by John Bowers
He stepped to one side so she could precede him to the door. Regina turned to the Vegan woman again. Queen Ursula blinked back tears, her smile full and sincere.
"Good luck, Regina," she said. "Sophia's tears."
Regina extended her arms downward and took hold of her skirt with her fingertips. As best she knew how, she executed a curtsey.
"Your Majesty."
Periscope Harbor, Beta Centauri
Rico had just finished gulping down the hot food in his mess kit, hardly tasting it because he was so famished. As he scraped the kit clean and stowed it in his pack, a pair of combat boots jerked to a halt in his field of vision. He looked up.
"Where the fuck you been?" Capt. Connor said, his face lined with weariness. "I thought we lost you!"
Rico grinned and snapped almost to attention, fighting down the urge to salute.
"Jesus, Captain! I should be askin' you the same thing!"
"How many men are with you?" Connor asked.
"Six of the original squad. We picked up a couple of strays from the 31st, so there's eight of us altogether."
"Who'd you lose?"
Rico thrust a handful of datatags at him.
"Hamilton, Grove, Machado, Roberson … and White."
"Christ!" Connor stared into the distance, compressing his lips.
"Where were the rest of you, Captain? We looked for you, but … "
"We got all scattered," Connor told him. "I'm surprised anybody made it out of there at all. We had to fight our way out of the downtown area."
Rico nodded. "Yes, sir, we did, too."
Connor grimaced and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Well, I'm damned glad to see you, Martinez. With your squad, we have almost eighty men left. Better than some of the other companies."
Rico's eyes glazed. "That bad?"
Connor only nodded.
"We lost Bauer," he said. "Sergeant Mullin is now in command of your platoon."
"Where will I find him, sir?"
"I dunno, he's around somewhere. Don't worry about it. We're scheduled for evacuation in a few hours. In the meantime, report to the nearest field hospital and volunteer your services. They need all the help they can get."
"Doing what, sir?"
"Whatever they tell you."
* * *
The Lincoln landers came in from the harbor, in over the mountains, in from any direction but the saddle. The enemy had concentrated his heaviest firepower there, so the area had to be avoided.
Getting the troops out proved more difficult than landing them in the first place. It took longer for men to board a spacecraft than jump out of it. Wounded took three times as long.
Once the men were aboard, the landers had to get out of the city, and that was much more easily said than done. The harbor was the easiest way out, but not necessarily the safest. The offshore islands were still deadly, in spite of constant attacks by QuasarFighters, but climbing over the mountains required an extremely rough ride under powerful thrust. The Lincolns had been designed for glide path operation, and clearing the mountains required near-vertical climbs to ten thousand feet, all within a matter of a few miles. The mountain peaks were well armed, which meant the landers were extremely vulnerable during the slow climb out. More than one lander splashed against the mountainside, adding its human cargo to the soaring body count.
By sunset of the fourth day, nearly ten thousand men had left Periscope Harbor; nearly nine thousand made it out alive. Total casualties for the operation so far had reached forty-two percent.
After a hot meal and a few minutes' rest, Delta Company was put to work handling wounded. They arrived minute by minute on hoverstretchers, and the men of Delta transferred them onto portable litters where they waited for treatment. It was hot, dirty, discouraging work. After thirty minutes, Rico gained a new level of respect for the men and women of the medical corps; there was no feeling as helpless as looking into the pain-dulled eyes of a wounded Marine and not being able to help him.
It was even worse when he watched some of them die.
"Corporal! Give me a hand."
Rico turned and dropped to one knee beside a stretcher containing a wounded Star Marine. The Space Force nurse who'd called him struggled to get an IV started, but the Marine, delirious with pain, was fighting her. His left leg had been blown off at mid-thigh and he was badly burned. Rico grabbed his wrists and pinned them down until the young lieutenant could affix restraints to keep them in place.
Rico glanced into the woman's face, saw the burning intensity in her eyes as she worked, and felt his admiration lever up another notch. Her nametag said CLARK, but he didn't know any more than that, except that she was a dynamo. Just five feet two, she was a marvel, seeming to handle six things at once. Her face was smeared with blood and grime, but she never slowed down.
"Okay," she grunted when the IV was flowing. "That'll have to hold him. Get him to the flight line. He goes out on the next one."
Rico nodded. "Tiny! Give me a hand."
Together they lifted the stretcher and headed for the flight line.
As Beta set in the east and the spectacular atmospheric light show gave way to darkness, Rico and his mates worked on, moving wounded in and out of the field hospitals, loading them onto landers when they were available. But as the hours dragged by it seemed they were losing ground. No matter how many wounded they handled, more kept arriving. Everywhere he looked he saw wounded men. It was heart-wrenching.
Throughout the day, Rico had been dimly conscious of the steady, unending roar of battle. Heavy lasers, missiles, tank rifles, shells, bombs, explosions, the roar of spacecraft — it all formed a background din that dulled the senses. But three hours after dark on that fourth night, the background noise intensified sharply, almost in an instant; everyone still standing stopped what he was doing and turned to look. The sky over the city had become a steady flicker of light, an unending light show as the enemy began to concentrate his attack. Shrapnel sang through the air around the airport, more shells began to fall. The stink of burning buildings, gunpowder, and ozone increased tenfold on the evening breeze. Rico sneezed repeatedly, and swallowed apprehensively as he instinctively sensed that time was running short.
The landers continued to arrive. As each wave approached, some were shot down, but they never stopped coming, and more and more Marines boarded for the perilous voyage out of the city.
Around midnight, Capt. Connor approached and took Rico's arm. The captain looked twenty years older than he had four days ago.
"Martinez, move your squad toward the runways. We've been ordered to board the next time the landers come in."
Rico felt a tremendous burden lift off his shoulders, and he almost smiled. He just nodded. Connor turned to talk to another squad leader and Rico turned to pass the word to his men. At that moment, a shell exploded forty yards distant and shrapnel sprayed the area. Three feet from where Rico stood, Lt. Clark gasped in sudden agony. Rico saw her mouth fly open, saw her stumble backward, and saw the splotch of crimson that spurted from her left breast. He lunged, caught her before she could fall, and lowered her gently to a sitting position, his heart stilled with horror. Her eyes lifted up to meet his, and he could see the surprise in them, as well as unbearable pain.
"Help me!" she mouthed silently, but before he could reply, her body went limp.
He knelt beside her for twenty seconds, wanting to do something, wanting to help. Knowing it was too late. He laid her head gently on the starcrete and stood up, fighting the tears in his eyes. For just a moment he was transported back two days, to a room filled with burning women, and shuddered inwardly.
"Captain," Rico heard himself say, "I'm not leaving here until the wounded are gone. I'm a Star Marine. My job is to defend these people."
"Your job is to obey orders, Martinez!"
Rico stared at Connor without wavering.
"Sorry, Captain. You'll have to star-court me."
Connor stared at him for
just a second in disbelief. Then he turned to the rest of Second Squad.
"You men head for the runway," he told them. "We're getting out of here."
Second Squad stood there awkwardly for a moment longer. Then Texas stepped forward.
"Captain, if the Beaner stays, I stay. Can't abandon the Alamo until the Mexicans leave."
Connor started to reply, but Maniac also stepped forward.
"Semper fi, Captain. Me, too."
"Goddammit!" Connor started to retort, but all the remaining men of Second Squad had moved into his face, including Sparks and Brown.
"Fuckin' A, Cap'm!" Chavez said eloquently. "We came here as a unit, we leave the same way. Else we don't leave at all."
Connor was speechless for several seconds.
"Look, men," he explained, "I'm not giving you the order to leave. It came from Battalion. Delta is supposed to get aboard the next lander to touch down. Now I appreciate what you're saying, but —"
"Captain," Texas said, "look at it this way — somebody's gotta cover the withdrawal when it gets down to the end. You'll need volunteers. You just got some."
Connor opened his mouth to protest.
"Get going, Captain," Maniac said softly, almost dangerously. "You got the rest of your company to think about."
Connor knew they were wrong to disobey, but he had to admire their solidarity. He struggled inwardly for only a few seconds, then shrugged in resignation.
"Okay, men," he said quietly. "Keep your heads down, and good luck. It's been my honor to serve with you."
As if on cue, all seven saluted him as one, and he returned it gruffly. He turned to Rico again.
"Martinez, I'm promoting you to sergeant. Keep these guys together, and take good care of them."
Without waiting for a reply, he shouldered his rifle and herded the rest of his company toward the runway.
Presidential Palace, New Birmingham, Missibama, Sirius 1
Regina walked carefully alongside Major Griffen. He held her arm firmly and she made no attempt to get away, as there was hardly anywhere to run. It was the first time she'd been out of Queen Ursula's apartment, and she was impressed with the opulence of the Presidential Palace. Stone and marble everywhere, fine pieces of art, magnificent sculptures. The view of New Birmingham was breathtaking, a magnificent city from where she stood.
Griffen led her down long corridors with wide Solarglas windows, through an atrium with cascading fountains that reminded her of Ancient Rome, and toward a lift that led to the roof. As they approached the lift, their heels ringing on the marble floor, a voice called out.
"Major Griffen, just a moment!"
They stopped at once, and Griffen swiveled, coming to attention as he recognized the voice. Regina recognized it, too, and felt her blood chill. She turned wide green eyes toward President Adolph, who strolled almost leisurely toward them.
"Miss Wells," he smiled. "I beg your pardon, but I just had a thought. Perhaps you would indulge me for a moment."
She swallowed against her nerves, but her cold stare didn't waver. She merely waited.
"I told you a little while ago that I did not come there to harm you," he said. "And that is true, I did not. But then it occurred to me that you might be interested in a little negotiation."
Her lips parted, her skin crawled. What kind of negotiation?
"Now, I promised your daddy that nobody was goin' to hurt you, that I would guarantee your delivery in complete safety. I aim to keep that promise. But, just between you and me, Miss Wells, I'd like to make a proposition."
"I don't think I would be interested in anything you might propose," she told him in a strained voice.
"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But allow me to at least make the offer." He smiled encouragingly — like a snake, she thought. "Miss Wells, as I told you, the Star Marines at Periscope Harbor are bein' strangled to death as we speak. I am not pullin' your leg about this, either — you can ask your daddy when you git home. Mister Lonely told us all about their plan, and we've got 'em nailed. But you can save some of those men, Miss Wells. If you're willin' to."
Regina frowned, sensing a trap — he was about to make her an offer she couldn't refuse.
"Those men are bein' pushed back to the airport where they landed. Right now the Feddies are evacuatin' them as quick as they can, but we are shootin' down as many ships as we can, and when we reach the airport our armor is goin' to swarm all over it like — if you'll pardon the expression — like stink on hockey."
"What do you want?" she whispered.
"Miss Wells, what would you be willin' to do if I stop our armor at the edge of that airport? Let that evacuation continue. We will still win the battle, of course, and humiliate those Star Marines while we're at it. But as many as can get out will still get out, because my tanks will stop right at the edge and let them ships keep landin', let them keep loadin' troops."
He eyed her narrowly, the smile gone.
"What would that be worth to you?"
She wanted to cry. It wasn’t fair. She'd already been through enough.
"What do you want?" she repeated.
"Spend the night with me," he said. "I won't hurt you, I promise you that. No rough stuff. Just you and me, like man and wife, for this evenin'. Then, tomorrow mornin', you leave as planned. We'll notify the Feddies that your ship will be delayed by twelve hours, that's all." His smile returned. "Do we have a deal?"
Monday, 5 November, 0232 (PCC) (Day Five) - Orbit of Beta Centauri
"Jesus H. Christ!"
Cdr. Ferdigssen wiped a hand over his face as he stared disbelievingly at the latest situation report. Wade Palmer stared as well, shaken down to his core. The time was roughly 0100 in the combat zone, and the enemy had counterattacked with a vengeance. Since four hours ago they'd pushed the Star Marines to within a half-mile of the airport, and casualty figures had soared to sixty percent. No one knew if that was accurate, as they were mostly estimates; no one knew how many were cut off and dying behind enemy lines.
"What the fuck we going to do?" he asked helplessly.
"We need space strikes against that counterassault," Ferdigssen replied. "But all the fighters are tied up covering the withdrawal, and we don't dare reassign them. What's worse, we can't send any more squadrons down, because they'll start running into each other. There isn't enough air space down there now."
"We can't put strikes in there anyway," Wade pointed out. "Too many Star Marines trapped behind the lines. Our fighters would kill them along with the enemy."
Ferdigssen scratched his head.
"Glad I don't have to make this call. We'll be hearing from the admiral soon enough."
* * *
At 0230 James Carson mustered his crew on the hangar deck beside the ResQMed. They'd enjoyed four hours of sleep since their last rescue mission in orbital space. The space battles continued for a million miles in all directions. Enemy fighters had kept pressure on the fleet since the beginning of the battle. But now there were new developments.
"Carrington, Gunny, Luis, Willie — you guys are standing down on this one," he said. "Not that we can't use you, but we need the room."
He looked at the two women in the crew.
"I'd like to leave you girls behind, too, but I can't. I've been specifically ordered to take any medical personnel."
He sighed.
"The enemy has counterattacked at Periscope Harbor. The evacuation is under way, but the enemy has shot down so many landers that we're running short. They've ordered the ResQMeds to help out, especially with the wounded. We're leaving in twenty minutes. If you need any medical supplies, get them loaded. This is going to be the hottest run we've ever made."
McGarrity cleared his throat laconically, drawing a look from Carson.
"Kept'n, if it's all the syme with you, I'm goin' down with you. You won't need my spyce on the wye down, and I kin help out down there w'ile you bring the wounded back. Wye I see it, they prob'ly need all the help they can git down th
ere."
"Gunny, it's too risky —"
"Fuck that, Kept'n. I never figgered to survive the war anywye. Might as well buy the stytion here as anywhere else. Least I'll be doin' somethin' useful."
They all stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, then Carrington glanced sheepishly at Carson.
"I'd like to go, too, Captain," he said. "God knows Gunny can't survive without me."
Carson grimaced unhappily. He didn't have the courage to turn them down.
"All right. But —" he said quickly, before anybody else could wax heroic, "— nobody else. When this is over, I'll still need someone to crew my ship. I'm not gonna risk all of you down there.
"Now get moving. I'm leaving on time, even if I have to go alone."
The crew dispersed to get ready; Carson boarded his ship and began running through his computer checklist. Lt. Ho sat grim and silent in the copilot's seat. Carson was halfway through the checklist when he sensed someone behind him. He turned to see an officer in a rumpled white uniform standing in the cockpit.
"Who're you?" he demanded.
"Lieutenant Wade Palmer," the newcomer said. "Are you Captain Carson?"
"Yes."
"Captain, I need a ride down to the planet. I understand you're going in to help with the evacuation."
"That's right, but I don't need any passengers."
"I appreciate that, sir, but I'm under special orders."
"From who?"
"President Wells."
Carson blinked in surprise. "Can you prove that?"
Wade held up a video chip. "Yes, sir."
Carson still thought he was bluffing, but didn't have the time to find out. He relented.
"Okay, but it's a one-way trip. The only people coming back with me will be wounded Star Marines."
"Yes, sir. All I want is a ride down."
"You have a pressure suit?"
"No, sir."
"Well, too late now. Find a chair and get strapped in. We're almost ready to launch."
Chapter 58
Periscope Harbor, Beta Centauri
Rico sat with his back against a partially destroyed hangar as he and his men took a break from loading wounded. The night air was pungent with smoke and gases that stung his eyes. He didn't know how long since he'd slept, but it seemed like a lifetime.
