Black Sword (Decker's War, #5)

by Eric Thomson

  “Why the fence?”

  “We handle a lot of classified intel. It wouldn’t do to have Private Bloggins of first platoon, Alpha Company, wander in, and get an eyeful just before heading into Treves for R&R. The terrs have a good urban presence, and they’re not above a spot of abduction and torture.”

  “Or the odd honeypot operation, I’ll wager.”

  “That as well.”

  After parking the skimmer, Suvorov led him to the recon unit lines, pointing out the sights. But Zack was only listening with half an ear while he ran an internal debate on how best to act with Lora.

  Explaining his presence here would be a challenge after what they lived through together a few years earlier. And although he had trusted Cyone implicitly back then, people changed, especially when their lives were transformed to the degree hers had been after the debacle on Garada. Then there was the awkward fact they’d had a close sexual relationship for the better part of a year and knew more intimate details about each other than almost anyone else.

  “The boss works out of this box,” Suvorov said, stopping at a scorch-marked drop container. It had received door and window cutouts after fulfilling its primary mission of moving supplies from an orbiting transport to the ground. He stuck his head inside and said, “Whate, William B., reporting in, Sergeant.”

  A rough alto he remembered only too well replied, “Thanks for the pickup, Alex.”

  “The terrs tried to ambush us on the way back, not long after we pulled off the main road. Whate spotted it before they could blow our asses sky-high. He probably nailed half a dozen of them with the RWS when we punched through. I’ll give operations a full report.”

  “Sounds like he’ll fit right in.”

  Suvorov pointed at the ground by the door, “Leave your kit here. It won’t grow legs. We have the lowest buddy-fucking rates in the entire Corps. When you’re done, stick your head in next-door, where I’ll be giving ops the rundown on our little adventure. I’ll show you to your bunk.”

  “Come on in, Private Whate.”

  Decker took a deep breath, then entered his new platoon leader’s office and stomped to attention in front of her field desk.

  “Whate, William B., reporting to the sergeant as ordered.” He looked down at her and met eyes wide with shock. “I guess the appropriate cliché for the occasion would be, long time, no see?”

  Cyone hadn’t changed in the years since Talyn shanghaied Zack after he turned Decker’s Demons, the two hundred slave soldiers he’d freed and brought back with him, over to the Corps. Cyone was still the tall, lean woman with a face marked by life’s vicissitudes that he remembered. She did, however, sport a full head of hair now, and it wasn’t as she had predicted, gray and stringy, but a lustrous silver.

  “Shut the door and take a chair,” she finally said. “I think we have matters to discuss.”

  He sat and they examined in other in silence before Cyone broke the spell.

  “What in the name of everything that’s holy are you doing here as a middle-aged private recruited from within the correctional system? Didn’t the Corps recall you to active duty as a warrant officer?”

  “Isn’t our unofficial motto don’t ask, don’t tell?”

  Cyone snorted.

  “This is me, Zack. At one time, we had no secrets from each other. If you’re to be one of my troopers, I need to know.”

  “I was recalled to active duty and detailed to Naval Intelligence, the part of intelligence that takes care of unspeakable deeds. Made it up to major before my unfortunate exile on Desolation Island.”

  Her eyebrows shot up.

  “Major? That sounds like the Zack Decker I knew. Private Whate doesn’t. What happened?”

  “I killed people during a covert operation who were dirty as sin but turned out to have powerful friends. Said friends made sure I paid for my actions and through my sentencing, served as an object lesson to my colleagues.”

  A skeptical frown creased her forehead, accentuating lines etched on a face that seen its fair share of death.

  “Why is it that your story sounds a little too glib?” Cyone asked. “I saw you in action, remember? Zack Decker doesn’t let himself get screwed over. Screwed yes, but on his terms. At least the Zack Decker who saved two hundred lives, mine included, doesn’t. But he used to spin a good tale when the spirit moved him.”

  “People change, Lora, present company included. And how did you end up running the 1st Battalion’s recon platoon?”

  “After you left us, we strange, damaged people were offered a chance to serve, provided it was in the Marine Light Infantry for at least the first five years. Someone probably spent too much time reading Foreign Legion histories and wanted to revive a few old ideas.”

  She paused and grimaced.

  “When I say offered a chance, that’s not entirely accurate — the Nelvans weren’t given a choice. No one wanted to see peculiar humans who had no notion of our civilization roam freely throughout the Commonwealth. And since they had been bred to become slave soldiers, it was deemed better to have them adjust while under military discipline.”

  Cyone shrugged.

  “The notion wasn’t too far-fetched, considering I witnessed quite a few of them struggling to adapt. They gave the rest of us a choice. But for those who had been Marines, the offer to put on a uniform again, at the last rank we held, proved to be irresistible, even if it meant serving in the Legion of the Damned. Since I had no attachments, no one waiting for me anywhere, I returned to the one family I knew. I’ve had recon platoon for two years now. It’s not an easy life, but it’s one I understand.”

  “Then you know why I’m here after losing everything. The Corps is also the only life I understand.”

  She nodded.

  “Fair enough, as far as the sentiment goes, Zack. But my finely tuned bullshit detectors aren’t convinced you’ve told me the whole truth. Remember that I spent a lot of time staring into your eyes while we made love.”

  When he held her gaze with unrepentant steadiness, she sighed.

  “Okay, have it your way. If you change your mind, remember that you used to trust me implicitly. What do you know about the situation here?”

  “That if the Commonwealth government had leaned on Celeste to cut Marengo a bit of slack after Garonne threw the colonial administration out of its system, we wouldn’t be here. But no one ever takes threats of rebellion seriously until blood is flowing and we Marines become the sole lifeline. Never mind that once we’re done, we leave them with home rule, if not outright independence, so we don’t have to come back for a do-over. These rebels, terrorists, guerrillas, call them what you want, are among the nastiest we’ve seen in recent decades. And like most rebels nowadays, they have off-world support that somehow gets through the blockade. Assassination, terrorism, attacks on civilian loyalists, on government employees and of course on us and the Marengo Militia are everyday occurrences.”

  Cyone nodded.

  “Good high-level overview. Whatever brought you to my doorstep hasn’t messed with your brains.”

  “I keep myself informed.”

  Cyone touched a tablet on her desk, summoning a three-dimensional map projection displayed vertically on a blank wall.

  “Treves, the capital,” she said, indicating Marengo’s largest city, “is the insurgency’s center of gravity. Intelligence tells us they hope to destabilize and crash the colonial administration in one fell swoop. Once that happens, they intend to set themselves up as Marengo’s popular saviors and thus the provisional government once they’ve seized the levers of power. It’s thought the Garonne example carries great weight with the terrs’ leadership.”

  Decker repressed a smile, seeing as how he couldn’t tell Lora that he’d been the driving force behind the decapitation strike on Garonne.

  “The entire 14th Marines — over five thousand strong,” Cyone continued, “is backstopping the militia in Treves and the other major towns. They’re trying hard to chase in
surgents out of the settled areas and deprive them of support. The insurgency hasn’t spread to other parts of the planet yet, but I understand that we may see a second full-strength regiment plus a divisional headquarters join us if we can’t contain it. Our job, and by that I mean the 1st Battalion’s, is to find the terrs’ operating bases in the hinterland and deprive them of sanctuaries.”

  “Squeeze ‘em between a rock and a nasty place.” Decker dipped his head once.

  “Exactly.” She indicated the map projection. “The battalion’s strung out in a line of company FOBs that sit on or near the insurgents’ suspected main supply routes. From there, we can project government power into the more remote communities, where sympathy for the cause is stronger.”

  “Or where they hold more sway, extracting civilian support through intimidation. You said we’re sitting athwart their MSRs — that means their off-world support filters through the backcountry, right?”

  “Right.” An ironic smile pulled at her thin, bloodless lips. “I’m wondering whether I shouldn’t keep you as a command post operator rather than send you on terry-hunts over hell’s half-acre.”

  “Do they give you that much latitude for employing brand new privates?”

  “It’s my platoon. I run it as I see fit, so long as the CO is happy with the results and my troopers’ morale is solid.”

  “No one would object to a recent boot getting a cushy slot?”

  “The regiment works on the principle of the best person for the job. Everyone has a past and even if we don’t discuss it that’s no reason to ignore prior training and experience. And it’s hardly an undemanding slot. While the recon sections patrol the jungle, platoon HQ spends a fair amount of time in the settlements, talking to the locals, listening and watching. That’s not without its perils.”

  “A lot of work for one platoon. What’s our size?” Decker asked.

  “Would you believe seventy-two? Four recon sections of twelve, a logistics section of ten and fourteen in HQ section.”

  He exhaled in a low whistle.

  “That’s big enough for a senior lieutenant’s command, if not a junior captain’s.”

  “Sure, but our officer to noncom ratio is even more skewed than in the rest of the Corps. We figure a few specialized units, such as recon, are better off with a command noncom who has an extra decade of combat experience.”

  “You’ll not hear any arguments from me on that score. I’ve suffered under officers whose reach exceeded their understanding of reality.”

  “Fortunately, we have none of those in the 1st Battalion,” she replied. “So what do you say, Zack — sorry, Bill? Operations rather than a recon section? I sure could use your brains, and it’s hardly a feather merchant’s job.”

  “What’s your operations sergeant like?” He asked.

  “Oh, you’ll like her. She’s mouthier than you are and with an even more questionable sense of humor. Hang on.” Cyone touched the tablet again. “Karin, if you have a moment, I might have stumbled across an excellent command post operator for you.”

  “On my way,” a disembodied female voice replied.

  Moments later, an inner door, leading to a container abutting Cyone’s office swung open, admitting a squat, powerfully built woman with staff sergeant’s stripes on her collar. Her short brown hair fringed a square face, dominated by a sharp nose. Deep-set dark eyes immediately locked onto Decker.

  “I gather this is the command post operator you mentioned, Boss,” she said by way of greeting. “Looks like a boot fresh from training. Is it even housebroken?”

  “Karin Hurst, meet Bill Whate, newly arrived from Fort Erfoud. Bill’s an old acquaintance of mine, a former Pathfinder who strayed from the one true path and is now finding it again with us. He has one of the best tactical minds I’ve met and has more experience with counter-insurgencies than the rest of us put together.”

  “My, my.” Hurst studied Zack with undisguised interest. “Does it walk on water as well?”

  “It,” Decker said, smirking, “prefers to be called he, if you don’t mind, Sergeant. We lowly boots still have human feelings that can be hurt though I expect we lose them by the time we reach the dizzying heights of buck sergeant.”

  Hurst and Cyone exchanged looks.

  “Feisty,” the former said, cocking an eyebrow. “It’ll make a change from the usual. I’ll take him for a test drive, Boss. But if he proves to be a pain in the ass, you can toss him at one of the recon sections. They’re always looking for big guys to haul the heavy ordnance.”

  Cyone nodded.

  “Fair enough.”

  “All right, Mister Human Feelings,” Hurst pointed at the door behind her. “Let’s see if you’re as bright as the boss says.”

  Thirty-Four

  “You and Lora, was it?” Hurst chuckled, leading him into an otherwise empty command post module. “I never would have figured you two were each other’s type.”

  She pointed at a vacant console.

  “Sit.”

  “What makes you think it was her and me at one point?” Decker asked, doing as ordered.

  “The sexual tension in that office was almost intoxicating. Besides, I could see in her eyes that she still has a soft spot for you. It must have been a whirlwind affair if I can still smell faint echoes years later.”

  When Decker gave her a disdainful look, she raised both hands in surrender.

  “None of my business and she never spoke of a big, bad, ex-Pathfinder stealing her heart. Now, how about you pull up the latest situation map and tell me what you perceive, deduce, and predict? I want to see how well you can think, and if you can put yourself into the enemy’s shoes. You might be a counter-insurgency genius, as per Lora, but if you’re unable to think like an insurgent, you’re missing half the picture.”

  When Hurst saw the perfectly innocent expression on his face, she frowned.

  “Let me guess, you worked with rebels in the past, right?”

  “I think that comes under don’t ask, don’t tell, Sergeant.”

  “In that case, begin your analysis and convince me I should adopt you.”

  “Where I come from,” Decker replied, turning to the three-dimensional projection on the console, “when a grown woman talks about adopting a grown man, it doesn’t even remotely refer to what you might have meant.”

  “Trust me, Mister Human Feelings; I’m always well aware of what I say.”

  “Should I be worried, Sergeant?”

  “If you don’t start analyzing, you’ll have more than enough cause to be concerned.”

  Half an hour later, when Decker fell silent, Hurst shook her head, chuckling. She reached for a tablet and tapped its screen.

  “Hurst to Cyone.”

  “Go ahead, Karin.”

  “I nominate Private Whate for the operations noncom job, Boss. He teased things from the current situation digest I had never even considered, and he made interesting observations about the enemy. Give ops to Whate and let me go back to a recon section.”

  Cyone’s dry chuckle resurrected memories Decker had thought long buried.

  “Sorry, Karin. I need a sergeant to run ops, and Whate’s not close enough to qualify for a field promotion. Not even an acting one. Take advantage of his brains and learn. I have the feeling we won’t enjoy his company for long.”

  “Why?” Hurst gave Zack a suspicious glance.

  “He’s that sort, Karin, a man with terminal wanderlust. Here today, gone whenever he gets the itch.”

  “Love ‘em and leave ‘em, as the old expression goes?”

  “Not quite in those words,” Cyone replied, “but close enough. If he’s shown such a good grasp of the situation, I suggest you take him on a tour tomorrow and let him see the settlements in our area of operations. Perhaps he’ll get a vibe from the locals we’ve been unable to pick up.”

  “Good idea. Will do. Ops, out.”

  Hurst stared at him for a few heartbeats, then said, “A man with wanderlust?
Seeing as how you’re locked into the regiment for five years, I wonder where the boss gets that impression.”

  “Do you expect me to answer, Sergeant?”

  “Not really and do me a favor. Try not to sound like a damn officer when you speak to me, okay? It’s a tad unnerving coming from a private fresh out of training, where he should have learned better.”

  *

  “These people don’t much like us,” Decker said climbing back aboard the skimmer after an awkward and inconclusive chat with the local mayor.

  “I’ve known that since day one. What tipped you off?” Hurst asked, sliding into the passenger seat beside Zack.

  “Kids who should be in school running for the woods just as his honor was inviting us in for tea.”

  Hurst turned her head to stare at him.

  “Meaning?”

  “Using children as part of your early warning system is an old, old practice. Who’d suspect them of acting as dispatch runners for the rebels? Except they launched a few seconds too early, letting me see them head out.”

  “So we can expect an ambush?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Decker fed power to the fans and lifted the skimmer off the ground. “The terrs will have told folks around here to report any interaction with us, no matter how small, on pain of living through their worst nightmares. It’s midmorning and we’re within artillery range of FOB Tanner, so I’d say the odds are they’ll note our visit and let it slide. But as always, it pays to stay alert.”

  “And what about his honor, as you called him?”

  Hurst switched on the remote weapons system and set the fire control AI to active scan.

  “A rabbit scared of his own shadow. The terrs can make him do anything they want, and it’s a certainty they are.”

  She nodded. “That’s been my impression as well. Guys like him aren’t of any damn use if we try to put pressure on them, so we haven’t.”

  “Judging by the guarded looks we’re getting from the other settlers, I doubt we’ll find anyone around here willing to point us in the right direction if we asked.”