“Mykystra, where’s the air?”
“Working on it, ma’am!”
There was a pounding at the front hatch, and Esther wheeled around, her Ruger at the ready.
“Doc, let them in,” she said when she recognized the police and jimmylegs. “You, get back and on the ground,” she added to the control room’s SDS staff.
She saw a shift in some of the avatars to the west. They could be bystanders trying to get out of the area, or they could be part of another assault force.
“Charlie—”
“I’ve got them. The minute they start towards us, we’ll engage.”
And so she immediately put them out of her mind, knowing the sergeant was on top of it.
The six dunkers in the two squads facing the dozers were firing, most with the Bushmaster rockets. Each of the stubby rockets hit the dozers, but if a Banshee hadn’t knocked one out, the smaller Bushmasters hadn’t a chance.
“Grenades, blow-down fuzes,” Esther ordered.
The armed dozer shifted its fire from the tower to the control room. Esther hit the deck as the heavy rounds tore into the building, destroying equipment in ear-shattering blasts.
“Doc, Mykystra, with me,” she ordered, crawling to the front hatch and outside.
Whoever was assaulting them obviously had a strategic mission to destroy the station, but ignoring the Marines was a tactical mistake. The dunker’s “dunks” of outgoing grenades were music to Esther’s ears, and she lifted herself up on her arms to see. The puffs of exploding shells above the dozers were clearly visible, and almost immediately, one of the dozers—the unarmed one, unfortunately—veered off. At least Esther had thought it was unarmed. After 20 meters, it exploded in a huge blast that shook the ground under her from 500 meters away.
The armed dozer kept coming, though, gun blazing. More grenades exploded above it, but with no obvious effect. Either the driver was under some heavy protection, or it was being remotely operated. She thought the latter was more likely, but that didn’t explain why the second one had been knocked out.
More small arms fire reached into the station, and mortar rounds landed in the parking lot, another indication that it wasn’t trained soldiers attacking. If it were the Legion, they’d be hitting Marines from only a klick away.
A volley of fire sounded from First Squad. Esther switched to a split screen. One half showed the approaching dozer, the other Ngcobo’s feed. From well out in front of First Squad, several figures were in full retreat, leaving three motionless figures behind.
Sergeant Ngcobo would have seen her comms icon appear on his display, so he knew she was watching.
“They must have thought that with those dozers and the rest of the incoming, we’d miss them. We didn’t,” he said in his usual, almost flippant manner.
“No, I guess you didn’t,” she said, cutting his feed.
Most of the incoming fire was ineffective. The main threat was the technical.
“What’s the air status?” she asked Mykystra.
“Four minutes.”
Captain Hoffman’s comms icon appeared on her display.
She blinked the connection open, then said, “We need that air now, sir.”
“Four minutes, Lieutenant.”
She ran a quick calculation. Four minutes would put that dozer into the station, right at Third Squad’s position.
“Beacons on,” she passed on the platoon net, then “Note the friendlies,” to the CO.
“Staff Sergeant Fortuna, I’m going to pull you back. Sergeant Daniels-Graves, cover Third, but be ready to assume your alternate position,”
“Roger that,” the Second Squad leader replied.
There was nothing from the platoon sergeant.
“Conrad, did you copy that?” she passed on the P2P.
A questing stream of the 13 mm hit the ground five meters from her, and she ducked down.
“Hammerschott, do you see the platoon sergeant?” she passed.
“Uh, wait one,” he said, his voice tense but sounding like he was keeping it together.
She flipped to Staff Sergeant Fortuna’s feed, but all she could see was a close-up of what looked like dirt.
Has he been hit?
His avatar had him right behind the squad’s position.
“Lieutenant, are you getting this?” Hammerschott asked as he force-fed his feed.
Staff Sergeant Fortuna was standing above his utilities, which were crumbled in a pile at his feet. He slid off his smoothies, and stood there for a moment, stark naked.
“Staff Sergeant, what are you doing?” Esther could hear Hammerschott call out.
“Stop him, Sergeant,” Esther shouted, overcome with dread.
Her platoon sergeant reached down and adjusted his helmet so it looked up. He smiled and gave the feed a casual salute. He disappeared from his feed, but from Hammerschott’s, Esther saw him pick up something, and then disappear to the side of the position.
“Tackle his ass now,” she ordered. “Bring him back in.”
“Staff Sergeant, come back,” the sergeant shouted as he scrambled to the side to bring Fortuna back into view. “Eire, Frogman, go get him.”
Lance Corporal Carrigan, “Frogman,” passed in front of Hammerschott to exit the position.
“What’s going on?” Captain Hoffman asked. “What the hell’s Fortuna doing?”
Past her display, Esther saw Eire and Carrigan emerge from the position just as Fortuna came into view in front of it. Both junior Marines bolted around the side of the position and ran forward just as the dozer’s 13mm swung towards them, chewing up the ground and sending both of the junior Marines diving for cover. A few rounds hit near Fortuna, but he never faltered, just kept walking forward.
Another burst hit the position, sending pieces flying, and Eire wheeled around, bringing his left hand to his chest and clutching it with his right. His avatar changed to light blue.
Esther got up to her knees as the gun on the dozer fired off another burst. She didn’t know how many rounds they’d stacked up on the vehicle. Unlike a military vehicle where the rounds would be stored inside, they’d be exposed in some sort of jury-rigged container. The rounds would be more vulnerable, but the dozer could carry a lot. And with a sinking heart, she knew what she had to do.
Carrigan, get Eire back inside.”
Both Marines craned their heads to look back at her, Eire still clutching his hand. If the situation were different, she wouldn’t have given that order. But Staff Sergeant Fortuna had made his decision, and it wasn’t right that Esther risk the other two because of that.
“Sergeant Hammerschott, prepare to fall back to your alternate position.”
“But the staff sergeant—”
“That’s an order.”
Fortuna kept marching forward, hands out at his sides, carrying what looked like toads in his hands. There was so much metal on the dozer that Esther didn’t even know if one of the incendiary devices had enough fuel to melt through it to anything vital. Dozers were built to withstand a lot of abuse.
And still Fortuna walked forward. The dozer continued to fire, ignoring him.
And then it hit her. If the dozer was unmanned, as she was now sure it was, whatever weapons system had been hooked up probably had an AI directing its fire. Without a uniform, without gear, the enemy AI might be a low-enough-level AI not to recognize Fortuna as an enemy. For a moment, she felt her hope rise. Maybe there was method in his madness.
She barely saw Third Squad emerge from their position and sprint back. Two of the Marines were hit by small arms, but their bones stopped the rounds.
Esther told her AI to re-direct a dragonfly. Within moments, she had its view from behind the dozer, facing Fortuna, who was now 30 meters beyond the position, a beatific smile on his face as he walked forward. The dozer was 70 meters out and closing, heading at a slight angle away from the staff sergeant.
“Throw it!” she shouted, unable to stay quiet.
Sh
e knew he wasn’t going to throw one of the toads. She knew he wanted release from his torment.
Suddenly, the dozer stopped, maybe 30 meters from Fortuna. The gun started traversing to him. Someone was observing them and had either taken over the controls or even directed the AI to recognize the staff sergeant as a threat. Even then, the gun didn’t fire, as if the person on the other side couldn’t believe what faced the dozer. And the staff sergeant kept walking forward, arms outstretched.
“Throw it,” Esther whispered.
At 20 meters away, the 13 mm on the dozer opened up, and Staff Sergeant Conrad Fortuna was immediately blasted into pieces.
“Fuck!” Esther said, burying her face into the dirt.
She was vaguely aware of Mykystra talking in the Wasp.
Get it together. He’s gone!
She flipped to the air tac net, and heard Captain Quince say he was two minutes out, then confirm beacon color.
The dozer continued forward, but it had swerved to kill Staff Sergeant Fortuna, and Second Squad’s lone remaining Banshee took off from their position. Three seconds later, it slammed into the left rear corner of the dozer. The construction vehicle was massive, but tracks were tracks, and the Banshee knocked off a section of them. With the right tracks still working, the dozer started turning in a circle. After two revolutions, it stopped for a moment, then with several fits and starts, oriented itself back on the station. Its 13mm demolished Third Squad’s now empty position, reducing it to splinters and rubble.
“Second Squad, displace!” she ordered.
A moment later, the dozer started turning again, this time towards Second Squad’s position.
Sergeant Daniels-Graves stood just outside the entrance, urging everyone out.
“Move it,” Esther passed needlessly.
The sergeant knew the situation, and she knew what was at stake.
With only one track, the dozer remote operator was having problems. It was just getting into where it could fire when Captain Quince started his run. With an angry-sounding snarl, the plane’s 30mm cannon opened up. No matter how sturdy a dozer was made, it couldn’t stand up to that. It looked like the hand of God smashed down on the bright yellow vehicle, driving it into the dirt. Black smoke started to rise into the air before a huge explosion enveloped it.
The first dozer had been 500 meters away, and that shock wave had been bad enough. This dozer was just outside the station, and Esther felt as if someone, someone big, had landed on her chest. Even with her battle helmet suppressing the sound, her ears were ringing.
Something big, something that had been part of a dozer until a moment before, landed ten meters away with a thud.
The second Wasp pulled up, its run unnecessary.
On her display, Esther could see avatars heading away from the battle area. Combatants or spectators, they evidently thought discretion the better part of valor.
The battle was over.
Chapter 11
Two days later, the elections were over. The vote was split along geographic lines. As per an agreement hammered out before, that meant Nouvelle Bretagne would divide, with the Francophile provinces retaining the name. Jordy Enclave and three other provinces would become a separate nation, still within the Federation. There were a few days of muted protests, then the decision became the new norm. There was a flurry of citizens exchanging homes with others who wanted to move to the other nation, and that somehow took up a couple of days of the news feed.
Esther thought that was crazy. Their planet was being divided, yet the newsies focused on home swaps. Ter thought that was on purpose, to bring a sense of normalcy to the populace.
A week after that, the task force received its orders to return to Reissler Quay and stand down.
It had been a rough deployment for Esther. The task force had suffered three permanent KIA during the mission, and each had been from her platoon. Five of the nine Marines now going through regen had been in her platoon. She’d been assured by the major on down that she’d performed admirably, that the KIA were just the luck of the draw. Esther knew better. She could accept Lorne and Portis as battle casualties, but not Fortuna. He’d been killed during the Evolution—it had just taken this long for death to actually arrive. But Esther could have stopped it. She’d known that something was wrong with him. She’d discussed it with Ter, and she’d had the issue brought up with the first sergeant. But Staff Sergeant Fortuna’s career was deemed more important than his life.
And then there was the doctor who’d cleared him for duty. A quiet and subdued Ter had blamed him for Fortuna’s suicide. Esther agreed that doctor was at fault, and the division commander had convened an investigation on him. But the medical officer was not Fortuna’s commander. She was, and it was her duty to watch out for her Marines.
Her father had told her once that a Marine officer had two and only two duties: accomplish the mission, and watch over his Marines. Sometimes, those two missions clashed, and then an officer had to make a hard choice. But that wasn’t the case here. Esther had failed to protect Fortuna from himself.
Esther had poured over the undernet to try and figure out what had happened. Staff Sergeant Fortuna had been killed by a condition known to soldiers ever since there were soldiers. Called “nostalgia,” “soldiers’ heart,” “shell shock,” “battle fatigue,” “PTSD,” “the empty,” it was essentially a soldier’s inability to come to grips with the experiences he or she suffered in combat. Treatment had improved over the centuries, and now, long-term effects were rare. A combination of drugs and therapy were usually enough to keep the demons at bay.
But not for everyone. Esther was surprised that there were certain individuals who did not respond to treatment. Staff Sergeant Fortuna’s tissue samples had been sent for analysis, but the feeling now was that he was one of the few in that category. And that would be embraced as the cause of death.
Doc Quisenberry had looked over the staff sergeant’s records, and while not a medical officer, he knew enough about military medicine to tell Esther that the investigation wouldn’t result in any action. The doctor had followed established procedures. Esther didn’t doubt that, but she felt it should have been obvious that Fortuna was not responding to treatment. He’d been on a long spiral into oblivion, and someone should have taken action.
Like her.
As she boarded the shuttle to lift off the planet, she vowed to herself that something like this would never happen again on her watch. Command came with responsibilities. Never again would she make a joint decision when she felt something was wrong. No more bringing in the XO or first sergeant. She could ask for input, of course, but she’d ceded this decision to others instead of making it herself, and that cost Staff Sergeant Fortuna his life.
If I’m going to accept command, then I’m going to command!
PROPHESY
Chapter 12
“She be beautiful, no?” Ruth asked Esther in a whisper.
“Yes, she is,” Esther said, watching Miriam walking down the aisle.
And it was true. She was lovely. She’d confided with Esther the night before that she wasn’t one much for the trappings of ceremonies, but Esther thought that at that moment, she was beaming.
Esther spared a quick look across the chancel to where Noah was standing, looking sharp in his dress blues. His eyes were locked on his bride-to-be, an expression on his face that Esther couldn’t quite place.
Pride? Longing? Fulfillment?
Esther felt the slightest twinge of jealousy, which she quickly squashed. She was genuinely happy for her twin.
So why am I jealous, even a little?
She shifted her gaze back to Miriam, being escorted by Uncle Caleb. Miriam was estranged from her family, and despite Grandmama’s best efforts, she would not relent and reveal who there were and how to contact them. Esther had to give Miriam credit for that. Not many people could withstand a full-court press from the family matron.
Esther still wasn’t completely sold
on her brother’s fiancé. Her secretive nature, her lack of openness, these bothered her. She wasn’t sure Miriam had even been open about her past with Noah. Knowing him, he probably happily accepted what little she’d told him without questioning. He was a trusting soul, too much so for his own good.
But he seems happy. I guess that’s what counts. But if she screws him over, so help me . . .
She forced herself back to the ceremony. She was Miriam’s maid of honor, and she wasn’t supposed to be planning dastardly deeds upon the bride.
Not that she’d had much to do as the maid of honor. She’d only arrived on-planet two days before, and as she’d foretold to Noah back on Tarawa, Grandmama had pretty much taken over the entire evolution. Nothing had been done without her input or approval.
She hadn’t done such a bad job, Esther had to admit to herself. The Roman Catholic chapel, which they’d rented for the occasion, looked amazing. Even the gowns for the bridesmaids were stylish, lilac and blue with clean, flattering lines. Popular culture was that bridesmaids’ gowns were ugly things, planned that way to make the bride look better by comparison, but these were nice. Esther planned on keeping hers for future use or possibly repurposing.
She’d rather have been in her uniform, even being Noah’s best man, but that position had been filled by Sergeant Skeets Harrak, one of his friends and fellow tanker. She couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t been the most supportive sister over the last six years.
When Esther had told Noah she’d come, she’d agreed only because they were twins. She had to support him, and she could put up with the extended family for a few days. But as she watched Miriam slowly march up the aisle, she was once again amazed at how many people had shown up for the wedding. That was why they’d rented the cathedral. Torritites normally met in small “brethren” halls for services, and there wasn’t a hall on the planet that could hold so many spectators.
Esther's Story: Recon Marine (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 2) Page 10
