“Hell, Xeras, did you even get a chance to have one before you got shipped out here as RepMar?” Dixie asked.
“Eat me. Sure, I did. How else would I know about Fritos?”
“’Cause about every one of us old salts talk about it. So, between reporting in from boot to leaving for the Purge as a RepMar, how long did you have on Alexander?”
“Two weeks, but that was enough time to go to Fritos. Twice!”
The rest of the table erupted into laughter.
“Hell, I went twice a week for a year before we deployed here,” BK said.
Hondo leaned back in his seat, listening to the banter. These were his friends, his family, and he’d never forget them. Some had been there since they first landed. Paul, BK, Dixie, Jorge. Sergeant Mbangwa. Others had joined them as RepMars, Replacement Marines, but they still made their impact like Fiona and Luke.
And there were those who’d they’d lost: Sam. Rosy. Doc Pataki. Sunrise. Tinman. Lieutenant Silas. They were still part of the platoon, part of him.
Hondo was just as anxious to get back as the rest of them, but he also felt the pang of the loss he knew he’d feel. They’d all get new orders once they were back. Dixie was not reenlisting. The rest of them would be scattered to the winds. Right now, celebrating the battalion’s Patron’s Day, might be the last time they’d ever be so close, and that made Hondo sad. Grateful that he had them in his life, but sad that this was all about to end. He almost wished that they weren’t redeploying.
Almost.
“I love you guys,” he said before realizing it.
“Love you, too, big guy,” BK said. “Even if you can be a dickwad NCO.”
“Back at you,” Dixie said.
“Jaegers forever,” Fiona added.
Paul just nodded and lifted his champagne glass to him in a silent toast.
The war with the Grubs wasn’t going to be over anytime soon, and chances were that all of them would be back in the fight soon enough. With the Brotherhood and the rest gone, that left the Confed and the Federation to pick up most of the slack, and that meant a quarter of the Corps was now committed. Paul thought that might jump up to half before long, and Hondo tended to agree with that.
Hell, enough with the Grubs and the war. Just enjoy the evening, he told himself.
“Any more of that champagne?” he asked.
“They gave us one bottle for the entire table, and you think there’s any left? What, are you high?” Paul asked.
“He ain’t high on just one bottle,” BK said. “But, if you NCOs won’t be gung-ho pricks, I might have something back in the hootch.”
“Might? And just where would you have scored something?” Paul asked.
“I’ll never reveal my sources,” she said, nudging Gabriella, who unsuccessfully failed to suppress her cat-eating grin.
“Oh, so a tanker’s good for something?” Dixie asked.
“She’s good for plenty of things,” BK said to the catcalls of the others.
Gabriella had the courtesy of blushing.
Hondo looked around the hangar where the tables had been set up. At the head table, the CO and the senior guests were still seated, but the general had the look of somebody about to leave. As soon as they left, the rest of the battalion would be free to leave as well.
“Well, this NCO isn’t a gung-ho prick, so I’m up for whatever you’ve got hidden away. As soon as the head table gets up, let’s go sample it,” Hondo said. “And I’m guessing that’ll be in less than five minutes.”
Paul looked over at the table and said, “I’m going with the over. You up for a tenner?”
“You’re on. Ten it is. On my mark, now!”
Marines had a habit of betting on almost anything, and BK and Dixie made a side bet, Dixie going along with Hondo and BK with Paul. At two minutes, the head table still hadn’t made any sign of leaving.
“You getting nervous?” Paul asked.
“Hell, no,” Hondo lied. “You want to double it?”
“To twenty? That one glass of champagne’s gone to your head.”
“So, you’re afraid?”
“Hell, no. You’re on. We’ll see soon enough, in about two minutes and forty more seconds.”
They never reached the five minutes. With more than a minute left, a raucous siren filled the air outside the hangar. All talk ceased as Marines looked about in confusion. The siren was a warning, but of what?
A lieutenant with the gold braid of an aide rushed over from the portable comms suite that had been set up in the corner of the hangar. He bent over the general who listened for a moment, then jumped to his feet. He said something to the CO, then rushed out, the lieutenant and five other Marines in his wake.
The CO grabbed for the mic and said, “All hands, report to the armory immediately. Company commanders, to me now.”
There was a stunned silence, and the CO added, “This is not a drill. We are under attack!”
Chapter 35
Skylar
Sky stared at Diane, the nominal head of the d’solle quad. If what she’d just said, almost in an off-handed manner, were true, then the humans were going to have to drastically rethink their strategy.
“Can you be more specific?” Creighton asked, his voice cracking.
As the head of the Klethos division, he should have known this rather pertinent fact, and he had to realize that this didn’t reflect well on him or his team. Sky didn’t care about his reputation, however. She did care about what Diane had just said.
“We are who we are, no more or no less. We are the Klethos,” Diane responded.
“But you said that the Klethos here form a large percentage of your force.”
“This is true.”
“But that’s a little more than 12,000 fighters,” Colonel Hsih said, the senior military rep at the meeting.
Diane slowly blinked, which was the Klethos equivalent of a nod.
“That’s impossible. How could you have . . . uh, eliminated 17 other species with so few warriors.”
“It is the heart of the warrior, the honor, that succeeds in battle. Until we discovered you, no other race understood this. They were as the food animals we slaughter to eat.”
Sky did some quick calculations in her head. From gleaning information given in dribs and drabs, they knew that there was only one warrior for every 500-1,000 Klethos. Assuming the 1,000-to-one ratio, and assuming that the battalions here on Purgamentium were 25% of the total force, then that meant that there were only 48,000,000 Klethos in existence. Humans numbered close to 200 billion.
“No wonder they wanted gladiatorial combat,” Bill whispered beside her.
Sky was gobsmacked. The Klethos were better fighters when compared to humans, and they had the ability to nullify most human weapons. But no matter their fighting prowess or technology, there was no way 48,000 Klethos warriors could withstand 30 billion soldiers that humans could put in uniform if it came to that.
For the first time, Sky had to wonder if the Klethos had been playing the long con over the last century, leading humans to contribute their teeming masses to the fight against the Grubs.
The meeting with d’solle had been called to ask the Klethos to send more fighters to be trained in integrated tactics. They had asked for 50,000, and Diane had countered with 4,000, telling that that was all they could spare without leaving undefended the planets they thought the Dictymorphs would hit next.
The numbers just didn’t make sense to Sky, and she was about to ask Diane about Klethos reproduction rates when a siren started blaring outside the building. Everyone looked at each other in confusion.
Beside her, Bill pulled out his PA. He looked at it for a moment before he jumped to his feet, a split second after Colonel Hsih.
The senior colonel shouted out, “We’re under attack. All of you, stay inside the room. I’ll send someone back for security. Bill, let’s go.”
“Don’t move,” Bill said to her before he dashed out of the conference r
oom.
There was dead silence for a moment before everyone broke out talking at once.
“Who’s attacking us? The Brotherhood?” Aurora asked.
The Brotherhood had taken an increasingly antagonistic stance toward the war effort, but Sky didn’t think things had sunk to violence yet.
“It is the ksree,” Diane announced, using the half-whistle Klethos name for the Dictymorphs.
“That’s impossible,” EC Stanislaw protested. “They’re hundreds of light years away.”
“The impossible is the fact,” Diane said as the quad rose in unison.
They started for the door when Stanislaw said, “Wait. The colonel said to stay here!”
The muffled sounds of a gun of some sort reached them.
“The kshree are here. We will join our warriors to fight,” Diane said in the same matter-of-factly way she had mentioned their low population numbers.
“But we need you here,” the EC said. “You’re our liaison. Besides, you’re not warriors.”
“From where do you think the d’solle come?”
Sky has suspected as much. Not for the entire quad, maybe, but for Diane. She was a large as the warriors, at least.
The four d’solle marched out of the conference room. Creighton took a step as if to stop them, but he gave that up and moved out of the way.
More sounds of big guns reached them, then the shouts of men and women.
“What do we do now?” Lars asked.
“Just what the colonel said. We stay right here,” Sky responded. “Everyone, come here to the middle of the room and sit down.”
EC Stanislaw was standing, his mouth gaping open. Sky was not the most senior member of the room by far, but the situation was new territory, and someone had to take charge. She grabbed the EC by his arm and led him to the center, then sat him down.
“Everyone, over here, now!” she ordered, and to her surprise, they all complied.
This isn’t much, but it’s the best we can do right now. Colonel, we’re waiting for your Marine security.
Fifteen humans, supposedly among the best and brightest on the planet, sat there huddled while outside, Marines and soldiers joined the battle.
Chapter 36
Hondo
“Come on, come on,” Hondo shouted at his fire team. “Get a move on!”
The entire battalion had returned to berthing at a dead run, shucked their utilities, and donned their long johns. Squads of Marines were already bolting to the armory to get into their PICS.
Each of the combat suits had been powered up for the up-check prior to turnover tomorrow, so CWO4 Donaldson and Staff Sergeant Jardine should be able to get the suits online within an hour--if the Grubs would give them the time. Even as they rushed to get ready, over 200 of the Grubs had landed on the planet with more landing every few minutes.
Three-Six had to join the fight. Two of the new battalions had already completed their PICS swap and were out in the training ranges getting a feel for their suits—now Two-Sixteen was locked into battle.
“Done!” Fiona shouted, and the four Marines—Hondo, BK, Fiona, and Aaron Manuel, who came over from Third Team—broke into a sprint to the armory. With only 12 donning stations, there was a line of Marines waiting. The flashing lights in the night sky reflected the urgency of the situation. Two-Sixteen was getting slaughtered.
“Let’s hope First Tanks gets underway soon,” Fiona said.
BK blanched. Gabriella was with First Tanks, a battalion now whittled down to 41 Mannies. Along with Marine Air, the tanks offered their best hope.
Another 12 Marines rushed in while the racks brought their PICS forward.
“How did the Grubs find us?” BK asked.
“Followed us back, I imagine,” Sergeant Mbangwa said. “Now we’ve got to stop them.”
“We’ve got a hell of a lot more Marines and Confeds here than we had on 3363,” Paul said.
“But Two-Sixteen’s just snapping in, and we’ve don’t have enough PICS for everyone,” BK said.
“But we’re Jaegers, the toughest sons-of-bitches in the Corps. And we know a thing or two about fighting Grubs,” the sergeant reminded them. “This is what we do.”
“Ooh-rah, Sergeant!” BK and Hondo said in unison.
Hondo was kidding himself. With something like 200 on the planet, more now, most likely, and without a plan in place, this was going to be a tough fight. But, they’d beaten the bastards before, and they could do it again.
“Next twelve!” Staff Sergeant Jardine shouted, and Hondo stepped up to the fourth station.
He scanned his wrist, and the racking system shot down into the racks, emerging a few moments later with his PICS. A Marine he didn’t recognize, probably from one of the incoming battalions, was there to help him.
He didn’t need it. With a hop and twist that belied his bulk, he slipped into the familiar confines of his PICS.
“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he muttered to his PICS as he snapped in and activated his readouts.
“Emergency check-list only,” the Marine yelled at him as he snapped shut the back.
The ECL powered up a PICS in 30 seconds, bypassing 34 of the 52 components. It was enough to keep him fighting, but skipped some redundant functions or ones that could be ignored for the short term. The piss-snake, for example, took a minute on its own to connect and up-check. By skipping that, he’d be ready all the sooner. If his bladder let go, he might be uncomfortable, but he’d still be combat effective.
“You’re green,” a voice said through his comms. “Get off the station.”
Hondo stepped back and waited in the staging area, eyes glued to the flickering lights in the near distance, as the rest of the squad came out. Throughout his short career so far, Hondo had been trained for a war where shielding, spoofing, and surveillance counter-measures made locating the enemy half of the battle. With the Grubs, there was no doubt as to where they were, especially in the dark. The flashes of light were beacons—as well as evidence of Marines dying.
“First Squad, to the spacepad,” Sergeant Mbangwa passed. “We’re going to be lifted to the far side of the battle. We need to relieve the pressure and draw the Grubs away from mainside. I’ll give you more guidance as I get it myself.”
The squad, light by five members and with barely two full fire teams, broke into their ground devouring trot to the spacepad ten short klicks down the gentle slope. All around them, the night shadows were rife with movement, other squads trotting alongside of them.
“OK, an update,” the sergeant passed. “We’re going to be lifted here,” he said, as a position on Hondo’s battlefield display highlighted. “We’re to link up with one of the Kluck battalions that’s on its way, then just like 3363, we’re going to fix them and then let the Klucks roll up their flanks. Depending on how the Klucks do, we’ll try to lead whatever Grubs are left away from mainside along this axis.”
An arrow appeared, leading up the valley towards the higher hills 50 klicks away.
“I know this is kinda simplistic, so just keep your ears open and be ready to adjust as the battle demand.”
“Par for the course,” BK said, trotting beside him. “Not much in the details.”
“Hooking us up with the Klucks, though, with this little notice, that’s not half bad.”
“I still want to know how the hell they found us. I mean, like, we’re a long way from 3363, and they bypassed a shitload of Kluck worlds to get here.”
“Like Paul said, they probably followed us back.”
“Man, that’s what the Brotherhood fucks and the other cowards were saying, that we’re gonna lead the Grubs to human space.”
Hell, she’s right. The Brotherhood’s going to go ballistic over this.
They passed the last of the mainside buildings, the spacepad in sight when a different type of light caught Hondo’s attention. High above them, large spheres were descending.
His first thought was that these were larger ve
rsions of the light spheres that threw tendrils at the Marines, but Dixie said, “Shit, that’s the Grubs coming in for a landing.”
And things snapped into place. The “spheres” were Grubs, pulled into themselves, with no polyps, tentacles, and importantly, no light tendrils shooting down on them. Forty or fifty of them were descending, each one surrounded by a yellowish glow instead of their normal blue-whitish light.
“Hold up, Kilo,” Lieutenant Copek ordered. “Weapons Pack 3, fire your M-56s.”
Hondo automatically moved to his normal position in a halt, even if the threat was up above and descending. To his side, Aaron, deployed his M-56 and fired. The missile rose in a half-arc, streaking up to hit one of the Grubs. There was a huge fireball, and emerging out if it, the Grub continued to descend, looking untouched. More and more explosions lit the night sky, but not a single Grub looked to be hurt, much less killed.
“Cease fire, cease fire,” the lieutenant passed. “We’re just wasting missiles.”
There was a rush of air, and Hondo spun about, ready to fire his own 20mm, but it was a Navy Shrike sweeping in. Hondo held his breath, waiting for the plane to be knocked out of the sky, but it flew right at the Grubs unimpeded, firing its beamers—and scoring hits. Two Grubs seemed to implode in a shower of sparks, as pretty as a Marine Corps Birthday fireworks display.
“Get some, squid!” BK shouted.
Hondo was puzzled that the Grubs weren’t attacking the Shrike as it swept up and began a turn to hit them again. True, a Shrike was a far more robust craft than a Marine Falcon-C, but still, the Grubs should have reacted.
Unless they couldn’t!
Incongruously and out of the blue, Hondo had remembered a World of Animals show where they said a skunk cannot spray unless it has its feet on the ground where it can brace them. What if the Grubs have to be on the ground, too? That would explain why they were featureless spheres and why they were letting the Navy Shrike strafe them.
“Staff Sergeant, I don’t think they can fight when they’re coming in. Look, no polyps,” he passed to the acting platoon commander.
“Shit, I think you’re right. Wait one.”
Alliance (The United Federation Marine Corps' Grub Wars Book 1) Page 18
