to us.

  “What’s it you got there?” she asked.

  “He was typing on it when I came up on him.” I pointed toward the lifeless body of the captain.

  “That’s a pretty odd thing to be doing when your camp is being shot up,” Marla remarked.

  “This is a communication pad. Read this.” I passed the pad over.

  Coots overrun camp. No chance. Send in AS. Demolish entire cam

  “AS?” Marla questioned.

  “Airstrike,” I translated.

  Why would the officer order the destruction of his own camp? I knew Marla was wondering the same thing. It was dark, but I saw her glance at the pad before staring around the camp. Something must be in one of the trucks that the Spits really didn’t want us to get our hands on.

  “This wasn’t sent yet,” Marla pointed out.

  “Yeah, but whoever he was sending this to knows this camp was under attack. I saw him on the pad earlier during our attack,” I said. “I have an idea that might buy us some time, but we can expect they’ll send in troops and maybe aircraft anyway.”

  I reached down and grabbed the captain’s right hand. I then used one of his fingers to hit the cancel message button. Combat pads were keyed to only certain people. Using his finger, I then typed a short message on the pad.

  All clear now. Killed all attacking coots. Parameter secured. Will stay in location until first light.

  I pushed the captain’s lifeless finger down on the send button. Would they would buy it? Probably not. But I hoped they would want to check the camp out, rather than just start bombing it.

  I wondered whether the captain had sent a message describing our using Spit uniforms. Or did we still have that element of surprise in our next battle? Once sent, a message was automatically erased from the pad, so I had no way to see what the Captain had previously sent.

  I turned toward where Marla had headed. The middle Spit truck. Of course! If the Spits had something of value, it would be in the middle.

  Just before she reached the truck, two of our trucks pulled up. I raced to catch up as I heard Marla shout out to them. She gave instructions to gather whatever weapons, ammo, armor, or other supplies everyone could find and then be back aboard and ready to move out in fifteen minutes.

  She gave me a glance that said I should follow as she hopped into the back of the Spit truck. I hopped in behind her.

  I had sort of expected we would find some kind of weapon back there. Maybe something that could shoot down spacecraft. I guess that was really just stupid wishful thinking. Why would the Spits have carried such a weapon around the deserts of Bahram?

  Instead, in the back of the truck lay a man with long wavy white hair and wrinkled skin. Strapped down to a gurney and apparently unconscious. Marla lightly tapped the man’s cheeks, and he moaned. Then she lifted one of the man’s eye lids and shined a light.

  “Looks like he’s been drugged,” Marla said.

  “Who is he?”

  “Heck if I know, but if the Spits didn’t want us to get him so badly they were ready to order an airstrike on their own camp, I think he must be someone important.” Marla unbuckled the straps which held the man down. “Besides that, we can’t just leave him here.”

  Fifteen minutes later we high-tailed it in the two trucks back toward the main trail where we recovered our third truck and our scout vehicle. Then we turned back onto the trail and drove at one-third speed for about ten minutes. We hoped that was enough time for our motors to cool sufficiently so our infrared signature would disappear from air or satellite images. Then we took a sharp left and drove on through the desert. Zigging or zagging occasionally just in case our IR signature was picked up.

  My shoulder felt every bump our wheels went over on the trip. I guess I had a little too much recreation right after getting patched up. That had certainly not been in keeping with my promise to the doctor. Another broken promise. I took another pain med, and the pain dulled a little after that. I hoped I hadn’t caused any serious or permanent damage in there. But if I did, it was worth it.

  I also began to worry about psychological dama
ge. It seemed the more Spits I killed, the more of them I wanted to kill. That didn’t seem rather healthy.

  After about twenty klicks, we pulled up next to an impact crater from some small space rock. We made camp in a field of boulders thrown out from the crater.

  I stared at Tinny and Drummer as they marched out into the desert carrying shovels. We had eliminated 31 Spits back at Gumdrop Hill. But we had lost Helm and AnnaJo during the battle. The custom on Bahram, I learned, was to place the body in a deep hole, preferably six feet down. Then everyone said a few words about the deceased. This was followed by everyone cutting off a lock of hair and dropping it into the hole before the hole was filled. Only the twelve of us and Dosei witnessed their burial.

  Xavia and Estia were on guard duty. June, which I learned was short for Junestone, watched over the drugged man in the truck.

  The rest of us in the camp sat in a circle and ate a spicy lamb stew while stories were told about those who had just died. Everyone laughed at Helm’s and AnnaJo’s little quirks and problems in life. I was told this was customary on Bahram after a burial. Except the custom would have dictated it be around a bonfire.

  In the jovial atmosphere, I learned the names of all of those in the camp. Besides Marla, Enceladus, June, Tinny, and Drummer, there were Estia, Leocore, Amerigo, and Ramone.

  Estia performed a mock imitation of Marla pointing and giving orders. Everyone, except Marla, busted out laughing. Then she laughed too.

  “Marla, he’s waking up,” June called out from the back of the truck.

  Marla hurriedly set her bowl down on the sand and trotted toward June as the camp’s laughter morphed into murmurs. I was no more than two steps behind Marla. Others were a little slower to react, but soon a crowd gathered around the back of the truck.

  A dim light shone inside as Marla hopped up into the back end. I stayed back and listened as did everyone else.

  “You frickin’ bastards. Why am I being held against my will?” the man demanded from the cot he sat up on.

  “You are not a prisoner here,” Marla tried to explain.

  “What do you call it then when someone is drugged and dragged off like I was?”