by P. A. Piatt
The prostitute stalled for a moment by wiggling her elaborate hairpiece into place.
“Baby, a girl can’t kiss and tell in this business, or she won’t be in business for long.”
Wychan crossed the room in four long strides and grabbed her by the throat. Shaysanda struggled to break his grip, but the mercenary was too strong.
“Listen, freak. I don’t have the time or patience for your games. Understand?”
She gurgled and fluttered her eyes. Wychan pushed her away, and Shaysanda collapsed, struggling to get her breath.
“What did he want?” Wychan demanded.
Shaysanda rubbed her injured throat and gave the hulking mercenary a hurt look.
“He asked a bunch of questions about the Space Marines and China Mike. He said something about the resistance, but it didn’t make sense. I didn’t tell him anything, I swear. I thought he was a nutcase, but his money was good.”
Wychan loomed over her and she cringed.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it, honey. I swear.”
The mercenary glared at the prostitute for a long moment before he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. The door slammed shut, and Shaysanda jumped up and locked it behind him.
I need to find a different line of work. All the men here are crazy.
* * *
The governor greeted Lieutenant Fortis and Corporal Ystremski with a friendly smile, which broadened when Fortis gave him the news.
“Excellent!” he said rubbing his hands together. He punched some numbers into the handset on his desk and asked Chief Schultz to report to his office. When the corpulent cop arrived, he gave the Space Marines a suspicious look.
“Chief, Lieutenant Fortis and his men will be conducting some training with Director Chive and the Security Directorate while they wait for their transportation. I want you to provide the Space Marines whatever equipment and weapons they need.”
“Weapons? What sort of weapons?”
“Pulse rifles with extended battery packs and infrared tactical sights,” Fortis said. He looked at Ystremski, who nodded. “Foldable stocks and forward grips, if you have them. Flash-bangs and smoke grenades.”
Chief Schultz stared, open-mouthed at the Space Marine officer. When he didn’t answer, Fortis wondered if the chief had heard him.
“Chief? Pulse rifles?”
Schultz blinked and his eyes focused on Fortis. “We don’t have pulse rifles, Lieutenant. Nor do we have tactical stocks or infrared grips.”
“You mean infrared sights and foldable stocks?”
“Yeah, whatever; we don’t have them. We have pistols.”
“Pistols?” The Space Marines traded glances. “What kind of pistols?”
Chief Schultz threw up his hands. “I don’t know. Just pistols.”
Ystremski covered a smile with his hand, and Fortis cleared his throat. Governor Czrk shifted in his seat.
“This isn’t a military outpost, Lieutenant. We don’t have bugs or aliens or even pirates to contend with. There are over five thousand people who live and work here on Eros-28 and twenty-two colonial police. We have no need for an arsenal of modern weapons.”
“Governor, what if the resistance—” Ystremski blurted, but Governor Czrk cut him off with a wave of his hand and a quick head shake.
“The training you will provide to the Training Directorate should be as realistic as possible. If we can’t provide realistic weapons to train with, do the best you can with what we have.”
Chief Schultz and Corporal Ystremski left for the colonial police armory so the corporal could inspect the weapons and tactical gear available to the Space Marines. When they were gone, Fortis looked at Governor Czrk.
“Can you show me the way to Director Chive’s office? We need to figure out how we’re going to operate.”
“Director Chive doesn’t have an office, exactly. He and his men have their own compound several kilometers from here.”
“How does he provide security then?”
“Mr. Fortis, don’t concern yourself with the inner workings of the facility. Chive and his men fulfill their duties just like Chief Schultz and every other GRC employee here. I suggest you keep that in mind.”
“Of course, Governor. Do you have a means of contacting him?”
“Not directly, no. He does tend to appear when I need him, so I expect he will be along shortly.”
* * *
Fortis caught up with Ystremski at the colonial police armory. The corporal had selected enough weapons and gear to fill two bulky trunks, and the two men carried them to the berthing compartment.
“I took twelve pistols,” Ystremski said. “They’re old ballistic technology, and they need a good cleaning, but they were the best of the lot. The ammo is dated, so we’ll to need to test fire some of it. I got four crates of ammunition; if we need more than that, we’re in the wrong business. I also grabbed twelve sets of ballistic armor and sixteen radios.”
Fortis knew that ballistic technology was almost a thousand years old, but the Marines often chose ballistic weapons for their reliability and simplicity of operation. He wasn’t surprised to learn that the colonial police force had them.
“Why only twelve pistols?”
“The rest were junk. Half of the weapons I left behind were inoperable and the other half were missing pieces. From what the chief told me about the local architecture, we’ll only need a six-man assault team to take down one of those houses. The radios aren’t great, but I don’t think we’ll need much in the way of tactical communications.”
“How did the chief react? Is he angry?”
“I don’t know. If he’s angry, he hides it well. He’s curious about what we’re doing, but he doesn’t buy the training story. Schultz isn’t much to look at, but he’s a lot more aware of what’s going on than people give him credit for.”
When the two men returned to their quarters, the platoon fell into ranks, and Corporal Ystremski set them to work.
“First Squad, you’ve got the armorers, so you strip and clean the pistols and the rest of the gear. Second and Third Squads, you work with me to set up some floor plans. Let’s get it done, ladies!”
Fortis helped Ystremski direct the efforts of the two squads tasked with setting up floor plans. The Space Marines moved the bunk beds around until they had two complete mock-ups and hung blankets over the sides to simulate walls.
“The chief told me that the houses in Boston have the same basic layout. A main room where the people live and eat, a small kitchen, and one or two bedrooms in the back.” Ystremski gestured at their set-ups. “None of them have windows because of the sifters. The workers build their exterior doors from scraps they recover from the industrial plant, so the doors could be heavy-duty metal, plastic, or fiberglass. We won’t know until we hit it.
“He also told me there’s a tunnel system under the city called the subway. A bunch of it is collapsed, but some of the people have dug down and connected their houses to sections that didn’t collapse. That might complicate things.”
“Are you sure you didn’t slip up and tell him what we’re doing?”
“I didn’t say a word, LT. I didn’t even have to ask questions, he just started talking. Like I told you, Chief Schultz is smarter than he looks. Before I forget, he told me about a place outside Fenway where we can live-fire the pistols.
“How do you think we should break up the teams?”
“I figure me and Heisen will be assault team leaders. When he’s not song-singing drunk or doing the Dance of the Flaming Asshole, he’s a good Marine. Five additional Marines per team, with you as the command element for every raid. Durant and Cowher as team medics. That reminds me, we need to get in touch with the medical department and put together a trauma care kit, just in case.”
“I’ll take care of the medical stuff,” said Fortis. “I feel like a third wheel around here, anyway.”
Fortis headed down the passageway toward the administr
ation offices in search of the medical department.
“Hey. Hey, Marine.”
Fortis turned around and saw a plain-looking man with sandy brown hair. He wore the same coveralls that the GRC employees wore, but his were noticeably cleaner, and his skin didn’t have the same pallor as the people that lived and worked underground.
“You’re Lieutenant Fortis, aren’t you?”
Fortis felt a sudden wave of apprehension as the man approached, but it vanished when he saw the man’s hands were empty.
“That’s correct, I’m Lieutenant Fortis. What can I do for you?”
“Hi.” The brown-haired man extended his hand. “Do you have a minute?”
Fortis shook his hand. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
The other man looked up and down the corridor. “Can we go somewhere a little more… discreet? I have some information that you need to hear, but it’s best passed in private.”
Fortis examined the other man for a long second. He seemed earnest, and Fortis couldn’t detect any threatening vibes. Still, he hesitated.
“Mmm, no. How about we if talk right here? You can start with your name.”
The other man shrugged. “Have it your way.” He looked up and down the corridor again before he lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially. “My name is Jandahl. I work for the GRC.”
Fortis gestured to Jandahl’s coveralls and something about his furtive demeanor made Fortis feel flippant. He forced himself to keep a straight face. “I guessed as much.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Lieutenant. I’m not a mechanic or a welder. I work for GRC corporate. I’m an investigator.”
“Mr. Jandahl, I have a lot to do. Can you get to your point?”
“Look,” Jandahl whispered urgently and clutched at Fortis’ sleeve. “I know what you’re doing, but I don’t think you do.”
Fortis pulled his arm away and took a step backwards. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Jandahl.”
“Your work, for Chive, it’s not what you think.”
“We’re training, Mr. Jandahl. It’s not unusual for Space Marines to operate with other agencies to exchange ideas and tactics.”
Jandahl scoffed. “You’re not foolish enough to believe that, Lieutenant Fortis.” He fixed Fortis with a steady stare. “Your reputation with the GRC precedes you.”
Fortis crossed his arms and tilted his chin up in a skeptical pose. “Okay, Mr. Jandahl. Tell me; what do you think I’m doing, and what don’t I know about it?”
Jandahl looked around again. “The operations that you are about to get involved with are not what they seem. You think you’ll be operating against the China Mike cartel on behalf of the GRC, but you’ll really be working for Chive and the Kuiper Knights.”
It was Fortis’ turn to scoff. “I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re wrong. We will conduct some training with the Security Directorate. That’s it. Now, if you don’t mind…”
Fortis turned to go, and Jandahl grabbed his arm again.
“Chive and his mercenaries are up to something here on Eros-28,” he hissed at the lieutenant. “I don’t know what their angle is yet, but you need to be wary of them. They’re not your friends.”
With a last look around, Jandahl strode down the corridor. Fortis watched him go as he rubbed his arm where the other man had grabbed him.
The encounter left Fortis with an uneasy feeling. He’d gotten bad vibes from the security director since the Space Marines had arrived on Eros-28, and now he had unsolicited information that seemed to confirm those feelings. He had no idea who Jandahl was or any way to determine the credibility of his warning, but Fortis couldn’t think of a reason someone would feed him misinformation like that.
I wonder what Ystremski will think about this?
* * * * *
Chapter Nineteen
Fortis found the medical department around the corner and down the hall from the sheriff’s office, and the technicians there were happy to help him assemble a trauma kit. He described what he wanted and they filled a backpack with splints, bandages, antibiotics, wound-sealing spray and paste, and tight bundles of absorbent material that would expand and immediately stop bleeding when inserted into a puncture wound. Their questions about the kinds of wounds he expected to see were innocent enough, but Fortis sensed that they knew his mission was more than training.
Does everyone on this planet know what we’re doing?
“There’s someone here around the clock, unless there’s an emergency in the plant,” the senior medical technician told him. “There’s also an emergency alert system throughout Fenway.” She pointed to a large red button mounted on the wall near the main door. “Hit that button and alarms will sound in the medical department dormitory.”
Fortis thanked the clinic personnel and slung the bulging backpack over his shoulder. When he got back to the berthing compartment, he held it up to show Corporal Ystremski, who laughed.
“I guess they know something we don’t.”
“Speaking of something we don’t know—”
Ystremski’s attention was drawn to something behind Fortis. “Ah, shit. Here comes trouble.” The lieutenant turned and saw Security Director Chive standing by the door. He walked over and greeted the mercenary.
“Director Chive, I’m glad you stopped by. We’re about to run some training scenarios, so this will be an excellent chance for you to see how we operate.”
Chive sniffed, but Fortis couldn’t tell if it was derision or a runny nose. “I’m sure whatever you do will be adequate, Lieutenant. Especially with so many men.”
“We plan to use six-man assault teams, with myself and a medic on standby. Chief Schultz gave us some intel on the houses in Boston, which we’re tried to recreate here,” Fortis said as he gestured to the maze of racks and blankets.
“Schultz?” Chive demanded. “Why did you involve Schultz? He’s supposed to know nothing.”
“Governor Czrk sent us to Schultz to draw weapons and equipment,” Fortis replied. “Corporal Ystremski talked with him while they were in the armory. He says that the chief doesn’t believe the training story.”
Chive sneered. “You sent a corporal to talk to the chief? Are you that stupid?”
Fortis’ cheeks flushed as the blood rushed to his face. He paused for a second to get himself under control before he responded to Chive’s insult.
“Chive, I trust Corporal Ystremski with my life. He knows not to speak with anyone about our mission. Whatever suspicions Chief Schultz has he didn’t get them from us. I stopped into the medical department to pick up a trauma kit and they also seemed to know a lot about what we’re doing. I don’t think our secret mission is much of a secret.”
Chive’s expression softened. “Chief Schultz is a conduit of information straight to the resistance. All the colonists are, one way or another. The success of our mission depends on secrecy and surprise, which is why I’m using you instead of the colonial police.”
What he said made sense, but Fortis didn’t like how Chive referred to the Space Marines as though they were tools to be used however the director wanted. He wanted to respond but thought better of it and steered the conversation in a new direction.
“We can train up the assault teams, but there are a lot of important details we need to know for specific missions.”
“Such as?”
“Daytime or nighttime missions?”
“Both. It depends on the target’s shift schedule.”
“We don’t have night vision, which will affect how we operate. What about movement to and from the target? Are we traveling on foot or by vehicle? If we go by foot, we’ll need a guide.”
“My men will provide transportation, either by crawler or hovercopter. Anything else?”
“We need to inspect those vehicles and rehearse with them, too.”
Chive sighed. “Rehearse? Is that necessary, Lieutenant?”
“Absolutely necessary. We’ll be un-a
ssing a hovercopter in the dark, with dirt and sand blowing everywhere, no night vision, and unfamiliar weapons. Plenty of ways for things to go wrong, and that’s before we even approach the target building. Rehearsal isn’t just necessary, Mr. Chive, it’s mandatory.”
The director shook his head. “I’m losing confidence in your claim that the Space Marines can complete what should be simple missions. Perhaps the governor was wrong.”
Fortis gave the mercenary a piercing look.
“I’m serious. The targets are rabble-rousers and malcontents who have turned to the drug trade to fund their sabotage. They live in mud huts on the edge of nowhere, not in prepared defensive positions. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t use your men, but the governor gave me no choice.”
“The governor gave me no choice either, so I guess we’re stuck with each other.”
The two men considered each other for a long moment before Chive nodded.
“Okay, Lieutenant. You’re right. Given the importance of speed and discretion to our success, perhaps there is some merit to your preparations. You want to demonstrate?”
Fortis led Chive to a platform the Space Marines had built overlooking their mock-ups. Ystremski and Heisen stood by with their assault teams, armed with the police pistols and dressed in ballistic armor. Fortis waved his arm, and Ystremski ordered the start of the first scenario.
The breacher simulated knocking down the exterior door and the assault team flowed into the dwelling. Fortis narrated the action for Chive.
“The lead man has a flashlight and pistol. His job is to sweep the entire space and spotlight threats. Everyone else has one hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him and his other hand holding his weapon up and at the ready. We train to shoot both strong and weak hand, so the team alternates weapons left and right.”
“Why did they stop?” asked Chive when Ystremski called a halt to the exercise and the assault team exited the mock-up. “They didn’t search all the rooms.”
The assault teams switched places, and Heisen’s team conducted the next assault.
