by Ben Weaver
An explosion below stole my attention.
The ATC had been trying to climb away from the mortar fire when its shield had finally succumbed. Our ride out burst into dozens of fire-licked fragments that lit up the canyon wall as they plummeted toward the riverbed.
I whirled away from the destruction, even as an Alliance Marine darted from the tunnel, took a half dozen rounds from Paul’s people, then fell—but not before spraying the area with a wild bead. I craned my head, even as McFarland, who was just skinning up, took a round just above his Adam’s apple. Direct spine shot. No chance of resuscitation.
“There’s a whole squad in there,” cried the scrawny woman I had been following. “Here they come!”
“Fuck. What do we now?” Halitov asked darkly.
I gave him a funny look. Wasn’t it obvious? “Run!”
6
I waved on Paul’s group, ordering them to take the rocky path down toward the riverbed, where our ATC lay burning and strewn across the dust. Halitov took point, which he wasn’t thrilled about, but he and I were the only conditioned officers, and I planned on stalling those Marines still inside the tunnel.
We had already lost McFarland and two other cadets, but the rest made it out and charged in behind Halitov. As the scrawny woman passed me, she asked, “What do we do now, sir, with no ride home?”
“Not your problem. You worry about dropping more Marines and clearing our path.”
“Aye-aye, sir!”
For a nanosecond, I wished her problems were mine. I was the one who had to find us another ride, and as my gaze lifted skyward, all I saw were the running lights of Western Alliance crab carriers and smaller troop carriers descending like multicolored meteors in slow motion. Antiaircraft guns operated by tactical computers, their human operators already aboard escape shuttles, sent streaming globules of white-hot fire toward those colorful lights.
Crouching tightly against the lip of rock, I braced myself, planning on using the bond and the quitunutul arts to launch myself at the first Marine to exit. With the gozt I’d take him out, even as I aimed my rifle at the next soldier. The maneuver and its result shone so vividly in my mind’s eye that when I caught my first glimpse of the Marine, his combat skin fluctuating from black to a dusty brown, I gave little thought to the fact that my conditioning might fail me. I saw what I needed to do. Waited. Spotted him.
I sprang from the rock, launched myself into the air, and felt nothing but a meager rebound from the bluff. I rose a couple of meters and would have made a respectable gozt into the Marine’s chest, had he not easily dodged my advance and opened fire.
Two more Marines joined the first, adding twin thunderclaps of fire that riddled my combat skin with rounds and set alarms flashing in my HUV. The tactical computer reported evenly, “Skin at forty percent and falling. Estimated penetration in nine seconds. Eight, seven, six—”
I tried rolling out of their beads.
“Five, four, three—”
Tried to reach the path, where the nearest boulder shaped like a blunt arrowhead stood, offering good cover.
“Two, one—”
My last word was nothing profound, just a simple recognition of the inevitable: “Shit.”
A slight sting rushed through my shoulder as I came out of the roll, bumped my head on the boulder, then saw the three Marines drop, all shot in the back by someone inside the tunnel. A skinned figure charged out, his shield glistening a moment before trickling away.
Even as I stared at my rescuer, data bars flashed, reporting that my shoulder wound was only superficial and being attended to by the suit.
“You all right?” Paul asked, lowering his rifle, his cheeks red and tear-stained. He grabbed my wrist, yanked me to my feet.
“You coming with us?”
“Yeah. It was like she knew,” he gasped.
“What’re you talking about? Who knew?”
“Dina.”
“What happened?”
“She’s gone, Scott. I went back to check on her, and I thought I heard her in my mind. She told me it was all right. She told me to go. Then the machine just…stopped. I checked her pulse. She’s gone.” He choked up once more. “I guess even the Racinians can’t raise the dead.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry, Paul.”
He wiped off a tear. “I tried to get her down from the machine. I couldn’t detach those tubes, those things. We’ll come back for her body. I swear. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
We hightailed it down the path, exploiting the boulders for cover and catching up with the rest of the group within a few minutes. Halitov and the others were as surprised as I was by Paul’s appearance. Whispering, I told Halitov of Dina’s death, and he nodded and went to Paul.
“I’m sorry,” Halitov told the colonel’s son.
“Let’s get to that talus and scree near the base. It’ll make good cover,” Paul said quickly, burying his pain in the business of escape. He craned his head toward me. “If that’s okay with you?”
Had he uttered his last sentence with sarcasm, I would’ve returned the same, but he had said that in earnest, remembering that I was senior officer. “You’re used to being in charge. Don’t let me stop you—and you’re still in command of these people. Just answer to me.”
“Thanks.”
Down below, hidden behind cracked shoulders of stone that had dropped off the hillside, we stared gravely at the dying embers of our ATC.
“Situation assessment,” said Halitov, glancing around for effect. “Multiple enemy carriers dropping hundreds of troops. Friendlies have already evacked. No chance of another ATC getting through their defenses and said troops dispersing to terminate remaining enemy personnel—meaning us. Short version: we’re fucked.”
“That’s correct, Mr. Halitov,” said Paul in a tone so formal that it reminded me of our academy days. “And they’re hitting the jackpot, taking three conditioned officers into custody.”
“That can’t happen,” I said.
Paul nodded. “We’ll kill ourselves first.”
“Fuck that,” cried Halitov. “You want to join your girlfriend, go ahead. We’re not following.”
“Hey, Captain,” I said, reminding the whiner of his rank. “Have you looked in the mirror? You’re dying anyway.”
“And not alone. But I’ll take whatever time I got left. I want to get back. Get a couple of hookers and go on a two-week R&R. I want to die while getting laid. And I want Breckinridge to watch, so she can see what she could’ve had.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Maybe we have an ace in the hole—if she’s still talking to me.” I ordered my tac to show me classified comm channels and found the one Kristi Breckinridge had used to contact me. Time for a long-distance call with the minutes billable to the Seventeen System Guard Corps.
The link established, despite the enemy’s jamming the standard battle frequencies, and the time delay was reduced significantly by new communications technology inspired by the Racinians and having something to do with rerouting the signal through a space-time fluctuation field. At that moment, I could have cared less about the physics.
“St. Andrew. It’s about time,” she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “I’ve been monitoring your progress.”
“Our ATC got tommyed.”
“I know.”
“Can we bum a ride?”
“That’s pretty glib for a man who’s surrounded by over ten thousand enemy troops.”
“Forget the details. Concentrate on this: I found Halitov. And Paul. They’re both safe and with me.”
“What about Dina Forrest?”
“She’s dead.”
“All right, then. The rest of the fleet’s getting ready to tawt out, but one of our endo/exo skimmers has just tawted in to cover the retreat. I’ll contact the colonel and have that ship punch a hole in the Alliance’s artillery and send down a dropshuttle for you.”
“Were it that easy. ETA?”
“Give me
about twenty minutes.”
“Uploading coordinates now.”
“Receiving. Just stay alive.”
“Oh, we will. Just don’t leave us here. Understand?” I broke the link before she could reply and shared the news with Halitov and Paul.
“Now we’re really in bed with her,” said Halitov.
“What are you bitching about?” I asked. “Isn’t that what you want?”
He rolled his eyes, checked the charge on his rifle.
“Those skimmers are pretty awesome,” said Paul. “Lightest, fastest ships in the fleet. Our taxi blew up, so they’re sending down a limo. Not bad. That Breckinridge sounds like a player.”
“Yeah, she’s a player, all right. And she works for your father.”
Paul sobered and shifted off, spying the riverbed.
“Well, all we have to do is wait,” said Halitov. “And not get—”
Particle fire boomed over his words and sheared off gaping pieces of rock. We ducked behind a long slab of stone, about bench height, and I crawled toward its edge, even as the incoming continued. Peering around the edge, I zoomed in on our attackers: a squadron of Marines lying on their bellies and strung out along the top of Whore Face.
Fire punched gaping holes in the ground just a meter from my boots, and our cover began crumbling before our eyes. I crawled back to Halitov and Paul and reported the squadron.
“They know if they keep firing, we won’t stay here,” Paul said.
“I’m surprised they haven’t used any A-three,” said Halitov.
Paul and I put our index fingers to our lips. The big guy was going to jinx us. Too late. We heard the incoming round’s whistle, saw the characteristic flash of the acipalm-three explosion—
Then ran like there was no tomorrow because in 3.98 seconds there wouldn’t be.
The scrawny woman and another cadet, Adams, a tall guy with a thick neck, caught the tail end of the round. The acipalm worked quickly on their skins, and as they fell, writhing, screaming, knowing they were going to die, I kept running parallel to the slope, dashing from boulder to boulder, kicking over cairns placed years prior by academy cadets marking the trail. The screaming stopped, and, finally, I paused to catch my breath near a split boulder with a top that hung over like an awning. Halitov was there, panting. “Where’s Paul?” he asked.
I craned my head, shot a glance back to the path I had just beat, saw Paul about fifteen meters back, kneeling over the scrawny woman. I called out to him.
He got to his feet, and, remaining hunched over, darted warily toward us.
And that’s when another acipalm-three grenade whistled in and struck, no more than ten meters behind him. Even at night you could see the shattered rock and dust and black goo heave up, block the stars for a terrifying heartbeat, then fall in an inescapable and deadly rain.
“Paul!” I cried again. “Run! Run!”
He didn’t need me to tell him. I assumed he tried to find the bond, but his conditioning had failed, because he sprinted toward us at a normal pace until a scintillating piece of acipalm struck his left arm and began bubbling and chewing into his skin.
Even as he reached us, he wailed, trying to brush off the burning goo, but his hand came up fiery as the skin over it began to succumb.
I grabbed his wrist, then grabbed Halitov’s, ordering our tacs to transfer as much energy as possible to Paul’s combat skin. As our fields grew dimmer, Paul’s brightened and began to throb over his arm and hand. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.
Halitov yanked his hand free. “Don’t ever do that again,” he shouted. “You know how I am about sharing this skin. No one comes in here with me.”
At the moment, the last thing I needed was him reminding me of his boyhood trauma and the fact that he had refused to transfer his own energy to Dina when she had been stabbed the first time and had been dying.
The rest of the cadets gathered around me as I crouched down near Paul, and for a few seconds, the world went dreamlike, my senses overloaded by the battlefield. Another round of acipalm-three fell wide, melting into the mountainside. Particle fire sewed ribbons a couple meters below us, the rhythm reminding me of a weird dance song Dina was fond of. More artillery boomed in the distance, accompanied by the multiple pitches of turbines from over a dozen classes of assault craft flying overhead. And lying before me was my friend, with nearly fifty percent of his arm burned down to the bone and only the thumb remaining on his right hand. I’ll never forget that stench. I kept telling myself it could’ve been worse had we not helped him, but the sight of his burned hand and arm was just horrible. Just horrible.
“Lieutenant,” screamed Hollis. “Lieutenant, come on, sir.” She looked at me. “If we get him back to the cave—”
“Yeah, I know. But our ride will be here soon.”
“And if it isn’t?” asked Halitov, crouching down beside me.
I waved off his question, focused my attention on Hollis. “You people got packs. What do you got in them? Any medical supplies?”
“I’ve got some cling and four-by-fours,” said Hollis.
“Then while we’re waiting, you dress those wounds. Best thing for burns is cold water. Get one of your canteens.”
She glared at me, then turned for her pack.
I dropped to my hands and knees, crawled toward the edge of the rock behind us, and surveyed the canyon. The Marines atop Whore Face had moved out, heading east, toward the winding, cliff-side trail that would take them down, across the riverbed, and toward us.
“Why couldn’t they just stay up there?” groaned Halitov, hovering at my shoulder.
I glanced dubiously at him. “You thought this was going to be easy?”
“Guess I’m always asking for too much. Shit.”
I ducked behind the rock. “All right, here’s what I’m thinking. That skimmer’ll get through. No doubt about that. But the dropshuttle they’re going to send won’t last five minutes against that artillery fire.”
“Yeah, it’s going to blow up, just like our ATC,” he reported matter-of-factly. “Your point is?”
“That we’re going to be thieves in the night. I count two bunkers. We’ll take them out quietly. And if we spot any SAM sites, we’re taking them out, too. Remember when Pope used to say no superhero bullshit? Well, if he were sizing up this grid, he’d tell us it’s time to use superhero bullshit. You with me?”
“I guess so.”
“Hell, it’s not like your life depends on it.”
“Like you said, we’re all dying.”
“What’s the matter now?”
He closed his eyes. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my sister. She could be up there, aboard one of those ships, fighting for the alliances.”
“Rooslin, man, we have a job to do. I’m going over there to tell them our plan and have them sit tight with Paul.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
If Halitov had any team spirit and will to survive, he had left them back inside the caves. I needed him one hundred percent. I was lucky to get fifty. But when push came to shove, he would come through. In fact, he wouldn’t be my problem, Hollis would. When I returned to the cadets, she and Paul were gone.
A second year named Bell, with bright green eyes and an impressive goatee, huddled behind the scree and turned glassy eyes on me. “Sir, Hollis said she was taking him back to the caves. I’m sorry, sir.”
I nearly lost my breath. “Did you try to stop her?
“Not physically, sir, but—”
“Shut up.” Using infrared I scanned the slope behind us and picked up Hollis dragging Paul along the path. I patched into Halitov’s comm. “Rooslin, you’re going to take out those bunkers by yourself.” I told him about Hollis, then, “Can you do it?”
“I guess so.”
“No, you tell me you can do it.”
Dead air.
“Rooslin!”
“All right! On my way.”
After glancing once more to Holli
s and Paul, I took a chance, reached into the bond, and willed myself to their location. A wave of dizziness passed through me as I realized I was standing just ahead of them, with Hollis’s back to me as she dragged Paul. “Hold it right there.”
She jerked her head, shocked by my presence. “Where did you…”
“Never mind. What’re you doing?”
“The caves can make him whole again; otherwise, if the nanotech doesn’t take, he’ll be stuck with prosthetics.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
She set Paul down and faced me. “He would want this.”
“We’re taking him back. Right now.”
“Sir, please—”
“Our ride’s going to be here. And we’re all going to get on it, including him. Those are the facts. Let’s go.”
“Sir, I love him, sir.”
“We all love him. Move out!”
“No, sir. I love him. And what he did for Dina is what I want to do for him.”
Only a few times in my life have I seen an expression as determined as hers was. And that expression gave me pause—a pause that saved our lives.
A shell exploded over the remaining cadets, and with a start I recognized the sound. Smart schrap. Oh, God. With dread I craned my head toward them. Computer-controlled fragments needled into their combat skins. I had all of three seconds to watch Bell and the others die before particle fire pinged and ricocheted all around us. The Marines from atop Whore Face had reached the slope.
Hollis and I grabbed Paul and carried him toward the nearest boulder. We set him down, then crouched low, the dusty stone at our shoulders. “Thanks,” I told Hollis.
“Sir?”
I wanted to answer, “For listening to your heart,” but all I said was, “Forget it.” I felt like a shuttle passenger who had missed his flight, only to discover the shuttle had crashed.
“We can’t stay here,” she said, her eyes shifting as she read the information pouring in on her HUV.
“Rooslin?”
“Little…busy…right…now.” I heard a scream, thought I heard a bone or a head or something crush. Particle fire thundered.
