by B. V. Larson
In the end, Deech had overruled Winslade. She might be wearing skin-tight clothes for him, but she wasn’t interested in giving up command.
Winslade had twisted up his lips, but he’d said nothing.
“McGill!” Harris roared in my ears.
“Talk to me!”
“We’ve got contact, sir—half a kilometer behind us.”
“Pass me the feed.”
I reviewed the vid stream. It was from a buzzer, I could tell by the sickening motion. The insectile drone flew over a large formation of troops.
The enemy had no landing vehicle. Instead they were sprouting out of pods that fell from the sky and sank into the ground.
“We should have rushed them,” Harris said regretfully.
“Yeah…” I agreed. “But we didn’t know. Now we do.”
“Saurians… Steel World’s finest, no doubt. It’s been a long while since we tangled with dino troops.”
I watched the vid intently. A hundred theropods climbed out of the cocoons they’d ridden down from orbit. They had armored bodies, long tails, and soap-bubble shielding.
“Shields,” Harris said in disappointment. “They’ll be hard for a snap-rifle to penetrate.”
“At least I don’t see any juggers!” I responded in the cheeriest voice I could muster. “These are just dinky blue-bellied lizards.”
Harris snorted.
We both knew the truth. Even the smaller raptor-types were bigger than a man.
“Orders, Centurion?” Leeson called out.
“Stick to the plan. Set up your artillery and—”
That’s when the first wobbling shell arced up and down again, falling between Toro’s retreating heavies and Harris’ skirmish line. A black acidic mist rolled out of the shell when it cracked on the hard ground.
The battle was on.
-39-
“Leeson!” I shouted over command chat. The general tactical channel had become too crowded with troops calling out for medics.
“I’m still here, McGill.”
“What’s your status? Are those 88s set up yet?”
“No way. Give me ten minutes.”
“You’ve got five, after that I’ll kill you myself.”
“Roger that.”
Waving to Toro and her men, I trotted quickly back toward Leeson’s position. More smoking bombs were falling among my men. They seemed to be targeting Toro’s heavies, probably because they were the most visible targets at the moment. Leeson’s people and Harris’ rabbits had some cover by now—but not Toro’s solid core of troops.
Sure enough, when the next warhead splattered down, it fell where Toro and I had been standing. Harris’ people weren’t even touched.
“Keep low, Harris. Dig in a little, if you can. They might rush us.”
“And what the hell are we supposed to do with snap-rifles against shielded heavy infantry?”
“It’s just like you taught me, Adjunct. You’ll dance like monkeys and distract them until we’re set up. Skirmish, man! Skirmish!”
Harris muttered some choice words about my questionable heritage then ordered his troops to engage the enemy.
Snap-rifles could operate in auto, semi-auto or sniper modes. None of these settings could knock out a tank, but they had solid range and were hard to ignore. Each round hit harder and faster than any gunpowder driven bullet—but that wasn’t the best feature of the weapon.
What really made them stand out was the number of rounds a man could carry. Snap-rifles used magnetic accelerators to fire, rather than gunpowder. That made each round very small, not much bigger than a BB, and our troops could easily fire a thousand shots without running out of ammo.
Tapping into our buzzer feed again, I saw white sparks showering off the leading saurian troops. The air was filled with the unmistakable snap and whine of accelerated metal slivers being sent down-range at fantastic speeds.
Doggedly, the saurians marched forward. Their armor wasn’t powered, so they walked slowly. What their kit lacked in speed, however, it more than made up for in survivability.
The saurian troops soon spotted some of their tormentors and began nailing them. Smoking limbs—that was all that remained after one of them lobbed a shot on top of a light trooper.
In the meantime, the bigger shells kept falling. They took out a heavy now and then, as they’d walked the artillery up to catch Toro’s hindmost troops.
“Ready!” Leeson announced suddenly in my headset.
I’d never heard a more welcome announcement. Before I could even give him the order to fire, he took the initiative and twin beams sizzled over our heads. Somehow, he’d managed to get some elevation and set up his 88s with a good command of the field.
Toro’s heavies threw themselves facedown into the dirt, and we all strained to look at the enemy.
The front rank of the saurian infantry melted. They were scattered, and they were shielded, but it didn’t matter. The 88s swept their beams over them, like twin lawnmowers cutting two careful lines. A dozen enemy troops went down, and the rest scrambled for cover.
A cheer went up. My troops had needed a victory, and they’d finally gotten their first one.
“Leeson,” Harris said, “I take back all the shit I was muttering about you.”
Leeson laughed. “We’ve got plenty more where that came from! Cycle down, recharge, sweep back—”
That was as far as he got. Six black spheres were sailing overhead. They plunged down, seemingly at random, popping all over the rocks where Leeson had set up his ambush.
“Leeson?” I called out. “Leeson!”
“He’s gone, sir!” Sargon said. “We lost one of our gunners, too.”
“Take command, Sargon. Man those 88s and sweep them again. Toro! Get your heavies up off their asses! Advance and support Harris. We have to break the enemy line!”
All around me, the heavy troopers climbed to their feet and moved with purpose. There was no cover to be had on the high rocks. Leeson’s platoon was in a pall of acidic smoke to prove it. The time was ripe for a charge.
As Toro’s platoon began rushing past me, I joined them. I was wearing a heavy kit, the same as the rest of these boys. One more morph-rifle might turn the tide in a tight battle.
The heavies seemed to appreciate my participation. Too many officers liked to sit in bunkers in these situations, powdering their swollen posteriors while grunts risked it all.
“Harris,” I said, “take what’s left of your people and pull out. Flank south, get around behind their main force and see if you can take out whoever is throwing these acid-balls at us.”
“I’ve only got—”
“I don’t care if it’s you and a one-legged possum! Take out those enemy gunners!”
“Roger that,” he said resignedly, and his signal cut out.
He was probably cursing me with the mic muted, but I didn’t care.
As Toro’s troops rushed forward in a ragged line, the saurians spammed us with flashing explosives. They were firing mini-missiles, nasty little weapons the size of sparrows. They homed in on our armored butts.
“Buzzers! I need buzzers and jammers!”
We all switched on our jammers, and most of the mini-missiles exploded in confusion or just plain missed. Three, however, found targets. Men were turned into tumbling piles of junk, blood and smoke.
Slowing down to a crouched advance, we peppered the saurians with fire. Toro and I lit up red arrows on key targets. Concentrating fire without being told, our combined rifles tore several more saurians apart.
Then we met their line, and the battle got personal. Human troops let their rifles dangle and extended force-blades from their armored forearms. The enemy troops were shielded, however, and they fought with blades of their own and superior strength.
Certain relationships soon became apparent. The saurians were larger and stronger than any human, and they had shielding. Our force-blades, however, had greater reach and our powered suits made up for our
lack of muscle.
Overall, the human troops were more offensive, while the saurian troops were better defended. One on one, it could go either way.
Fortunately, we outnumbered them at this point. Having endured several deep cuts from our 88s, the saurians didn’t have enough bodies to stop our advance. We pressed them back, oftentimes with two humans taking down a single dino.
We were beginning to cheer, to sing, to roar with the knowledge we were winning—but then the battle shifted again.
The sky darkened. My faceplate went black, and indicators began blinking red inside my helmet.
“Acid-shells!” I shouted. “Break off!”
The enemy had clearly decided we’d beaten their main force. In response, they’d decided to melt all of us, human and lizard alike, down to bubbling puddles of flesh in the sand.
We scattered, some men coughing blood when the acid ate through the polymer fittings in their armor. When we were clear, I did a quick count.
Toro was gone. Veteran Johnson was gone. I had less than a dozen heavies with me, and some of them were shedding their smoking armor or limping.
Looking back, the only good news was that none of the saurians seemed to be walking out of that black roiling cloud. Not one.
“Harris!” I called out on command chat. “What’s your position? Report!”
“McGill, we’re sneaking around to their south flank. We don’t have a good firing position yet.”
“Can you see the gunner crews? Who’s nailing us with these gas shells?”
“They’re dug in, sir. I can see the sources, but I’m not in a position to snipe at them.”
“Can you assault their position?”
There was no response for several seconds. “Harris?!”
“Maybe, sir,” he admitted at last. “I’m still counting heads. They’ve got about as many heavy troops in their camp as I have lights. I’m assuming their artillery teams are weaker—but as I said, I haven’t seen them yet.”
I felt sweat run down into my eyes, making them sting. The remaining heavy troops under my command had all found a rock to hide behind. They were exhausted, pouring what precious water they had into their faces and gasping for breath. We weren’t ready to press another attack and support Harris if I ordered him in now.
“All right,” I said at last. “Hold your position. Look for opportunities. Those mortars, or whatever they are, have to be taken out. They’re killing us.”
“Agreed… Centurion? There is one combatant out here that I’m not able to figure out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A man, sir. A single man. He looks human enough, anyway.”
“There’s an actual human with the enemy troops?”
“Yes. In fact, he looks like he’s giving orders.”
That perked me up. “That sounds like cheating to me. Take snaps of the guy with your tapper. Send me your best.”
The images came in soon thereafter, and my jaw sagged inside my helmet.
Almost at the same time, as if he knew I was on to him, a familiar voice buzzed in my helmet.
“This is the commander of the Saurian forces,” the voice said with a mild Texan accent. “With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
It was Claver. He was the most infamous trader—and turncoat—Earth had ever given birth to. He was also the slipperiest man alive in the galaxy today.
-40-
The orange sun beat down on my helmet. I let the air conditioner cycle down, then I opened my visor and felt a wave of hot steam escape my suit. An equal amount of oven-hot dry air rushed in to replace it.
Overall, the drying effect was a net positive in my view. I slammed my visor back down soon after, worried about another acid-bomb, and I felt the cooling effects of my hissing air conditioners as they kicked back on again.
“Claver?” I asked, responding to him at last. “Who let you out of your cage?”
He gave me an evil chuckle. “James McGill…” he said. “I never thought we’d cross paths again, but I shouldn’t be surprised after that cluster Deech orchestrated back on Rogue World. You’re living proof that Deech is as shit-off stupid as Drusus.”
“We haven’t got much time to talk, Claver,” I said. “This is about over.”
“What? Are your men all dead already? That’s disappointing—almost embarrassing.”
“You called me. What do you want?”
“Peace!” he said loudly. “Tranquility too—and I’ve got good prices for both.”
I shook my head. “Sounds like bullshit meant to distract. I’m afraid I’m through here. See you in Hell, Old Silver.”
He’d never liked it when I mentioned his old nickname. He’d been proud of it for years, as he hadn’t died for a long time. I’d fixed that situation, and his silver hair had been turned back to its natural black again with my help.
But today, he didn’t growl at me for mentioning it. He seemed relaxed, easy-going.
“Hold on boy,” he said. “Don’t be so hasty. I’ve got a proposition for you.”
I was silent for a second. I knew I shouldn’t listen any further. I should shut him down, block his channel, and ignore him until he was as dead as a cockroach under my heel.
The trouble was I couldn’t be sure I was winning this fight. By my estimates, both sides had lost about half their strength. We were now taking a break, hugging rocks and licking wounds—but the conflict was bound to start up again. After all, the only escape from this pit was death for one side or the other.
“Talk fast,” I said at last.
“Over this unsecured line? Do you have any idea who’s probably listening in right now?”
“Uh,… everyone in the star system?”
“Bingo! And here I thought you were living proof that a man can live without a brain. I stand corrected.”
His insults ran off me like piss off a duck’s back. Later on, if he kept talking, I knew I’d lose it and throttle him or something—but not now. I was thinking too hard about how I might gain an advantage by talking to him.
I weighed the pros and cons of parleying with Claver. I could let the battle continue until it reached its final conclusion. Win or lose, what would be would be.
But if I talked to him, I might learn more about the bigger picture. About why we were struggling on this rock with aliens we’d once called friends. About why, in God’s name, Claver was out here commanding saurian troops.
“Okay,” I said at last. “Meet me in the middle with a white flag. No weapons. No backstabbing.”
He snorted. “A good, old-fashioned parley, huh? All right, I’ll bite. I’m a sucker for the classics.”
And so it was arranged. Harris and pretty much everyone else in the unit thought I was completely insane, but I didn’t care. I was in command, and I wanted whatever information I could glean.
Harris had an entirely different take on the idea.
“All right, sir!” he said. “I’ll set myself up for a clean shot. I’ll take it myself. You don’t even have to say hello, just stand clear and let me take him out.”
“That’s not how I want to play it, Harris.”
“What? Are you shitting me? You’re really planning to get up on him, nice and personal, and do it yourself? Have you still got your daddy’s knife hidden up your ass?”
“Nope, I’m not doing it like that, either. I want information, and I plan to get what I can with no tricks.”
“Information? What the hell for? I’ll give you some information: It’s them or us, McGill! This is all about murder, the dirtier the better. Don’t be giving him an easy kill on us.”
Harris was excited, but I didn’t feel I could let his disrespect pass.
“Adjunct,” I said, “are you saying you’re going to disobey my orders?”
“What…? No sir! No… I’m just saying this is a foolish move, and I object strenuously.”
“Objection noted. If Claver kills me somehow, you have my permission to fi
ll him with nails. McGill out.”
My tapper and the inside of my helmet continued to buzz and flash, but I ignored every caller. I got up and trudged out to the designated meeting spot.
Once out there, it was deceptively quiet. But I knew Claver had to have his lizard troops watching, the same as I did.
Claver stood with a bored stance. His helmet was off, and he was squinting in the blazing sun.
“Nice day,” he commented. “Don’t you agree?”
“It’s so dry I suspect the trees would be bribing the dogs—if they had trees or dogs on this rock, that is.”
He snorted at my joke and eyed me seriously. “You’ll have to take off that helmet if you want me to talk.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want any recorded audio, dummy. What’s inside your head, anyway? I know they can’t stack shit that high.”
For a second, my hand twitched toward my pistol, but it wasn’t there. As part of our deal, I’d left my weapons behind.
Claver noticed my movement and laughed. “You know what your problem is, McGill? You’re too easy to manipulate. Too emotional. It’s like talking to an old woman with an itch.”
Having had enough, I turned around and started walking away.
“What the hell?” he called after me. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m doing out here? No curiosity at all?”
I stopped. He had me. He knew it too, and that’s why he was heaping on the insults. That was his way of enjoying himself. If he had a man on the string, he pulled and yanked and flicked at that string, loving every minute of the other guy’s helpless dance.
Taking my helmet off, I tucked it under my arm and waved for him to talk.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “I’ve got jammers going, but you could still record me. Now, I’m feeling better.”
“Then talk already, dammit!”
“Okay, okay. You met Gytha yet?”
I blinked and nodded slowly.
The left side of Claver’s mouth twisted up into a smile. “I bet you like her, don’t you? Well, you should be careful. She’s not like her sweeter sisters back on Rogue World. She’s a cast-iron bitch, and that’s no lie.”
