by PP Corcoran
In the past five weeks, Reynolds had managed to establish contact with seven platoons through her network of runners. Of those, four were still at full strength, although short on supplies. Three platoons, in what she was realizing may have been a folly in her own planning, had instigated action against the enemy. A few ambushes of enemy patrols had secured them much needed supplies and the odd heavy weapon, but these few successes had come at a heavy cost. The enemy had flooded the areas around these attacks with ground troops and air power. Anything that moved was targeted and swiftly received an enemy missile. From the patchy reports reaching her, the marines had only taken light casualties, but the enemy had made no effort to discriminate between her marines and the local civilian population. Hundreds of innocents were reported killed or injured. More ominously, the enemy were rounding up entire families where there was even the barest suspicion that they had colluded with the marines. Although she was unable to confirm it, Reynolds had little doubt as to the civilians’ fate: the re-education camps. Rumors abounded as to the purpose of these camps; however, one thing was certain. Once a person entered a camp, they were never seen nor heard of again.
Now, though, the enemy appeared to have changed tactics on her. For over a week now, she had received no reports from anywhere west of the Scraggy River. Three runners had been dispatched, but only one had returned, and his report was troubling enough that Reynolds had decided to venture out of her mountain headquarters and verify the information for herself. A tap on the side of her optics magnified the image and brought the ugly scar through what should have been beautiful pristine green forest into stark clarity. By Reynolds’ estimation, an area a kilometer across and extending north and south as far as the undulating terrain allowed her to see had been cleared of all living foliage. What had, up until a few days ago, been wild hinterland, was now a desolate, barren, ugly scar.
“You have been busy little bees, haven't you?” Said Reynolds.
“Sorry, ma’am, did you say something?” asked Captain Ashgrove. His reconnaissance platoon marines made up the majority of Reynolds’ runners, so it was hardly a surprise when he volunteered to accompany her with another couple of marines to act as escort. Reynolds understood Ashgrove was probably more anxious than she to find out the fate of the missing marines.
Before Reynolds could repeat herself, the fifth member of the small party spoke up. “Surely you recognize a kill zone when you see one, Captain,” said Sue as she continued to scan the waste ground in front of her through her own optics. Reynolds decided to hold comment as once more, this woman who continued to insist she was nothing more than a school teacher with a passing interest in the study of historical conflicts, grasped the realities of the tactical situation before a graduate of the marine officer academy.
A satisfied “Ah-ha” emanated from Sue as her raised optics halted their methodical scanning, focusing in on a single point.
“What have you got, Sue?” queried Reynolds.
“Five o’clock. 350 meters. Large brown boulder.”
Reynolds focused in on the object Sue had indicated. There was the boulder; however, there didn’t appear to be anything different about this particular boulder that separated it out from the hundreds of others along this stretch of ground.
Ashgrove had also located the boulder and, perhaps due to the earlier embarrassment of a civilian, never mind a school teacher, pointing out an obvious kill zone in front of his commanding officer, he decided to put Sue back in her place.
“Well done, school teacher, you have correctly identified a lump of rock.”
The retort dripped with smug sarcasm. Nevertheless, it washed over Sue and fell away like the water off a duck back. Without removing her eyes from the optics, she replied in a tone free of any emotion.
“So how many rocks where you come from have sensor antennas on top of them, Captain?”
Catching the anger-filled glare Ashgrove was giving the unaware, or more correctly, uncaring Sue, Reynolds made a mental note to have a quiet word with the pair of them separately. For Ashgrove, it would mean a mentoring discussion on the proper etiquette and standards expected of an officer of marines.
Sue, however, would require a more tactful approach. True, the school teacher was now technically a serving marine and followed the colonel’s orders, although she continued to think and act like a civilian, possibly in a none too subtle protest at being drafted. Nevertheless, Reynolds couldn’t allow this ongoing feud between Sue and the commander of the Recce Platoon to continue to simmer away. Inevitably it was going to boil over, and Reynolds didn’t need fractures in the chain of command.
Reynolds let an exaggerated sigh out before she spoke. “Can it, the pair of you. Right now we have more pressing problems, like how we get to the other side of this kill zone.”
The small group lapsed into silence as they searched for an answer. After a few minutes of head scratching, Sue was the first to speak her thoughts. “Naked.”
“Excuse me!” Ashgrove spluttered.
Sue’s face took on a mock offended expression. “Captain. I’m a married woman, how dare you have those thoughts about me.” In response, Ashgrove’s mouth dropped open, cheeks flushing scarlet with embarrassment while the marine desperately tried to find something of interest in the kill zone to focus his eyes on. Sue grinned wickedly while sharing a conspiratorial wink with Reynolds. The pinched expression on Reynolds’ face was enough of an indicator to Sue that she was taxing the colonel’s patience, so, she explained herself.
“The kill zone’s sensors are most probably calculated to detect electronic signatures. The sort of stuff that all our gear, be that weapons or wrist comms, give out. Once they detect an electronic signature, they target it and call in a drone or aero fighter strike.”
“What makes you think the sensors react to electronic signatures? The sensors could just as well be triggered by infrared,” argued Reynolds.
Sue gestured to the broken and scarred area in front of them. “Do you see any animal corpses?”
Ashgrove’s head bobbed in a tight nod of agreement. “Even though it pains me to agree with her, ma’am, she’s right. There are no animal carcasses anywhere to be seen. It certainly fits the facts as I see them.”
“Still, that doesn’t help us. Virtually every piece of equipment we carry has a piece of electronics in it, even our combat clothing.” Reynolds tapped the integrated wrist comm of her camouflaged jacket to emphasize her point.
“Exactly my point,” said Sue. “The K’Tai are as reliant on technology as we are, so if we want to get across to the other side of the kill zone and link up with your platoons beyond, we need to shed anything that gives off even the weakest electronic signature. No computer assisted weapons. No comms. Nothing that could possibly alert the K’Tai sensors to our presence. As I said, we go naked.”
Reynolds found it hard to fault Sue’s argument. If, and it was a big if, the K’Tai sensors only reacted to electronic triggers, then whoever went across the kill zone would have to be unarmed and shed every piece of equipment that made the modern fighting marine one of the most efficient killing machines known to man. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Sue stripping off the camouflage jacket that she had been issued, before unzipping the top of the small pack she had been carrying and retrieving the battered, multi-pocketed jacket that she had originally been wearing when she had first been brought unconscious to the marines’ mountain retreat. Sue slipped the jacket on and patted its pockets like someone greeting an old friend. Delving into the pack once more, her hands emerged holding a handmade scabbard attached to a belt, which Sue affixed around her waist. The scabbard held a wicked-looking bayonet from a K’Tai pulse rifle. Finally, Sue slipped her own wrist comm off and put it into the pack before standing fully up and surveying the kill zone.
“And where do you think you are going?” demanded Reynolds, even though she already knew the answer.
Sue looked down at the colonel, a weak smile tugging at
her lips. “Look, Colonel, it’s been fun, but my family is on the other side of that, and neither you nor the K’Tai are going to stop me getting to them. Not this time.”
Reynolds came to her feet angrily and blocked Sue’s path. “Now you listen to me, marine. I order you to stand down!”
“I think we can both drop the pretense now, don’t you, Colonel? I’m no marine and never have been.”
Reynolds’ false bluster dissipated like a thin mist on a strong breeze. “How long have you known?”
“Oh, probably about ten minutes after you pulled your little charade.” Sue let out a short snorting laugh. “I have to admit, though, it was quick thinking on your part. It gave me enough time to consider my actions, and you were right. If I had left then, there was every chance the K’Tai could have found your headquarters, so it was the right call. Now, though…” Sue gestured to the boulder-strewn corridor in front of them. “Things have changed. You need to get in touch with your marines on that side and I need to find my family. Why don’t we strike a deal?”
Sue owed Reynolds nothing, and Reynolds was surprised enough by her offer that she wanted to know more. “I’m listening.”
“I’ll agree to take one of your marines with me. I’ll make sure they make it safely to one of your cut-off platoons, then I’m done. I go my way and you go yours. What do you say?”
Reynolds’ mouth opened to reply as a large shadow fell over her.
“I’ll volunteer, ma’am,” came a deep, nasal voice.
Reynolds turned to be confronted by the sight of Marine DeWitt placing down his M89, which looked like a toy in his massive hands, on the ground, to begin stripping off his gear. Reynolds looked across to Ashgrove, who had remained silent during the colonel and Sue’s conversation. “DeWitt is one of my best men, ma’am.”
“Very well.” Reynolds held out her hand and Sue grasped it. “Good luck, Sue.”
“Piece of cake,” replied Sue confidently. “You ready, DeWitt?”
The man mountain that was DeWitt grumbled something which Sue took as a yes. A hand touched her elbow, causing her to pause. Turning, she found the restraining hand belonged to Ashgrove.
“Stay frosty, school teacher.” For once there was no hint of anything but sincerity in the captain’s voice.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Captain.” Sue leaned in close to Ashgrove’s ear so only he could hear her. “I wasn’t always a school teacher, you know.”
A genuine laugh escaped the marine. “No shit.”
#
Yet another unseen sharp branch poked Sue as she slithered across the expanse of wasted forest, another bruise to join the myriad she had accumulated. The analogy of some giant tornado cutting a swath through what had once been green and pleasant woodland was the closest Sue could get to describing the K’Tai kill zone she and DeWitt were crawling across on their bellies.
Whatever the defoliant agent the K’Tai had used to carve out the kill zone, it had not only stripped the trees of their greenery; it had rapidly withered the roots, and caused trees standing tall and proud for centuries to collapse on top of each other, forming a tangled weave of rotting branches which caught at clothing and scratched at bare skin. Sue might have been convinced that the sensor pod she had spotted, disguised as a boulder, reacted to electronic emissions, but she refused to bet her life on it. Hence, she and DeWitt were on their belt buckles to keep their profiles as low as possible, using the fallen trees to shield themselves from the sensor pod’s unblinking eyes. An hour of lever yourself up on your elbows. Hinge the body forward a few handful of centimeters. Lower the body. Drag the elbows forward. Lever the body up. Hinge the body forward another few precious centimeters. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Salty sweat constantly dripping into your eyes. Tortured muscles protesting. Slowly but surely, they progressed across the kill zone until, after an eternity, Sue then DeWitt reached the safety of the vibrant green forest on the other side.
Rolling on to her back on the soft grass, Sue closed her eyes, limbs akimbo as she stretched her stiff muscles. DeWitt chose the alternate method, standing on tip toes, arms reaching high above his head before swinging them in wide circles. After a few moments Sue rolled on her knees; reaching into the breast pocket of her jacket, she retrieved a polished mirror from the small marine-issue survival kit she had liberated from the stores back at the mountain retreat.
Facing back the way she had come, Sue angled the mirror so it caught the sun, once, twice, three times. From Captain Ashgrove came an answering double flash, acknowledging the fact she and DeWitt had made it safely across the kill zone and were proceeding to the area the closest platoon was supposed to be operating from. The fact each platoon was given very loose guidelines on conducting operations against the K’Tai was going to prove a bit of a headache for Sue and DeWitt when it came to tracking them down. Both Sue and DeWitt had memorized the locations of the supply caches that had been set up in each of the missing platoons’ Area of Responsibility; however, Reynolds’ orders to the platoon commanders had been intentionally broad in scope, for there was no way to predict how many, if any, of the platoons would manage to evade the K’Tai and survive long enough to reach their AORs.
Securing the mirror in her pocket, Sue turned to DeWitt, whose shovel-like hands made the button compass sitting in his open palm look even smaller than it was. Sue involuntarily shrugged her shoulders at the obvious ridiculous nature of the situation. Here they were, humanity, among the most technologically advanced societies in the known galaxy, and they were forced to rely on polished mirrors for communications, a magnetic compass no bigger than an acorn for navigation, and knives for weapons. They may as well have been back in Roman times.
“Six klicks to the cache.” DeWitt raised his head from the compass to the lowering sun. “Maybe three, four hours of daylight left. We should easily be able to reach the cache and set up an observation post before dark.”
“Agreed,” said Sue. “Let’s be on our way, then.”
The plan agreed upon with Colonel Reynolds was to visit the three nearest AORs, the furthest of which was roughly thirty kilometers from the Carters’ cabin. Sue and DeWitt would observe each cache for a twenty-four-hour period and, if it was not visited by the marine platoon designated to operate within that AOR by the end of the twenty-four-hours, then DeWitt carried with him handwritten orders from Reynolds which they would bury with the cache, instructing the platoon to make its way to the area where Sue and DeWitt had crossed the kill zone. Marines from the battalion’s Recce Platoon would keep a permanent lookout on that stretch of the kill zone ready to make contact directly with the surviving members of the battalion.
A great plan in principle, thought DeWitt, but he was under no illusions that Sue had every intention of abiding to her deal with Colonel Reynolds and accompanying him to all three of the battalion’s caches; however, once the last cache had been visited, Sue would be free to head for the cabin and, God willing, be reunited with her family.
DeWitt checked the compass bearing one more time before plunging into the thick forest, Sue following a few paces behind, head and eyes in constant motion as she sought to filter out the natural noises of the resident animals while searching for anything which would indicate the presence of K’Tai. It was going to be a long and testing next few days.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A Stain on My Honor
DAY FORTY-SEVEN
At the first cache, there had been definite signs that the marines of the 182nd Battalion were still operational. The entire place was swarming with K’Tai troops! Armored flitters, aero fighters and unmanned drones. They even had ground troops forming up skirmish lines and checking every likely hiding place by eye. DeWitt had explained that was probably because the entire area where the cache was located was impregnated with the mineral Molonov, which played merry hell with electronic sensors. Whoever oversaw the surviving marines in this area, they had stirred up a hornets’ nest. Exactly what Colon
el Reynolds had wanted.
It didn’t take the brains of a genius for Sue and DeWitt to decide to get the hell out of the area ASAP. DeWitt liberated a couple of M89s, spare ammo and rations before leaving a scrawled handwritten message in the cache for the marines to make their way to where Sue and DeWitt had managed to cross unscathed through the K’Tai kill zone. Not having had anything more potent than the K’Tai bayonet Sue had brought with her across the wasted stretch of forest that the K’Tai defoliant had cleared, she had hefted the polycarb stock and savored its reassuring weight.
The second cache had been a completely different story. The first indications of something not having been right were when Sue and DeWitt skirted a small farming complex maybe six kilometers from the edge of gradually thickening forest that carpeted the foothills before reaching the Scraggy Mountains proper. The scorch marks surrounding the shattered windows and doors and the collapsed roof told their own story. It was DeWitt who pointed out the pinpoint accuracy of the fire pattern. The fire was no accident. Someone had slowly and methodically laid waste to the farm. That was when a movement underneath a stout tree in a small grove by the farm entrance caught DeWitt’s eye.
Sue was surveying the farm buildings through the optically enhanced sights of her M89 when she heard a sharp intake of breath come from the big marine. Assuming he had caught sight of some threat, Sue immediately swung her rifle in the direction he was looking. What she saw framed in the sight picture brought a small anguished cry from deep inside her. She closed her eyes, but the horror was already burned on to her retinas. Steeling herself, she forced open her eyes and looked once more upon the garish scene. Hanging upside down from the stout branches of the tree were five bodies. The bodies, like the tree branches, were soot-blackened. The soot, though, wasn’t a result of being inside the buildings as they had burned, for beneath each limp hanging body was the remains of a fire pit. The sick feeling in Sue’s stomach was slowly replaced by something else: a deep, burning hatred for those who had carried out such a barbaric act. War was always a nasty business, there was no doubt. However, some things went beyond the normal horrors of war. The scene played out here was one of them.
