Recoil

by David Sherman

  Haulover might not have had surveillance satellites, but it did have the geosync comm satellite. Daly had Corporal Belinski use the comm net to get into the planetary database and ferret out everything it had on the Shazincho homestead. Which was enough to give the Marines what they needed to know going in. The database even had information on the results of the attack.

  The Shazincho homestead had been established only a couple of months earlier as a logging and woodcutting operation specializing in the hardwoods most desired for the finishing details of new housing in the colony. The Shazinchos had laid claim to a twelve hundred square kilometer stretch of forest at the foot of a spur of the Northern Range Mountains. In addition to the six members of the Shazincho family, the home-stead employed nine lumberjacks and sawmill workers. They intended to practice sustainable forestry, cutting down selected mature trees rather than clear-cutting the forest. Thanks to the cost of equipment, and construction of the living quarters, sawmill, and other buildings, the Shazinchos didn’t expect to break even, much less show a profit, for at least three years. Now it looked as though they would never break even—everything was destroyed, and it seemed likely that all fifteen people at the homestead were dead.

  From the Marines’ point of view, the worst part of what the data showed was that the raid had taken place right after dawn that morning. Yet the planetary administrator hadn’t seen fit to notify them until after he and the forensics people reached the site.

  The Marines might have been able to track the raiders immediately had they been notified right away. They were worried that the delay could cost more homesteads.

  Ensign Daly had had to calm himself down during the three-hour drive to the Shazincho homestead; his anger at the notification delay kept threatening to overwhelm him. Fortunately, he hadn’t tried to keep it bottled in, but talked it over with Sergeant Kindy and his squad during the trip.

  The thing that eventually tipped the balance in favor of calm was Kindy’s reminding him, “Remember what Sergeant Williams and I had to say to you.”

  Daly took a deep breath and held it for a long moment before letting it out again. “You were right then,” he admitted, “and you’re right now. Thanks.” He turned to the other three Marines in the landcar and said, “No, I’m not going to tell you what that was about.”

  The Shazincho Homestead

  The road through the forest didn’t cut straight through the trees, but wound its way, so that the smallest possible number of young trees was sacrificed to make it. So the Marines were nearly on the site before they could see it. The data they’d downloaded from the planetary net had them prepared for what they saw, including the small number of trees still standing in the cleared area. Corporal Nomonon parked the landcar near a severely burned tree. Lance Corporal Skripska, driving the other landcar, parked with its nose almost touching the tail of the lead vehicle.

  The Marines saw Planetary Administrator Mullilee and Chairman Miner, along with eight or ten people in constabulary jackets, some of which identified them as from the forensics division. But General Pokoj Vojak was notably absent, and no soldiers were in evidence.

  “Helmets on,” Daly ordered on his all-hands circuit. “Two men from each squad, keep your infras in place, and watch for hot spots that don’t belong to the fires. Squad leaders, with me.” He opened the landcar’s door and dismounted.

  Spilk Mullilee was already approaching him at a brisk walk, almost a trot. The planetary administrator glanced nervously over his shoulder right before he stopped in front of Daly.

  “I-I’m sorry, Mr. D-Daly,” Mullilee stammered. “I wanted to n-notify you as soon as I h-heard about th-this, but Mr. M-Miner insi-insisted that our people investigate before you c-came and . . . and m-messed things up.” He swallowed. “Th-That’s what h-he said.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Daly told him, though that certainly wasn’t what he was thinking. Miner’s deliberate delay in notifying the Marines just made him more determined to learn if the chairman of the board had any connection to the raids. “Where are General Vojak and his soldiers?”

  Mullilee shook his head. “W-We didn’t th-think we needed them here. N-Not with the M-Marines.”

  The corner of Daly’s mouth twitched. He was going to have to review the recordings from Mullilee’s office and see if the absence of the minister of war and his soldiers was Miner’s doing.

  He asked, “What have your people found so far?”

  Before Mullilee could answer, Miner came up. “All they’ve found is exactly what was found at the other destroyed homesteads,” the chairman said. “Exactly nothing that we can use to find out who’s responsible.” He looked sour, as though the lack of evidence was a personal affront.

  “Did your people find where the raiders came from?” Daly asked; his voice was almost meek, causing Mullilee to look at him with something approaching despair.

  Miner shook his head and waved a hand. “Out there some-place. That’s all I can tell you.” He looked Daly in the eye. “You’re supposed to be the trackers. So start tracking.” With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

  Daly watched Miner’s back for a moment, then gave his orders. “Sergeant Kindy, take your squad and find out where they came from. Sergeant Williams, track their movements in the compound.” Then to Mullilee: “I need to speak to your people, learn what they’ve found out. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of this. And when we do, whoever is responsible is going to be very, very sorry.”

  “Y-Yes, right away,” Mullilee said. He looked at Daly with confusion; unlike when the Marine had spoken to Miner, there was nothing whatsoever meek in his voice now.

  “One more thing, Mr. Mullilee. It took us three hours to get here by landcar. We need an aircraft.”

  Mullilee swallowed and looked to the sides before saying, “I can probably get an aircraft and p-pilot for you.”

  Daly shook his head. “Thank you, sir, but all I need is a light aircraft. Three of us have licenses to pilot light aircraft.”

  Mullilee’s surprise was visible. There was more to these Force Recon Marines than he’d realized—and, he thought, more than Smelt Miner suspected.

  Overlooking the Shazincho Homestead

  The Master lay hidden by bushes that grew along the side of the watercourse that led to the destroyed sawmill and observed the homestead through powerful optics. His location was on the side of the mountain down which flowed the stream that powered the mill. He grinned around pointed teeth as the Earthmen sifted futilely through the ash and rubble of the out-post, knowing that they would find little or nothing to tell them what had happened—or who had done it. Watching the Earth-men conduct their pathetic forensic examinations was almost as amusing as actually leading a raid. He wished the Over Master commanding the People’s operation on this world would send Masters to observe the aftermath of every raid, instead of only half of them. Moreover, he wished that he himself was assigned to observe more aftermaths. That and be assigned to lead more raids. But there were many Masters who deserved to lead raids and observe aftermaths, though not enough to observe all and still be able to properly supervise the Leaders who kept the Fighters in proper discipline. He could not expect to be given as many assignments as he would like.

  Movement at the far side of the raid site caught the Master’s eye, and he shifted the optics. Two more landcars entered the site but from a different direction from which the Earthmen already present had come.

  At the approach of the two vehicles, an Earthman supervising the sifting looked up and raised a hand. The landcars closed on him and stopped a few meters away. The doors of the landcar nearer the supervising Earthman opened and closed—but the Master saw no one get out. Then the other landcar’s doors opened and closed, but the Master couldn’t see whether anybody got out since his view was occluded by a tree trunk. He wondered what was going on, then wondered even more when two of the supervising Earthmen began talking to the air before them, and gesturing. The Maste
r shifted his view to the space just in front of the Earthmen and his heart leaped in his chest.

  Heads hovered in the air!

  Earthman Marines had finally arrived!

  The Master slithered from under the concealing bushes, and scooted along the bank below its top, to where three Leaders and six Fighters awaited his pleasure. Speaking curtly in a low growl he gave instructions to one of the Leaders.

  After the designated Leader repeated the message he was to deliver, he ran, crouched, accompanied by a Fighter, along the stream’s edge until he reached a tributary that runneled out of the forest and changed direction to follow the smaller streamlet.

  When his runner had gone, the Master returned to his observation post. The two remaining Leaders and five Fighters were more alert than they had been before. None of them had experience fighting the Earthman Marines but they all knew the reputation of their foes. They mentally prepared themselves to die in the service of the Emperor.

  The Other Side of the Mountain

  “Earthman Marines,” the Leader barked when he reached the aircraft that waited in a defile on the far side of the mountain down which the millstream flowed.

  The Pilot Master’s eyes widened with anticipation. Finally, he would have his chance to kill the Earthman Marines! But he knew his duty; first he had to transport the Leader to the base of the People’s Army so the Leader could report what the observing Master had learned. The Pilot Master lifted his aircraft high enough to clear the low-lying brush and trees, then headed at the greatest speed he dared, keeping at all times below the level of the ridgetops so his transport craft wouldn’t be spied by Earthman radar.

  Headquarters, Emperor’s Third Composite Corps

  The Grand Master listened intently to the Over Master who knelt before him, forehead to the reed floor mat. Four Large Ones were arrayed behind the Grand Master, long swords in their hands, ready to protect their lord from interlopers who might enter the cavern used as the Grand Master’s Hall. Lamps with mirrored backs stood around the perimeter of the cavern and hangings behind the lamps disguised the walls, making the cavern look more like a constructed room than a natural cave. Un-seen Leaders and Fighters lurked behind the hangings, providing far more security against interlopers than the Large Ones possibly could. A Great Master, the Grand Master’s chief of staff, stood next to the kneeling Over Master, sword in hand, ready to decapitate the kneeling Over Master should he sufficiently displease the Grand Master.

  The Over Master was the Grand Master’s chief of intelligence, and the intelligence he was delivering was most interesting. So much so that when the report was finished the Grand Master commanded the Over Master to sit back on his heels and deliver it again. The Grand Master’s voice was rugged, raspy; as with nearly all Masters of the Emperor’s army who attained such high rank, the Grand Master had not exercised his gills in so long that they had atrophied; the atrophied gill slits were warped, as were some of the underlying gills, allowing air from under his arms, as well as from his lungs, to exit through his larynx, affecting his voice. The change in the voices of high-ranking Masters did not bother them; when they growled or barked with their rugged, raspy voices, they sounded so much more threatening than the growls and barks of lesser-level Masters who routinely—or at least occasionally—did breathe underwater.

  The Over Master rocked back onto his heels and raised his face to his Grand Master, but respectfully kept his eyes on the mat before his knees. He repeated the report of Earthman Marines being seen at the site of the latest raid.

  Pleased not only with the report but with the high degree of respect with which it was delivered, the Grand Master clapped his hands imperiously. A diminutive female glided into the hall, half-bent at the waist, eyes on the floor before her, and awaited instructions. The Grand Master growled and the female glided out of the hall. A moment later she and two other diminutive females glided into the hall.

  The first female bore a tray on which stood a slender vase with a single flower from Home and a delicate cup. She gracefully knelt and placed the tray on a stand next to the Grand Master. The second female carried a tray with short legs, also adorned with a flowered vase and cup. She knelt gracefully next to the Over Master and placed the tray next to his knee. The third female brought a tray with two steaming pots. She approached the Grand Master, bowed low at the waist, and extended the tray to the kneeling female, who took one of the pots and poured a small amount of hot beverage from the pot into the delicate cup. After lowering the pot to her tray, she picked up the cup and drank it dry.

  The Grand Master watched with seemingly minor interest and, after a couple of moments during which the kneeling female showed no signs of distress, gestured for her to pour the cup full, and for the female with the tray now bearing one pot to deliver it to the Over Master’s servant. The Grand Master’s servant poured beverage into the cup and raised it in the finger-tips of both hands, lifting it to where he could easily reach it. She kept her eyes averted downward.

  Instead of taking the offered cup, the Grand Master growled at the Great Master, instructing him to assemble the staff; now that the Earthman Marines had finally arrived, it was time to begin planning to annihilate them.

  While the Grand Master was instructing the Great Master, the Over Master drank deeply and accepted a second cupful of the steaming beverage, which he sipped more sedately. He listened intently while the Grand Master instructed him to gather more intelligence on the numbers and disposition of the Earth-man Marines.

  Some minutes had passed since the Grand Master’s servant had sipped from his cup, and neither she nor the Over Master were displaying any signs of distress. The Grand Master finally accepted the cup and drank from it.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  NINETEEN

  Briefing Room, Headquarters, Task Force Aguinaldo, Camp Swampy, Arsenault

  The commanders and staff officers of Task Force Aguinaldo perspired quietly as the huge overhead fans languidly stirred the stultifying air. Nobody noticed the sticky heat. All eyes and ears were on General Anders Aguinaldo. He was not a big man and, in his sweat-stained utilities, he looked no different than the dozens of other officers crammed into the big hall. But when the short brown man opened his mouth he seemed to grow in size. He spoke with a powerful voice using a soldier’s vocabulary, and he had the uncanny ability to appear to be looking each officer straight in the eye as if he were speaking to each man and woman personally, saying to them as individuals, “You are good enough to be on my team so I know you’re good enough to make this work.”

  “People, I have called you here to announce the next phase in the preparation of this task force for battle. You have all done a fine job training and reorganizing your respective commands and I hereby commend all concerned.” The Marine four-star smiled. “And I expect official commendations to be showing up for signature in my office for those of your personnel who were most outstanding in this long and sometimes painful process. Now we are ready to put this task force through its paces.

  “We are all going into the field, people, every last one of us. I have scheduled the first of several field training exercises designed to test the ability of your commands to work together under simulated combat conditions. I don’t want to hear anybody refer to these exercises as ‘war games.’ War is no game, as those of us who’ve been there know. So-called war games are plotted by eggheads far removed from battle, men who think they know their asses from their elbows—but they don’t know jack shit about war, off in their ‘war rooms’ playing with their sand tables and virtual battlefield arrays. We won’t have any of that here.”

  Colonel Raggel, sitting in the back of the room with Sergeant Major Steiner, whispered, “This is going to be good, Top!”

  “I have arranged for permanent-party units stationed here on Arsenault to be the aggressors. They have been fully trained on all known aspects of Skink tactics. They’ll be out there somewhere,” he said, gesturing at the surrounding jungle,
“waiting for you to come and get them. I worked personally with those people to set up their mission. Nobody on my staff has a clue about who they are or how many of them there are or where they are. I’ve also arranged with Arsenault Training Command to flood the operational area with an ‘in-digenous’ population that has the express mission of getting in your way. . . .”

  “We’ll straighten that out,” Raggel whispered.

  “. . . When this operation kicks off, General Cumberland, my chief of staff, will assume overall command of the task force. I will remain loose and go out with the umpires. Your job will be to work together, use your reconnaissance and intelligence assets, find the enemy, fix him, and fight him. You will learn to work together.

  “We still have a few units that haven’t yet been briefed on the enemy’s capabilities and operational tactics.”

  “That’s us,” Raggel whispered.

  “Most of you have. When every command is up to speed on that this exercise will commence. We’re going to call it Operation Slogger because that’s what you’ll all be doing out there. I expect it to last ten days. Every swinging Richard and every pendulous Jane will deploy to the field, including my headquarters staff.

  “I am going to leave you now with General Cumberland. He will give you the order of battle for this exercise. Get to know your sister units. Liaise, people, liaise. Next time we meet it’ll be for the postoperation debriefing. It’s going to be a rough two weeks but hardly as rough as actual combat will be, and when we come to that you will be ready and you will kick some Skink ass.”

  Lecture Hall, Seventh Independent Military Police Battalion, Fort Keystone

  “Tennnns-hut!” Command Sergeant Major Steiner bellowed as General Aguinaldo, followed immediately by Colonel Raggel and a Marine corporal marched onto the stage.