China Mike

by P. A. Piatt

  A sudden crazed fantasy flashed through his imagination. He would return to Fenway, assassinate Czrk, and seize control of the colony. As quickly as the idea came to him, he shook it off. Without his brother Kuiper Knights, Chive was powerless.

  He was cornered, and that made him dangerous.

  The sound of raised voices floated over the wall to his hiding place.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “You asked what a China Mike lab looked like, there’s your answer.”

  Head opened the door and stepped aside. Fortis and the Space Marines crowded around to peer inside. Rows of shiny tanks, tubes, burners, and a bank of blinking control equipment filled the space.

  “This is an industrial operation,” said Fortis. “They were making it by the ton.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing, sir. Take a look at this.”

  Head led the group to the neighboring building and opened the door. “Anybody want to get high?”

  Fortis gaped.

  Rows of shelves stretched the length of the building, and every shelf overflowed with taped-up bundles, all of them about the size of an old-fashioned loaf of bread.

  “Kilos, packed up and ready to ship.”

  “That’s all China Mike?”

  “We don’t have a drug testing kit, but based on the lab next door, I’d say yes.”

  “How much is there?”

  “No idea, sir, and we don’t have time to count.” Corporal Ystremski tapped his watch. “We’re gonna miss our ride if we don’t get moving.”

  “We can’t just leave it here.”

  Ystremski looked at the Space Marines. “Get all the boom-boom we have left and bring it here. We’ll blow these buildings and then haul ass.”

  While they prepared the explosives, Fortis went into the domed building in the center of the compound. It was an austere room with four rows of benches facing a pulpit on the far end. Ystremski had told the lieutenant that the Kuiper Knights were some kind of cult, but there weren’t any conspicuous religious artifacts or regalia. After a quick look around, he pulled the door shut and joined Ystremski by the gate.

  Some of the Space Marines worked quickly to fashion charges as Ystremski directed them to demolish the lab and warehouse. The result was a long string of explosives woven through ropes that were then wrapped around the China Mike lab and storage building. Another string ran to the front of the compound where the Marines waited. Fuses dotted the explosive ropes throughout.

  While Ystremski led the explosives preparation, Corporal Heisen had the other Marines collect all the pulse rifles and chargers they could find.

  “The colonial police are going to get a major upgrade to their armory,” he explained to Fortis.

  “When you finish with that, have them check out the crawler. Maybe we can ride back to Fenway.”

  “Once we get everyone outside the wall, I’ll break these two fuses and run,” Ystremski explained to Fortis pointing to the nearest rope. “With any luck, the explosion will travel down the rope break more fuses, and the whole thing will go up in a long series of bangs.”

  Fortis wanted to believe in the plan, but he was skeptical. “And if it doesn’t?”

  The corporal shrugged. “It will work because it has to work, sir. If it doesn’t the governor can bring his cops out here and burn the place to the ground or let a sifter bury it. Either way, we’ve gotta go.”

  “Hey, LT! No keys in the crawler but look who we found hiding underneath.”

  Childers and Boudreaux dragged a dusty figure forward and dumped him next to the other two prisoners. The new prisoner sat up, and Fortis recognized Dolph, the mercenary driver. The Space Marines zip-tied his hands and ankles and yanked a hood over his head.

  “Search that guy for the crawler keys,” Ystremski ordered. The guards turned his pockets out but didn’t find any keys.

  “Where are the keys?” the corporal demanded. He prodded the mercenary with his boot, but Dolph shrugged and said nothing. Ystremski turned to Lieutenant Fortis.

  “What do you want to do with these guys, LT?”

  “Take them with us, I guess. Turn them over to the governor.”

  Ystremski shook his head. “Sir, they’re not gonna make it back to Fenway. The guy we shot through both legs can’t walk, much less run. We’ll never make the extraction if we have to carry him.”

  “What do you want to do, leave them out here?”

  “No way, sir. We policed up all the weapons in the compound, but there’s no telling if these pricks have more hidden or cached out in the desert somewhere. We don’t have time to fuck around with these guys.”

  “Then what?”

  Ystremski shrugged. “Shoot them.”

  “What? We can’t shoot prisoners! They need to stand trial.”

  “Let’s have a trial right here.” He whipped off Dolph’s hood and pressed his pulse rifle to the mercenary’s head. “Dolph, you piece of garbage, you’re charged with murder, kidnapping, and drug distribution. How do you plead?”

  Dolph twisted away from Ystremski. “What the fuck is this?” he slurred through his damaged mouth.

  Fortis stared in shock as the corporal straddled the driver and prodded him with his rifle.

  “Never mind your plea. I find you guilty as charged and sentence you to death by one-man firing squad. You have three seconds to pray.”

  “Hey! Hey, man!” Dolph tried to wriggle away, but the corporal was right on top of him.

  “One…two…”

  Fortis found his voice. “Corporal!”

  Ystremski shoved the rifle barrel under Dolph’s chin. “Drive and live; refuse and die. Choose. Now.”

  “Okay. Okay! I’ll drive!”

  “What?”

  All the energy drained out of Dolph’s body, and he collapsed to the ground. “The crawler. I’ll drive. Just don’t kill me.”

  Ystremski smiled at the astounded Fortis as he shouldered the rifle. “Court’s adjourned, LT. All aboard!”

  * * *

  Chive remained hidden while the Space Marines loaded the prisoners and captured weapons into the crawler. His plan required split-second timing and some luck, but he was determined to get some small degree of revenge on the Space Marines before he died.

  Chive moved around the corner and positioned himself by the gaping hole in the wall when the crawler engines fire up. As the ponderous machine rolled out of the compound, he ran at a crouch, grabbed a handhold, and scrambled onto the second car. He lay flat and waited for someone to shout the alarm, but it never came.

  The crawler stopped thirty meters from the compound and waited. Chive looked up and saw Corporal Ystremski running for the vehicle. The hatch opened, the Space Marine dove in, and the crawler lurched into motion.

  Boom! Boom! KA-BOOM!

  A series of explosions rocked the former Kuiper Knights’ headquarters. The final blast sent a cloud of dust and rocks a hundred meters into the sky and the shockwave buffeted the crawler. Chive buried his head in his arms as small rocks rained down in all directions, but the crawler continued to roll toward Fenway. A few seconds later, the vehicle stopped, and Chive watched as Dask Finkle emerged and climbed aboard. The engine whined, and the Space Marines and the Kuiper Knight rumbled toward their destiny.

  * * *

  Lieutenant Fortis rode in the copilot’s seat, pistol in hand, and watched as Dolph piloted the crawler along the rocky track that led to Boston and Fenway.

  “What was Chive’s plan? Did he really believe the GRC and UNT would stand by and let him take over the colony?”

  “I don’t know, LT. The Knights are always coming up with crazy ideas like this. The original plan was to generate enough upheaval that the GRC would make him the governor in place of Czrk. We were sent to crack a few heads and piss off the workforce to drive down production. Once Chive was governor, the Knighthood was supposed show up, take over operations, and force the GRC to negotiate. All this drug shit was part of a plan I di
dn’t agree to.”

  “Are there more mercenaries on the way or standing by somewhere close?”

  Dolph shook his head. “Not that I know of, but Chive didn’t share a lot of details with anyone but that psychopath Wychan. Drive here, fly there, that’s about all he ever told me.”

  “Do you have any idea where he might be?”

  Dolph shook his head again. “No idea. When you blew the gate, I was asleep in the crawler. He must have hidden somewhere.”

  “I’d feel better if he was accounted for.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about Chive if I were you. If he’s not dead yet, he will be soon. He won’t last long out there. He’s got nowhere to go.”

  The driver pointed out the windshield at a massive cloud of dust billowing up in the direction of Boston.

  “Don’t look now, but that’s your transport.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dolph brought the crawler to a stop around the corner from the landing pad where the transport was waiting, its engines whining. The ore car hatches slammed open, and the Space Marines poured out. They deposited armloads of pulse rifles, chargers, and the borrowed pistols in a pile next to the wall where the other Marines had stacked their gear.

  Corporal Anderson, the Marine Ystremski had left in charge in Fenway, came outside, accompanied by Governor Czrk and several colonial policemen. The Space Marines turned over custody of the captive Kuiper Knights, grabbed their gear, and headed for the Fleet transport.

  “Mission accomplished, Governor,” reported Fortis as the two men shook hands. “We located and destroyed the China Mike lab and a large cache of the drug. We killed eight mercenaries and captured three; along with Rentz, that’s all twelve accounted for.”

  “And Chive?”

  Fortis frowned. “We didn’t find him. He might be out in the desert, but he wasn’t in the compound.” He gestured to the pile of weapons. “We captured some pulse rifles and chargers for your police force, in case the Kuiper Knights decide to return.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. You’ve done a great service for the citizens of Eros-28.”

  Dask Finkle walked up, a pulse rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “Thank this guy, too, Governor. He gave us the explosives and led us there.”

  Finkle and the governor eyed each other.

  “You’re the resistance leader. Why should I trust you?”

  “Governor, if you promise me that these three mercenaries will be tried by the colonial circuit judge and there will be no future reprisals against the workers, then you’ve got nothing to worry about from us.” He patted the rifle sling. “I’d like to keep this, just in case.”

  After a long second, the governor smiled. “Deal.”

  “LT, the platoon is loaded, and we’re ready to take off,” shouted Ystremski. “Grab your gear and let’s go!”

  Fortis gave a brief wave and bent over to grab his gear. As he straightened up, he heard the governor and Finkle shout. He whirled around in time to see Chive, lips peeled back in a dusty snarl, lunge forward with his dueling sword at eye level.

  The lieutenant twisted away and the point of the sword burned across his right cheek instead of plunging into his skull. Fortis stumbled away from the attack and his hand closed around the handle of his kukri. He ripped it from its scabbard as Chive pressed the attack. Fortis was forced to retreat further.

  The glittering point of Chive’s sword seemed to be everywhere at once—in Fortis’ eyes, aimed at his chest, poking at his flanks. It was all Fortis could do to avoid the killing blows, which he warded off with his left arm.

  The speed of Chive’s attacks overwhelmed Fortis’ ability to defend himself, and another lightning lunge opened a searing cut on his left cheek. Chive laughed at his distress and the sight of blood propelled him to redouble his attacks.

  Fortis knew he was doomed if he tried to outduel the skilled Kuiper Knight. His kukri was a brutal weapon designed for close-in chopping attacks, not long-range parrying.

  Everybody bleeds in a knife fight. The winner bleeds the least.

  The words of Fortis’ hand-to-hand combat instructor rang in his ears as he screwed up his courage to meet Chive’s next lunge with an attack of his own. He parried Chive’s thrust with his arm instead of his kukri, ducked under the strike, and delivered three quick slashes to Chive’s lead leg before the mercenary could retreat. Fortis’ arm tingled, and he felt blood leak down his sleeve, but he knew he’d done some damage to the mercenary.

  Like most duelists, Chive adopted a sideways stance with one leg forward, the same side as his sword arm. His back leg propelled him forward to attack, but his front leg drove him back, away from counterstrikes. With an injured lead leg, he wouldn’t be able to retreat out of Fortis’ range.

  Blood spilled down Chive’s leg, and he gave a crazed laugh. A second later, he sprang forward and aimed his next jab at Fortis’ chest, but the lieutenant was ready for it. He slipped the thrust and spun low. As he whirled, Fortis hacked at Chive’s rear leg. The kukri twisted in his hand when the blade glanced off bone.

  Chive yelped and almost dropped his sword as his hands reached for the grievous wound. The blow had struck a major blood vessel and thick crimson rivulets spurted onto the dusty ground.

  Fortis waited, kukri at the ready, as the Kuiper Knight gathered himself.

  “Surrender!” Fortis shouted. “Surrender and stand trial or die!”

  Fortis locked eyes with the wounded mercenary. He knew Chive would never surrender, and he wouldn’t stop until he was dead. He focused his entire being on the mercenary, and, finally, Chive attacked.

  Instead of using a traditional dueling form, Chive attacked with his sword held overhead to plunge downward into his target. At the last second, Fortis sidestepped and crouched low, with his kukri held by his feet. His legs drove him upward in a massive slash, and the kukri ripped up into Chive’s groin and abdomen. The blade skidded along the Kuiper Knight’s ribs and caught the mercenary under the chin, splitting his throat wide open. Blood sprayed Fortis in a hot, choking mask of gore.

  Chive collapsed in a pile of blood and purple-gray viscera. He struggled to gather his intestines and push them back into his body cavity, but his body spasmed as his nerves struggled to come to terms with what his brain already knew: he was dead.

  Fortis sank to his knees next to the quivering pile of Chive, exhausted and dripping with the mercenary’s blood. His cheeks burned, and his left arm hung limp. He became aware of shouts from somewhere behind him as blowing sand stung his eyes.

  “LT, let’s go!”

  Rough hands grabbed Fortis by the shoulders and dragged him toward the transport. He smiled at Ystremski as the corporal half-carried, half-dragged him up the ramp.

  “I told the governor I was gonna kill that sonofabitch.”

  Corporal Ystremski chuckled as he dumped Fortis into one of the aluminum-frame jump seats and strapped him in.

  “You should have let Finkle shoot him, you crazy son of a bitch.”

  The transport lurched as it clawed its way into the sky for the long ride back to Atlas.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The fifty-hour journey to catch up with the flagship was a blessing in disguise for Third Platoon. The transport was configured to carry cargo, and the only creature comforts were canvas and metal jump seats welded to each bulkhead. There was a tiny berthing compartment for the crew, but no troop accommodations. Without racks to sleep on, the Space Marines sacked out on the deck with their packs as pillows. There was a single head—almost big enough to turn around in—with a dented metal sink that dribbled tepid water. Someone had thought to send a pallet of hydration packs and a pallet of pig squares, or the Space Marines would have gone hungry for the two-day-plus trip.

  The transport crew consisted of two pilots, a flight engineer, a communicator, and two loadmasters. Once they were free to move about the vessel, the senior pilot came
back and introduced herself to Fortis.

  “Captain Shelly Hampton,” she said extending her hand.

  “Lieutenant Abner Fortis.”

  She motioned to her cheeks. “What’s all that about, Lieutenant? You guys were supposed to be on liberty.”

  “It was a friendly exhibition that got out of hand.” Fortis looked at Ystremski hovering nearby and saw the corporal look away to hide a smile.

  “Exhibition? You cut that guy in half!”

  “Yeah. Like I said, it got out of hand. What can you tell me about Alert Condition Bravo?”

  Hampton shrugged. “Nobody’s talking. Division ordered the recall, and I’ve been flying loads of pissed-off Marines from Eros-69 back to the flagship. Then I got orders to come out here to get you.”

  With no more information to offer each other, their conversation dwindled into an awkward silence. She was curious about his fearsome appearance, but he was reluctant to give her more than short answers to her questions about his injuries. Finally, Hampton excused herself to check on things in the cockpit. He didn’t see her again for the duration of their trip.

  The transport loadmasters finally left the Space Marines alone after Private Queen subjected them to a torrent of deeply insulting jokes and harassment, and the platoon was grateful for the privacy so they could talk. When Marx and Landis heard what their brother Marines had done to free them, they were astounded.

  Cowher and Durant did the best they could to treat Fortis’ wounds. The medics cleaned the worst of the dirt from the slashes on his cheeks, pulled them shut with butterflies, and slathered them with generous dollops of antibacterial cream. Still, he would require surgery to repair the damage from Chive’s sword. They shaved the rest of his head to treat his burns from the explosive charge with a blue-green burn cream that smelled like peppermint and stung like hell. The lieutenant also had four puncture wounds in his left arm that required deep antibiotic injections that burned as the medicine penetrated his flesh.