by Chris Hechtl
He did appreciate all the gear and equipment. He looked on to the loaded trucks and pallets being stuffed into the cargo shuttle.
“Best get going, sir,” a loader said waving him off. “Your shuttle is going to leave,” the man said.
Jethro looked, then felt a tug on his pant leg. He looked down to Red. “I call window seat,” she said racing off.
He snorted and followed in her wake.
<)>^<)>/
They had an uneventful flight up. To his surprise they didn't dock at a station to crossload; they went directly to the ship. The shuttles docked with what turned out to be a tiny Dora class freighter. He got a peek at her underside, just enough to see that she had rows of cylinders along her keel. He suspected he knew what those cylinders were for.
The powers that be better hope they aren't going to have to use them; he hated the damn things.
“This is our ride?” Roarack asked in disbelief.
“Count your blessings we don't have to walk,” Pamplona said as they filed out of the shuttle through the hatch and into the airlock.
A Veraxin was there. They saluted but the Veraxin waved them off. “If you don't mind, we're in a bit of a hurry. Just get on board. We'll sort the cargo out later,” he said.
They filed into the ship and followed the guides as they waved them on. After a moment, the ship's A.I. got caught up with the group and started to issue maps to their quarters.
Jethro felt Red near him. She stuck to his side like glue, so much so that he had to keep from stepping on her. She had a little trouble getting over the occasional knee knocker though.
The ship was named Roy Boehm. A download came in from the A.I., a dumb A.I. from the sound of it. Then again, it might just be busy. Roy he thought.
He didn't expect his gear to be in his quarters and wasn't surprised that it wasn't. He was one of the few on board who had his own quarters. He was tempted to share it with Red, but Pamplona started chatting the Neocat up.
“We can bunk together, right?” Red asked, looking at Jethro.
“If it is okay with you two, it is okay with me,” he said with a nod.
Pam winked at him, then hustled her over to the cabin next to his. The fox seemed amused to have a roommate nearly her size.
He frowned as he went into his cabin. He left the door open. He checked with the ship's A.I., but Roy was still signaling he was busy. He checked the download and skimmed it.
According to the dump, the ship was a souped-up Dora class with a better drive, shields, sensors, crew, and other goodies. She was named after an ancient Navy SEAL, one dating back to the establishment of the original ones on old Terra. Apparently he had been the founder. He was amused that the ship was named after a squid, but he appreciated that the squid had been a fellow grunt and a mustang.
The same Veraxin PO that had met them came to his quarters. “Sir, you can pick up your gear now. We've sorted it out and the personal gear is in the mess,” he said.
“Gotcha,” Jethro said.
“The skipper would prefer small groups,” the Veraxin said.
“I see,” Jethro said as he banged on the girl's door and then silently flicked his finger to them in a signal to follow. The girls hopped off their bunks and did so.
“We're tight on space obviously and crew. Everyone's busy. We're already underway. If you could show the others where the gear is, sir …”
“I got it; you need to get to your station. We won't keep you. Roy downloaded a map into our implants,” Jethro said.
“Thank you, sir,” the Veraxin said as they got to the mess. He motioned to the open door. Jethro peeked and noted the great untidy pile of luggage and gear. “If you need anything else, please contact the ship's A.I.”
“I'll try not be a pest.”
“Thank you, sir. The skipper will try to make the rounds when she gets the time.”
“Good to know. Dismissed PO, I've got it from here,” Jethro said, flattening himself against the wall to let the girls pass.
He heard soft cries of dismay as the Veraxin left. He shook his head and went in. “Try not to make it even more messier than it already is,” He said.
“They sure were in a hurry,” Red said. “They brought our luggage to our rooms when I went to Antigua,” she said.
“The crew is very busy,” Jethro said. He heard loud clattering in the galley. “And they'll need the space soon. Grab your gear,” he said as he sent out a text to Pamplona to have the rest of her fire team report to get their gear. She caught it, looked up at him, then flicked her ears and forwarded the text to her group.
Once they had their gear, Jethro nodded to the two girls. Red was grunting as she tried to wrestle with her packages. “I'll carry that to your room,” Jethro said.
“Thanks,” she muttered, handing the biggest bag over to him.
“For a little lady, you don't pack light,” Pam said with a grin and ear flick. Red shrugged.
“Just make sure you don't go nosing about, Red,” Jethro warned her.
“I know,” she said testily, rolling her eyes.
“I mean it. I went out on a limb for you to do this. Don't cut it off behind me.”
“Okay, okay, I get the point,” she said, hands up.
“I mean it. No exploring. Stick to the areas your implants say you can go into,” he said.
She grimaced. She had civilian grade implants but frequently didn't use them. She followed Pam to the door as the others arrived. When she realized he wasn't coming, she paused and looked at him. “Aren't you …?”
“I'm going to make sure everyone gets their gear. I'll see you later,” he said.
She looked at him dubiously and then shrugged.
<)>^<)>/
Jethro was surprised when they got to the B-459c jump point two days later. They were really hauling ass he noted. He found out how much ass they were hauling as the ship made jump, then announced her transition up the octaves until they hit the eighth octave of Delta, the supposedly sweet spot of that hyperband … and the fastest he'd ever been.
That was the talk of the evening meal that night.
“They aren't pussy footing around. But why the detour?” Roarack asked.
“You are going to get a chance to see your family. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth,” Blue Eyes replied. “I'm going to miss mine.”
Jethro visibly winced.
“I'm not going to see them; they are out and about as a pack. I just thought time was of the essence,” Roarack said, eying Jethro.
“I had to make a hard call. I got the brass to back it. What happens is on me,” Jethro said levelly, “me and my conscience alone.”
“They backed it, so they share in it. But I get it. And Jethro, thanks,” Roarack said with a nod to the black Neocat. Jethro nodded. He looked over to Red. Hopefully, it would be worth it he thought.
Chapter 55
Major Zedeal analyzed data on enemy movements. At first he posted a map with the contact points that the enemy had been seen. Each contact had a link to a description of the attacker's armor and the logs of the engagement. The enemy was so into personalizing their armor that it meant they were fingerprinting themselves. It meant he could see who was where, and more importantly, when. He could get a general time it would take to get from point A to B without being seen and run that across variables like terrain and battery power in their suits. He came up with a lot of WAGs though; some he wasn't particularly comfortable with.
He spent a little time talking to the surviving armored troops. Those conversations reminded him that the enemy could leave caches of batteries behind. That forced him to throw all his WAGs out and start over in frustration. He was back to the locations of the armors … sightings … That wasn't enough information he eventually realized, so he added course and vector, plus a backtrack of where they were. A few times they did indeed go on a least-time course from where they entered combat to their last sightings.
That allowed him to see something of a patt
ern in the general direction the armored troops went. They were never picked up before an op, but they were seen retreating until they got out of sensor range. It made sense for them to go in a straight line to conserve power after combat … but they couldn't because they knew they were being watched. Each time they realized that they changed direction.
Still, with what he had teased out of the data, he had managed to narrow a search area. It was still a thousand kilometers in diameter, but it gave them a possible starting point to look for one of their bases.
The biggest thing that bothered him though was it was near the spaceport, Capital City, and several towns. And that entire area had been searched thoroughly. There was a lot of air traffic coming and going in the area, more every day.
He had to find a way to narrow it down.
<)>^<)>/
Colonel Harley set the tablet down on her desk with a sigh. It wasn't like she could change the numbers; they were there, bare for her to see. Nothing could give her back her dead. Her wounded … some might return to her service, some would have to be shipped back to recover in Pyrax, the doctors and equipment on Colonel Harper had their limits. Some would have mental trauma for years to come.
Making up their numbers with local militia wasn't something pleasant for her to think about. They didn't have the training or equipment to handle the enemy. At best they could be an extra set of eyes and ears … and help the LEOs out with crowd control. That was about it.
She grimaced as she kicked herself mentally. She had numbers and hardware on her side, but the enemy was playing smart. She hated that. She'd fought Valenko often enough; she should have been better than she was.
Each time she'd thought she'd nailed the enemy down and sent a force, she'd pulled back a stump. They might have been outnumbered, but they were smart enough to localize maximum numbers and force on her. They had done a bang-up job of attritionalizing her forces up until that point. She had only a handful of armor left, so hell, they'd done a very good job she thought grudgingly. Too good she thought as she shook her head.
That had to change. She needed a way to turn the knife around and use it on them.
One thing she had learned, the bastards were fiendishly clever at laying traps. Right on the level of Valenko come to think of it. They were vulnerable from range, especially from the air, but they seemed to know that and weren't above accepting casualties if they could take out their objective. Which meant she needed to keep her Reaper drones and gunships viable. They were targets, big targets on the ground. They were safest in the air high up out of reach of shoulder-launched SAMS.
They couldn't have more than what they started with however. Lieutenant Liu was adamant that only a platoon had gotten to the planet. Of that her people had confirmed thirteen KIA, with another six probable WIA and at least six confirmed WIA. One of the KIA had recently been confirmed; it was a suit that had washed up on shore downstream from the spaceport and Capital City. The spooks had confirmed it was one of the suits that had participated in the raid. They speculated that there might be more in the river but had no way to dredge the river to find out for certain.
She refused to count the probables as killed unless they had a damn body. As far as the WIAs were concerned, Major Zedeal had confirmed that at least one had been returned to service based on footage of it. That wasn't good; it meant the other side had engineering support with them.
She still didn't know what the hard number was on the platoon. A hundred? A hundred and twenty? Sixty? She had no clue and nor did the spooks, though they had hard IDs on thirty-six suits excluding the ones they'd killed. The enemy's tendency to customize them with their skulls and such made it easier to keep track of that at least. But were there more? She had to think there were some in reserve.
With most of her armor gutted, she would need to find a way to hit them from the air … or pin them down so the ships could pound them with KEW strikes. So far that seemed to be her only way of dealing with them. Would she be willing to go through with a KEW strike in an area close to a city though? Or one of her own units?
She shook her head like an angry horse being pestered by a particularly noisome fly. She would cross that bridge when she came to it; there was no point trying to worry about it ahead of time she thought.
According to the latest ansible reports, First Division's armor was en route. That was another 110 suits, and half of that number had more than a year in their suits. But like her own people precious few of them had actual combat time.
She grimaced. Come to think of it, the only time suits had been engaged in actual combat had been on Antigua Prime and Protodon. Protodon was out … she sighed and shook her head. Like it mattered.
With the armor were eighteen backup gunships, parts, and more drones. She was gratified to know that Captain Church's battalion had started their movement weeks ago; according to the report, they were ready for pickup in Pyrax. That was good. According to the latest revised plan, Iwo Jima would pick them up and bring them to her at her best speed while Chesty continued with her brood and dropped them off in Pyrax and Agnosta, picking up what she could in the process.
They were in the pipeline, but she didn't have them yet. Until they were on planet, she'd have to make do.
How to go about that though …that was a problem. She frowned as she tapped her lips thoughtfully. Finally, something came to her, an intelligence resource they'd been neglecting. She opened an email on her HUD and began typing quickly. If she got it off fast enough, he might be able to work it into his next broadcast she thought.
<)>^<)>/
Jean Claude read the email from the colonel and nodded. He should have thought of it sooner. In fact, he had, but he hadn't taken it to the level she was. She wanted to actively enlist his people into helping them find the enemy and get rid of them.
It was risky he knew. He also knew given the losses that they'd taken over the past month that the Marines were in trouble.
“Okay, Colonel,” he typed out. He was still getting used to computers. He was also still getting used to the civilian grade implants the medics had given him. They were like a wondrous toy he barely understood and was worried about breaking or misusing.
He started his show with the usual news. Most of it was minor, but the warning about weather fronts he had to stress in his voice since his people didn't have televisions to see the visuals he had. Describing the direction of the movement of the weather fronts was tricky.
“Folks, my time is almost up here, but I wanted to cap this with a request. We need to end this threat to our people. You know it and I know it. Each time the enemy attacks and savages our people just drives home that point,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and not begging. He hated to sound like he was begging; it would send the wrong message.
“We need to root out the enemy, and there is something you can do. If you see them, let people know. Don't use the radio. Ride in to the nearest town and let them know that way. And I'm not just talking about the raiders. If you see anyone suspicious, strangers in your area, stuff like that, let people know. Watch out for people who want to spend the night at your home that you don't know. If you aren't too careful, you may not wake-up the next morning or any other morning. We've gotten plenty of reports like that. You know the Horathians are brutal.”
He inhaled and then exhaled slowly. “We're making progress, folks, but it is a long road to recovery. We need to stay on it and help where we can. The Marines have helped us; now it's time to return the favor. This is Jean Claude Debois; have a good evening, folks, wherever you are,” he said as he signed off.
<)>^<)>/
The more radio reports came in with grief-filled news of the attacks on towns and cities all over the continent, the more the people of Fallbrook became terrified about getting hit as well. It was only a matter of time they knew. People watched every road just like the Marines. The Marines couldn't cover all the roads so they had checkpoints on the three main roads and robots keeping watch
of the others while a patrol made the rounds in the town and reacted to someone coming in to town. It wouldn't stop someone from coming in the back alleys though.
At the next town meeting, the idea of building a perimeter wall was floated about. They tabled the idea of building an airport; they didn't want to draw attention to themselves. Nor did they have the equipment to make an earth berm wall like the Marines had reportedly done around the spaceport, Capital City, their own base and other places.
Al grimaced as he stood. “Look folks, I know we're all scared. We, meaning me …,” he looked around then went back to addressing the crowd at large, “have realized we, the militia, won't stand a snowball's chance in Hades against one of their armor suits.”
“So what do we do?” Judith asked.
“I honestly don't know,” Al said. “Except to remain vigilant and give the Marines whatever support we can.”
“And if that brings the Horathians down on us? For helping them?” Clair demanded scathingly, eying the Marines watching them.
“Point of order,” Tessa said, rising and raising a hand. “I'd like to point out that the Horathians were here before the Marines. I know. I also know what they like to do to people like me or to people who get in their way or have something they want.” There were nods around the park. “We do what we can with what we've got. I don't have a shovel, but if someone's willing to lend me one I'm willing to go out and dig. Just point to where,” she said firmly as she placed her hands on her hips.
“Here, here,” Serena echoed, raising a fist. “We can work with the Marines, right?” she demanded, eying the sergeant.
“Yes, ma'am. Sergeant Ivanovich said with a nod. “We can draw up plans for you. We'll even get some help if there is any available.”
“Okay,” Al said with a nod to the sergeant. “We won't have a wall tomorrow or next week. That's a given. We're going to need to vote on property rights to get this done since I know some people may not be happy about having a wall across their property,” he said.
