Heaven's Devils si-1

by William C. Dietz

  Having arrived in front of the building, Feek pulled the door open, pounded up a flight of stairs, and went looking for Raynor. Because even though Tychus was bigger and had more stripes on his arms, Raynor was generally the man with a plan. And given the kind of trouble Zander and Ward had gotten themselves into, it was going to take one helluva plan to get them out.

  Raynor was dreaming a good dream when someone shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes, saw Feek, and closed them again. “Go away… . We have two days off and I plan to spend both of them in bed.”

  “You can’t,” Feek insisted. “Zander and Ward are in trouble. You need to get them out.”

  Raynor swore, sat up, and swung his feet over onto the cold floor. It was early, and the entire platoon had the weekend off, so just about everyone was still in bed. Except for Zander and Ward, that is. Their racks were empty and neat enough to pass an inspection. Raynor yawned. “Where are they? In the brig?”

  “No,” Feek replied urgently. “They’re almost twenty miles northwest of here, unless the bandits took them somewhere else, and I wouldn’t know—”

  “Wait—bandits?” Raynor demanded incredulously, suddenly alert. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It all started a couple of weeks ago,” Feek explained patiently. “Suddenly Zander had lots of money. I asked him where it came from, but he wouldn’t say.”

  Raynor knew the source but saw no reason to explain. He trusted Feek, but the fewer people who knew about the theft the better. “So?” he asked. “Where do the bandits come in?”

  “Zander bought a lot of food with the money and hired a truck,” Feek responded.

  Raynor groaned and held up a hand. “Don’t tell me… . Let me guess. He loaded the food onto the truck and headed for some refugee camp or other.”

  “That’s right,” Feek agreed. “Ward and I agreed to go with him and provide security in return for a couple of beers. But somewhere along the line word of the shipment must have leaked out— because we were only about halfway there when we ran into a Confederate checkpoint—”

  “—except it wasn’t a Confederate checkpoint,” Raynor finished for him. “It was a roadblock put in place by the bandits.”

  “Right again,” Feek conceded. “So they took all of the food, plus Zander and Ward. I managed to slip away.” He indicated his small stature. “I had to hitchhike back—but I came as quickly as I could.”

  Raynor felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. “Thanks, Hiram.” He rubbed his eyes and held his hand there for a few seconds, deep in thought. Finally he lifted his head. “Okay, roust Harnack, Kydd, and Doc. But don’t bother the rest of the platoon. Understood?”

  Feek nodded. “What about Tychus?”

  “I’ll take care of Tychus.”

  “How?” Feek asked. “I mean, no offense, Jim,” he added, “but Tychus isn’t known for random acts of philanthropy.”

  “These people are bandits, right? So they have loot,” Raynor responded. “That’ll get his attention. Plus, don’t underestimate Tychus. He may look hard—but he has a heart of gold.”

  When Feek smiled, his mustache went up and sideways at the same time. “And a liver of gold, lungs of gold, and kidneys of gold,” he responded.

  Raynor forced a chuckle. “Yeah, something like that… .” He patted Feek on the shoulder approvingly. “We’re going to need a vehicle.”

  Feek nodded. He had the truck that was used to ferry the Thunderstrike armor around and run errands. “I’ll supply that.”

  “Good,” Raynor said. “It’s nice to know that we won’t have to steal one.”

  The better part of an hour was required to get everyone up and off base where Feek was waiting to pick them up. The civilian was driving, Doc was riding shotgun, and Tychus, Raynor, Harnack, and Kydd were sitting in the back of the truck, sorting through the weapons that Feek had hidden there prior to leaving base. They had absolutely no idea where their friends were being held. But Raynor had a plan.

  The single cargo light was on, but most of the illumination was coming in through the open roof vent. “This is farm country for the most part,” Raynor said, shifting position so Harnack, Kydd, and Tychus could see him, “and I know something about farming. This area might look empty, like nobody’s around, but believe me, there are eyes everywhere. So the locals know where the bandits are, and are either afraid of reprisals, or related to them! So they aren’t going to talk. Not to the authorities, anyway. But if we can find the right person and make it worth their while, we might get a lead.”

  “Or we could take someone aside, kick his ass, and choke the location out of him,” Harnack suggested hopefully.

  “We’ll use that as the backup plan,” Raynor replied agreeably. “I told Feek to stop in a little town called Finner’s Crossing. Odds are they have a pub there—that seems like a good place to start.”

  “And have a beer,” Tychus put in. The truth was that he figured both Zander and Ward were dead. But he wasn’t about to say that to Raynor, especially in light of Omer’s recent death. Plus, it was to his benefit to hold the squad together. “A few brews and this trip will actually seem worthwhile.”

  “Ignore Sergeant Sunshine,” Raynor advised as he shifted his gaze from Harnack to Kydd. “Kidnappings have been common around here ever since the wars started and the economy tanked. Some people will make money any way they can. Odds are the bandits are hoping that someone will come along and pay a price for our friends.”

  “Our idiots is more like it,” Tychus said sourly. “You give them more money than any private has a right to and what do they do with it? They buy food and then give it away! Now that’s stupid.”

  “Getting kidnapped sucks,” Kydd mused aloud. “Look where it got me: I got drugged by some hooker and now I’m stuck with you jerk weeds for God knows how long.”

  A palpable silence filled the truck as everyone turned to look at the blank-faced sniper. Several seconds passed before Kydd erupted into boisterous laughter, and the rest of the crew followed suit.

  Tychus shook his head in wonderment. “Look at Kydd, talkin’ like he’s one of us grunts and not some frou frou Old Family prick. The military’s done you good, boy.”

  The small door that provided access to the cargo compartment from the cab was open, so Doc had been able to listen in. And she knew that if her squad mates had large sums of money there had to be a reason. That was the sort of information Vanderspool would want to know about.

  It was too early in the day for a dose of crab, especially if some sort of fight was in the offing, but the stimpack was legal, and would help tide her over. The device made a gentle hissing sound as she pressed it against the back of her neck.

  NEAR THE TOWN OF FINNER’S CROSSING, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II

  Finner’s Crossing was five miles short of the spot where the food shipment had been hijacked. Rather than roll into the center of town where the vehicle would almost certainly attract attention, Raynor told Feek to park on the outskirts of the community next to a fueling station.

  Then, after a good deal of argument from Harnack, it was agreed that Raynor and Tychus would walk into town while the rest stayed back to guard the truck. “We’ll bring you something to eat,” Raynor promised. “And remember, two of you should be awake at all times. That includes you, Hank.”

  That request provoked more complaints, and Raynor was in the process of explaining why his instructions were necessary when Tychus cut the conversation short by slamming the door and walking away.

  The main road led the men past simple, wood frame houses that were equipped with solar-collecting roof tiles and satellite dishes. The dishes weren’t operational, of course, not since the battles in space had begun, but might become functional again someday.

  “Here’s what we’re fighting for,” Raynor observed. “Neighborhoods like this one.”

  Tychus directed a sidelong glance his way. “You’re kidding, right? We’re not fighting for the people who
live in these houses, we’re fighting for the people who run the government, and believe me, there’s a big difference.”

  They passed a few isolated stores and came across what was obviously the town’s main street. It was a sad-looking affair that consisted of oneand two-story commercial buildings, many of which were in desperate need of paint. “No, these people are the problem,” Tychus continued, “because they choose to believe all the lies, and allow themselves to be victimized.”

  Raynor frowned. “Maybe some of them are like that—but plenty aren’t. Take my parents. They know the government isn’t perfect, but what’s the alternative? The Kel-Morians? I don’t think so.”

  “Nor do I,” Tychus replied, peering left, then right, down the street. “Which is why I want to put a shitload of money aside, find a comfortable hole, and crawl inside. Which way?”

  “I’m guessing left,” Raynor replied.

  “Left it is,” Tychus replied, and turned in that direction.

  They walked half a block before Tychus broke the silence. “What a dump.”

  Raynor, who still felt homesick from time to time, frowned. “Spoken like someone from a big city,” he said neutrally.

  “No,” Tychus replied. “Spoken like someone from a crummy little nowhere dump. A place where truckers stopped to take a leak, where the smartest person in town was the waitress in Pappy’s Café, and each day felt like it was a year long.”

  As they approached Hurley’s Bar, Raynor realized that these were the only details Tychus had ever shared about his past. They’d gotten closer, but Raynor felt as though he knew nothing about Tychus. He wondered if he’d ever really know him, or whether it even mattered.

  The tavern was housed in a low one-story building with plenty of empty parking places out front. Once inside, Raynor found himself in an atmosphere so familiar he might have been back home. A bar backed by what was clearly a kitchen occupied one corner of the large space. A row of sturdy posts supported the low, smoke-stained ceiling, and four-person booths lined the outer walls. A man who might have been a truck driver was seated at one of the mismatched tables at the center of the room, the bartender was drying glasses, and an elderly dog came out to greet them.

  Raynor paused to give the animal a pat on the head before following Tychus over to the bar. The man standing behind it had a shaved head, bushy eyebrows, and the fist-flattened nose of an amateur prize fighter. Pictures of him could be seen here and there on the walls. Most were of him standing in some ring or other, bloodied fists raised in victory. Hurley perhaps? Yes, Raynor thought so.

  The proprietor ran an eye over Tychus as if sizing him up before nodding politely. “Good afternoon, gents. What’ll it be?”

  “A couple of beers,” Tychus responded.

  “Coming up,” the bartender replied, as he removed two mugs from the shelf over his head. “Would you like anything else? Something to eat, maybe?”

  “Yes, we would,” Raynor replied genially. “We’ll take a look at your menu in a minute… . But first maybe you can help us out with some information. Some friends of ours were passing through the area recently, and they haven’t come back. We’d like to find them. Any idea of who we might talk to? Or where we could look?”

  Raynor saw the man’s eyes cloud over as some suds ran down the side of the second mug. “Sorry to hear about your friends, mister… . But these are troubled times. People shouldn’t travel at night. That’ll be five credits.”

  “I didn’t say they were traveling at night,” Raynor said evenly, as he slipped some coins into the other man’s hand. “But they were. We aren’t asking you to name names. We’re justtoday announced an exciting new looking for some information, that’s all. Keep the change.”

  Hurley opened his hand to see two large coins. “Why don’t you gents have a seat at one of the tables?” the proprietor suggested. “I’ll bring a menu.”

  “How expensive was my beer?” Tychus asked as they went to sit down.

  “Fifty credits,” Raynor replied.

  “That makes a hundred altogether,” Tychus observed. “These beers had better be good. Sucker.”

  Raynor and Tychus ordered enough food to feed themselves, Doc, Kydd, Harnack, and Feek. Then, with take-out bags in hand, they left. It wasn’t until they were back in the truck, passing out thick sandwiches, that Raynor found the hand-drawn map. He grinned and gave it to Tychus. “Don’t spill anything on my hundred-credit map… . How’s your lunch?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Confederate sources today announced an exciting new plan that would allow UNN reporters onto actual military bases to observe the course of the war. This should silence many of the critics who have dubbed the Kel-Morian engagement ‘the Quiet War’ due to the Confederacy’s hand in limiting media exposure. As one of the journalists selected for this opportunity, I’m very excited to get into the action and document the bravery of our soldiers. My security monitoring detail has assured me that it will be as unobtrusive as possible.”

  Max Speer, Evening Report for UNN November 2488

  The hand-dug pit was located in the middle of the barn, where it wouldn’t be spotted from the air, and was sheltered from both sun and rain. Silas Trask, the man who made decisions for the gang, called it “the tank.” As in “storage tank,” because that was where he kept the women he doled out to his men, and captives that someone might be willing to pay for.

  Half a dozen people occupied the miserable hole at the moment. That included the soldiers, who had been held for nearly two days, an elderly couple, and two terrified teenage girls—both of whom were slated to serve as entertainment the next time the bandits decided to party.

  All of them stood in six inches of muddy ground water and stared upward as a bright light appeared over their heads. “Hey, you two scumbags,” a male voice called out, “you’re up.”

  There was a splash as a ladder came sliding down to hit the bottom of the tank. Zander went up first, closely followed by Ward, as the other captives watched from below. It was hard to know what to hope for. The tank was horrible—but so were the men above. And once summoned there was no way to know what would happen to them next. Some people were returned to the tank and some were never seen again. Were they free, having been ransomed? Or were they dead? Zander prayed under his breath.

  Heavily armed bandits were waiting. One of them pushed Zander toward the tractor-size door. The soldier could see that it was evening. “Get moving,” the man said, and pushed again.

  As he stumbled forward, Zander’s eyes darted from side to side, searching for anything that might help. He was shorter than his captors, but he was strong, and all he needed was some sort of weapon. A shovel, a pitchfork, anything would do. But nothing of the sort was within reach as the two men were pushed, shoved, and kicked into the barnyard beyond. Two of the planet’s moons were still up and arcing across the velvety blue sky.

  The soldiers were marched across an open area to a modest farmhouse that was lit from within. That was something of a surprise to Zander, since he would have expected the bandits to black it out, but maybe they wanted the place to look normal.

  Three wooden steps led up to the front door. It was already open and gave access to a brightly lit but mostly empty interior. Part of the ceiling had been damaged by a leaky roof, which explained why the bandits were living in the vehicle shed instead.

  Trask, a dark-haired man with flashing white teeth and a taste for gaudy, clearly stolen jewelry, stood waiting for them. He scowled as the captives entered the room. “Look at that! Muddy footprints on my clean floor… . Have you no manners?”

  Zander rolled his eyes and glanced over at Ward, who was quietly looking at his feet. Zander turned back toward Trask just in time to receive a swift knee to the groin. He doubled over, groaning, but was pulled back to a standing position by the thugs. “No, I guess you don’t.” Trask said patronizingly. “Please, gentlemen, have a seat.”

  Trask indicated two chairs that were positioned in
the middle of the brightly lit living room, which, thanks to the shattered windows, was open to the outside. Zander didn’t want to comply, not if Trask wanted him to, but was forced to step forward when a gun barrel jabbed him from behind. Ward was equally recalcitrant, but submitted with less of a struggle because he could see the odds were stacked against them. He was far from cowed, however, as was apparent from both his facial expression, and the set of his shoulders.

  The chairs were positioned directly in front of the windows and securely fastened to the floor. Trask came around to stand directly in front of the two men as they were tied in place. “You want to hear something funny?” he inquired cheerfully. “Two men came looking for you! It appears your stupidity is contagious. They paid one hundred credits for a map that will lead them here. That means they have money. My money. Or it will be soon.” And with that Trask chuckled contentedly as he and his men left the house.

  “The bastard is using us for bait,” Ward rumbled. “When the guys move in on the house they’ll run into an ambush.”

  “Yeah,” Zander said thoughtfully. “That’s the plan anyway, but our buddies aren’t stupid.”

  “Jim isn’t,” Ward agreed soberly, “but what about Tychus and Hank? They’ll just come barreling in here without a second thought.”

  “Or a first.” Both men let out a chuckle, which faded into contemplative silence.

  “I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” Zander said regretfully.

  Ward shrugged. “It don’t make much difference, Max. I’m not afraid to die.”

  “I just … I feel terrible is all. This was my idea and I screwed up. If we would’ve made it, we could’ve helped so many people, but … I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”

  “Max, I’m ready anytime. Those Kel-Morian bastards killed my entire family—and I’ve been waitin’ to get up there with my wife and kids. Only thing is, I was plannin’ on taking a lot more of those sons of bitches with me. A lot more.” He paused. “It’s bad enough to see a soldier cut down by flying shrapnel. But when it’s your daughter, and she bleeds out in your arms, you can’t forget. That’s what I see when I close my eyes, Max… . I see Dara looking up at me with those big brown eyes. ‘Am I going to be okay, Daddy?’ That’s what she asked me, and I said, ‘yes.’ So that’s why I want to live for a while longer. So I can kill as many of those murderers as I can.”