“Bruin Command Actual to Polar Alpha Three. Corporal Wicza, do you copy?” Bjorn remembered taking on Charlotte Wicza as a cadre merc-in-training just before starting the garrison assignment. She had been passed over by other merc companies because of her diminutive stature. They would have taken her in logistics; her mental and educational results on her VOWS had been top notch. But she wanted to be in the fighting forces. Even though her size had handicapped her, she still passed the physical portions of the VOWS with flying colors. Bjorn saw a fierceness behind her eyes and had given her a spot in his training cadre. He hoped his intuition was about to pay off.
“Wicza here, Commander. We’ve lost Sergeant Taylor, falling back to…grid 1-Hotel-5.” While her voice sounded urgent, it wasn’t panicked, despite the losses her unit had suffered and the enemy forces pushing them back. In the background he could hear the buzzsaw whine of a squad support MAC.
“Bruin Command Actual to Polar Alpha Two and Polar Alpha Four, form up with Three, fall back to 1-Golf-6. Wicza is in charge.” Channels switched again to isolate Corporal Wicza’s comm. “Wicza, I need you to take those squads and hold that fallback position. You’ll have reinforcements hitting the beach in four minutes. Can you do that?”
“Yes commander! We’ll hold those fucking crabs or see you in Valhalla.” She punctuated her response with her grenade launcher.
“Praise fucking Thor!” Combined, those units were two squads’ worth of troops. If they folded, the crabs would surge through into the city blocks behind them, mostly estates for the well-off. Bjorn switched channels again. “Hawkins, send Bravo to harass the beach flank closest to us, see if they can pull off some of those crabs rushing the promenade.” In the battlespace he called up the topographic map and a flight plan implementing program.
“Commander, there are several enemy units equipped with anti-aircraft ordnance in the target formation, especially between here and enemy unit designated QB.” Bettie highlighted the projected fire envelopes of the enemy ack-ack. “Operational losses predicted at 25% before you reach your objective.”
“That’s why we’re not going to fly to them.” He adjusted the flight plan to adhere as closely to the sand as possible, then let Bettie parse it to the units involved. “Bruin Alpha, who’s ready to crack some crab?”
A roar greeted him back over the comms as the flight plans uploaded to the CASPers.
“On my mark…cannonball!” Two dozen CASPers arced upward on jump jets, then rolled forward and torpedoed into the sea. The three-minute dive took ten times as much jump juice as flight; their curving path brought them bursting from the waves among the rear elements of the crabs. Steam rolled off the CASPers’ red-hot jump nozzles as they splashed through the knee-deep water.
Xiq’tal troopers were bowled over as the CASPer troopers slammed into them, and the thinner carapaces of their bellies were exposed to armor-piercing magnetic cannon fire. A ripple went through the aliens’ formation, accompanied by hisses and clicks as they realized there was a threat within their ranks, and their forward momentum was arrested. On cue, half the CASPers jumped again. The disarray created by Alpha Company’s arrival bought them the few extra seconds needed to reach the promenade before the Xiq’tal anti-air weapons could get a lock on them.
Bjorn charged straight for his objective, the king crab. The huge alien was the size of a rumbler and deceptively fast. Kind of like himself, Bjorn mused as he jumped and brought his armored feet down on the crab’s back. The dark grey carapace shuddered under the impact and shifted. As he slid off the shell, he grabbed the battle axe in his armor’s left hand, the double blade twenty kilograms of mono-carbide-edged poly-steel. He swung, the servos in the augmented left arm whining to keep up with the demand. The weapon bit deep into the armor of one of the crab’s legs, lodged not quite to the halfway mark.
A squealing hiss sounded as the king crab spun, lashing out with the smaller of its fighting claws. Bjorn rolled back, barely evading the appendage as it flashed by his face. Landing on his feet, Bjorn brought his MAC to bear, unleashing a burst. The larger of the claws came up as a shield, the high-velocity rounds pock-marking the chitin but not punching through. Bjorn tried to target his anti-vehicle missile, a tank-busting shaped-charge round, only to have his laser-guided targeting system flip him off. The same refractive property of the chitin that made lasers less effective also made laser-targeting almost useless.
Bjorn switched to computer-optical targeting, less precise but better than eyeballing it. His onboard computer acquired the target’s silhouette and would try to guide the missile based solely on video input. Just as he gave to command to fire, another Xiq’tal tackled him, sending the shot too far astray for the missile’s guidance to correct in time. As it streaked over the king crab, the computer picked out another Xiq’tal farther down range. The missile struck it between the optical canopies, the result was overkill as a jet of super-heated metal blew through the alien’s upper carapace and out its underside.
Bjorn ripped the new assailant off as it tried to latch onto his right arm. It splashed into the water legs up, exposing its pale underside and constantly-chewing mouth plates. Even as he put a burst into it, another Xiq’tal lunged at him. Bjorn brought his huge armored left fist down in a hammer strike, shattering one of the alien’s optical canopies, and driving it into the sand. The exposed triple-eye stalk tried to retreat deeper into the shell. A three-round burst took the fight out of that crab.
Around him, First and Second Squads were laying waste to the Xiq’tal. A quick check of the battlespace showed a fight was raging where he’d ordered Wicza to hold, but it looked like they were holding as Third Squad pushed toward that position. Fourth Squad was holding the promenade, punishing any aliens foolish enough not to fall back to the sea.
A shadow alerted Bjorn, and he dove aside as one of the king crab’s fighting claws snapped at his right arm; the crabs knew which of the CASPer’s arms had the cannon. A volley from the accelerator cannon brought the shield claw up. Again, no significant damage, but it gave Bjorn the opportunity to dart in and wrest his axe from the injured leg. He fought to keep from falling backwards when the axe finally popped loose, and he activated the magnetic grip in his gauntlet to keep the weapon from flying from his grasp.
The smaller fighting claw snapped in again, only to be batted away. A cannon burst shredded a leg joint too far out for the shield claw to cover, blue blood leaking down the damaged limb. Another intruder in the fray had its shield claw sheared off by the axe. Bjorn pivoted to keep the king crab from capitalizing on the distraction, a volley of cannon shots glanced off its upper carapace while the giant Xiq’tal peppered him with several flechette volleys. More powerful than the weapons used by the smaller aliens, Bjorn felt a stab of pain as one of the spikes punched through the armor at his knee.
Bjorn felt multiple impacts from behind. One of his jump jet indicators flagged red, as did the targeting actuator for his missile launcher. Pain from his hip, accompanied by a servo warning, told him where a third projectile had gotten through. Bjorn’s rear camera showed one of the crabs bearing an anti-air weapon kneeling in the sand, tilting its carapace forward so the long biomechanical weapon pointed at him, but another CASPer splashed into view, grabbed the weapon by the barrel and wrenched it loose.
Free to deal with the king crab, Bjorn circled his opponent, ignoring the pain that accompanied each step. A feint with the cannon followed by a swing paid off; the second strike carved enough carapace away that the leg could no longer support the king crab’s weight. Another Xiq’tal jumped Bjorn from behind, knocking him forward as it grabbed for his arms with its fighting claws.
Bjorn triggered his remaining jump jets, bowling the pair of them into the king crab. The smaller alien was knocked loose by the impact; the bigger crab listed as both ravaged legs snapped like rotten timber. Bjorn glanced up and saw the grinding plates that formed the king crab’s mouth; they looked like an organic wood chipper. Through his pinplants he s
ent a flurry of commands.
//Magnetic grip off// The battle axe fell into the surf.
//Missile launcher, eject round//
//Magnetic grip on// The jettisoned missile snapped into his open gauntlet.
//Left arm assembly: servo governors disengage//
//Left arm assembly: servos 200% power//
Clutching the round, with a Viking battle cry he punched his armored left fist into the king crab’s mouth.
Three more commands.
//Missile warhead arm//
//Self: left arm disengage neural feedback//
//Missile warhead detonate//
The shaped-charge went off inside the alien leader. A gout of hemocyanin blood and chitinous shards erupted from its mouth as one of its optical canopies exploded upwards. A smoking spider web of cracks appeared where the upper carapace bulged outwards then blew open. The king crab slumped backwards, limp.
Alaska, Then
“Come on son, your bionic arm is better, three times stronger than the original.”
Bjorn glowered, flexing his new cybernetic hand. “It also disqualifies me from ever playing football.”
“Look, it’s not like there was a choice. Your arm was too fucked up to save, even with nanites. Having a gimped arm would have flushed your chances of playing ball.”
Bjorn glared at him silently.
“What, you think I got that bear to rip your arm to shreds just so you couldn’t go to school? Son, this is a shit sandwich, but it’s all there is for dinner. Someday you’ll see.”
Bjorn clenched his new left fist.
Now
Bjorn ripped the stump of his armor’s left arm from the corpse, blasting the crab that had jumped him as it tried to regain its footing. Nanites were already staunching the bleeding from the shredded epidermis on his now exposed cyber-hand. He spotted the hilt of his axe and snatched it up in his right hand. The shallows and beach were littered with the handiwork of his company. His squad had pushed up onto the beach while the rest were dealing with the dwindling attackers still in the water. A few crabs made for the cliffs only to be picked off.
“Which of you fucks is surf and turf next?” Bjorn bellowed through his suit speakers. Another ripple passed through the remaining aliens, accompanied by hisses that sounded as much like a steam-powered telegraph as anything else. Beginning with the crabs closest to him, they sank to the sand, folding their legs up in a show of submission and surrender. He turned on the closest capitulator, stomping through the waves towards it, brandishing the axe. “Don’t you fucking surrender! I’m good and pissed and ready to chop the fuck out of you blue-blooded pieces of shit!”
Reports rolled in through battlespace and the comms that the crabs were submitting. Bjorn focused past his seething blood, but still kept an eye on the nearby Xiq’tal. It looked like the crabs had done the math, especially with their big boss off the board. “Wicza, sitrep.”
There was a pause. Battlespace status showed half her troops were wounded or dead, but the crabs hadn’t gotten past the chokepoint where she had taken a stand. “Wicza here, commander. Looks like Valhalla will have to wait.”
“Damn fine work soldier. Bruin Command Actual to all points. The Xiq’tal have shown their belly. Find their talkers, corral them to holding areas pending ransom proceedings. If a crab so much as looks at you funny, put it down.” Per guild rules, the surrendering mercenaries would be ransomed back to their unit, or barring that, their home world. As much as Bjorn wanted to murder every one of the chitinous bastards, that’s not how smart mercs conducted war. If you murdered surrendering troops, you could expect no quarter yourself. He reached awkwardly to snap his axe back in its holster.
* * *
Tio Ramon’s hadn’t been affected by the incursion, as the closest invader had been stopped ten blocks away. Looking out at the street, you couldn’t tell a voracious mob of aliens had been unleashed on the planet less than a week ago. When Bjorn first returned, Talita had been waiting for him, jumping up and forcing him to catch her while she kissed him. While Bjorn recovered from his surprise, Talita inspected the replaced left hand, the bio-printed epidermis still soft and pink. It was obvious she’d heard that his hand had been blown off from his troops that frequented the bar. He hadn’t been to the bar since the battle, waiting for the replacement hand to be fabricated, installed, and reskinned.
After that, it was back to banter and beer, though it seemed Talita fussed about Bjorn more than usual. Bjorn had plenty of time to spend in the bar; the combat clause of the garrison contract had been activated, meaning that the H’rang were on the hook for material expenditures and a portion of the replacement costs. That meant more paperwork for Bjorn to fill out, even if it was all electronic.
One of Bjorn’s slates held the butcher’s bill, the personnel and assets lost in the battle with the Xiq’tal. If there was a part of his job he dreaded, it was going through the casualties. He knew it was the same for every mercenary commander, but he felt it more keenly after Moloq. He scanned through the list, 27 dead, another 13 permanently disabled, another 105 still recovering in trauma treatment, most of those from acid burns.
He scanned down the list until he found the name he was looking for, Charlotte Wicza. Injured but expected to make a full recovery within two weeks. He’d have to do something for Corporal Wicza to reward her valor and determination. He made a mental note to talk to Hek and Vek.
“See Papi Bear, you need to stay and protect us!” Talita threw her arms around his neck.
“Princess, I would like nothing better than to sit here and let you bring me cold beer.” Bjorn picked up his business slate. “But the H’rang are offering us a fat assault contract to go and kick the Masheen in the balls, all four of them, for sending the crabs here.”
“Then I will go with you.”
Bjorn chuckled. While camp followers weren’t unheard of for merc officers, especially commanders, he would have trouble justifying bringing along a personal cervajadora, especially one that wasn’t warming his bunk. For a split second, he considered introducing Talita to Corporal Wicza. From what he understood, they played for the same team.
“Princess, if I take this contract, we’ll be bouncing back to Earth to get ready for the new mission.” Bjorn held up the business slate. “As much as I’ll miss you, there’s no reason for you to follow me back to Terra.”
She sat on his lap, her green eyes locked with his. “Of course there is. I have been trying to give you hints for the last year.” She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “I don’t like boys, but I do like men.”
As she kissed him, Bjorn thumbed the ‘accept’ box on the contract.
# # # # #
Chris’ Introduction to:
STAND ON IT by Kevin Ikenberry
When I asked Chuck Gannon if he would consent to doing the foreword for “A Fistful of Credits,” little did I realize I would get an author out of it, as well. As we were parting, Chuck said, “You’ll want to check out Kevin Ikenberry and grab him now before too many more people find out about him.” Trusting Chuck’s judgment, I offered him a spot in this anthology, sight unseen, and I’m really happy I did.
Kevin’s submission for “A Fistful of Credits” was one of the first ones we received, and I liked his ability to write combat so much that I immediately offered him a contract to write a full length follow-up to “Stand on It.” If you want to know more at the end of the story, you won’t have to wait long—“Peacemaker” will be out this fall.
“Sleeper Protocol,” Kevin’s first novel, was hailed by Publisher’s Weekly as “an emotionally powerful debut” and was a Finalist for the Colorado Book Award in 2017. He is a retired Army officer, a lifelong space geek, and loves to hike and swim. If you’d like to know more about Kevin, you can find him at http://www.kevinikenberry.com.
STAND ON IT by Kevin Ikenberry
Unnamed Planet, Praf Region
1700 local
“Hammer down!” Marc cal
led into his headset. “Ghost Leader, you’re cleared to LD.”
“Ghost Lead, roger,” Hex replied. “Crossing the line of departure now. All CASPer systems green and moving.”
Marc saw Hex’s CASPers light up as mobile infantry icons on the tactical display mounted on the turret wall of his Mark Nine command tank, and proceed west toward the shallow river. The 24 Combat Assault System, Personal mecha were to scout ahead of the main assault. “Driver, move out for overwatch position Bravo.”
“Bravo, you got it, sir.”
Marc consulted the kneeboard strapped to his left leg. He’d failed to write down the names of the newest Marauders. They’d barely accomplished three days of holotraining before suiting up and wouldn’t earn a call sign until after their first mission. Even after a milk run like this, Marc thought as he looked up through the external cameras and sighted in on their objective. The ancient Raknar mecha lay curled on its left side in a fetal position. Nested inside a group of low hills, the rusting beast laying under a thick blanket of vegetation was hard to miss.
“Objective marked.” He placed an icon on the center of the hills next to the mecha’s frame.
“Ghost Lead across the LD into the forest. Tracking a few hundred inbound life forms converging on the objective,” Hex said over their private channel. “Gods. I hate Oogars, man.”
A Fistful of Credits: Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 5) Page 13
