Alien Salute

by Charles Ingrid

Jack felt himself growing cold. The Thraks were waiting for them. But he smiled. “Good.”

  Chapter 15

  Good?” echoed Rawlins.

  Jack ignored him. “Whitehead, are they in orbit or maintaining a fixed position?”

  “Doesn’t look like they’ve got much drift.”

  “Okay, then pull a right angle turn here. Put us in orbit, but keep them on the edge of vision. I want to know the second they move.”

  Rawlins was still in shock, his half open suit making him look like some kind of exotic flower. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on Jack. “Sir.”

  Jack said to Whitehead, “Give me a picture of those sectors we were looking at earlier.” With a brief glance over his shoulder, he said, “Thraks dug in are a lot easier to find than Thraks being dropped in. We may not catch them coming out of hyperdrive, but this’ll do just as well.”

  He scanned the data coming in over the screen. “Freeze it there.” The computer obeyed. “There’s sand. Not much. But a Thraks never digs in for a fight without some sand. They store their food in it, like a larder. This is where they’re dug in tightest.”

  Rawlins thawed out, shrugged into his sleeves, and sealed his armor to the neck. “Then that’s where we hit.”

  Jack shook his head. “No. That’s suicide to hit ‘em there. We’ll land here and here,” he windowed the screen. “And spiral inward. It won’t be easy. That’s rough terrain and they’ll hit us with everything they’ve got once they see we’ve pinpointed them.”

  “How do you know that’s them? Maybe that’s a desert or something.” Garner, dark bushy hair in disarray and with disbelief on his feral face, moved across the bay. He and Jack had been at odds during Basic, but Jack had won his loyalty once before, and Jack did not fear having the soldier at his side now. Garner’s face showed no malice, but he looked to Jack for an answer.

  “It shows on the spectroscope. Believe me, it’s Thrakian sand. I know.” And he did.

  “Yes, sir,” Garner acknowledged. “Then what’s below it?”

  “Depending on how long they’ve been here… nests, an armory, and possibly even catacombs. It doesn’t take them long to dig in.” Jack picked up his helmet. He looked around the ship’s hold. Fifty-nine men paused to meet his eyes. “Whitehead, put me on broadcast.”

  “Yes, commander. Tied in.”

  He was now being watched on the two other ships by another 120 men. Jack said, “We’re ready for drop. The Thraks are here, waiting for us. But they don’t know that we don’t care. We’re ready for them. And we’re going to take them out. This is how we’re going to do it. Listen carefully. Drop time in twelve minutes.” And he began to detail the drop zones, sector assignments and ever-tightening spiral they were going to throw around the heart of the Thrakian infestation.

  When he was finished, there wasn’t a man who doubted they could do it.

  He smiled tightly, a grim smile for which he had, unknowingly, begun to grow famous. “All right now. First team drop units, Red Wing, Blue Wing, Green Wing, let’s go.”

  He made a motion and Whitehead cut the com screen transmission. The pilot’s face filled the screen once more.

  “Break a leg, commander.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jack said. “I want you to watch that mother ship. Turret movement or orbit change. If it flinches…”

  “I’ll go in and burn its tail feathers for you.” Whitehead bared his teeth in anticipation.

  “Do that,” Jack said. “But don’t forget you’ve got to haul our asses out of here when we’re done.”

  “Commander.” Whitehead sounded mildly aggrieved. “That junk is no match for a needier.”

  “The general of that junk may surprise you.” Jack said nothing else as he locked his helmet on. The ship shuddered as Whitehead took it down to where Jack wanted it. Team One went into the drop tubes. It would take six passes for Whitehead to get them all down. Jack wanted to be on the first one, but he was scheduled for the last, just in case the Thraks had changed techniques.

  The Thraks hit them as soon as they chuted in. Jack was pleased. It gave him a chance to blood his men right away, rather than have them walking about the landscape all spooked until they met action. Wondering about the enemy was more dangerous than facing them. His com was crackling with messages as he plummeted in, cut the chute and let his power vault absorb the shook of hitting.

  “Quiet down out there and get to work,” he ordered, cutting across the chatter. The com lines went quiet. Then Rawlins, with Unit 3, called out, “Oh my god! Here they come!”

  And it was busy after that.

  ***

  He doubted if any of his men had really seen a warrior Thraks. The Thraks that came in on the trading ships were really drones, mottled gray or sable, impressive enough until compared to their bigger brothers. But a warrior Thraks was bigger, more massive, his natural body armor far denser, his ability to run slope-backed on all fours making him much more agile than the drones. They were most insectlike when still. In movement, they became vicious carnivores and Jack didn’t want his men underestimating them.

  “Red Wing. We’re being flanked.”

  “Then turn. Keep your grids on, and put your locators on memory. We’ll fall back into pattern later,” Jack said.

  “Man down! Man down!” a voice shrilled, and cut off abruptly. Jack waited. “Rawlins, Garner, Peres. Anybody know who that was?” A young voice quavered back, “This is Simons, Commander. That was Joe Henkley. He had trouble after the drop… something inside the armor broke loose… he’d been trying to get it hooked back up.”

  “All right, Simons. Thanks for the data. Keep your chin up and your eyes peeled.” Jack let the rosy glow of the holo bathe him as he searched for movement. He wasn’t disappointed. In two seconds, he was very busy, as the choppy, green-brown terrain of grass, brush, and hillocks, suddenly exploded with Thraks.

  They didn’t go down the way they used to. Bogie sang in his blood as Jack fired and ran, fired and vaulted, return fire ricocheting off the armor. He saw one stumble down in the wave of chitin rearing up against him, even as he turned and ran, drawing them after him into the arms of his soldiers holding the sector behind him. Bogie roared his disapproval of the maneuver until Jack turned and stood, flanked by Rawlins to his left and another Knight to the right.

  He pointed his gauntlets and laid down a spray of fire. Another Thraks tumbled, but a dozen more jumped it, throwing themselves over and coming up mean.

  “Holy shit,” Rawlins muttered. “What stops ‘em?”

  “This does,” said Jack, and blew the leader’s head off. It took a precise throat-shot just below the mask to do it. But it could be done. He took the legs off three more and said, “Let’s go.”

  Bogie roared his approval as Jack ran toward the Thraks, vaulted their line and came down behind them, sending havoc into their ranks.

  From the chatter on the com, he could tell that his men were settling down from their first startled reactions. He cut into the transmission, saying, “Don’t waste your fire. Now that you know what they’re like, make every shot count.”

  Garner huffed back, “Jesus, commander, these bugs are tough.”

  “Yes,” Jack returned. “But you’re tougher. Remember, Garner. We’re here to kick ass. We want ‘em to think twice about going to war with us.”

  He began firing single shots until the Thrakian line either went down or fled.

  Then, still smiling his grim smile, he set his locator to find his original destination and resumed course. Ahead and behind him, flanking him, just within hailing distance, his men did likewise.

  Third day. His mouth felt dry and the sweat trickled persistently, maddeningly, through his chest hairs and down to his sweatsoaked trousers. At his back, the chamois that was Bogie’s regenerative form lay coolly against his shoulders, absorbing heat and moisture there, and protecting him from the chafing the field pack always created on an armored back.

  He almost hadn’t or
dered field packs. He was glad he had. Thraks had been bred tougher. They fought better than they had in the first Sand Wars. They’d taken their beatings and learned their lessons.

  But then, so had Jack.

  Twelve percent casualties weren’t bad. And they were now targeted toward the interior of their spiral pattern. From the attacks in response to their raid, he knew he was right about the location of the nests and main armory. Wipe that out, and the mother ship just over the horizon would pull out in a hurry. Whitehead and the two other needlers and been doing a little dance with the Thrakian behemoth, nothing serious, but most of the bombing to soften up the Knights had been kept to a minimum. So far, so good.

  Although, if he had it to do over, he’d have Lassaday here as well. And Travelling. Holding 180 hands to get his troops through this was tougher than he’d thought. His throat had gone dry and raspy sometime last night and Bogie had mournfully informed him that morning that their water supply was depleted. It seemed the old suit had developed a minor leak. The recycler was keying in on the leak as humidity and drying it out almost faster than it leaked, leaving Jack without water and with a paper dry throat.

  It made it difficult to give orders. He’d spread himself too thin, knowing himself to be the only true veteran among the suits. There were mercenaries, of course, who’d been through a variety of actions, but nothing in a sustained, contained situation like they faced now.

  All in all, they’d done well. He was proud of them. Any minute now, the Red Wing should hit the leading edge of the sand as the spiral tightened. When they did, with Peres leading them, Green Wing and Blue Wing would have to get their asses in gear for Thraks would literally erupt out of the ground, determined to protect their headquarters. Not too long now.

  Jack licked his lips and wished he could mop the sweat off his forehead.

  Almost as if reading his thoughts, Peres said, “What’s it going to be like, again?”

  Jack checked his tracking grid. Peres should be southwest of him. That put him facing into the wind. “Grit,” Jack answered. “In the wind first, like dust. Then you’ll get close enough to see patches of it on the ground. Eventually, you’ll hit the dunes and from there, Robbie, you’re going to be too busy to be a tourist.”

  A short laugh. Jack added, “And I don’t want anybody slowing down for souvenirs. I only need one body and I’ll handle picking that up. Everybody else concentrate on clearing the field. We blow the armory and get out.”

  “Yessir.” He heard a wave of echoes.

  “Anybody showing a red field?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good.” Inwardly, he was greatly pleased that no one had exhausted their power supplies though he had suspected there would be dead suits. Although technically they could stay in the field much longer, in reality it depended on how much firepower they’d expended. And how much firepower they’d expended depended largely on how inexperienced and scared they’d been. They’d done very well to get this far.

  Peres said, “There’s grit on the wind, sir.”

  “Good.” Jack checked his gauges over. “Give a yell when you hit the first patches. All Wings, all sectors. Listen up. When Peres signals us, tighten the ranks. We’re going in. Any of you with expended field packs, drop ‘em. I want you lean and mean. Got that?”

  An echoing wave of assent.

  Ten minutes later, Peres’ hoarse voice came over the com. Jack never heard what he said, but he launched forward into a run, closing up the ranks and bringing his spiral pattern into a stranglehold.

  He heard the whoops and cries as Thraks exploded out of the scrub brush and dunes of sand, intent on protecting their last holding grounds.

  The Knights crossed the leading edge of sand that encroached on the Stralian soil. The line of Thraks wavered for a moment and gave way. Jack could not see far enough over the dunes, but in a few hours, he should be able to meet with Peres as their deadly circle closed.

  He kept firing and striding, breaking the ranks of the Thraks before him, his boots doing almost as much damage as his gauntlet fire. His left gauntlet muzzle jammed, leaving Jack with scorched fingertips inside the glove as it overheated. With a mild curse, Jack pulled out his laser rifle from his field pack and cradled it, the first time he’d had to use the pack. He’d been saving it for the coup de grace, but no matter. Nothing was going to stop him today. He saw Rawlins following him in, and then picked up ground sight of the rest of Blue Wing. Laser fire dazzled his sight as another wave of Thraks reared from the ground and charged.

  Their bodies crunched when he strode over them. Flecks of green and yellow ichor flew up to splatter the white armor. White. A deadly shade of armor unless one were buried to the hips in white and beige and pink sand.

  Then, he became part of the landscape, unlike the sable and more somber colors of armor the others wore. Jack’s armor had always been designed for war with the Thraks. He was going to win this one. He had no doubts.

  Not even when the ground opened up right under him and he plunged into darkness.

  Chapter 16

  Shee-it, commander!”

  Jack’s ears echoed even as he dropped and hit the power vault to land. He landed, and went to his knees, Flexalinks complaining. It had been like falling off a cliff. Even worse had been the plunge into Bogie’s thoughts—the berserker clawed at him from the inside. He swam in raw panic. His breath rasped through his clenched throat as he fought to take possession of his mind, of rational thought. Bogie weakened and Jack immediately squelched the light sensors, not wanting to advertise his position, and came to rights.

  *I’m blind, boss.*

  “Loosen up, Bogie. I’m not.”

  Then he broadcast, “I’m okay. Nobody panic. I’m in an underground cavern or catacomb. Maybe Thrakian, maybe natural, hooking into their network. I’ll take one or two volunteers with me, the rest of Blue Wing go on to their rendezvous.” His voice sounded normal, even cheery to himself, no thanks to Bogie’s fear that still attempted to claw its way out of him and take over everything he knew.

  “Ah… commander?”

  “Yes, Rawlins.”

  “What are you likely to run into down there?”

  Jack smiled tensely. “I’d say, lieutenant, I’m likely to run into a lot of Thraks. On the other hand, if they’re coming out after you, I may just run into a lot of luck.” Bogie’s panic bled away as Jack began to examine his surroundings. He stood cautiously, thinking to himself that the new suits had automatic sounding equipment, with periodic readouts. His armor had it, too, but he had to instigate the function. He’d been just too damn busy to bother.

  *Getting old, boss.*

  “Not me,” Jack answered him. “Just you.”

  *Maybe.* The sentience’s inner voice was weak. The suit’s gauges were swinging into low. Was Bogie feeding off the suit’s power and causing both of them to run short? *It’s cold.*

  “And dark.” Bogie would no more admit his emotional lapse than apologize for stepping on a Thraks. Jack cut the conversation short, as he relocated his original path and saw the cavern widen out in front of him accommodatingly. All right then. He’d take the low road as long as it led where he wanted to go. The berserker’s mental shiver acknowledged his decision.

  At his back, two heavy thuds announced recent arrivals. Jack panned the rear view—one was Rawlins. The other a new recruit by the name of Aaron. Aaron was a curly headed, snub-nosed kid with innocent blue eyes that shaded the devilment hiding just under the surface. But Jack hadn’t seen anybody technically better with a suit, even if he wasn’t as athletic as some. Aaron made a lazy salute before casting about the cavern. He then dimmed his lights to follow Jack’s lead.

  Rawlins was an ebony shadow among the darkness. His visor glinted briefly, then a low beam issued out.

  Knowing he couldn’t ask for better men at his back, Jack went into the unknown.

  It was like being swallowed whole, Amber thought, as she stepped into the fawn-colored armor
. It smelled, too, and she wrinkled her nose slightly, thinking of sweat factories and other memories from her not too distant past as a street hustler.

  Denaro’s face had pinked. “There’s no plumbing for—ah—someone like you.”

  Amber peered out at him over the neck rim as she finished sealing the seams. She had to crane her neck to do so. She was tall, but Denaro was vastly taller even for a soldier and the suit was greatly oversized for her. She thought that, suited, Denaro would be bigger than Jack. “That’s okay, Den. I’m not going to be in here all day… right?”

  “Ahh. Right.” The Walker shifted his weight from side to side.

  Amber waved a slim hand at him. “Don’t worry, Lassaday won’t catch us. Besides, you’ve been authorized to log extra practice time.”

  He cleared his throat. “Just don’t… ah… dent it or anything.”

  “You’ll have it back in no time. Come on, walk through the tunnel with me.” Frowning slightly, Amber concentrated on slipping her feet into the boots and her hands into the sleeves and gauntlets, where a mesh of circuitry immediately gripped her fingers and, for the first time, she understood a little about the gauntlet weaponry. Just like pointing a finger, she thought. Strange that her first time using a suit would be in ordinary armor, not Jack’s where both Jack’s presence and Bogie’s could embrace her. She’d been in armor before—under extremely cramped and difficult circumstances. This was entirely different. A feeling of power swept her.

  “Are we powered up?” she said, aiming her right index finger at the locker room wall. Before Denaro could answer, the laser rayed and a pan-sized area blackened.

  Amber jerked her hand out of her sleeve in reaction and stood, wide-eyed, looking at the sooty wall.

  “Yes,” Denaro said, his voice anticlimatic. “On low power, but be careful.” He held out the helmet. “You’d better put this on. If you’re spotted like that, they’ll know it’s not me in the armor… but they won’t be able to tell through the visor screening who it is.”