Tawn shifted in her chair, taking a relaxed posture as her story would be long. “So what was life like as a young slug? Well, as early as I can remember I was in combat training. Making war, combat, it’s like second nature to me. I was made, and trained, to be a killing machine.
“Not what I chose, but what was chosen for me. Same with my partner over there. We each saw our first combat when we were thirteen. They told us it was a training mission and then dropped us in the thick of an actual battle to evaluate us. We excelled.
“So they made more of us. I think Harris was division eight. I was division six. I believe a hundred forty of us came out that first year.
“Half are dead, and probably half again are missing this limb or that or this organ or that. But we persevered. We survived. We overcame the obstacles they put before us, and we stand here before you today in spite of the hardships we faced.”
Hobb held up a hand. “What was your fiercest battle?”
Tawn thought for a moment. You know what? Let me think on that for a few minutes. We’ll bring Mr. Gruberg up here to tell you about his. I’d be curious to hear that one myself.”
Harris stood and moved to the chair. “Gentleman… ladies… you better fasten your lap belts…”
Chapter 7
_______________________
Harris gave a synopsis of several of the battles that preceded the fight called the Helm Engagement. Transport fleets had dropped thousands of soldiers on a rocky world with a thin atmosphere. It was similar in size to Domicile and New Earth, but with no vegetation to speak of because of 7 percent humidity level. Helm was bone dry.
Both sides had a limited number of plasma charges for their weapons. The fleets, after dumping the soldiers, fought a fierce battle to the last ship, abandoning the ground troops with both sides fearing to commit more ships. Twenty thousand NE regulars had been placed against six thousand DD regulars and four hundred slugs and stumps.
Harris said, “We sat for three days just staring across a rock strewn field that separated our forces, each force tucked behind a hillside. I was given a night watch. Stump vision is 20/12 as compared to most. We can see more detail. And it’s better in the dark than standard.
“Anyway, I was watching these two NE mooks who were watching me when the head of a guy just to my left exploded. Brains and skull were everywhere. It was a mess. Then the same thing happened just to my right. That’s when I saw the faintest muzzle flash coming from a hilltop behind the enemy. Someone was picking us off from nearly three kilometers distance.
“I pinpointed the sniper using a laser-scope, and a guided mortar saw to it they didn’t pick off anyone else. Of course that sniper was not the only one. Turned out there were a dozen, and they were the elites of the NE forces. Our colonel called on three slugs to take them out. Unfortunately he also called on us to move back over the hill out of sight.
“The NE used that mistake to mount an assault. They were coming up the front of our hill before the alarm sounded. We held for a while, mostly in the center where the slugs and stumps were positioned. That turned out to be our colonel’s second mistake. Both ends were overrun and our support in the back got wiped out and our supplies destroyed.
“In a bold move, our major, a slug, called for our force to charge down the front of the hill. Five hundred regulars and half of our Biomarines made the break while an equal-size force held that hilltop. I was in the force that charged out.
“After diving into a cluster of NE Marines, I drew my sword and started to hack and slash. It was bloody, body parts were flying everywhere. The screams were horrific. Soldiers and Marines were dying to my right and to my left… up and down what we later called Slaughter Hill.
“My platoon broke free through the enemy lines and raced across the rock-covered field in the darkness. The rest of our breakout force was slowly pushed back up the hill, at great expense to the NE. Thirty-six of us, all slugs and stumps, charged up the opposing hill.
“The Earther lookouts were all watching the battle unfold on the other hilltop when we came upon them. Using our swords so as not to alert their support troops we were coming, we hacked them down one by one.
“When we descended on their encampment, they were in complete chaos. I shot, and hacked, and shot, and hacked, for what seemed like a couple hours. Turned out later we mopped them up in forty standard minutes. The three slugs that had been sent after the snipers completed their mission and joined us on that hilltop. We had captured two cases of those sniper rifles.
“Over the next three hours, the thirty-nine of us were credited with just over four thousand kills. The total would have been higher, but we ran out of rounds for those rifles. Our troops on the other hill fought valiantly, but their survival wasn’t to be. When the last man fell, the twenty-thousand-man NE force had been chopped down to just under three thousand. Those three thousand then turned their sights on us.
“We blew up their remaining supplies, before using our plasma rifles to kill hundreds more as they crossed that field. Our major called for us to retreat, taking refuge on the hill behind us, which was steeper and taller, preventing any type of an all-out charge. But they tried anyway.
“Eight hundred men were sacrificed trying to force their way up that steep terrain. Another hundred lost their lives trying to come around behind us, which was nearly impossible. The back of the hillside was a two hundred meter sheer rock cliff. Several more attempts to breach the hill from the back failed miserably.
“After that, we settled into a game of whack-a-mole. Somebody showed a head and they lost it. They told us twenty-nine hundred fifty-six NE regulars had survived the taking of our hill. Two days later we had their number reduced to just over eight hundred. We still had our thirty-nine.
“Had they not destroyed our supplies when they overran us initially, they would have been able to mortar us off that hill. As it turned out, a lack of water is what finished them off.
“Our Biomarine bodies are efficient at cooling themselves internally. We don’t sweat much. As a consequence, the dry Helm air didn’t knock us down like it did them. That and the fact that the first night, our colonel ordered the roundup of any surviving NE soldiers who were lying around us. If they still had heartbeats, they were put to use.
“It was grisly, but we were ordered to slit their wrists and to drain, filter, and drink their blood while preserving what water we had. The poor sap I grabbed kept me hydrated for two days.
“Our packs contained a small pump filter that took the toxic amounts of iron out. Drinking blood otherwise would make you sick. Anyway, we used the handful of survivors who had first charged up that hill as our personal water-bags. Our major was one of the few of us who had an above-average IQ. And she was all about taking every step she could to keep us alive.
“By the sixth day, we walked down that hill and offed those soldiers who were still breathing… one by one. Thirty-nine of us, out of more than twenty-six thousand soldiers who were dumped on Helm, claimed that planet for Domicile and all her citizens.”
Harris looked around the room to see nothing but wide eyes.
Tawn said, “Wow. You, sir, are to be commended. Didn’t know you were one of the thirty-nine. That was the premier fight of the Biomarines, and was the beginning of the push that saw four other planets liberated before the truce was called.”
Harris nodded. “Lost a lot of friends that day. The next fight, the Battle of Bloody Moon, the major took a plasma round in the neck. No offense to you, Freely, but she was the best slug I ever knew.”
Noff said, “We like to think our lives out here are a struggle, Mr. Gruberg. You have given us new perspective. Miss Freely? You have a similar experience? Compared to our mundane lives, you two have intriguing histories.”
Tawn took the chair and replied, “My story wasn’t quite like that. I was the member of a squad that was sent in to clear a city block in the Durant Colony of Haterra. The main NE force was in retreat. We were given the task of cl
eaning out the ones who wouldn’t leave.
“Mind you, many of these were the actual homeowners who thought they were just defending their property. Of course, two years before, these same people had butchered the Domicile settlers who had been there for centuries. So we didn’t have much sympathy for their cause.
“Anyway, my teammate and I entered one of these homes. It was like most of the homes on Haterra, a concrete slab and concrete walls. Similar to this very building, but with windows. We swept the main rooms, there were three of them on the main floor, and found them to be clear. Wanda, my teammate, as she moved to the stairs going up, the inhabitants tossed a grenade down.
“I managed to duck behind a counter, but Wanda was caught in the open. The frag split the back of her right thigh wide open in three places. At that same moment, the whole family, four in all, came charging down the stairs with their weapons firing. Before I could move, Wanda took three rounds from a Bartlet-3, the NE equivalent of our Fox-40s.
“One round entered her left forearm from the inside edge, taking half the meat and muscle off the back. Another struck her in that same shoulder, shredding her shoulder blade as it came out the back. A third entered her right leg, causing further injury to what had already been mangled by the grenade.
“From my vantage point I still couldn’t see them on the stairs, but Wanda could. She pulled her sword with her right hand and charged right up into them, taking out the mother first, followed by two teens. They fired repeated rounds at Wanda as she charged up the steps. Don’t know how they missed her, but they did. Their cowardly father was coming down last.
“As I moved across the floor to help my teammate, two heads and then the lower half of a torso tumbled down in front of me. The father came skidding down on his chest a few seconds later, terror in his eyes. Wanda rolled down behind him, stopping on her good leg before driving her blade through the back of his skull. Had they just given up, they’d have been returned to the NE for relocation.
“I did my best to give Wanda emergency aid until the medic team got there, but they were too late. As she died in my arms, I swore to myself that one day I would be as good a Marine as Wanda was. Even with all my training, that episode left me a bit out of it. When the cleaning of Durant was finished, I got sent back for an evaluation.
“During that trip, I paid a visit to the marksman range to try to take out some frustration. One of the instructors took an interest. Two weeks later I joined an elite team of snipers. I finished the war without ever getting close to another NE soldier.”
Harris said, “She was one of only thirty snipers to ever be certified as level four. And the only slug so far as I know. We were the foot soldiers, the building stormers and the sewer rats. Slugs and stumps got the dirty jobs, and the most difficult ones.”
Noff asked, “Do you fault the military for who you are?”
Tawn replied, “Fault? Are you kidding? I like who and what I am. While a part of me does wish they had focused a bit more on appearance, I wouldn’t trade my body or my life for anyone else’s.”
Noff glanced at Harris, who answered as well. “Just like everyone in this room, there are parts of it I’d love to swap out, but overall… I’m with her. What about your lives here? Any adventures? Hardships you’ve had to overcome? Or even stories you’ve heard over the years? We’ve got a lot of time to still cover before that herd passes.”
Hobb held up his hand. “I had a pet bogler once. Raised it from a calf. Shot it when it ate my cat.”
The room erupted in laughter.
Hobb crossed his arms with a huff. “I loved that cat! You can’t get them out here.”
Other stories of survival began to emerge from the mountain men and women who occupied the lounge at Colony #13. Harris and Tawn were called upon repeatedly to tell more tales of the war.
Harris was deeply involved in a harrowing engagement when the lookout came down from the roof. “Herd has passed! Time to clean up the strays!”
The men and women rose quickly, hustling to a storage locker that contained their crude but effective weapons. The remainder of the day saw a hundred eighty-four strays taken down.
The forth building in the colony was their butchery where the women ruled the day. Carcasses were stripped and cleaned, meat sliced for packing in salt and hides stacked for tanning. The event continued for thirty hours straight until the fifth building, used for storage, was completely full.
Harris and Tawn made their way out onto the plain. The Bangor was found, scratched and beaten, lying on its port side. The stampeding herd had pushed the twenty ton craft more than a kilometer from its landing location. Harris used the ship’s retrojets to right her, before a quick flight had them back at Colony #13.
Harris asked Noff, who was busily stacking the hides for the tanning that would come in the days that followed, “So if I go back to the farmers, how many kilos of meat are you looking to trade? How many weapons do you need?”
Noff sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gruberg. We have to finish this and I’m on the verge of collapse. We’ll be sleeping for a day when this is done. Come see me after that and I’ll give a full accounting of what we might want from you.”
Noff turned to continue his work as Tawn smacked Harris on the shoulder. “They’re feeding us. We aren’t burning any fuel. One more day won’t kill us.”
Harris replied with a growl. “If we don’t make a sale soon the stress might.”
Tawn said, “Well, let’s do some preliminary math. How much can the Bangor haul?”
Harris replied, “Three tons, give or take.”
Tawn rubbed her chin. “If we go with the two hundred fifty kilos per weapon Noff offered, that’s a dozen sales. Last I knew bogler or similar beef fetched a couple credits a pound. Three tons would be six thousand credits. Sounds like a haul to me. We just take the meat straight back to Domicile. Heck, we could dump the guns and just make beef runs as far as that goes.”
Harris laughed. “First off, two credits is retail, for wholesale you’d have to cut that in half. And whose gonna buy three tons of meat that hasn’t been professionally slaughtered, packed, and inspected according to government regs?
“The farmers might, but not for any premium price. We’d be lucky to get a credit for ten pounds of this stuff. Wouldn’t be enough to pay for our jump fuel. And I have no desire to be in the meat-hauling business. I think this whole deal is gonna be another bust.”
Tawn sighed. “Maybe robbing Bax wasn’t such a good idea. I thought you already had buyers out here. You think she’d be willing to give us a quarter on the credit for what that cargo is worth?”
Harris shook his head. “She’d spit in our faces. We can sell it. We just have to find the right buyers.”
The Colony #13 mountain men returned from their rest. A price of three hundred kilos of preserved and packaged bogler meat was agreed upon… if that meat could be converted to sufficient credits at the farming colonies.
The Bangor lifted off the grassy plain just east of the mountain colony. A short flight had her again setting down at the spaceport for Colony #1. A tour of the handful of buildings in town would yield no interest in the bogler from the traders. All necessary supplies would be had over the course of the year from the mountain men.
Harris shook his head in disgust as the Bangor shot up through the atmosphere. Jump coordinates were set to the colony on Bella III and a wormhole initiated. Upon arrival, the centuries-old ship was manually piloted down through the atmosphere and was soon landing at the spaceport of the colony city named Baddington. After receiving direction to sit tight for a customs inspection, the genetically altered duo waited.
A figure riding a small tracked vehicle approached and stood just outside as the hatch opened. “Mr. Gruberg?”
Harris nodded. “Come on in. She has the manifest ready for you and the cargo is over there.”
Tawn held out a tablet displaying the goods to be made available for trade.
“You got a name?
” Harris said.
“Plymouth Vontmier.”
Tawn asked, “These are all classified as personal weapons. I don’t suppose you’d know what the market for such weapons is here on Bella would you?”
Plymouth rocked his head back and forth as he counted containers. “Mmm. It comes and goes. There’s a big hunting tournament coming up next month in Blackwood. You might do well with that. How much would you estimate your cargo is worth?”
Harris asked, “You talking retail or replacement cost for us?”
“Sure, retail.” Plymouth replied.
Harris shrugged. “I suppose anywhere from twelve to twenty thousand credits. Why?”
Plymouth entered several numbers into his own electronic tablet. “We have an import tax on Bella. It comes to 10% of sales.”
Harris scowled. “10 percent retail? Kind of steep don’t you think?”
Plymouth replied, “I don’t make the rules or laws, Mr. Gruberg. I do however have some autonomy in this situation. I would be willing to use the lower of the two figures you provided, should say… one of those repeaters fall from its case and into my possession?”
Tawn stepped forward. “A shakedown. Do you know what a slug is, Mr. Vontmier?”
Plymouth returned an uneasy look. “I do.”
Tawn nodded. “Then you’re familiar with their temperament?”
“Well, not generally, no.”
“They can be very nasty, easily brought to anger, if they feel threatened or abused. That generally goes for cheated or mistreated as well. And given that you confessed to having some autonomy, a statement we have recorded here on our ship’s system, I’d say you might fall into the cheated category. And just so you understand my meaning, I’m a slug.”
Plymouth took in a deep breath and held up a hand. “I’m sorry, perhaps there was a misunderstanding. What did you estimate your replacement cost to be?”
Tawn shook her head. “No. I think we’re going to go a different route. Seeing as how we don’t yet have a buyer for any or all of our cargo, I think there won’t be any import taxes taken out until such time as we go to leave. At that time, an inventory can be conducted, and taxes paid on the items sold, at the retail minus cost price. I would think that to be standard practice in all the colonies. Is that something you can work with, Mr. Vontmier?”
ARMS War for Eden Page 7
