Valkyrie

by Lucas Marcum

  The enlisted Marine nodded. “Yes, Sir. They sealed the breach by driving a truck in front of it, but there’s a bunch of the fuckers loose in the base. Major Harris is hunting them down now.”

  The colonel nodded thoughtfully. He turned to the tactical station and asked the Marine there, “How’s the western wall?”

  The sergeant shrugged. “Holding. As long as the 30s have ammo, which they might not for long. We’re chewing through it at a pretty nasty rate.”

  Scowling, the light glinting off of the metal and plastic in his face, the colonel turned to his communications sergeant. “You been able to get anyone else? Anything that might buy us some time?”

  The NCO shrugged. “I got ahold of what was left of Medical Base Olympic. Dunno what they can do. Their Valkyries are even more vulnerable to the fighters than the Banshees are. I can ask for ammo, but until the Navy and Marines clear the sky, there’s no way they’re getting in.”

  The colonel nodded. “Do it. Also, see how far out that strike package is.” A spate of very close fire sounded through the bunker, then an explosion, then more gunfire. The colonel continued, “And Charlie?” The sergeant looked up expectantly. “Tell them to hurry.”

  ****

  Paradise Station, Inside the Aid Station, 1335 hours.

  Elizabeth held her sidearm at the ready off to one side of the door to the bunker, crouching behind an overturned locker. Brian was on the other side of the door behind an overturned stretcher. All around the small aid station, patients and the Valkyrie crewman crouched, weapons pointed at the doorway, waiting. The only sounds were the sounds of the firefight filtering in from outside.

  In the entryway outside, they heard the crunching of boots, then a pause. Elizabeth brought her pistol up. After a second, she whispered loudly, “Peanut butter!” The boots crunched, coming closer. Elizabeth crouched lower. Suddenly the door opened a crack, and two grey green disks flew in.

  Elizabeth regarded them for a split second curiously, then threw herself backwards as she heard Brian scream, “GRENADE!! GET DOW…”

  There was a bone rattling crack-WHUMP! as the Elai grenades went off. Elizabeth found herself lying on her back staring at the ceiling. Her armor was blinking alarms at her, but she ignored them, rolled over, and pushed herself to her knees, desperately looking for her pistol. She spied it about five feet away, and scrambled for it, when she heard shouting and saw unfamiliar boots in her field of vision. She rose to her knees and saw an Elai soldier moving past her, firing his rifle at the Marines crouched behind the stretcher, who were trying to return fire. Elizabeth grabbed the nearest thing she could see, a shattered office chair, and swung it as hard as she could at the armored figure’s knees, striking with all the force her power armor could give. She felt the Elai’s knee snap as it crumpled to the ground with a horrible shriek. Losing her balance, she fell forward, throwing her arms up to try to protect her face.

  Hitting the ground hard, she rolled over and looked up at another Elai soldier. This one was bringing its rifle to bear on her, and there was no way she was going to be able to reach it. She helplessly threw her hands out in front of her and turned her head, waiting for the bolts that would end her life.

  The Elai didn’t fire, though. It froze, then looked down at its chest, where a dark red and silver line had sprouted, punching through its armored chest. The silver withdrew, leaving a perfectly slit vertical hole in the Elai’s slick black chest armor. The alien soldier crumpled to its knees, the rifle falling nervelessly from its hands. The silver flashed again, and the Elai’s helmeted head fell forward, landing on the ground in front of it. The body stood a split second more before falling, crumpling on top of its severed head, spraying the floor in front of Elizabeth with blood.

  Elizabeth looked up from the headless corpse. Brian stood stock still in a classic swordsman’s stance, feet placed perfectly, both hands loosely on the handle of his grandfather’s odachi, blade held behind him pointed at the floor. Blood dripped from the tip of blade.

  The second Elai screeched again and reached for its sidearm. Brian leapt forward and, reversing his grip on the blade, drove the sword straight through the Elai’s chest, deep into the earthen floor of the bunker. The Elai soldier’s hands grasped the blade that pinned it body to the floor momentarily, convulsed once, then went limp. Brian pulled the blade out and, with a practiced movement, returned to the ready position, before shaking his head as if snapping out of a trance.

  Holding the blade in one hand, he rushed forward to Elizabeth and knelt. “Liz! Are you ok?”

  Stunned, she shook her head and said slowly, “I think…I think so. My armor’s beat up.”

  He reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. Slowly she got up, struggling to maintain her balance, looked around the small room, and asked, “Everyone ok?”

  One of the corpsmen looked over the improvised barrier and said somberly, “Ma’am, you’d best get over here.”

  Elizabeth scrambled over the barrier and saw Sergeant Johannes sitting with her back against the rear wall of the bunker. In her arms she cradled Lieutenant Wilkowsky. He was limp, his helmeted head leaning against his friend’s shoulder as if asleep. There was a two-inch hole in the front of his power armor with a slight wisp of smoke coming from it. Elizabeth moved up, knelt next to the two soldiers, and stopped.

  Sergeant Johannes looked up at Elizabeth, her eyes welling with tears. She spoke in an unsteady voice, “He was supposed to go home. Stupid, stupid lieutenant. He was always trying to do the right thing. So stupid, and so enthusiastic.” Her voice grew lower and she spoke intently as she pulled the body of the young man tight against her armored chest. “Stupid goddamn cherry. You were supposed to go home to that stupid, fat girlfriend of yours, and your stupid house in stupid Ohio, and life your stupid, boring life.” She was openly weeping, sobbing, as she held the young man tight. She looked up at Elizabeth. “Ma’am, he was supposed to go home. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

  Elizabeth nodded somberly. “I know, Jennifer.”

  The young woman looked down at Lieutenant Wilkowsky’s face. “How can he be dead? He can’t be dead. He can’t leave us.”

  Elizabeth gently touched the young woman’s shoulder. “He’ll always be with us. As long as we’re here, he’s here.”

  There was the crunching of boots outside. Brian whirled and snatched up a rifle, training it on the door, “Ma’am…we have company.”

  Elizabeth leaned close. “As long as we fight, he’s with us.” Locking eyes with the young woman, Elizabeth said, “Jennifer. I need you on your feet. You can’t let him down by giving up.”

  The young woman looked down at the peaceful face of the fallen officer, then back up at Elizabeth. “But…”

  Elizabeth spoke firmly, “No buts. Valkyries never die. He never quit, and you’re not going to, either. Now, Valkyrie. Are you in the fight?” She held out a pistol butt-first to the young woman.

  The woman looked at her friend’s face, then up at Elizabeth. Her face hardened, and she took the pistol. Gently lowering Lieutenant Wilkowsky’s lifeless body to the ground, she touched his shoulder gently, then moved past Elizabeth and took position behind the blasted stretcher.

  Elizabeth crouched next to her and trained her own pistol on the door as the crunching of boots drew closer.

  -21-

  “Low and Fast”

  PARADISE STATION, INSIDE THE AID STATION

  1340 HOURS, NOVEMBER 23, 2247.

  The crunching of boots grew louder, then stopped outside. The dozen Marines and soldiers crouched inside trained their weapons on the door, waiting.

  Then from outside came a voice, “Peanut Butter!” Breathing a sigh of relief on hearing the countersign, Elizabeth lowered her weapon.

  Brian shouted back, “Jelly! Come on in!” The combat-armored figures of two Marines could be seen peering cautiously in the door, weapons at the ready. Satisfied the bunker was secure, the Marines moved in, slinging their weapons, a
nd began to give aid to the wounded inside.

  In the doorway, Tony appeared. His face was smoke stained and lined with exhaustion, his combat armor filthy, and his uniform sleeves were soaked in drying blood.

  Spotting Elizabeth, he lowered the rifle and blew out a deep breath. “Goddamn, I’m glad to see you. You ok?” Seeing her staring in shock at his bloody sleeves, he added, “Not mine. It’s…was... Sergeant Denny’s.” Seeing the headless Elai on the floor, he cocked his head and indicated the body. “What happened to him?”

  Elizabeth only shook her head. Tony’s gaze continued around the bunker, coming to rest on Lieutenant Wilkowsky’s body slumped against the back wall.

  Tony spoke in a somber tone, “Damn. He was a good kid.” He looked around the wreckage of the aid station. “Come on. We gotta get you guys out of here. We have a casualty collection point near Dump Crater.”

  Elizabeth looked at him, feeling a hysterical laugh building inside herself, and fought it back. “Dump Crater? Where’s that?”

  He looked at her seriously. “It’s where the ammo dump used to be. Now it’s a fifteen-foot-deep hole in the ground, and also a scratch aid station. Look, it was the best I could do at the time!”

  Elizabeth laughed, gently touched his cheek, and smiled at him. “You’re doing great, Tony.” She turned and spoke to the battered group in the bunker, “Ok people. You heard the major. Time to go to the dump!”

  ****

  Paradise Station, Tactical Operations Center, 1355 hours.

  Colonel Piasecki rubbed his head, staring at the tactical display. The firing had finally slackened off outside. The first Elai assault had been beaten off, but at great cost. Scores of Marines lay dead, and the interior of the installation was a ruined mass of shell craters, destroyed buildings, and vehicles. The Elai rockets had been pounding them mercilessly, but the infantry couldn’t make headway without the Mark 30s and Marine rifle fire devastating them. The Elai fighters strafed the base occasionally but didn’t seem to have any air-to-ground weapons, so weren’t doing much damage.

  His communications officer spoke up, “Um...Sir?”

  Turning, the Marine officer responded, “Yes, Sergeant?”

  The young man continued, “Remember how you asked me to see of Olympic Station could send us ammo?”

  “So? The airspace is closed. What of it?”

  The sergeant spoke, “Well, I just got through the jamming. Apparently there’s a Valk on the way with an ammunition resupply.”

  Colonel Piasecki’s face hardened. “Well tell ‘em to wave off. We can’t have them getting their asses shot down.”

  The sergeant responded, “I tried, Sir, but their pilot was…insistent.”

  The old Marine officer’s temper snapped. “Get that goddamn pilot on the horn, now.”

  Holding out the handset, the sergeant shrugged helplessly. Snatching the handset, Colonel Piasecki snarled, “This is Ironjaw Six Actual; identify yourself.”

  A calm female voice responded, “Ironjaw Six Actual, this is Valkyrie One, inbound with ammunition resupply. Estimated time of arrival one-zero minutes.”

  Scowling ferociously, Piasecki responded, “Negative, Valkyrie One. There are enemy fighters in the air. The airhead is closed, repeat: closed. Wave off. Over.”

  Unperturbed, the pilot responded, “Negative, Ironjaw Six. We’re coming in. You need ammo, and we have crewmen down there. We’ll be approaching from the southwest, coming in low and fast. Keep your heads down.”

  Fuming, the colonel glared at the handset, then sighed and responded, “Valkyrie One, understand I cannot guarantee you or your crew’s safety. This one’s on you. We’ll appreciate the ammo if you make it in. We’re getting mighty low down here.”

  The pilot responded, “Understand. It’s my call, Colonel. Clear the landing pad. We’re coming in fast and getting out even faster. Valkyrie One out.”

  Keying the mic, he replied, “Good luck, Valkyrie Flight. Ironjaw Six Actual, out.” He handed the handset back to the sergeant and asked, “Is that her?”

  The sergeant nodded. “Yes, Sir. If anyone can pull it off, it’s Colonel Moreno. They say she’s the best.”

  Putting his hands on his hips, Colonel Piasecki scowled. “Well. Let’s hope she’s as good as she thinks she is.”

  ****

  Hill 302, Observation Post X-Ray, 1410 hours.

  Gunnery Sergeant Nelson crouched and gingerly took the magazines out of the waist pouches of the dead Elai soldier lying in the bottom of the trench. He then took the rifle that was lying next to it and cycled the action.

  Looking down at his scout, who was now lying face down in the trench, he murmured, “Sorry, kid.”

  After a fast glance to ensure the other Marines were re-arming themselves from the dead Elai assault team, he stepped back up on the parapet. Getting up to his position, he found his binoculars, which were surprisingly unbroken in the vicious fight for the top of Hill 302. Wiping sweat from his eyes, he raised his binoculars and scanned the base. The fighting seemed to have died down inside the base, but on the perimeter, the Marines and the Elai were still trading sporadic rifle fire. Sweeping his binoculars across the open area, he could see hundreds of Elai corpses lying in the firing zones, cut down by the ferocious defensive fire.

  Continuing his scan of the area, he swept the tree line. As he did, he caught a glimpse of something. Focusing the lenses, he first saw the barrel, then the low-slung hull of an Elai Main Battle Tank, then another nosed into view from the brush, then a third.

  Swearing under his breath, he reached for the radio. “Ironjaw Six, OP X-Ray.”

  The command post answered promptly, “OP X-Ray, Ironjaw Six Romeo.”

  Keying the mic again, he said, “Advise three Elai main battle tanks, two hundred yards out, western wall. Looks like they’re trying to force the breach again.”

  The radio was quiet for a moment, then replied, “OP X-Ray, acknowledge. Keep eyes out. Ironjaw Six Romeo, Out.” Below, the streaks of the loiter drones began to shoot at the tanks, detonating harmlessly against the armor. Something flickered in his peripheral vision. Frowning, he brought the glasses up to his eyes, scanning the tree line. Something was moving down there…there. The canopy of the jungle was moving like something was pushing it aside.

  He reached for the radio again, but before he could key the mic, a Valkyrie burst out of the trees, accelerating hard as it cleared the canopy. Screaming in so low that the Marines manning the top of the wall dove for cover, the Valkyrie tore over the top of the ruins of the base and slowed at the remnants of the landing pads. Coming to just a few feet above the cracked and broken landing pads, the big aircraft tilted its nose skyward. As the big aircraft tilted nose up, dozens of crates tumbled out, crashing onto the landing pad, breaking, and scattering.

  Seconds later, the rear of the Valkyrie lit up brilliantly as the big aircraft triggered its orbital boosters. The Valkyrie shot skyward on massive pillars of fire, leaving smoke trails behind it, chased by red Elai rifle bolts. Gunnery Sergeant Nelson shook his head in disbelief. Whoever that pilot was, he had some serious balls.

  ****

  Reaper Flight, Seventy Kilometers north of Paradise Station, 1415 hours.

  Major Papadatos waggled the control stick gently, feeling the nimble Specter fighter respond to his touch. He keyed his radio. “Reaper Flight, Reaper Lead. Check in.”

  The response was brisk and professional, “Two.” “Three.” “Four.” “Five”.

  Seeing the green status lights, he keyed the mic and said, “Spooktown, Reaper Flight. Time to go to the dance, Daddy.”

  The combat air control aircraft known as ‘Spooktown’, which had launched as the Shiva left orbit, responded, “Reapers, Spooktown. Vector two two three, angels four. Speed one two zero zero.”

  Major Papadatos responded, “Reaper Flight. Two two three, angels four, one two zero zero.” Pulling the nose of his aircraft around to two two three, he adjusted his altitude and smoothly eased
the throttle forward, feeling the powerful fighter accelerate, rapidly pushing the fighter to just below the speed of sound.

  Behind and above him, he could hear Spookshow talking to Voodoo Flight, vectoring them in just behind the Reapers. He grinned behind his mask, a savage, visceral grin. Time to pay these fuckers back for their lost comrades from Voodoo Flight.

  His sensor panel alerted, indicating another aircraft. Looking at the display, he frowned. It was showing a friendly aircraft, but the sensors couldn’t locate it. Activating his magnification, he saw it. It looked like one of the Valkyries they had dropped with. It was screaming across the jungle, using its atmospheric exit boosters, leaving a huge, visible smoke trail. He noted two Elai fighters chasing it, full throttle, trying to get into weapons range.

  His wingman, Captain Warren, commented over the radio circuit, “They ain’t gonna last long when those boosters burn out. It’s a good idea, though.” The boosters went out as they watched, and the Valkyrie plunged towards the jungle, rolled, and pointed its nose at the sky, adroitly backing into a small clearing in the jungle.

  The pursuing Elai fighter apparently lost track of the big search and rescue aircraft and flew right over where the Valkyrie was waiting. Its nose cannon flared, a wing came off the Elai fighter, and it spiraled wildly towards the jungle and exploded.

  Captain Warren exclaimed, “Holy Shit! Did that Valkyrie really just take out an Elai fighter?”

  Major Papadatos replied grimly, “Sure as hell did, but they can’t do it again. Look, the other’s pulling around.”