by W. C. Bauers
“Ah, Great-Grans—one moment, please.”
“Take all the time you need, girly.”
Promise muted the general. Asked her AI, “Where did this schematic come from?”
“Unknown, it wasn’t part of the OPLAN or in any of the mission briefs.”
“What about the RAW-MC’s archives? Look under Corregidor Island or Mount Bane.”
“Stand by while I query … interesting … I just met by a very angry AI that insulted my programming and showed me the sign, as if I can’t read what it says.”
“What sign?”
“It’s in a classified file ringed with lockouts.” Her mechsuit’s AI was trying to describe in physical terms what it had only seen in virtual space. In reality, the lockouts looked more like the annual rings of a tree. The schematic was at the center of the tree inside the pith, or the tree’s heart. “It’s a DACT.”
Promise rolled her eyes. “A Don’t Ask, Can’t Tell.” The Corps wasn’t without a sense of humor. A Marine stomped past a DACT at his or her own peril, because after all, you’d been warned. Violating a DACT could get you a permanent billet inside Camp Vimerling breaking rocks for the rest of your term of service.
“This schematic didn’t just appear. Someone gave us the information.” A window popped up on her HUD with a list of specific suggestions. “Well, what’s the harm in at least trying?”
“General?” Promise said after taking Granby off mute.
“Still here, girly. Whatcha got for me?”
“A plan, ma’am.”
The general laughed freely over the voice-only link. “How ’bout that. And?”
“We’re going to skim the water.” Promise read the mystery bullets one by one. “We’ll fly under the island’s intruder net, minimum grav, and use the wind at our backs.” Promise focused on the upper right portion of the schematic, which was hard to miss because it was pulsating. There, an unmarked entrance to the mountain. The schematic said it was lightly guarded by two ANDES and easily accessible by air. “There’s a rock face on the leeward side of the island. I … believe it’s largely unprotected. We can scale that to the access tunnel above,” Promise said as she followed the tunnel inside the mountain, “and see where it goes.” And see where it goes? “With your leave, of course.”
“Climbing in mechsuits?”
“No, in skin with gravbelts for safety, ma’am.” Fifth bullet down. “Standard-issue gear does come in handy from time to time.”
“You’ll be awfully light.”
“All I need is my pulse rifle and a backup, ma’am.” And a wing and a prayer. “All we have to do is reach the control tower and hit the little red button to end the exercise and take the W.” According to bullet six there was a little red button too. This is insane. “We’re good to go, ma’am.”
“Is that all, Lieutenant? The ANDES may not make it so easy for you. And the island defenders know roughly where you are. You’re compromised.”
“Not if you provide me with a bit of cover, ma’am.” Bullet seven had suggested she ask. You just asked the general to break the rules, said her by-the-book self. No, just bend them a bit, said her break-the-Regs alter ego, because there’s a time to follow Regs and a time to chart your own course.
“Ha—you show your true colors, Lieutenant.”
“I would never suggest that you—”
“Shut up, Lieutenant. I like your idea.” Emphasis on “your,” which made Promise think it was actually the general’s. “Permission granted. I’ve thought for some time we needed to shake the simulation up. It’s grown stale and the defenders complacent. Stay on the comm. Wait one.”
The general placed Promise on mute and commed the control room located inside Mount Bane. A second window opened in Promise’s HUD, and the face of a young man appeared. He looked competent and wore the single inverted gold V of a lance corporal (not to be confused with the single flat stripe, or “runway,” of a PFC). His eyes widened with recognition, causing him to sit up straight as a board.
“Good morning, General Granby. How may I help the general?”
Promise noted the one-way feed. He couldn’t see her.
“Victor Company has suffered crippling casualties in today’s exercise and has been asked to return to base. We won’t reset the op for at least an hour. Please stand down the mountain and get something to eat.”
The lance corporal didn’t seem surprised, but his disappointment was obvious. “Aye, aye, ma’am. That’s too bad. We were looking forward to squaring off against Lieutenant Paen. After what she did to the Lusies on Montana, well, we thought this one might get interesting.”
“Me too, Lance Corporal. We all have our off days. Lieutenant Paen is no different. She’ll just have to try again, perhaps sooner than later, mmm? I hope it’s the former. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“General Granby, out.”
The water below was choppier and Promise could see a coral reef as they approached the atoll.
“There,” Granby said.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Deal with the private who blew your op and teach him to keep his finger off the trigger.” Granby cleared her throat. “Mount Bane no longer expects you. So you’ll have the element of surprise. Don’t blow it.
“I didn’t tell the lance corporal you were ordered to stand down. Merely that you were asked to call it a day. You’re not the only one getting schooled today. In war, Marines often see what they want to see and end up misreading the battlefield. The Corps does a good job of teaching us to look for the enemy in hiding, not so the enemy in plain sight. If the lance corporal is sharp, he’s going to figure out something is amiss. Hopefully not too soon. Lieutenant, a suggestion?”
“By all means,” Promise said.
“You’d best hurry before he pushes the green button and blows you away. You are to use every advantage at to your disposal to take the installation and secure the control room. That’s an order.” The general smiled. “And Lieutenant, be brilliant. Granby, out.”
Sixteen
APRIL 24TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 0559 HOURS
REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
PUGILIST SEA, CORREGIDOR ISLAND WARFARE TRAINING CENTER
“This place crawls.” Sergeant Richard Morris sounded teed off.
From his tone of voice, Promise didn’t have to guess what he was actually thinking. Lieutenant, back at the firing range, I told you so.
“Or at least it will when those things reactivate,” Morris added a moment later, gauntlet pointing at the ledge above.
Promise turned to look at Morris and punched him in the shoulder plate a bit harder than she’d planned to. The sergeant lost his balance and fell over in the wet sand.
“Sorry, Rich. I didn’t think you’d topple so easily.”
Morris lay on his side, laughing, in a sandy depression ringed by one-and-a-half-meter-tall greenie. “Thanks a lot, ma’am.” He started choking on his laughter. “I needed that.”
Beside Morris were Promise and Lance Corporal Kathy Prichart. Kathy’s rifle was up and tracking. Promise’s HUD was zoomed to nine-times magnification. At their backs lay the beach with the sound of rolling surf. The remaining points of Victor Company were submerged in a nearby tidal pool, roughly thirty meters away. The pool was shallow enough that Gunnery Sergeant Ramuel had had to sit down to fully submerge, legs straight out in front of him. He’d nearly mutinied when Promise split the remains of Victor Company into two understrength toons of three points each—Alpha and Omega—and left him behind.
“Because we started this op and we’re going to finish it too,” she’d said.
“And how are we supposed to topple them?” Morris asked as he took a knee in the sand and brushed off his gauntlets.
Up ahead lay Mount Bane’s leeward face. Reaching the ledge above meant a near-vertical climb while two ANDES stood watch. The ledge was sizable, perhap
s large enough to accommodate a small shuttle or VTOL, though Promise wouldn’t have tried a landing, not with her meager piloting skills. According to the mystery schematic on her HUD, an access tube emptied onto the ledge and back-flowed deep inside the mountain fortress. Promise’s HUD calculated the distance from the ground to the ledge—130 meters—and then calculated the safest route to the top, which zigged a good bit and zagged across half again as much rock, all angles and faces. There was no way she was climbing that in or out of mech.
“The ascent is impossible, ma’am.” Now Morris sounded ticked off.
“Pull out your gravbelt, Sergeant.” Promise removed hers from one of her mechsuit’s side compartments. Two interlocking plates formed the belt’s thick rectangular clasp.
“Bond, establish a link and make it rise.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The belt rose on a cushion of countergrav, and floated out of her hands. “We’re going to strap these on, and make ascent.”
“And leave our mechsuits behind? With respect, ma’am, you’ve got to be kidding.”
Promise read something in Morris’s jacket about his fear of heights. Perhaps he was rattled. Phobias did that sort of thing, even to veteran operators.
“Well, Sergeant, your belt can’t handle your weight and your mechsuit’s too. You could try to jump the cliff. A full boost might get you there. Though you’ll probably signal our position to every ANDES on the island. You could free-climb the ascent. But I wouldn’t try it. Got another idea?”
“How do you plan to deal with the ANDES once you scale the face?” Morris asked.
“Mr. Bond, would you kindly explain that to the sergeant?” Promise slaved the company battlenet to her HUD so her boots could watch Bond’s presentation.
“Yes, ma’am.” A window opened on Promise’s HUD and a full-body avatar of her AI appeared to the side, standing at attention. Balding and well into his sixth decade, Mr. Bond wore a thin monocle and tan utilities. Her AI nodded sharply at her and motioned to the left. On cue, a large whiteboard and a tray of markers appeared. Bond chose blue and set to work.
“What am I looking at, ma’am?”
“The answer to your question, Sergeant,” Bond said as he wrote, “is quite elementary. These are Mount Bane’s access codes.”
“Access codes?” Prichart, Morris, Go-Mi, and the gunny said in unison.
“Access codes,” said Promise.
Atumbi mumbled something under his breath.
“I heard that, Race.” Promise spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. “And, no, we are not in over our heads.”
“Have a little faith,” said Maxi.
Morris’s visor cleared, revealing a scrunched-up face. “You’re gaming the games—ma’am?”
“I’m seizing the initiative, Sergeant. Today’s exercise simulates desperate circumstances. Today we blew our cover, and most of us died on-the-drop. On average, assaulting units lose forty percent in the air, and another thirty on the beachhead—and those are the lucky ones. No unit has ever successfully pierced Mount Bane’s defenses and taken the control room. This exercise is meant to be lost.” Promise grew quiet. “Not today. During my comm with the general, I received a short-burst transmission with a schematic of the island and the stand-down commands for the ANDES and the island’s perimeter defenses.”
“Why did the general give you that?” replied Sergeant Morris.
“We don’t know that she did,” Promise said, though she believed the general had. “Scuttlebutt says Great-Grans hates this exercise. Hates the whole idea of a no-win op. Well, I’m with her there. Maybe she’s making her point. Or someone else is for her. Right now I don’t care. We have sentries to neutralize.” Promise fashioned her right gauntlet into a weapon and pointed toward the ledge, pulled the invisible trigger, and held it for a solid one-count.
Nothing happened. Promise pulled the trigger again, and then a third time.
“Is that thing loaded?” Prichart asked.
Very funny. “Bond?”
“I sent the stand-down codes and the ANDES acknowledged receipt. I’m just as mystified as you.”
Without warning, the leftmost ANDES’s head snapped up. It spun on its synthetic heels and walked to the second ANDES, and picked it up around the waist. Turned, and walked to the cliff’s edge, and threw it over.
“ANDES overboard,” said Prichart.
The members of Alpha toon heard the ANDES skip down the mountain face over their suit’s external pickups. The crash was spectacular.
“So much for camaraderie,” replied Sergeant Morris. “Look—this is getting interesting.”
The first ANDES was examining its forearm, which housed a small pulse cannon. Then it opened its mouth and …
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” replied Kathy.
Looks like the scuttlebutt about Great-Grans is true, thought Promise.
Because the ANDES’s weapon was also on games mode, it inflicted no real damage to its synthetic self. The ANDES still dropped to the ground like a real suicide.
“All right then.” Promise broke concealment. “Crack your suits and shed ’em. Strap on your belts. Bring your rifle, a pistol, and all the cells you can carry. Leave everything else. This won’t take long.”
“What else aren’t you telling us, Lieutenant?” asked the sergeant.
“As soon as we hit the ledge I fully expect a proximity alarm to go off. I wasn’t sent the codes for that.”
“Wonderful.”
“That’s the spirit,” replied Gunnery Sergeant Ramuel. He, Sergeant Sindri, and Private Atumbi were moving up from the pool, and their mechsuits were slick with water. The gunny pulled off his helmet and racked it to his side about the time he reached their position. He dropped his arms and planted his feet a shoulder width apart. A seam materialized along the length of his battle armor, from crotch to sternum, and then down the length of each leg, stopping just above the ankle. Then the gunny stepped out of his mechsuit. He was wearing his black beegees, or underarmor one-piece, and a high-and-tight. Gold Vs on khaki flash rode each shoulder. Below the left shoulder lay the Pythons’ unit patch: the bright green and gold snake was coiled around a warship in the throes of death. The gunny’s branch tab covered his heart and his individual name the opposite side of his chest.
“I’ve never heard of Marines assaulting a fortified installation in beegees, ever.” The gunny looked himself over with disgust. “Might as well be in skivvies, ma’am. These patches are nothing but bull’s-eyes.”
“That’s why I brought blackouts. Just in case.” Promise stepped out of her mechsuit and stretched her arms over her head. “Ah, that feels better.” Then she pulled a wad of patches from a thigh compartment, and tossed several to the gunny. She had enough to go around. “Heads up.”
I hope I’m right about this. Promise looked out into the great beyond, mouthed, Sir, a little help and a lot of cover, please.
“You brought blackouts?” Ramuel couldn’t hide his surprise. “That’s not fair, ma’am. With respect, you should have warned us.”
Promise quickly applied the blackouts to her underarmor. “The enemy rarely does. There, I’m dark. Problem solved.”
“Ma’am, I’ve transferred the stand-down codes to your minicomp, continual squawk.” With her helmet off, Bond’s SITREP came through her mastoid implant. “It will be short-range inside the mountain. Maybe fifteen meters. Remember to give the codes time to work before you count the ANDES out.”
“Roger that.” Promise didn’t bother looking over her shoulder at her mechsuit, at the ghost in her suit. She glanced at her minicomp to confirm receipt of the codes before strapping it to her arm. “Squawking confirmed. Thank you, Mr. Bond. Please hold down Fort Paen while I’m away.”
She sighed as cool ocean air washed over her body. “At least beegees breathe.” Promise tapped several commands into her minicomp and picked up a foot. Her boot reconfigured itself for standard duty, with an aggressive tread and a
noise-canceling sole. “Set your belt for a one-meter-per-second rise. Stay on Lance Corporal Prichart. Move out.”
Seventeen
APRIL 24TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 0608 HOURS
REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
PUGILIST SEA, CORREGIDOR ISLAND WARFARE TRAINING CENTER
Promise hugged Kathy’s six as they entered the mountain fortress, quick-timing it with the rest of her Marines in a single-column formation, the gunny at the rear. The mystery schematic had revealed the entrance they were using, suggesting it ran deep inside Mount Bane. The map’s value ended there. From this point forward the map was a fog.
Remember, it’s just a game, P. That brought her little comfort.
Her thoughts drifted from Marine to Marine, until she got to Kathy. You’ve grown attached, P, and you know better. It’s Lance Corporal Prichart. Promise knew she should think of her plucky subordinate as a promising noncommissioned officer first, someday maybe even a “Top Three” SNCO. The markers for greatness were there: competence; dedication; unwavering loyalty; and a zeal that encouraged her toonmates to step up their game. Deep down, she worried about losing Kathy. Combat was a master thief, stealing what the heart could not replace. “An officer must maintain a healthy distance from her subordinates.” She knew the regulation, why it was drafted in the first place. Commanders needed their wits about them on the battlefield, thoughts unburdened by personal affections. But Promise couldn’t shake it. Kathy had somehow slipped through a chink in her armor, and past the wall she’d erected. Never let them in. She glanced down at Kathy’s artificial foot, remembering her guardian’s near brush with death on Montana. Focus, P. Keep your thoughts centered and you’ll keep her safe. Stop going to a dark place.
The farther in they went the more the cavern walls narrowed, the more her nerves took hold of her thoughts. If they ran into trouble, Kathy would take the brunt of it. What if Mount Bane’s defenders misunderstood what was happening and responded with lethal force? She should have thought of that. If they got pinched by the enemy, they could be goners. The entrance had been a tight fit, barely a shoulder’s width across. She might have scraped inside in her mechsuit. Maybe. Now she doubted it.
