I’m not going to puke, he told himself, manfully swallowing the mouthful that had come up.
He got to his feet, stumbling only once, and drew himself erect in front of his sergeant. His body trembled as Mbangwa turned him 90 degrees. This time, there was no playing around. Sergeant Mbangwa kneed his thigh, collapsing the leg. Somehow, Hondo managed to stay at least half-up, his left leg trembling.
Sergeant Mbangwa watched as Hondo straightened and stood fully erect.
He looked over the rest of the Marines and corpsmen, then announced, “I welcome Corporal Hondo McKeever into the ranks of Marine non-commissioned officers. Let no senior doubt his determination, let all juniors fear his wrath!”
There was a cheer as the rest of the platoon’s corporals, sergeants, and the two HM3 corpsmen cheered, men and women who’d all just beat the living crap out of him.
“Makorokoto, Soldier,” the sergeant said as he helped Hondo take a seat. “Took it like a real Marine.”
“Hey, you corporals, what’s the matter with you? Give your newest E4 a beer!” he shouted, hand still on Hondo’s shoulder.
Corporal Yetter—Paul to him now—rushed up with a cold Ariel from the case someone had swiped or traded for from the Confeds. Hondo didn’t want it, afraid of the nausea that still roiled his stomach, but this was part of the tradition as well.
An illegal tradition.
Getting his rank “pounded” was considered hazing, and that was specifically prohibited by the UFCMJ. That was one of the traditions, along with recon “blood wings,” that was routinely ignored by the brass. A lance corporal was promoted to E4, usually by the company commander. But he or she was not considered part of the NCO mafia until the chevrons were pounded into the shoulder and the “blood stripe” was kneed into the thigh.
After the party broke up, Doc Pataki would escort him to sickbay to treat him for “falling down.” No one, including the battalion surgeon, would bat an eye. A few hours in regen, and he’d be functional, at least, and well on his way to a full recovery.
Using his left arm, Hondo took a swig of the cold ale, and to his surprise, it settled his stomach. He looked up at the rest of the NCO, aware that he’d become one of the true backbones of the modern Marine Corps. Officers did their thing, even SNCOs, but it was the corporals and the sergeants who led Marines into battle.
His arm was throbbing, unable even to hold the beer. He could feel his thigh swelling, but he almost savored the pain for what it represented to him.
He was now an NCO of Marines!
Chapter 26
Skylar
“See, look at the readouts,” Christoff said, placing plastisheets in front of each of them. “The data is pretty clear.”
Dr. Christoff Hans was one of their replacements, a “newbie,” as the military side of the house called them. A structural engineer, he’d managed to pull out a string of data, which if true, could have significant ramifications.
Sky had some doubts about it. The AI’s had poured over the same data inputs, as had some of humanity’s brightest minds. Still, it was possible. Sky pulled the sheet closer and began to analyze the data from his perspective.
He could be right, she realized as she began to take it in.
She downloaded the data into her PA and ran it through several spin-cycles, and while each of the results differed slightly, they generally ran true. Whether his final theory held water as left to determine, but at least she couldn’t disapprove it based on the data.
Christoff’s data showed two interlocking factors that seemed to relate to a weapon’s, if not efficacy, then ability to impact on the Dictymorphs: speed of the weapon and ambient temperature.
Given the fact that a Klethos pike and even a thrown incendiary device could impact on the body of a Dictymorph, the speed of the weapon or projectile had already been analyzed to death without any obvious correlation. What Christoff postulated was that there was another factor, ambient temperature. At higher temperatures, either ambient or from the warhead itself, more could penetrate the Dictymorph’s shielding.
But he didn’t stop there. He also threw in a monkey wrench. Some missiles, such as a Marine M48, initially were able to penetrate the shielding, even if they had no discernable effect on the Dictymorphs, but lost that ability even at higher ambient temperatures. According to Christoff, the answer was simple. The Dictymorphs were adjusting the settings, so to speak, of their shielding. They’d lowered the barrier to a slower speed, hence blocking out those weapons.
Hell, not “he could be right.” I think he is right.
That was one of the problems with human society, the reliance on AIs. AIs could navigate faster, fire weapons more accurately, churn through huge amounts of data, and do many things better than humans could. What they took a back seat to humans, however, was in intuition.
Warhead speed and temperature had been examined, but as those two alone didn’t fit the ground truth, they were discarded. Christoff, brand new to the team and so with a new set of eyes, had keyed onto an overlooked factor: Dictymorph ability to adjust to meet conditions.
It was pretty embarrassing. They all knew the Dictymorphs were not static entities. The battle on K-2947 had proven that. Why hadn’t anyone previously considered that factor?
No time for recriminations now. If this pans out, we can outfit the Marines and soldiers with much more effective weapons.
And that meant fewer human and Klethos deaths.
Chapter 27
Hondo
“Shift right, Xeras. I don’t think Dodds wants you to light up her ass,” Hondo passed on the fire team net.
In the front of the wedge, BK turned around and spotted Xeras. Their P2P telltale lit off, and while Hondo couldn’t listen in, he could imagine BK blistering her hide. It was all well and good to let AI governors handle the problem of friendly fire, but couple the potential for having their power cut with the fact that some of the new weapons had not been integrated into the suits yet, well, BK was right to worry.
He looked down at his new grappling hook. When he’d told Sam and BK about General Lysander earning his Nova by killing a Capy with a grappling hook, he’d never thought he’d be outfitted with one.
Not that it was a real grappling hook. It just looked like one, and the Marines had taken to referring to them as such. With the fans folded against the side of the shaft at the moment, it was light and easy to maneuver. Once it hit a Grub, however, and the tip penetrated its body, the fans would shoot out, and the current, based on the same principle as the Klethos pikes, would deploy. The idea was that with the fans deployed inside the body, it would be difficult for the Grubs to pull them out.
And of particular interest to the Marines, the hook could be deployed from a distance. If they worked, there wouldn’t be a requirement to close in to hand-to-Grub combat as with the pikes.
In keeping with the whole loss of power thing, the head of the hooks could be fired either under PICS power or mechanically. Using the PICS, the hook could reach 100 meters. If a PICS lost power, with a lot of sweat expended, a Marine could employ it by mechanical means.
“Keep moving, BK,” Hondo reminded her.
She turned and continued forward, closing in on the target.
With Paul on his fire team to his right and Dixie Freemechman and her team on his left, the squad advanced on line. Everything looked good, so, of course, that was when they were hit.
Sergeant Mbangwa’s avatar grayed out.
Oh, shit!
Immediately, command passed to Dixie as the senior corporal.
“Keep advancing, and guide on me.”
As the center fire team in an otherwise featureless approach, the squad had been guiding on First Fire Team. Hondo didn’t understand why she changed it, but she was the boss. And that meant the Xeras, on the left side of the wedge, had the responsibility to guide off of Third Fire team now.
For a moment, Hondo considered switching to a V, which would shift that responsibility to B
K, but only for a moment. Xeras had to learn.
“Heads up. Report any movement to me,” Dixie passed to the squad.
Calm down, Dix. We know what to do.
“Private Xeras, I said guide on Second. You’re too far forward.
Sergeant Mbangwa was not a micromanager, never telling someone what to do just to hear his own voice. And he’d never given a tactical order directly to a rifleman, as far as Hondo knew. Dixie was not as assured, however, and she tended to micro-manage things.
“Hey, Dixie. Let me know if you need us to adjust. I’ll take care of Xeras.”
“You weren’t, so I stepped in,” she said curtly before cutting the circuit.
Hondo rolled his eyes. She was nervous, he could see, so he’d just go with the flow for now.
“Targets in sight,” Rosy passed on the squad net. “Three, I repeat, three, Grubs in a line, 700 meters at zero-five-five.”
“Keep up the advance,” Dixie passed. “Unit integrity.”
The squad passed the slight rise, and then Hondo could see the three “Grubs” as well. These weren’t the DreamWorks automatons, which were far too valuable to be simple targets. The Grubs were shipping crates covered with white tarps. They were cheap, but they didn’t move and had to be replaced after each engagement.
A light flashed beside one the Grubs.
“Check your shield strengths,” Dixie passed. “Speed to three-five-kay-pee-aich.”
Immediately, the twelve remaining Marines, along with Doc Pataki, stepped up their cadence. Within moments, all thirteen of them were loping forward at the sustained speed. Hondo might have gone into superman mode, regardless of the slight weakening of their shield power, but with the taraline up-armor, they now had almost 30 seconds of breathing room before the shields would fail.
At least, that’s what the civilians promised.
The light sphere “hit,” and immediately Rosy and Private Hortense-Realto were taken out.
“Keep going,” Dixie passed.
The remainder of the squad closed the distance. At 150 meters, Hondo raised his hook, ready to fire. At 105 meters, his power went out.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” he shouted, his voice going nowhere.
The PICS now had a gyro system that brought the suit to a standing halt once power was lost. Hondo quickly reached up and cranked the display shield. Ten seconds later, he had full view to the front. No one was still advancing, at least that he could see, so everyone must have lost power along with him.
He checked his left arm, which he’d been about to raise when the power was cut. It wasn’t on target, but it wasn’t far off, either. With both hands, now, he turned the wheels that gave vertical and horizontal motion. Cranking both and getting out of breath, he brought the little nub that acted as a crude iron sight, into alignment with the nearest Grub.
He flipped the selector lever and started cranking again, but the latch didn’t catch the string. Flipping the selector lever three or four times, he finally got it to catch and started cranking back the string, letting it fall into the tiny groove behind the hook quarrel.
Sweat was dripping off his forehead with the exertion (and lack of working climate control in the suit) as he reached for the left arm trigger release. A burst of flames reached out from his left, enveloping the left Grub. His target, though, was the center Grub. He released the trigger.
Using the mechanical launcher was not as uniform as firing under power. The tension on the string, its position as it fell into the slot, and the position of the hook quarrel all had an effect. With a vibration that Hondo felt through his dead suit, the hook took off.
For a moment, Hondo thought it was going to fall short, but it carried just enough to reach the base of the Grub, bouncing once before hitting it.
Over the next minute, a few more hooks shot out, a few more flames. Some hit, some didn’t. The Grub on the right looked almost untouched.
Power flowed back into his PICS. His suit went through its field protocol, and ten seconds later, it was fully functional.
“All hands return to the bleachers,” the range operator passed.
“At the double-time,” Sergeant Mbangwa said.
“He sounds pissed,” Paul passed on the P2P as the Marines started to run back down the length of the range.
“Wouldn’t you be? Getting killed before we really started?” Hondo said.
By the time that got back to the bleachers, the sergeant was standing to the side, waiting. If a Marine in a PICS could display anger, then this was the case. Maybe it was the slight tilt at the waist that let him imagine the angry sergeant inside.
If he was angry, he didn’t let his voice show it as they gathered around.
“Wait for our debrief,” was all he said.
Getting out of the bleachers was a squad of Klethos. Since the fighting forces had been segregated, Hondo had minimal contact with their allies. It was only as they approached the range LOD that he noticed all of them had grappling hooks and launchers as well. They looked no different than the Marines’ hooks.
“Look at that,” he passed to BK. “We use their tech for the head, but our tech to get it there.”
“Beats using the pikes,” was all she said.
The Klethos did an abbreviated haka, stomping around and thrusting their grappling hooks into the air. The Marines all watched the dance for a moment. Without a discernable signal, they all wheeled almost in unison and took off down the range.
Hondo would have liked to follow them and observe their attack. He had a feeling in his gut that humans and Klethos would have to work much closer together if they were going to defeat the threat.
Chapter 28
Skylar
Skylar was numb, her body in rebellion from just about every stimulant known to man. At the same time, she was hyped beyond belief. This was it, the first real strike against the Dictymorphs.
She just hoped they’d provided the task force with the tools to win.
Operation Brave Justice had been in the works for two weeks, not nearly enough time for something of this magnitude. Sometimes, though, the enemy doesn’t give enough time for long-term planning. When the Klethos liaison had informed the UAM command that the Dictymorphs had invaded one of their planets, one with a large Klethos population, the task force had to take action.
It wasn’t as if they’d started from point zero, after all. Everything over the last year had pointed to this. The initial confrontations, the weapons research, the psychological profiling, all had been in preparation for this.
Sky understood the the political ramifications as well, both for the Klethos and for humanity. The Klethos had been patient with the work-ups, but they had to see that humans would do more than hit the Dictymorphs on worlds they had largely abandoned. But this was also a message to the rest of humanity. After the Brotherhood and its faction had pulled out of the task force, more and more opposition to the war had surfaced. The UAM needed a win, and in a big way, to shore up support.
She also understood the risk. A defeat, particularly a catastrophic defeat, could shut down all support.
L’Teesha stepped up behind her and wrapped her arms around Sky’s shoulders. “We’ve done all we can, Sky. Now it’s up to them.”
“But did we do enough? Just look at them. How many won’t return?”
“God knows, men wait to find out.”
The two watched the spacepad where thousands of Marines and soldiers were still loading the shuttles. Bill said it would take 18 hours for the entire task force to be aboard the ships and on their way.
She felt a wave of concern. Bill was going on the operation as well. Sky didn’t know many on the military side, and none as well as she knew Bill. She didn’t want to think about losing him.
Thirty-thousand Marines, soldiers, Legionnaires, and militia were on their way to fight far beyond human space. Four Klethos battalions were in the task force as well, but unlike the humans, they’d be going to a Klethos world. For all she knew, s
ome of them might have been born on K-3363.
This wasn’t the Klethos’ homeworld. The planet was now populated by the Klethos-lee, but Diane had told them it had once been the home of another species. The Klethos had defeated them and taken over the planet. When asked, she’d told them that the original occupants no longer existed.
For all the Klethos on Purgamentium seemed to be “civilized,” Diane’s casual comment reflected on the true nature of the Klethos. They’d conducted genocide on 17 different species of intelligent life. Sky liked the Klethos, such as they were, but sometimes even she wondered if they were doing the right thing in supporting them.
“You going to get some sleep?” L’Teesha asked.
“Not just yet. I want to watch them finish the embarkation.”
“Remember what they told us. Our bodies need to recover from all the stims, and Procounsel Bari wants all of us ready to go for the landing.”
“I know, I know. And I’ll get some sleep later.”
“Don’t wait too long, Sky, OK?”
Sky patted L’Teesha’s arm as her friend pulled away. L’Teesha took a step to leave, then stopped and turned back.
“It sucks that you weren’t made Chief Xenologist, but all of us at the Kid’s Table, we know what you’ve done. No one could have done better. You’ve given those young men and women their best shot at coming back home.”
Sky looked up in surprise. Yes, she’d been disappointed that she hadn’t moved up to Chief Xenologist, but she’d managed to suppress that and focus on the mission. She wasn’t an expert in most of the specific disciplines, but she’d like to have thought that she’s been a good conduit for the interchange of ideas and courses of action. It touched her that L’Teesha thought she’d been vital to that mission.
A tear formed in the corner of her eye, one she quickly brushed away.
Damned stims, making me all emotional.
She settled back to watch the rest of soldiers go off to war.
Alliance (The United Federation Marine Corps' Grub Wars Book 1) Page 13
