Other figures walked about the camp in the darkness, speaking in quiet voices. Tibilov led Bandele to a large tent and pushed back the flap. Inside was a large wooden folding table surrounded by flatscreens and dataglasses; warm yellow lanterns illuminated the space. Tibilov leaned outside the tent. “Bring food and drink.” He turned and motioned for Bandele to sit at the table. “Valans has a few things to take care of, but he’ll start the briefing soon.”
A moment later, a large man entered the tent carrying a plate of food and a rough metal cup. A Ral, he wore gray fatigues and had a holster belted around his waist. Wordlessly he set the plate down in front of Bandele and left.
“Eat.” Tibilov smiled. “We won’t poison you just yet.”
Bandele picked up the spoon off the plate. He found the food didn’t look too appetizing, but smelled and tasted delicious. He shoveled the stuff into his mouth, his hunger now awakened, and was half-tempted to lick the plate clean when finished. The water in the cup tasted cool and clear. “Thank you,” he said.
Tibilov smiled again. “We did treat you a bit rough, but we don’t mean you any harm. You’re too valuable to us.” He pointed to a flap in the wall of the tent. “If you need to relieve yourself, there’s a chemical toilet over there.” Bandele availed himself of the convenience, and for a moment thought he could slip out unnoticed and escape. Where the hell would I go? Bandele finished up and returned to the table, feeling far better than when he had arrived.
Valans entered the tent; he had exchanged his colorful tunic for dark gray fatigues. He looked at Bandele, his expression passive, and strode to the head of the table. A dozen men and three women also entered the tent, all dressed the same as their leader. Each had a shaved head and extensive tattoos. They all took seats around the table, but Valans stood.
This looks like the entire leadership of Jala Resurgent.
Valans waved his hand above the table and a holographic image appeared. Bandele immediately recognized it as an image taken of Outpost 39 from the air. Prairie surrounded the outpost on three sides, but an extension of a vast area of rough valleys touched the base on the north.
“We’ve been preparing years for this operation,” Valans began; he spoke in Shoresi. “We have not undertaken anything quite like it. While we have wounded or killed hundreds of thousands of collaborators and the occupiers over the last twenty five jalur, this will not be a subterfuge operation.”
It will not be a terrorist operation, you mean.
“We will take the fight directly to the occupiers,” Valans continued. “This will be a direct confrontation of the true evil that rules us here on Jala, which enslaves the minds of many of our people with ideas of subservience and slavery. Once we expose what the humans are doing on our world, the collaborators will finally realize they are stooges to their own destruction.”
Those assembled at the table stood and pumped their fists, crying “Jala Resurgent!” multiple times. Valans held out his tattooed arms and smiled, basking in the praise of his troops. Valans continued. “We have slowly and secretly moved into position the twenty-seven APCs and eighteen AIVs we have captured. These vehicles will escort a force of a thousand Resurgent infantry equipped with the weapons of the occupiers, many supplied by tech smugglers that have eluded the Imperial navy’s blockade. You and your troops will have the most difficult job, and many of you will die as sacrifice for your world, but we must do this. When you are successful your names will echo through history.”
Those assembled began their chorus of “Jala Resurgent!” again. Even Tibilov, a human, joined in, his face contorted with rage and ecstasy. The fear grew in Bandele’s stomach like a sickness, but he now had no choice but to go through with this, or face certain death at the hands of his captors.
“I myself will lead the commando force of a hundred and fifty in ten captured APCs,” Valans continued. “The one weakness of our plan is we do not know many details about the outpost itself. The only thing we could purchase with all the lives sacrificed was a basic layout of the outpost. One human is willing to tell us more, one who has been betrayed by his own people.”
Everyone looked at Bandele. He felt like shrinking and crawling under the table, but he cleared his throat and stood. He spoke in quiet tones at first, but his voice grew stronger as he continued. “I must remind you, the information I possess is six Earth years out of date. Whatever I tell you could have changed after I left the outpost.”
“We understand,” Valans said. “Please continue.”
“The outpost is a scientific research station. To the north is an extension of an old Snirr strip mine. The Snirr exploited Jala’s vast rare-earth bearing carbonatite deposits during their occupation for resources to build their spacecraft. Similar to the other Snirr strip-mines on the planet, this region contains many areas poisoned by chemical and radioactive waste left over from initial processing of the ores, as well as wrecks of Snirr machinery that performed this processing. My duties at Outpost 39 involved determining the extent of the ecological damage and researching methods to mitigate that damage.”
Bandele paused and cleared his throat. “The outpost is a five hundred meter square, enclosed in a three meter high plasteel wall topped with electromagnetic and cell-activity sensors. The surrounding prairie provides the occupants with an excellent view of any approaching threats. The wall has combined blaster and laser cannon emplacements every fifty meters. There are two land gates, one each to the north and south. The Exploration Service supplies the outpost using VTOL aircraft; a small airfield supports this activity, but this airfield cannot support any orbital or sub-orbital flights, nor are there any military aircraft present. But this is no reason to celebrate: the outpost depends on support from naval vessels in orbit, but it can take up to twenty minutes for any vessel to target threats in the region since the outpost’s location is outside common flight and orbital paths.”
Bandele paused and drank some water while glancing at his audience. Some looked at him with derision, but most wore passive expressions.
“The outpost’s true defense is a platoon of thirty Marines, each equipped with a Kriegworks armored battlesuit, located in the barracks here.” He pointed at the holographic projection. “This force can emerge from the outpost and engage any land or air threat in under ten minutes. Also, these Marines constantly train in the environment, and a squad of ten plus a non-commissioned officer conduct irregular patrols of the area out to twenty kilometers. This patrol can quickly summon any assistance from the other Marines. The adjacent barracks, here, hold fifty USS personnel, each equivalent to standard Imperial light infantry, with a dozen APCs and three AIVs for support. These personnel provide outpost security and ensure the ongoing operation of the automated defenses. They never emerge from the outpost to engage threats, only to guard scientific expeditions to the north. In addition, there are around a hundred scientific and technical personnel, mostly Exploration Service, that conduct research in these labs here, here, and here. Staff in Operations, located here by the south gate, controls everything. On top of all of this, scientific satellites in orbit constantly survey the area to the north, mapping out the ecological damage of the region and providing information to the research team in the outpost.”
“The main computer is located in Operations?”
“Yes.”
“And their terrible secret, the Chelux invaders. Where are they located?”
Bandele pointed to the largest of the three labs. “Thirty specimens, fifteen male and fifteen female, are located in this building.”
“Very good, Bandele,” Valans said. “Thank you.” He moved his hands and the holographic projection zoomed outward, revealing the vast Snirr strip-mines to the north, rough highlands to the east and west, and a forested region to the south, where the camp was located. “The overall plan is this: the mechanized force will assemble and move out of the Gol Highlands to the east. The purpose of this force is to draw out and engage the Marines, and draw the fire of any o
rbital defenses.”
Bandele looked at the men and women sitting around the table. They remained quiet, their faces passive. Do they realize their fate? If so, they are brave.
“Once that force is thus engaged, the commandos will approach the base by vehicle, breach the southern gate, and head directly to Operations, here. We will input the tapeworm virus and download information from the outpost’s main computer. Depending on the success of the operation, we will then move to kill the Chelux invaders.”
The Ral began to chant. “Jala Resurgent! Jala Resurgent! Jala Resurgent!”
Bandele sat and put a hand to his face. You people are fucking insane! We’re all going to die! Why in God’s name am I here? All Bandele wanted was to get off this planet, and this little sideshow could ruin everything. Two hundred kilometers to the south, his rescue could already be waiting for him.
“Concentrate fire on the weapon emplacements near the gate!” Valans screamed. The Jala Resurgent leader sat in the passenger side of the APC, screaming into the communicator. Bandele sat right behind him, chained to the seat. He was one of fifteen packed into an APC built for a squad of twelve, so space was tight. The rest of the Ral clutched their rifles and hung on to anything they could.
The staccato and tinny sound of the vehicle’s anti-infantry lasers filled the cab of the APC, and every twenty seconds or so Bandele heard the woosh of the vehicle’s rocket launcher. The APC bucked and swayed as it rolled across the prairie.
“In position? BLOW THE GATE! NOW!”
Bandele heard a muffled whump.
“THE GATE IS BLOWN!” Valans cried, and the commandos cheered.
“Oop! INCOMING!” cried the driver.
WHAP!
Partially deaf from the sound of whatever hit them, Bandele felt the vehicle roll over. He opened his eyes to Valans unlocking the chains on his wrists, and the Ral dragged him out of the back of the APC. The blast must have stunned him for a few moments, for the other commandos had already exited the vehicle and lay prone on the ground using the overturned vehicle as cover. Several of them lay dead or wounded on the ground, their cries ringing in Bandele’s ears.
“You stick with me, Human,” Valans cried, his voice barely audible over the sound of the blaster and laser fire all around them. “It’s the best chance you’ve got.” Valans put his hands to his mouth. “Rally to me! Rally to me! We need to retrieve Tibilov’s pockcomp!”
The remaining commandos rolled over and knelt nearby their leader. Blaster and laser fire struck the vehicle, the whap and ting sounds filling the air. Valans grabbed Bandele by the arm and dragged him to the edge of the overturned vehicle. The Ral leaned in close. “Tibilov is down! We’ve got to retrieve his pockcomp; it was the only device with the tapeworm virus!”
What? Bandele nearly choked. Another APC lay on its side about thirty meters away. Blaster and laser fire hit the ground, sending up fountains of grass and dirt.
“SMOKE!” Tibilov screamed. He pulled a smoke grenade from his belt and tossed it as hard as he could toward the other over-turned APC. The remaining commandos either tossed smoke grenades or fired them from barrel-mounted launchers. It seemed to take an eternity for the smoke to bloom into large enough clouds.
“YOU! YOU! YOU!” Valans screamed pointing at three commandos. He then waved his arm in the direction of the other APC. “GO!” The three commandos crouched low and ran as fast as they could.
Terrified, Bandele couldn’t hold it any longer; he felt the warm flood of urine on his legs.
“THE REST OF YOU FOLLOW ME!” Valans cried. The Ral grabbed Bandele by the arm and ran. The Ral’s grip was strong, and Bandele stumbled as he tried to keep up with his captor.
They ran into the white billowing clouds. The smoke not only obscured vision but it was hot enough to confuse infrared sensors. Bandele immediately broke out into a sweat from the exertion and the raised temperature, and it felt like someone stabbed his right hip with a knife. The blaster and laser fire lessened somewhat, but they ran by one of the commandos laying on the ground like a rag doll, his head a smoking red stump.
Valans threw Bandele to the ground behind the APC and then dove into the overturned vehicle. Bandele scrambled closer and rolled up into a ball, his arms over his face. He peeked around and noticed about half of the commandos had made it across the open ground. They lay prone on the ground behind the vehicle, their chests heaving with exertion, as the blaster and laser fire picked up again.
Valans appeared and thrust something at Bandele. “Tibilov is dead! You must perform the tapeworm virus transfer!”
What?
Valans pushed a blood-covered pockcomp into Bandele’s face. Bandele grabbed it and pushed it into a pocket.
The Ral stooped and peered around the vehicle, and then turned back. “The gate is blown, and the closest emplacements have been destroyed! We have ten meters to go! ONE MORE PUSH!” He pulled another smoke grenade and tossed it. The commandos did the same and the smoke bloomed.
Valans grabbed Bandele by the arm and pulled him up. He smiled. “Don’t worry! I’m not gonna let you die.” He turned and dragged Bandele into the smoke. Bandele’s right hip felt like it was on fire.
Several moments later, the outpost’s wall loomed in the smoke, and Valans pushed Bandele against the structure. The gate looked ripped in half; one large and jagged slab of plasteel had fallen on the other, blocking any vehicle passage, but providing some cover. Commandos lined the wall on either side of the ruined gate; Bandele estimated just over half had survived the assault.
“Do the weapons emplacements fire inward?” Valans asked him.
Bandele thought for a moment. “No.”
“I knew it!” Valans peeked around the jagged edge of the wall and looked into the outpost; Bandele heard a hail of blaster and laser fire strike the wall. “Operations is to the left!” Valans shouted at the commandos on the other side of the gate. “Toss frags at those fucks, and give me some concentrated fire!” Valans pulled a grenade from his belt and rolled behind the ruins of the gate. Several of the other commandos on the opposite side followed his lead. They all stood at once and threw their bombs. Three commandos took fire and went down, one of them dropping his grenade before he could throw it. Valans scrambled toward the live bomb, grabbed it, and tossed it awkwardly over the ruins of the gate. Bandele felt more than heard the explosion, even though he was behind the wall; the detonation left his ears ringing. He saw two of the commandos take shrapnel in their faces and go down.
The remaining commandos by the gate knelt and fired into the outpost using the ruins as cover. Valans scrambled back toward Bandele. “We’re going to push for Operations! Follow me!” He grabbed Bandele by the arm and crouched. Without warning, he ran behind the commandos firing into the outpost to the other side of the gate, the others following him.
“One more round of frags!” Valans cried. He pulled another grenade from his belt and tossed it into the outpost. Two more commandos behind the ruins of the gate went down, but managed to throw their grenades before they were hit by defensive fire.
“Covering fire!” Valans held his rifle in his right hand, and, firing wildly, pulled Bandele up onto the gate slab. Bandele scrambled as fast as he could, but Valans literally dragged him down off the slab and into the outpost. The outpost’s security fired from cover behind an APC or lay prone on the concrete road.
Valans, Bandele in tow, made a mad dash toward Operations, a six meter high building twenty meters away. They briefly stopped for cover behind several plasteel crates, and then sprinted the last few meters. Valans threw Bandele to the ground and fired around the corner at the defenders. “MOVE AND COVER! MOVE AND COVER!”
Several of the commandos crouched and ran toward the plasteel crates, while those remaining at the gate provided covering fire. The two groups then reversed roles, so the remaining commandos could move to the crates. Bandele saw three more go down.
FUCK!
This firefight was wilder than anyt
hing he had experienced while accompanying Militia patrols. He heaved with exhaustion, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and his hip flared with pain.
“Stay with me, Bandele!” Valans cried. “Stay with me!” He glanced at his pockcomp. “There’s a service entrance on this side of Operations?”
Bandele gasped. “Yes.”
“How many personnel?”
“No more than twenty-five technicians and maybe six security.”
Valans pulled Bandele up by the scruff of his neck. “Follow me! Follow me!” He dashed down the concrete walkway between the Operations building and the wall. A set of steps appeared; he fired a burst of bolts at the camera above the door, and then hauled Bandele up the steps. He dropped Bandele and, using two hands for his rifle, fired a stream of bolts at the door lock. The door shuddered and popped open. Valans kicked it wide, grabbed Bandele, and pulled him into the building.
The darkened interior lit up with flashes. Bandele felt himself slump to the floor. He saw Valans convulse against the wall as a stream of blaster bolts riddled his body. A moment later, the leader of Jala Resurgent fell to the floor like a sack of meat, his dead eyes staring at Bandele.
“Congratulations, Bandele! You did a great job!”
He looked around and saw Colonel Joan Emboto standing at the top of a short stairwell. She stood with one hand on her hip and another holding a large blaster rifle. Several USS personnel stood behind her, smiling. Bandele glanced out the door and saw one of the Ral commandos go down screaming. Shouts and blaster fire told him the Ral outside were being slaughtered.
Bandele sighed. “I figured this was too easy.”
“We dialed down the weapons emplacements, and let the Marines go slaughter the laughable force sent from the West. They were mopping up by the time you got to the gate, so we had to order them to stay where they were.” Emboto walked down the steps and stood above Bandele. “I knew the insurgents would get around to recruiting you, just like they did that vile traitor Tibilov. Where is he, by the way?”
The Borrega Test Page 16
