Renegade (The Kurgan War Book 7)

by Richard Turner

  Travers and the rest of his squad were busily loading ammunition onto the back of a mule. An eight-wheeled vehicle accompanied the platoon into battle with all their extra supplies on the back of it.

  “Staff Sergeant Travers, this is Convict Hill,” said Ito. “He’s yours.”

  Travers looked up. He was no more than twenty years of age with a deep purple scar running along the width of his slender neck. He took one look at Sheridan and shook his head.

  “What are they doing, emptying the old folks’ homes? How old are you, Hill?”

  “Twenty-five, Sergeant.”

  “I doubt Master Sergeant Hansen is even that old.”

  Sheridan kept his lips together. He didn’t doubt that Travers was right.

  “Convict, why are you here?”

  “I was convicted of malingering, Sergeant.”

  Travers stepped close enough that Sheridan could feel his moist breath on his face. “Pull that crap on me, Convict, and I’ll shoot you myself. No one malingers in my squad.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Good. Now meet the rest of the squad,” said Travers. There were four other soldiers working around the mule. “Corporal Estrada is my assistant squad leader.” A muscular Hispanic youth looked over and waved at Sheridan. “Convict Kozar is our squad machine gunner.” With a smile on his broad face, a man in a dirty t-shirt raised a hand in greeting. “Convict Shen is a rifleman like yourself.” A petite Asian woman with a bald head nodded at Sheridan. “Lastly, we have Convict Wiman.” A boy barely out of his teens with dark brown skin waved a hand in the air.

  “People, this is Convict Hill. He’s volunteered to join us, and like you will seek to rehabilitate himself in the holy crucible of fire which we shall all be bathing in soon enough.”

  Sheridan found it amusing that everyone was termed a volunteer. He assumed that it must have been some sort of dark joke that the convicts of the penal regiments had started themselves.

  “Hang out with Shen,” said Travers. “She’ll show you the ropes.”

  Sheridan nodded and walked over to Shen and placed his rifle against the mule. He picked up an empty magazine and started to fill it with caseless ammunition.

  “So, Hill, what brings you to the 333rd?” asked Shen.

  “I was convicted of malingering,” Sheridan answered.

  “That’s not too bad. I was convicted of desertion and given the option of a firing squad or service in a penal regiment. Since I don’t want to die, I volunteered to come here.”

  “My crime was theft,” said Kozar. “My friend was badly wounded during a patrol and needed medicine or he was going to die, so I stole some from our medic to treat him. It didn’t work. Alexis died, and I was sent here.”

  “I was convicted of being drunk on duty,” said Wiman.

  “Were you?’ asked Sheridan.

  “Damn straight I was, mate. I was so bloody drunk it took me three days to sober up before they could read me the charges.”

  “As for me,” said Corporal Estrada, “I was found guilty of being AWOL for more than seven days. I met a nurse who took a shine to me and kinda forgot there was a war on. I was made to volunteer to come here after I was caught, but I’ve no regrets. The best damned seven days of my life.”

  The last remark solicited a chuckle from the rest of the squad.

  “What about the sergeant?” asked Sheridan.

  Estrada shook his head. “Never ask him about it. If you do, he’s more likely than not to take his bayonet and gut you with it.”

  “Okay, I’ll never bring it up again.”

  “The word on the street is that we’re heading to the front lines tonight,” said Shen. “Have you heard anything?”

  “I know as much as you do. By the level of activity around here, I’d say it’s a good bet we’re going to do something in fairly short order.”

  “Quit flapping your gums and get back to work,” growled Travers when he returned from talking with the platoon’s officer.

  Sheridan kept his head down and focused on the job at hand. The people in his squad didn’t seem like shirkers. In fact, they weren’t that different to the people he had commanded in his time. He glanced at his watch and saw it was coming up on five in the afternoon. After a hot meal, they would be formed up under their officers and sent headlong into battle. He silently prayed that he would live to see the light of another day.

  Chapter 22

  The bright silvery light from one of the planet’s larger moons was the last thing Tarina had been counting on. She glanced up at the cloudless sky and tried to get her bearings. Tarina was fairly positive that they were traveling east, but with the maze of destroyed buildings and old defensive positions to navigate, it would be easy to get lost and head in the wrong direction.

  Tarina felt Wendy tap her shoulder. She dropped to one knee and looked behind her. “What’s up?”

  Wendy pointed at a ruined church about thirty meters in front of them. “I thought I saw a light in one of the lower windows.”

  Tarina lifted head, trying to get a better view of the church. “I don’t see anything,” she whispered.

  “I’m sure I saw something.”

  “Well, I can’t see any lights.”

  Wendy stared at the building for a few moments before shrugging. “Maybe I imagined the whole thing.”

  “For all we know, the light from the moon could have reflected off a piece of broken glass.”

  “Yeah, could be.”

  “Come on, let’s keep moving,” said Tarina, getting back to her feet.

  Wendy was about to stand up when she spotted an abandoned canteen half buried in the mud. She grabbed it and gave it a shake. Wendy had to stifle a cheer when she found the canteen was almost full. She grabbed Tarina by the belt and pulled her down to her side.

  Tarina’s eyes lit up when she saw the canteen. “You first,” she said to her friend.

  Wendy unhooked the slender drinking attachment on her mask and screwed it into a sterile opening on the top of the canteen. She held the container up in the air and let the water trickle into her mouth. After a few sips, Wendy unscrewed the canteen and handed it over.

  Tarina repeated the drill, ecstatic that they had found some water on the desolate and unforgiving battlefield. She gave back the container and stood back up. For a moment, she also thought she saw a light inside the church. Tarina brought up her hand to tell Wendy to stay still. She took cover behind a boulder and crawled on her stomach until she could get a good view of the building.

  “Did you see something?” whispered Wendy.

  Tarina nodded. “Yeah, I think I saw your light.”

  “I knew I hadn’t imagined it. Where did you see it?”

  “Bottom left window. I think it was a candle.”

  “Do you want to check it out? There could be survivors taking refuge in the church.”

  Tarina shook her head. “No. Let’s find a way around the church. We have to keep moving.”

  “The ground to the left of the building looks good. We could use it to hide us from observation if there are people holed up in the church.”

  “Sounds good.” Tarina went to stand up.

  “Hey, it’s my turn to lead,” said Wendy. “You’ve been taking all the risks so far.”

  “Okay, but go slow.”

  Wendy crouched over and walked as quiet as she could to the burned-out hulk of a Kurgan fighting vehicle. She took a quick look around and decided to sneak past the church using the shattered remains of a building as cover. With Tarina close behind, they crept like mice to the destroyed building and stopped there for a minute to make sure no one was following them. When Wendy was ready to move again, she waved at her friend and took a step.

  The loud metallic snap of a trap being sprung terrified both women.

  Wendy let out a muffled cry as the animal trap snapped shut on her right ankle, shattering it.

  With her heart in her throat, Tarina dropped to her knees and scrambled
to free Wendy’s foot from the trap. “Hold on,” she said, trying to encourage her injured friend.

  Through gritted teeth, Wendy said, “This hurts like hell. For the love of God get my foot out of there.”

  Tarina found the arming latch and pressed down with her thumbs, opening the trap. She helped guide Wendy’s foot away from the jagged teeth of the trap. “Here, sit down and let me look at your ankle.”

  Wendy moaned as she took a seat on the ground.

  With a red filter on her flashlight, Tarina checked out the injury. She grimaced when saw the steel teeth from the trap had punctured her boot. If there were any chemical agents in the air, Wendy ran the risk of dying from any number of nerve or blood agents.

  “How’s it look?” asked Wendy.

  “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you. The trap broke your ankle and punctured your boot. If I don’t find a first aid kit ASAP, you could be in a world of hurt from infection or the poisoned air all around us.”

  “I can help you,” said a woman’s voice in the dark.

  Tarina went for her rifle.

  A person in a chemical suit walked out from behind some rubble with her hands in the air. “I’m unarmed. My name is Angie, and I can help your friend.”

  “How?” asked Tarina.

  “There is a secret hideout nearby,” replied Angie. “We’ve been living underground ever since the Kurgs attacked our planet.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “A couple of dozen families.”

  “Quit chatting,” groaned Wendy. “Let’s get this seen to before I die an agonizingly painful death when my nervous system shuts down on me.”

  “Here, let me help you carry your friend,” said Angie, stepping forward.

  Tarina was weary but had little choice but to accept the stranger’s offer. With Wendy between them, they made their way to the church and walked up the front steps. Inside was another person, not much taller than a child, holding a small candle in her hands.

  “So, we weren’t imaging things when we saw a light coming from here,” said Tarina.

  “Sarah, was looking for something when she heard the trap spring,” explained Angie. “Right away, she called for me to investigate.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Wendy.

  “Into the basement,” responded their host. They moved slowly down a set of stairs. At the bottom was a locked door. Angie rapped on the door three times.

  “Who’s there?” asked a gruff voice.

  “It’s me, Angie. I’ve got a couple of soldiers with me, one of whom is injured. Please let us in.”

  The door opened slightly while a person in a gas mask checked them out. “Okay. Step inside.”

  Tarina and Angie helped Wendy inside. They entered a room and waited while their clothes were sprayed down with a chemical suppressant. After that, another door opened. The basement was well lit. No one wore a mask or protective clothing inside the pressurized room. Tarina helped Wendy over onto a cot and laid her down.

  Tarina thankfully removed her gas mask and took in a long deep breath. The room stank of burnt candles and body odor but after thirty-six hours in a mask, it was like smelling a field of daisies on a spring morning.

  An older woman with her hair in a bun walked over and began to check out Wendy’s wounds.

  “That’s Doctor Monroe,” said Angie to Tarina. “She’ll disinfect and then do what she can for your colleague’s injuries. By the way, what are you two doing out there all alone?”

  Tarina hadn’t thought of a cover story as she didn’t think one would be necessary. “My friend and I are looking for a shuttle craft which came down about a day to a day-and-a-half walk from here.”

  “Why? Is it Kurgan?”

  “No, it’s kind of complicated. Suffice it to say the sooner we can get going again, the better.”

  “We’ll see about that. I don’t think your friend is going anywhere fast.”

  “We have to get moving. Just clean out Wendy’s wound, tape up her boot, and drug her up.”

  From behind her back, Angie brought out a pistol and aimed it at Tarina’s head. “I’m sorry, soldier, but you’re not going anywhere today. You both look in great shape aside from her ankle. We can get a lot for the two of you.”

  Tarina went for her rifle but saw it had already been taken when she wasn’t looking. “What the hell are you going on about?”

  “You and your friend will get my family and comrades food, water, and medicine,” said Angie. “I’m sorry, but you’re nothing more than a commodity which can be used to obtain what we need out here. Don’t try anything foolish or I’ll have your colleague shot.”

  Tarina glanced over and swore. Another woman had a pistol pressed against Wendy’s temple.

  Angie waved over a couple of teenage girls. “Tie them up, but keep them separated until we can arrange a bargain with O’Doul and his people.”

  With her blood on fire, Tarina couldn’t believe what was going on. She and Wendy were nothing more than cattle which could be traded for supplies. Tarina flashed her teeth when one of the girls came to tie her up.

  “I mean what I say,” warned Angie.

  With a feeling of utter defeat in her heart, Tarina relented and let the teen girls tie her up and drag her off to a corner of the basement where she could no longer see her friend. No matter what, Tarina vowed to escape and take Wendy with her. Debasement at the hands of another group of deranged survivalists was not going to happen. Not now, not ever!

  Chapter 23

  Jackpot, thought Cole to himself the instant he spotted a sign showing the way to the commissary stores. Cole needed a new identity, and he needed it now. If there was a constant, no matter the time period, it was that black-market goods flowed in and out an army’s commissary like there was no tomorrow.

  Cole walked in through the sliding front doors and let out a low whistle. Somebody wasn’t doing their job. While soldiers wore hand-me-down clothes and equipment, the shelves were packed with food, clothes, and luxury items. The only explanation Cole could think of was that there was someone higher up in the chain of command who was deliberately turning a blind eye while taking a cut of the illegal profits.

  “Can I help you, Private?” called out an obese Staff Sergeant.

  Cole grinned. “Yes, I believe you can, Sergeant.”

  “What is it that you have your eye on?”

  Cole took a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. In the blink of an eye, he drew his bayonet and jammed it into the stunned sergeant’s stomach. “You. I want you. You fat piece of lard.”

  “I don’t understand,” stammered the sergeant. “Is this a robbery? Because you’ll never get away with it.”

  “Kind of. And yes, I will get away with it. I need a new uniform, a new ID, and you to disappear for the next seventy-two to ninety-six hours.”

  “I can get you some of those things, but it’ll cost you credits—a lot of them.”

  Cole twisted the knife in the sergeant’s side. “I haven’t got any credits. Now turn and walk to the back of the store. Don’t try to be a hero. I doubt you’ve done any PT since basic training.”

  Even more contraband was in the back of the warehouse. Cole forced the sergeant to take a seat and tied him to it before helping himself to a pistol and several fully loaded magazines. “Medicines, where are they?”

  “On the next shelf over,” replied the sergeant, pointing at the top shelf.

  Cole rummaged around for a minute before grabbing a box and opening it. He held out a loaded syringe. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

  The sergeant’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Sweat poured like rivers off the side of his round face. “No, I don’t. Take what you need but please don’t kill me.”

  “This, my good man, is TH-11A1. It won’t kill you. It’s designed to put an injured person into an induced coma for a few days. I’ve seen it used a couple of times on the battlefield to save soldiers’
lives.”

  “Please don’t poke me with that needle,” pleaded the sergeant, struggling to escape his bonds.

  “Sorry, but you need to take a nice long nap.” With that, Cole stuck the needle in the man’s neck and gently pressed down on the plunger. The sergeant’s eyes rolled up in the back of his head as his body went limp.

  Cole looked around, spotted an empty crate, dragged the sleeping sergeant’s body to the box, and dumped him in there. Just to make sure no one would find him, he piled a few boxes on top of the crate.

  Time was running down. Cole knew he was pushing his luck. He grabbed a set of master sergeant insignias and a new uniform from one of the shelves. Before he slipped out the back door to change, he rummaged through the sergeant’s desk and smiled when he found a small metal box filled with fake IDs. Cole dug through until he found one that best matched his description.

  The front doors slid open.

  “Hey, Mac, where are you?” called out a man.

  Cole closed the desk drawer, snuck out the back, and rushed to get changed in the darkened alleyway. He turned his scanner on and hung it from a pocket on his uniform. Cole slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked out of the alley. He had no idea where he was inside the mountain complex nor did he have an inkling where Suparat could be. Cole knew he needed a map and directions. He turned on his heel until he spied a poster on the wall resembling an old map of the base. He reached up and ripped it down; he studied it for a minute until he spotted the central personnel registry building. It was located nearly three kilometers away, deeper inside the rock.

  Cole paused for a moment. He needed a plausible cover or he’d end up back in the MP’s cells. He walked over to a group of men taking a break from loading the back of a transport vehicle. The soldiers saw his rank insignia and went to stand up.

  “At ease, men,” said Cole. “Who’s your senior man?”

  “I am, Master Sergeant,” said a young female specialist.

  “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a clipboard?”