A Fistful of Credits: Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 5)
Page 14
“With you, Hex,” Marc replied. He flipped the radio over to the task force frequency: “All Marauders, weapons free. I say again, you are weapons free.”
Marc looked over the breech of the main gun platform at his loader. Johnson, that’s the kid’s name, right? Shit.
“Johnson?”
The lanky blonde kid from Montana turned to look at him. “Yessir?”
Thank Gods.
“Get five RAPS into the autoloader.” The rocket assisted projectiles would give them a little more standoff range from the overwatch position if Hex and his team ran into trouble.
“Yessir!” Johnson turned to the rear of the compartment and began pulling the RAP shells from the steel racks. His hands trembled.
Marc glanced at the timer on his display and checked Ghost Team’s progress. They were way behind where they needed to be.
“Lucille, get me video from Ghost Lead.”
The onboard command and control link was like a second set of eyes. <
The Tri-V screen above Marc’s right knee flickered into a spastic nightmare. Immense feral Oogar poured out of the dense forest, directly at Hex and his six-man team. Only fourteen of Hex’s icons were still on the screen. Guns blazing, Hex mowed down a line of purple-furred Oogars and pushed west toward the objective.
“Hammer, Ghost Lead. We’re status amber. Committing my reserve and requesting reinforcement forward.”
Marc jabbed the radio button on his turret controls. “Roger, all. Hang on, Hex. Marauders, forward on me!”
From the overwatch position, the deep, narrow river lay about three kilometers ahead. Another icon on Hex’s team winked out. “Driver. Fast as she goes!”
“I’m standing on the gas pedal, sir!”
The Mark Nine’s tracks whined to life as the eighty-ton tank accelerated above 50 miles per hour. Marc initialized the cannon and selected the targeting sequence. “Angel Lead, where are you?”
On cue, the first of the wide-fanned flyers swung over his tank and pushed hard for the river, quad cannons blazing. “Angels are falling, Hammer. Standby for target linkage.”
Johnson called. “Five loaded, sir!”
“Got it.” Marc watched fresh targeting icons appear on his forward screen. He selected five of them with double-blinks of his eyes. “Firing!”
The tank barely moved as the five RAPs chuffed out of the tube, arced through the sky, and impacted along the tree line just south of Hex’s position. More rounds descended on the trees from his five tanks. What had been a pristine, quiet forest erupted into a burning cauldron of Hell. Marc grinned as the tank dove down the bank toward the river at 60 miles per hour.
“Hammer, Ghost Lead. Need assistance!”
Marc watched the second to last icon fade out. “Distance to Ghost Lead, Lucille?”
<<400 meters from the far bank. They are 37 percent surrounded by feral Oogar.>> Lucille, his tank’s unique command and control interface replied. Without Lucille, he’d need another Human deputy commander—and that was the last thing he wanted.
The tank hit the water and decelerated violently. Marc grabbed the handles on his seat and barely avoided slamming his head into the forward control panel. “Godsdammit, Driver! Tell me when you’re going ‘feet wet!’”
“Sorry,” the kid said. Taking the newbies was supposed to make things easier on the rest of his troops, but more often than not it left him teaching life lessons instead of shooting, moving, and communicating. The Mark Nine crept toward the steeper far bank and gave a satisfying whump as the tracks caught their footing and tore up toward the wood line, right into a line of Oogar.
“Holy shit!” the driver called from the hull. The first Oogar bounced off the left forward skirt. Marc selected the quad rocket batteries and raked fire into the crowd of Oogar. A mist of purple blood covered the main exterior camera.
Across the upper turret armor, Marc could hear the Oogar clawing at the sensor arrays and weaponry for any type of purchase.
“Maven!” Marc called into a private frequency. “Clean me off!”
“That’s a new one,” she chuckled into his ear. He relaxed his grip slightly on the turret controls. Her confidence filled him.
Marc watched the Angel Lead icon swing toward him. A deployment of smoke grenades knocked one of the Oogar off the tank. Three others still clung to the turret. Targeting icons appeared and flashed twice. The Oogars fell away as the tank swerved to avoid a rock outcropping.
“Thanks, Maven.”
“Roger, Hammer,” she called. As his executive officer and chief pilot, as well as friend and occasional bedmate, she was indispensable. “They’re coming in waves. Like a million of them.”
Marc nodded. “Yeah, Ch’tek said the Raknar hull was a shrine or something to them. We’ve got the weapons to keep them away. Keep pushing.”
He caught sight of Hex’s CASPer moving his way. The infantry commander waved and closed the distance. The familiar clamping noise of a CASPer mount made him smile.
I have more guns.
“Hammer, I’m locked on your port quarter. Adjust your sectors of fire.”
<
“Welcome aboard, Hex. Just in time for another wave,” Marc called. “Maven, need you to hit them again.”
“On our way, Hammer.”
Through the trees, Marc could see thousands of Oogar descending on them. Some of them carried spears. Some had something like slingshots or bows and arrows. Even more carried rocks the size of beach balls. The flyers came in across his nose and a fusillade of rocks went up from the descending mob.
“Pull up! Pull up!” he heard Maven call from her lead flyer as it shuddered violently to the right and pieces of her left, front fan exploded upward. The left, rear fan exploded a heartbeat later. Out of control, the flyer spun into the trees and exploded. In quick succession, two other flyers succumbed to the fusillade of primitive weapons and spun to the ground.
“Maven!” Marc screamed.
Oh Gods no!
“Light the fuckers up!” Hex screamed over the command frequency. “Ghost Two, I need you up here, on the double!”
Marc’s vision swam in a mix of rage and tears as he raked the Oogar line with machine gun fire. He glanced at Johnson. “Get me the beehive rounds! As many as we’ve got!”
“Yessir!”
Marc studied his tactical display and saw a rapidly closing opportunity. “Hex! Get ready to breach their line. All Marauders, on me. Angels, wave off and standby!” Marc selected the main gun and keyed in the sequence for the beehive rounds. Like a massive shotgun shell, each round contained thousands of nail-like projectiles. A long time before, on Earth, the rounds had been outlawed as being inhumane. Intergalactic conflict made them fair game.
“Beehive loaded! Two salvos of four!” Johnson called.
“Marauders ready—eight rounds. Breach on me!”
Marc scanned the line of Oogar and found a bright gold one, a female, and aimed at the large black- and red-skinned male next to it. Targeting reticle centered, he fired the first round. Sixteen Oogar in the line went down along with the two rows behind them. Still more of the snarling, long toothed bear-things pressed forward. Marc fired again and again. Each round rocked the tank from front to rear. Dust billowed up from the ground around them to obscure the view screens and his sighting systems. The tank lurched forward, treads spinning for purchase on what he knew was a pile of maimed corpses, but he kept firing. Abruptly, the tree line opened into a wide clearing near the helmeted carapace of the Raknar.
The Mark Nine pushed past a ring of rock cairns about two hundred meters from the mecha. “Driver, head for the Raknar’s knees. Turn left before you get there and take up a position near its waist.” He switched frequencies. “Hex, you get gardening duty.”
There was no response.
Marc flipped the outer came
ra on the left side to on and saw the CASPer still in place. Hex was looking behind them.
“Hex? What’s going on?”
“The Oogar have stopped, Hammer. They’re encircling us but staying behind that ring of rocks. I’ve got second squad coming in from the northeast before the Oogar close them off.”
“Hammer, Angel Four.” The incoming transmission was weak and full of static. “Hammer, can you hear me?”
“I’ve got you Seanan.” He locked onto her flyer. All status lights blinked red and she was losing altitude fast.
“Hammer, I’m going down across the river. Too much damage. All Angels down. You’ve got no air support. I’m sorry.”
Marc ran a hand across his stubbly hair. “Seanan, put it down safe and activate your beacons. We’ll bring the ship down on your position.”
“I’m trying—” The transmission broke up into static.
“Lucille! Where is she?”
<
Dammit. Marc felt the tank slow down, then stop. He blinked away tears and took a sharp, deep breath. This was supposed to be a milk run!
<
Marc punched the casing of the commander’s tactical display with his left hand. Focus, Marc!
After two deep breaths he felt better, calmer. There wasn’t time for grief or frustration. His forces were safe for the moment, but they couldn’t stay. There was only one choice. He fingered the radio transmit button and let the plan form quickly in his mind.
“Marauders, into a coil. CASPers are inbound from the south—let them pass into the center. Defensive posture alpha. If those things come inside that rock circle, nuke ‘em with everything you’ve got.” The five remaining tanks circled up and created a perimeter against the Raknar’s hull.
“Johnson, you’ve got command of this vehicle. Lucille, relay a message to Maya. Join me in the middle of the perimeter with Hex.” Marc released his five-point harness and stood in his seat. Climbing through the open cupola, he turned and saw the swath of forest they’d destroyed, and thousands of Oogar slowing ringing their position near the Raknar. More lay behind them, dead and dying.
Some of the freakish things shrieked. The sound was unnerving, and then it abruptly cut off. Some of them swayed from side-to-side, a sign of their anxiety he’d learned at the Flight Academy ten years before. Civilized Oogar were very capable warriors; feral ones were downright dangerous. The ring of angry bear-things parted like the sea.
An immense Oogar, so purple it was almost black in the fading light, pushed through the crowd and stood at the rock cairn two hundred meters from the nose of Marc’s tank. Draped from both shoulders, crossing in the front, it wore a bandolier heavy with an assortment of stone tools and weapons. The Oogar fell silent. The giant beast stared a hole through him. A shiver ran down Marc’s back. Behind him, Hex engaged a flamer to burn back the forest ivy near the hulking Raknar’s crumpled midsection.
Marc withdrew an earpiece from his pocket and keyed it with a tug on his left earlobe. “Lucille? Radio check?”
<
“Execute pre-task alpha four and transmit current location data.”
<
Marc withdrew a mini-slate from the leg pocket of his coveralls and engaged the device. Acquiring and initializing the slate through his tank’s inertial navigation system took precious time. Marc looked again over his shoulder at the ring of Oogar surrounding them. From the south, a fresh burst of machine gun fire signaled the arrival of Ghost Two and four additional CASPers.
Six left.; we started with twelve, Marc sighed. That lying little shit. Never trust a Zuparti, Marc. Especially ones with big mouths and loose cash.
“Hammer, Ghost Two reporting,” Hex’s executive officer called as they approached. Her cameras, though, remained fixed on Hex. Though he was unable to see her face, Marc understood all too well. A familiar pang of loss rose up in Marc’s chest. Fists clenched, he closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe. Maven would have wanted him to survive. Not because she loved him, but because their soldiers needed him. Their unlikely relationship violated every rule in Marc’s moral handbook, but it worked. That had been all that mattered. Now, he was alone. Again.
“Maya,” Marc said, and shook his head. “Ghost Two. Secure the internal space by the Raknar’s torso. I’ll move in for extraction when you report clear.”
“Roger, Hammer.” Maya moved swiftly in the eight-foot-tall powered armor. She swung around behind Hex and as gently as a CASPer could, she touched his left arm as he disengaged the flamer. “Second Squad, on me!”
They disappeared into the singed canopy. Marc turned and met the eyes of the waiting Oogar; there was no doubt that he was the leader, given the space and respect shown by the others.
As darkness fell, Marc watched groups of Oogar hustle to the rock cairns with arm loads of wood from the forest. Fires were started with friction bows and loud huffs. Around the Raknar hulk, the forest was alight.
<
“How many are there, Lucille?”
<
What in the hell do I do now?
Bartertown Starport, Karma
8 days earlier
Above the din of Peepo’s Pit, Ch’tek’s sleek ears picked up an incoming data transmission from his ship in Bay 12 Charlie. From a small pack at his waist, he removed a slate and tapped a complex password sequence with his long claws. As he read, Ch’tek clicked his tongue excitedly. He glanced up into the somber eyes of his assistant and twisted his maw into an approximation of a grin.
“Why so sad, Gu’chuk?”
The smaller, frailer Zuparti was a lower caste and indentured into the service of this trader. His lips carefully formed the words as he’d not spoken in more than three days. “There must be another way, Honored Ch’tek.”
The words caught Ch’tek’s complete attention. He pushed the slate to the countertop and leaned back in the high-backed chair. “Why is that, Gu’chuk? Why do you care about them? They are a less-talented species. They’ve barely tasted war.” He smiled again as if daring his servant to speak.
“With respect, Honored Ch’tek,” Gu’chuk said, his words almost lost in the constant roar of the mercenary hangout. “Forcing terror upon a frightened species will coalesce fear into resolve. Resolve turns to aggression.” Gu’chuk looked away.
Ch’tek roared with laughter. “You quote the Great Scrolls to me!”
Gu’chuk shrank down into his seat. “My apologies, Honored Ch’tek.”
“Go back to the ship,” Ch’tek sputtered in between his laughs. A message icon blinked on the slate, and he pressed it. As he scanned the message, his laughter stopped. “Our bandit has signed the contract. See to it he has what he needs.”
“Yes, Honored Ch’tek.” The tiny Zuparti fled as fast as his tiny legs would take him.
Ch’tek wiped at his eyes and tried to relax his quivering abdomen as he watched his servant scamper away. The empty seat slid back, and a wide, flat face slid into view.
“Doontal?” Ch’tek said. “Won’t you join me?”
The Buma diplomat bowed its head but did not move to sit. “The Council is much distressed that you have been unable to deliver our diplomatic package to Earth as promised.”
Ch’tek nodded solemnly. “I have a team in transit with it now.”
“The Council does not trust you. Nor do I,” Doontal said. “A simple gift should not have been so ceremoniously delayed.”
Ch’
tek steepled his claws across his belly. The gift in question financed Hammer’s mission. And, it would produce a gift for the citizens of Earth. If successful, the Buma would be partly responsible for destroying the species they’d chosen to bring into the Union. The irony was enough that Ch’tek had to suppress a smile.
“Space flight is not easy, Doontal. I made a choice of using the lowest bidder, and I’ve paid handsomely for it. My previous courier lost a ship and five crewmen. We have secured the gift and will have it aboard one of my skiffs tonight. We’ll get it loaded onto an interstellar vessel and send it immediately. You can meet them at the Sol emergence point, if you’d like. I’m forecasting two weeks, maybe less.” Ch’tek shrugged.
Doontal’s wide amber eyes blinked slowly. “We will meet our gift. You will inform us of any...adjustments to your plan.”
“Then it’s settled.” Ch’tek made to stand up. “I’ll look forward to the news of your presentation to the Council of Earth. You have my apologies for the delay.”
Doontal nodded again, an almost complete move of the Buma’s torso, and slid from view. Ch’tek did not see the Buma’s retreat. On his slate, he keyed his ship’s automated system to file a diplomatic flight plan to the Zuparti home world, Baant. He wouldn’t go there, of course. Nor could he risk any of his usual hideouts. Tapping the screen with a claw, a smile spread across his features.
Why not hide in view of my greatest achievement? Watching horror appear real-time on the features of the worthless Buma was an event to be cherished, if not celebrated. It had been too long since he’d been to Luna anyway. He froze as a Human female with long red hair tied in an elaborate braid slid onto the stool opposite him.
“Can I help you?”
She smiled. “You’ve signed Marc Lemieux and his Marauders to a mission.”
“My business dealings are confidential—”
“I’ll get your package, at half the price,” she said.
Ch’tek shook his head. “Until I know who you are, or you show me your bona fides, this conversation goes no further.”
She placed her hand on his slate. Flashing circles appeared around her fingertips in rapid succession. Within seconds, the identification software returned a hit from GalNet and Ch’tek clicked his tongue appreciably.