“Man, he still hasn’t let go of that?”
“Nope, and I’m tired of being reminded I’m a disappointment. It’s not my fault they couldn’t have more kids, so they’re stuck with me.”
The thud of approaching combat boots caught Stanner’s ear. They stopped. He looked up to see Sergeant Veech hanging over him. “What can I do for you, sarge?”
“Walk with me, private.”
“If you say so, sarge.” Stanner took a breath and heaved himself to his feet with a groan. His hand went for his pack.
“You can leave it. No need to carry it a foot further than necessary.”
Veech followed the tree line, carrying his rifle low in his hand. Reba’s drones were parked thirty yards ahead in a depression in the landscape. The hills had given way to open plains, so they took advantage of the cover. A team of techs poured out of an APC to service them.
What I wouldn’t give to get to ride in one of them for a while. Wish we had more transport, but it’s too expensive to ship them from Liberty when a grunt’s legs are cheap to maintain and come with the package.
Beads of sweat formed on Stanner’s face as they got closer to Reba. He stared at her with his head tilted away, scared to make eye contact but afraid to lose track of her.
Is he taking me to her? Why? She can’t possibly want to use me now, can she? Not in the middle of a major operation. He glanced at Veech. He wouldn’t willingly hand me over, right?
They turned to follow the tree line away from Reba.
Oh, thank God. Stanner exhaled.
Veech stopped and regarded him. “There’s something...you okay, private? You’re ten shades lighter than when I found you.”
Stanner wet his lips. “Yes, sergeant. I’m good - just need to eat something, I think.”
“Okay.” Veech cocked his head. “I assume you heard about McPeak and Wilson.”
“Damn shame.”
“That it is, private.” Veech shook his head. “Their loss puts us down two corporals, two fire team leaders. I’ll get to the point. I want you to take over one of those teams.”
Stanner opened his mouth to protest, he wasn’t ready for that responsibility, but his tongue was dry as desert air.
A raised hand interrupted his objection. “I’m not asking, corporal, I’m telling.”
“Why me? I mean, I can think of several guys senior to me. Why not someone already on the team?”
“I don’t think anyone on that team can lead.” Veech hooked a thumb back at the resting platoon. “It’s a young platoon. I already have the most experienced as corporals. You started slow in your first engagement, but you showed grit and initiative when it counted. I also took another look at your file and saw you were almost accepted into the officer program. The lieutenant and I agree that you’re the best man for the job. You up for it?”
Up for it? I don’t know! Four men following my lead? What if I do something wrong? Ha, look at you, Stanner, scared to lead a fire team, but you wanted to be an officer, a BattleMaster, even. Yeah, that was when war was just a romantic idea of glory and all that other bullshit in net-movies. Pissing off my dad was a nice perk, too. Still, I can do this, and maybe with a little rank, Captain Chandler will start to leave me alone.
“You can count on me, sergeant.”
Veech slapped his upper arm. “That’s what I wanted to hear, corporal.” He tapped his wrist computer. “I’ve sent the orders. You’re all set to take over McPeak’s old team. Go check on them now.”
Stanner straightened his spine. “Will do, sarge.”
They separated, heading in opposite directions. Stanner was filled with pride, walking with a puffed-out chest, but a heavy worry pulled his gut into his boot.
Olsen was still sprawled out on the ground with his eyes closed. The shadow Stanner cast over him caused his eyelids to crack open. “What did the sergeant want with you?”
“He wants me to lead McPeak’s fire team.”
“What?” Olsen jumped to his feet. “That means you have to leave.”
Stanner patted the air. “Settle down. I’m not leaving, just changing fire teams. We’re still in the same platoon. We’ll be close as always.”
Olsen paced. Stanner half-feared he might cry, given the twisted expression on his face. His best friend had been this way since the first day of second grade. Olsen had been a transfer and as shy as a mouse.
Olsen had refused to make eye contact or talk to anyone the morning they first met. At lunch, he sat alone while the other kids avoided him. Stanner felt sorry for him and sat across from him. Stanner tried talking, never getting a response. He figured the effort had been a failure, but then he discovered Olsen had followed him home after school. He had been following Stanner ever since.
“Stop.” Stanner put a hand out to catch Olsen’s shoulder. “Stop worrying. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Can I join your fire team?”
Stanner shook his head. “It’s full and yours is now down a rifle. I’m not really going anywhere, though, so quit the dramatics.”
“Okay, you’re right.” Olsen raised his head and smiled. “You’ve always had my back in the end.”
“That’s right. Now, get some more rest. I should connect with my team.” Stanner walked away, pausing after half a dozen steps to look back. “I’ll see you later.”
“Thanks.”
Stanner found his team silently sitting in a rough circle around their piled gear, rifles stacked to create a naked teepee. McPeak had been popular with the entire platoon and as expected, those who served closest with him were taking his loss hard.
They remained still as he came into their area. He knew all of them by name. Dexter Woodruff was short and stocky, with a reputation as bit of a hothead. Daniel Kilgore had a shaved skull as black as night and was known for cracking jokes. Raphael Martine didn’t say much and was OCD about keeping neat, a difficult feat in the field. Lastly, there was Walter Epstein, a curly-haired man who whined a lot in a nasal voice.
How do I start to replace McPeak? No, don’t think of it as replace. I’m here to move forward as my own leader. He smiled. Me, a corporal so soon. Maybe I should send mom a message. She might actually be a little proud.
Dexter glanced up and looked away. “You going to sit or keep staring at us like a creep?”
“I’m sorry about McPeak.” Stanner leaned his rifle against theirs and sat without saying another word. It felt like what a leader should do at a time like this.
Please don’t let me screw up. He looked at the cluster of trees which sparked a flurry of thought blitz. Seminary Ridge. Picket’s Charge. Disastrous command decision. If Lee could fuck up that bad, who knows what damage I can do to these men?
They’d sat for twenty minutes when the major’s voice broke over the com-link, “On your feet and move out.”
Walter sighed. “My toes are on fire. This mission better end soon or I’m gonna have to see the med station.”
“Why don’t you file a complaint with the planetary commander?” Daniel slapped Walter on the back. “I’m sure your toes are a high priority.”
“Suck it up.” Dexter slung his pack on. “All of us are hurting and we don’t need to hear you bitch about it every mile.”
Raphael pulled a comb from his pocket and ran it through his hair before putting on his helmet. Ready, he stared at Stanner.
Stanner noticed they all stared. What the...oh, right. “Let’s go find the sergeant and see what the plan is.” Please don’t let that have been as awkward as it felt.
Stanner walked a few feet ahead of the others en route to the sergeant and Lieutenant Hart. The platoon had gathered to form a half circle around them.
Hart lowered the tablet he was reading, aiming his square jaw at the crowd. “The column has advanced deep into Euro territory and the top brass thinks it’s time we fan out to do some serious damage to enemy infrastructure. Our target is a supply depot forty klicks west of here.
“We get moving no
w and we should be able to hit them by dawn.” The group groaned. “Yeah, I know, you’re tired. If we make good time, I promise to let you get some sleep before we attack.”
“Good,” Daniel said just loud enough for those around him to hear, “I don’t want to die tired.”
Stanner turned his head to give him the stink eye. Daniel erased his grin and nodded.
“Team leaders,” Hart continued, “check your supplies and stop by the trucks to get what you need ASAP. I want us on the run in ten minutes.”
Everyone remained as still as stone.
Veech stepped forward. “You heard the man. Let’s move it!”
His words were like a bowling ball striking the pins. The group fractured in several directions.
Stanner turned to regard his team but saw Veech gesture toward him out of the corner of his eye. “One second, Stanner.”
“Yes, sergeant?” He approached.
“I need your help with something before we go.”
“Don’t I need to get my team ready?”
Veech waved him off. “Saw they were all set before I handed them over to you. Follow me.”
He followed Veech to a backpack on the ground with two tablets on top of it. One of them had a cracked screen. Veech picked them up, handing him the broken one.
“That one’s wireless and data port are busted. It’s no big deal because I just need a couple things off it. I want you to read out the list on that page.”
A lump formed in Stanner’s throat. Read. Crap. “Okay, sarge.” His heart raced as he brought the screen into view. His palms became clammy. He recognized the letters making up the first word and knew what to say.
Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to speak but the letters shifted and changed as his mind processed them. C became s and b flipped into d. “Sss-aaa-ddd.” His mouth suddenly went dry.
Veech wasn’t looking at him. He had his fingers at the ready. “What’s wrong? I want to do this before we leave.”
Stanner’s face flushed and sweat poured from his brow. He parted his lips but nothing came out. Please God, get me out of this.
“Sergeant!” They looked at the source of the voice calling out. It was Lieutenant Hart. “I’d like to go over a few things before we march.”
Holy mother of God, thank you, thank you!
“On my way. I guess this will have to wait. “ Veech faced him. “Are you okay? You’re flushed and sweating. You aren’t getting sick, are you?”
“I, I don’t know. I’ll stop by the med station as soon as I can.”
“You do that. Go find your team. We’re rolling.”
Stanner nodded and left. That was close.
Chapter Eight
Sergeant Veech walked with his rifle at the ready through a patch of dense, tall grass. It was a good place from which to launch a hit-and-run attack and he wanted to make sure it was clear. Faint sounds of crackling gunfire and grenade explosions pulled his gaze to the western horizon.
His com-link burst to life. “Enemy contact!”
Who the hell is that? He twisted his wrist computer toward him. It identified the caller as Corporal Quinn. His fire team was well ahead of the main force on recon. The link stayed silent.
He dropped to a knee, disappearing in the foliage. “Corporal, report. Details on enemy force?”
Nothing but the distance song of combat.
“Corporal, can you read me?”
Garbled words bled through thick static.
Shit! That’s not good. “Lieutenant, can you reach Corporal Quinn’s team or know their situation?”
“Negative. Heavy jamming is blocking all attempts to reestablish regular coms.”
Veech winced. “Damn jammers. Any BattleMasters near that position? Their implants can get around that.”
“Nothing. Take a squad to see what’s the sit.”
“On it.”
“And, sergeant.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I need intel more than dead heroes. Help Quinn if you can without endangering your ability to deliver a report.”
“Understood.” Veech stabbed a button on his wrist. “Second squad, follow me.”
He sprinted down the picket line a dozen feet in the cleared area. The blades of grass whipped against his legs. The reserve squad added nine sets of boots to the stampede.
The guns fell silent.
“Quinn, come in,” Veech begged.
Nothing.
“Damn it!” The grip on his rifle tightened as he pulled away from the pack. “Faster!”
Veech could hear his father’s voice whispering in his ear. Those are your brothers out there. You never abandon them. No one gets left behind.
His father had been a Marine who saw extensive zero-gee combat in the Battle of the Belt during the conflict’s first two years, before the Spacefaring and Mining Truce. Back then, the powers engaged in brutal space battles but rarely risked their extremely expensive men-of-war. Instead, vac-suited Marines equipped with thruster packs were dropped off in the asteroid-belt to fight for floating rocks.
These bloody contests played out fruitlessly until the Chinese got impatient and launched a real naval offensive. The result was a costly stalemate. No one had the will to renew the expensive campaign for lifeless boulders. The treaty ended the war in space, confining it to the surface of New Calcutta.
With the need for Marines greatly reduced, his father was discharged. Family life followed for the grizzled warrior who raised his sons like Marine recruits. At the time, Veech felt his childhood was harsh, but he came to appreciate the lessons instilled in him.
Never more than right now as he charged toward mortal danger for his brothers-in-arms.
The squad exited the tall grass. Reduced resistance allowed them to pick up speed. Spotty tree clusters and gentle waves in the landscape lay ahead. It was peaceful, and that worried him. Veech checked his wrist. The jamming had gotten stronger. Looking ahead, he saw a flash of light, like the sun reflecting off smooth metal.
Veech dove to the ground. “Down!”
The roar of gunfire filled the air. Bullets caught two soldiers before they could find cover. A blizzard of rounds exploded, raining down tiny fragments too small to harm covered skin but effective at rattling nerves.
He saw their killers embedded along a depression on the open terrain. Bushes and tall grass hid them well. An endless stream of bullets zipped and burst apart overhead. He looked back under his arms to see his men weren’t fighting. They hugged the dirt like lovers. “Fire! Return fire, damn it!”
Veech wheeled his own weapon forward, aimed and set off three-round bursts until his mag ran dry. Shots plowed into the enemy line, sending up clumps of earth. The hostile fire weakened.
“Keep it up!” Veech low-crawled to the nearest soldier. Reaching out, he yanked the man’s ear to his mouth. “Run back until you can report to the lieutenant where we made contact. Then get your ass back here with help.”
The wide-eyed private nodded and crawled away. His uniform’s pattern had changed to match the blue-green of the vegetation.
Veech moved to Corporal Pallone. “Keep the pressure on ‘em. Move up like you’re going to rush, but fall back and then do it again. I’m going to try something.”
“Got it, sarge.”
Shimming backward, Veech slipped into a depression in the ground. It wasn’t much, but he could stay out of sight if he stayed low. His elbows speared into the soil as he crawled as fast as he could around the enemy’s right flank. Explosions gave proof Pallone was keeping their heads down.
The changing direction of the firefight told him he was to the side of it. He turned to advance directly toward it, but with greater caution. Still, luck played its part as Veech saw the Euro trooper before the enemy saw him.
The pale-faced man, more of a boy, had his rifle sighted to the left of Veech’s point of emergence. A few degrees in the other direction and he would’ve squirmed right into the crosshairs.
R
eaction time differences were measured in micro-seconds. The trooper swung his barrel and fired as Veech rolled away, bringing his weapon to bear. He felt the gust of air trailing near-misses. The distance was too short for smart-bullets to validate a miss and detonate.
Twisting his body, Veech aimed himself at the young man. The world spun as he pulled the trigger, releasing a stream of erratic projectiles. The rifle spat but to no visible effect. He feared the click of an empty magazine. There was no way he could reload and avoid getting shot.
Then, his opponent’s head kicked back and his hands lost their grip on his weapon. It fell to the ground a half-second before the lifeless body folded next to it with a thud.
Veech halted his roll on his back and jammed in a fresh mag. A half-roll brought him to his stomach. Darting eyes searched for danger, found none. Jumping to his feet, he ran toward the enemy line. Speed mattered most. The sentry might’ve gotten off a warning. He had to salvage whatever amount of surprise he had left.
His helmet’s HUD highlighted the hidden Euros. The length of their bodies were fully exposed from this angle; their blended camouflage couldn’t hide them. Dropping to one knee, he raised his rifle and sent burst after burst into their backs. Upon sensing soft flesh, the smart-bullets came apart like hollow point rounds on steroids. It was gruesome. It was devastating.
Five of the ten-man team died on their bellies. The rest fired wildly in his general direction. Veech dropped to the dirt and opened the chests of two more. The last three honed in on his position and it became too dangerous to do anything but lay flat and retreat inch by inch.
A frenzy of automatic fire and grenade blasts filled the air. Battle-cries were audible between verses in the chorus of war. He could no longer see what was unfolding. They’re rushing me!
As sudden as the thunder began, it stopped. A cool breeze blew over the silent battlefield.
“Sergeant!” a voice boomed. It was Corporal Pallone and it came from the enemy position.
He crawled forward, not willing to take a chance. Don’t assume anything; that had been a core lesson his father had instilled in him.
BattleMaster (The BattleMaster Corps Book 1) Page 6
