by Geoff Brown
Those two teams following us would be on the ground. With any luck, they would follow the two teams that left trails while Gunny hid his footprints and got Randolph back with the intel. We got to play decoys. Fun. The Thorns couldn't just take sleds and sit over our probable LZ sites since we could take them out with rockets the same way they had nailed our transport.
“Harris, you take Billings and go left,” Gunny instructed. “Cutter, you and Jonesy go right. Make it good and I'm buying the first round when we hit base.” He nodded and we lit out, leaving Randolph and the other newbie, Johnson, with the Sarge.
Billings and I had worked together several times and knew the routine. We went side-by-side with enough room to move and fire, and avoided anything that looked like it was too open or too cluttered with brush. Too open usually meant a trap of some sort and too cluttered gave the little nasties too much room to hide. So we wove between trees and around rocks and tried our best not to make more noise than we had to. We moved for about an hour with nothing more than various animal nasties crossing our trail.
I spotted the hole of the fire beetles almost the same time we heard the Thorns behind us. Their stilted legs made a distinctive noise as they made their way through the forest, almost like they were letting the animals know they were coming and to warn them to get out of the way.
I set a minibomb next to the hole, where it would toss the nest into the air instead of closing it down, and motioned Billings to move ahead as I rigged the detonator. I waited behind a tree for the Thorns to show. They would be following our trail and would see the same signs we did.
The two Thorns moved into the open, too far away to shoot but close enough to see. In the dappled sunlight, they gleamed dark green with chlorophyll. They were soldier breeds, with the long stilted legs that could lift them fifteen feet into the air to see above short trees or heavy brush, and bodies covered with overlapping scales like armor. Their true-arms were pushed forward on a cylindrical body and had double opposable thumbs, one on each side of the hands. Their heads were inverted, truncated, five-sided pyramids sitting on a short flexible neck with four eyes, one on each side of the pyramid. To get binocular vision with depth perception, they looked past one corner of the pyramid to bring two eyes into focus. They literally had eyes in the backs of their heads. The overall effect was a six-legged spider with a short post on the front end and two grasping members in front. I hated spiders.
The Thorns were professionals, just like we were. They stayed too far apart for us to take them both out at once, moving carefully from tree to tree for cover, so I motioned to Billings and gave him the signal to take the one on the right after I popped the one on the left. He nodded and we waited.
As the Thorn on the left reached the spot where the fire beetles had their nest, it began to move past it just as I had. But I gave it a surprise as I triggered the minibomb and showered the Thorn with very angry fire beetles. While it was moving to brush the insects form its carapace before they found a way between the joints, it moved out of cover for just a moment too long and I fired a short burst of armor piercing rounds straight into its side. The shot hit home, destroying the neural junction as all six legs folded and it collapsed, leaving it unable to move but very much alive. I wasted no time pumping the rest of the clip into the pyramid to disrupt its neural center and make the rest of the body overload. Sort of like giving it a jolt of electricity in all the right places.
I ducked as a stray round from the second Thorn blew bark off the tree next to my head. Billings had done his job as well, and the second Thorn was flat and still. I keyed the comm for Gunny.
“Two down, two to go,” I messaged.
I waited for Gunny's reply or even the clicks that said he was under observation but heard me. Nothing. I looked over at Billings, listening on his own com, and we headed for where Gunny, Johnson and Randolph should be – to hell with the Thorns.
We traveled fast, knowing time was more important than silence at this point. If the others had been in a fire-fight, we wouldn't have known as the Thorn's weapons were as quiet as our own. But I had a bad feeling and I had learned to listen to my gut.
I almost missed them as we headed for the LZ. Randolph was propped up against the scaly bark of a snake tree with a round from a Thorn rifle making a strange third eye in his forehead. He must have taken off his helmet to wipe away the sweat at just the wrong time.
Johnson was in the space between two trees, his arms wrapped around the spiny carapace of a Thorn – daggers of chitin had shredded his body but he’d bisected the head of the Thorn with a brush knife as he’d died. For a newbie he’d done a pretty good, finishing the one that got him. I pulled his tags but waited to find Gunny before I set the charge.
Gunny had crawled into a shallow depression that let him see what was coming before it could see him. The Thorn rounds had stitched up the left side of his body and ripped off most of his left arm. The pressure closures in the camosuit had closed off but he had lost a lot of blood through the body punctures. He had fired off the clip in his weapon and had collapsed unconscious trying to load the new clip one-handed. I carefully took the weapon out of his grip and slipped home the clip. Gunny's eyes snapped open and his hand clenched around the stock in reflex before he realized who we were.
“Randolph?” Gunny asked weakly.
I shook my head and Gunny closed his eyes in pain at more than just his wounds. “Is the equipment intact?”
When I nodded he smiled, a feral grin that would have looked good on a wolf.
“Pick him up and take him to the LZ. The techs back at HQ can get what they want from the corpse.” He looked up into my eyes. “Give me the remote on Johnson's charges and his weapon, and leave the extra radio. You have one Thorn ahead of you who didn't know he got what he came for. And a whole lot of Thorns behind you in less than an hour when the reinforcements show up from the next compound. I'll slow down the ones behind you.” He grabbed my arm. “Make it count, Corporal.”
“No problem, Sarge,” I said quietly. “You give 'em hell.” We both knew there would be no pick-up from this one for him. The stuff in Randolph's gear was worth more than just our platoon. Anyone not at the landing zone would be left behind. I moved away while Billings handed the Sarge the stuff he wanted. Gunny handed Billings his own tags and the others he had pulled from our first three casualties so we could keep the numbers straight for the ghouls at Records who kept track of such things. God forbid we should miss a casualty count at the command center. Then Gunny handed me a twenty-credit slip.
“Whoever gets back, the first round’s on me,” he said, looking me in the eye.
I nodded and took the slip.
Billings and I headed for the LZ, me carrying the dead weight of Randolph. I popped a bennie – something I seldom did – because I knew this was worth the reaction the drug would give me. I needed the extra strength at the moment and my camo gear wasn't augmented for strength like some of the newer units.
“Cutter. Jonesy. You read?” I called over the comm.
“Roger,” Jonesy came back. “Two away from the LZ.”
“Keep your eyes open for a Thorn on your tail. Gunny is down and covering our rear. We'll have company in less than twenty.”
There was dead air for a moment as the two troopers digested my message and what it implied.
“Roger that. How long till you get here?”
“Be there in fifteen,” I answered. “Wait ten and set the marker. We should get there just as our ride lands.”
“Don't be late,” was the only reply. “Out.”
I kept moving, trying to keep Billings in view and watch my half of the trail at the same time. Of course, that wasn't possible and I felt something hit the top of Randolph's body like a hammer, knocking me to the ground, just before Billings swore and flipped a cane snake away with his knife. The head of the snake came off neatly with Billings' movement, just like in the training films. I guess Randolph wouldn't feel the cold burn of th
e snake's venom, but I could see the skin around the neck start to loosen as the bones inside began to dissolve. In about an hour, I would be holding a skin bag filled with liquid meat that a snake could swallow very easily. I hoped the equipment in the vest was watertight.
The bennie gave me the strength I needed to reach the LZ. As Billings and I reached the edge of the clearing early, we got a wave from Cutter on the far side. He held up two fingers and I nodded. I motioned to Billings to move left as I set down the limp body of Randolph. We didn't want any surprises. The smell of the defoliants Cutter had used to clear the circle was sickeningly sweet in the hot air.
The explosion in the distance behind me was a jolt and I ducked by reflex until I realized Gunny had just put a hole in our follow up reception. I said a quick one for a good trooper and kept my eyes on the forest, waiting for the sound of the sleds. The second explosion from behind reminded me Gunny had two charges to work with. Smart man, that Sarge. The radio we left began to squawk with unintelligible gibberish as the automatic sender kicked in. The Thorns wouldn't know if it was code or whatever and had to lose time trying to find it. Gunny had bought us more time.
I heard the ping of the transponder in the landing sled over the comm as they began their run and also heard a distinctive answering tone from two different assault craft that came to give cover. HQ must have wanted the info in Randolph's gear real bad to scramble three units on a pickup. We started to move, ready to dash for the sled when it hit dirt. I didn't want that sled on the ground any longer than necessary. It was too big a target.
Just as we stepped to the edge of the clearing, Jonesy flopped out of the brush and slammed face-first onto the ground. The hole in the back of his neck was a clear sign of what got him. We dove for cover when the Thorn raised itself on six multi-jointed legs to spray the area with its weapon.
Billings popped up for one quick burst and took a hit in the torso. But the distraction gave Cutter time to fire on the sniper, to blow the nerve junction and collapse the Thorn to the ground. Cutter moved closer and snapped shots at the muscular arms on the front of the Thorn’s body, clipping its weapon away. Cutter carefully reloaded and literally cut the Thorn's head off with a burst of armor-piercing rounds at close range. Then he walked over to Jonesy, pulled off his tags and grabbed the remote on the d-charges.
“You okay?” I asked Billings.
“I ain't staying here,” he answered, and I knew he could get into the sled on his own.
The sled came in right on schedule and the gull-wing doors opened to take on nine troopers and a spook. The three of us slid in and I strapped the lieutenant's softening corpse into a seat next to me as the sled lifted. Billings was leaning back, using the straps to hold a compress on an oozing spot of blood, as the sled lifted, doors closing as we rose. I let him go for now, until we were clear of atmosphere and could unstrap in safety. I looked out the window across from Cutter, saw the same thing he did, and we both froze. Apparently the back-up teams had made better time than Gunny thought they could. Three Thorns stepped into the clearing and raised tubes for rocket launchers to take out our sled.
“Get 'em, Jonesy,” Cutter said and pushed the button on the remote.
Jonesy's d-charges went up with enough force to pump us another ten meters into the air and the three Thorns disappeared in a flash of fire.
“How many extra bombs did you leave with him?” I asked as I looked at the burning foliage.
“I only had ten left,” Cutter said. He looked over at me. “Too much, do you think?”
“Nope,” I answered. “Just right.” I sat back to enjoy the trip. The hammering of the assault craft as they took out any additional rockets that came after us was almost a lullaby as we left atmosphere for the jaunt to the next planet.
Billings never finished the trip. At least he got a burial rather than a burn to ash.
The Intelligence spooks at base came aboard and grabbed Randolph before we even had a chance to unstrap. Cutter and I took Billings to the morgue and collected his tags before we went to see Captain Roberts. He listened to our debriefing and took the tags from the eight we had lost without a word. When I finished the rundown, he looked up at the two of us.
“Good job, men,” the captain said. “I just hope losing Gunny was worth whatever we got from Randolph. Grab some sleep and head for the quartermaster in the morning to restock. The Thorns hit another colony of ours at Eriandi and the spook division has a new weapon they want to try out. We're putting together a squad of our best recon men and you two just got elected. You leave in two days and the trip will take a month, so you can rest up on the way. Dismissed.” He returned to his paperwork.
Cutter and I stepped out of the captain's office and into the dusty street. I looked up at the steel-grey sky and wondered if the sky over Kansas was still so blue it hurt to look at it. I wanted a chance to find out one of these days.
“You buyin'?” Cutter asked.
“First Gunny. Then me. Then it's your turn.”
We turned toward the bar to get something to clear the dust from our throats and drink to friends departed. It made more sense than thinking about being back in the jungle so soon after almost buying the farm. Just like the Army to send us right back in, since we were still functional. And expendable.
Some things never change, I thought as I hoisted my first drink in salute to Gunny.
Outpost
Anthony Izzo
“That ship is going to be crawling with uglies,” Sergeant Tim Mills said as his squad rolled out from Outpost Zulu One Three. He reflected that he didn’t like the outpost. They were near the Canadian border, somewhere near what used to be called North Dakota. It was cold as hell and there wasn’t a decent bar within five miles of the place.
The armored personnel carrier juked and bumped as they rolled along. He would’ve preferred an airdrop, but Zulu One Three was short on aircraft, so they were humping it in this tin can.
“Who are we going after again?” Whitey said, running a hand through his blond hair. Whitey had a portrait of his kid on his forearm. The uglies had gotten his kid when the invasion started. He didn’t talk about it. Poor bastard had to shoot his own son when he was reanimated.
Mills said, “Paige Hamilton, resistance fighter. She’s won some major battles. Stopped them from overrunning the capitol. Command wants her found. She was on that supply ship.”
The supply ship USS Valkyrie had lost contact with command three days ago. Mills and his squad had been ordered to bring back Hamilton and any survivors.
Bronson, driving the APC, said, “We have a visual, Sarge.”
“I want to have a look for myself,” he said.
Mills stepped onto a platform, opened the top hatch and flipped his goggles down. He liked them a lot; they gave him night vision as well as picking up thermal images. Damned things could practically see through walls.
The display on the goggles told him the ship was a half-mile out. It was one of the big Detroit-class cruisers, and had come to rest in some fields. Smoke rose in multiple places from is gray-black hull.
They’d sent Hamilton to some outpost in the galaxy as a consultant. Mills couldn’t figure out why; she’d been kicking ass back here on Earth, from what he’d heard. Now she was likely dead and they were going to be bringing back a body.
He popped back into the APC. “Let’s light it up,” Mills said, and looked around at this squad, or what was left of it. United States Counter Invasion Squadron. Eight guys left after the last operation. One of a dozen teams of elite warriors that Command regularly dispatched to handle situations like this.
They’d been given a DREAD gun and Command had promised them the possibility of support in the form of some hypersonic cruise missiles that could be fired from somewhere around Los Angeles. Maybe a drone strike. And they had Arnie, a six-foot-five, three-hundred-and-thirty pound robotic killing machine that would make the first entry into the Valkyrie.
The squad locked and loaded. Mill
s watched O’Brien stroke his weapon. “You gonna buy that thing dinner first, at least, O’Brien?”
“She hasn’t let me down yet, Sarge,” he said with a grin.
Whitey said, “You might as well be using a crossbow instead of that fucking relic.”
O’Brien frowned. Dude had the bushiest eyebrows Mills had ever seen. He was also the darkest Irishmen Mills had ever laid eyes on.
“The AK-47 has been used by soldiers for a hundred years,” O’Brien said.
“Yeah. Just like your mother,” Whitey retorted.
The APC jarred to a halt.
“Cool it, you shitheads,” Mills said. “Move out.”
As the rear ramp opened, Mills’ heartbeat sped up. He felt a little like puking, just as he did before every mission. The squad deployed, passing Arnie, who stood statue-like near the ramp waiting for Mills to activate him. Someone had told Mills the guy who invented the technology named Arnie after some killer robot in an old movie. He didn’t care what it was named, as long as the machine did its job, which was killing the slimy fucks that had taken over half the country.
The frozen ground crunched under Mills’ feet. The air stank of burning metal as they stood in the shadow of the freighter.
“Everyone’s AC operational?” Mills asked.
“Check,” came the group’s response.
Adaptive Camo was a wonderful idea in theory. Bent the light around the soldier so you became almost invisible. Problem was, it didn’t always work with their enemy, and the reanimations saw through it every time.
Mills un-shouldered his pack and took out the control pad for Arnie. He punched in some commands and the shiny beast came down the ramp and stood next to Mills. Arnie had twin cannons mounted high on his shoulders and could also launch grenades. Mills would see through the robot’s eyes on his own display.
He punched in instructions: Find an entry point. Locate survivors. Dispatch enemies. Arnie would take it from there.
The sentry found a breach in the side of the ship and entered a cargo hold. Smoke hung in the air, making the display hazy.
