"That's that Mark V armor, Sargento. I seen vid of it in a lecture, once. I knew we didn't have none."
"You saw it once." Stark exchanged a glance with Sanchez, who had been unable to prevent a brief but unmistakably impressed expression from flowing across his face, then focused on the dead enemy again, shaking his head. "Why'd they keep trying to come down here? Why not backtrack and take another route? It would have been easy to bypass this spot."
Sanchez followed Stark's gaze. "I can only guess, but I believe we will find their Tacticals mandated this approach, probably to ensure multiple attack routes were followed and any defenders such as your Corporal's group were tied down."
"That's right," Gomez agreed forcefully. "If they'd pulled back, we coulda just shifted to cover the next hallway. They couldn't move faster than us 'cause we had the, uh, interior lines of communication."
"Interior lines?" Stark stared at his Corporal again. "Where'd you learn that phrase, Anita? Another vid lecture?"
She took a deep breath, then smiled tightly. "No. From the Lieutenant. Like the North at Gettysburg, right?"
"I guess." Stark shook his head in disbelief, then slapped Gomez's upper arm. "You did great. You need time off now."
"No, Sargento. No. I don't need time to sit around thinking. I don't want to. Got a job to do."
"Yeah. Okay." He looked over at Sanchez meaningfully. "I'm sure you'll be kept busy. But don't forget the chaplains. And if you need some time to react, you let us know. ¿Comprendo?"
"Sí." She straightened, bringing her rifle up to port arms and facing the room where Lieutenant Mendoza lay. "Right now, I gotta do some sentry duty."
"One of Sanchez's people can handle that."
"No. My job. I owe it."
"Understood. Sanch, thanks for getting here."
Sergeant Sanchez shrugged noncommittally, even as the regular lighting came back to life, painfully bright after the diminished glow of the emergency lights. "I was not far away when the alarm sounded, and was able to borrow some armor."
"Lucky for us. Go ahead and hand this area over to Taylor's people and let your soldiers go. I've got some more stuff to do now, but I'll see you around."
"Certainly."
Sanchez began issuing orders to his soldiers as Stark strode away, trying to focus on the next task and not think of the friendly casualty count. "Vic. Anything happening?"
"Just running a final sweep for any lurkers. I've got Campbell standing by for you."
"Patch him in. Campbell?"
"Yes." The Colony Manager sounded a bit breathless, as if he had been the one recently engaged in combat. "Sergeant Reynolds told me everything is okay, now."
"That's right. Thanks for standing by us."
"Standing by you, and with you, is no longer an option, Sergeant Stark. We're in this together."
"Damn straight." Together. Mil and civs. Maybe something good is gonna come from this whole mess. "Gotta go. We're still picking up pieces, but everything's secure. I'll give you a full report later." Stark switched circuits again. "Vic? Anything else?"
"No, just—wait. Ah-hah. Wiseman found your shuttle."
Stark tensed. "Did she nail it?"
"Not yet. It's running like a bat out of hell. Never seen a shuttle with that kind of moves."
"Something special. Nice to know we rated the best, isn't it?"
"I could have done without that compliment," Vic stated bitterly. "I've got a prisoner count for you."
"How many?" Stark asked with forced mildness.
"Three. We count thirty-seven dead."
"So it was a platoon-strength raid." About the number of combat-loaded troops a single shuttle could carry. "Any wounded?"
"Those three are the wounded."
Only three, out of an attack force totaling forty. Not mercenaries, then, not that Stark had thought they were. Mercs didn't fight to the death, not when surrender was a realistic option. "Where are they?"
"Stacey Yurivan came in with Taylor's company. She's got the prisoners in this conference room." A symbol popped up on Stark's HUD, directing him to the location. "You sure you want to see them right now?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. I can handle it." Stark closed his thoughts down, blocking out emotion, focusing solely on procedure, then walked into the room.
Two fire teams from Taylor's company stood against the walls, weapons at ready, faces hard and angry. The prisoners, two men and one woman, stood rigidly erect despite their hands being bound behind them. Stripped of battle armor, their uniforms displayed no sign of rank or nationality. Stark eyed them coldly, not letting his fury show. "Who sent you?" Their eyes didn't even flicker in response to the question. "Where'd you get the latest American equipment?" Still no response. Stark singled out a tall, blond male with a huge bruise marring the left side of his face. "Where are you from?" Silence.
Whoever they are, they're pros, Stark thought bleakly. Professional soldiers, and very well-trained ones. Not Americans, though. Even without the evidence of the missing dogtags, they looked too much alike, carrying the similarity of nationalities that most countries still reflected. Only an American unit, drawn from generation upon generation of immigrants from everywhere on Earth, resembled all the peoples of the planet in its polyglot makeup. Some other country's military had provided these soldiers, hiring them out for the money it would bring and whatever American gratitude came with it.
"Okay. Have it your way." Stark turned to Stacey Yurivan, standing nearby with a wolf-snarl fixed on her face. She'd gotten to be pretty good friends with Jill Tanaka, he remembered. "Interrogate them."
Yurivan's snarl took on a hint of pleasure. "Will do."
Her words set off an alarm in Stark's mind. "Interrogate" could mean many things, many illegal and most of them painful. So what? Make them hurt, a voice in the back of his head pleaded. He fought it down with a savage shake of his head. "Keep it legal, Stacey. You're still an American soldier."
Her eyes flashed defiance. "These slime aren't."
He stepped close, matching her gaze. "They're soldiers. They did their job. These particular guys didn't commit any atrocities that I know of. Do you? Then treat them like we want our own people treated if they get captured in the future."
Stacey didn't flinch. "Nobody needs to know what happens to these."
"I'll know." Stark let the two words hang there between them, a challenge and a reminder, as Yurivan held her glare a few seconds longer.
"All right," she finally spat. "It'll be legal, but," she added with another glare full of promise at the prisoners, "just barely."
Stark stepped close enough to speak softly. "Scare them all you want, but remember, we want them to talk. If we get them to spill their guts we can do a lot of damage to whoever sent them here."
"Yeah." Her teeth showed in something that wasn't a smile. "Yes, sir," she added louder. "I'll do that."
Stark fought down a grim smile as her words brought a glimmer of anxiety to the otherwise stoic faces of the prisoners. Let them guess what I whispered to her. A little fear of God and Stacey Yurivan might get some results. "Let me know how it goes." The walls of the headquarters complex still felt alien as he walked back to the Command Center, passing small groups of soldiers with expressions of anger and shock on their faces. "Get to work, people," Stark commanded. "We need to clean this place up. Fix the damage. Get ready to get even." Heads nodded, hands saluted, and the world went on.
Vic awaited him in the Command Center, sitting in one corner, her face expressionless. "The shuttle got away. Wise-man couldn't catch it before it got far enough out to be covered by the big warships. She said she singed its tail-feathers, but that's all."
"That's okay. There's been enough killing today."
"Murphy'll probably live."
"Probably?" Stark felt his blood chill.
"He was shot up real bad. They've got him stabilized for now in medical, but his body took a helluva lot of damage. You know how it is. Technically, the docs shou
ld be able to patch someone up if there's anything at all left, but the body just gives out." She glanced directly at Stark, quirking a small smile. "The medic I talked to complained that they'd just fixed Murphy up and you were already sending him back."
"At least I know which medic it was. She should be able to save Murph if anyone can."
"Maybe. I think his heart took a bigger hit than his other organs."
Stark covered his face with both hands, blocking out the world. "No question," he finally agreed, slowly lowering his hands once again. "Robin was a good kid, Vic. Murphy's a good kid. They deserved a chance together."
"People don't always get what they deserve."
"I know. God, I know. Does Murphy know she's dead?"
"Dunno. He's not in any shape for talking, so it depends whether Murphy knew before he got shot up."
So maybe I gotta tell him. Sweet Jesus, why? "Civs aren't supposed to die," he finally whispered.
"No, they're not." Vic rose slowly, then came to stand beside him, hand on his shoulder. "It's part of our job description, and it still hurts like hell when we lose a friend. I guess when she decided to date a soldier she took on the negative side of things along with the positive."
"I warned her. But I thought it'd be about danger to Murphy. Not her." He glanced up speculatively. "It hurts you, too?"
"Of course it hurts me."
"But she was just a civ."
Vic glared down, eyes narrowing. "Okay. She was a civ. But she was our civ. She treated us decent, and she liked Murphy, and she died alongside us."
"That's right," Stark agreed, his tone unusually mild. "She died alongside us. Like an ally."
"Like an ally." Vic shook her head, then nodded wearily. "Yeah. A good ally. All right, Ethan. You were right all along. We and the civs up here are on the same side, and some of them are worth trusting. I guess their actions tonight proved it. Too bad Robin Masood had to die to make us see that."
"To make some of us see that, anyway," Stark noted, earning himself another glare. "At least she didn't die in vain, then. It meant something. It accomplished something."
"I'm sure that'll be a great comfort to Murphy."
Stark hung his head, feeling pain radiating from his entire body. "I gotta be there for him."
Vic's arm came around his head, cradling it for a moment. "Sorry. Sorry. Shouldn't have said that. Not your fault."
"Whose is it, then?"
"Whoever ordered this. Come on, soldier, let's get to work. There's a lot to do."
"Yeah." He followed her, walling off the pain behind a barrier of constant tasks large and small, knowing the barrier could only contain it and never make it go away.
Sometime later, as the artificial human day swung toward its close, Stark sat in his quarters, body worn out, brain still numb. "Commander?"
"Here." Security Central was mostly functional again. The attackers had been forced to leave most of its equipment intact so the worm would have time to work, and Stark's people had been able to deactivate the timed charges left behind before they could turn the whole place into wreckage.
"There's a visitor for you. A civilian."
"Who?"
"She says her name is Cheryl Sarafina."
Stark winced, then nodded silently to himself. "Let her in. Send her to my room." A short while later, Sarafina entered, ducking her head to avoid looking straight at Stark, before finally raising it so he could see her reddened eyes. "Pardon my interruption, Sergeant Stark."
"No problem. It's been a real bad day. Would you like to sit down? Can I get you anything?"
"No. No." Sarafina reached into her pocket, surfacing with a small object. "I was cataloging Robin Masood's possessions, and thought, perhaps, you might want to keep this." Her hand opened. A short, fat little figurine. Ridiculous smile, seemingly mocking, now. The paca Robin's mother had given her. A generation ago, the odd toys called pacas had been a fad. Stark's mother had owned one, too, like many other women.
He had last seen this paca when he visited Robin Masood's home and talked about the military with Sarafina and Masood. The paca had reminded him of his mother then, helping him to form an immediate if irrational bond with the civ women.
Stark shut his eyes for a moment, unable to bear the sight. "That was from her mother. It oughta go back to her."
"It seemed to mean something to you—"
"It does, but it ain't mine."
"I think she wanted you to have it. She mentioned a few times how you'd enjoyed seeing it."
He reached out slowly, touching the absurd little figurine. "Tell you what, I'll take it for now. But when Murphy gets better, I'll ask if he wants it. Okay?" Murphy'll get better. Murphy'll survive. Just keep telling myself that.
"Private Murphy? Of course. Ahhh, Sergeant." Sarafina blinked rapidly, wiping at the corners of her eyes with her fingers. "Why do such things happen to such people?"
"Because the Universe ain't fair, and even if it was, human beings would be in charge of this part of it, and they'd screw it up. I'm real sorry, Ma'am. If there's anything . . ." Stark's voice trailed off helplessly.
"Thank you, but you cannot bring the dead to life. Sergeant Stark, I must tell you, there has been much ambivalence in the Colony. Colony Manager Campbell told you of this. What should we do, how far should we press our cause, should we ally ourselves with the military you command." Sarafina's voice hardened. "That is gone. Robin was known by many, and well-liked. Her death has shocked everyone. The methods used by the authorities back home, hiring foreign military forces to attack us, to kill our own citizens!"
"They're kinda short of American ground troops right now."
"That is little excuse, and if Americans had been used it would have been even worse. No, Sergeant Stark, only a small minority of the Colony's inhabitants now still wants to place our trust in the authorities. Sentiment is hardening for a complete break."
"What does that mean?"
"A declaration of independence." Sarafina must have seen reflected on Stark's face the reaction her words generated inside him. "I know. It is such a major decision, to break ties with our country, even in the face of such provocations. Perhaps our leaders back on Earth will come to their senses even yet. Neither Mr. Campbell nor I are comfortable with such an extreme step at this time, but speaking for the citizens of the Colony I can now say we shall stand by you, together with you. For Robin's memory."
"Thanks." Stark turned the little paca in his hand, looking down at it with an exhausted sense of emptiness. "Funny how we'll do things for people after they're dead that we wouldn't do for them while they're still alive."
"The prisoners aren't talking," Vic informed him crisply, "and their battle armor systems all contained kamikaze watchdogs designed to wipe their programming. Stacey Yurivan's people have been able to recover enough fragments of the Tactical files to sketch a picture of their plan, though." She angled her display screen so Stark could view it. "Just like we saw on the sensor records, the primary objective was right there. The Commanding General's suite."
Stark frowned. "They expected to find me there, huh?"
"Right. You and me."
"What? It was the middle of the night. Why'd they think you'd be in there with me?"
Vic glared at him, plainly exasperated. "Ethan."
"Oh." For some reason, the innuendo amused him. "They know something about us I don't?"
"If they do, I don't know it either. Anyway, they apparently thought you lived there."
Stark made a face. "Too damn big and luxurious. You know that."
"You work in there sometimes," Vic pointed out.
"Pretty rarely, but it does have a nice desk and great comms." He thought about it, rubbing his chin, feeling stubble he hadn't remembered to shave off this day. "Did they guess I was using that place, or did someone see me working there and tell them that's where I lived?"
"Don't know. We'll have to find out, and if they were told, find out who that someone was."
Stark eyed the screen, his face grim. "So it was a decapitation raid. They wanted to take out our leadership. But decap raids are supposed to knock the enemy off-balance just before you hit them with an attack. Where's the follow-up?"
"I think this raid was always intended as a stand-alone." Reynolds sigh heavily, then glowered at Stark. "Ethan, if I've told you once I've told you a million times. You hold all this together. Nobody else is trusted enough among the ranks to function as commander. If they'd succeeded in blowing you away, they probably figured the rest of us would fall apart."
Stark's Command Page 29
