Valkyrie

by Lucas Marcum

  Wilkes heard Agawa’s voice over the coms, “Patients secure. Ready for lift.” The crew mic clicked out. Wilkes knew they had switched to another channel to allow them to speak about the patient without the flight crew hearing.

  Mick was scanning his instruments and said, “Chips, number two’s running warm. Not an emergency, but we probably ought to get out of here while the getting’s good. I don’t think we oughta try another land/lift cycle.”

  Wilkes applied power, and the big aircraft smoothly lifted into the air, beginning an orbit around the hilltop LZ, and replied curtly, “Affirm.” He toggled the radio. “Two, Lead. We’re up; we’ll cover while you get the second group.”

  Over his shoulder, he spoke to the reporter, “Ok, Joe. Showtime. If it moves down there, light it up.”

  Joe responded, “Roger. Guns hot.” He toggled the thermal view. If the Elai were smart, they’d stay low and under their thermal blankets until the air support went away, but…there was always one. Spotting a cluster of heat signatures well outside the perimeter, he sighted in and spoke to the crew.

  “Targets at three o’clock. Firing.” He squeezed the trigger in bursts, walking the fire into the group. The sparks of the lascannon rounds detonating threw the heat signatures in several directions, none of which moved again. Giving the area another couple of bursts to be sure, he continued to scan the area.

  Over the radio, he could hear the cool voice of Valkyrie Two’s pilot setting up her approach. “Lead, Two. Loading now.”

  Below, he saw a dozen or so shapes leap up and charge at the hilltop, apparently attempting to rush the aircraft on the ground. The Marines met them with ferocious return fire, and Joe walked the tracers through the middle of their charge. When the sparks below stopped, there were no more signatures; the Elai infantry either ducking under their thermal covers or dead from the combination of fire from the air and the ground. In his earphones, he heard Two lifting.

  Wilkes keyed his mic and spoke to the ground, “Anvil Six, Valkyrie Lead. We’re away. Do you need additional support? We can slave you the Spuds if you need them.”

  “Valkyrie Lead, Anvil Six. We’ll take ‘em; we’ll never say no to air support. It was getting pretty hot down here till you showed up.” In the distance, they saw the drones peel off from their escort position behind Valkyrie Two and settle into a patrol route around the hilltop.

  The Marine on the radio spoke again, “Valkyrie Flight, thanks for getting our guys out. Take care of ‘em for us.”

  Wilkes responded, “Anvil Six, Valkyrie Lead. Will do. Be safe, and give ‘em hell. Valkyrie Flight, out.” Now at altitude, he clicked a camera to check in the back. He could see Suarez and Agawa busily working over the Marine on the litter, who’d had the front of his armor removed. A device was clamped on his chest, pumping up and down rhythmically, and a dark oval with a tube running out of it covered his face. With a sinking feeling, he keyed the radio. “Valhalla Station, Valkyrie Flight.”

  The command center responded promptly, “Valkyrie Flight, Valhalla Station.”

  “Valhalla Station, we have cleared the LZ and are returning to base. Estimated time en route is one seven minutes. Be advised, medical emergency in progress on board Valkyrie One. Request resuscitation teams to meet us on the pad. Also be advised, will need alternate pad for Valkyrie Two, as Valkyrie One has sustained damage and may not be able to lift.”

  Valhalla Station’s controller was dispassionate as he responded, “Valkyrie Flight, understood. Valkyrie One is to land on Pad One; resuscitation and fire suppression teams will meet you there. Valkyrie Two will divert to Pad Three. Fly safe, fly fast, and we’ll see you soon. Valhalla Station Out.”

  Wilkes acknowledged the call, shoved the throttle forward, and felt the big aircraft accelerate. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

  -2-

  “Last Stand”

  VALHALLA STATION, TACTICAL OPERATIONS CENTER

  2134 hours, March 14, 2245

  Hands on his hips, Lieutenant Colonel James Matthews frowned at the bank of tactical radios. A man of medium build and height, he was clad in light, unpowered battle armor. At his side, a vintage .45 caliber pistol hung in a leather holster.

  The communications operator, a specialist named Singh, pulled his headphones off, turned in his chair slightly, and said, “I’m sorry, Sir. I can’t get anything out through this interference. Not the encrypted high-power channels, not the low-power, open-wave stuff, not the satellite relays, nothing.” He paused for a minute and fiddled with a few knobs before shaking his head in frustration. “I can get snatches of commo; there’s clearly fighting going on, but I don’t know who or where, because every time I find a clear channel, it only lasts for a few minutes before this crap swoops in and washes it out.” He paused again, then put his headphones back on, and said over his shoulder, “Let me try a few more tricks, Sir.”

  Matthews nodded and paused, thinking. He then turned to his defense liaison, a young lieutenant from a military police company assigned to the hospital for defense. “Lieutenant O’Connor, where the hell are your people?”

  The young lieutenant looked miserable as he answered, “Sir, I have no idea. They should have been here yesterday. My last communication with them was that they had stepped off at the right time, but nothing since. I’m not getting anything on my network, either.”

  Matthews considered this for a moment, then turned to the soldiers next to him and asked, “Well? XO, Sergeant Major? Thoughts?”

  Major Winters, the executive officer of the hospital, answered thoughtfully, “I don’t like it, Sir, but I don’t think there’s a lot we can do about it at the moment. We set up defenses as we can, and treat the wounded we have. We got twenty-one casualties in from the 165th Infantry, then the trucks left, and then this crap started.” She waved irritably at the radio bank.

  Colonel Matthews nodded, then turned to his sergeant major. “Sergeant Major Nelson? Thoughts?”

  The burly senior noncommissioned officer slowly shook his head and replied, “I don’t know you wanna hear my thoughts, Sir.”

  Matthews smiled grimly. “Sergeant Major, you were my first platoon sergeant when I was a butterbar. You were my first sergeant when I commanded the Charlie Med in the 1st Infantry, and now you’re my senior noncommissioned officer for the Field Hospital. I need your thoughts in the open on this, Ben.”

  The older man nodded, then spoke, “Ok, Sir. Bottom line, up front. Our ass is flapping in the breeze out here. We needed that company of MPs for perimeter defense, particularly since that pencil-dick General Tolleson had us stack the medical staff’s long arms. That leaves me with two understrength squads for security, and they’re mostly hospital support. Cooks, ‘Hawk mechanics, truck drivers, generator techs, pharmacy assistants.”

  He paused, gesturing at the comm station, and continued, “We got no comms, no crew-served weapons except on the birds, a large, flat area with no defensible natural features, and shit for visibility due to the goddamn dust storms. We can’t run; no trucks. We can’t fight; no real weapons or people. We can’t call for help due to this interference. My advice? We need to get the fuck out of here before we get burned.”

  Matthews considered this, then nodded. “I’m inclined to agree. If we run into them, we’re in trouble. That said, I don’t think we should move at night. First light, we’ll get the most seriously wounded out on the birds, then we’ll head for the lines. We’ll leave the hospital in place; if the Elai are indeed playing by the rules as General Tolleson seems to think they will, they should leave it intact. If they aren’t, none of it matters anyway, and we need to get our people out of here.”

  Major Winters said thoughtfully, “Should we send a Valk back to the divisional staging area and see what the hell’s going on?”

  Colonel Matthews thought this over, then responded, “No. I don’t like the idea of losing their firepower. Plus, with this dust storm and the jamming…” He shook his head. “No. The Valks stay here, but k
eep them on hot standby on the pad. We might need them in a hurry.”

  The colonel turned and spoke to the comms specialist, “Any luck, specialist?”

  The young man shook his silently, then hastily added, “No, Sir. If anything, it’s getting worse. I did hear what sounded like a unit under attack requesting fire, but I have no idea who or where. I’ll keep trying.”

  Matthews grimaced and turned to Major Winters. “XO, start planning to hoof it out of here. Non-ambulatory on the birds, everyone else is going to do it the old-fashioned way. When the birds drop off the patients, they can link up with the column and escort us in. Have a plan ready for me by zero one hundred. We kick off at zero five.”

  Major Winters nodded and responded in a curt voice, “Yes, Sir.” She turned and left the ops center with a purposeful walk.

  The sergeant major moved closer and spoke in a low voice. “Jim, I don’t like this. I don’t think this is just solar interference. It feels like jamming.”

  Matthews nodded grimly. “Agreed. I don’t think we ought to sit still for whatever’s out there, though. Brigade HQ and the main staging area for the 101st Space Assault is forty clicks or so due south. We can make that in a hard day’s march.” He paused, then added, “If we don’t run into trouble, and if our luck holds.”

  The sergeant major frowned and replied, ”Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.”

  Across the operations center, a sergeant monitoring the perimeter sensor net spoke to the captain in charge of the ops center. “Sir, IR sensor trips on four, five and six. Looks like we have someone out there.”

  The captain moved to look over the sergeant’s shoulder to confirm the readings. Colonel Matthews and Sergeant Major Nelson traded a glance.

  Matthews said, in a tone that belied lack of belief in what he was saying, “Maybe our missing MP company?” The sergeant major didn’t reply, taking a few strides to look over the sergeant’s other shoulder.

  He squinted for a moment, then said, “I’m not seeing identification pings. Do we have visuals yet?”

  The sergeant shook his head. “Not yet, Sergeant Major. We didn’t have as many cameras as we did motion sensors, so the sensors are further out. We ought to have them…there.” He pointed at a camera. The ghostly black and grey image of an upright figure was just barely visible through the dust and interference. The three men stared hard at the figure for a few seconds as it continued to move, swinging its head slowly left and right, and deliberately placing its feet.

  In a low voice, the sergeant major said, “Captain Michaels, I recommend you alert the perimeter guards, and QUIETLY alert the hospital. Condition One.” The young officer nodded and began to issue orders.

  The figure continued to move slowly, obscured by the blowing dust, then turned, and for a brief moment was silhouetted against the sky. The distinctive outline of an Elai standard infantry assault rifle was visible.

  The sergeant major looked up at Colonel Matthews, and said grimly, “I think our luck just ran out.”

  Matthews nodded. He spoke again to the sergeant, “How far out are they?”

  The man responded immediately, “Less than a hundred fifty meters, Sergeant Major. The jamming was preventing any further placement.”

  Matthews said firmly, “Ok, Sergeant Major. We’re out of time. I’ll exercise overall command from here. You take the primary defensive line and run it from the front of the Emergency Triage Center out past the end of the supply containers. If need be, fall back to here and the Intensive Care Unit. The reserve will be the walking wounded from 165th and the medical and nursing staff, but they only have their sidearms, so bear that in mind. We’ll only hold back enough to defend the incapacitated patients.”

  Colonel Matthews paused and spoke to the MP lieutenant, “LT, you’re on the line with the sergeant major.” The young man nodded, his face pale but resolute, and picked up his rifle. The sergeant major nodded at Matthews once and vanished into the dark, the lieutenant behind him.

  Matthews paused and turned to the communications specialist.

  “Singh, get a message out. I don’t care how. Message to read: ‘378th Forward Resuscitation Team under imminent attack by unknown number of Elai infantry. Request immediate air, defensive artillery support, and quick reaction force.’ Make it Priority One.” The specialist acknowledged and began furiously manipulating the radio equipment.

  Matthews turned to Captain Michaels. “Captain Michaels.”

  The captain turned from the monitors, where he’d been updating the perimeter information and alerting the remainder of the hospital staff. “Sir?”

  Matthews pointed to the entry to the low, mobile building. “Two things. First, get Valkyrie Flight in the air, now. Second, set up some barricades at the door.”

  As the operations center burst into activity, Matthews turned away from the staff in the ops center and quietly checked the load in his sidearm, hoping he wouldn’t need it.

  ****

  Captain Suarez rolled over in her cot to an insistent high-pitched chirping. She considered the source. It wasn’t a flight alert; that had a totally different sound. Leak in her suit? No. She wasn’t in her suit. Vacuum alarm? Oxygen line leak? None of these seemed to make sense. She heard the clatter of boots and the lights came on suddenly. She popped her eyes open, then squinted them shut against the bright glare of the overheads. She looked over. Her comm unit was chirping an alert tone, hence the high-pitched noise.

  She reached out and grabbed it, and peered at the screen. It was flashing red, and a text message was visible.

  “CONDITION ONE—CODE CHARLIE: GROUND ATTACK. ALL PERSONNEL TO DUTY STATIONS. NO DRILL NO DRILL NO DRILL.” She blinked and stared at it for a moment, until someone stood over her blocking out the light. She looked up. The serious face of her partner and flight medic, Sergeant Agawa, came into view. He was in his full powered armor, with his helmet detached and under his arm.

  He spoke rapidly, “Liz, get up. We gotta go. We’re being scrambled. They need us in the air, now.”

  Still trying to sort out what was happening, she blinked at the sergeant. “What’s going on?”

  Gesturing impatiently at her armor, he answered, “I don’t know, and I don’t give a shit. The colonel said get in the air, so we’re getting in the air. Chips, Mick, and Jenny are already heading to the bird. Let’s go.”

  Suarez shook her head, trying to clear the haze, and sat up. A moment later, she stood and began to get into her armor, which was standing open at the foot of her cot. The suit clamshell folded closed around her and sealed. The medical flight crew were issued a variant of the standard infantry powered suit, but with a few modifications intended for search and rescue, and no weapons integration capability. The internal systems of the suit had booted up and were showing green.

  Reflexively, she went through the startup routine. She had enough power for forty-eight hours of continuous operations, with four backup cells. The trauma module was active and functional, as were the built-in communications and IFF systems. For some reason, this suit had also come with a built-in camouflage module, which she’d never used.

  While she powered up, Sergeant Agawa checked his regulation directed-energy sidearm, then hers. He handed the pistol to her; she reflexively checked the load and attached it to the hard point on her right leg. She shook her head again, hard, trying to clear the cobwebs, and checked her suit indicators again.

  Sergeant Agawa spoke again, interrupting her train of thought. “Let’s go.”

  He tossed a flight bag at her, which she caught by reflex. He exited the tent at a fast walk and headed for the pad. Securing her helmet, but leaving the faceplate open, she followed.

  Outside, the night was very dark. Chemlights had been dropped at intervals along the walks between the tents to outline the paths; otherwise there was no light outside, which was very strange. It was also oddly quiet. No generator noises. No one talking. Nothing moving. She frowned. There were sixty something people staffing t
his hospital. Where the hell was everyone? She opened her mouth to speak, and then she heard something.

  Zip-Hiss. There was a faint red flash. She froze in her tracks.

  Zip-Hiss. Zip-Hiss. Now red streaks were visible in the air over the tents, streaking into the sky. She turned around to face the far side of the hospital, wondering what was happening. From the distance came the familiar stutter of a standard issue M45 assault rifle, then another. It dawned on her that there was a firefight going on, and the place she least wanted to be was on the ground.

  From the darkness ahead of her she could hear Sergeant Agawa hissing, “Captain Suarez! Move your fucking ass, Ma’am!” She turned and began to run for the flight line, some fifty yards ahead.

  Behind them, from somewhere near the Operations Center, there was a streak of light that shot skyward with a hiss and the bright flare of a rocket motor, rapidly dwindling to a pinpoint of light before vanishing.

  Suarez gasped to Agawa as they ran. “What the fuck was that?”

  Panting, he responded, “Looked like a signal boost rocket. Usually only used in emergencies. The colonel’s calling for help.”

  They came to a low berm and jogged around the end. About fifteen yards ahead of them, the four Skyhawks of Valkyrie Flight sat on the flight line. Furthest away, Valkyrie Three and Four were already spinning their engines. Nearest to them were Valkyrie One and Two. They could see the slender figure of Captain Moreno from Valkyrie Two climbing into the cockpit. Her flight crew were already manning the guns and pointing them outwards. Suarez and Agawa sprinted towards Valkyrie One. They could see Mick in the co-pilot’s seat gesturing for them to hurry.