“That’s hardly encouraging.”
“They’re buying it, ma’am.”
“No matter how many times they brief us, I will never understand what we’re doing here.” Elaine “Bullhead” Bontenough remarked to no one in particular. Paired off with Zuteck, she was roughly a mile away from where Dellmore and Ayliss were concealed.
“What’s not to understand?” Cusabrina asked in a conversational tone. She and Lightfoot were another mile away, also hunkered down. “We’ve got this high-speed equipment that monitors what’s going on inside a giant crater, and Command wants us to practice with it.”
“Yeah. That’s the part that confuses me,” Bullhead continued. “If we’re supposed to be training to monitor a great big hole somewhere, how come the practice crater is nowhere near us?”
Hidden under a slab of rock that formed a shadowy ceiling overhead, Ayliss chuckled at the banter inside her helmet. The squad had been deposited on a captured planet far from any Sim activity, and the break had loosened their tongues.
“What, you thought we were gonna set up right on the edge?” Legacy was paired with Tin, and the normally strict squad leader wasn’t stopping the bull session. “If we did that, we wouldn’t need the gear, would we?”
“And we might fall in,” Zuteck offered. “Don’t forget we’re stupid. Too stupid to be told the truth. Right, Sergeant Tin?”
“I cannot believe what I’m hearing,” Tin answered in an airy tone. “All that bitching about the back-to-back missions and we-never-get-a-break, and what happens when they put you in a warm, safe spot with nothing to do? More bitching.”
“I just don’t buy the explanation, is all.”
“It’s simple enough. Sam’s a big digger, always has been. You saw one of his ships launch from inside a mountain.”
“It was a shuttle, not a ship.”
“Correct. So what if Sam sets up on a rock with great big craters and decides to take advantage of it? He could launch all sorts of things, from missiles to fighters, right out of prepared openings that our intelligence folks are bound to overlook.”
“But that’s not what these things are supposed to detect.” Bullhead rejoined the discussion, causing Ayliss to sit up and examine the device again. She moved quietly because Dellmore was asleep next to her, the suit making her look like a deactivated robot. “In the briefing they said we were on the lookout for transport-sized craft. Big things. Ships.”
The desiccated ground dropped away from Ayliss at a modest angle, a spread of tan sand, whitened rocks, and emaciated trees. An enormous cavern opened in the middle of the square formed by the squad’s four positions, but that was too far away to see. Instead, she focused on a barrel-shaped pod with three extended legs sitting under a brown camouflage net. Her suit told her the device was emitting modest electronic signals directed down through the soil, and she could just make out the hard probe sticking into the ground beneath it.
“So Command’s let their imaginations run away with them,” Tin responded. “It’s not the first time that’s happened. Be thankful it gave us a rest.”
“We’re not the only ones.” Lightfoot entered the conversation. “I was talking with First Sergeant Blocker’s commo guy Ewing. He said there are teams all over this rock, doing exactly what we’re doing.”
Cusabrina laughed. “Ewing? Isn’t he a doper?”
“Not anymore.” The words came out before Ayliss could stop herself. For a moment she saw Ewing’s raging face, his shirtfront doused with blood from having cut Vroma Rittle’s throat. “He quit right after the fight on Larkin Station.”
“So it’s true, then?” Cusabrina asked. “He’s the one who killed Rittle?”
“Yeah. Rittle’s people shit all over him and the other vets on Quad Seven before I got there. I didn’t realize how much he hated that guy. Or that he carried a knife.”
“Hey, I don’t care if he’s a druggie or a murderer. Can we stay on topic?” Lightfoot’s annoyance sent a ripple of laughter over the net. “Ewing knows a lot. He takes all the late radio watches, and he knows how to comb for data.”
“What did he tell you?” Tin sounded interested.
“He can’t put his finger on it, but something big is on the way. He said requests for Banshee support are being turned down, and that the excuse is that we’re too busy.”
“I don’t feel busy.”
“Right. So there’s a bunch of us here, doing this, and the rest of the sisters are committed somewhere else.”
“You sure he isn’t doping again?” Tin asked. “Back on Quad Seven, he told me about hearing this eerie space music while manning the radios with the fleet. He said he only heard them on the late watches.”
“Go ahead and ask him, when we get back aboard ship.”
“Of course, you could always ask First Sergeant Blocker.” Dellmore yawned audibly, and Ayliss turned to see her stretching the arms of her suit. “I hear you have a way with him, Sergeant Tin.”
A subdued flutter of giggles rode the airwaves, but Tin didn’t sound concerned when she answered. “Never a bad idea to be on good terms with the guy who runs our entire support company.”
“Good terms.” Dellmore laughed warmly. “I never heard it called that before.”
“Nothing wrong with it. I checked with the skipper.”
“Hey Rig,” Cusabrina interrupted. “Did you approve this? Didn’t Blocker used to work for you?”
“He worked for my father. I was just a child.” Ayliss strained not to laugh. She’d suspected Tin was attracted to her former bodyguard, but the tumult of the past weeks had kept her from learning that the pair had acted on their feelings. “But that does raise an important question. Sergeant Tin, aren’t you and I almost the same age?”
“Careful, Rig,” Dellmore growled in fake admonishment while the radios soared with laughter.
“What’s that got to do with it? Most of the guys my age don’t know shit. Give me a combat vet who’s served two complete tours any day. And he sure does have that support company humming, now doesn’t he?”
“Got something humming.”
The laughter died out slowly, followed by a silence indicating that the squad had taken Tin’s interrogation as far as they dared. Ayliss decided to walk around a bit, but there wasn’t room under the rock overhang to stand up. Rolling on her side, and then onto her stomach, she did a push-up with the aid of mechanized arms. Bending her right knee, she planted her boot on the dirt and pushed off. Lurching forward, she jogged a few steps before regaining her balance.
“Gotta work on that, Rig,” Dellmore muttered. Ayliss looked over at the motionless suit, and Dellmore activated the cameras inside her helmet so that her partner could see her face. It was merely a projection, but it was a completely accurate depiction of the scene inside the bell-shaped top of the suit. Dellmore gave her a half-critical look and then shut her eyes again. The image dimmed and vanished, replaced by the armored face of her helmet.
Ayliss chose not to respond, well aware of the skills the more experienced veterans displayed in operating their suits, as if the outfits were merely a second skin. She also knew that those skills only came from months of experience in the suits and that she would acquire them in time.
Time. The previous months were now a blur, loaded with training and combat. She started ticking off the operations the squad had been involved in, growing amazed at their number. The Banshees all across the Force had been in great demand, with the Sims attacking or popping up in so many places, and there had been little opportunity to reflect on any individual fight before they’d been preparing for the next.
Looking out over the tan slope, Ayliss imagined what it would be like to simply lie there in the sun, no suit, no weapons. The planet was a Hab, so she could actually have done this. Nothing stirred on the open ground or in its few trees, and she enjoyed the unfamiliar sensation of being on an operation with no fear of being detected by the enemy.
The feeling didn’t last lon
g, because a dull vibration came up through her boots and ran along the entire inside of her suit. Like an electric pulse, it warbled against her skin while growing in intensity. She was just about to ask if anyone else was experiencing a similar sensation when an HDF shuttle lifted off from inside the crater hundreds of yards away. It shot straight for the sky, its engines operating at maximum capacity, and then disappeared from view.
Wearing a look of bemusement, she studied the monitoring device to see if it had responded in any way. A tiny red light near the top of the cone blinked at her, once, and when she called up the readout on her face shield there was no record of the launch or any other activity.
“I think these things need a little more field testing.” she remarked, and a chorus of similar comments came back to her.
“Just another piece of Force space junk,” Dellmore stated with equanimity, appearing at Ayliss’s side. “Seen it before. Once, I don’t know, probably three years ago—”
Tin overrode the entire communications net. “Looks like we’re cutting this one short, ladies. Just got the word. Turn off the devices and get ready for transport.”
When the radio net returned to normal, Legacy asked, “Are we sure they were even on?”
Chapter 10
“We’re dug in on a knob west of Supply Line Orpheus. Marking position.”
The report was accompanied by the noises of a battle so distant that it couldn’t be heard on the Mound. Rockets were impacting not far from the speaker, and Jander thought he heard the long belch of a drone gunship firing up a target. The unit was a platoon from A Company that had been tracking a Flock raid party for hours. Aerial reconnaissance hadn’t been able to find the fast-moving outfit, and the enemy had delayed their pursuers with two doomed ambushes. The Orphans had handled the close-in fights easily, and finally got close enough to direct rockets onto the fleeing rebels. Darkness had just fallen, and they needed resupply.
“I see your marker.” Mortas opened his right eye while closing his left, shutting out the darkened imagery of the battle position in order to see what was happening right in front of him. One of Sergeant Strickland’s resupply darts pointed at the night sky at a forty-five-degree angle, and a team of FITCO troops was securing supply containers inside the open hull. A rolling platform stood next to the rocket on its launcher, both manufactured by Sergeant Leoni’s people.
“We’re short on machine-gun ammo and chonk rounds. That’s the priority.”
“Understood. The darts have plenty of room. I’m sending you a basic load for the crew-served and the grenade launchers, a med pack, extra batteries, and bags of water.” Hearing the words, Sergeant Leoni gave Mortas a thumbs-up from the gantry. Like the rest of the workers, he was stripped down to a T-shirt and fatigue trousers. The new commander of the Mound’s security company was much more active than his deceased predecessor, and the base hadn’t been approached by rebels since the night Dassa had died.
“Bags? Did you say bags?”
“Yes. Water in the standard drums and cans sloshed around too much, and it threw off the dart’s flight. But if we line the inside with these canteen-sized bags, it spreads out the effect.”
“If you say so. You sure this thing’s gonna land safely?”
“Don’t worry about a thing. Pick out a landing spot twenty yards by twenty yards, with lots of dirt in the middle, and mark it for me.”
“And Roger can’t change the flight? They’ve done that to missiles, you know.”
“That’s the beauty of outdated tech. The darts were never meant to be used this way. My people fitted them with the rockets, so Roger doesn’t have a clue how to stop them. It’s not a guided flight like a missile; we compute the whole trip, and lock it in. We can even reverse thrust just before it hits, so instead of burying its nose in the dirt, it lands on its side.”
“I’m gonna move my people away from that spot, all the same.”
“Doubters all around me. No faith in anything anymore.”
“If you’re that confident, how about you pack some goodies for us? We been out here humping for five straight days on nothing but rations.”
“Already done.” Mortas watched as insulated containers were strapped into the center of the load. “Got you a nice hot meal, straight from the mess hall.”
“Outstanding. Remind me to repay the favor next time we’re on the Mound.”
“No need to thank me. Thank Drew Follett.”
“Who?”
“Oh, nobody. Just a guy who enjoyed seeing people eat.”
The dart’s hatch had been sealed shut, and everyone except Leoni had climbed down. Standing on the platform, he peered at the load through a hardened observation window that was another one of FITCO’s improvements. Satisfied, he swung down and stepped over to Mortas while the gantry was wheeled away.
“Ready to launch,” Leoni reported, and then called out to the shadows of the troops nearby. “Give it plenty of room. I know we’ve done this a lot, but when you been around bang-boom stuff as long as I have, you don’t take anything for granted.”
The dark silhouettes disappeared, and Leoni took the control device from his pocket. Flipping off its double safety, he turned to Mortas. “Go for launch, sir?”
“Make sure you don’t hit my garden.” The flat-topped hill, now minus the infamous Red House, loomed up in front of the launcher.
“Garden? That’s a little generous for a patch of weeds.”
“Patch of weeds? I’ve got a nice row of carrots, and two of string beans.”
“The hell you say, sir. Nothing good grows here.”
“You remember that package you got through quarantine for me?”
“Yep. I had to trade half a pallet of toilet paper for that clearance, and almost got in a fistfight with the chief NCO at the airhead. He insisted on seeing what was in that box, until I told him it was pornography.”
“And he didn’t want it?”
“Oh, I also told him you were an officer. He figured it was sick fetish stuff, and told me to take it away. So what was it? Magic beans?”
“A little gift from the Holy Whisper colony on Roanum. You remember that mud munition Sam used to destroy Fractus? He first employed it on Roanum, and the Whisper found some samples. They developed this capsule, part mud-maker and part fertilizer—”
“Excuse me, sir. I’m sure you think that’s interesting, but I do have to fire this thing sometime tonight.”
“I just assumed you weren’t listening. Fire when ready.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when the rockets mounted next to the dart’s fins gave off a brief hiss and then flared into fire. Mortas’s goggles had just adjusted to the intense light when the torpedo-shaped craft shot up into the night sky. He tracked it for a moment, the engines propelling it up over the hilltop, and then it was gone.
“Your package is inbound.” Mortas radioed the waiting platoon. “I’ll give you a warning ten seconds out.”
“Got it. Waiting.”
FITCO soldiers were already scrubbing down the launcher, and Mortas saw Trimmer leading two other troops in a shuffling dance as they stamped out a small ground fire started by the engines. An acrid smell hung in the air when they were done.
“Those were some nice words you said about Captain Dassa the other night, by the way.” Leoni spoke while tracking the dart’s progress on the controller. “Always tough to lose a buddy like that.”
“He was the best officer I ever met. Our company got stranded on Verdur, deep in the jungle, Sims all around us, and I never once doubted we’d come out on top. Because of him.” Jander paused. “Thanks for arranging the ceremony, by the way. It was something we did in the infantry, but I wasn’t sure about you rear-echelon types.”
“If this is the rear, I’d hate to see what the front looks like. Twenty seconds, sir.”
“Ten seconds to arrival,” he relayed to the waiting troops. “Get your heads down.”
“And . . . it’s there.” Leoni
shut off the controller and put it away while Mortas waited for confirmation.
“Wow!” A pleased voice spoke in his ear. “That was right on target. Landed on its side and slid to a halt. Perfect.”
“We aim to please. Be careful opening it—the hull’s gonna be hot.”
“No shit. Thing’s practically glowing.”
“Just imagine riding one of those down through the atmosphere.”
“I’d rather not. You guys gonna come get this thing?”
“Affirmative. It’s important Roger doesn’t get his hands on any of these, so if you have to leave it for any reason, make sure you blow it in place.”
“Hey, if it keeps the hot meals coming I’ll chop it up with my bare hands. You have a good night there, Mound.”
“You too, groundpounder. Enjoy the food. Stay safe.”
Later that night, Jander sat on the wall surrounding his garden. He’d shed his armor, helmet, and goggles, allowing the breeze to cool him. The base flowed down the hill and onto the flat, its perimeter greatly strengthened after the sneak attack he’d helped defeat. A shuttle was preparing to lift off from the repaired airstrip, but apart from that the camp was quiet.
After the hustle and bustle of long days running supplies, he’d found he enjoyed the peace at the top of the hill. The gray plain spread out and away, to the spot where it mated up with the star-winking sky. Not far away, patrols from the Mound’s new security force were waiting in ambush along likely avenues of approach. Packs of the feral hogs moved around as well, and somewhere out there Pappas was studying them to see if they could indeed shield rebel troop movements as Ringer believed.
Pondering Ringer’s theory reminded Mortas of Dassa, and he suddenly felt tired. Despite the hostility and violence of their first meeting as teenagers, Dassa had been a living link to Jander’s life before the war. So many of those links were now gone, or altered forever. Dassa and his father were dead, Reena was more or less an enemy, Leeger was working with the enemy, and Ayliss was with the Banshees.
Live Echoes Page 14
