Alliance (The United Federation Marine Corps' Grub Wars Book 1)

by Jonathan Brazee

  A few moments later, the lieutenant passed, “As soon as the Grubs are within range of the grappling hooks and flames, light them up!”

  “Good observation, Soldier,” Sergeant Mbangwa passed on the P2P.

  High above the first group of Grubs, additional lights began to appear. More were coming.

  The Shrike pilot made another pass, this time plane’s beamers crisping three more. That was a total of five—out of maybe 40. Hondo couldn’t even tell how high they were. Depth perception was off in the darkness, and as featureless spheres, there was nothing to give contrast. He brought up his 20mm grenade launcher and tried to sight the nearest of the Grubs, but the rangefinder kept vacillating back and forth between 30 and 2600 meters.

  “Kilo, pull back 500 meters at the double-time,” Lieutenant Copek ordered.

  With the Grubs drifting down, it was obvious why the company was given the order. The Marines had to get between the Grubs and mainside. Hondo’s display suddenly indicated positions for every Marine—they’d been “AI’ed.” Without time to do it himself, the lieutenant had given his battle AI a general intent, and that AI had picked spots for every Marine and sailor in the battalion, taking fire teams, the terrain, weapons coverage, and the approaching enemy into consideration. Marines didn’t like to rely on AIs as a rule, despite their many proven advantages, but in this case, there was no choice.

  Within 40 seconds, Hondo was sliding to a stop at his designated position, spinning around to face the Grubs. He could see their lateral motion now, so they had to be getting close. Using his night vision, he zoomed in to try and see any sign of life, but the Grubs were motionless inside their cocoon-like space ships.

  Just stay asleep after you land, guys.

  To his left, a stream of flame shot up, falling way short of its target. Someone had jumped the gun, not that Hondo blamed him or her. It was difficult to wait.

  The Shrike buzzed the Grubs over Kilo again, racking up two more kills. That wasn’t enough. The company had faced far fewer Grubs in its AOR on 3363, and the butcher’s bill had been high.

  Another flame reached out, this time tickling the edge of one of the lowest Grubs. The shielding/space ship/aura, whatever it was, glowed a deeper orange for a moment, but kept descending.

  “Engage at will,” Lieutenant Copek passed.

  Hondo fired his grappling hook, half-expecting the yellow glow to bounce it back down, but the hook penetrated into the Grubs body before discharging. The Grub jerked, but not much else.

  Within moments, every Grub was hit by hooks or had its sphere covered in flames. Two of the flaming spheres collapsed into sparks. Hondo hoped the rest were dead as well, just waiting to hit the ground.

  About 80 meters away, the first of them landed, and almost immediately, the yellow light shifted to the familiar whitish-blue. Within seconds, the body sort of unrolled into the caterpillar shape, polyps shot out to tentacle length, and light tendrils whipped the area like a weedwhacker. One Marine fell while the single Grub lit up the area in actinic light.

  It wasn’t alone for long. Other Grubs landed; some came out light blazing, a few seemed to have problems generating much of anything, and more than a few were motionless. Three of the Grubs did their light merging thing, and as the Shrike came streaking in, the single beam reached out and hit it, sending it careening off course.

  Hondo expected the Navy plane to go down, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

  “First Squad, on me,” Sergeant Mbangwa passed as he highlighted a Grub that was moving toward Paul and First Fire Team.

  Hondo and his three Marines shifted toward the squad leader. Around him, the NCOs, the backbone of the Corps, were taking over the fight, maneuvering their small units to engage the remaining Grubs.

  The problem was that there were only seven squads left in the depleted Kilo Company, and at least 20 Grubs were still alive.

  First Squad, Second Platoon, closed in with the nearest grub. Hondo loaded his spare hook as he rushed forward. He got kissed with a light tendril, but it seemed as if the Grub was a little confused with each of the Marines coming in from different angles. It didn’t focus any of the light tendrils long enough to deplete any single PICS’ shielding. Hondo fired, and when his hook, along with two others, slammed into it, it sort of sucked into itself, only one tendril flailing around. Fiona stepped closer and flamed it, the jelly-like fuel sticking to its side as it burned. Hondo allowed himself a moment to watch the flames dance, then smiled as the inevitable Grub explosion, even if that knocked down his shielding by another 8%.

  “No time to admire our work. Shift,” the sergeant ordered as he highlighted their new target.

  They ran around Second Squad, which was engaged with another Grub. It was difficult to ignore their instincts to join in and help, but there were too many of the enemy on the ground. Their next target didn’t look as robust as the rest, and as they charged forward, a single wavering light tendril reached out and latched on Dixie.

  Hondo fired his 20mm grenades, not that they’d proven effective in the past but more to hopefully occupy the Grub’s attention. He didn’t have another hook, so it was pike time.

  “I’m down to forty-two percent! Get it off my ass,” Dixie shouted over her external mic, her normal comms blocked by the light tendril that still had her in its grip.

  Hondo pulled the pike off its cradle on his back shoulder and then charged the Grub. With the single light tendril on Dixie, he had an unimpeded approach, and he rammed the pike home, activating its charge. Someone else hit it a few meters to the side as Hondo jumped back.

  “Flame!” Jirly Dula shouted as she fired, enveloping the Grub.

  Hondo darted back to put some distance between him and it before it blew. Still, the thing’s explosion reduced his shielding by another 4%.

  He felt the familiar surge of exultation, something he knew only a soldier could ever experience. His squad—his depleted squad—had just killed two of the Grubs. Maybe they’d get out of this in one piece after all.

  He rushed forward and recovered his pike, which looked none the worse for wear. Whether it still had a charge was left to be seen, however.

  “Check Dixie!” BK shouted as she rushed to the motionless Marine.

  Hondo looked up, and he felt the crushing blow to the pit of his stomach. He didn’t need to get closer to know that Dixie’s PICS had been slagged. She was KIA.

  “No time, BK,” the sergeant passed. “We’re not done here.”

  BK hesitated, looking at the mess that had been Dixie, then turned to join the others as Sergeant Mbangwa designated their next target, a Grub that was firing to the northwest. As Hondo ran forward, he caught a glimpse as to why. Thirty or forty Klethos were in full charge, and the dozen or so Grubs in the area were focused on them, ignoring the Marines.

  All the better, Hondo thought, as he closed in.

  “Kilo, listen up. New orders,” the lieutenant passed. “Stop all fighting. Lima and we are to go back to mainside immediately. Platoon commanders, prepare for follow-on orders, but for now, get your Marines to the conference center. That means now! Pull back now!”

  Hondo pulled to a stop, confused. His target was right there, only 150 meters away. He looked around, wondering if he could stick the Grub, then pull back.

  “Don’t even think about it, Soldier. You heard the skipper. Get your team and head back,” Sergeant Mbangwa passed on the P2P as if he could read his intentions.

  Hondo looked up. At least a hundred more lights had appeared. India and Mike couldn’t hope to hold out against that, even with the Klethos’ help. It didn’t seem right to just abandon them.

  “Now, Soldier. You’ve got your orders.”

  Fuck me royal!

  “On me,” he passed on the fire team circuit as he wheeled about and started in his PICS trot back to mainside.

  The other three close in on him as by fire teams and squads, both companies coalesced as they ran. Hondo checked the numbers and
winced. Somehow, First Squad had managed to kill two Grubs, even if one had been hurt, while losing only Dixie. At a quick glance, the rest of the two companies had not done as well. Their numbers were just over half of what they’d been only twenty minutes prior.

  “Pick up the pace,” Lieutenant Copek passed. “We’ve got a time crunch.”

  Time crunch? For what? We’ve got Grubs falling out of the sky on our heads.

  Hondo moved out of trot and into run mode as the mass of Marines surged forward . . .

  . . . and 18 Grubs landed just ahead and to their right. They unrolled and came up firing, engaging what was left of Third Platoon. Hondo automatically started to adjust course to help them, his fire team following, when Staff Sergeant Aster shouted “Stay the course” over the platoon net.

  Hondo glanced to his left where Paul had started to lead his remaining Marine to the Grubs as well. Paul gave the “PICS’ shrug” of raising both gauntlets to shoulder level before he turned back to mainside just ahead.

  Hondo was filled with a sense of frustration . . . and guilt. Marines were fighting and dying, and yet he was running away. Orders were orders, though, and discipline was a hallmark of the Corps.

  “Keep going,” he passed to the other three.

  They reached the first outbuilding, fewer than a hundred of them left. Marines and soldiers, none of them in combat suits, were rushing forward, carrying a hodgepodge of weapons. One of them, a second lieutenant, jumped up in front of Hondo’s team, yelling at him to turn around and fight, not run, and it killed a part of his very soul to ignore the lieutenant and run past him.

  The fire team was one of the first to reach the conference center. After the mad rush to get there, no one knew what to do until a disheveled colonel stepped out of the building, an earbud and throat mic in place.

  “Marines,” he started. “We’ve got civilians inside, civilians that need to get off-planet now. You are going to take them. We’ve got shuttles coming in for bobo extracts, and you’ve got to get them there.”

  “That’s bullshit!” someone passed.

  “I’m giving you an . . .” he bristled before he stopped, seemed to get a hold of himself, and in a much calmer voice, said, “Look. I know it sounds bad, but these are the brain trust that knows more about the Grubs than anyone else. They’ve got to get off the planet if we’re going to be able to carry on. These are the guys who’ve given us the hooks, the flamethrowers, and everything that has worked so far. This is a top priority.”

  He paused again, looking at the gathered Marines. “Any questions?”

  There was none, so he asked, “Who’s the senior Marine here?”

  “I think I am, sir,” Captain Lyle-Quisenberry , the Lima Company commander said.

  “OK, Captain, I’m sending them out, about sixty of them. One to a Marine, and then get them to LZ Tern.”

  “You heard the colonel. Lieutenant Dockery, get your Marines up here. The rest of you, form a perimeter until your unit is called forward.”

  Hondo placed his team by the front hatch to the center as one of Lima’s platoons came forward. One by one, civilians came out and climbed or were helped to onto the backs of the Marines. A PICS had two handles made for the purpose, and by standing on the hip flanges, a person should be able to ride a PICS Marine anywhere. At least a Marine could. These were civilians, and some were not in good shape, mentally or physically. A few had to have their hands strapped in, and one of those civilian’s feet slipped the moment her Marine stepped off. She screamed as she dangled, wristed tied to the handles, but the Marine didn’t stop. Her panic didn’t matter as much as getting the woman to the incoming shuttles.

  Within ten minutes, the bulk of the civilians had exited the center.

  “How many left, sir?” Staff Sergeant Aster asked.

  The lieutenant colonel assisting the full bird looked inside the hatch, then said, “Three more, Staff Sergeant.”

  “You’re up, McKeever.”

  “BK, front and center.”

  BK stepped up and turned around while a fit-looking man climbed up. Without a word, BK took off at a trot, which made it more difficult for the man to stay on, but he managed.

  Aaron took the next woman, and with one more civilian left, Hondo motioned for Fiona.

  “I’ve still got my flamethrower and you don’t have another hook, Corporal. You take her while I provide security.”

  Hondo wanted to object, but Fiona was right. He stepped up to the stairs so the woman could climb on.

  To his surprise, it was the same woman he’d carried before, what seemed like decades ago, back on that first still unnamed planet.

  “It’s you, Doctor Ybarra,” he blurted out.

  “McKeever? Lance Corporal McKeever?” she asked, sounding equally surprised.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s me. Corporal McKeever, now.”

  “Well, wonders never cease. Last time, I think you carried me. I don’t think that’ll be necessary now.”

  Hondo gave her his back, and he barely felt anything as she climbed on.

  “Sir, are you ready to go?” Sergeant Mbangwa asked the colonel.

  He and the lieutenant colonel laughed together before the colonel said, “You’re here for the brain trust, not old farts like us. No, we’ll stay here and fight. Now get out of here. You don’t have much time.”

  Hondo stepped off, trying to keep his gait smooth, with Fiona, Sergeant Mbangwa, and Staff Sergeant Aster flanking him. They ran down the main drag, then cut between the barracks over to the perimeter road. LZ Tern was an alternate landing zone, designed for excess parking if needed. It was also just to the south of mainside, on the opposite side from where the Grubs were attacking.

  Marines and soldiers were everywhere, few with any degree of armor, but all ready to fight if the expressions on their faces meant anything. Hondo had to slide to a stop when two Mannies passed in front of him as they rushed to the fight. Hondo wondered if BK’s Gabriella was in one of them.

  With a rush of sound, a shuttle shot into the air ahead of him. A load of civilians had just taken off. A “bobo” extract was a seat-of-the-pants effort. No air traffic control, no procedural niceties. It was shuttle in, shuttle out, any way it could. This shuttle seemed to turn back on itself, turning almost upside down as it dove back towards the ground. Hondo expected to see a plume of smoke from a crash, but the shuttle started to right itself before it disappeared from view behind some buildings. He knew then that the pilot was taking the shuttle ground-hugging until he or she felt safe enough to turn it over to the AI to get it up in orbit and to whatever waiting ship there was up there.

  “Step it up, Soldier,” Mbangwa said. “There’s only one more shuttle.”

  He ran around the curve in the road, and there below him, 300 meters away, another shuttle was approaching the LZ.

  He left the road to cut across the open area when Fiona said, “We’ve got company, Sergeant.”

  He should be focused on the LZ, but he couldn’t help swinging around to see. Six Grubs were almost on top of them. Fiona ran forward flaming, enveloping one of them. All six hit the deck and unrolled, even the one she’d flamed.

  Two of them converged their light, and the beam shot out to hit her.

  Hondo took a step toward them, forgetting Dr. Ybarra on his back.

  Sergeant Mbangwa grabbed his arm, swinging him around.

  “Get her to the shuttle, now!”

  He hesitated only a second as the sergeant and staff sergeant rushed to meet the Grubs.

  It killed him, but the sergeant was right. Without another look, he broke into burst mode, almost flying down the gentle slope to the LZ. Civilians were crowding up the shuttle’s ramp, as were more than a few Marines. A gunny was waving an arm, urging them to hurry.

  Hondo slid to a stop, ready to shuck the doctor off his back.

  “This is the last one!” he told the gunny.

  “Just get aboard!” the gunny shouted.

  “I’m going
back!”

  “No, you’re not. You’re to provide security for as long as it takes. Now get aboard now!”

  Almost against his will, his traitorous legs obeyed the gunny and marched up the ramp. He ducked at the top, mindful of the woman on his back, and as he did, he managed a look back, the image forever seared into his mind.

  Only a single Marine was standing, a Marine he knew was the Shona Youmambo, facing six Grubs. His PICS was burning with whitish-blue light, yet somehow, he was still moving forward.

  Before the ramp closed, the shuttle jumped into the air, turned like the other had done, and bolted for safety. Hondo scrambled to maintain his balance and not crush the doctor. He caught the briefest glimpse of a Confederation Orcus rushing past as the shuttle’s flight path smoothed out.

  Hondo knew he could still pull up his combat display to see what happened to Fiona, the sergeant, and the staff sergeant. Instead, he powered the display down. He didn’t want to confirm what he already knew.

  He was vaguely aware of Dr. Ybarra thanking him, of BK coming over to sit beside him. There wasn’t much he could do anymore. It was up to the shuttle pilot and AI now.

  The rush of combat adrenaline now disappeared, and he was mentally and physically exhausted. He was numb.

  Down on the planet’s surface, his brothers and sisters were fighting and dying. Here he was, with a few others, somehow granted a golden ticket. He should be happy, relieved. He wasn’t.

  One thing was for sure, however. This war wasn’t over. He’d have a chance to extract revenge, and he swore an oath right then that he’d achieve that.

  The Grubs had better stand the fuck by.

  CS MILAN

  Chapter 37

  Skylar

  Sky lay in her rack, trying to sleep. She only had it for six hours—“hot-racking” they called it—before she’d have to give it up for the next person.

  The Confederation ship was packed with four times her normal complement, and now it was returning to San Gregorio via a round-about route, chosen to throw off possible Grub tracking. From that small planet, other ships would take people to their final destinations.