The Oppressed

by Matt Thomas

  Jess shrugged. "I thought you'd see it that way. Besides, I don't know how to fly a Scythe. Do you?"

  "Some things just weren't meant to be."

  She sat against the wall next to him, his rifle propped up between them.

  "I can take the op tomorrow, today, whatever, you know.” She said. “So can Kendrick. You don't have to go on all of them."

  "You haven't gotten any sleep, and Kendrick's not usually in a state to lead anything first thing in the morning."

  "Still, your burning yourself out. You’re not going to do anyone any good if you’re a zombie in a couple of weeks."

  "It’s only a couple of weeks if we stick to the timetable."

  "Aren't you mister sunshine."

  "You woke me up."

  "All I’m saying is that it wouldn't kill you to take a day off. The only time you’re not out there is when Alan and Perkins are out on some bullshit with the locals. You rotate everyone else on the bigger ops, why not yourself too?"

  The true answer would spark another fight. He would say that he felt like he needed to be there, and Jess would say it meant he didn’t trust her leadership even though she’d spent far more time in Special Forces and been on far more operations than he had. He would counter that it had nothing to do with her and had more to do with him, and she would call him arrogant and self-centered. Bryan went through these scenarios and decided it was far more important to de-escalate the conversation.

  “I guess I can get some reports done if you take the recon tomorrow. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

  Jess looked at him and then started laughing.

  “What?”

  She started to recover. “You should just see yourself. You look like you’ve been dead for about a week, and you’re asking me if I’m up for strolling through the hills to place some sensors and beacons for the landing craft. You’re a train wreck.”

  He closed his eyes, enjoying the temporary relief from the burning he’d grown too accustomed to. “Thanks Jess.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, but remained quiet. With effort, she stood and headed back to the open door. “I’ll let Ava know.”

  By the time she stepped out and pulled the door, he had already fallen back asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Pounding on the door woke Jean up differently than a screaming klaxon. One was a learned reflex, the other just announced his wingman wanted to go to breakfast. Sasha thrashed about in his bunk immediately beneath him and shouted for Dauod to stop. Jean kept staring at the gray bulkhead a few inches from his nose until the pilot rudely flipped on the overhead lights. Jean sat up, his head brushing against the ceiling, knowing better than to dangle his feet in his pilot’s face, especially before a long mission.

  The berth barely had room for two men to stand and dress, much less three, but that didn’t stop the pilot from opening the door to let Dauod in. The wingman leaned against the hatch while Sasha pulled on a flight suit. Jean waited for him to be done before jumping down to dress himself.

  “Where’s Quinn?” Costeaux asked as he strapped his pistol to his leg. Since the push to the Twins, they had been under orders to remain armed at all times. They often joked about how bad things must be if the pilots, stuck in their escort carrier, on the edge of the human fleet, in the middle of nowhere, had to fight their way out of the mess hall with their sidearms.

  Dauod rolled his eyes. “He says he’s not hungry.”

  “He understands we’ve got a twenty-six hour mission ahead, right?” Sasha asked.

  Cobra Four’s pilot rolled his eyes. “Whatever, it’s his choice.” Then he shouted at the bulkhead to his own berth on the other side. “But I’m not going to listen to him bitch about.”

  They headed out into the hallway, and, as Jean closed the door, Sasha stopped him. “Shit, I almost forgot. You finish that systems report last night?”

  Costeaux threw his head back in exaggerated despair. “No, I was so exhausted last night I totally forgot. I need to get that done.”

  “Want us to bring you a to-go plate?”

  “Thanks.”

  “The usual, fake eggs and fake bacon and a ton of coffee?”

  “Light on the coffee. I don’t want to sit in my own piss as much as I can help it.”

  “Alright. We’ll be back.”

  Jean went back into the berth, his stomach growling as he sat as his terminal.

  He reviewed systems reports created by the crew chief, checking off boxes for every component on the ship so that the air group commander knew they hadn’t broken anything on their missions. It was another one of Sasha’s new responsibilities he had volunteered to handle. The process ordinarily took thirty minutes, but he only made it through the first ten. That’s when the sudden concussive noise echoed through the bulkhead. At first, he thought the ship had suffered some mechanical malfunction, but then his mind quickly identified the sound. It had been a single gunshot. He bolted out into the hallway, hand on his own holstered pistol, looking back and forth. Other heads popped into the corridor, trying to see what had happened. The hatch next to his own didn’t open.

  He pounded on the door, calling Quinn’s name. If the other weapons officer had left the berth, Jean felt certain he would have heard the hatch open and shut. No response came from the inside. There was no privacy on the ship, and Jean hit the outside switch and the metal door slid out of the way.

  Quinn lay in his bunk, convulsing. Blood still pulsed from the exit wound in the side of his head, bone, brain, and hair stuck to wall above his pillow. The hand still held his pistol, but the fingers had been distorted by the force of the recoil.

  Costeaux yelled for help, a few other crowded into the hatch, helping him put pressure on the outside of the man’s skull as if it would do any good. On a warship, medics and emergency personnel were never more than one minute from any location by design. By the time they arrived, the blood had stopped pulsing. Jean stepped back while the medics made the final assessments. Blood spray covered his body. Only when he stepped back out of the way, cornering himself in the back of the small room, did he notice the words on Quinn’s computer.

  “I killed them.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Jess had set the team in motion before opening the door to the manager’s office. Having heard the noise outside, Bryan came to from his barely acceptable sleep by the time she hovered over him. Her undershirt remained sweat-stained, her hands dirty, and the rings around her eyes were deeper than usual. Clearly, she had ignored his guidance to get some sleep after she’d spent the day scrambling up the rocky, snow-covered mountains setting sensors.

  “Ava just sent me an emergency code.” She said before Bryan had the chance to ask any questions. “She says they’re up in Chelan. A Scythe just landed in their compound, and the Metic Ahai aren’t letting anyone leave.”

  “Is it an Inventory?”

  Jess shook her head and let out a long sigh. “Her message was pretty brief, but Banquo reached out maybe half an hour ago. Apparently, after we turned Ava down, she reached out to Lucas, who sent some locals after that hatchery Scythe anyway. They didn’t even make it to the hanger. Everyone’s captured or dead, and they tracked some of our people back to Chelan and Wenatchee.”

  “What about Lucas?”

  “It sounds like he didn’t go with them, which is shocking. But, Bryan, it sounds like this is definitely a punitive raid. She wants help.”

  Bryan stood up forcefully and started pulling on his mud-caked pants. “I said to leave the fucking Scythe alone.”

  “I know, but she did it anyway, and now the Hetarek are probably going to kill her, Julian, and everyone else in Chelan, just like they did in Vantage after they hit Objective Claudius. We need them to keep our network intact.”

  He was already pulling on his boots. “You’ve already got people moving?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re in Chelan?” He
threw his body armor over his head, tightening it and checking his magazines.

  “Yeah.”

  He hung his head. “We gotta get through the mountains, in the snow. The only vehicle approach is along the edge of the lake...”

  “It sucks, I know, but...”

  He tested his radio and cinched his holster to his thigh. “Jess, we’re probably going to need a long-gun, but you’re exhausted. I’ll take Kendrick.”

  She shook her head. “Kendrick’s drunk.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Bryan shouted, a break in demeanor. “I’m fucking done with this shit. Where is he getting it?”

  “Locals, I think. But now’s not the time to ask why you picked him.” She replied, following him out of his room back into the lobby, where most the team were already kitted up.

  “You know why.” Bryan muttered, trying hard not to look in the direction of the maintenance closet the other sniper had turned into a personal retreat reeking of bootleg alcohol.

  “If one more person says ‘he’s a magician with a sniper rifle,’ I’m going to scream.”

  Bryan shrugged. “You’re the one who came up with that during his court martial. The prosecutor asked ‘do you want a loose cannon like Sergeant First Class Kendrick on your team?’ and you said ‘well, he’s a magician with a sniper rifle.’ I was there; I heard you.” He quipped as he got himself together.

  “I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Jess asked.

  “Nope. Ryan, you put chains on the tires?” He tried to joke, stepping out in to the snow nearly coming up to his knees. It would have gone higher if his feet actually sank to the ground.

  “Yeah, and I tossed a couple bags of kitty litter in the back.” Raghnal replied deadpan.

  “I’m glad someone understands my Earth jokes.” Bryan muttered as he climbed into the truck.

  “We gotta plan?” Siskind asked as he adjusted to his new position as a driver.

  “I don’t know, I just woke up.” He brushed the snow off his boots before suddenly looking up and to his left. “O, have you ever driven in snow before?”

  “Nope.”

  “Remember to turn into the spin.” Bryan said reaching behind him for the radio.

  “Against the spin.” Harry said through the radio from the second Komodo.

  “Into the spin.” Bryan repeated, irritation growing in his voice. “Just... don’t roll us or spin us out. Or have us slide down a ravine. Or in any way kill us.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Siskind responded, shifting the vehicle into gear and started rolling through the snow in the dark, his night-vision goggles the only assistance he had.

  Bryan grumbled under his breath before hitting the transmit button. “Serpent Eight-Two, Beast Two-Two. Game on. Time now.”

  They drove in relative silence, bouncing between the hills and valleys that would eventually link their camp to the lake that wound its way through the mountains, flanked by iced-over schleckt fields and a resort-turned labor compound. Even the light snowfall reduced visibility to near zero in the dark, each flake obscuring their night vision. In the turret behind him, Starek bounced his knees to stay warm until O shouted at him for repeatedly bumping into the back of the driver’s seat. If the others were as exhausted as Bryan, they didn’t show it. They scanned outside the vehicle, looking at the hilltops and structures running past them.

  “I just got a flash message from Banquo.” Jess said after nearly an hour of driving. “He says he’s there now. He’s going to do what he can but the Hetarek are out for blood.”

  “They must be to be out at night in this cold.” O said. “I’d think they’d barely be functional.”

  “He said they’re Crimson Guard, Objective MacBeth’s group, flown in from the desert. They like to snatch up everyone while they’re sleeping. I guess they’re used to running at night.”

  “I got Loki.” Perkins said from the back, staring at a small screen. “It looks like an execution. They’re rounding up a bunch of humans and pushing them into the open.”

  “This is going to be close.” O said. “We’re still a few minutes out. The approach sucks, too.”

  Bryan consulted the map on his tablet. The road is going to get us to the lake about a mile away from where they’re at. O, find a place to drop off Jess and Perkins.”

  “You want us to provide overwatch?”

  He turned around to look her in the eye. “Keep them alive, Jess. We need all of them.”

  *****

  Siskind didn’t stop the Komodo, he just slowed it enough for Jess and Perkins to jump out with a backpack and two long rifles between them. The sun was peeking over the hills, reflecting off the snow they trampled on their scramble to a good vantage point. The ice-covered hills surrounding the lake, covered in schleckt during the summer months, glistened.

  They low-crawled into position on a ridgeline, looking down the length of the water to a tight cluster of old buildings that, a generation before, would have been vacation homes. Now they hosted another human ghetto.

  She pulled her laser rifle to her shoulder and peered down the scope. She made out a mass of humans surrounded by Hetarek wearing armor and personal heating equipment, a rare luxury for them.

  “Alpha, Bravo.” She called in.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I see them, and it doesn’t look good. I count about two dozen Hetarek so far, all wearing personal heaters, and that Scythe is just sitting there.” She scanned the crowd. “I got Banquo, he’s over by the Scythe looking more scared than usual. And... fuck... I see Julian. The got him and a dozen others on their knees. I don’t see Ava but they’re going to bring the blades down any minute.

  She started racing through her calculations even as Bryan responded. “Jess, we’re still a few minutes out, if you get a shot take it.”

  “Roger.”

  She flipped off her headset to concentrate. Perkins lay next to her, staring through a spotter scope calling out numbers that she dialed into her weapon. She found Julian and the Crimson Guard standing menacingly behind him. She could see the young man shaking, his head bobbing up and down as he gasped for breath. His mouth didn’t move like the man next to him pleading for his life. She put her crosshairs on the Hetarek.

  The scope flashed red.

  “Motherfucker!” She tossed the laser rifle aside. “Perkins, give me Kendrick’s firearm. The laser won’t reach far enough in these conditions. I need a projectile.”

  He handed her the longer, heavier weapon. She checked the bolt and found the solid bullet waiting inside. “I haven’t fired a real projectile in months. I’m going to have to shoot cold, I just hope his rifle isn’t fucked up.”

  “You got this. You know the only thing he gives a shit about is shooting that rifle.”

  The scope gave her some guidance, telling her where to aim to compensate for wind, distance, and air conditions. She remembered to lead the target enough since the bullet didn’t travel at the speed of light. At that distance, it would take almost four seconds for the round to hit the target, an eternity. Through her scope, the Hetarek, all of them, raised their rtek blades behind their victims.

  She placed the pad of her forefinger on the trigger. She rotated the selector switch from “safe” to “fire.”

  “Sending.” She announced softly.

  Jess squeezed slowly until the recoil surprised her.

  *****

  She couldn’t catch her brother’s eye. Disbelief, fear, anger, whatever intense emotion that controlled him in those moments kept his eyes staring at the matted snow beneath his knees. Unlike the man next to him, he didn’t cry or stutter or plead. Unlike the third man, he didn’t scream and yell after being forced to the ground. The rest of the humans waiting death similarly sat in stages of rage, despair, or shock. Her tears kept her from being able to see whether he trembled as the Hetarek stood behind him, rtek blade hanging at the end of both arms. The other Hetarek formed a barrier
. She didn’t fight, she didn’t push, although she wanted to. An arm, two actually, rested against hers, gripping her into place with comfort instead of force. Her knees shook. How could this happen? How could the little boy with whom she had grown up, the one who had played with her in the fields or driven with her on all those long nights across the plains, the boy who hid toys from their parents and food from their captors, be the one held under the blade?

  She couldn’t blame herself. She had tried, doing what any reasonable person would have done after the soldiers refused to help. MacIntyre had seen the opportunity for what it was, and taken it. Or tried to. It wasn’t MacIntyre’s fault either. His people had some weapons and some training, but not enough. They had the fighting spirit, but that alone only got them through the outer perimeter of the airfield. They nearly made it to the hanger before the Hetarek cut them all down. Then the Hetarek followed the evidence north to the enclave on the lake. After several hours of fatal interrogations with completely innocent humans, the Hetarek came up with nothing. Until someone spoke, the voice so garbled from blood running down the mans throat that Josiah Hernandez, the local speaker standing by during the interrogations, sickly pale but still just standing by, could barely understand the names spoken in his native tongue. The coward who spoke gave up the names of the three who had helped get them to the airfield. The other humans next to Julian hadn’t assisted, but it didn’t matter. They would be an example. Ava didn’t know about Julian’s involvement, although he must have suspected hers. Ava screamed and shouted as the Hetarek wrapped claws around his arms and yanked him forward to his knees. She couldn’t blame the now-decapitated snitch no more than she could blame MacIntyre. He took the last few instants of hope to try to save himself and failed. No, it wasn’t his fault.

  It was the Runners. They had done this. They had gotten to Julian, and MacIntyre, and the rest and given them all hope. Unused to it, Julian had wielded that hope recklessly. In his youth, he had the gall to think that something might be better in spite of the crushing reality of their situation. Then the Runner soldiers had refused their help on something so simple yet so critical, and the hope-infused youth tried to take on something for which they were completely unprepared.