“What are they?” Ted asked. Now that he was sure his boss was alive, he was handing out weapons from the passenger compartment. Jim took his rifle and checked the load.
“Pissed,” Jim suggested, leaning out to fire. “‘Dillo 2, you on their flank yet?”
“Almost there,” one of his APC drivers replied. Jim fired again, emptying his magazine and reducing their chance of being immediately overrun. Ted fired as well. Jim had enough time to look around and assess the situation. The three tanks had maneuvered behind the conveniently placed concrete blocks to be effectively hull down. They were firing into the advancing aliens, who were taking horrendous losses and didn’t seem to care at all.
“Jesus,” Jim said, watching the slaughter. The enemy had almost reached the main vehicle park. “‘Dillo 3, unass, unass. You are about to be overrun!” Inside the vehicle park, another of the APCs had been parked to provide backup. It popped open and the nine-man squad bailed out, immediately taking cover and laying down fire on the advancing enemy.
“‘Dillo 2, we are deploying, and I’m engaging.”
The three alien APCs had been using machine guns to engage the tanks, to little affect. One of them suddenly turned into a fireball, knocked out by the MAC on the Po’Kon. Jim could just see the squad from ‘Dillo 2 as they engaged the other two APCs with some good old American hardware, Javelin anti-tank missiles. The APCs responded quickly, spinning their guns around to fire at their attackers, but a second later both were hit and set ablaze. Their crew—more of the rats—tried to bail out and were dealt with by the Cavaliers’ troopers.
The aliens had numbers, but they were caught in the open and under withering fire. Jim kept expecting them to realize that and give up, or at least try to run. They didn’t. The machine gun on one of the tanks chewed up the last group just before it reached one of the barracks buildings, leaving the runways and tarmac a bloody slaughterhouse.
“Cease fire!” Jim called over the radio and stood to look around. He checked his rifle, an alien manufactured battle rifle which fired 11mm caseless rounds. He’d gone through one 100-round magazine, and 10 rounds from a second. He nodded in approval. “Squads report,” he ordered. They quickly called in. Counting Jake, they had seven dead and two injured.
“Too damned many,” Jim said.
“For that?” Ted asked, gesturing to the hundreds of dead aliens.
“If we had better armor, it would have been zero.”
“Raptor 1 calling Cartwright Actual.”
“Go ahead, Slim.”
“Just saw a flyer depart the administration complex. The main building is on fire.”
“Oh, shit,” Jim said. He’d had two of the Apoocas circling, just in case the attack was predominantly airborne. They hadn’t been looking for an attack on the facility management. He might have seriously misunderstood the situation. “Any Raptor got eyes on that flyer?”
“Raptor 4, I got him. He’s flying right into our AO.”
At least that makes sense, Jim thought. He keyed his mic. “All teams here at base, sweep for survivors. Take prisoners if they let you, dispatch them if not.” He’d read merc law; it was brutal and straightforward in regards to situations like this. He didn’t have to take their surrender if it wasn’t convenient. And what was convenient was pretty loosely defined. “Raptor 1, come on down and get me and my team. We’re going to see how this plays out.”
* * *
Jim didn’t like the jungles of Tulip. He’d come up in the era of desert warfare, and unlike his father, had never spent any time in this kind of environment. Buzzing insects that looked nothing like their Earth counterparts and skittering creatures just as alien didn’t help. The path was only two kilometers long, yet he was grateful when he emerged from the dense foliage onto an old, hard-packed road.
“Shouldn’t take them too long,” he said as he turned to the right and started walking. He swatted at a bug that looked more like a flying frog. It croaked indignantly at him as it flew away. He was just beginning to wonder how far he was going to get when a ground car came rushing around the corner of the road. “Okay,” he said, unclipping his rifle, “this is where it gets interesting.” He held it in both hands above his head, barrel facing to the left. The car skidded to a halt, and a dozen of the rat aliens piled out. He’d looked them up in the GalNet; they were called Aposo and were commonly used as shock troops. Fearless fighters, but not very imaginative, and with nearly zero initiative. He gritted his teeth as they surrounded him, pointing their weapons and yelling so quickly the translator was overwhelmed.
“Who—” “No move—” “Stop—” “Why you—” It was just a meaningless jumble. They were quite agitated. It reminded him of a group of ISIS fighters, and he found himself expecting one to yell Allahu akbar, or something. He spoke up loudly and clearly to be heard over their din.
“I am a merc commander. I request to parlay.” They all stopped and cocked their heads curiously. “Parlay. With your commander?”
“Parlay?” One said.
“No shit,” Jim replied. All their heads cocked in the other direction. Shit, it was like a pack of puppies. “Yes, parlay.”
“Parlay!” they all yelled and leaped in the air.
“Good lord,” he said, shaking his head, “I’ve been captured by a Smurf village.” One of them gestured at the rifle over his head, and he handed it to that one. It was difficult for the alien to handle it—the rifle was nearly as long as he was tall. Another pointed at the car with its rifle. “Okay,” he said and nodded. “Take me to your leader!”
“Parlay!” they cheered again and bundled him into the car. Inside, an elSha was behind the controls. It looked at him curiously.
“How are you doing?” Jim asked.
“Better than you will be,” the alien replied. When all the Aposo were aboard, the elSha spun the controls, and they went racing down the road back in the direction they’d come from.
The drive only took a minute before they slowed at a huge gate. A pair of massive lupine aliens regarded the car, huge teeth visible and armor covering much of their bodies. Besquith, Jim thought, instantly recognizing the merc race. This one he’d read about. That wasn’t good. One stuck his head in and regarded Jim.
“He parlay,” one of the Aposo said.
“Really?” the Besquith asked, sniffing Jim. “What is it?”
“Merc,” the Aposo replied. The Besquith seemed unconvinced. Finally, it backed up and gestured them through the gate. As they passed, Jim saw a sign written in alien script. He slid a slate from his pocket and held it up so one of the built in cameras could see it. The Aposo sitting near him watched, but didn’t say anything. The resident software of the slate translated the sign. Tulip Indigenous Flora and Fauna Research Station Two. Bingo, Jim thought.
The car drove through dozens of old, crumbling buildings, then past several modern-looking tank farms. The entire complex was covered with some kind of camouflage netting. It didn’t look like anything he’d seen, but he suspected it was high tech and screening the image from orbiting satellites. As they rounded a corner he saw the office building.
“It faces the north east,” he said.
“What you say?” one of the Aposo said.
“Nothing,” Jim said. “Just thinking to myself.” The Aposo regarded him curiously, as if it were saying ‘who would bother thinking?’ They pulled up to the office building where a squad of Besquith in armor were waiting. The guard at the gate must have called them.
“Merc?” one asked as the Aposo pushed him out.
“Yes, I’m Jim Cartwright, commander of Cartwright’s Cavaliers.” One of the Aposo handed Jim’s weapon to the Besquith who’d spoken, then it jumped back into the car and drove off.
“What race are you?” the alien asked.
“I am a Human,” Jim said. The Besquith’s furry eyebrows went up, and it took out a slate and typed. The slate beeped, and the alien growled. Next he held up the slate to take a picture of Jim. It b
eeped again.
“No Humans,” the alien said.
“Yeah, we’re kinda new at this.” It cocked its head. “Okay, we’re on our first contracts.” He slowly reached into a jacket pocket and held out his universal account access card, or UAAC. The alien touched his tablet to it, and the computer displayed data.
“You have a merc guild registration.”
“Like I said,” Jim replied, “I’m a merc commander. I want to parlay with your commander.” The alien looked at one of his cohorts who just shrugged. “You have my rifle,” he said. The alien looked at him then gestured with a claw. Another came over and swept over him with a wand. It made some beeping sounds. Finally, the other alien shook his head.
“Okay, we take you to commander.”
“About time,” Jim said, and the two led him into the building while the rest of their squad looked on with detached interest.
The building was obviously original. It matched the design he’d seen perfectly. The interior had the look of being reclaimed from the wilderness. Moss was everywhere, and it had the smell of rotting vegetable matter, with an undertone of wet dog. The lift was working well enough, and they rode it up. Jim grinned as it stopped on the 10th floor, all the way at the top. They nudged him out and across the hall. Two more Besquith guarded a doorway, but the guards opened it as they approached. Inside was the cleanest room he’d seen in the building. An ornate stone desk was centered in the middle of a picture window at least five meters across. Sitting behind that desk was another Besquith, who stood as he was led in. This one wasn’t wearing armor, though he had a belt around the waist with a holstered laser pistol. The alien’s long muzzle was slightly grey, and he had a necklace with a single dark red gem.
“You are the commander of the mercs at the processing center,” the alien said. It wasn’t a question.
“Jim Cartwright, commander of Cartwright’s Cavaliers.” The alien grunted and dropped a slate on its desk.
“You are Human, you say. A new merc race. That is quite uncommon.” It gestured vaguely at the endless jungle visible through his window. In the distance, Jim could just see a tiny hill poking out from the dense jungle. “I assume, since we have not heard back from them, that you wiped out the Aposo we sent?”
“You bet,” Jim said. “We took a few casualties, though.”
The Besquith gave a very Human sigh and shook his head. “You Humans must be nosy creatures,” he said; “you couldn’t leave well enough alone.” He pointed to the side, and Jim noticed for the first time that Administrator Hoona was sitting on a chair by one wall, out of the way. He appeared uninjured, though he was obviously agitated. “This incompetent fool couldn’t keep his mouth shut, either. When we saw your searches of the jungle, I assumed you might be onto this secret base.”
“Having someone remove the part of the other station’s name that said “One” might have helped,” Jim said. The Besquith considered for a second then gave a laugh that sent shivers up his spine.
“I see your point. After we wipe out your unit and replace this fool, we won’t be so foolish in the future.”
“Why not just take the installation and all the goods?”
“It is far too valuable to easily seize. The Wathayat Syndicate has a controlling interest and considerable resources. I only have a company here. It would be impossible to hold, especially since you’ve now killed most of my grunt firepower. However, the platoon I have left will be enough when we take your people by surprise.”
“That won’t happen,” Jim said.
“What? Of course, it will. We have their commander; they won’t know what to do.”
“Humans don’t operate that way,” Jim explained. “You don’t understand us. However, I understand you. Here’s what I’m going to do.” The Besquith sat back down and gave Jim an amused look. “You surrender your forces to me, and you get to live. How’s that sound?” The Besquith gawked for a moment, then began a huffing laugh that turned into a full on roaring belly laugh.
“You are a funny being!” it said after finally settling down. “I was going to eat you myself, but now I might have to take you as a pet. If you can keep me amused, that is.”
“There is no amusement in this situation,” Jim said. “You’ve got 10 seconds.” The leader looked to one of the guards who’d brought him in and lifted an eyebrow.
“We have his rifle.” Jim wasn’t wearing a sidearm.
“Five seconds.” Jim took a couple steps to one side, glancing at some of the old faded art on the wall. “Two seconds.” The Besquith grinned, showing huge white teeth and spread its massive arms wide.
“Time is up!” it roared. “What now, Human?” Jim turned, held his hand out making a gun with his index finger. He reached up and pulled his thumb back like he was cocking a pistol.
“Wrong answer,” he said. Pointing at the Besquith’s head, he pretended to fire. The top of the alien’s skull exploded in a fine red mist, and it slumped to the floor.
Hoona let out a strangled scream while the guards on either side of their leader’s desk looked between Jim and the corpse pumping blood onto the floor, and back again in utter shock. They both let out growling barks that Jim’s translator rendered into calls for help, and they both reached for their laser rifles.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Jim said and pointed his finger/gun at the one on the left, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” They both hesitated, uncertain. The other one made his move. Jim flipped his arm around and dropped his thumb. This time the Besquith’s entire head came apart and there was a cracking explosion from behind Jim somewhere. The two other guards came rushing in and Jim switched his aim back to the one on the left.
“NO!” it barked, dropping the weapon to fall onto its harness. Jim pointed right between its eyes.
“Tell them to drop their weapons,” he said. Jim could almost feel the other two aiming at his back. He reached up and cocked his thumb, like he had with the leader. “Now!” The alien’s eyes were as big as dinner plates. A second later, he heard two rifles clatter to the floor behind him. “Now yours,” he said to the one in front of him. “Unclip it, put it on the desk, and step away.” It did as instructed, and Jim stepped forward. He made a show of uncocking his thumb before picking up the rifle. He pointed it at the alien and gestured toward the door. He followed it, then kicked the other rifles toward one of the second ones shot. A gust of air through the nearly invisible hole in the glass ruffled his hair. “Handguns too,” he said.
After those hit the floor, he kicked them away and ordered them onto their knees. Fuck, they’re tall, Jim thought. Even on their knees they still came to his shoulders. He nodded and spoke. “How’s it look out there, Nina?”
“Floor’s clear,” she said into the tiny receiver in his ear canal. He nodded and walked carefully past the three survivors, keeping an eye on them as he moved to the lift. With a quick motion, he turned, aimed, and fired the laser rifle. The Besquith weren’t anatomically too different from Humans, only bigger. The gun was unwieldy, but essentially familiar. He managed to sever the lift cables with the second shot, and the cage dropped two floors before the safety engaged, and it screamed to a stop.
“Okay,” he said, “I’m isolated. Do it.”
The Apooca dropped screaming from high altitude, firing rockets at key defensive points just as two Chakook tanks burst from the woods firing, the Po’Kon APC right behind them. The Cavaliers attacked with everything they had.
* * * * *
Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 11
Jim was working on the letter to a relative of the last dead Cavalier. He grabbed the bottle on his desk and took a drink, then sighed. He’d packed forty cases of excellent IPA into the transport ship, and made sure it was carefully packed away in the warehouse. Right where an Aposo grenade had landed. Sorting through the carnage yielded two cases, just enough for a small victory party.
“Plenty of Coke left,” he said, shaking his head. He’d never liked the stuff, but now, after five
months of Coke or water, he was growing to enjoy it. He had to get his fix somewhere, since the explosion of beer had also finished off his cigarettes. There was a knock, and the door opened to admit his XO.
“Our relief just transitioned into the system,” Ted said. Jim nodded and saved the file. “They carried a message from the Mercenary Guild, too. The ransom offer is 1.5 million.” Jim laughed and shook his head.
“They don’t think we’re serious,” Jim said, and saved the messages onto a computer chip. He’d send them in a message too, in case something happened to them on the way home. He thought for a second, then shrugged. “Credit authorization code included in the message?” Ted handed him a slate, and he examined it, nodding. “Okay, take it.”
“They’d go for more, probably.”
“I agree,” Jim said, “but we need to get home.” He thought of the casualty list. He’d lost four more men on the assault against the Besquith. Even with Nina using that laser sniper rifle from the hilltop five miles away to push his bluff, thus making the ambush almost perfect, four more good men would not be flying home. “I’ve never lost half that many men before, for the army or as a contractor on Earth. These aliens are tough fuckers.”
“We expected they’d be good fighters. Hell, we saw it in Iran.”
“Yes, but it’s much worse than we expected. The hardware we have was the best I could afford. Billions and billions worth of it, and it’s crap compared to what these guys had.”
“We can get better stuff now,” Ted pointed out. Jim nodded vigorously.
“And we will,” he said. “There’s some place called a merc pit on the way home. Slim heard about it from the snails on the way here.” He gave Ted a wink. “We’ll make sure some of this money doesn’t make it home.” He’d considered what all the millions of credits the mercs would be bringing back would do to the world economy. The governments would tax some, of course. That would still leave billions. Trillions. Tens of trillions?
Alpha Contracts Page 8
