Coyle debated checking up on Garcia, as he suspected the young specialist was in the cafeteria scrounging for a meal. The thought of something to eat that didn’t come from a bag helped him make his decision.
The hallway to the cafeteria was deathly quiet and dark, since there was no reason to have the lights on. The smell of cooking meat came from the cafeteria, and Coyle’s stomach began to growl. The light from inside the cafeteria produced three shadows on the wall visible through the open doorway.
Coyle engaged his suit and donned his optics, deciding to play it safe. Entering the kitchen, he saw Garcia first—or what was left of him, as Coyle didn’t see his head. Farther in the kitchen there were sounds of movement. Turning the corner, Coyle saw three huge Red Coats. He raised his beamer and took three quick shots from ten feet away. Each shot was a center body mass shot and dropped its intended target.
On the counter were a loaf of bread and a jar of jam next to Garcia’s beamer. Garcia’s head had been lopped off by a still-bloody sword that was in the paw of one of the dead Red Coats.
Just as Coyle began to quietly back out of the cafeteria, more Red Coats entered. Seeing the carnage, the Red Coat with the stripes of an NCO reached for a scanner on his belt.
Coyle again fired as the aliens returned fire wildly with their projectile weapons. A stray shot into the ceiling killed the lights, and the flame from the weapons lit up the room like a disco ball. The room shook from the blast of their weapons. Two of the aliens lay dead on the floor as Coyle noticed that he’d been shot in the arm. The shot had torn away his suit’s controls, leaving him visible. A scraping sound mixed with a soulful mewing came from the doorway.
A bloodied Jacka was on his side trying to get traction on the slick floor to escape into the hallway. His top left arm was still back where he had been wounded. The Jacka looked up at Coyle and closed his eyes in resignation. When he reopened them, he was alone in the dark.
Coyle tried to be as quiet as possible as he headed for the door, cursing his injury and loss of communications. He hoped to open the door and be met by his squad. The night was quiet as he saw the dark shadows of figures running from the school in all directions.
Letting the beamer hang from his patrol sling, he pulled his 10mm automatic and fired it at the moving shadows and into the sky until the magazine was empty. The noise and light show from the special ammunition had the desired effect. Shouting could be heard from all around the school, along with the firing of projectile weapons. As the shuttle began to take off, a red beam of light drilled through it and it fell back to the ground in flames.
Coyle began to feel a little lightheaded from his wound as he sat with his back to the school wall. Aliens were running out of the same door he had exited through earlier. He sat there and shot each of them through the back as a steady stream continued to pour out. Soon there were three dozen bodies in front of him as the night roared with silence.
“Anyone left out there?” Only silence responded to his shout.
Coyle got to his feet and started to feel sick. He looked at his wound, which only now had started to hurt. Reaching for his medical kit, he found instead just a torn pouch.
Staggering, he thought he might make it to the street and wave down a civilian. He didn’t hear the movement behind him closing in. A soft crunch made him turn in time to see the Jacka, arm raised and holding a sword. The Jacka’s uniform was bloodied where he’d lost his top left arm. Coyle closed his eyes in resignation, waiting for the blow to come as he raised his own bloodied arm to protect himself.
He felt the Jacka shove him to the ground and throw his beamer and 10mm off into the grass. He then cut Coyle’s uniform sleeve off at the shoulder, tied it around the wound on Coyle’s arm, and patted him on the head. The Jacka then slowly forced himself upright and disappeared into the night as Coyle blacked out.
New Mississippi, planet Dixie
12 November 2128
“We got a live one over here!”
Coyle could barely force his eyes open in the bright sunlight as someone plopped down next to him.
“How you doing there, buddy? You a Sammy or a Panther?” the stranger asked as he inspected the wound on Coyle’s arm.
Coyle, Paul E., Staff Sergeant, US Army—”
“Okay, Coyle, Paul E. Your life is going to change from this day forward.” The Gray Panther medic took a syringe and gently slid the needle into Coyle’s arm above the wound.
“Congratulations. You’ve just joined the immortals,” the medic said to the unconscious NCO. A hoverboard was brought over and Coyle was put on it to be taken to a nearby shuttle for evacuation.
General Black stood near a pile of roughly forty Jacka. The NCO in front of him was explaining that the Jacka had tried to break out during the night. He said the first casualty was a soldier who’d been making a snack in the cafeteria. His beamer was found by the food, unfired. Six dead Jacka had been found near his body, killed by a beamer. Part of a control unit from a suit was also found nearby, and they suspected the soldier had managed to escape after being wounded. A wounded soldier had been found near the stack of bodies without a control unit on his uniform. The fired brass surrounding him confirmed that he was the one who had sounded the alarm by firing his 10mm auto into the air, since no other combatant had used a 10mm.
“So this poor son of a bitch first gets trapped by a half-dozen hostiles. He manages to kill them all, and in the process he is wounded, unable to communicate, or use his suit to go invisible. He then has to run through a building of enemy soldiers, survives, and gets outside. Instead of hiding, he fires his pistol into the air so they can see his special tracers. He then sits down next to the door and shoots everyone coming out until he passes out from his wounds,” Black repeated back to confirm the story he had just been told. “Amazing.”
“One puzzle we have though, General Black. His weapons were not by him. In the dirt between his legs an enemy sword was plunged into the ground.” The NCO pointed to the sword still in the ground.
“Be sure to grab that sword and see that it gets to this hero. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” the general instructed.
Lieutenant Wright was finding it impossible that his entire squad was gone. He was shown where Specialist Tanaka had fallen while protecting civilians in front of their house. He was next shown the shuttle with seven men in it who had died of concussion when the shuttle was hit. Inside the school they showed him Specialist Garcia’s head next to his body. He was told they weren’t sure what had happened to Staff Sergeant Coyle. The lieutenant thanked the trooper for showing him the battlefield. He then went into the school and puked.
GP forward command post, planet Dixie
12 November 2128
General Black was in his first good mood since arriving on Dixie. He considered the battle for New Mississippi to be over. The only thing left was to find the stray wobblers. The main battle for the city had been anticlimactic, hunting down fleeing Jacka, who all tried to pull a rabbit on the same night. Casualties had been fewer than thirty dead and wounded. Time to move on to New Richmond.
“Connect me with Admiral Pierre Gustave Toutant-Beauregard,” Black ordered.
“General Black. I hear congratulations are in order,” the admiral gushed.
“Thank you, Admiral. I was hoping to get your permission to liberate the capital. Once we are able to free New Richmond, there will be enough soldiers liberated to retake the rest of the planet.”
“Yes, General, absolutely. Contact my staff for any support you may need.” Pierre was disgusted. First, video of him running around as a wobbler had been shared throughout the fleet. Now, the general from Earth would have all the glory for liberating Dixie. When this was all over, he intended to retire from the service and be a gentleman of leisure, perhaps visit Earth.
Arizona Space Ship Grub, heading for League of Planets space
12 November 2128
Colonel Blade entered the dining facility. He worried that he
was actually going to get fat unless he was able to get back to a war. He saw Dan sitting at a table with some familiar items.
“Hello, Dan Daniels. What have you got there?”
“Just some of the booty from when we captured the first Libra ship back in 2126. This is a short sword. I’m told they have very sentimental value to warriors. I also have this black officer’s belt with a holster. Looks and feels like leather to me.” Dan passed the items to Blade, who recognized them as his own. He remembered how he had been forced to surrender them to the humans as part of the capitulation of his command.
“They look to be in good shape,” Blade said neutrally, suppressing the urge to ask for them back. The sword had entered his family’s possession three lines ago, when it was captured in combat. Since his great-great-grandfather, it had been worn by a Blade in combat.
“Colonel, it seems most of your people, even your son, has a first name. I have never heard yours. Do you have one?” Dan asked.
“I am known to my family and close friends as Sharp. I would be honored if you called me that.” Blade still couldn’t take his eyes off the sword in his hands.
“Well, Sharp, I’ll make a deal with you. If you call me Dan, I will call you Sharp, and I will give you that sword there in your hands to seal the deal.” Blade couldn’t believe that he once again would have his short sword back. It was a symbol of both his honor and his position as a leader of warriors.
“Sharp, you are my friend. You are free, as well. You may oppose or support my suggestion for the Jacka to be the fleet and army of the League of Planets. If you support the plan, your people will be the first trained. If not, I will see that they make it home safely with their short swords.” Dan slid the holster across the table, and Sharp saw that his sidearm was in there as well.
“Dan, you are a worthy friend. You have also proven your people to be true warriors. I would go into battle with you just to call you comrade.”
New Richmond, planet Dixie
13 November 2128
Master Sergeant McGuire was nervous. Everyone just knew it was going to be a walk in the park. The Red Coats were second stringers, at best. Soon, everyone would be on their way home.
“Five minutes out.” The shuttle pilot had the hatch open so they could talk more easily.
“Okay. Beamer check. Power setting is on one, function setting one. Weapons stay on safe until we have targets,” McGuire instructed. “Questions?”
“Any chance they can send the Bia for us to return on, so we don’t have to be so cramped?”
“What makes you think you’re going home? Get your minds around the here and now, folks. We don’t have a clue what to expect when we get to the target. If you’re not scared, you’re stupid! Now look alive and get ready to shake a leg.”
A beam of light melted through the floor and continued through the ceiling as the Gray Panthers looked on in amazement. Despite her nerves, McGuire was thankful for the shot. Her people were hard again and beginning to sweat.
Two miles out the shuttles would be on target in seconds. The fusillade of laser fire with missiles and projectiles all seemed to fire at once.
The shuttle in front of Scotty disappeared into a black cloud as he flew through the remains, slamming into shuttle debris and body parts. The sky was like a prison of red bars from the laser fire emanating from the city.
Scotty cursed himself for taking the place of a sick pilot. Never before had he seen incoming fire like this. Shuttles were dropping and blowing up all over the sky. It was suicide, and he wanted to see another day.
“Attention on the net. Signal is Cherry. Abort mission and RTB.” Scotty felt sick, knowing it was not his call to make. He banked hard as he headed for the deck, returning for home and the court martial to follow.
“AI, how many losses did we take?”
“The Gray Panthers lost twenty-eight shuttles, either damaged or destroyed. Army lost thirty-six.”
McGuire woke up and felt like she had been beaten to within an inch of her life. She was lying on the ceiling of her shuttle, which was half the size it had been. The walls were covered in blood, urine, and puke. The shuttle must have rolled when it went in, to be this banged up.
The initial inspection of the shuttle wasn’t good. Two troopers had been crunched into the corners when the shuttle collapsed while rolling. Three of her men lay with their heads at odd angles. The last four were just coming around. Two had broken leg bones sticking through their skin. One had a broken shoulder and couldn’t move his neck or right shoulder. The last one stood up and dusted himself off as he looked at his comrades.
“Well, Master Sergeant McGuire, I guess we aren’t going home too soon after all.” As he turned his head, a piece of metal pressed farther into his skull and he collapsed like a puppet that had just had its strings cut.
McGuire stood in fear. Her boys were dead and dying, and there was little she could do.
“Everyone, stay put and don’t move until I check your wounds. Anyone have a bleeder?” No one responded. “Good. We’re all going to get out of this.” She found what she hoped would be intact—her own unofficial aid kit she had assembled for the shuttle.
She plunged a pain med into the one trooper’s leg. He looked at her for ten seconds and then smiled and closed his eyes. Ordinarily, McGuire wouldn’t try splinting the leg, but she had her kit and knew it was the right thing to do. After pushing the bone back in, she pulled out a special nanite bandage and wrapped the wounded leg as tightly as she could. The nanites would immediately augment the man’s current nanites and help repair the damage.
As McGuire worked, the other trooper got out his knife and cut off his pants leg to clean the area around his wound. McGuire inspected his work and complimented him on it as she doped his leg, just before he passed out. She wrapped the leg tightly and sat back for a sip of water.
“Doing some good work there, Mildred. We’re going to go home because of you.” McGuire pushed a hair away from her eyes and smiled at the compliment.
“Honey, I was saving the worst for last. You must have done some good bouncing around.” She took her pain meds and injected the trooper in the shoulder. He dropped without another word. She cut away most of his uniform top. It took several nanite-infused bandages to wrap the entire area.
McGuire worked her way to the flight deck to check on the pilot. The whole area was awash in blood. The pilot was still strapped into his seat, but a projectile weapon had come through the floor and taken off his left leg. He had bled out quickly. McGuire noticed on the front of the flight deck that an artist had painted the name Guardian.
“Guardian, are you online?” McGuire asked hopefully.
“I am partially serviceable. Propulsion, life support, communications, and weapons are either off-line or disabled.”
“What is working, Guardian?
“Internal communications and entertainment.”
“Can you bring up a map of where we are and who our neighbors are?”
“We came down in a park. There are numerous Red Coats in the local area, in field-expedient fighting positions. Estimate there are thirty within a half-mile of our location. Examination of weapons used indicates Red Coats are using Dixie weapons. Most of those weapons have no energy signature until fired.”
“What do you give me for odds of getting my boys home?”
“I would not assign a numerical response to that question. The majority of the park has six-foot-high bushes, creating a variety of mazes that go on for miles. Your best chance, it would seem, is to stay in the shuttle and await rescue.”
GP forward command post, planet Dixie
13 November 2128
Scotty opened the back of the shuttle so the troops could get out while he remained locked in the flight deck. He was trying to process how many he had seen die.
Resigned to his fate, he pulled himself out of his seat. The hatch automatically opened to the back compartment, and the smell
of sweat and urine was strong. A breeze was starting to clear out the smell, but it wouldn’t be enough.
Jumping down into the grass, he appreciated the fresh air and the smell of blossoms. He heard before he saw General Black heading his way. It was obvious that the general was furious, and his staff was staying a couple of steps behind him as he stormed toward Scotty.
Black grabbed Scotty and hugged him hard.
“Son, you saved a lot of lives today. The airborne mission commander and all flight leaders were taken out in the first enemy volley. The courage you showed in ordering the mission recall will be spoken of for years to come when warriors sit and speak of heroes.”
“General, I was afraid out there. I tucked my tail between my legs and ran,” Scotty admitted.
“You ran and took all our airborne assets with you. If you hadn’t, there’d be twenty people left living. I’m afraid I’m going to give you one of the toughest orders there is to give. Major, you are now a hero and will use that status to inspire your command. You are also the highest-ranking pilot alive.”
“Yes, sir. Can you have your staff please coordinate with Dixie Command and see what countermeasures we can use against their weapons?” Scotty walked away, no longer scared, just tired.
Gray Panthers headquarters, Arizona
13 November 2128
Abby looked at Commanders Johnson and Poland and regretted that he hadn’t suggested they bring Captain Young, as well.
“Gentlemen, the attack on Dixie was a direct result of an intel leak here on Earth. I do not believe the Republic is our enemy, but someone who was on that ship was able to ascertain the location of Dixie and pass it on to the Libra Alliance. We don’t know what other information they have, so we need to find who the agent was and pump him, her, it, whatever for all the information they found and then terminate the son of a bitch.
“I recommend that you go back to the Central Bank under the pretense of getting a receipt for our deposit. Leave as many faeries behind as you can so we can learn as much as possible. Use your ship’s AI to learn everything their bank’s AI knows.
Gray Panthers: Dixie Page 15
