by J. F. Holmes
“Empress, this is Haggis, are you OK, over?” called Corporal Stennis over the Team net. She tried several more times, to no avail. “No idea, Captain.”
“I’ve got her,” said Atkins, looking through his scope. “She’s headed this way and…” he swiveled left, “so are some of the bloody badgers. Squad strength.”
“How far?”
“About three klicks,” said Atkins, dialing in his scope. “Do I shoot?”
Captain MacIvers had a dilemma. Shooting now would give away their position and blow their ambush. On the other hand, to lose a head of state, never mind a comrade, well…
“Fire,” he said flatly.
Almost before he said it, Atkins’ rifle boomed. Then a pause, then another one. “Got one. The rest of the bastards have gone to ground, and she’s down. Dunno if she was hit or not. About a klick and a half out.”
“Keep up suppressing fire. Thog, if you will, please,” he started to say, but the Great Ape had already launched himself forward, moving quickly on all fours in great loping strides. A human could have run faster over a long distance, but no one would be able to haul a wounded comrade as quickly.
The ape ran from cover to cover, using every advantage. At one point, he rolled in the grey dust to make himself harder to spot. While he ran, Atkins kept up long-distance fire meant to keep the Wolverines’ heads down. Despite this, because of their speed, they were moving in ones and twos closer to where the pilot had gone to ground.
“What the hell is he doing?” asked Corporal Stennis, who had her own binoculars out. The ape had angled left, heading to a midpoint between the pilot and the Wolverines.
“Ah, Thog, you crazy bastard,” said Atkins. “He hates them for what they did to his people, so he’s going to challenge them to combat.”
“What kind of challenge is that? One on one, he’ll rip a Wolverine to pieces,” asked Stennis. She’d been grabbed to fill the commo slot on the team, and knew little of the ways of the Invy, though she’d heard of the ritual combat.
“Oh no,” said Vlonski, “he will challenge them all.” The big Pole had kept his eye on the rest of the column, which appeared to be getting reorganized. They hadn’t seemed, though, to notice the Team’s presence. All the better, because now was the time to hit them. “Captain,” he said in his thick accent, “time to dance with rest of party.”
“Agreed, quite, sergeant. Let’s get the Javelin, shall we?” Though he’d asked, Captain MacIvers was always one to get his hands dirty. “That tank first, top attack,” he said as he picked up the tube and attached the Command Launch Unit.
He shouldered the launcher and knelt to get a good sight picture. Vlonski sat a few feet away from him, holding another rocket, and muttered a prayer to a Polish saint. The captain whispered, “Got you!” and activated the launcher. With a POP and then a WHOOSH, the missile left the tube and headed skyward. Invy tanks were hard to defeat head on, even for M1A3 main guns, so a top attack was best. As soon as it launched, MacIver started detaching the CLU from the expended tube, and Vlonski moved to hand him the next rocket. A brilliant flash, and the only thing left of the officer was his outstretched arm, which spun away, smoking. The 200mm plasma cannon had incinerated him where he stood.
Vlonski dove out of the way, but there was no second shot, just an earth-trembling BOOM as the containment unit on the tank’s reactor blew. A jet of flame a hundred meters high burned like a blowtorch from where the turret stood, but the remaining APC and four trucks full of Wolverine infantry started toward them.
“Atkins, disable those vehicles,” said Vlonski, while he moved the .50 caliber M2 machine gun on its tripod to a slightly higher elevation on the hill. The Ma Duce had been carried there by Thog, but operating it was beyond the dexterity of the ape, and he disliked guns anyway. Sergeant McClellan and Corporal Stennis each carried four cans of ammo to the gun positions.
The sniper shifted from watching the fight between Thog and the Wolverine patrol and changed out a magazine for armor piercing. It wouldn’t do jack to the APC, whose air skirts would need a shit ton of holes to lose enough pressure. The trucks, though, half-wheeled tracked, were a different matter entirely. Not flammable, powered by electric batteries, but it was easy enough to hole the cab where the driver sat, or rupture the battery casings. The three of them were put out of action in three shots, but their troops spilled out little more than two kilometers away.
“Good thing they nae think to put a weapon on the APC, idiots,” said Sergeant McClellan, “and good shooting, but aye, we’re in trouble, I think.”
Beside him, Janice Stennis was shaking in fear. She’d worked deep in the Edinburgh CEF base, maintaining radio sets. Evacuated before the attack that had destroyed the base, her rally point had been at the castle where Captain MacIver had gathered troops for the resistance. Then the Russian sub nuking the Invy base, and the Americans showing up, she had been totally bewildered by the events of the last week.
“Hey, woman, I am glad you’re here,” said Vlonski, smiling at her. “You look like my wife a little. It is good that you are by me in the end.”
“What do you mean, ‘the end’?” she asked, even further terrified.
“I mean, we are not going to be able to stop fifty Wolverines with three people. I’m good, but not that good.”
“What about, well, why don’t we fall back?” she asked, her voice breaking, tears running down her face.
“Because,” said Atkins, “because of Kipling, you know, love? To the last man.” Then he recited, in a pure, high voice, “‘When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains, And the women come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains, An’ go to your Gawd like a soldier, soldier of the Queen.’ I’ll save one for you, Stennis.”
“Oh Jesus, I don’t want to die,” she said quietly. Vlonski ignored her, laying magazines for the 25mm automatic grenade launcher out on a cloth in easy reach.
“Cut the shite, Tommy, you arse, and stick to your shooting,” said Sergeant McClellan. “Now, Corporal Stennis, just maybe, if you do your job right and feed the gun, we might hold them off long enough for the other teams to get their jobs done. It isn’t as good as living, but it’s a good way of dying, an’ I aim to take a lot of the wee bastards with us.”
She swallowed, smiled weakly, and slid a little bit closer to the massive NCO. He reached out, squeezed her hand, then put his hand back on the grips, finger on the butterfly trigger, and pushed.
Chapter 121
The Empress didn’t feel very imperial right now. Still sore after the beating she’d gotten from the Dragon last week, now she had a jagged piece of rock sticking out of her leg. A plasma bolt had shattered a small boulder near her as she ran, and she now lay with her back to another rock.
She figured she’d made it a kilometer from the wreck before the Wolverines had started firing at her, and she still had another klick to go. She heard the booming of the Barrett, and knew that Team Four had seen her, but her leg was numb from the wound and seriously leaking blood. The sharp splinter, about six inches long, had driven in through her calf just behind the bone. Other splinters had stung her, but this one was serious. As Captain Ichijou, she was a hell of a pilot. As a medic, not so hot. She didn’t know whether to pull it out or leave it in, but either way, the leg was useless. Fuck it, out it comes.
Reaching down, she gripped the longer end, took off her other glove and put it between her teeth, and pulled. She screamed through the pain, and the world went grey around the edges of her vision. Well, more grey, since everything around her already was. She breathed heavily in and out, letting the blood flow and wash out any dirt or dust that might have remained, she hoped. Then she pulled out a compress bandage, placed it on the bigger wound, turned her glove inside out, and used it for a bandage for the other side. She wrapped the cloth strips around it and tied it off, then dared to risk a look around the boulder, M-6 raised.
For a moment, she didn’t underst
and what she saw. A giant figure in black fur, grey moon dust, and blood was in a knock-down, drag-out fight with a squad of Wolverines. As she watched, open-mouthed, the ape ripped open the jaws of one who’d clamped down on his leg, tossed it aside, and then pounded down on another that was trying to stab at his stomach. There were two left, and she saw that one had circled around, probably to cut his hamstrings and bring the hominid down. Ichijou lined up the submachine gun, set the selector to single shot, breathed out, and fired once.
The subsonic 9mm round kicked up dust fifty feet past the Wolverine, and she cursed, firing again. As good as she was in a plane, she sucked at guns, and her second shot hit a rick next to the wildly moving creature. This one it noticed, and the Wolverine wheeled incredibly fast, charging at her.
She flipped the selector switch to auto and blazed away, trying hard to keep the muzzle aimed away from where the ape was locked in combat with a Wolverine sergeant. The bolt clicked back empty, and she fumbled for her second and last magazine. The Wolverine leaped at her, both ripping claws extended, and seemed to explode in midair, two halves flying in different directions. It was followed almost instantly by the dull BOOM of the Barrett from Team Four.
She’d stood to meet the charge, and as she was showered with blood, her leg collapsed under her. The pilot lay there, looking up at the sky, wishing herself into it, unable to move. She didn’t even flinch when a dark shape loomed over her, snuffling and snorting, dripping blood.
“Thog,” the ape said as he pounded on his chest. “You Major female!” he exclaimed, looking at her closely and sniffing her.
“What? What the hell are you talking about?” she shot back at him.
Thog grunted a laugh, then said, “Major Ak-dah,” struggling to pronounce the Japanese scout’s name. “You he mate.”
Then he reached down with an enormous, bloody arm, picked up the pilot by the waist, and slung her over his back, starting off in a wounded, loping run. She bounced up and down on his shoulder, trying desperately to hold onto his harness, slippery with both Wolverine and ape blood. Thog dumped her on the ground next to Private Atkins, then turned and ran back toward the enemy.
“I’m not sure…” BOOM! “…that those ape boggers…” BOOM! “… think the way…” BOOM! “…we do.” Atkins was popping up and down, taking snap shots, and probably beating the shit out of his shoulder.
Plasma zipped overhead, scoring the top of the rise, and one took off Corporal Stennis’ arm as she lifted another belt of ammo into the tray of the Ma Duce. She screamed and stood up, and was vaporized by a half dozen bolts. Vlonski grimaced and shouted into the radio, “SHIVA, WE’RE GOING TO BE OVERUN! YOU HAVE TO BUG OUT, NOW!”
He rolled back, sighted, and let off a string of 25mm grenades, uttering Polish curses. McClellan fired off his last belt of .50, whipped out a four-foot-long Scottish Claymore, and ran over the lip of the hill. “FOR FIONA, YA BASTARDS!!” he bellowed, and no plasma shots came his way. It was as if they wanted him to come and fight, and they did. Vlonski wanted to watch, but the shots hadn’t stopped coming at him.
Atkins risked a quick glance over the lip and yelled, “There’s dozens of the buggers now!” He looked at the Empress and grinned a terrible, excited grin, the smile of a man who knew he was about to die.
She cursed and wiggled up next to him, holding the M-6 over the edge and spraying in the general direction of the advancing Invy. What a goddammed way to go; she always thought it would be a sharp explosion, then a long fall into darkness. Beside her, Vlonski’s radio crackled into life. “We need ten more minutes, and everyone MUST hold their positions!” said Singh, the stress in her voice obvious.
“We ain’t gonna last two bloody minutes!” yelled Atkins, hitting the clacker for first one Claymore mine, then another. Both went off with sharp a sharp CRACK! CRACK! that made the Empress’ ears ring. She couldn’t hear Atkins, but she saw him yell and point to their right. Two Wolverines were running past their position, and she fired, killing both.
At that moment, a body thudded into the dust next to her. Major Ikeda grinned, leaned over, and kissed her, then started working his way around the side of the small hill with an M-370 6mm light squad MG. He unfolded bipods and braced it on the ground, firing short bursts and sweeping their front. Beside him, Sergeant Major Shimada held an Invy-made anti-tank rocket, which he fired. To their front was an enormous explosion as the APC was hit.
Corporal Abe politely bowed and said, “Empress, Major Ikeda has ordered me and Sergeant Yimisha to escort you back to safety.”
“And I am telling you to disregard that order, Corporal,” she said, firing again over the edge.
Rough hands grabbed her, two to each side of her harness, and started dragging her away from the fight. “Put me DOWN!” she yelled, all furious woman. Neither soldier looked at her, just ran grimly back toward the reactor building and the shuttle parked behind it. Eventually, realizing their strength and determination, she gave up. Her last look showed the four men blazing away furiously at a wave of attacking aliens.
Chapter 122
“Rachel, it’s time for you to go. Get your teams out of here.”
Nick Agostine was leaning on a computer console, bandage pressed to his stomach. Beside him, David Warren was in his own world, jacked into the Invy mainframe. In his head, he watched as Hal battled a creature from a nightmare. From a broken window, Ahmed was taking long range shots at the advancing Invy, watching the battle with Team Four.
“I’m staying,” she answered.
“No, you’re not. You have to conduct a withdrawal under fire, and they need you. Help Doc and Ahmed get Jonesy back to the ship. I’ll cover Warren until this is done, then we’ll break contact and fight our way back. Wait for us.”
They looked at each other, and she knew the lie. “Nick…I was following orders. With the scientists. I want you to know that.”
“I know. We’ve all made bad calls. Now get out of here and save some lives.”
She stepped forward and hugged him fiercely, making him wince. “Sorry, Nick. For what it’s worth, I always thought you were the best soldier I’ve ever met. Tell Brit I said hi, and I’ll see you all soon enough on Fiddler’s Green.”
“I will, and we’ll save a beer for you. Now go.” She did, but before she turned, she placed extra magazines on the table and all of her grenades. Then she placed her hands together in the Hindu way, bowed slightly to him, then turned and went down the stairs, followed by the two former Invy prisoners.
The Afghani took a moment to stop firing, and said simply, “Allah wills that I stay, Nick. No man should die alone.”
“I don’t intend to die, Ahmed,” he replied.
“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. It is not in our hands.”
“You know,” said the American, “I always did hate that fatalistic shit.”
“It makes life much easier,” Ahmed smiled, “takes away most of your choices, and gives you moral authority over your woman.”
“I’d like to see you say that to Brit!” laughed Agostine, then started coughing. He wiped his hand across his mouth, and the glove came away red with blood. A wave of dizziness and pain passed over him. “Seriously, Ahmed, leave.”
“‘Lead such a life that, when you die, the people may mourn you, and while you are alive they long for your company’,” quoted the sniper. “I think that we will be greatly mourned, and I am not afraid of paradise, my brother, be it Allah’s or Jehovah’s or Odin’s.”
“Good to hear,” he said, and honestly, it was. No one wanted to die alone, and Warren hardly counted. The general was off in a different world.
“Nick,” called Doc over the Team net, “it’s been real, brother. You do what you have to do. I’ll see you soon enough. I think Jay’s going to make it.”
“Build a big-ass bike and drive it from coast to coast for me, brother. Lost Boys, out.” To say anything more would be too much and break his will.
Switching back to the command net,
he heard Team Four call, “SHIVA, WE’RE GOING TO BE OVERUN! YOU HAVE TO BUG OUT, NOW!”
Singh’s response was a bit long in coming; he knew she was struggling to help Doc carry Jonesy on a makeshift field stretcher. “We need ten more minutes, and everyone MUST hold their positions!”
They didn’t have ten minutes. He flipped over to the ship internal, and said, “Slammer, prepare to lift. You’re going to have a bunch of people coming inbound like their asses are on fire.”
Colonel Jameson, no stranger to rough situations, just answered, “Roger, Slammer out.”
“Nick, I’m going down to the landing,” said Ahmed, “I will fall back to this room if able; it should delay them further.”
Unslinging the shotgun, he reached out and squeezed his hand. “I will see you soon enough, Nick. You are a good man.”
“As are you, Ahmed Yasser.”
The Afghan walked out and closed the door behind him. Agostine knew he would die on the stairway.
“ALAMO, ALAMO, ALAMO,” finally came over the net, with an acknowledgement from Team Three. Agostine walked over to the window and looked out, saw Team Four in a running, gunning retreat. A random shot flashed overhead, and he ducked back in to see Warren lying on the ground, headset torn off and breathing heavily, sweat pouring down his face.
The Scout crouched down. “Are you OK? What’s going on?”
“I-I—” he stuttered, the old curse coming back to him. Agostine handed him a bottle of water, and he drank it down. “I managed to download Hal’s entire program to the Invy Net. We, well, he, is fighting for control of the entire system-wide net.”
“So we can go?” The sounds of fighting came in louder from the window.
Warren shook his head. “It’s still going to take a few minutes.”
“Why don’t we blow it?”
“We can’t. Hal is in there and needs the equipment intact for now. He’ll signal me when it’s good to go.”
