by Brian Dorsey
“Tanks?” asked Shara as he reached her.
“Light ones, maybe. Or maybe troop transports.”
“Both” came a voice behind Martin.
She spun quickly, ready to fire.
“Yates!” shouted Martin, momentarily losing her composure.
“It would be a shame to get shot by my own LT,” replied the sergeant with a smile as Corporal Sellers emerged from the cover of the swamp behind Yates.
A wave of relief washed over Martin. Something about Yates’s presence lessened the colossal weight of responsibility she had been carrying. Such was the power of a good NCO. A smile formed on her face as the old sergeant walked up to her. “I might have thought about it a time or two,” joked Martin, trying to hide her relief. “Who else made it?” she added hopefully.
“I don’t know,” answered Yates, shaking his head. “It was a shit-show.”
“What happened?” asked Shara.
“It was a company of Scout Rangers. They hit fast and hard. Markum and the big guns took down a few and we made a good stand but…” Yates paused, a look of disgust and frustration painted on his face.
“What?” asked Shara.
“That flight lieutenant…the First Family guy,” answered Sellers.
Martin felt her anger begin to boil over, even before she knew what had happened. “What did he do?”
“They pushed us back into our secondary defenses. Sergeant Morgan took charge of the inner defenses while I took Sellers and tried to flank them and draw some off. We fought our way out and got on their flank into a position for enfilading fire.”
“Then we saw it,” added Sellers.
“What did you see?” asked Martin.
“A group of Rangers rushed the position and it was hand-to-hand for a minute,” continued Yates.
“One of their elite ones was with them…his face was all painted up and his head was shaved,” added Sellers.
“Damn it,” cursed Martin. She had heard about the painted-face Scout Rangers but had never seen one before. They were the best of the best the Terillian had to offer.
“The painted one killed Morgan before we opened up on their flank and forced them to retreat,” said Yates.
“Then it happened,” grumbled Sellers.
“What?” asked Martin.
“Fucking First Family—”
“Easy, Corporal. You don’t talk about First Families that way,” warned Yates as he looked into Martin’s eyes. “That First Family piece of shit surrendered his position.”
“And the other’s followed his order?” asked Martin, shocked that Guardsmen would surrender, even under orders.
“No,” grunted Yates. “But he distracted them long enough to allow another rush that overwhelmed them.”
“After that, they pushed us back and we had to make a run for it into the swamp,” said Sellers.
“We circled back and caught their trail and followed them to here,” said Yates. “They had Lieutenant Varus, Sergeant Boles, Daniel, Incerna, and the captain with them.”
“The captain’s alive?” interjected Martin.
“Barely,” continued Yates. “And Boles and Daniel were wounded.”
“Let me guess, not a scratch on Varus?” Martin’s blood boiled. The coward should have died with the crew onboard Draxius. And now he had technically surrendered an Elite Guard unit for the first time in history.
“Not a fucking scratch,” answered Yates. “Now what about you? What’s the status of the old Ter base? Were they Ters there?”
“Not exactly,” replied Martin. “We ran into Phelian warriors.”
“Are you sure?” asked Yates. “They’re supposed to be—”
“Dead,” interrupted Martin. “Well, they’re not.” She paused. “Well, a few more are dead now.”
“How many?”
“Not sure. Shara and I saw three in the swamp where they had tangled with the Ters and where Blake was killed.”
“And Jolly?” asked Sellers.
“Captured. I tracked them down and…” She paused and sighed. “He didn’t make it either.” She paused again as the events of a few hours ago seemed like a long-lost memory. “But he took one with him and I took down…” she mentally counted the Phel she had killed, forcing herself to skip those in that dark room, “…nine or ten.”
“Damn, LT,” said Sellers. “Ten Phel.”
“Most were…a lot of them weren’t that experienced.”
“We’ll have to be on the lookout for them along with the Ters,” said Yates. “This mission keeps getting better.”
“At least I found the meds for the captain—” She stopped mid-sentence, the self-doubt again hitting her as she questioned her decision to scout the abandoned base. “I should have stayed here. There would have been four more of us in the fight.”
“Or four more dead Guardsmen,” said Yates. “It was an entire company of Rangers with a painted-face.” Yates placed his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “And we wouldn’t have known about the Phel.”
Martin nodded her head in acknowledgment of Yates’s comments. But she still blamed herself.
“Now that we’re all caught up,” said Yates, “what’s the plan, LT?”
She had no idea what the plan was. She had made the command decision to scout the abandoned base and now, less than twenty-four hours later, there were only six of her men left, and three were prisoners of the Terillians. She looked at Yates but didn’t answer.
“Shara, Sellers,” barked Yates. “You two scout ahead a few kilometers. Check in every fifteen over short-range and report any contacts. If you can get a good defensive position to set up a base of operations, report in.”
“Uu-ah,” replied the two Guardsmen in unison.
As Sellers and Shara faded into the swamp, Martin felt Yates’s hand on her shoulder.
“You okay, LT?”
“I don’t kn—”
“Stop right there, LT,” interrupted Yates. “You’re better than that. You made the right decisions…and if you didn’t or think you didn’t, then learn from it and do your job.”
So many thoughts were running through her mind. Her anger toward Varus, her frustration and concern over Jackson, her own self-doubt, and the faces of the dead Phel children—they all tossed and tumbled about in her head.
“Lieutenant Martin!” shouted Yates, giving her good shake.
“Yes,” she replied, forcing herself to focus on the veteran warrior.
“Get your shit together,” said Yates calmly. “Think about the tactical situation. Think about your strengths and weaknesses…and our enemy’s.” He paused.
Martin’s mind began to clear as she focused on Yates’s words and began to evaluate her situation from a tactical, and not emotional, perspective.
“Give me an order, LT,” said Yates.
“Our environmental gear?” she heard herself ask.
“Sellers and I have a suit, so if you and Shara do too then we’re set.”
“Ammo and weapons?”
“Limited ammo, but enough for a few good fights. We have a few kilos of explosive gel and some mines.”
“Track and observe,” she replied. “Since there are only four us, we should be able to find where they took the captain and the others and determine if we can try to free them or set up a plan for hit and run raids depending on their strength.”
“Ua-ah, LT,” replied Yates with a smile. “Let’s catch up to the others.”
***
Martin slowly made her way over the frozen swamp, careful for any loose branch or frozen plant that would cause noise. Martin and her men had followed the tracks for four long days. The limited sleep she had gotten over that time still seemed to reinvigorate her. Now, word from Shara over the short-range comms that a Terillian outpost was nearby energized her even more. Maybe her chance to free Jackson and her men would come. If not, she could at least exact some revenge.
Nearing Yates’s position, she lowered herself onto the frozen
ground and began to crawl the final few meters. Soon she saw Yates, lying prone at the edge of the wooded portion of the swamp. Beyond lay mostly open swampland with only patches of trees.
Sliding into position beside Yates, she brought her rifle to her shoulder and magnified the view through her scope. About 2000 meters away was the Terillian outpost.
She saw the road they’d been following for days turn right and run directly into a Terillian checkpoint. Focusing on the checkpoint, she could make out a light hover tank, resting on the ground, and at least three Scout Rangers at the checkpoint. Scanning further, Martin saw several tents and two hardened structures several stories tall.
“Looks like at least a battalion,” whispered Yates. “Maybe a full regiment.”
Martin’s scope now passed over a motor pool that included at least three more tanks and a dozen transports. Scanning back to the entrance to the outpost, she saw a squad of Terillians heading out for a patrol. “Regular troops?” she said with a glance toward Yates. She had never seen regular Terillian soldiers in the Dark Zone.
“Where?” he asked.
“By the entrance.”
Martin looked at Yates as he shifted the view of his scope.
“Looks like it,” said Yates, turning his head toward Martin. “This is a big deal if the Rangers are being supported by regulars. But at least that means we’re probably looking at just the company of Rangers and maybe a battalion of regulars.”
“What the fuck is so important on this frozen rock?”
“There,” replied Yates, again looking through his scope. “Out past the structures.”
Martin shifted her view and magnified her scope again, looking toward the horizon and what appeared to be a frozen lake. In the haze, another structure came into view. She adjusted her scope again to full magnification.
“Son of a bitch,” declared Martin.
It was a mining platform. As she watched, a transport appeared in the sky above the massive platform and began floating downward toward the platform.
“It’s gotta be a restricted resource for them to mine it themselves,” said Yates.
“And to have this much firepower in the Dark Zone,” added Martin.
“If the others are still alive and on-planet, they’ll be in one of those big structures.”
“Either way,” whispered Martin. “Now we’ve got targets. Let’s get some rest tonight and start making some mischief tomorrow?”
“Uu-ah,” replied Yates. “We should move back and plan out our next move. They’ll be patrolling the edge of the tree line.”
“Let’s go,” said Martin with a pat on Yates’s back as she began to snake her body back into the cover of the forest.
Once they had slid far enough away from the opening in the forest, Martin and Yates stood and made their way back to Shara and Sellers.
“What’s the skinny?” asked Shara.
“All kinds of good news, Shara,” replied Yates. “A company of Scout Rangers, a battalion of regulars, and armor.”
“You’re shittin’ me?” interjected Sellers.
“Fuckin’ great,” added Shara. “We’re gonna die on this frozen turd of a planet.”
“What did you expect, Shara, retirement?” laughed Yates. “Guardsmen die out here in the nothing…that’s what we do.”
“Well, Sarge, that sucks because I was looking forward to that 10% discount on lunch at the retirement center buffet back on Alpha Humana,” replied Shara, a dry smile forming on his face. “If we both make it, maybe I can wheel your old ass to the buffet with me.”
“I think I’d rather die out here than watch you eat,” replied Yates dryly.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Sellers, getting back to the point at hand.
“They will have patrols out so I think we’ll set up rotations with one of us out forward keeping an eye on the outpost, two geared up for defense and support and one sleeping,” said Martin. “We’ll watch the outpost for a day or two to get their operations down so we can find out how to cause the most trouble for them.”
“So watch and rest for two days?” replied Shara.
“And then start fuckin’ with some Ters,” answered Martin.
“Sounds good to me,” interjected Sellers.
“So who racks out first?” asked Shara.
The four Guardsmen stood in a small circle, staring at each other. Although they all needed it, no one wanted to be the first to say it.
“Why don’t you go down first, LT?” recommended Yates. “I’ll go over the layout of the Ter outpost with Sellers and the buffet-hound and then I’ll take the first forward observation.”
“I don’t—”
“Somebody needs to sleep, LT,” interrupted Yates with a look only a senior NCO could give an officer.
“Uu-ah, Sergeant,” replied Martin. She acquiesced, but she wouldn’t sleep; there was too much running through her mind.
Grudgingly resting her rifle against a large frozen fern, Martin lowered herself onto a hard, cold clump of earth a few inches above the frozen swamp water. With the environmental suit protecting her from the frigid air, she began to run an assault scenario in her head. There had to be a way to get into the main structures; she owed it to her men…and Jackson.
The weight of Daemon plopping down next to her jolted Martin.
“What do you think about when you sleep?” she said as she stroked the war dog’s thick fur.
Daemon looked toward her almost as if it understood, and then lowered its massive head against Martin’s shoulder.
She grunted, her shoulder still sore from her earlier injury but welcoming the dog’s contact. “I guess you’re ready for some sleep too.”
Martin rolled onto her side, placing her arm around the massive dog. The warmth of the dog’s fur combined with her environmental suit reminded Martin of the comfort she had once felt as a young girl in her bed, back when her father was a Praetorian and her mother was still her mother.
Her eyes grew heavy and she fell into a deep sleep.
Martin looked up to her father.
“You can do this, Em,” the proud Praetorian said with a smile as he handed Martin a pistol.
“Yes, father,” she replied, reluctantly taking the weapon into her hand. She felt his strong hand on her shoulder.
“What is it that makes you Humani?” he asked.
“Adherence to our duty,” she replied, looking down toward the floor.
“What if we don’t like the duty?”
“It does not matter. It is our duty.”
“Very good, Em.” The strong touch of her father’s hand on her cheek forced her to look into his fierce eyes. “Do your duty.”
Martin turned, her father directing her with his hands on her shoulders. Gripping the pistol so tightly she felt the rough surface of the grip indenting her skin, she looked into the eyes of an adolescent girl with slick blond hair.
“But she’s just a kid,” she said, tears rolling down her checks.
“She’s Phel,” replied the stern voice of her father. “And an enemy of the Humani people.”
Her hand began to shake but she tightened the muscles in her arm, forcing it to rise. Looking down the sights of the pistol, her gaze locked with the eyes of the girl. They shined with a hatred that radiated like a star. “Murderer,” the Phel girl spoke in perfect Humani.
“LT!”
Martin rose from her dream with a jerk as Shara shook her arm.
“LT, you awake?”
“Yes,” she grumbled, struggling to fight off the fog of sleep. “What is it?”
“Sellers reported a patrol moving in our direction. Looks like mostly regulars. Sergeant Yates wants to see if we can snag a prisoner for intel.”
“Where is he?”
“About five hundred meters to the east. Sellers says the patrol is about two klicks out but coming this way.”
“Let’s go,” ordered Martin, grabbing her rifle. She turned toward Daemon. “Follow, stealth,”
she ordered with a pat on the dog’s head.
Shara and Martin, with Daemon at her side, quickly covered the distance to Sergeant Yates.
“What do we have?” asked Martin as she knelt next to Yates.
“Sellers was up forward and saw a patrol of five Ters headed this way. Since there was only five, I thought it might be a good chance for us to take them out and maybe take a prisoner before they can get out a warning.”
“It would be good to find out what’s going on in that outpost,” replied Martin.
“We’re gonna have to be quiet and quick,” added Yates, “but the warming should come before they get here and we can use the swamp for cover.”
“Blades?” asked Shara.
“That should be our first choice,” replied Martin. “We’re not sure how far the sound of gunfire will travel through these swamps, and it could alert other patrols.”
“Either way,” added Yates, “after we take this patrol out, we will need to move our camp…they’ll send more out after them.”
Martin’s body grew hot—the temperature shift was starting.
“Do you have the spot?” she asked as she began to remove her environmental suit.
“A few hundred meters up ahead,” answered Yates.
“That small opening. Good choice,” said Martin, stepping out of her environmental suit.
“The water is pretty deep to the left and the trees and underbrush are thick on the right,” continued Yates as he drew lines and circles into the now muddy ground. “How do you want us positioned, LT?”
“Sergeant, you and Shara should be on the edge of the underbrush and I’ll take the deep water,” said Martin. “Daemon will stay close to you, Sergeant.” She paused. “Where’s Sellers?” she asked, looking for the corporal.
“He’s paralleling the patrol and reporting,” answered Yates. “He can fall in behind them to cover their rear if any get out of the trap.”
“Uu-ah…Let’s get into position,” she ordered as she and the others moved out to prepare their ambush.
In a few minutes they were standing knee-deep in the cold muck at the edge of an opening in the thick growth of trees and ferns.
“We’re here,” said Shara.
“Daemon, conceal and ambush on order,” she ordered the war dog. As the massive beast moved toward the cover of the forest, she turned toward Yates. “I’ll conceal by the deeper water.”
