Starfist: Kingdom's Fury

by David Sherman

  There was sudden turbulence on the west end of the Skink line.

  “I think Skinks are arriving from the west,” Dornhofer reported.

  “They’re moving up,” Claypoole reported; the dark water to the south was advancing and resolving into individuals.

  “I see someone standing,” Dornhofer said.

  The officer who had examined the islet stood and waded toward the group that had just arrived from the west. He met an officer from that group.

  “How many are there?” Rokmonov asked.

  “I can’t tell,” Dornhofer said. “They’re too far away. And some are in shadows. It’s hard to make out anything.”

  “I’m counting,” Claypoole said. “More than thirty. Damn, there must be at least forty.”

  One of the officers briefly ducked underwater. One of the Skinks detached and swam rapidly to the south. Claypoole watched as the messenger intercepted the southern group and gave hand signals to a Skink who wasn’t carrying the tanks of an acid gun. That Skink gave a signal that had to mean Wait in place, then swam rapidly toward where the other officers were standing, deep in low conversation.

  There were more than thirty Skinks in the water thirty-five meters north of the Marines in the trees. Forty or more were even closer to the south. An unknown number, but probably thirty or forty, were not far away to the west. Counting himself, Lieutenant Rokmonov had thirty-five Marines. So far the Skinks hadn’t shown much individual initiative in firefights—their troops seemingly needed to be told what to do. And all the officers were together in one place. The Marines could take out the Skink officers and even the odds in a hurry. The big question was: How fast would the Skinks realize the Marines were in the trees and start shooting upward? Most of them were already in range of their acid guns.

  The Skink command meeting was breaking up just as Rokmonov shouted, “FIRE!” into the all-hands circuit, and star-stuff lanced into the unsuspecting Skinks.

  Third platoon’s first gun team fired at the three officers. Two of them flared immediately and the third dove for safety. The assault gun continued firing short bursts into the area the Skinks were in. At the same time, one assault gun squad opened up on the Skinks to the north, its stream of plasma bolts sweeping from right to left along the line of Skinks. The water boiled and steam rose in the gun’s wake. First squad also fired, each Marine picking targets ahead of the moving stream from the assault gun, trying to spot and flash Skinks who attempted to flee the gun’s plasma.

  On the south side of the Marine perimeter, third platoon’s other gun and the other assault squad opened up on those Skinks, firing from each end to the middle. The water boiled more ferociously than it did to the north, steam rising thick as blinding fog. Unable to see, second squad held its fire.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!” Rokmonov shouted after less than half a minute. The squad leaders and fire and gun team leaders echoed the command.

  The firing stopped. Overheated water still roiled to the north, west, and south of the Marines. Steam still rose. The ambient temperature felt like it had risen twenty degrees.

  “Does anybody see anything?”

  Mostly, the Marines saw trees emerging from the slowly dissipating steam. Not much of the water surface was visible.

  “Squad leaders, report.”

  There were no Marine casualties. As far as they could tell, none of the Skinks had returned fire.

  They listened. The water made noise as it bubbled and gave off more steam, but all else was silent. Long minutes passed before they could see the surface of the water again. The Marines’ fire had been accurate. Few plasma bolts had struck on the tussocks and hummocks that studded the marsh waters, and only a few faint lines of smoke dribbled upward from charred foliage. There was no sign of the Skinks.

  Lieutenant Rokmonov reported quietly to Captain Conorado, who gave him revised orders. They agreed that the platoon had enjoyed incredible luck in launching two consecutive ambushes with such success. They couldn’t count on it happening a third time. To the countrary, their next contact would likely cause casualties, maybe heavy casualties.

  “Saddle up,” Rokmonov said when he was through on the radio. “It’s a pretty good guess they know we’re here now.” He suppressed a chuckle. “There’s no chance we can reach any of those cave mouths. Here’s our new route.” He transmitted a fresh overlay to the squad leaders, who gave it to their Marines. The route led back to the Haven defenses but didn’t simply backtrack ground they’d already covered. They formed up as before, but in reverse order. Lance Corporal Schultz always wanted the most dangerous position; this time he judged that to be the left rear of the platoon box.

  Nobody was willing to argue with Schultz when he said where he wanted to be in a formation when the platoon was in the field against a live enemy.

  The Master who dove to avoid the opening burst huddled in the undercut bank of a hummock, only his crown and eyes showing above the water, were hidden in the shadows behind a screen of drooping roots. Where had that helacious fire come from? If Earthmen Marines were on any of the islets he could see, he should be able to discern at least a few of the telltale hollows their invisible bodies made in the grass. They weren’t in the water, he was sure of that—the sensors in his sides would have picked up some emanation from their bodies if they were anywhere in the restricted lines of sight along which they would have fired, were they in the water. Nor had he felt their presence when he was standing, conferring with the other Masters immediately before the Earthmen Marines opened fire.

  The Master’s astonishment was great when he saw the lower branches of trees on a few of the hummocks rustle and he heard the sounds of bodies thudding to the ground. Of course—they had been in the trees! No wonder he couldn’t tell where they were! There was a time, centuries in the past, when the True People had put snipers in trees. In those days, well-placed snipers in trees could do great damage to superior forces and tie them down for considerable time, even long enough to mount a counterattack. The Master was surprised that the Earthmen Marines still used such a primitive tactic.

  Primitive or not, the tactic had certainly been effective: Two Masters, nearly a dozen Leaders, and more than a hundred Fighters had died. He and five Fighters who huddled in the undercut with him were all that remained. Unless some Fighters from the other groups had managed to get out of the killing zone and fled. But the Fighters were bred to obey orders, to stand and fight, to never retreat. It was unlikely that any fled back to the caves.

  What should he do now? If he went back, it could only be in disgrace. He had to go forward. But what could he and five Fighters do against a whole company of Earthmen Marines? It had to be a whole company. The fire that rained down had been too fierce, too intense, to have come from less than a company. He and five Fighters could die, and hope to take an equal number with them. But the Great Master must know that the Earthmen Marines were using primitive tactics. If he did not make that report, more of the Emperor’s Fighters and Leaders and Masters of all ranks would needlessly die, and the entire mission to this world might be in jeopardy.

  The Master dithered for a few moments, caught between imperatives. Then he decided, and gave a signal. The five Fighters quelled their fear and swam after him. A strong reaction force must be on its way. He would follow the Earthmen Marines and send the Fighters back, one at a time, to guide the reaction force to where the Earthmen Marines were.

  After trailing the Earthmen Marines for a few hundred meters, he was only able to locate one platoon from the company that made the attack. But he knew the rest of the company couldn’t be far. He sent the first Fighter back to intercept the reaction force and lead them to this place, where they would be met by the next Fighter he sent back.

  Reports from the eighteen platoons in the field flowed into the intelligence section of Marine Expeditionary Force, Kingdom. Brigadier Sturgeon waited for his staff to analyze and make sense of the reports. He couldn’t mount a major offensive until he had hard d
ata about the disposition of the Skink forces. He waited patiently.

  Archbishop General Lambsblood, Supreme Commander of the Army of the Lord, also waited in the MEF headquarters. But he fumed at the inactivity and what he suspected was the sinfulness of the situation. First this . . . mere brigadier had come and wrested away command of the Army of the Lord—his army! Then this off-world infidel had placed his own officers in command of the units of his army—over officers far superior in rank. If that wasn’t enough, this brigadier had then placed lowly enlisted men in command of the army’s companies and platoons—even to the extent of sub-swords in command over acolytes! Now the Army of the Lord was relegated to a purely defensive posture while the infidel Confederation Marines conducted offensive operations against the off-world demon invaders. He wasn’t even privy to what was happening in those offensive operations.

  He needed to return the Army of the Lord to the field, to crush the demon invaders, Lambsblood told himself. Weeks ago Kingdom had needed the assistance of the infidel Confederation Marines. But that was when the demon invaders attacked where they would with impunity and the Army of the Lord was reeling from their assaults. But the off-worlders had broken the back of the assault; it was now the demons who reeled. The Army of the Lord, Lambsblood was convinced, could now deal with the invaders unassisted.

  If it was up to him, he would instruct that dithering idiot ambassador from the Confederation to order the infidel Marines to reembark on their ship and depart the holy precincts of the Kingdom of Yahweh and His Saints and Their Apostles. But those fools of the Convocation were still afraid, and suffered from internal turmoil. They insisted they had made the mistake of sending the off-worlders away once and would not make that mistake again—the Marines would remain to fight the demons to the end.

  So Lambsblood waited and fumed.

  The platoons of Marine Expeditionary Force, Kingdom, prowled through the two-thousand-square-kilometer area of swamps, marshes, and wetlands where the Skinks were thought to be concentrated. They sent in reports of contact and findings.

  Second platoon, Company B, 26th FIST, managed to infiltrate past Skink security patrols and blow three cave entrances before withdrawing ahead of a counterattacking force. They suffered one acid casualty from the only security patrol they encountered during the withdrawal: the wounded Marine had failed to properly seal his chameleons. The Skink security patrol was wiped out.

  First platoon, K Company, 34th FIST, reached a major entrance to the cave complex, where they caught security patrols returning to be relieved. They killed eighty Skinks and mined the cave entrance. They suffered one casualty: a Marine stepped on a loose rock and impaled himself on a broken sapling.

  Third platoon, Mike Company, 34th FIST, attempted to assault and destroy a cave entrance, only to discover it was guarded by a Skink buzz saw. Three Marines were killed and two others suffered traumatic amputations before an assault gun killed the buzz saw. The cave entrance was successfully destroyed.

  First platoon, Company C, 26th FIST, failed to reach the cave entrances that were its objectives. It encountered a presumed Skink reaction force and had to fight its way out. No Marine casualties.

  Third platoon, Alfa Company, 26th FIST, intercepted a crew moving one of the buzz saws’ bigger cousins, the things that took out aircraft and Dragons. They killed the crew and attempted to bring the weapon back. But the gun was too heavy for them to maneuver through the water-logged landscape without a vehicle, and Brigadier Sturgeon didn’t believe it was safe to send in a Dragon or Hopper to retrieve it. The platoon’s attached assault gun squads destroyed it in place.

  Many platoons found their objectives—entrances to the cave complex, all of which were guarded—and destroyed them. Other platoons met and fought Skink patrols or reaction forces. They killed the patrols and badly hurt the larger forces before withdrawing, while suffering few casualties of their own.

  And third platoon, Company L, 34th FIST, was exfiltrating after having killed more than a hundred Skinks without suffering any casualties of its own.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  The Great Master, clad in the combat armor he had worn in wars on Home when he still fought himself, sat on a commander’s low throne in the meeting hall. A sword that had drawn blood in many battles during his long career in service to the Emperor lay across his thighs. His visage was grim as he stared out at the assembled Over Masters and more senior of the Senior Masters. The diminutive female who served him poured a steaming beverage into the delicate cup on the low table by his side, bowed low to touch her forehead to the matting by his feet, then gracefully rose and silently padded away, her eyes cast down on the matting.

  Other diminutive females gracefully knelt in front of the low tables between pairs of the Over Masters and the more senior of the Senior Masters and delicately placed two empty cups and a pot of steaming beverage on each. They rose and padded silently away. The Over Masters and more senior of the Senior Masters were unarmed.

  The Great Master spoke one word, an iceberg calving off a glacier: “Report.” His armor, pressed against his sides, reduced and muffled the rasping through his atrophied gill slits.

  The Over Master in command of defense of the caves stood and marched to a point directly in front of the Great Master, within reach of his commander’s sword. He knelt and bowed his forehead to the matting.

  “Speak,” the Great Master commanded, another iceberg crash.

  “Lord.” The Over Master knelt back on his ankles. “The search parties have found twenty-seven more cave entrances. Not all of them lead into the complex. The entrances that do not have been destroyed. Those that do are now guarded. The search continues for more.”

  The Great Master grunted, middle distance thunder, an acceptance of the report and a demand for more.

  “Lord, the Earthmen Marines have made numerous probes of our positions. They destroyed a few entrances to the complex, but they failed to penetrate the interior.”

  The Great Master grunted, thunder less close, a question. He knew about the raids and probes. The purpose of this report was to instruct the assembled Over Masters and more senior of the Senior Masters.

  “Lord, in all instances the Earthmen Marines were beaten off with losses. They had none of the worthless soldiers of this mudball with them, or their losses would have been severe. Those Earthmen Marines who have not yet left the area are being harried by our reaction forces and will soon be destroyed.”

  The Great Master splayed one hand on a thigh and leaned over it. “Have they discerned the pattern?” His voice was a millstone grinding his enemy’s bones to flour.

  “That is most improbable, Lord.” The Over Master in command of the defenses bowed his chin to the matting, his eyes remaining fixed on the Great Master, a signal that his report was complete.

  The Great Master sat erect and flicked his fingertips at the Over Master in command of the defenses, who stood and returned to his place.

  The Great Master extended a hand and lifted the tiny, steaming cup. He slowly wafted it below his nose and inhaled deeply. A contented sigh rumbled from deep in his chest, a distant landslide.

  The less senior of each pair of Over Masters and the more senior of the Senior Masters lifted the steaming pot on the table between them and poured beverage into first his senior’s cup and then into his own. All lifted their cups to the Great Master.

  The Great Master sipped, and beamed at the exquisite taste. The others followed suit.

  “I believe,” the Great Master rumbled, a thunderstorm almost upon them, “the Earthmen Marines will digest what they have learned from these probes and devise a plan of attack from them. We will array our forces so that no matter from where the Earthmen Marines attack, we can move to meet them with overwhelming force. The Earthmen Marines will at last meet their greatest defeat!” He tipped the cup to his lips and drained it.

  The assembled Over Masters and more senior of the Senior Masters drained their cups as well,
then held them up to the Great Master and roared their grateful acceptance of his glorious plan, which would lead them to their long desired and vengeful victory over the Earthmen Marines.

  Third platoon had eight kilometers of marsh and other wetlands to slog through before reaching ground that stood above water level most of the time. Then another fifteen to the river, where commandeered civilian boats would meet them for transit back to Haven. The marsh, which was essentially a large, shallow lake studded with islands that took up about half its surface area, made for hard movement. But they were Marines; they never expected anything to be easy. “Join the Marines and see the universe” was one of many recruiting slogans. Most new Marines were shocked to discover the rest of the slogan was, “one step at a time.”

  Lieutenant Rokmonov didn’t need to tell them Skinks might be after them. They knew if their positions were reversed they’d probably be going after the Skinks. Despite the one-sided fights they’d just had, they knew the Skinks were tough fighters, so they thought there was a very good chance they were being followed by a much larger force. As hard as the going was, they made very good time through the marsh—and managed to stay alert no matter how tiring the slogging was. And they knew that a small unit could move much faster than a larger unit. Fast moving and alert, they weren’t terribly concerned about any pursuers catching them before they reached the boats and headed back to Haven.