by Jay Allan
He was in a foxhole dug into a small hill, less than a kilometer from the city limits. The army had been fighting well, bleeding the larger and better-equipped enemy force. But they were still getting pushed back. They were losing the battle…slowly, perhaps, but still losing.
Corporal Paine was hauling another heavy magazine into position. It wasn’t difficult in armor, though he doubted he could have budged the thing without his suit. Paine and White were a great team with the auto-cannon. The two were close friends, and they managed their odd situation well. White was by far the better soldier, a natural warrior who moved across the battlefield like a force of nature. But Tony Paine wore a corporal’s stripes while his friend was only a private. Reg White had a temper and a disrespect for authority that had wreaked havoc on his military career.
“We’re getting the fallback signal.”
“I hear it.” White was still firing, ignoring the recall. “I wanna finish this magazine.” White tended to consider orders something akin to suggestions.
Paine pulled back the ammunition canister he’d been about to load, reconnecting it to the rack on his armor. It was a cumbersome job. He had to affix it correctly and then sort of back into it until it snapped into place.
The recall signal sounded again. Paine could see the rest of the platoon was pulling back already. “We better get going, Reg.” Paine was all for getting as much fire off as possible, but he didn’t like the idea of being so far out in front of the unit, especially when they were pulling back.
“With you!” White almost shouted his reply, firing off one last burst before ejecting the spent magazine and snapping up the legs of the auto-cannon. He hooked it into the harness on his own armor, a task as cumbersome as Paine’s had been with the ammo reloads. “Get going, Tony. Move your ass. I’m right behind you.”
Paine took one more glance at the display, worried that they’d waited too long. But there was a small dent in the line of approaching enemies. White’s fire had been so heavy and accurate, the advancing forces had instinctively flowed to the sides, around the edges of his primary kill zone. He slapped his hand on White’s armored shoulder and launched himself hard toward the rear.
The ground was open, and the elevation rose gradually for the first 100 meters. There was no cover, nothing to do but run for it. White felt the legs of his suit digging into the soft clay, pushing off with nuclear-powered force to propel his armored body forward. He couldn’t run full out, not without bounding up off the ground and giving a perfect target to the enemy, but he could still do at least three times the speed of an unarmored man. He could cover the 100 meters and get up over the hillside in 3 seconds. But that was one second too many. He was looking at the top of the hill as he ran. He felt naked, exposed. He was encased in his suit, sealed off from outside sensations, but his scanner told him enemy fire was zipping all around. Almost there, he thought, just another few steps.
He felt it just before he reached the crest. It was an odd sensation…pain, he supposed, but for so brief an instant he wasn’t sure. The suit’s trauma control system was more rudimentary than those in the newest Marine armor, but it was still highly effective at dealing with battlefield wounds. It filled his bloodstream with a cocktail of drugs…painkillers, blood coagulants, antibiotics, mood enhancers. He knew he’d been hit, but with the suit’s intervention, it wasn’t that bad.
It was his shoulder. It didn’t hurt, not really…it seemed almost normal after that first instant. But then he realized he couldn’t feel it at all or move it. He could hear a hissing sound…his suit administering the self-expanding foam that would serve as both bandage and sutures, stopping the bleeding and stabilizing the wound. It filled the entire arm of his suit, holding the stricken appendage immobile, encased in sterile packing.
His legs felt weak, and he stumbled to his knees…still a few meters short of the relative safety of the hill’s reverse slope. He gritted his teeth and pushed hard, dragging himself slowly back to his feet. Then he felt a hard impact on his shoulder, and he was falling forward, stumbling over the crest and onto the ground behind the crest.
White was alongside, still shoving his friend onward, pushing him to the ground, down below the ridge and into a covered position. “You alright man?”
Paine felt a little disoriented, but he recognized White’s voice. “Reg…yeah…I’m OK.” He wasn’t sure how OK he was, but he was alive, and that would do for now. “Thanks for the assist.”
“Anytime.” White was checking Paine’s arm. As a private, he didn’t have access to his friend’s med system monitors through his display, but he could check the readouts on the outside of Paine’s suit. “Maybe think about ducking next time, alright?” He chuckled softly, trying to keep up Paine’s spirits.
“Yeah.” Paine’s voice was getting a little stronger. The suit had the bleeding under control, and it was starting to give him a small dose of stims. “I never thought of that.”
“You’re gonna be fine, Tony.” White’s head was moving back and forth between the monitors and Paine’s arm. “You fucked your shoulder up pretty good, pal, but it’s nothing the docs can’t fix.”
Paine twisted his body up into a seated position. “We’re a long way from any docs, Reg.” He straightened up. He was feeling more alert, and his arm was only numb, mildly distracting, but nothing he couldn’t handle. It was all drug-induced illusion; he knew that. But it was good enough for now. “We can’t stay behind this hill, so help me up, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
White reached down, supporting Paine’s left side as he staggered to his feet. “The only place you’re going is the field hosp...”
“Bullshit.” Paine interrupted. “You’d never come off the line with a bum arm, and I’m not gonna either. You might have to help me with the reloading, but I can still haul this magazine around.”
White opened his mouth to argue, but he changed his mind. Paine was right…the army was fighting for its life, and it needed the best everyone could give. “Alright, man.” He tapped Paine’s armor on the back. “You’re a better soldier than I thought.” He smiled to himself, but it quickly slipped off his lips. “Now let’s get the hell outta here.”
Tyler stood staring at the main display, his cold eyes focused, unmoving. The underground bunker was a lot smaller than the main HQ, and the command staff was cramped and uncomfortable. They had been at battlestations for days, and the room reeked of sweat and stale air. The trash receptacles were overflowing with discarded packaging from combat ration packs.
Columbia’s absolute ruler had been silent, reluctant, not wanting to issue the orders to complete the evacuation of the capital. He made sure to project nothing but utter certainty and relentless strength for the benefit of his staff but, in truth, he was conflicted and uncertain.
Should he pull his forces back? Conventional wisdom said yes. He was outnumbered and outgunned, and his troops were catching hell. If he pulled back and played for time, he could ease some of the pressure they were under.
But that’s a fool’s game, he thought…what’s the point of buying a few more weeks if the outcome is the same? No…if he retreated, his army wouldn’t find a better position. His people would be relentlessly pursued and defeated piecemeal. And that was something he wasn’t going to allow.
“Sir, Eastern Brigade is falling back to defensive positions on the outskirts of Weston.” Stillson’s voice pulled him from his dark thoughts. He was proud of her…she was holding up well. Like everyone else in HQ, she was exhausted and strung out on stims, but she still managed to sound sharp and crisp. “Colonel Vernon reports heavy casualties.”
“Very well, lieutenant.” Tyler’s voice was soft, distracted. “Vernon is to deploy on the perimeter of the city.” He paused. “His orders are to hold at all costs.”
Stillson hesitated. “Yes…sir.” She’d expected Tyler to order Weston evacuated. The civilian population had been mostly withdrawn already, but the army was dug in everywhere. It seem
ed pointless to her. She didn’t see how they had a chance to hold the capital, and a protracted house to house fight would only destroy the twice rebuilt city.”
“I want the civilian evacuation completed at once. No more bullshit.” Most of the inhabitants were already gone, but some diehards had refused to leave, and Tyler was out of patience. “Anyone puts up a fight, Major Rentz’ people are to hit them with stun blasts and carry them to the transports. He is to be done in an hour…and I mean every civilian gone...I don’t care if he has to start shooting people.” He paused to add emphasis, though no one who heard him doubted the sincerity of his words. “Then he is to position his regiment in support of Colonel Vernon’s defensive line and act as a general reserve.” He looked over at Stillson, his eyes glaring. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” She didn’t hesitate again.
He had decided. He was going to fight it out in the capital. His army would stand here…until the bitter end. The war would be decided in and around Weston. If defeat was the fate of his forces, it would happen here, not along some miserable line of retreat. If victory was not to be his, the city itself would be his army’s pyre. Either that or…
“Put Captain Crillon’s force on alert. Code Black.” His eyes were still boring into hers. “Get him on my line. Now.”
Stillson swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.” Her hand was shaking as she worked the com station, connecting to the army’s nuclear artillery commander.
Jack Worth didn’t move…he hadn’t budged, hadn’t twitched, for over an hour. The rest of the brigade had bugged out…as far as he could tell, they were dug in along the perimeter of Weston City. But Worth was hunting, and nothing would interfere with that. He’d find a way, some way, to get back to the brigade when he was done, but first he was going to take down his target. However long it took.
The MZ-40 sniper’s rifle was the ultimate tool of the surgeon of the battlefield. Auto-cannons and rocket launchers were outstanding tools for mass killing, dealing out indiscriminate death, but the MZ-40 was a more elegant weapon. Almost half again as long as an assault rifle, the slender-barreled MZ-40 was the bane of senior officers and crucial specialists. In the hands of a skilled sniper, the AI-assisted weapon could take out a target up to 8 klicks distant. And Worth was one of the best.
He’d been stalking his prey for two days. He was a regimental commander at least, and possibly a brigadier. It was hard to tell without knowing the enemy’s organizational structure. Either way, he was a choice target, and taking him out was likely to disrupt the enemy’s operations more effectively than killing a hundred privates would.
Patience, he reminded himself. Worth had been a Marine, and his mentor there had been a veteran sniper with ten years’ experience. Patience. It was what he pounded into Worth’s head, over and over. Not marksmanship, not fancy rifles. Patience. Take the time to select your target. Learn his habits…choose your spot. Plan your effort well…then wait. For as long as it took.
Worth had taken the training to heart. The target was the highest ranking officer he’d been able to identify, and he’d watched his routine for two days. The marked officer inspected this unit every day, and when he did he was visible from here.
Worth was in place, hidden, half-buried in the soft clay behind a pile of boulders. He hadn’t fired…shooting now would give away his location. He hadn’t even moved. He just waited. It’s almost time, he thought. The target should be here soon.
He saw the motion, a small cluster of armored figures approaching. His visor was on Mag 8, and he had a crisp view of them despite his location almost two klicks away. He stared, looking at each figure in turn, trying to identify his target. It was hard to distinguish ranks in powered armor, and officers did nothing to make it any easier. Most armies forbade saluting on the battlefield, and officers’ armor was indistinguishable from the suits worn by enlisted personnel. Officer rigs were more sophisticated, with enhanced AIs and communications, but they were identical outside. Anything else would have been a death sentence when facing veteran adversaries.
That’s him, Worth thought suddenly. It was a combination of factors…where he stood, how he was gesturing. It was a guess, but it was the best he had. His eyes squinted, lining up the shot. He had the AI set to compensate for the wind, so he was taking a straight shot. Powered armor could do wonders to save a wounded soldier. He needed a dead center headshot to be sure of a kill.
The target moved suddenly. His head turned, and he was looking at something to the rear. He was pointing, probably chewing someone out on his com. Worth was even more certain this was his man.
His finger tensed on the trigger, just like he was trained. Slow, steady pressure, barely enough to overcome the resistance, then…Crack!
The hyper-velocity round cleared the distance to the target almost instantly. Worth saw his victim’s head explode into a shower of shattered metal and red mist. “That’s a fucking kill.” He hissed under his breath, as he popped off another dozen shots into the group. It was time to get away, and he had a better chance if they all had their heads down.
Jed Lucas watched the two blips on his tactical display. Paine and White, he thought…last again. Reg White was the biggest pain in the ass he knew, and he spent half his time wishing the discipline problem was someone else’s. Then he looked at the kill numbers, and he remembered the cantankerous soldier was a virtuoso with that auto-cannon. He handled it like it was part of his body, and he’d taken down so many of the enemy, their advances were breaking around his strongpoint, trying to avoid the withering fire. For the last day they’d been trying to get him with mortars, but he picked well-protected positions and moved around often. The son of a bitch was driving them crazy…even more than he did Lucas.
Lucas’ people had been in the center of the line since the landing. Casualties had been high, but General Tyler kept feeding him reinforcements. Fewer than half the people he’d started with remained in action, but he was still at full strength. How long the general could keep finding reserves was another question, one Lucas wasn’t going to think about now.
They were back on the outskirts of Weston digging in. They had constructed fallback positions here when the enemy first entered the system. They’d hoped to keep the fighting farther from the beleaguered capital, but the enemy was too strong. He’d have sworn he and his people were fighting Marines, but he wouldn’t let himself believe these attackers had anything to do with the Corps. He’d been in the line with the rebel forces seven years before, when General Jax and a group of volunteer Marines landed on Columbia. He didn’t have a doubt the rebellion would have collapsed without that aid and, as far as he was concerned, the Marines were nothing short of heroes.
He wasn’t sure all his soldiers felt that way, though. There were whisperings and conspiracy theories making their ways through the ranks. The invaders wore Marine armor and came down in Marine landing craft. They maneuvered like Marines…they fought like Marines. He understood why his troopers had doubts…but he also knew he’d put down the first son of a bitch who had the balls to talk shit about the Marines in his presence.
The rest of his people were already in their positions, and White and Paine looked like they were going to make it back, despite waiting until well past the recall signal to break off. Maybe that slug in Paine’s arm would teach the two of them a lesson. Probably not, he thought…but there’s always hope. He’d considered ordering Paine off the line, but if the corporal thought he could stay, so be it. Lucas couldn’t afford to disrupt his most effective pair of killers.
The icons on the display were heavier on the left side of the line. Paine and White were on the extreme right, and Lucas was betting the enemy would come hard on the left. They’d taken out both auto-cannon teams on that flank and shot up the squads there pretty badly. But they’d have a surprise waiting. Tyler had sent up two new heavy auto-cannons from the reserve, and Lucas had deployed them together on the left. One thing he knew for sure…if the enemy came at that end of
the line they’d run into one hell of a shitstorm. And if they came on the other flank they’d have to deal with Reg White.
Chapter 14
Warehouse 27 - Tang-Tze Imports
Shanghai Industrial Zone
Central Asian Combine
Earth, Sol III
“I want to thank you for coming, Mr. Vance.” Li An’s voice was frail.
Vance had been shocked to see how much weaker she was than the last time they met. That was only a few years ago, he thought, surprised to find himself feeling a touch of sadness. Li An had been an adversary more than a friend, but he couldn’t help but have an odd sort of respect for her. “It’s the least I could do, Minister Li.” Vance offered her a smile. “After all, you did come to me last time.”
She led him around a large stack of shipping boxes. There was a small portable table set up, with two folding chairs and a single lamp. The warehouse was immense, but it was dark and completely silent. Vance had told Li they needed to meet in complete privacy and secrecy. Looking around, he was confident she’d taken his requests seriously.
“Yes, Mr. Vance. It was a pleasure visiting Mars again. I was there several times in my youth, and the development that has occurred since that time is nothing short of remarkable.” She paused for a few seconds. “While our nations have their philosophical differences, I must confess that the Confederation has become something of an economic powerhouse. Your people are to be commended for their industry.”
“You are welcome anytime, Minister. Perhaps next time there will be less need for secrecy, and you can enjoy our amenities.”
A fragile smile crept onto her thin lips. “I’m afraid I have seen my last of your fascinating world, Mr. Vance. Time marches on for all of us, and for me it has gone most of its way.” Li An’s age was one of the great mysteries of the intelligence community. There were a dozen commonly circulated guesses…all of them wrong…and all lower than the actual figure.
