The Price of Honor (The United Federation Marine Corps' Grub Wars Book 2)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Hondo turned from Hanaburgh and ran down the road until he could see down into the entire camp. Most of the camp was leveled, and sixteen Grubs had passed through the other side and against the base of the hill.

  Which way are you going? Hondo wondered as the Grubs milled about, seemingly without a specific target.

  He refused to wish that they would head south, to join the ones heading to Berea, but the thought was hovering at the back of his mind.

  Five more joined them, and as if that made a quorum, six turned to the south while fifteen headed for the road, jostling each other as they funneled onto it.

  “They’re on Alverson,” Hondo passed, “And coming our way. Fifteen of them at the moment.”

  Lieutenant Abrams joined him a moment later, then he gave a flurry of orders to Second Squad. Hondo counted five of them on the road before he ran back to Pickerul in front of the path to the gate.

  “Get ready,” he told her. “They’re coming.”

  “Telltales on,” the captain passed. “We’ve got Shrikes inbound, ETA two minutes, danger close.”

  “You heard the skipper, telltales on!” Hondo passed, suddenly much more confident.

  The Navy Shrikes had proven quite capable against the Grubs on Purgamentium. Hondo knew there was a squadron with the main force, but he hadn’t expected the CG to release two to fly halfway across the planet to support them. The Shrikes weren’t Marine birds, though, and the friendly identification system did not always synch, so the Marines had telltales, letting the universe know who and where they were. In combat, these would also let the enemy know the same thing, but if the Grubs could even pick up the signals, it was too late to matter now. They already knew.

  Hondo couldn’t quite see the last two Marines in Second Squad, but he saw a stream of flames reach out to disappear from his view.

  Are they already that close?

  As a squad leader, Hondo could only slave to his Marines’ PICS, not Second Squad’s.

  Fingers of light reached back up to the Marines. The battle was joined.

  Hondo scanned the skies, looking for the Shrikes. They needed the help.

  Lance Corporal Hodge’s avatar grayed out. He’d been the Marine farthest to the north.

  “Cara, how many are on the road?” he asked in the P2P.

  There was no response. Hondo wanted to ask again, but he held back. He shouldn’t be diverting any of her attention.

  Finally, there was a scream of tortured air as the first Shrike popped up from the north. Immediately the Grubs on the far ridgeline shot out their light tendril, which enveloped the aircraft, but still, it bore in, releasing its payload before pulling a barrel roll that took it up and over the monastery and breaking the hold of the Grub’s light weapon.

  An instant later, all hell broke loose on the hill, shaking the ground under Hondo and making his servos whine to keep him upright. Dust rose up from the hillside where the Shrike’s ordnance had hit.

  “That took out six for sure,” Corporal Wojcik passed. “‘Bout took me out, too.”

  “We’ve got civilians down,” Hanaburgh passed.

  “How many?” Captain Ariç asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a hundred? It looks pretty bad.”

  “Get them moving. We’ve got the second Shrike inbound.”

  Below Hondo, Hanaburgh was a madman, running back and forth, screaming at the refugees. Their cries of panic reached all the way to the road. Down past Tony B, the first of them had reached the road and were now rushing to put some distance between them.

  The second Shrike started its run, and this time, the enemy on the far side were silent. Hondo hoped that meant that they were low on energy. Smaller tendrils of light reached up, but they had no effect on the plane as it dove down.

  It released its payload and pulled up just as a powerful tendril of light reached out across the valley floor, piercing the air just below and behind the Shrike—and the entire sky lit up. The Shrike started tumbling ass-end over the front, smoke pouring from it as the shock wave hit Hondo, rocking him.

  “They took out the bombs, not the plane,” Hondo said in wonder.

  And used its own bombs against it.

  The Shrike was in a bad way as her pilot struggled to save her. The plane cartwheeled over the road and disappeared past the crest of the hill.

  “Here they come,” Corporal Wojcik passed.

  “Funnel them to the monastery wall,” the skipper passed.

  “Pickerul, McKeever, with me!” the lieutenant shouted, as he bolted past Hondo towards Second Squad.

  Without thinking, Hondo was on his platoon commander’s ass, pounding back up the road. Cara’s Marines dotted the upper hillside, and they were letting loose on the Grubs coming up the road, the first just now coming into view as it charged forward.

  “Support me!” the lieutenant shouted as he stopped in the middle of the road, legs apart, the very image of an old American west sheriff, waiting for the bandits to ride into town.

  Hondo stopped off of the lieutenant’s left shoulder, Pickerul to his right. As the lead Grub charged forward, the lieutenant started his flamethrower and marched straight ahead. The flames splashed the Grub, and it contracted slightly as a light tendril reached out to hit the platoon commander.

  Hondo had ten grappling hooks in his magazine. He stepped farther to the left so as not to hit the lieutenant and fired, sending the hook into the Grub’s side, while Pickerul fired a salvo of shoulder rockets.

  Whether it was the flames, hook, or rockets, the Grub swerved left, off the road and right where the skipper wanted them canalized. Hondo started lowering his launcher, but the lieutenant had broken into a run, screaming like a madman, flames sweeping in front of him.

  “Keep with him, Tammy!” Hondo yelled at Pickerul.

  There were four more Grubs on the road—the rest of the 15 must have been taken out by the first Shrike. As the lieutenant charged, spraying the first with fire, the Grub barely hit him with a light tendril before it left the road as well in trace of the first. One after the other, the next three followed, the lieutenant spraying each as they passed.

  “Ooh-rah, Lieutenant!” Pickerul shouted, firing another salvo of three rockets that slammed into the side of the last Grub.

  Hondo was slack-jawed in amazement. That was either the bravest or stupidest thing he’d ever seen. Maybe it was both. And the fact that the lieutenant was standing there, upright and alive, was unbelievable. Hell, the fact that all three were alive was unbelievable.

  He turned to watch the Grubs close in on the monastery, wondering why they’d been allowed to approach. The lead Grub slowed down, raised its front section slightly, then morphed into a lower, squatter form, reminiscent of a medieval battering ram. It picked up speed and slammed into the smooth wall . . .

  . . . and exploded into a fireball or light, heat, and globs of Grub-flesh.

  What the hell just happened?

  Chapter 36

  Skylar

  “It worked!” Brother Joplin said, sounding surprised.

  Dr. Iolana Ka’aukai leaned over and hugged him, kissing the top of his head and saying, “It sure did.”

  Sky let out the huge breath she’d been holding. The sight of the charging Dictymorphs, even over the monitor, had dredged up old fears, fears she’d thought she’d repressed.

  Now looking at Brother Joplin and Dr. Ka’aukai, she realized that they hadn’t been sure the phase-neutralizers would work either, despite what the mother superior had assured Captain Ariç. Sky looked over to the woman, and the cool calm she had been showing was gone—she had taken a seat and had now raised a trembling hand to her brow, her eyes closed. Sky didn’t know if she was praying or in shock.

  Brother Joplin and Dr. Ka’aukai, a visiting fellow from the Kingdom of Hiapo, had been working on the neutralizer for the last nine months. It hadn’t been close to being fielded, but the Dictymorphs had sped up the schedule with their arrival. Even so, this had been amazin
g.

  The theory behind the weapon was sound. They had understood the basic weaponry of the Dictymorphs for some time now; the question was how to combat it.

  The Dictymorphs used an organic light, similar to the oxyluciferin created by some Earth funguses. Unlike Earth organisms, however, the Dictymorphs could focus that light much like a laser, and they powered it from energy sources inside their bodies.

  Scientists had immediately suggested ways to combat the creatures, one being to attack the wavelengths of the weapons. Some suggested “cancelling” them out in the same way that noise-cancelling headphones worked. Brother Joplin had a different idea: he wanted to resonate with the wavelengths and hit a harmonic frequency. After inviting Dr. Ka’aukai, a renowned expert on bioluminescence, they had progressed in a surprisingly short period of time, and they had created their first beta model for testing. What they didn’t have was a projector, a way to weaponize it, but when needs arise, humans can be extremely innovative.

  One of the other brothers had suggested using the outer wall as a projector, like a big drumhead. With a flurry of activity, the beta model was moved to the prayer room, which abutted the outer wall.

  Sky had joined the monastery’s leaders in the main lab while Brother Joplin sat ready to turn the weapon on. Then, almost too quickly to follow, the Dictymorphs were there, big as elephants as they charged. One moment they filled the monitor, the next, the first one exploded.

  No, not “exploded.” It simply came apart. The “explosion” was just the thing’s energy being released.

  One after the other, all five of them hit the wall, and all five of them were killed. The monks in the lab cheered and smacked elbows.

  “Where are we at, Brother Joplin? Are we ready for more?” the Mother Superior asked, leaning forward, in control of herself again.

  “We overloaded the generators, but we can get that back online,” Brother Joplin said, looking at his readouts. “And it looks like the propagation isn’t what we’d hoped. If they’d hit us another 30 meters to their right, I don’t think it would have worked.”

  “Maybe if we adjusted the D-scrambler, to say . . . zero-point-six?” Dr. Ka’aukai asked.

  “That could do it,” Brother Joplin replied. “And if—”

  “Brother Joplin, before you and Doctor Ka’aukai get lost, when will it be up again?” the mother superior asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe an hour?”

  Sky shifted to look at the monitors that covered the valley floor. There were still forty or fifty Grubs down there, and already another dozen were moving to the road from the Marine camp. She didn’t think they had an hour.

  “You’ve got ten minutes, Brother. Get it done.”

  Brother Joplin glanced at Dr. Ka’aukai, and she sat down, fingers flying over their control board.

  “I’m going to leave you now,” Captain Ariç said, coming up behind her and Foue.

  “But, what can you do out there? We need you here,” Sky said, a touch of panic rising inside her.

  Having the Marine captain inside the control lab had been a reassuring comfort. Sky had been rescued by Marines twice, and she trusted them. She didn’t want the woman to leave.

  “I can’t do anything else in here. I know that. And those are my Marines out there. In another five, maybe ten minutes, they’re going to be fighting for their lives—your lives, too, I might add. And I need to be there with them.”

  She gave a curt half bow, then spun around and marched out of the room.

  No one seemed to notice her as she left.

  Chapter 37

  Hondo

  “The skipper?” Pickerul said.

  “What?” he asked, turning to see Captain Ariç at the flatbed, pulling out a pike.

  “I guess the shit’s about to get real,” Pickerul said.

  If what just went down wasn’t real, then I’m not sure I want to see it when it is.

  The skipper shook the pike a few times, then went to join the first sergeant and Morales at the gate.

  Hondo was still trying to process what had just happened. The five Grubs had just blown up, but he hadn’t seen how. He asked the lieutenant, but the man just mumbled something unintelligible back at him. The platoon commander seemed dazed, so Hondo had left it at that.

  “Alpha Company, the five Grubs that were just killed were because of a new weapon the brothers developed. The thing is, employing it blew the power supply, so it’s going to take a bit of time to get it back online. And it only works there on that section of the wall. The gate here, it isn’t covered. Until they get the weapon back online, it’s up to us to protect the monastery. What they’re doing in there—hell, it would blow your mind. The bottom line is that what they’re doing could turn the tide. It could give us the upper hand. I think the Grubs know that somehow. I think they want to destroy it. And right now, another wave of them is heading our way.”

  Hondo spun around to look down the road, but he couldn’t see anything.

  “Whatever we do, we’ve got to keep the Grubs out of the monastery until they can get the neutralizer back online.”

  “Skipper, but you said that weapon is only on that section of the wall. What if they go around?” Cara asked.

  “Then we’re shit out of luck, Sergeant Riordan, so let’s pray they don’t.”

  “Uh, Skipper? I see them. Maybe a dozen or more, and they’re coming fast,” Corporal Wojcik passed.

  “It’s time to earn our salaries, boys and girls,” the skipper said.

  “Sergeant McKeever,” Hanaburgh broke in the moment the skipper finished. “I’ve got six Grubs turning up the hill. They’re crushing the civilians in their way.”

  “Lieutenant! Hanaburgh’s got Grubs coming.”

  The platoon commander didn’t respond.

  Hondo took matters into his own hand and said, “Pull back. Get to the monastery gate.”

  “But they’re being slaughtered!”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it now. Get back.”

  “And if they come all the way up here? They won’t be at that magic wall, will they?”

  Hondo hesitated. Hanaburgh was right. The gate did not have that weapon there, only three unarmored Marines wielding pikes.

  “Sergeant, don’t the Marines teach NCOs not to give orders that won’t be obeyed? The fuckdicks sure do.”

  Hondo knew at that moment that Hanaburgh was going to try and stop the Grubs, both to save the refugees and maybe divert them from the gate area. And who knows? Maybe he could delay them enough for some other miracle. He might as well make it so Hanaburgh wasn’t breaking orders to do it.

  “Go for it, Robert. And hooah!”

  “Fuck that, Sergeant. I’m a Marine now. Ooh-rah!” he shouted, before vaulting over the hill’s shoulder and disappearing from view.

  “He’s something,” Pickerul said, with what sounded like awe (or was it something else?) in her voice.

  Hondo was about to reply, but the first Grubs hit Second Squad’s position.

  “Wolf, shift back uphill to the gate. Burger’s got six Grubs coming up his way.

  “Whatever happens, don’t let them get past you to the skipper and the first sergeant,” he told Pickerul, as he ran back to find the lieutenant, worried about his state of mind.

  He could see the platoon commander’s avatar, but as a squad leader, he couldn’t pull up his vitals.

  “Staff Sergeant, do you see the lieutenant?” he asked.

  “We’re up to our asses in Grubs here. I don’t have the El-Tee watch.”

  Hondo rushed around the bend, afraid of what he might see, but whatever had put the lieutenant in a daze, it was gone. He was charging the Grubs again, a never-ending gout of fire spewing over the creatures. He was being hit in return; his shields had to be failing, but he didn’t seem to care.

  Hondo stepped forward, readied his hook at the Grub who was locked on the lieutenant, and fired. The hook plunged deep into the thing’s side as charge after char
ge flowed into it.

  Swinging around—and breaking the light tendril on the lieutenant—it raised a pseudopod which had flattened almost into a blade and swung down, slicing the line in two. A moment later, it lashed out at Hondo, his suit alarm blared its warning.

  Hondo’s instincts told him to dive away, but the lieutenant was still alive and fighting by taking it to the Grubs, so Hondo, against all logic and reason, ran forward, firing two more hooks.

  The net was full of cat vidclips, some of kittens attacking big dogs that backed down. Hondo felt like one of those kittens, ready to be flattened. To his amazement, the Grub faltered. Hondo could have sworn that it was, well, scared? Did Grubs even feel fear?

  The pseudopod from which the light tendril was being emitted flattened into the sword shape and sliced through one, then the other line, but instead of attacking him, it turned on itself and moved uphill, joining the rest of them as they burst through Second Squad’s line.

  “They’re going to hit the monastery from the rear! After them!” Staff Sergeant Rutledge yelled out at max power.

  Hondo looked around. Two of Cara’s Marines and Doc Kekoa were down, and one Grub, alive but contracting into the ball, was bearing the brunt of the lieutenant’s fury when his flame flickered, then petered out. He’d exhausted his supply of fuel.

  Hondo turned and bolted back to his Marines. He arrived as Wolf, Tony B, Joseph, Doc Leach, and RP came running from the other direction.

  “Nothing gets by us,” Hondo said. “RP, Tony B, come with me. We’re going to help Burger.”

  Hondo had been watching Hanaburgh’s avatar, which somehow was still a bright, deep blue. But he couldn’t hold out. With the Grubs on the road going to the rear of the monastery, the six down the hill facing the Marine were now the biggest threat, so he could justify going to help the former FCDC trooper.

  He skidded down the slope, trusting his gyros to keep him upright. As he reached the shoulder, he could see a thousand people, fleeing in all directions. To his right and down the slope, a lone Marine was firing at six Grubs, which were maneuvering to surround him. They were firing back, and Hanaburgh’s PICS was glowing under the onslaught.