Star Marine!

by John Bowers

  "I dunno exactly, Beaner, but I think it's gonna be over by daylight. They sent the last hospital team out a few minutes ago."

  A pair of Lincoln landers rolled to a stop, and the doors swung open. Tired, scared, filthy Marines scrambled aboard, helping their own wounded. Bullets ricocheted off the tail of one lander; P-gun shells erupted nearby, setting a hangar on fire. Two men staggered as shrapnel ripped into their bodies.

  "Okay," Rico said. "You guys get on board one of these ships. I want you out of here now."

  "What about you?" Tiny asked.

  "I'll join you in a few minutes."

  "Fuck that," Maniac said. "We ain't goin' til you go."

  Rico grinned suddenly. "Am I gonna have to order you guys outta here?"

  "Listen to this shit!" Texas laughed. "He thinks we're gonna listen to his ass when we didn't listen to the captain? Look, Beaner, you're one of us, all right? We’re the Fearless Fiveless! We ain't goin' nowhere without you."

  "I'll have to write you all up for a star-court."

  "Go ahead. I'll help you spell the three-letter words. But not until we all get back home."

  While they were discussing it, the landers loaded and left, but more were coming in. Bullets now crisscrossed the runway; BC infantry had moved within visual range.

  "Whatta we gonna do?" Texas demanded.

  Rico looked around. Fewer people were visible now; as if the airport had shut down operations, most of those who'd labored so feverishly through the night were gone. Only dribbles of Star Marines retreating toward the runway kept the population noticeable.

  "We're gonna cover these poor fuckers, is what we're gonna do," he said. "Come on."

  He led the group down the runway, toward the east end. The heaviest fire came from that direction. The edges of the runway were lined with wrecks, many still burning. Here and there a survivor sat staring dazedly at nothing. A quarter-mile in the distance, a QuasarFighter sat behind a mound of earth, mostly shielded from enemy fire. Its gun turret swiveled repeatedly, firing short bursts of autocannon and laser back at the enemy. Just beyond, several enemy hovertanks sat burning. Rico turned his squad in that direction.

  They crossed the runway between landings, dodging laser fire as they ran. Sparks was hit and went down; when Gearloose went back for him he was also hit. The rest of the squad dived to the ground until the fire changed direction, then crawled back and dragged the two men off the runway. Both were dead. Rico crossed himself briefly and took inventory. He still had Texas, Tiny, Maniac, Chavez, Brown, and himself, and the Space Force guy, whatever his name was. He frowned.

  "Lieutenant? What the hell you doin'? You don't belong with us. You don't even have a weapon."

  Wade Palmer picked up the Spandau Gearloose had been carrying, and pulled spare magazines off his belt.

  "I do now, Corporal. I'm going with you."

  "You got a death wish, or what? Sir, where we're goin' we may not come back."

  "I'm not going to pull rank on you," Wade said, "but I will remind you that you can't order me to leave. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

  Rico felt a prick of annoyance, but shrugged it off. What the hell, if the guy wanted to fight, let him fight.

  "Yes, sir."

  They ran in a stumbling trot toward the Fed fighter that still blazed away at the enemy tanks. As they approached, Rico spotted a ResQMed taxiing toward him on a parallel strip, and realized with a shock that it was Carla's. All space traffic was taking off toward the west, and Capt. Carson had been obliged to taxi the entire length of the airport before making his takeoff run.

  Rico held up a hand and everyone stopped, kneeling to watch as the ResQMed turned onto an approach and stopped ninety feet away. Rico's heart swelled in his chest and he uttered a silent prayer for those inside the ship; he didn't want to see any more dead women, not ever again. He heard the jets begin to wind up, saw the ship tremble and vibrate as the thrust built. Behind him the sky was clear for the moment, and the ResQMed turned onto the runway and began to roll. Flame poured from its jets as it gained speed and began to streak toward the mountain in the west. Rico imagined Carla inside, strapped to an acceleration chair, and saw her face in his mind as the medical ship left the ground. The roar rolled deafeningly back over him, sound waves battering his face. He blinked rapidly to keep the tears out of his eyes so he wouldn't miss a single second of that final departure. God save the woman he loved; God get that ship over that mountain, and into orbit, and aboard ship and all the way back to Terra.

  Please, God.

  He watched until the ResQMed was no longer visible in the tortured night sky, then lowered his head and wiped his face with a grimy hand.

  "Okay," he said hoarsely. "Vámanos."

  * * *

  Wade Palmer had never wished for many things in his life. Now he wished for several; he wished he could talk to Regina Wells one last time, to find out where she'd gone, what happened to her, and if she loved him. He wished he'd been more honest with Dianne Love, the troubled turret gunner who'd staked him out as her personal icon for penance. She'd fallen in love with him, and he hadn't even realized it. He wished he could have a chance to know the baby she was carrying, to meet that unique new person who was about to be born. He wished he could have the chance to raise that child and be the kind of father his dad had been to him. He wished his dad could see him now, to know he hadn't shirked his duty in defending the Federation. Not that he was doing much good, but at least he was doing something.

  He wished he hadn't come to Periscope Harbor. There'd been other battles that were much nicer, battles where one had at least a chance of survival. But this one was his own personal penance, and it seemed he'd been drawn to this place from the moment he first heard its name.

  Finally, as he faced his last hours of life, he wished that he'd known these men before, had spent the time with them, become one of them. Instead of joining the Space Force, he should have joined the Star Marines, where men lived at a more primal level, where brotherhood and camaraderie were the most important things in life. What was that phrase they were so proud of? Semper fidelis.

  As they approached the area where the QuasarFighter stood off enemy tanks all by itself, he suddenly felt a fierce elation, as if he'd just discovered a new game, something addictive that he'd never known existed. His fear faded into the background, and he began to see things with more clarity than ever before in his life. It was like being born again, or evolving to a higher life form. It was intoxicating.

  They came under rifle fire from the darkness at the edge of the airport and took cover. The Star Marines opened up with Spandaus, and Wade took aim, too, peering through the night sight and watching for a few seconds before opening fire. He hadn't fired a weapon since OCS, and when he pulled the trigger was momentarily stunned by the impact against his shoulder. He tightened his grip, sighted again, and fired. His body shuddered under the recoil, but he felt a savage satisfaction as he saw his bullets rip into a BC and saw the man flung backwards.

  Off to his right, landers still staggered in to pick up Star Marines. Wade saw one approaching in flames, having been hit before reaching the city. It came in steady and straight, just like all the others, but half a mile short of the runway the wing began to disintegrate, and the lander slowly rolled to starboard as the wing lost lift. Suddenly the wing broke off, and the lander plunged into the ground. Wade closed his eyes for a second as the sound of the explosion rolled over him; he could only hope it had crashed onto an enemy position. And be grateful it had crashed before taking on Star Marines.

  Wade changed magazines, peered through his night sight, and kept firing.

  * * *

  Rico saw the first faint light of dawn in the west, and knew it was as good as over. The enemy could have rushed the airport hours ago; with their armor, their infantry, and their hoversleds, they could have slaughtered everyone still on the ground. He didn't know why they hadn't done that; instead, they'd sat at the edge of the airport perim
eter and just kept it under steady fire, killing many, but allowing thousands of survivors to leave. Most of the Star Marines were gone now, except for a few stragglers and wounded. Isolated squads were still trickling in to catch a last-minute ride.

  He wondered how many more ships there would be.

  An explosion a few yards to his right forced his face into the dirt, and he heard screams. Lifting his head, he saw a mushroom of smoke rising into the early morning sky. Sprawled about like broken matchsticks were most of his squad. He scrambled toward them with horror on his face. Tiny and Maniac lay dead. So was Brown. Texas stared at the sky, his eyes dull with shock and surprise.

  "Texas! Hang in there, buddy! Where does it hurt, man?" Rico reached for his first-aid pack, well aware that it was far too little for the injuries he could see. Texas's face was blackened and blistered, his shirt smoldered, and blood pumped out of a dozen holes.

  Texas managed a weak grin.

  "It doesn't," he gasped. "Don't feel — anything."

  "Jesus! You're gonna be okay, man. I'll get you back to the flight line —"

  "F-forget it." Texas winced now, and struggled to breathe. "Just — get your — own ass out of here! Can't — can't do — any more, Rico! It's over."

  Rico took his hand and held it while he pushed the other man's helmet back and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

  "I'm sorry, Texas. I'm sorry, man."

  "No, you was — right. We — we had a hell of a run, didn't we? They won't forget the — 33rd Star Marines!"

  Rico didn't know what to say. Just like that, the Fearless Fourless were gone. Texas couldn't last another minute, the way he was bleeding. And then Rico realized he'd stopped breathing, was no longer moving at all. The hand was limp.

  "Jesus!" he cried. "Texas!"

  "He's gone, man!" Chavez whispered, tugging at his shoulder. "You better git back over here, man! They'll git you next."

  Rico looked up. The enemy tank was visible now, training in their direction. His eyes widened.

  "Hit the dirt!" he yelled, and the tank fired another round. Everyone who was left flattened out, and the round screamed past, a foot above their heads, to explode thirty yards away. Rico lifted his head again, trembling.

  "Okay, man, that's it. Texas was right; we've done all we could. We're headin' back."

  Chavez licked his lips at the prospect, and Rico turned to Wade Palmer. Palmer was still firing toward the enemy position, seeming to take great pleasure in the death song of the Spandau.

  "Lieutenant, we're pulling back! Come on, let's —"

  He stopped in mid-sentence. As Palmer turned to look at him, he was catapulted backward, his right shoulder almost ripped off. He landed ten feet away, on his back, quivering with shock.

  "Shit!" Rico cried.

  * * *

  Onja Kvoorik checked her ammunition screens and saw that she was running low on autocannon. Down to twenty percent. She still had laser power, but the drain had been continuous for the last hour, and that wouldn't last forever, either.

  "Steve, get ready. I think we're gonna have to leave soon."

  "Your command is my wish," Langley said from the cockpit, and began issuing prep orders to the AI.

  Onja checked the situation at the airport behind her, using video under magnification. Little activity remained around the flight line where so many had worked through the night. She saw one lone Lincoln lander still loading troops, and when it pulled out she noticed that hardly anyone was left. One or two men stood by themselves, looking toward the eastern sky. Onja also looked to the east, but saw no more ships coming in. She switched on her Ladar and tuned it toward orbit, but nothing was there except a fighter patrol.

  It really was over.

  "Steve, keep those shields up until the last second," she said. "They're going to try to knock us down when we leave."

  "Roger that. You about ready?"

  "Yes, let's —"

  She screamed as someone suddenly hammered on the side of her turret. She jerked the laser pistol off her belt. She hadn't expected the enemy to actually reach her fighter. Before she could react, she heard a voice, dimly, calling to her from outside. She turned on the external audio pickup and the voice suddenly boomed over her headset, rattling her eardrums.

  " … co Martinez, Delta Company, 33rd Star Marines! Open up!"

  "What?" Onja blinked. Martinez? Delta Company? It couldn't be!

  She swiveled her video to focus on the port wing root and widened the angle to pick up the man crouching there. And felt her spine tingle with astonishment.

  She opened the hatch. He stuck his head in, and did his own doubletake.

  "Rico?" she queried.

  "Goddamn!" he gasped. "I didn't know it was you over here!"

  "What the hell're you doing here, Rico? The last lander just left."

  Rico looked surprised — he hadn't been watching that closely.

  He shook it off.

  "I got a wounded man out here. He's hurt pretty bad. Can you take him out with you?"

  "Not much room in here," she told him, "but I can take one. Maybe two."

  Rico nodded, relief in his eyes.

  "Okay. Chavez, help him up here!"

  Onja peered out and saw the Space Force Lieutenant with pain-hardened features. She recognized him, too, from the briefing room aboard Sadat. She didn't know his name, and couldn't imagine what he was doing in Periscope Harbor. Rico and another Marine manhandled him through her hatch, and she pulled him on inside, grimacing at the ravaged shoulder that pumped blood all over her deck. She helped him into a corner of the turret and secured him with an auxiliary harness attached to the deck.

  "Is he a friend of yours?" she asked.

  "Naw, I just met him tonight. I think he's a little loony; he just wanted to fight."

  "I've got room for one more," she said. "Who's it going to be?"

  "Chavez," Rico said without hesitation.

  "Aw, fuck, man, I can't leave you behind!" Chavez complained.

  "You git in there or I'll shoot your goddamned ass!" Rico retorted. "The Federation taxpayers paid a bundle for your new legs, so I ain't gonna let you die here and waste their money."

  "Aw, shit, Rico … !"

  "Look, man, this here's the Fighter Queen! You heard of her, ain't you? Don't be talkin' dirty in front of her, man, she's a friend of mine. You got that?"

  Chavez looked at the stunning blonde for the first time. He gulped stupidly.

  "Get in," she told him, and he obeyed without further argument. Onja shoved her upper body out of the hatch, inches from where Rico stood.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked softly, her blue eyes locked onto his face.

  "I'm gonna cover you when you take off," he said. "Then I'll see if there's another way out of here."

  "There isn't," she said.

  He nodded slowly. "I know."

  "Rico … "

  "Go see my sister," he told her. "Tell her I love her. And I'm sorry I didn't come back. And tell Juanito that I was brave. And don't let him do this when he grows up."

  Onja nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  "And go see Carla. Tell her I was thinking of her until the end."

  "I will." Onja couldn't stop the tears.

  He grinned sadly. "You've been a good friend," he said. "It was nice of you to put me in for that medal."

  "I'm just sorry you didn't get it," she whispered.

  "Hey, I got to meet you, didn't I? And you're still alive. That's all the thanks I ever needed."

  Onja stared at him a moment longer, remembering another brave young man in another battle who'd also saved her life. His name had been Johnny Lincoln.

  "You better git going, Ma'am," Rico said. "It's nearly daylight."

  She grabbed him and pulled him against her, kissing him firmly on the mouth. For one magical moment she slipped her tongue inside, then let him go.

  "The Fighter Queen will never forget you!" she promised.

 
He saluted, and she slammed the hatch.

  * * *

  Rico crouched behind the embankment as the QuasarFighter's engines began to whine to an incredible pitch. They buffeted him as the ship turned down the taxiway toward the west and began to accelerate. He watched for a moment, saw the shimmer in the air above the ship, and realized the topside shields were still in place. He saw pinpoints of flashes as enemy fire sparked against them, and wondered how the ship could fly with them in place.

  But that wasn't his problem. That pilot would know what he was doing, and Rico had promised to cover their takeoff. He only had his Spandau, but what more did any good Star Marine need?

  He scrambled up the embankment and exposed himself to the waist. Two hundred yards away he could see BC on their feet, firing at the retreating fighter. As a fresh breeze whipped in off the harbor from the east and cleared away the worst of the smoke and haze from the battle, Rico opened fire. He breathed the invigorating scents of salt and seaweed, and the breeze was wonderfully refreshing against his face. He saw BC stagger and fall, and bared his teeth against the hammering vibration of the Spandau as it chattered through the magazine and spewed vengeance for all the Star Marines who'd died here the last four days.

  He changed magazines and continued to fire. Behind him the QuasarFighter reached takeoff speed; Langley dropped his topside shields and pulled the fighter into a sixty-degree climb. Without waiting for any further altitude, he punched his rocket throttles and the Lincoln fighter shot toward the heavens like a bullet. Rico heard the rockets, felt their sonic wash, and knew they'd made it. He thought of Carla, and was filled with a joyous exultation.

  He kept firing until the heavy lasers cut him down.

  Chapter 61

  Tuesday, 6 November, 0232 (PCC) - Rendezvous in Deep Space

  The shuttle's windows had been covered to prevent her from seeing out. Aside from herself and the crew, no one else was aboard except for Griffen and two SE men. None of them spoke to her except to give instructions, which suited her just fine. After her night with their President, she had little desire for conversation.

  The shuttle docked at an orbital station that she couldn't see, and she was led through an airlock into a private gate that was apparently used for military purposes only. She saw no one who wasn't in uniform. There she was blindfolded and placed in a hover-mobile, one of those little vehicles that transport the elderly and infirm through space stations. The route to the next gate was circuitous and confusing; she saw nothing of where she was, nor did she care to; all she wanted was away from Sirius.