“No. You’ve done about as much as possible out here. They need to get back and into lavage.”
As if on cue, the sound of a Stork landing told them it was time.
HM2 Gnish quickly took charge, assigning three Marines to each of the stricken. With him on their asses, they carried each of them outside. Liege followed in trace until they were loaded on the Stork, and the big bird lifted up and flared right to return to the camp. Nica and the two Marines would be in the aid station within three minutes, getting the treatment they needed to save their lives.
She’d been tempted to jump on the Stork herself, but it would have served no good. And with Nica gone, she had to remain with the platoon. This was still a war zone, and they could be in contact at any time.
“Uh, Doc, how’re you going to report this?” Sergeant Quincero asked quietly as he came alongside her.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, about us not using the piss collectors.”
He was shifting his weight from leg to leg, anxiously waiting for her response.
Liege was pretty upset with him. It was his job to keep his Marines safe, and letting them turn off the collectors could have killed Nica and Eddie. But it might not have been just the urine collectors. It was extremely hot in that warehouse, and they should never have been put in the position to work inside for two hours as they had done. Bypassing the collectors certainly contributed to the heat stroke, but it wasn’t the only cause.
“I’m not sure, Sergeant, just what’s going to be in my report just yet. I have to go over my treatment notes. But right now, you are standing down. All of you are to sit in the shade until we can get you back. Understand?”
“Yeah, Doc. Sure,” he said, turning to relay her orders. “Oh, and thanks for saving them,” he added.
Liege’s righteous anger started to fade. She thought all three would recover in time, but this had been a stupid waste. The insurgents, both Svea and Tino were bad enough, but Marines didn’t need to be put out of action because of stupidity up the chain of command.
Chapter 13
Liege flicked off her PA screen, leaned back in her rack, and stared at the overhead a mere meter in front of her face. She was bored. The battalion was getting mortared daily and patrols were being hit, but still, she was bored. The Navy, in their indubitable manner of making sure sailors were as comfortable as possible, had sent down four big ion-display screens and over 80,000 holo-shows, flicks, and documentaries, more than anyone could possibly watch in a lifetime of service. Some of the flicks were newly released; even Pinnacle Productions, a Confederation studio, had sent their latest releases to the Navy, including the blockbuster Deepslayer 3.
But Liege could only watch so many flicks, could only read so many books. It wasn’t as if she had a surfeit of free time. If she wasn’t with the squad out on patrol or manning checkpoints, she was conducting company sickcall or working in the battalion aid station. Still, with what limited free time she had, she was getting itchy to do something else.
Liege realized that part of her “itch” might be a lack of social interaction. She was comfortable with her squad, and she enjoyed spending time with them, but the Marines were her brothers and sisters, and Liege was still a party-girl at heart. But she was firm in her vow not to date within the battalion, so she was in the middle of a long social dry spell.
Most of the squads in the battalion had taken residence in empty shipping containers, with racks welded to the side in the back and a small common area in the front. Personal weapons were locked to each rack. The “Vineyard” (an admittedly weak attempt derived from Sergeant Vinter’s name, but no one had come up with anything better), First Squad’s squadbay, was probably no different from any other. Seabags hung on hooks on the bulkheads, while the over-riding smell of weapons cleaning gear seemed to defeat the small air filtration system that struggled to keep up. It was crowded, but it was better than the first two weeks when every squad just staked out a claim on a piece of concrete in one of the two warehouses taken over by the battalion. With the concerted effort of a Navy Seabee team, however, all of the rifle companies, along with Weapons, were in the containers, and within another few days, H&S would have theirs as well.
Liege sighed as she studied the pattern in the overhead, a pattern that was becoming very familiar to her.
“What, bored?” Vic asked as he rummaged in his seabag.
“No. Yeah. I guess so.”
“Some of us are hitting the gym. Why don’t you come along? Get some meat on you.”
“No, that’s OK. You go.”
“OK, suit yourself,” he said, pulling out a pair of weight gloves.
If there was one thing that Marines did no matter the circumstances, it was work out. Here they were in a semi-combat situation, living out of shipping containers in a port facility, and if they had any free time, they were in a gym they had managed to construct in a corner of small warehouse. The equipment was minimal, but ingenuity was rampant as they made do with what they could scrounge.
Liege rolled over on her side to watch Vic, Pablo, and Fanny get ready. She admired their discipline but thought they went overboard with the fitness thing. The Navy had minimum physical standards for corpsmen, even corpsmen serving with the Marines, but by definition, minimum was good enough, right?
She had to admit, though, that Vic looked pretty good. Very good. If he was in another battalion, she might be interested. Even Fanny was looking buff and pretty sexy in a fitness kind of way.
If you liked that type, she thought.
Liege held out her own arm, examining it.
OK, not so buff. But so what?
Fanny said something that Liege couldn’t catch, then punched Pablo in the arm. All three of them laughed. And it hit her—for Marines, the gym wasn’t just to keep fit. It was also part of the social fabric. All three of them were happy, laughing. They’d be able to forget Jericho for an hour as they did their thing, getting fit and relieving stress at the same time—and most of all, maybe, bonding.
“Hey, wait up!” she impulsively shouted out, sliding out of her top rack. “I’m coming, too.”
All three turned to her with surprised looks on their faces before Fanny said, “Well, OK, girl. Come on.”
Liege didn’t have any weight gloves or other accessories, but the Marines worked out in their uniforms. She grabbed her M99 and joined the other three as they left the squadbay.
Liege looked around as they marched over to the gym, looking around to see if anyone had noticed that she was going to the gym, then feeling embarrassed that she cared. She told herself to just relax and go with the flow.
The gym was very Spartan. Makeshift free weights were plentiful, as were the ever-present Null G platforms. With the waist strap, the platforms were used in space to enable Marines and sailors to maintain a degree of fitness. Under gravity, the ribbon-plates functioned as stationary running platforms. There were at least 40 of the plates, all lined up in perfect formation, of course. Only three of the plates were free.
“I’m going to go for a run,” she told the other three who were heading for the weights.
She took the free plate in the back row, surprised to see Doctor X‘anto working up a sweat on the adjacent plate.
“Neves,” he acknowledged as his legs churned.
Liege put her weapon beside the plate and gingerly stepped on. She’d played a bit with ribbon-plates before, and so the weird, almost slimy feel of the plate’s surface wasn’t a surprise. She carefully centered herself, and with hesitant baby steps, started a very slow jog. She felt as if she was going to fall at any moment, but the plate’s surface adjusted to each stride, managing to give her a solid platform.
It felt as if she was running on a slightly giving surface, not the reality of her feet simply sliding over the plate.
Doctor X‘anto looked out of the corner of his eyes, and Liege could read his opinion of her slow jog. She picked up the pace, her stride smoothing out.
The ribbon-plates worked better the faster the person ran on them.
After only five minutes, Liege was breathing hard. She slowed down slightly, but that didn’t do much good. After another two minutes, she came to a stop.
The doctor turned his head to look right at her, eyebrows raised.
“I just warmed up here,” she gasped out. “I’m with my friends there hitting the weights.”
She tried to retain her composure as she walked over to the weight area. All three of her squadmates were doing dumbbell lunges, so she grabbed two of the lighter-looking dumbbells and joined them.
“Keep you back straight, Liege,” Fanny said in a low voice. “Like this.”
Liege watched her for a moment as Fanny stood straight, dumbbells at her side, then lunged forward, right leg bent at the knee, left extended behind before using the right to thrust herself back upright. She nodded her understanding, then tried to copy her friend.
“Better. You don’t want to hurt your back in here.”
For the next hour, she followed along with the other three. If she didn’t lift as much as any of them, they didn’t seem to care nor look down upon her for that.
HM2 Cal Zylanti even came up, watched her do a rep on the piece of plastiboard that served as an incline bench, and then nodded his approval. Liege didn’t know why that mattered to her, but it did.
“OK, children, if we’re going to shower and get chow before our gate brief, we’d better vamoose,” Vic said as Fanny finished her last bench press.
Is it that late already? Liege wondered, checking her PA.
She was tired, she might be a little stiff while on gate duty tonight, and she knew she would be sore in the morning, but she was happy.
Her boredom of the afternoon was a long-vanished memory.
Chapter 14
Liege stood behind the Marine in the PICS, wondering what it would be like to fight from inside one of the combat suits. She’d been in one at FMTB, and she’d even walked around in one for a few minutes, but that was merely an orientation. It had to be different to be locked inside one for a day or more at a time.
The addition of the PICS team to a routine checkpoint had been recent. The battalion had gone in light. Instead of five PICS platoons, the Fuzos only had two: Golf’s Third Platoon and India’s Second. The intent from on high was that the battalion was there to keep the peace, and having a “militaristic” footprint could send the wrong message.
To a man, the Marines and sailors in the battalion thought that was utter hyena shit. What was a Marine battalion but “militaristic?” That was what they were designed to be.
But with the increased level of violence, and with one Marine from Hotel KIA, the battalion commander had thrown that guidance out the window, and she’d gone as heavy as she could. Now, with the squad at Checkpoint 3, they had six PICS Marines reinforcing them. Checkpoint 3 was on the south side of Route Wildebeest just as it entered the city, and it was the major, well, the only north-south highway connecting Svealand and Gran Chaco. With almost all of the planet’s armor in the southern and eastern continents, Wildebeest was the only avenue of approach for any significant armor force.
Not that the Marines expected any. The Josh would be able to spot any armored movement from up in orbit long before it could reach the city, but having the PICS Marines was probably more of a message. Still, the six should give anyone, not just an armored column, second thoughts about hitting them.
Liege wasn’t even sure who was inside that monstrosity. She knew that Third Platoon’s Third Squad, led by Sergeant diTora, was supporting them, but she couldn’t tell who was in which PICS. She couldn’t even pull up their bios on her display, which seemed asinine. Her combat AI couldn’t interface with the PICS hub.
Whoever was inside the PICS, he or she hadn’t moved in at least ten minutes. Liege wondered if the Marine was napping, or even if that was possible.
The PICS were very high-tech pieces of equipment, and their combat AIs had significant medical capabilities. A PICS platoon was only assigned one corpsman, unlike a rifle platoon’s three, so Liege knew her chances of being assigned to a PICS platoon were minimal, especially considering her lack of combat experience. Still, the thought of running around like some super-hero had a significant amount of allure.
“You here with us, Doc?” Corporal Wheng asked.
Liege shook her head and came back to reality, embarrassed to be called out by the team leader. The fire team was in the on-deck position, ready to move into the checkpoint itself in another few minutes. But that didn’t mean they could relax. Standing 20 meters back, they were supposed to be observing the big picture, looking for anything out of the ordinary that Third might miss.
And it wasn’t as if Third was alone. There were both svermin and—
Svea and Tinos, or jericks, she reminded herself.
“Svermin” and “Arse-tins” were unauthorized nicknames for the two sides, and using the terms could now result in some unwelcomed extra duty.
There were both Svea and Tino police teams at the checkpoint. They’d both be taking potshots at each other after they’d got off duty, but for the moment, they were forced to play nice. Still, Liege thought they were barely tolerating each other’s presence, even if they were nominally on the same police force.
Add the six PICS Marines and a sniper team on angel duty, and Liege thought the checkpoint was pretty secure. A long line of private hovers and trucks waited to be checked through into the city. Every 30 minutes, the northbound line would be blocked and southbound traffic would be allowed to pass through.
Liege focused back on the checkpoint. She looked over the waiting drivers, trying to spot something that would alert her, but not knowing what that might be. The drivers looked either resigned or peeved, and Liege could understand both emotions. Some of them might have driven 12 or more hours, and now, just a few kilometers from home, they had to sit and wait.
Each police team checked alternating vehicles, so two vehicles were being inspected at once. After the Svea police team waved through a red Hyundai Vortex, the corporal in charge of the team called the other five of them to the side of the road.
“What’s going on, Corporal Olmstead?” Sergeant Vinter asked, walking over. “We’ve got a lot of vehicles to get through.”
Corporal Wheng tilted his head at the other three in the fire team, indicating that they should follow him as he went to back up the squad leader.
“Nothing, Sergeant. I’m getting a recall back to the station is all. Another team will be out here in a few moments to take our place.”
“So you should be waiting until they arrive. We can’t slow down the inspections.”
The Svea police corporal shrugged, saying, “You know orders, sergeant. It should only be a few minutes.”
The Tino team stopped their inspection, looking at each other with concern.
“Keep inspecting, Olmstead,” Sergeant Vinter said, steel in her voice.
“Sorry. We have to go,” he said, motioning for the other five cops to follow him.
“Coyote-Three,” the sergeant passed on one of the circuits, Liege listening from just off her shoulder. “We have a situation. The Svealander team has just abandoned their post. Can you please confirm why?”
“That’s both teams, Sergeant,” Wheng said.
Liege looked away from the sergeant. Sure enough, the Tino cops were quickly leaving as well. Not just the police. Several hovers from the rear of the line did three-point turns to get out of the way, and a large two-trailer truck was trying to slowly back up.
“This isn’t good,” Korf said to no one in particular.
Liege didn’t need to be an experienced combat vet to know why. The mice were running away for a reason.
Corporal Sativaa started motioning for the rest of the hovers and trucks in line to back up. Liege’s instincts were to find cover, but if something was about to go down, they couldn’t leave the civilians just sitting there. She stepped up to joi
n Third Fire Team in playing traffic cop.
One of the waiting trucks was a new Wiedner. The driver simply raised the hover, and using attitude jets on the front bumpers, spun the big rig around on a pivot as nicely as could be—but was stuck as the two-trailer GE didn’t have the same capabilities. Liege walked over to the driver of the GE to help ground-guide him around when the shout of “incoming!” came over the squad circuit.
Liege spun around just in time to see three explosions: one hitting a PICS Marine, another hitting empty dirt, and one hitting the back of the Wiedner. Almost immediately, five PICS Marines returned fire, focusing on a point out of Liege’s sight.
The PICS that was hit didn’t come apart, nor did it even fall. It simply stood there silently. Liege rushed forward, only seeing the damage to the upper right thigh of the combat suit, almost at the juncture of the girdle assembly. It was a mass of molten metal and electronics covering a rough circle 25 centimeters in diameter.
“Cease fire, cease fire!” came over the net, but Liege was reaching up to touch-connect her PA to the PICS’ transmitter. Liege might not be able to connect to a PICS’ bioreadouts while on the move, but the universal peer-to-peer connection would let her PA act as a repeater.
To her relief, Corporal Jones was alive. She was unconscious, but her vitals were strong. Her PICS had shut down as it was designed.
Where is the stupid release? she wondered, scanning the back of the huge combat suit. There!
She reached up and hit the emergency molt. The suit went into the molting process with what looked to be solid pieces of the carapace splitting by layers until Jones’s unconscious body was revealed. She started pulling Jones back and out to extract her when Korf stepped in to lend a hand. They pulled the Marine out and laid her on the deck.
Butterflies emerge from cocoons ready to spread their wings and fly. With Jones, it was like pulling the caterpillar out instead. Her slick longjohns made her look even smaller than she actually was.
Liege ran her scanner over the corporal, finally able to get a full reading. To her relief, the corporal was in good shape. She’d suffered some major bruising to her leg and hip, and she’d had a slight concussion. The PICS’ AI had induced her state of unconsciousness as it sent anti-inflammatories coursing through her body. It was a precautionary measure, one that Liege could reverse. She adjusted her injector and gave Jones the injection. Ten seconds later, the corporal stirred and opened her eyes.
Corpsman Page 8
