Enforcer

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “Negative.” Hr’ent shook his head. This was growing tiresome. “I’ve been dressing myself since I was a cub. I do not need a lieutenant to help me don my helmet and chute.”

  “There’s more to the assembly than—”

  Hr’ent disengaged the earpiece and sighed in pleasure at the sudden silence. The prattle of instructions and reminders did nothing more than increase his anxiety. If Hak and the others weren’t ready for him to take on the mission, they should have said something before disengaging the dropship. A need for constant communication was one thing, and yet there seemed to be absolutely no sense of trust in his ability to perform the mission. He’d done everything they asked with excellence. Looking at his rig, Hr’ent pushed the thoughts and doubts of the others away and focused on the procedures he’d learned between his first and second years at the Academy.

  Every candidate learned basic parachute operations. Candidates jumped a minimum of three times on Ocono with a standard static-line deployment. Hooked to the inside of the aircraft via a detachable tether, a jumper’s parachute is fully extracted when the jumper leaves the airplane. The reliable deployment made it easy to train a vast number of candidates every summer. Most eschewed the opportunity to jump more than the three required times. Hr’ent had jumped multiple times every break over the last two years, save for the time around his commissioning mission. The last several drops he’d done were high-altitude, low-opening jumps. Leaving a dropship at over 15,000 meters up and falling to just over 1,000 in less than two minutes at 200 kilometers per hour appealed to every fiber of his being. It was even better than soaring above a landscape on his flightcycle with the throttle fully open. The exhilaration of the jump and the sense of speed never failed to disappoint him.

  The rig for this jump was very similar, save for the actual parachute. The main rig hung suspended in a frame that allowed him to step into the leg straps with ease. He checked the tight exosuit he wore over his fur with a combination of chagrin and necessity. While the upper atmosphere of Godannii 2 was likely as cold as Ocono and other places he’d jumped, he’d never had to wear a thermal suit. The damned thing was hot, tight, and constricting. Even hanging under a canopy and gliding for 50 kilometers in a slow descent in the suit sounded like hell. How much better would it be to just drop straight down?

  Hr’ent shook his head. Avoiding the risk to the dropship and the secrecy of their mission were paramount. As much as he wanted to HALO, he needed to stick with the plan. The suit would remain, and he would deal with it. Over his exosuit, he layered his combat armor. The kinetic deflection plates were webbed together in a way that allowed his joints to remain fully articulate without compromising protection. Over his chest, the armor was the thickest at nearly four centimeters. The composite material of the Ballistic Assault, Modular Function armor system, or BAMF for short, was classified at a level much higher than any of the working Peacemakers or Enforcers. Rumor was that the armor was elSha designed and Besquith made. As long as it stopped projectiles and bladed weapons, Hr’ent didn’t care. He hadn’t worn the full complement of armor since his commissioning mission, but it felt right when he donned it.

  “Almost ready, Big Guy?” Emonk asked from behind him as she made her way aft into the cargo bay.

  “You trust the autopilot that much?” Hr’ent grinned.

  Emonk tapped the bulkhead with one of her right hands. “Trust has to be earned, and this baby’s never let me down.”

  Hr’ent nodded. “Help me into the rig?”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Emonk grinned and stepped behind the rig mount. Hr’ent took his place in the center, and the Pendal pilot engaged the platform. The rig raised the leg loops for the harness into position and tightened them around Hr’ent’s upper thighs. He worked his arms into the appropriate spots, and the heavy parachute sack hefted onto his back.

  “That’s heavier than I thought.”

  “It’s a composite, too. Ultra-high glide ratio. It’s rated at eight to one—eight meters forward velocity for every descending meter in altitude. With your weight, though, it won’t do that well. If we keep dropping you in places, we’re going to need a whole new parachute system.”

  “Or just let me HALO.”

  Emonk frowned. “That, too. Don’t get any ideas, okay?”

  Hr’ent nodded but didn’t reply as the rig tightened around his entire body. Emonk stepped up to him and connected four straps in an X pattern across his chest before attaching the reserve parachute to his front at the waist. The oblong chute wasn’t like anything he’d jumped with before.

  “New chute?”

  “Old,” Emonk said. “It’s the biggest reserve chute we deploy. Given that the chance for HAHO chutes to fail is greatest at the highest altitude, the idea was to give you the best chance for recovery. The main chute is deployed automatically by a compressed air charge. The timer is set for 12 seconds after you jump. That’s just enough time to get out of the engine blast.”

  “Wonderful.” Hr’ent shook his head. “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “Almost,” Emonk said. “Take a deep breath, hold it, and hand me your mask. I’ll pass you your helmet and connect the oxygen relay on your left side. When I’m done, I’ll tap your left arm twice. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Deep breath and hold.”

  Hr’ent did as he was told and removed his oxygen mask. Emonk handed the jump helmet to him, and he snugged it over his head. He brought the split front pieces together at the end of his snout and connected them magnetically before swinging the face plate down over his eyes. Instantly he felt the pressurization of the helmet, and the internal heads-up display flickered on. Emonk tapped his arm twice, and he took a breath. The oxygen was cool and moist.

  “Good seal,” he reported.

  Emonk tapped her earpiece. Her normal smile was gone, and her eyes were serious. “C2 relay is active in 10 seconds. Bring them home with honor, Hr’ent.”

  A sudden tightness in his throat surprised him. From the moment he’d met the lieutenant, she’d treated him as an equal of sorts. There was never any reminder of his rank versus hers or anything disciplinary. He realized she was a friend. She wanted him to be careful and to accomplish the mission. Her simple words cut through his ego and managed to get to the very core of the Peacemaker ideal. No matter the species and no matter their background, those who wore the badge stood up for each other. Rsach and the others, despite their treatment of him at the Academy, were in danger. They might never be the kind of friend he thought Emonk could grow to be, but that didn’t matter. They were Peacemakers, and he was one of them.

  “You got it, Boss.”

  “C2 relay is active. Good rig and chute, Hak. Our boy is ready to deploy,” Emonk said. “Moving to the cockpit to open the door. Drop point is 60 seconds away.”

  He watched her make her way to the forward bulkhead to the airlock. She turned back to him and saluted, one right fist to her chest, and he returned it with a flush of pride that threatened to make his eyes water.

  Emonk disappeared into the cockpit section, and Hr’ent turned toward the aft door. “Let’s do this.”

  “Twenty seconds,” Emonk called in his headset.

  “Hr’ent? HAHO jumps can be violent. Once you’re under canopy, make contact so we can talk you down,” Hak urged. “Good luck, Enforcer.”

  Gods, I love the sound of that.

  “Affirmative, Hak,” Hr’ent replied as he slipped his feet into restraint loops and reached up with his paws for a set above him. “In the restraints, Lieutenant.”

  “Door coming open.”

  A red light winked on at the edge of his vision as a maelstrom of wind tore at him. Hr’ent shivered at the temperature change, even inside his exosuit. Outside the dropship, the upper atmosphere of Godannii 2 was dark and crystal clear. Far below, he saw pinpoints of light on the approaching continent. At the limit of his field of vision were the outskirts of Moppicut City, 60 or so kilometers a
way.

  “Five seconds. Platform is stable.”

  Hr’ent stepped out of the foot restraints and let go of the ones he held. The drop ramp deployed, and as he walked to the edge, he realized he was holding his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, and a thrill of anticipation sent his heart racing. There wasn’t time for anything else as the drop light winked from red to green. He took three big steps and leapt into the night. He tried to count as he tumbled through the sky before working his body into a stable descent position. No sooner had he spread his arms and legs to catch the thin air around him, than the main chute jerked open violently.

  WHAMM!

  “Bloody Elementals,” Hr’ent gasped as the rig seemed to tear at every body part at once. “That hurt!”

  He looked up quickly and checked the shroud line from his rig to the dull black, wing-like parafoil above. The chute was good, and there were no malfunctions. The temperature was much colder than he’d expected, but the exosuit kept him warm enough to function. His oxygen system continued to operate. The critical systems were as nominal as they were going to get.

  Hr’ent worked his lower jaw to activate his radio set. “Hak? I’m out and fully deployed. No malfunctions.”

  “Excellent,” Hak replied. “Orient on Moppicut City, just off your left.”

  Hr’ent worked his paws into the straps above his shoulders and found the steering toggles. He gently pulled on the left one, and the parafoil snapped a quick left turn. “On it.”

  “Relaying terrain information to your helmet.”

  Instantly, the terrain below became a three-dimensional topographical map before his eyes. He clearly saw the city and the drop zone for his equipment pallet. He looked up and saw the dropship thrusting away from him. He watched it, trying to see the equipment pallet deploy, but it was too far away and moving far too fast.

  “I show the drop zone about 40 kilometers away,” he said into the radio.

  “Correct. The pallet has been deployed and is under silk and tracking toward its target now,” Hak replied. “I want to go over the mission briefs before you get close enough that the GenSha communications jammers degrade our ability to talk constantly.”

  “That could be a good thing.” Hr’ent sighed, then panicked as the microphone was active.

  “Being jammed? That’s not a good thing for operations.”

  “You’ll have to trust me then.” He had reveled in the solitude he’d had during the Pushtal mission. There was something deeply gratifying about pitting one’s entire being against impossible odds and coming out the victor. In a flash, he realized that feeling was something he craved…something his psyche seemed to need like a drug.

  “We do trust you, Hr’ent. We just want to remain in contact.”

  Hr’ent flared. “Not contact. Control. Next you’ll be telling me when and where to crap in the woods.”

  “That’s unfair, Hr’ent. The idea is that we support you from—”

  Hr’ent tuned him out and glanced at the mission’s elapsed time. His time to target was over 30 minutes. Hak-Chet kept talking, and the more he did, the harder Hr’ent clenched his fists. The Sidar mentioned something about taking a moment to eat a protein bar. Hr’ent’s irritation flared—he’d reached his limit.

  “Fuck this,” he growled.

  Hr’ent reached up to the emergency jettison points on his chest and cut away the main parachute. Instantly, he tumbled head over heels. He reached out to control his fall, slowly bringing his body into a stable free-fall position. Head down, arms tucked back at his sides, Hr’ent settled into the familiar flight position and grinned under his helmet as Hak-Chet raged.

  “What do you think you’re doing? You’re part of a team! How dare you deviate from this plan? Are you out of your mind?”

  Hr’ent snapped, “Let me do my job. I’ll call you if I need you. Hr’ent out.” He cut the comms.

  That’s better, he thought. Radio silence. I can do my job. It’s not like they won’t be able to follow my progress.

  The altimeter reading on his faceplate raced downward from 10,000 meters which gave him roughly two minutes of free fall before he’d have to deploy the reserve chute manually. He brought his left arm in front of his helmet and tried to activate the slate on the inside of his forearm, but the device wouldn’t cooperate in free fall. Distractions during air deployment operations were a bad thing. Hr’ent watched the altimeter and relaxed, enjoying the sensation of flight for as long as he could. In seconds, he was smiling as he barrel-rolled through the sky.

  At 6,000 meters, he stabilized into the free fall position, discarded his oxygen bottle assembly, and worked the helmet open to allow the planet’s air on his face. At 190 kph, the dark ground raced up at him. At 1,000 meters, Hr’ent deployed the reserve parachute at his waist. As the chute deployed, the straps caught on the open visor of his helmet and ripped it away from his head. He watched it tumble into the night below as the reserve chute opened with a mighty jerk. His body canted to the left, and when he looked up, he saw that three…no, four shroud lines had snapped, no doubt from his massive body weight.

  Shit!

  He grabbed the straps and centered himself beneath the chute as best he could, as a portion of his chute fluttered above him. Too fast…The spindly branches of very tall trees reached up into the night. The treetops tore at his legs with the staccato crashing of breaking limbs. The fabric of the chute caught and snapped the upper branches with hearty tugs as he ripped through the canopy into the lower branches. He only hoped he would miss the thicker branches further down into the forest. Hr’ent ground his jaw and closed his eyes for impact.

  This is gonna hurt.

  Somehow, he managed to miss the major branches, and with a last tug of his chute along a lower branch, he swung forward and slammed into a small clearing. He didn’t have time to execute a proper landing. Instead, his feet, ass, and head slammed into the soft, loamy soil at almost the same time. Bright lights exploded behind his eyes, and he felt the air WHUFF out of his lungs. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t been knocked out for a moment. But as the light in his vision faded, he thrashed, rolled, and twisted onto his paws and knees before managing to detach one of the chute’s riser straps. It slid away from him across the thick grass, and the parafoil quickly deflated across the forest floor.

  Hr’ent stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard and performing a self-assessment. He’d hurt for a while, but there was nothing broken or sprained, save for his pride. As much as he hated to admit it, what he’d done was rash and, well, monumentally stupid. He wasn’t looking forward to the moment he turned the comms back on, but he knew he would have to eventually.

  With a grunt, he sat on the forest floor and toggled his slate on. As it initialized, he waited for the equipment pallet’s beacon to activate. An interminable five minutes later, the green icon appeared but not where he’d expected it. It was 30 kilometers away, but not in the direction he’d hoped for. Instead of picking up his equipment on the way to Moppicut City, he’d have to veer east 15 kilometers off his path to reach it, with another 15 from there to the city. For a moment, he considered pressing on with just his PK-40, but he realized that without the additional weapons, power cells, and supplies, he’d risk death, not just failure. He pounded his thigh with his fist. Less than a minute on the ground, and the mission was already running behind.

  I’ll deal with Hak when I have to, he thought.

  Without another word, Hr’ent rose to his feet, stretched his battered body to work out a few kinks, then turned toward the beacon. Taking a deep breath, he ran into the night at about half his old sprinting speed. The BAMF combat armor, enhanced as it was, felt heavy on his body, but not heavy enough to cause him too much concern. He decided to remove the thermal suit once he got to the pallet. If he could keep up the pace, the 20 kilometers ahead of him would take about an hour, maybe a little more.

  There was only one way to find out.

  * * * * *

  Chap
ter Twenty-Two

  Godannii 2

  Somewhere in the Culovir Range, North of Moppicut City

  With a disgusted snarl, Satuur broke through a dense thicket of vines and shrubs as he dragged Dolamiir’s litter behind him in the darkness.

  Eight days, he thought. Eight days, and we’re not out of this shit yet. It took a good deal of his considerable strength to yank the dozing executive through the last of the underbrush. His body, particularly his endurance, had been tested, but he was confident he still had a good deal more in him. He would need it.

  He covered another 20 meters of mossy soil and bare stone before reaching the crest of the final ridge that lay between him and the rolling hills leading to Moppicut City in the south. He propped the litter up on a thick branch that stuck out and then stepped up to the edge. Forest stretched away from him, thickening as it dropped down the hillside. Light from a half-full moon turned the tops of the trees a gray-green, and dark streaks cut their way through the forest, indicating the path of a handful of rivers and streams. In the distance, he could clearly see the light-speckled smudge of the city, and he estimated it was another 15 or 20 klicks further, although he hoped to run into an ISMC patrol well before that. An orange, smoky haze lay over the city, most of it on the western edge. A flash of light sprang up, and as he watched, a fresh plume of smoke rose into the air.

  They’re still fighting.

  He let out a long breath and shook his head. He’d held onto a vain hope that the conflict would have already been resolved. He was ill-prepared for any sort of combat situation at the moment. His needler only had two rounds left in it, and his laser pistol had one, although he still had his combat knife. He wondered if any of the board members still lived. And what of the Peacemakers? Had they been executed or used as some sort of bargaining chip? If the latter, he knew what the Peacemaker Guild’s response would be. They didn’t negotiate with terrorists. They usually killed them, but in a situation like this, they’d gather all the evidence before they started pulling triggers. He glanced back at his charge.