Traffic control had to keep the ships flying, so they’d locked down the affected hubs and left the others to function as normal. A ship was taking off in a welter of smoke and vapor. Too far away to help, but one of the frequent storms that swept across the planet had chosen that moment to blow.
He was on foot and raced across the surface. The dense cloud flowed around him, giving him some temporary cover. It wouldn’t last. He had seconds before it passed, but he was heading for a small firefighting locker, partway to the oncoming buggies. They were coming fast, heading for the fight around the next hub, and they’d opened fire. The rebels had no choice but to huddle behind cover, except for two brave men who returned fire. Not enough, they should all have shot back at the buggies, and maybe destroyed one of two of them. All they did was give them the chance to get closer and use their automatic fire to slice through the rebels.
Not on my watch.
They were coming close to where he waited and hadn’t seen him crouched behind the solid structure. Or if they had, assumed he wasn’t a threat. Two hundred meters away, and they’d pass within forty meters. The cloud was starting to thin, and he catapulted out into the open, running at the charging vehicles. The angles converged, and the range narrowed. At the last moment, the rearmost vehicle saw him, and the guns swung toward him. Willing a massive surge of adrenaline to course through his body, he felt the cybernetic muscles respond, and he charged.
It took them by surprise, the red-suited, armed figure racing at mind-numbing speed. Some of the shooters hesitated, and it was another mistake. He pulled the trigger, firing on the run, and the first burst cut down the troopers inside the rearmost skiff. The others recognized the danger, and the first shots ripped into the ground around his boots, too slow. The RedCorp pressure suit confused them, and some held their fire. The shooting was desultory at first, and he rolled to the ground as he reached the nearest point. Fired, and fired again.
Another skiff veered and stopped, with two men dead. The two surviving crew jumped out and returned fire from behind the vehicle. He ignored the shots churning up the ground after him, and raked the remaining two skiffs. They’d slowed, and then accelerated toward where the rebels had regrouped and begun to shoot back. This time, they put up a solid barrage of fire that raked the vehicles, and another flipped over. The last vehicle hurtled toward them, but now the odds were more even. Cage had his own problems. The troopers sniping at him from behind the skiff were good. A shot ripped through the shoulder of his suit, and then something slammed into him, a two-shot burst that found his left arm.
The arm would wait, the suit couldn’t. Air was hissing out through the ruined fabric, and he knew his life could be measured in minutes, maybe even seconds. Holding the rifle in one hand and shooting just to hold them back, he searched for a means to repair the breach, but there was nothing. He knew the drill, and what would happen after taking a breach like this. He’d pass out in a matter of seconds. After that, death was a guarantee. Even if he recovered in time, the lack of oxygen and bitter cold would cause irreparable damage.
There’s a reason we used to put a bullet in the head of the wounded back in the day.
He shook the thought from his mind. There just had to be a way, but how? There was just nothing of use, except…the body lying where it had fallen, a meter away. The suit had shredded when the shots ripped into him, and all that remained was a corpse, open to the Martian atmosphere. But the fabric of the suit offered him a chance. He reached out, grabbed the man, and dragged him back into cover. He took out the utility knife from his belt, slashed a patch of material from the wrecked suit, and wrapped it around the tear.
The escape slowed, but nothing like enough to keep him alive, until the two pieces of material started to fuse. Every suit carried a mist sealant that could repair minor breaches. With the gaps reduced to a manageable size, the vaporized bonding agent performed an adequate repair, close to a weld on his suit. Some kind of intelligent fabric, and he didn’t care to speculate, just that the leak was slowing. Seconds later, the leak had sealed, but he was a long way from being out of trouble. He saw movement and looked up in time to see the two RedCorp troopers racing toward him. They’d abandoned their wrecked skiff and come out to exterminate the man who’d dared to kill their comrades.
A quick glance across at the next hub, the rebels were mopping up, and the last of the skiffs was a smoking ruin. With luck, they’d make it. He wouldn’t, couldn’t. He stayed low, popped up and returned fire, but their rifles put down an awesome depth of fire, and he felt the impact of hits on his already damaged leg. A single round from a railgun punched into the limb, bursting out in a spray of blood and metal filings.
Damn it!
He flexed the actuators, and the damage was serious. He knew he wouldn’t make it, and then Luther and Rose were racing toward him, controlling the combat skiff on manual. They were clearly no experts, but they moved quickly. One of the troopers saw them and switched his aim, forcing them to swerve away, and they disappeared behind a parked load hauler. Barely two meters long, the tiny tractor was like everything on tech-led Mars, lightweight. A bundle of plastics and electronics, and the incoming fire began drilling holes through the vehicle.
With no options left, he leaned out, ignoring the gunfire that raked around him and drilled into his legs. Two shots hit him in the already damaged arm, but he held the aim and squeezed the trigger; kept squeezing until the threat to his friends spun to the surface in a tangle of ruined suit and escaping blood. They took the chance and sprinted across the final gap to join him. Rose looked down at the damage he’d sustained and frowned.
“How bad is it?”
“I’ll live.”
“Not if we don’t get out of this. You were right. We need to link up with the rebels. Can you walk?”
They ducked as shots chewed up the ground. More skiffs were racing across the spaceport. The first had opened fire on them at long range, and they could measure the time they had left in seconds.
“Rose, you and Luther have to move. If you go now, you can make it. I’ll cover you.”
“We go together, or not at all.”
“Rose, I can’t.”
“The leg?” She glanced down at the ruined suit, and the hardware inside the limb was visible through the damage; seals in the suit already clamped down at the base of the damaged limbs, sacrificing them to maintain the integrity of the shattered suit.
“It’s finished, outside of a repair workshop. That’s not gonna happen on Mars. Face it. I’m finished. My suit’s not gonna hold up much longer, and my leg…” He groaned, “It’s freezing up already.”
“We’ll carry you. If we reach the rebels, they’ll help.”
“No. Get out of here. Let me do this last thing. Don’t worry. They won’t take me alive. Not again.”
“Wait here.”
He didn’t get a chance to reply. She’d darted into the open. A small group of rebels had appeared, and they ran at the overturned skiff. The troopers behind it saw them, popped a couple of wild shots in their direction, and changed his mind. He began running toward the approaching skiffs. The gunners saw a charging man with a gun and switched their aim, taking him down in a volley of shots that made him jerk like a marionette. It gave her the chance to reach the rebels, and she slid down beside them.
Cage kept shooting, and the skiffs had stopped for the security guards to form up into separate units for a concerted attack. Cage put out more firepower than an entire platoon of rebels, and with each burst he made them pay. Minutes, maybe seconds, and they’d come, hidden behind a heavy curtain of gunfire. He directed his gaze at Luther.
“You should get out of here, my friend. You know it’s over.”
“I know.” He shrugged, “Problem is, where would I go?”
He pointed. “With them, Rose made it.”
“Not anymore. Those troops are in position. If a mouse tries to run across, they’ll rip it to pieces. Hey, what’s going…shit, they�
��ve gone.”
He glanced at the rebel position, and it was empty. Incoming fire turned it into bullet-pocked wreckage, but no one was there to return fire. He regarded Luther.
“You should have gone with Rose. Luther, whatever happens, don’t let them take you alive. Martian prisons, they’re not…”
“Yeah, I get that. So this is it?”
“It is. We’re soldiers, you and me. We know fighting, and we expect it to go like this.”
He grabbed the man’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.
“They want us. We can’t stop them, but we can make them pay. Hell, we can make them pay.”
Luther nodded quickly as he listened.
“There’s nothing else.” Through the Perspex of the helmet, he saw the former marine’s lips open in a broad smile. He wondered about the legendary ‘Marine fighting spirit’ they instilled into them at boot camp. Drummed it into them so deep it never left. As long you had ammo in your weapon, life in the Corps gave you a single choice, to fight. So far, he was unscathed. But it wouldn’t last. He held out his hand.
“Luther, thanks for what you’ve done. Right from the start, in that old deuterium plant outside Westbank, you did what you could. You could have stayed home, but instead you came with Rose and me. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
They shook. “We gave ‘em something to think about, Cage. You know what they say, you don’t live forever.”
“Nope. Another minute or two is my best guess. Hold it, they’re coming. Oh, shit!”
They’d sited heavy machine guns at either flank, and the withering fire made it impossible for them to lean out and target the charging Martian troopers. With supporting fire and a massive numerical advantage, they were getting confident. The maneuver was simple, straight from the military manual, and effective. All they could do was hunker down, wait for the last moment when they got close, and then go down in a thunder of shots.
They waited, and he risked a quick peek out from cover, snatched his helmet back as a fury of shots threatened to smash through the Perspex.
Not long now. Maybe twenty seconds.
“Almost there, Luther.’
“Yeah.”
Five seconds passed, and one of the machine guns stopped shooting. Another five seconds, and the other machine gun went silent, but the assault rifles of the charging troops poured a torment of bullets at them. Another ten seconds, that’s all they had left. Twenty if they were lucky. Twenty seconds of life. He’d been waiting for this moment ever since he came out of Colonel Travers’ workshop of cybernetic miracles. Now it was here, fifteen seconds, then last life. Luther had moved away from him to cover the opposite flank.
A good move, not that it will make much difference. Maybe give him an extra five seconds of life. If he…
“Cage!” The voice came out of nowhere.
What the hell, am I hallucinating?
“Cage! Come with me.”
The face had come from nowhere, a gaunt, tired-before-its-time face behind the same helmet as him. “What…”
“Move it! Get your ass in here!”
“Cage, hurry.”
Rose, she was down there, too, down where? The small maintenance hatch appeared to be a conduit for sub-surface cables or pipes. He didn’t understand how or why, but the how didn’t matter. He shouted at Luther, “Get in there!”
“What…”
He grabbed the Marine vet and using the last of his fading strength, flung him at the hole. Hands reached out to pull him down. He resisted for a second. Then he was gone.
“Cage! Get down here.”
Rose’s voice, and with a last look at the oncoming troopers, he used his arms to grip the sides of the hatch and pulled himself down. She was there with a stranger, and they grabbed his suit and dragged him inside the dark, narrow shaft. The stranger slammed it shut, shot the bolts across, and then hit the seal button. Every tunnel and shaft on Mars had one, in a vain attempt to seal off all compartments from the bitter, inhospitable environment outside. The man shouted, “We’re not clear yet. We’re moving off.”
“I’ll stay here and hold them off.”
“Cage, you can’t!” Her voice was close to hysteria.
“Rose, they shot up my legs. I’ve lost most of the use of them. They were exposed to the air for too long. Nothing I can do about it.”
“Wait.”
Then the stranger had gone. He was back thirty seconds later, and already they were banging on the hatch, trying to open it. Shots clanged against the aluminum, and someone outside screamed for them to stop. Ricochets, more danger to the attackers than to the people they were trying to kill. Four men returned, the stranger and three others, and without ceremony, they took his arms and legs, and began to drag him. There was room for two rebels squeezed in front, two behind, and they were pulling along the smooth, plastic surface of the tunnel.
He closed his eyes and tried to direct his mind to accept the inevitable. He was on an alien planet, millions of kilometers from the sole source of specialist help to make repairs to his cybernetic limbs.
Why don’t they accept the truth? I could have stayed back, done some good. Held them off, and taken a few with me. I’m a soldier, and have never left. The ultimate sacrifice to save what has become my adopted unit, what better death can a soldier ask for?
He struggled to free himself. “I told you to leave me. Let me go.”
“Shut up.”
“Listen, you don’t understand. There’s no other way…”
They didn’t reply at first. He slid past an airlock door and yet another door hissed shut. The stranger said, “You can remove your helmets, but keep them handy. Those doors won’t hold for long. It’s time to leave before they get past the blockage.”
He reached up, unsnapped the locks, and removed it. The stranger’s face came into view, lit by dim translucent strips built into the plastic tunnel. He was slim, almost scrawny. Sallow, pale skin, etched with stress lines and wrinkles. He was thin, very thin, but behind the ice-blue eyes, more than a hint of power and determination, a strong man, a leader. He stared at Cage’s eyes. “I know you. What’s your name?”
“Cage. Noah Cage.”
“Lieutenant Noah Cage? 3rd of the 1st, PEF?”
It had been a long time since he’d heard that unit designation. “Used to be, 1st Lifer Platoon, 3rd Battalion 1st Marines. How come you know me?”
He ignored the question. “1st Lifer Platoon? That’s impressive. The Ironsiders, right?”
“That’s what they called us.”
He hesitated, but there was something about him that left him feeling comfortable.
“We were no different to any of the other Lifer units out there; the rebuilt remnants of Marine units, thrown together into heavy platoons in the field. You know how it is.”
The stranger looked at him carefully before answering. “Tell me.”
“After every campaign it gets harder to recruit new troops, but the Lifer platoons…”
He shook his head.
“They always grow in size. Victory or defeat, it makes no difference…and trust me, there were a lot more defeats. Ironsiders were no different. One platoon built from what was left of the entire battalion that made it back from the first screw-up. Trust me, the name was a lot fancier than the reality.”
Noah licked his lips, while keeping a careful eye on the stranger.
“First the battalion, and then my entire platoon was wiped out. There’s just me now. My unit died here, on Mars, four years ago. Last life for all of them.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked carefully at the stranger.
“You served?”
“5th of the 1st, I held the rank of captain in those days.” He gave a bitter laugh, “You’re not wrong about the campaigns. We hit the Tharsis Plateau in division strength. Less than twenty-four hours we were back on the boats, like every other damned landing on this rock.”
He shook his head, sighing as his mind drifted to the past.
“Same tactics every single time. You’d think they’d learn. Instead we drop thousands in for a frontal assault, and every time they are waiting and ready.”
He sighed and shook his head again.
“Times have changed. I’ve been promoted.”
Noah looked confused. “Promoted?”
“Colonel Ray Jamison, and I lead a battalion of rats.”
“Rats?”
“Welcome to the other Mars, the one most people don’t know about. Up on the surface, they live in luxury villas built beneath pressurized domes. Here, we live in caves, like rats. It means we can maintain a pressurized habitat and keep out of sight, away from their guns. Time to move out, Cage.”
“Colonel, listen. It’s no go. I’m finished. You’re wasting your time.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. We have a tech that may be able to fix you up. We could use a man like you. I’ve got plenty who know how to die. I need someone who knows how to fight. It’s time to move out.”
He used his arms to pull himself along. Rose stayed with him. Luther walked behind, and as the narrow shaft opened into a wider tunnel, there was room for her to walk beside him. Jamison was the other side. “I’m guessing you don’t know much about us.”
“Us?”
“We call ourselves Justice. That’s what we’re after, and they refuse to let us have it.”
“Who are they?”
“The five corporations. They’re the people who run Mars. Used to be more, but the biggest of them, RedCorp, has gradually taken over the smaller ones, and now they’re the biggest, the meanest, too. They have one aim that drives them. Profit, and to keep piling up their return on investment they’ll do anything to maximize cash flow. By anything, you’ve seen what they’re capable of. Back on Earth, during the Medieval Age, they’d execute folks for stealing a loaf of bread. Those days are back. My people are trying to eat, and they deny them food. If they try to take it, they’ll kill them. We’re asking for, no, demanding justice. To be treated as equals, as Humans. That’s why we fight.”
Last Life (Lifers Book 1) Page 17
