by B. V. Larson
We took the time to pull our dead out of the water. I promised the men we would bury them later. I wasn’t sure whether or not I was lying, but figured if we all died no one would remember the promise anyway.
We set off along the beach, continuing southward. I was inside my tank, but now I had a tiny slit cut into the metal around the pilot’s chair. I could see my actual surroundings and that made things much easier than calculating the external situation by the metallic beads on the interior hull of the tank. Historically, tanks had performed better with a commander who could see the battle situation directly. When in a pitched battle, I could order the Patton to button up and seal the inside of the tank off completely. It was also programmed to automatically closed the slits, like blinking eyes, if incoming fire was detected.
We got underway again, this time surrounded by racing infantry. The men were in full gear and had the job of taking out any enemy infantry and light vehicles. The hovertanks were for knocking out aircraft, missiles and heavy armor, if we encountered any.
For several miles, things went smoothly. We were down to traveling at about thirty miles an hour, but that was fast enough. It would be much harder, at these speeds, for an enemy to ambush us. The hovertanks would have time to sense them and target them, hopefully before they could fire again.
The second ambush was the test of my hopes. It came as I watched the beach slide by, catching the fresh ocean breezes that came into my tank through the open slits. The salty tang of the air made me wish for easier times. I remembered the days before the Macros had returned with their battle fleet, when I’d nothing more serious on my mind than keeping Sandra happy.
We made it down to a point of land with plenty of foliage on it that thrust out into the open ocean. I could have followed the Queen’s Highway inland, but I didn’t want to be stuck in a column formation by trees. So, we glided along the beach, our tanks drifting out over the waves themselves.
The racing troops around us saw the enemy first, or maybe they began taking incoming fire. I wasn’t sure which it was, but they began to light up the trees with their heavy beamers. The weapons were overkill, really. I thought as the battle began that I should have developed a hand-held beamer for anti-personnel purposes. My men could have carried one in each hand and left the heavy backpack reactors behind. The heavy weapons were designed to take out hundred-foot tall robots, not enemy soldiers of thin flesh and blood.
Swathes were cut from the jungle. Flames exploded in orange mushrooms and tree trunks burst as if mined by plastique charges. Smoke billowed up in gray gushes from the wet jungle. It had rained recently, and when my men’s searching beams darted out into the forest everything the shafts of energy touched turned instantly to vapor.
At first, automatic fire chattered back. Yellow spots of fire blazed back at us. A few of my men spun around, tripped, fell into the wet sand. Blood blossomed in the seawater, but every one of them got back up. My marines were armored and dense. I knew when they went down it was mostly from the kinetic force of being hit by a dozen rounds, not from serious injury.
“All tanks hold fire unless heavier targets show themselves,” I shouted over the open channel. “Infantry advance and drive them out of there.”
I knew all the tanks should have been set to only fire at larger targets, but I didn’t want any of my green pilots to get excited and tell their vehicles to fire. Blue-on-blue friendly-fire would take out my infantry faster than anything I’d seen from the enemy.
My marines sprang forward, closing with the enemy hiding in the trees. I didn’t see much of the action once they reached the green gloom of the forest, but I did see the flashes of released energy. It was brief and violent. My men came walking back out of the trees about three minutes later, and only a few were injured.
“Mission accomplished, sir,” reported a lieutenant.
“Load the wounded on the running boards of the tanks. They can heal up as we head down to finish this.”
I had just begun to think this was all going to be a cakewalk, when Robinson spoke up on the general channel. “Contacts sir, coming in fast from the east again.”
I turned my attention to my forward ‘screen’ again. There were incoming coppery beads again. They were way out, but coming in very fast. They had to be planes. I’d been so involved in the land action, watching through the slits in my turret, I’d forgotten about the primary purpose of my hovertank, which was to cover the force against enemy vehicles and aircraft.
“Button up, everyone. Close those slits.”
“Looks like they must have a carrier group out there, sir,” said Robinson, watching the incoming planes. “They are coming from the same area and there aren’t any bases on my map in that zone.”
“I agree, Major,” I said, watching as the contacts multiplied. I counted a dozen aircraft. Seconds later, there were more than twenty. “And I doubt I’ll be able to talk them into turning back this time.”
-18-
I ordered my exposed marines to take cover and scatter, then watched the planes come in for several long seconds. How was I going to handle this? Tension filled my belly. Slaughtering Earth’s best pilots had never been my desire. These were the very men I wanted to recruit to fly my new fleet of spacecraft, should I ever manage to build them.
Crow contacted me on a private channel. “I get it!” he said. He cackled.
“Get what?”
“You’re going to let them come in fast and take them out when they are too close to get away, aren’t you? That will make the brass notice. A full fighter wing, gone.”
I blinked. The result he described was the furthest thing from my goal—but he was right, that was the direction in which things were headed. Crow’s words goaded me into action.
“Patton, target the lead aircraft. Reduce wattage output to five percent and fire in bursts, separated by one second.”
I opened the general channel, “hold your fire, everyone.”
I could hear Crow’s harsh, unpleasant laughter, which continued unabated. He still believed I was luring them in for the kill. I watched for one second, then two. Suddenly, the lead aircraft fell out of formation. It twisted and lost speed.
“Patton, target the second nearest aircraft and repeat previous firing orders.”
Quickly, the second jet broke off. The plane twisted and spiraled this time. I watched with grim determination. “Cease fire on second aircraft, target third aircraft.”
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Crow.
“I’m blinding them,” I said.
“What?”
“Low-output laser strikes over long range and obscured by the atmosphere. Enough to disable them, but not kill them.”
“What if they have heavy autoshades?”
I watched the third craft go down, slanting to toward the sea. “It appears that they don’t,” I said.
“Dammit, if you don’t kill them, they will hit us later.”
“Jack, these are the sort of men we need as pilots for our future forces. We don’t want to destroy our own people, we want them to see reason, and respect us.”
“Big dogs only respect a hard blow to the snout, Riggs.”
“I’m in command here, Jack. Riggs out.”
After the fourth plane went down, they got the message and turned around. They did fire a storm of missiles at us, however, before they broke off. We shot the missiles down easily, then turned our hovertanks around and drove the final miles to the main camp.
We found the place deserted. They must have gotten the message down here on the ground, too. I climbed out of the Patton and walked to the same command bunker where I’d first confronted General Sokolov, Barrera and Robinson. Behind me was a squad of marines and Crow. I ordered the rest of my men to sweep the area and secure it.
There were only two men in the command bunker. One was General Kerr, the other was Major Barrera. The Major was in restraints, and he appeared to have been abused. He bent forward, his face cut-up, his head
slumped.
“Is he dead?” I asked the General.
“No, just napping.”
“Why are you still here?”
“I wanted to talk to you, Riggs.”
“Then talk,” I said.
“No,” said Crow, shouldering through my marines. “You’ll talk to me.”
Kerr and I looked at him. Kerr turned back to me. “I’m surprised you haven’t ditched this two-bit pirate yet, Riggs.”
“You are under arrest,” Crow said importantly.
The marines flicked their eyes to me. I gave them a small nod.
“I’m unarmed,” Kerr said as my men approached him. They surrounded him with their beamers ready. He eyed the weapons warily, knowing that any one of them had the firepower to kill a Bradley.
“What are you doing here, Kerr?” I asked.
“Surrendering to you,” he said in a mild voice.
“You didn’t put up much of a fight.”
Kerr shrugged. “I never had much to fight with. Just a few misguided followers and dupes.”
“What?”
Kerr fished in his pockets, making my men flinch. He took out his pipe. They looked mildly amused as he lit up and began to smoke it. The room quickly filled with blue, aromatic fumes. Ignoring my men and their beamers, he walked over crunching, broken glass to the big bay window overlooking the ocean.
“Nice view,” he said. “You should get this window fixed.”
I thought of Sokolov’s face as he went out that very window just a few days earlier. “Thanks for your concern,” I said. “Now tell us what’s going on.”
“I’m a rogue. This mission was never authorized by anyone,” he said with certainty. He took his pipe out of his mouth and waved it around, using it as a pointer. “All of this was unauthorized. A phenomenon of inter-departmental confusion. Operational-level control gone awry. I went off the tracks, you see. Now I’ve lost my gambit for personal glory, and you’ve captured me. My crazy adventure has come to a sad finish.”
We stared at him. I nodded slowly. “I imagine this story about you having an adventure is all over the news by now?”
“Looks that way. Turn on the television. Read the blogs online. Everyone is regretting the unfortunate misunderstanding. Everyone wants to heal these regrettable wounds I’ve caused the heroes of Star Force.”
“Wounds that you’ve caused—single-handedly?” I asked.
“Yes, I did it all. The President himself will make an apologetic statement tonight, I believe. He’ll explain the terrible stresses upon military personnel, caused by the recent anti-alien campaign. He’ll reach out to you. He’ll talk about—talking-points.”
“That’s what we get? An apology?” roared Crow, his rage finally boiling over.
“A heart-felt apology,” Kerr corrected him calmly. “But that’s just the beginning of the healing process. Round-table discussions will be offered. Wrong-headed thinkers will be expunged from the Pentagon—that’s a promise you can bank on, gentlemen. Have no qualms, independent investigations will be launched. This will all be handled at the highest possible levels.”
“That has to be the biggest stack of shit I’ve ever heard,” said Crow, marveling. The other marines in the room nodded their heads in agreement. Kerr looked slightly proud.
“Let me see if I have this straight, General,” I said, trying to control the anger creeping into my voice. “The administration wanted to attack us, but now they’ve failed, and they want to maintain the fiction that you were the sole perpetrator. The cover-story proposes you went a little funny in the head. I gather you led an unauthorized mission down here to plunder our island?”
“It’s no cover-story, it’s fact,” said Kerr.
“They left you behind to tell us this?” I asked. “To shut us up?”
“Not at all. You captured me fair and square.”
“In other words,” I said, “you are an embarrassment to the administration now that you failed.”
“I’m just a renegade. A madman. I deserve my fate.”
“What if I go on live TV and tell the people the truth. What if I tell the world what really happened down here?”
Kerr aimed his pipe at me in an accusatory gesture. “That’s the sort of talk we don’t need right now. Humanity faces extinction. Let’s pull it together as a single world and stop the alien menace.”
“Let’s kill him,” suggested Crow. “No one will blame us with that cover story.”
I stared at Crow and sighed. His eyes were bulging again. His cheeks were red. I had to admit, his idea was appealing. Kerr watched us both quietly.
“What about him?” I said, indicating Barrera.
“He’s napping,” said Kerr.
“I mean, what did you do to him and why?”
Kerr shrugged. “He was interrogated. He withheld the requested information. I think the process tired him out.”
A wide, vicious grin spread on Crow’s face. “That gives me an idea. We’ll take little slices out of our fine General. We’ll shoot his legs with nanites, repair his tissues, and do it again. It might take weeks, but we’ll get everything he knows. I’ll know his mum’s shoe size. Every name and detail.”
For the first time, Kerr’s tough exterior crumpled a bit. His face appeared to glisten slightly. His pipe went out and he didn’t bother to relight it. His eyes searched my face as I considered the matter.
I nodded. “Your idea has merit, Admiral. Let’s go outside for a moment.”
I directed two men to watch Kerr and another to try to wake up Barrera, then followed Crow. As I stepped outside onto the sandy soil, I couldn’t help but look upward to the patch of sky where I’d last seen the Alamo hovering. I wondered where the Nano ship was, and if Sokolov was still aboard her, somewhere in the cosmos, screaming. I felt sorry for everyone trapped aboard those heartless ships.
The beach wasn’t far off, and once again I promised myself a fine vacation on the windy, white sands. I’d get a tan, and I’d watch Sandra’s tan deepen. I looked at the bright blue waves and white foam. Strips of seaweed were visible forming dark, curving lines along the beach.
I excused myself from Crow for a minute. I stood apart from the buildings and marines. I worked my com-link, trying to contact Sergeant Kwon.
“Kwon? This is Riggs.”
“Sir? One second.”
I waited, worrying. Was he in some kind of trouble? I didn’t hear any gunfire.
“Where’s Sandra, Kwon?” I asked, unable to contain myself.
“She’s right here, sir. We are driving south to your position. How are things? Did we retake the camp?”
“Yes. Yes we did.”
“Was it a big battle, sir?” asked Kwon.
I looked around at the calm beach and the quiet buildings. There was a little damage, but not much. A few bullet holes. Something over in the direction of the mess hall was smoldering, but I didn’t see any flames. Kerr and his men had marched into the camp after Barrera had sent his garrison to me with Crow at the lead. This attempted coup had been much smaller than I’d realized. It was nothing at all compared to the titanic battles we’d fought against the Macros in South America.
I thought more deeply, however, about the struggle for power between the entrenched world governments and the fledgling Star Force. I thought of the assassin, Esmeralda, who had fought me to the death aboard Pierre’s ship. These fights had been relatively small, but perhaps each had helped decide our world’s fate. They had certainly decided mine.
“Yes Kwon,” I said at last. “It was a big battle. We won the day—this time.”
-19-
Crow and I talked it over. We finally decided that Kerr would be more forthcoming—or at least less full of crap—if he and I talked alone. Crow seemed to take this as a hint that I meant to lean on Kerr. He was excited by the prospect.
“Okay,” he said. “Just you and the good General. But don’t go easy on him, Kyle. And don’t trust a word he says.”
&n
bsp; I had to agree with Crow’s point of view. I had no intention of being bamboozled by this Kerr. I had no stomach for actual torture, however. I didn’t tell Crow that, figuring he might figure I needed help.
I moved Kerr to the medical facility next door where we often strapped men in to administer the nanite treatments. He walked in and dubiously examined the stainless steel chair and restraints. The leather loops were torn apart and the metal buckles had snapped.
“What’s this about?” he asked, trying to sound disinterested.
“This chair is where we put men who are undergoing nanite-transformation.”
“The restraints are all broken,” he pointed out.
“Yes, well, that happens fairly often,” I said. “Unfortunately, no reasonable set of leather straps can hold one of our raving marines, not once his strength has been enhanced by a full dose of nanites.”
“Why strap them in at all, then?”
“The transformations vary. Some men just puke and faint. Others rave and seek to damage themselves, but that phase usually passes before they become strong. In short, the chair and the restraints work for most men, but not all.”
Kerr licked his lips. There were dark smears of dried blood on the flat, reflective arms of the chair. I wondered if electric chairs looked like that. I’d never seen one in person.
“Seems like you could build metal restraints,” Kerr said. “Manacles the men couldn’t break.”
“We tried that,” I said. “It was a disaster. The men who went wild tore loose anyway, leaving their hands and exposed wrist-bones behind, if necessary. Repairing a man at that point takes much longer and is more traumatic for everyone. The leather straps hold most people, and those that break them have to be dealt with individually.”
Kerr nodded. “Such a sacrifice,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” I said. I watched him, wondering if he was feeding me more bullshit. I didn’t think he was, but I no longer trusted my own judgment around this man. He had fooled me as few people ever had.
“Let’s talk, General,” I said. “Just you and I, off the record.”
