Revolt on Alpha 2 (Nick Walker, United Federation Marshal Book 8)

by John Bowers

  He saw targets, but some were so far away they were difficult shots, and the Star Marines on the ground seemed to have rallied a little—here and there Coalition troops were falling back.

  But farther out, at the very edge of town, a horde of men, forty or more, was moving in his direction. Peering through his scope, he realized this was the bottleneck Capt. Seals had been talking about, the point where the road came into town from the mountain pass on the west. Two light armored vehicles were burning in the mouth of the pass, no doubt knocked out by 2nd Platoon when the battle started, but there was still room for more vehicles to get through, and men on foot would have no trouble at all. Right now that mass of men was fully exposed, and Nick took aim.

  They were half a mile away, eight or nine hundred yards, but the scope brought them right into his face, and they were so closely grouped he couldn’t miss. He got off four shots before they realized what was happening, and as they began to scatter he could tell he was getting three or four men with each shot. Once they dispersed he saw at least a dozen men on the ground, and he hit five or six more before they could find cover. Suddenly the horde was in hiding, no longer moving forward. He shifted to another target.

  The bell rang.

  Only it didn’t exactly ring—it was more of a clunk.

  Nick ducked as another bullet ricocheted off the bell. This was it—the turkey shoot was over. He looked up and saw the bell moving slightly, vibrating with a low harmonic. A bright spot had appeared on the brass surface and as he watched, another appeared, to the accompaniment of another dull ring. He stayed down for another minute or two while several scattered rounds whined through the belfry.

  Sgt. DuBose was suddenly in his ear.

  “How’s it going, Walker?”

  “Funny you should ask, Sergeant. They’ve spotted me.”

  “Thought so. Heard the bell ring.”

  “Makes a lovely sound, doesn’t it?”

  “You been hit?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know when to send in the scrubs.”

  He heard DuBose laugh.

  “Watch your ass, Walker. We can’t afford to lose this fight.”

  “Semper fi, Sergeant.”

  *

  Targets became scarce for a while. Nick watched and waited, ducking occasional shots aimed at the bell tower, and only scored three more hits.

  Sometime in early afternoon another armored vehicle crawled out of the pass and stopped at the edge of town facing him. An open turret on top of the vehicle sported a heavy machine gun that looked big enough to bring down a star destroyer. Nick killed the driver before the vehicle could move any closer, but before he could get an angle on the turret gunner, the heavy gun opened up. It was aimed straight at him.

  BONG-ONG-ONG-ONG-ONG-ONG-ONG!

  Heavy steel slugs hammered the bell in a steady stream—

  “Ungh!”

  Nick felt a sharp, penetrating pain as a ricochet punched through his lower back. He gasped in shock and hit the floor, agony washing over him. For a moment he lay helpless, numb with fear, as the wooden skirt above him began to disintegrate. Wood splinters flew in all directions, one of them opening his cheek, but his real problem was the bullet in his back. He wondered if this was it—he had already survived a year longer than he’d expected, but the war wasn’t over—he still had time to get himself killed.

  The pain diminished a little, as long as he didn’t move around too much, but he couldn’t tell how badly he was hit. Blood pooled on the floor around him, but it was just a steady trickle, not a flood. He waited to see if his vision would dim, or if he would get light-headed. In the meantime, heavy bullets still chewed up the bell tower, effectively pinning him down.

  The sky flashed and he heard a roar in the distance.

  The bullet stream stopped.

  Nick gripped the railing with one hand and pulled himself up, peering over the top toward the west. The first thing he saw was a fireball dissipating in the afternoon sky; the armored vehicle burned fiercely, and as he watched, ammunition began to explode. Flaming fuel spread in all directions, driving rebels out of hiding. Nick blinked to clear his vision—it was dimming just a little—but felt a sense of exhilaration; he could see two Star Marines falling back into a defensive position, one carrying a rocket launcher; they had taken out the armor for him. If he lived through this, he would have to buy those guys all the beer they could swim in.

  “You still there, Walker?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m alive.”

  “You hit?”

  “Yeah, slightly.”

  “How slightly?”

  “I dunno. Ask me again tomorrow.”

  *

  Crack!

  Crack!

  Crack!

  CRACK!

  In the years to come, townspeople hiding in basements would tell how the sound of that sniper rifle rang through the streets, endlessly, hour after hour, bringing death to the rebels and hope to the civilians.

  As the afternoon wore on, Coalition troops tried twice more to move reinforcements into town, but each time Nick stopped them cold with devastating kills. Those already in town, though they still outnumbered the Star Marines five to one, seemed too demoralized to press their advantage.

  And the Star Marines seemed emboldened by the sniper in the tower; they were taking fewer losses and stopped giving ground. Just before dark they launched a counterattack that pushed the Freaks back two full blocks.

  But rebels were hiding in some of the houses, and nobody wanted a house-to-house fight, so as the twin suns dropped over the horizon, the lines became static.

  Kopshevar came up after sunset and brought Nick some hot coffee. When he saw the blood on the floor he was horrified.

  “Jesus Christ, Walker! You need a corpsman!”

  “I’m okay.”

  “The fuck you are! I’m taking you down with me.”

  Nick shook his head.

  “Kopycat, just get the hell out of here and keep your mouth shut. The Freaks are gonna do something while it’s dark, and we’ll have a better chance of stopping them if we can see what they’re up to. I have to stay.”

  “I’ll take over for you. At least get that wound looked at.”

  Nick shook his head again.

  “If it was going to kill me, I would have died hours ago. Just shut up and get out of this tower.”

  Grumbling, Kopshevar retreated. Ten minutes after he left the belfry, DuBose came up, bringing a corpsman with him. Nick grimaced in pain as the corpsman dressed the wound and bandaged it, then attached an IV pack to replace blood volume. DuBose waited until the corpsman left to get in Nick’s face.

  “Goddammit, Walker! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “I didn’t want to get the corpsman killed. I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not. That’s a serious wound, and it’ll kill you if you don’t get into a surgery pretty soon.”

  Nick grunted. “And who’ve you got to replace me?”

  DuBose sighed unhappily and rubbed a grimy hand over his face.

  “Nobody. Shit, I guess I have to leave you here until we get relieved.”

  “Exactly. You don’t have a choice, Sergeant. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

  DuBose laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Hopefully, it’ll only be a few more hours. The Thirty-first is trying to break through from the east; if we can hold out long enough, they’ll probably be here in the morning. Once they get here, we’ll go into reserve, and you’ll be evacked.”

  Nick nodded. “I’m cool with that. Now get on out of here so I can do my job.”

  DuBose nodded reluctantly and left. Not long after that, 3rd Platoon, just twenty-one men, moved into the battle—the final reserves had been committed.

  Nick sipped the hot coffee and resumed his vigil. The sniper scope had infrared capability and he was able to watch for enemy formations, bu
t in spite of his misgivings, nothing serious developed during the night. He detected a few scouting probes and killed three more rebels, but that was it until daylight.

  Shortly after the first sunrise he heard a sudden storm of automatic fire. It took him a moment to locate the source, and he realized the Freaks were trying an end-run on the south end of town, moving a full company along the edge of the plateau in a flanking maneuver designed to cut off the platoons holding the west end. Second Platoon was falling back even as Nick recognized the danger, and Coalition troops were only five blocks from where he crouched.

  Weak with fatigue and blood loss, he nevertheless opened fire, pumping magazine after magazine into the rebel troops. They were making better use of cover than they had the day before, and he scored fewer kill shots, but he wounded dozens, and saw many broken, bleeding men crawling away. For over an hour his rifle cracked across the town, dropping Coalition troops. The Star Marines on the ground consolidated their positions and took a toll of their own, spraying tracer in all directions. Nick took another ricochet, this one across the chest, and the bell clanged repeatedly as enemy troops tried to get a bead on him; he continued firing until they began to fall back.

  He slumped behind the wooden skirt, now perforated with bullet holes, and closed his eyes for a few minutes. The town had fallen silent for the moment, but he had no illusions that it was over. He was surrounded by spent brass and empty magazines; the belfry was sticky with his blood, and as the morning began to warm, insects swarmed around him.

  He rested until he heard gunfire again, then lifted himself up with what strength he had left and began searching for targets.

  *

  It continued another two hours, enemy troops moving forward in small knots, seeking a way through scathing fire from the Star Marines. Nick killed them when he could, but his aim became less accurate and many were only wounded—but even wounded men were ineffective, and every single thrust was stopped cold.

  It was still going on when 31st Star Marines broke through the enemy lines on the east and surged into Trimmer Springs.

  Nick was unconscious when the corpsmen finally got to him.

  Chapter 35

  Sunday, 30 November, 0436

  George Lucas Memorial Hospital – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2

  Nick Walker was bored out of his mind. He’d been in hospital for nearly ten days, and didn’t see any reason for it. Though his blood loss had been severe, his wounds hadn’t been that serious. The blood had been replaced, the holes plugged, and he was reasonably mobile, able to walk without any aids or attachments. He was still a little stiff and his surgical sutures itched, but that was normal, so why was he still here?

  He strolled slowly along a wooden path in the convalescent garden. Alpha Centauri 2 was very similar to Terra, but not identical…the flowers in the garden were alien to him, but also spectacular and gorgeous, with fragrances he’d never experienced. It was peaceful here, and quiet; the first time he was allowed outside, it had been a godsend, but now he was starting to chafe. He needed to get out of here.

  He turned a corner and approached a flagstone patio where some of the more seriously wounded were able to rest while they recovered. The view from the patio was inspiring, even uplifting, but every time Nick came here he got depressed. Some of these poor bastards, even though they were going to survive, would never get any better. He felt sorry for them and wished them well, but knowing that he could easily have been one of them did nothing for his spirits.

  He stepped up onto the patio, thinking he might return to his recovery ward. He had a couple of data books he could be reading, and maybe Gloria had sent another video. He had to do something to avoid losing his mind.

  “How you feeling, Private?”

  Nick turned in surprise. He knew that voice.

  The chaplain, Lt. Danby, smiled at him. He looked sharp, decked out in a dress uniform with his crucifix insignia gleaming in the suns. Danby removed his garrison cap and extended his hand. Nick took it.

  “Hey, Chaplain. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I had to come into the city for a command conference, thought I might see you while I’m here. You doing okay?”

  “Yes, sir. And by the way, I’m a Pfc. now. Climbing that ladder.”

  Danby laughed. “I guess you are. I heard about your little escapade in that church tower. Nice of you to protect the Lord’s house.”

  Nick grinned. “Didn’t have much choice, sir. Actually, I think the church protected us. That tower saved us from being overrun.”

  “From what I hear, you did that, all by yourself. I’m also hearing rumors of a possible medal for that action, maybe even a Galaxy Cross. You’re quite a hero to the local people of Trimmer Springs.”

  “I don’t need that, Lieutenant. They already gave me a Crimson Cross, and that’s enough. Any word on how the war is going? Someone said the rebels might be about ready to give it up.”

  “I think negotiations are under way.” Danby laid a hand on his shoulder. “Buy me a cup of coffee? I’ve been up since 0300 and I could use a boost.”

  “Sure. Just follow me.”

  Nick led him back inside the building to a coffee lounge on the ground floor. The coffee was free for the taking, and Danby drew them both a cup. He headed for a table near a broad window overlooking the river. Nick joined him and settled stiffly into a chair. Except for two other patients on the far side of the room, they were alone. Danby sipped his coffee while he studied Nick’s face.

  “Anything you want to talk about, Nick?”

  Nick looked at him in surprise.

  “Like what?”

  “Anything at all. Last couple of times we talked, you were fighting some issues in your head, but it’s been awhile and I just want to follow up.”

  “You mean about my dad.”

  “Yes. And your crisis of faith.”

  “I think I’m past that. I’ve forgiven my dad…”

  “Your dad needed forgiving?”

  Nick frowned, then nodded.

  “Yeah. I know he was following his conscience, but he made me feel like shit. You may not think he needed forgiving, but I needed to forgive him. And I have.”

  Danby nodded. “Okay, then. That’s a good thing. What else?”

  “What else what?”

  “What about your crisis of faith? Where are you on that?”

  “I don’t have a crisis. Not anymore.”

  “Do you care to explain?”

  Nick compressed his lips a moment as he turned the coffee cup on his knee. He looked up and met Danby’s eyes.

  “Lieutenant, I appreciate your concern, but what’s the purpose of this meeting?”

  “Just what you said. I’m concerned. You’re probably going to ship home soon, so we may never meet again. I would like to close my file on you.”

  “You kept a file on me?”

  “I keep a file on everyone who I consult with. It’s standard procedure, and in case you’re worried, it’s also strictly confidential. Nothing you and I say to each other can be viewed by anyone without a court order. Just like doctor-patient privilege.”

  Nick nodded. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but Danby had treated him decently.

  “Let’s just say that I’m content with my spiritual condition. I can never accept my dad’s take on religion, and I’m sorry about that to the point that it would make him sad, but I have to do what works for me. And it does work for me.”

  “I understand. So you don’t consider yourself a Christian anymore?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What are you, then? Atheist?”

  “I’m not ready to go that far. Let’s just say that, at this point, I’m a well-read agnostic. Unlike a lot of religious people, I don’t know all the answers, and I can live with that.”

  Danby shifted in his chair and set his cup down.

  “That sounds admirable on the surface, but it won’t get you into Heaven.”

  �
��No, sir, I don’t expect it to. But how do you know that Heaven is real? Or Hell?”

  “Obviously, because the Bible says so.”

  “Yes, sir, and that’s my problem. I just can’t trust a book that was written twenty-five hundred years ago by uneducated politicians and can’t be verified by other sources.”

  “That’s because it’s an inspired book. Divine revelation usually can’t be verified through regular channels.”

  Nick allowed himself a smile.

  “Lieutenant, I realize that billions of people draw inspiration from the Bible, but billions of others draw inspiration from the Torah and the Quran. All of them are supposed to be inspired by God, or some version of God, but the books contradict each other, so they can’t all be divine revelation. As near as I can determine, which book you live by pretty much depends on where you were born, or where your people originated.”

  Danby listened, but didn’t reply.

  “Look, Lieutenant, I totally respect you and your profession. I firmly believe in religious freedom, but your beliefs don’t work for me. I can’t unlearn what I know, and what I know is that those three books are responsible for more wars, more bloodshed, more horror, more atrocities than anything else in history. Hell, the war we just fought is a perfect example.

  “If others find comfort in religion, that’s great. If they need it, they should embrace it. But I can’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God, but it does mean that I don’t believe he wrote or even inspired those books. And if God is as powerful and loving as he is supposed to be, I can’t imagine that he approves of them.”

  Nick chewed his lip for a moment.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but that’s where I am at this particular moment. I can’t change that.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “What about him?”

  “From all you’ve told me, he was a good man. He did good works.”

  “Yes, sir, he was, and yes he did. But not always.”