by J. N. Chaney
She seemed relieved. “OK, I’m just . . . I mean, I don’t want anything—”
“Don’t worry,” Rev said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get Henrik out.”
“I hope so,” she whispered. “I don’t want any special consideration, though. He’s—”
“He’s your son. Of course, you’re worried. And that’s OK.
“But now that you reminded me, time for me to get out of these civvies.”
Rev dropped his pack, laid his M-49 and Morays on it, and shucked out of his shirt.
Rev considered the pants for a moment before saying, “Screw it.” He took out his lance, powered it up, and slit down each leg. That was quicker than taking off his boots. He wasn’t in a real uniform, and it certainly wasn’t his PAL-5, but it felt good to be in an issue singlet, MARINES emblazoned in gold across his back, his corporal chevrons on his shoulders. He had two armbands, both with PUMC in large letters and the Crossed Rifles and Anchor—the Marines’ CRA emblem—as well. The MARINES on the back were not standard but had been added to make them stand out to the civilians.
None of them knew if that would make them stand out to the Centaurs as well, and Rev, like the rest of them, didn’t dwell on that.
“Looking good there, son,” McCough said from his firing position on the floor. “Kinda wimpy for a grunt, but still better than the mufti you were wearing. I shoulda brought my CRA to put on, too. And I still got my bush hat. I coulda worn that.”
Rev didn’t hesitate. He slipped off one of the armbands and handed it to the former Marine.
With hesitant hands, McCough took it. He stroked the CRA and the PUMC reverently for a moment, then slid the armband up to his biceps. There was a slight glistening in his eyes.
Rev could feel the moment, and it choked him up ever-so-slightly, but now wasn’t the time for maudlin sentimentality.
“How long to get into position?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah. Five seconds, max,” he said, all business again.
Rev looked back out the window at the intersection adding the time in his head. He wanted to fire just before the first wave of the Marines came out of cloaking to start their descent. He didn’t know what the mini-Centaurs had in the way of comms, and he wanted to take them out before the Centaurs would know they were under attack—if they didn’t know already.
They hadn’t shown any change in posture, at least as far as Rev and Tomiko could tell, but the Centaurs didn’t react as humans do. For all Rev knew, they had detected the Marines already and were just playing possum, luring the attacking force into a trap.
“We’re moving out in . . .” He paused to check the timer. Two minutes and four seconds until the Marines appeared in the system. So, that meant, “ . . . one-minute-and-thirty-five seconds. Let’s get ready.”
The two crowded the door, Lima right behind.
“Count me down. We leave here at twenty-five seconds.”
“You know that the bigger tin-asses, like the paladins and coursers, and even the rievers, have self-defense belts around them,” Rev told McCough.
McCough tensed for a second before he relaxed again and asked, “What’s the range on those things?”
“It differs. Paladins and coursers can reach two hundred meters with an ECR of half that. That means—”
“I knew what an effective casualty radius was, son, before you were a gleam in your father’s eye.”
“Yeah, sorry. Of course, you know. The rievers, maybe a one-fifty with half that as the ECR. These mini-tin-asses? They may not have them. And if they do, I don’t know the range.”
“And how far from the corner are the Cents?”
“Could be a hundred and twenty meters or a hundred thirty.” He paused a moment.
“They’ll be stationary, so you can fire-and-forget. Launch and duck back under cover. The missile will just lock on.”
“How fast do these things fly?”
“It’ll take maybe two seconds to cover the ground,” Rev said.
“More than enough time for their AI-brain to get them moving.”
“But we’ve got to hold our sights on target, to make sure we zero the fuckers, right?” He added, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m holding lock.”
“That’s what I thought. You may not be Old Corps, but I guess you new Marines haven’t gone soft. I’m holding, too.”
“You sure? We don’t know the range on the mini-Centaurs.”
“Life sucks, and then you die. What else is new?”
It was true that they didn’t know the range of the mini-Centaurs’ self-defense systems, or if they even had them. But Punch and Pikachu had run over the known data using Comparative Analysis to come up with an estimate. It had a large probability of error, but the range of a mini-Centaur’s self-defense system was probably around 114 meters, and for an unarmored person, it would only take one hit to take them out.
Rev had to be there to run the evacuation, but the civilians were now locked in and knew what to do if he was killed, and the risk was worth taking, especially given the probability that functioning mini-Centaurs would wreak havoc upon the people fleeing the emitter site.
“We’ve got a little over a minute. Let’s get ready,” Rev said.
Rev could feel the adrenaline start to flow. Not enough to make him a hazard, but just a little kick. He idly wondered how much of that was in his augments. If he were his natural self, would he be scared right now or too hyped up to think clearly. He’d never know.
“Uh, Corporal. After we fire these things, then what’s next? You haven’t told me.”
Damn! Good point.
“I’ll be ready with another Moray, if needed. If not, I’ll take out any kapos in sight,” he said, patting the M-49 that was slung on his back. “Then it’s into the emitter to help guide the workers out.”
“And me?”
“You’ll have done your duty, Staff Sergeant. You head for the market to be evac’d.”
“It’s your mission, but iffen you don’t mind, there, Corporal, I think I’ll tag along. I think you can use my help.”
Rev thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
“And if you might need another shot with the Moray, then I might, too.”
McCough looked pointedly at the remaining two missiles. Once again, he had a point. Rev might be in charge, but he’d only been in the service for four years now, and as a staff sergeant, McCough had a lot more combat experience than he had.
With the mission at stake, Rev had no problem taking the older Marine’s advice. He removed one of the two extra Morays from the harness and handed it over.
“Twenty seconds,” Rev said.
Behind him, he could hear Lima quietly praying.
McCough raised the Moray again, then snapped it in, before lowering it. “I’m ready. Let’s kick some Cent ass.”
“Ten seconds.” He shifted his feet, ready to bolt.
Rev turned the doorknob, but it didn’t budge.
“What the hell?”
He tensed up his arm, ready to rip the door off its hinges, when Lima reached between the two Marines and flipped the locking lever. Two steel bars retracted from the recesses in the frame.
Stupid!
But there was no time for mental recriminations. Rev opened the door and almost ran over a very startled civilian man as he headed for the intersection. He stopped at the corner of the building to wait for the unaugmented older Marine to reach him.
“On three. One, two, THREE!”
The two move
d in tandem as if they’d trained together for years. It was that muscle memory beaten into them. A couple of people shouted out, but Rev ignored them as he went to his knees two meters from the wall. He brought his sight onto the far-left Centaur and locked on. With his peripheral vision, he saw McCough sink to a sitting position and raise his Moray.
The two mini-Centaurs didn’t react. There were two kapos at the gate itself in deep conversation with three civilians. Rev hadn’t expected any workers at this time of day, but he couldn’t let them affect what he had to do.
“I’m up,” McCough told him.
“Fire!” he said as he launched the missile.
There was a slight recoil as the missile shot out of the tube, before the laser took over, powering the missile down the street. There was an almost immediate reaction from the mini-Centaurs, a slight movement that reminded him of a dog sensing a rat. One of the kapos turned around, looking confused.
Both missiles, almost even with each other, were about twenty meters from impact when one or both of the mini-Centaurs’ self-defense belts detonated, the blast rolling away from them, obliterating the five humans standing at the gate.
Rev winced as he lost contact with the missile, but the nose cones, specifically designed to withstand the shock wave and shrapnel, continued, their course locked on. An instant later, both impacted their targets . . . and shrapnel pinged around the two Marines. Luckily, most of the pieces had lost their velocity, and other than a stinging piece that struck Rev in the cheek, no damage was done.
“Back!” Rev yelled, too little, too late.
He dove for cover as Lima helped McCough up.
“Did you get them?” she asked.
Rev didn’t know. The dust had hidden their targets from sight.
He cautiously leaned his head out. Both mini-Centaurs were little more than chunks of scrap. Evidently, they didn’t have the same self-destruct that turned the larger ones into so many scattered molecules. There wasn’t much left of the five humans, at least nothing very large. Rev didn’t focus on them.
Three of them were probably just workers.
But he couldn’t dwell on that now.
“Let’s go,” he told the other two, getting to his feet.
He took off at a controlled run, his M-49 at the ready as he closed the distance to the building. He could hear the other two follow, but he didn’t waste a glance at them.
There was a large chunk of what had been part of a human and a smear of blood and organs. Rev’s feet slipped as he hit the mess, and he struggled to keep upright. He’d have gone down if McCough hadn’t caught him.
“Steady, son. Don’t look at them.”
Which was easier said than done. A fully formed arm was stuck between the bars of the open gate. In a way, that was worse than the bloody mess at his feet. It was so human.
“Hey, what the heck just happened?” a voice called as a man rushed out of the main entrance, a communicator in his hand.
Rev didn’t hesitate. The white band around the man’s arm was enough to seal his fate. With an efficient swing of his rifle, Rev swept a burst of darts across the man’s body. The kapo was dead before the body hit the ground.
Rev regained his feet and started running again, covering the forty meters in just a couple of seconds. The walls and entrance were peppered from the ground up to about three meters. The mini-Centaurs’ systems had been powerful enough to gouge out the algae-polymer siding at this range.
“Amplify!”
“Union Marines. We’re here to rescue you!” he shouted as he burst through the entrance, his voice amplified by the tiny loudspeaker hooked to his collar.
Most of the people had stopped what they were doing, but the mini-Centaurs were still at work constructing the array. Several people started shouting out orders. They had to be the proctors springing to action. Two kapos started running at Rev, one with a face red and fuming in anger.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, the woman shouted. “I’m calling—”
“Drop the communicator, or I’m dropping you,” Rev yelled, aiming right at her forehead.
His tone must have registered as rage turned into fear. She carefully dropped the communicator to the deck, raised her empty hands into the air, and froze.
“Proctor! Give me a proctor!”
A young man, face flushed with excitement, ran up. “Teddy Sorenson. You’re a Marine. They didn’t tell us, but I knew it!”
“Take these two and keep them from causing any trouble.”
“Yes, sir!”
Teddy took the woman by the upper arm and beckoned the young man with her, who was white with shock, fear, or a combination of both.
“Teddy, I’ve known you since you were a baby!” the woman wailed.
“You should have thought of that before you went to the damn Cents,” Teddy snarled.
But Rev didn’t have time for them.
“You need to evacuate. Follow the proctors’ orders!”
The confused mass of people started to swarm forward, panic evident.
“Keep calm! Follow the proctors!” Rev yelled.
Behind the mob, the mini-Centaurs finally seemed to notice that things were not going as they should. First one, then all of them started moving toward the back of the immense building. Rev didn’t care. As long as they weren’t attacking the people, he didn’t care what they did. Let the Marines in the assault round them up.
People were shouting for attention, and one man rushed Rev, screaming out something—his words were so garbled that Rev couldn’t make out what he was saying. Rev grabbed the man by the upper arms and hoisted him over his head.
“KEEP . . . FUCKING . . . CALM. We’ve got Marines and Navy incoming to evacuate you all.”
The proctors were beginning to have an effect, and already, people were streaming out the entrance. Rev put the man down but kept hold of his arms.
“Are you going to calm down?”
“Yes, sir. I’m just . . . this is . . . when the Cents first came . . .”
“I know, sir. Look. The Marines are here now. Just follow the proctors. They’ll get you to safety.”
The man took a deep breath and nodded. Rev released him, and he started walking to the entrance to join the rest of the people heading out.
There was a chuff, and Rev wheeled around, weapon ready. McCough was fifteen meters away, and he’d just fired his Moray.
“What the—”
Rev’s words were cut off as the missile slammed into a locker along the back wall, the mini-Centaurs gathered around.
Screams erupted from the crowd as panic set in again, too strong for the proctors to fight.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Rev shouted, his voice still amplified.
“Look what I hit.”
Rev turned back to the rear of the building. Several of the mini-Centaurs looked damaged, and the locker was demolished. Pieces of . . .”
Rev took several steps closer to get a better angle.
“Do those look like cannons?”
“You knew those lockers held cannon attachments,” Rev told McCough.
“No, I didn’t know. I suspected, however. We’ve been long wondering what they had in there, and I figured that was where they kept ’em.”
Two of the mini-Centaurs looked undamaged, and they were using their loading arms to rummage through the parts.
And now the staff sergeant was unarmed. Rev pulled his MF-30 sidearm out of his singlet pocket and handed it over to him. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
The staff sergeant nodded his thanks and pocketed it. “You might want to light them up.”
Rev considered for a moment, but he only had one Moray left, and he had a feeling that this mission was going to attrac
t the attention of something a little more powerful than a mini-Centaur.
The people were still in panic mode, jammed at the entrance.
“Keep an eye on them. If they start installing a cannon, or if they turn their attention to us, get me.” With that, he wheeled and ran toward the entrance. He passed two bodies, crumpled and bloody on the ground, and for a moment, he thought they’d been crushed in the mass rush to get out. But a white armband was the tell. They were the two kapos he’d turned over to Teddy.
He barely spared them a thought, other than you reap what you sow.
“Keep calm. We’ve got time to get everyone to the evacuation site,” he boomed out before he started to bodily pull people from the edges of the mass, heedless if he was hurting them.
He made his way into the middle, and even with his augments, it was tough going. More than once, he thought he was going down. But he bulled his way to the door and turned around to face the people.
“Listen up. I don’t know how else to say this, but you’ve got to calm down. We’ve got time.”
I don’t know just how much time.
“Can we just do that?” he asked.
Amazingly, the shouting died down.
“The door’s too small, sir,” a woman said, her body pressed up against him.
Rev twisted around again. It was a typical double door, a partition in the middle.
“You, in front of me, get through. No shoving, and it will work.”
Some of the people held back, and that broke the logjam. Within twenty seconds, the people between him and the doorway were through and were being rounded up by proctors. Rev went up to the door and gave the partition a pull. It gave the slightest bit but held fast.
He probably had the strength to rip it away, but he’d lose all the skin on his hands, and he needed to be at a hundred percent. That left his feet.
“Stand back,” he said to those still inside the building.
He took two steps, then kicked at the partition close to the bottom. It bent and partially tore free from the floor. One more kick sent it flying, making one of the proctors duck for cover.
“OK, we’ve got more room. Let’s move it through.”
The crowd surged forward but without the downright panic as before. Rev fought to the side, trusting the half-dozen proctors there to start guiding them people to the market, twelve hundred meters away. He didn’t like the distance, but he and Tomiko were authorized one evacuation site in their AO.
