Kingdoms Fury

by David Sherman

  Beerdmens sighed and read on.

  In short, what we originally thought was another of the frequent internecine conflicts among the various religious factions on this world is in fact a full-scale invasion of the planet by an alien force known colloquially as "skinks." I have learned that these same beings were responsible for wiping out a scientific exploratory colony on a world known as Society 437. I have also learned that some of the marines currently here on kingdom encountered these beings on Society 437 and wiped them out. I understand this is privileged information. I cannot reveal my source, but it is true.

  Skinks, so that's what they're calling them, Beerdmens thought. He read on, his soup momentarily forgotten:

  The military situation here is critical. Despite the presence of two full complements of fleet initial strike teams, one of which is the 34th—which you will remember from the incident on Wanderjahr—the skinks have managed to force them back upon the capital city, which they have now completely invested. The local forces have taken heavy casualties, and the marines have suffered grievous losses as well. Despite very heavy losses of their own, the skink forces do not appear in the least diminished. The local confederation commander, brigadier Theodosius Sturgeon, a very capable professional soldier, is confident he can break the siege, but I fear that time is not on our side. The morale of the local population is very low.

  There followed a detailed summary of the military setbacks. "In conclusion, Excellency," Spears wrote, "I beg you to inform the President at once. I do not know if we can survive here, but I believe what we are experiencing is merely the opening battle of a full-scale attack these beings intend to launch on the human race. The member worlds of our Confederation must be alerted and we must bring all of our military strength to bear in a concerted effort to wipe out these Skinks and eliminate them as a threat to our existence. I must warn you: if my assumptions prove correct and action is not taken immediately, the repercussions are unthinkable."

  "He's warning me?" Beerdmens exclaimed aloud. "He's warning me?" His chins jiggled with indignation. He pounded a hamlike fist on the desk. "Of all the impertinence! That dried-up, useless old fool! I swear, those goddamn Marines have done it again! Fucking jarheads! Fucking—Fucking—glorified bellhops!" he spluttered. He knew what had happened on Society 437. Some semisentient salamanders had risen up against the scientific colony. And now this fool was insisting they were a threat to the human race? Just like the Marines, exaggerating things to make themselves look good, only this time they'd gotten the ear of an ambassador. Spears was a gullible idiot whose brain had gone soft on Marines after the scuffle on Wanderjahr. "Unbelievable," Beerdmens muttered.

  He considered sending the dispatch to Wellington-Humphreys, but decided against it. She'd also developed a fondness for the spacegoing bellhops after what had happened to her on Diamunde. He tapped some keys on his console and relegated the message to his private recycle bin. It was best he keep it to himself for the time being. Just think of the panic if that idiot's assumptions were to be made public!

  Jon Beerdmens shook his head and lifted the spoon to his lips. Ugh! The soup had gone cold! Additional proof this Spears character was a goddamn jinx.

  He ordered a fresh bowl from the cafeteria.

  Cynthia Chang-Sturdevant's weakness was ice cream—old-fashioned, fattening, and sinful ice cream. She indulged herself as often as she could, her calendar and waistline permitting. The wonderful dish of delectable Jaskin-Hoggins Hanguk vanilla deluxe she'd just ordered from her servomech was going down very smoothly when her console bleeped that a classified high-priority message was waiting for her. She glanced briefly at the heading. It was Cosmic, and from an ambassador on—Martin H. Luther's proboscis!—Kingdom of Yahweh and His Saints and Their Apostles! She dropped her spoon.

  For the next ten minutes Chang-Sturdevant read Spears's assessment, a growing sense of dark despair welling up inside her. "Madam President, on 12/26 Standard I sent this message to his Excellency Beerdmens at the Diplomatic Corps," Spears had concluded. "He does not know I am communicating my assessment directly to you, but I consider it my duty to do so now." She looked at the heading again. The message was dated 12/28 Standard. That meant Beerdmens had had the thing for forty-eight hours and no one over there had bothered to contact her yet? Of course, the Diplomatic Corps was not aware of the measures she had already taken to deal with the crisis. Telling them would be tantamount to issuing a press release. Evidently, word of General Aguinaldo's appointment hadn't reached Sturgeon yet. She wondered briefly what this brigadier had in mind to break the siege. No matter; they'd all find out soon enough.

  "Give me Beerdmens's schedule," she asked her console. It popped onto the screen. "The fat bastard's been in town all week," she muttered. So there was no excuse for him not having informed her of his ambassador's concerns. "Okay, send this message to Jon Beerdmens, Chief of the Confederation Diplomatic Corps: ‘Jon, get your ass . . .’ No, ‘Jon, I want you and J. Wellington-Humphreys in my office immediately.’ Accentuate ‘immediately.’" The message flashed simultaneously on her screen. "Okay, cc my chief-of-staff, add a note to cancel all my appointments for this afternoon, and send it."

  She made a face. Those guys are right, she reflected, we are being invaded. Well, Diplomatic'll be here in a few minutes—they'd damn well better be here in a few minutes!—and J. Beerdmens will hike his blubber into retirement. She remembered Wellington-Humphreys well. She'd been through that awful ordeal on Diamunde, from which two enlisted Marines had rescued her. In fact they had been two of Sturgeon's own men! She'd make a good chief of the Diplomatic Corps.

  The President of the Confederation of Worlds reached for her dish of ice cream. It had melted into a pool of white slop. "Beerdmens," she laughed out loud, "I'm gonna get you for this!"

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marine Expeditionary Forces, Kingdom, wasn't idle during the time the xenobiolgists, scientists, and techs were examining the objects taken from the Skink supply depot. Somewhere in a remote hold of the CNSS Grandar Bay was a supply of equipment that had been superceded by the UPUD—motion detectors and aroma sniffers. Brigadier Sturgeon ordered them issued, two motion detectors and one sniffer to each blaster squad in the two FISTs, and the Marines spent many hours in refresher training in their use. The training was necessary, as few of the Marines had ever used motion detectors with earpieces. Sturgeon insisted on the earpieces—he didn't want to risk losing a man because the Marine was distracted by looking at a visual display on a handheld object.

  On the third day, the Marines of 34th FIST took the fight to the Skinks. Blaster platoons, reinforced with two assault squads and an extra communications man, went into the swamps and marshes of the Skink stronghold.

  Third platoon, Company L, moved in squad columns on line: first squad on the left; second squad, with Lance Corporal Schultz on point, on the right; the platoon's gun squad in the middle with the command element, where it could reinforce either flank that needed it. The two assault squads that reinforced the platoon, under the command of section leader Sergeant N'ton—a new man with the company—were inboard from the blaster squads, where they could fire to the front, rear, or over the blastermen on their flanks. The platoon also had an extra communications man who constantly monitored an all-hands radio. The platoon's objective was a densely wooded section of marsh to the northeast that was known to contain several cave mouths, some of which were submerged.

  Third platoon had experience with submerged entrances to Skink caves. They'd found one on Society 437, entered it, and fought the Skinks inside the tunnel complex that it led to. The Skinks had fought to the death.

  Flying animals, native avians, and game birds whose ancestors had been imported from Earth swooped from tree to tree, shrub to bush, cried out their territorial and mating songs. Escaped domestic ducks and geese dipped their heads into the shallow places to scoop food from the bottom. Smaller fliers buzzed and flitted about the ambulatory smorgasbord that moved through
their territory, frustrated that they couldn't feast on it—earlier generations of their kind had learned how unpalatable the smorgasbord was, and the knowledge was passed down and spread. Fishy things and water-phase amphibioids scattered in flight from the unknown things that quietly trod their waters. Land-walking swamp dwellers sensed death coming their way and headed for distant parts. The scent of rotten vegetation wafted on the light breezes that moved over the sun-dappled water.

  Ten kilometers into the wetlands, Lieutenant Rokmonov called a halt. He spoke into the all-hands circuit.

  "We're less than half a klick from the nearest known entrances to the cave system. Squad leaders, show the maps." He paused a moment while the squad leaders transmitted their maps to the HUD displays in each Marine's helmet. The display was real-time, updated by the string-of-pearls. It showed the Marines as red dots in the lower left corner. The irregularly shaped black spots in the upper right quadrant that faded to spreading gray lines and blotches were known entrances and the caves they led to. Submerged cave mouths were circled in bright blue. The men of third platoon had studied the map before they left the perimeter, but Rokmonov thought it was always a good idea to refresh the Marines' memory of the objective just before they reached it.

  "We're going to be methodical about this," he continued. "This is the order in which we'll check out those entrances." He transmitted an overlay that numbered the black irregularities. "We have to assume the cave mouths are guarded. They probably have observation posts out, so squad leaders, make sure everyone with a motion detector or sniffer has it on and it's working." He paused again to give the squad leaders time to check the motion detectors and aroma sniffers. When they reported that the equipment was operating properly, he finished, "We will maintain formation until we are a hundred meters from the first cave mouth or until contact. Then we will move online. Move out."

  Lance Corporal Schultz rejected the relatively minor distraction of a motion detector's earpiece, as everyone knew he would. He trusted his own eyes and ears more than any piece of equipment. Corporal Kerr didn't quite trust Corporal Doyle to use it properly, since he knew Doyle was too frightened, so he reluctantly tucked it inside his own shirt and ran the earpiece into his helmet.

  Corporal Chan didn't think a sniffer attuned to a particular fish would be of much use in a marsh whose water teemed with fish, so he had no qualms about giving the sniffer to PFC Fisher, his least experienced man. And he got a minor kick from the irony of giving the fish-scent sniffer to a man named Fisher.

  Corporal Claypoole had never had the chance to use a motion detector on a live operation, and he really wanted to use it himself. But he had extra responsibilities as fire team leader, so he gave it to MacIlargie, who eagerly plugged it in.

  On the other flank, Corporal Dornhofer gave his fire team's motion detector to Lance Corporal Zumwald. He wanted to closely observe the less experienced of his two new men, PFC Gray. Corporal Pasquin had PFC Longfellow carry the sniffer; he felt a need to keep close watch on his new man, PFC Shoup. Corporal Dean was the most comfortable with the man he gave the motion detector to—Lance Corporal Godenov. Yes, Izzy was good enough; he knew that.

  The marsh's water was surprisingly clear, and it flowed fast enough that little of the rotting vegetation in it had time to settle and completely decompose. About half of the marsh's surface was tussocks and hummocks that rose slightly above mean water level. Grasses grew on them, and reedlike grasses were thick around their edges. Saplings and midsize trees grew on the larger ones. A few trees with buttress roots didn't need the tussocks to stand on. Sight lines in the marsh seldom reached fifty meters. The water's depth ranged mostly from ankle to top-of-thigh. Occasional waterlogged logs and branches littered the bottom of the waterways, and here and there an unseen hole lay in wait to swallow a careless wader. So the Marines trod carefully, sliding their feet along the bottom muck, probing for things that could trip them, holes they could plunge into. The water clouded as they moved. Most of them were experienced and skilled enough that they moved carefully with little or no conscious thought. Those with less experience or skill paid extra attention to where their feet were going. So none of them fell for the three hundred meters that the motion detectors and sniffers were silent.

  Schultz lowered himself to a squat in knee-deep water at the same time that Kerr and Godenov reported, "I have movement" and Fisher murmured, "The sniffer's got something." Something splashed out of sight to the platoon's right front.

  The Fighters not guarding the entrances to the cave complex or searching for additional entrances were on observation patrol, screening cave entrances throughout the Skink area—all but a few who were sent to harass the Haven defenses. They had been patrolling without relief since late on the day of the raid on the supply depot. The Fighters on patrol didn't walk erect where a sharp-eyed Earthman might spot them; they half crawled, half swam, in the refreshing marsh waters, with only the upper halves of their heads above the surface. Their lungs were collapsed and they breathed through their gills. Leaders supervised the patrolling Fighters. The Masters paid scant attention to the patrolling Leaders and Fighters. They were too concerned with satisfying the Senior Masters, who were intent on obeying the Over Masters in their determination to satisfy the Great Master's command to locate any and all unknown entrances to the cave complex.

  As a result, the Fighters, who were only able to grab odd moments of sleep and ate only the unwary local water dwellers they managed to snag on their patrols, were less than fully diligent in their execution. More than one broke surface in chase of a fish creature that leaped for a flying insectoid or to escape the hunting Skink. One did so some sixty meters ahead of Lance Corporal Schultz's advance. A nearby Leader, also fatigued and hungry, was infuriated by this breach of discipline and overreacted.

  "Second squad," Rokmonov softly ordered on the all-hands circuit. "Echelon right, form on Schultz. Guns, put one gun on each flank of second squad. First squad, on line facing front, link with the gun on second squad's left flank. Get behind cover."

  Before the Marines got into position, a shrill, barking voice shattered the marsh quiet from the direction of the splash. The Marines all instantly went for the nearest cover. For some that meant dropping into the water. They waited tensely, blasters ready, for the Skink assault they expected to come bursting at them through the marsh. The assault didn't come; instead, the shrill, barking voice continued its shouting.

  Claypoole listened for a moment, then exclaimed on the squad circuit, "That's a sergeant chewing out his troops!"

  "No shit, Claypoole," Sergeant Linsman snapped back. Humor was audible in his voice when he added, "Maybe you can learn to be a corporal."

  Lieutenant Rokmonov had come to the same conclusion. Excited, he acted on it. "First squad, guns, head for that long dry place," he ordered. He slid his infra shield into place. It showed the two squads advancing toward an elongated islet about thirty meters ahead of them; they advanced more rapidly than they had before. As he followed he murmured additional orders: "First squad, up thirty, maintain visual contact with guns. Assault section, one squad trail second squad, the other squad trail first squad. Five is with you." "Five" was shorthand for Staff Sergeant Hyakowa, the platoon sergeant, whom the new order put in command of first squad and one assault squad. He heard but didn't pay attention to the assault section leader give movement orders to his squads.

  The Marines advancing toward the angry voice didn't maintain their line. All of them were still watching their footing on the marsh bottom, and each went at the fastest speed he thought he could go without tripping or falling into a hole. Schultz was the first to reach the islet, Doyle was the last, even behind Rokmonov, who had a later start and farther to go. None of them tripped or fell.

  Schultz's heart rat-a-tatted in his chest as he bellied his way up the side of the islet to where he could see across it through the trees and clumps of grass. An amazing sight met his fright-widened eyes and drove away his fear.

>   Two Skinks, one armed with an acid shooter, stood facing each other in water to their knees. One violently waved his arms about as he shouted in the face of the one with the acid shooter, his flying hands smacking the armed Skink repeatedly in the face and on the shoulders. Small spurts of water shot from the gill slits in his sides with each shout. The other cringed, but was silent and did nothing to ward off the blows. Water slowly dribbled from his gill slits. A quick scan showed Schultz ten more Skinks surrounding the two, at a safe distance from the striking hands. Those ten were mostly submerged. Some had only the tops of their heads exposed, others had heads and shoulders above water—those frequently ducked their heads and gulped water. None of the Skinks seemed to be paying attention to anything but the standing duo.

  Rokmonov arrived and took in the scene. He used his UPUD to get a real-time download from the string-of-pearls. Its infra display clearly showed the two segments of third platoon. The two standing Skinks were barely visible as a faint pink spot; the others didn't show. No other red or pink was visible on the display. That could mean no more Skinks were in the immediate vicinity, or that the string-of-pearls simply didn't pick up infrared signals from any others. He placed more trust in the UPUD's motion detector function; its display didn't show any movement he couldn't see for himself.

  "Does anybody have movement or scent from anywhere else?" the lieutenant asked on the all-hands circuit.

  Nobody did.

  "Second squad, guns, pick targets." He paused a moment while the squad leaders assigned fields of fire and the fire team leaders assigned individual targets to their men. "Fire!"