She was just about to speak over the P2P when the raucous incoming alarm sounded over the platoon net. Her own heartbeat jumped as she switched her display to an aerial aspect, taking in the entire area. Three missiles of some kind were heading towards them from three different directions, each with impact in less than five seconds.
There was nothing Esther could do in that amount of time. It was up to her Marines and their training. Immediately, fire reached up from all three squads. Second and Third aimed at one of the incoming, which looked to be splitting their positions. That left First with two of them.
One of First Squad’s two Porcupines erupted in its angry chatter. The M-554 “Porcupine” was a small, man-packed projectile mine. It could throw up 50 small minelets out to 750 meters, each minelet capable of taking out smaller rockets, missiles, and possibly even mortar shells. The minelets were dumb munitions, unable to change their trajectory, but each had a proximity fuze that detonated the payload if something came near enough. And in this case, something did. Two of the minelets detonated close to one missile, close enough to send it crashing into the grassy field.
Something hit and knocked down the missile that was splitting Second and Third. It exploded in a five-meter ball of flame. The remaining missile kept coming, and for an instant, she thought First Squad was its target. But it passed right over the Marines to slam into one of the transmission tower pylons, sending flames and smoke into the air. Pieces of shrapnel and pylon peppered the area, hitting First’s position, but their fighting position preparation kept anyone from being hit. The transmission tower lurched, and for a moment, Esther thought it was going to fall, but while knocked offline, it stayed upright, if canted.
Fire reached out from the surrounding area to hit inside the station, and her AI tracked mortar shells reaching up into the sky. On her display, the scattered figures that had been out there were coalescing into groups.
Beside her, Mykystra was reporting to the task force CP[16] back at camp. They would be following on the feeds, and she expected the captain or the major to demand her attention at any moment, but for now, she appreciated being able to focus on what was happening.
Her AI was having difficulty identifying the incoming. Neither the missiles nor the mortar fire matched Legion specs, so unless there was more subterfuge going on here than she thought, she was facing locals, not legionnaires. That was all well and good, but she knew the legionnaires and could guess what to expect from them.
She certainly didn’t expect the technicals, at least not this kind of technical. From one of SDS’ own construction sites 800 meters away, two heavy-duty dozers turned towards them, blades high, while a stream of heavy 13mm rounds poured from one of them.
“Banshees, Staff Sergeant!” Esther shouted into her mic, then to Mykystra, “Get us air.”
“Esther, what’s happening?” Ter asked over the P2P.
“Not now, Ter, we’re under attack. You can work on our air request.”
Once again, First Platoon was out of arty range. They didn’t even have a section of mortars. Their mission had been considered low risk, so the heavier weapons had gone elsewhere.
There was a whoosh as a Banshee took off from Second Squad’s position. Esther watched the missile zip downrange, impacting on the right dozer’s blade in a bright flash of flame. The smoke obscured the dozer for a moment, but the blade pushed through the smoke as the dozer emerged. There was a gouge in the blade, surrounded by shiny, clean metal, but the machine hadn’t slowed down—and it kept on firing. A series of sparks jumped off another tower’s pylons as 13mm rounds struck it, but without effect.
“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.
She 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 brough
t 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.
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