Ryu raised his head. “Insertion trajectory set, Boss. Right down the pipe.”
Just like his father. Snowman saw concern in the boy’s face. “What’s wrong, Ryu?”
“There are more Tortantulas than we have available rounds of ammunition.” Ryu swallowed.
Snowman nodded. “Set the burn and get us into position.”
Ryu turned to his console, and Snowman closed his eyes for a moment. Damn you, Max. He turned his head and opened his eyes. Dupont stared at him, a curl of a smile on one side of his mouth. Pierre knew what he was thinking, and there was more than a little chance he’d already started preparing for it.
“Orders, Boss?” Dupont asked.
Dammit, I don’t want to do this. Snowman took a breath and leaned forward in his straps. He’d do it for me and damn every consequence.
“If we do this,” Bukk said, “we must use our weapons freely from the moment we can hit them. Thinning their ranks from orbit is the only way.”
“There’s no if, Bukk. We’re going in.” Snowman said. He looked at Dupont. “Just like Conway Station.”
“The first or second attack?” Dupont grinned.
Gods, what a mess that had been. “The second. Except this time, with every gun blazing.”
“Roger, Boss. Deployment formation?” Dupont asked. They’d done this hundreds of times over the years, and while everything said it wasn’t going to be a different experience, they both knew it was. They’d cataloged dozens of operational plans, planned maneuvers in tactical simulators until their eyes bled, and tried to think of every possible situation they might face. Intergalactic Haulers was as much Dupont’s company as it was his. They’d hauled and fought their way out of all kinds of situations, except for something like this. He looked over the terrain again, finding the tactically cogent spots to lay in his troops and press into the city near the stricken CASPers.
“I don’t like this,” Snowman grunted. After a moment, he almost smiled at the absurdity. They’d made their fortunes saving mercenary units and hauling them back to Earth. Nothing about seeing broken and battered units ever felt right. “Let’s do something a little different. Oglethorpe can boost up in front and lay down covering fire on the best landing zone. We can get the CASPers close to the city and let them cut their way in. Flyers can support until Oglethorpe gets back around—I want them compensating for orbital speed, Ryu. We need them over the same ground, every pass.”
“That’s a shitload of fuel loss,” the young navigator replied. What was more important to Snowman was that the young man didn’t say it was impossible. He was going to be a fine addition to the crew.
“Make it happen.” Snowman pressed a few keys on his console. “Valdosta and Decatur, this is Macon. Here’s the plan. Valdosta, drop your CASPers along the southwest wall. That’s where we’re going to soften them up. We’ve got friendlies on a rooftop there. Based on the firing we’re seeing, there may be others, but without confirmation, I’m not going to send y’all on a wild goose chase. Those friendlies are where we start. We get to them and figure out what is going on, then we’ll work out how to push back the Torts.”
He took a breath. “Decatur. There’s high ground across the valley from Solus, about four kilometers. That’s your LZ. Set down there, deploy the CASPers for security, and prepare to defend. I imagine we’ll have spiders all over the valley in front of us. You are authorized to use heavy weapons, and you’re weapons free. Since they’ve pretty much torched the cities we’ve found, they ain’t going to talk. Let them have it.”
Dupont called out immediately. “Moving to combat spread. Oglethorpe boosting overhead.”
Snowman stabbed a separate communications channel button to speak privately with the Oglethorpe’s commander. “King? You on this channel?”
“I’m here.”
“Desiree, I’m going to ask you to record something. If you want to bail on this mission and find someone else, I’ll understand.” He closed his eyes. There might be an exception to every rule, but there were still consequences to consider. Orbital bombardment, technically anything over sixteen kilometers above ground level, was forbidden and punishable under the Union’s guidelines for combat. He’d likely lose everything if the Tortantulas complained. He gained solace from thinking Shaw Outpost once had a population of more than two million souls. They were enough reasons to blast the spiders to hell and back.
“You think I’m going to let someone else lay down that amount of fire?” Desiree Ransom had learned in her teens that field artillery was the King of Battle. She’d excelled at it for almost thirty years and had more than earned the callsign, “King.” The consummate professional soldier, Ransom would have been a general officer in the old armies of Earth. Her guns and people were the best they could find. If someone needed something taken out, they could call in artillery, but if they wanted to win, they’d call Ransom. “This is Redleg Six, Intergalactic Haulers acknowledging your orders. Gun tubes are loaded and prepared to fire.”
She’d done the recording for him. Snowman couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, King.”
“You got it, Snowman. Let’s go get our friends.”
He looked up and daylight flashed through the bridge as the Macon passed the terminator and headed toward Solus at orbital speeds. “Ryu, you’ve got the conn. Put us in a good position, son. Maintain sensors’ advantage.”
“Roger, Boss.”
The Macon’s spinal thrusters adjusted the big ship’s course. The Oglethorpe boosted for a higher orbit, slowing to maintain position over Solus as long as possible. He understood enough about orbital mechanics to know it would take a handful of orbits to get the guns stable above the target. A preemptive strike was the best answer for buying his CASPers time to get into the city and link up with the Anzacs.
“Oglethorpe has calculated strike packages and is preparing to fire. Twenty seconds to range,” Dupont called.
Snowman sucked on the inside of his cheek and avoided looking at the countdown timer. “Haulers, this is Hauler Six. Clear to deploy. Weapons free. Let’s bring ‘em home.”
* * * * *
Chapter Ten
Assembly Area
Reilly’s Raiders, 10 km West of the MinSha Compound
Weqq
Night fell with a gold and ethereal white sky that drew Tara’s focus as she walked the CASPer back toward the landing point for ammunition and something to eat. Four separate attacks had failed to breach the MinSha compound’s defenses, or even do any real damage. The idea to ring the compound and bring it into submission failed because of the expanse of mines the MinSha deployed to keep the CASPers back. The second attack crumpled on the eastern side of the compound under withering fire that left most of the dense foliage torn away and exposed the CASPers to low-power particle beams and more aerial mines. Flyers didn’t work in close, so Raleigh ordered them to fly above the canopy and bomb the compound from directly overhead. He’d ordered the CASPers back to the landing site to refit. While that sounded innocuous on the surface, Tara could tell their commander had worked himself into a new state of rage even before she’d closed the distance to her rack and crew ladder.
“Lucille? You’ve got the docking procedures, right?”
<
Tara relaxed for a moment, closing her eyes and adjusting the cockpit fan so it blasted her face. In the tropical heat, it was cool enough to wick the sweat away and leave her slick face slightly cooler than the rest of her body. She felt Lucille walk the CASPer toward the power rack and turn around. Despite hours of practice over the last several months, she felt like a tortoise in the suit. Docking and egress were the simplest of maneuvers for a trained CASPer pilot with a deft touch, but even after her formal training, she looked like the novice she was. Lucille was a fantastic addition to the vehicle, and Tara tried to tell herself the automated program was helpful but not the sole reason she’d been able to successfully fight in a CASPer. Jumping into the
damned thing on Araf seemed like a perfect idea at the time, but she’d nearly been killed.
At least I made it out alive.
She hated the thought. Hex Alison and the ill-fated Force 25’s mission was to support Peacemaker Francis in an impossible situation. They’d done that, and everyone but her paid for it with their lives. Had Jessica not extracted her from the CASPer, she might have died from internal injuries. That she’d made it out alive was because of the Peacemaker’s actions and her own attempt to pilot a CASPer despite no formal training. Had she remained in her tank, the Darkness would have finished her.
Tara felt Lucille step into the rack. A cluster of lights flashed red, then snapped to green, showing the suit had been captured and systems were being scanned and checked. “Lucille, let’s leave her in hot start mode. Shut down the weapons, sensors, cameras, and non-essential systems, but leave her ready to load and go.”
<
“Can you get me the latest BDA?”
<
Tara nodded. The earlier the CASPer version, the less adapted it was to Human occupants. Things like padding and sound suppression in those veritable tin cans hardly approached what her Mk 8 possessed. More than a few of the CASPers in the Raiders were Mk 4s, which barely had anything more than moving armor plates and a couple of large cannons. “Anything else I need to know?”
<< A technician will repair the damage to the railgun sighting system in five minutes. Damage was minor. Also, the maintenance crew chief is loading operating system updates to all CASPers.>>
Tara emitted a short bark that almost echoed inside the cockpit. “You’re not going to install it, right?”
<
“Less chance for something to get screwed up.” Tara released her shoulder straps and flipped the cockpit release switch. Warm, dense air swept into the cockpit and reawakened the sweat glands all over her skin. Before she could climb out, the heat and humidity had already soaked her. Other CASPer pilots gathered in odd groups around their gear as the maintainers and ammo bearers worked to get the units ready for another jungle assault. Where the dense vegetation gave way to exposed dirt, there were deep red scars in the soil. The surreal feeling of sitting exposed in the alien flora and fauna, combined with the rough men and women around her, revived memories of history classes and discussions on multi-year police actions and undeclared wars. Somehow, she thought their area of operations looked and felt a lot like Vietnam. In the distance, she heard Raleigh screaming.
Right down to incompetent leadership.
Dammit.
Raleigh weaved through the CASPers and their crews. Most of the pilots turned away or hunched their shoulders, imagining he couldn’t see them. He stomped violently across the assembly area, his eyes fixed solely on hers. Even from a few hundred feet away she could tell he was irate, and he’d undoubtedly concocted some reason to be mad at her. She’d done everything he’d ordered and taken all the positions he’d directed her to. On the breeze, she could smell the whiskey coming from his pores.
“What were they?” He screamed at her.
She blinked. “What were what?”
“Your targets? The things you couldn’t identify. What were they, and why did you let them go?” He scooped up a wrench from a toolkit as he passed it. Raleigh reared back and threw the wrench at her. If he’d been a shortstop throwing to first, the ball would have bounced in the dirt, well short. The wrench thudded to the ground and skidded to a stop, ten feet from her. Tara looked up and saw him rearing back to throw something else as he walked. His black-booted foot snagged a vine and he stumbled forward several steps. Tara reached out and grabbed his shoulder to keep him from careening into her CASPer’s legs.
Raleigh threw off her arms and stood up straight. “Get your hands off me!”
Tara let go and stepped back, feeling her CASPer’s bulk close behind, but she couldn’t escape from whatever tirade Raleigh was about to level at her. “How about saying thanks for not letting you look like an idiot?”
Raleigh swung an open hand in the general direction of her face. Tara easily avoided it, and Raleigh staggered. He stepped back and came up with his pistol. The barrel wavered in her face, and behind it she could she his crazy eyes considering his actions for a brief second. Raleigh lowered the barrel and wiped a hand through his greasy hair. He holstered the weapon, allowing Tara to take a deep breath and shuffle to her left, in front of her CASPer’s left arm. There wasn’t much clearance, but it was enough.
“How about you start over, Raleigh?”
He looked up at her. His green eyes weren’t quite bloodshot, but they certainly weren’t clear. “We should’ve been through that compound on the first wave. You’ve got a history with species like this. Why aren’t we celebrating victory yet?”
You underestimated the enemy. Again.
Tara shook off the thought. “They’re prepared for an extended point defense. Whatever they’re doing here, they came equipped for the long haul. Why aren’t we trying to talk to them?”
“Not my mission. We’re supposed to kill them and clear the planet for the guild.”
Tara squinted. “The guild?”
Raleigh snorted. “There’s not a sponsoring party listed on the contract. Those are called “gold” contracts because they’re worth their weight, so to speak. The guild does this a lot, I hear. Issue the contract, then fill in the data later. Most of it’s false, but they’re the guild. No one cares.”
That there were illegal or illegitimate contracts wasn’t surprising. She’d seen them before, just not any sponsored by the Mercenary Guild. That wasn’t the kind of information Raleigh would let slip lightly. Either he was much drunker than she thought, or it was true, and he’d chosen to disclose it to her—neither option felt right. “So, what?”
Raleigh smiled and stepped closer. Every fiber in Tara’s body flinched, but she held her ground. “They want us to clear the planet, but those things you saw? They’re nothing like anything I’ve seen before. Did you get a clear look at them?”
Tara shook her head. “No, my view was blocked by a lot of jungle.”
Raleigh grinned. “I’ve got footage from Jumper Zero Three, before he bought it. The visuals are terrible, but the thermal is good enough to run through the analyzer. Whatever they are, they’re not in our species database.”
“What do you want to do?” Tara asked and watched the genial smile on Raleigh’s face fade into sheer, awful hate.
“I’m not going to do a fucking thing about it, Mason. You’re the one who fucked up deployment of the CASPers. You were the only one on that side of the compound, and when I ordered you to find those things and kill them, you didn’t! It’s your fault!”
Tara squared her shoulders. “The MinSha had us pinned down in a killbox, Raleigh. They took our firing and massed a counter battery against us. That’s when Jumper Zero Three bought it. His name was Snider. Did you even know that?”
Raleigh sneered, and she could see him rest a hand on the pistol’s grip. Her sidearm was inside the CASPer’s cockpit. If she lived long enough, she’d never be without it again. A time could come when his little manipulations, hitting his people or drawing a pistol on them, would get very real, very quickly. Raleigh Reilly was insane. He leaned closer to her, and the sten
ch of whiskey filled her nostrils. How the man commanded anything was a mystery. “I know my people, Mason, especially the ones who do what they’re told and don’t try to think tactically. You’re a pain in my ass because you’re experienced and a gods-damned tanker. You were more worried about the MinSha’s sniper nest than doing what I fucking told you to do.”
A brief flash of memory played back. The body falling from the nest wasn’t a MinSha’s, at least she didn’t think it was. “Did anyone find the sniper’s body? It looked like a Zuul.”
“The body?” Raleigh cackled. “No, godsdamnit! Everyone was fighting the MinSha, like you were supposed to.”
Tara shook her head. “Are you so drunk you can’t remember what you—”
She didn’t see his left hand move until he drove his fist into the soft tissue around her right eye. After a flash of white hot pain, she staggered and fell to the bright, red soil. Raleigh towered menacingly over her, yelling, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. In her pain, her eyes watered, and she hated herself for it. Her hands clenched the soil and vines around her as she struggled to regain her equilibrium. Raleigh’s incoherent screaming slowly became recognizable as the fuzz in her mind cleared.
“You hear me? You want me to write even a marginally ‘meets standards’ evaluation, you sure as fuck better listen to me and respect what I say.” She looked up at him and saw the unquestionable madness in his face. Beyond him, a crowd of onlookers gathered. Some wore open smiles of bloodlust, seemingly aching for a fight. Others, especially new recruits, watched with pale faces and wringing hands. No one would meet her eyes, much less come forward to help her—not against their leader. Raleigh was crazy. Every mercenary in the pits knew he was, but he paid well. The lower a potential mercenary’s limits and morals, the more Raleigh paid for their services.
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