“Sound shields on. Jones, get up here.”
“Slade, what the hell are you doing?” demanded Kirby on the command channel. “I gave no such order!”
“Place is too quiet,” she hissed. “Might be a sonic device. You got that scanner of yours, Jones?”
“Belay that order! The rebels are civilians, Captain,” said Kirby angrily. “Where would they get hold of such devices?”
Jones looked at her. “Never without it, Captain.”
“Not our job to know, Captain Kirby.” She turned her body slightly so her hand gestures were hidden and signaled Jones to start scanning. “They got hold of other illegal weapons, like that pulse rifle they were shooting at us.”
“Move out, mister, and follow my orders!” Kirby’s voice almost deafened her.
Jones pulled a small scanning device from his belt then pointed it at the balcony. She watched the display panel as he scanned.
Harris gave a raucous laugh. “Trust a woman to get spooked by silence!”
A loud oath drew her attention briefly from Jones as Harris jostled the man ahead of him and knocked over an ornamental floor vase.
From the corner of her eye she saw the scanner light up like a Christmas tree as the vase hit the floor and shattered.
All hell let loose as wave upon wave of sound emanated from the device concealed on the balcony, shattering all the windows. Even with her aural shielding on, the sound vibrated every bone in her skull, giving Slade an instant headache. Overlying it were the screams of Kirby’s team as their unprotected ears took the full brunt of it.
The familiar roar of Brolin’s missile launcher going off inches from her helmet was a relief in comparison. The balcony exploded in a cloud of debris, instantly silencing the awful noise.
As the echoes of the explosion died, she shut off the command channel and looked to Kirby and his team writhing on the ground, clawing ineffectually at their helmets. Her team’s tell-tales were green, but Kirby’s all glowed red.
“Everyone okay?” she asked on their channel, switching her attention to the lobby around them.
“Affirmative,” came Tyler’s response.
“Blue One, report in!” Raines broke in on their private channel. “Telemetry shows multiple injured Greens.”
“Blue One, Green Team triggered a sonic device. Immediate evac needed.” She gestured Hutton toward them. “Sending my medic. Current status of rebel heat sources?”
There was a delay as their handler obviously conferred with someone else.
“Cancel your last order, Captain Slade. An evac unit has been deployed for Green Team. Continue to the basement parking lot. Heat source movements are unreliable. Either their numbers are growing, or they’re creating extra sources of heat to throw us off.”
“I can’t just leave Green Team unprotected,” she objected.
“It’s imperative you stop any escape by the rebels. We need the basement covered now. Armored government vehicles are parked there,” said Raines.
“I want the layout of that parking lot, Raines,” said Slade as Hutton headed back to her side at a run. “And isolate Green Team from our battle channel.”
“Acknowledged, Blue Team. Isolating Green Team. Will feed the layout for the parking lot.”
“You all heard our orders,” she said. “Move out. Jones, up front with me and Tyler. Keep scanning for traps. Does that gizmo of yours show movement as well as heat sources?”
“Sure, Captain. It can track them on noise too.”
“Track ’em any way that works,” she said before flicking on the now quiet battle channel. “Raines, send the basement feed to Jones’ HUD, as well as mine and Tyler’s.”
“That’s a highly unusual request, Captain Slade ...”
“Do it. Blue One out.” She flicked the channel off.
Columbia City Museum
Slade shifted her position for the fifth time as she and Jones crouched in what was ostensibly Hope City Hall parking lot, waiting for the narrator to brief their audience of school children on the next phase of their mission. She hated this tour of duty, and all it stood for. It was rehab for her and Jones, and was supposed to be a public relations exercise for the military, to take the civilians, especially school children, behind the scenes and show them that an active military was necessary, that peace was a precious commodity that had to be defended, no matter the cost. But it was failing.
Through the glass that separated them from the public, she could see the large infoscreen that existed in every public area in all the domed cities on Mars. The competition. Everything was being televised these days, broadcast to the people in an unending stream of exposés and larger-than-life interactive episodes. This had become just one more episode in that daily diet.
She punched the helmet controls with her chin, opening a private channel to Jones. “Is he stringing this out longer than usual?”
“I don’t think so,” said Jones. “It just seems like it.”
“That’s for sure.”
“I heard they’re disbanding another regiment. Only two left.”
“I heard. Channing and the United Worlds are pushing this antiwar movement.” Specialist teams like theirs were safe, for now. There was always the odd hot spot of unrest that refused to accept the U.W. rulings, be it on Earth or Mars.
“You can’t blame the president, considering what happened,” said Jones. “Not that I’m blaming you,” he added. “You know I don’t.”
“Channing does, and Sandler and his cronies. Sandler knew the truth but still covered it up! We perpetuate it every day with this bloody stupid reenactment!”
“Try to see it as just another day.”
She nodded. It was easier than telling him the obvious.
“We’re having a get together tonight in the mess bar. First anniversary. Join us, Captain. Everyone wants you to come.”
A year? Where had the time gone? She was spared the need to answer as the tech gave them their cue to begin the final segment.
Hope City Hall
The small lot was L-shaped, the longer leg only 150 feet long, with the standard guarded barrier to allow access. Wide concrete pillars were set close to the walls every forty feet. Between the pair nearest the elevator were three vehicles, with a fourth opposite, and one more at the far end of the shorter leg, by the exit. Except for directly in front of the elevator, a low metal railing between the pillars separated a five-foot wide walkway from the parking area.
“Fan out,” she ordered as they emerged from the staircase at the far end. “Tyler, Lydecker, check the guard post and the single vehicle. Brolin, Hutton, check those ahead. Jones, stay with me. Keep scanning.”
She and Jones ran the few feet to the nearest pillar.
“Nothing showing on the scans, Captain,” said Jones quietly.
“Can you set it to pick up the elevator if it starts moving?”
“Should do.”
“Do it.” She turned her attention to her team’s tell-tales.
“Vehicles clear,” said Hutton.
“Cover the elevator,” she said.
Moments later, Tyler called in. “Guard post and vehicle clear. Want us to cover the exit?”
“Affirmative. Jones and I are moving position to cover the staircase.” She gestured Jones to follow her.
As they settled down to wait, she monitored the traffic on the other battle channels.
After ten minutes, sporadic chat broke out among her team.
“Tell me why we’re doing this, Tyler. It’s a civilian police job,” muttered Lydecker.
“You know why.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t sign up to do groundside crap like this ... Why do we keep getting the back-up missions?”
“This time the long straw, next time the short one,” Tyler replied.
“Well, it stinks.”
“They didn’t shoot at you enough? C’mon round here and I’ll give you some dodging practice!” said Brolin.
She ignored
them, concentrating on the conversation between Raines and Amber Team. They needed to let off steam—no one liked getting hyped up on a mission then left waiting on the sidelines. When push came to shove, they’d drop the bickering and be professionals again.
“There’s no one here, Raines,” Rice was saying. “Damned rebels lit half a dozen thermal stoves, left them on to register as heat sources!”
“Say again, Amber One.”
“I said they’re gone, dammit!”
“Looks like we could have visitors, guys,” she said on Blue’s channel. “Stay alert.”
“Copy that, Captain,” said Tyler.
“Remember we want them alive.”
“I’m picking up something in the direction of the elevator now, Captain,” interrupted Jones.
“Blue One, the rebels and hostage are not showing on Opportunity’s scanners. You may have incoming to your area.”
“Their arrival is imminent, Base. Blue One out. Let them clear the elevator if you can,” she ordered her team. “Give them a chance to surrender. Use gas grenades, Brolin, if they don’t. Try to avoid shooting if at all possible.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The elevator door slid open, revealing five partially armored men surrounding the familiar figure of Kirsten Channing, daughter of Mars Colony’s president. Looking cautiously around them, the first two emerged, pulse rifles ready.
Slade’s uneasy gut feeling returned. She hesitated just long enough to see Kirsten begin to push the two men aside.
“Halt!” Tyler called out. “Lay down your weapons. You are surrounded by marines from the USS Opportunity.”
Turning in the direction of the voice, the leading two men began spraying the area ahead with bursts of energy.
She spared a glance at Tyler as he dove for the ground. A bolt clipped the back of his armor, the impact sending him skidding into the open. He grunted, but his light still showed green on her HUD.
She raised her rifle as one of the men grabbed the girl and, using her as a shield, ran for the open.
“Stop!” she yelled, letting off a warning shot.
They skidded, changed direction, but kept running for the single vehicle.
Hutton and Lydecker exchanged fire with the rebels in the elevator while Brolin laid down cover for Tyler as he tried to roll to safety. The girl’s posture hadn’t been that of a hostage. Had she really seen her elbow the men aside? It made no difference right now; it was down to her and Jones.
“Right behind you, ma’am,” said Jones as she began to run toward the next pillar. “I’ll cover you.”
The rebels had armor, but it wasn’t powered. Like all the Mars domes, gravity was Earth normal. They had the advantage.
She cleared the forty feet to the next pillar in seconds, skirted round it, dodging shots that landed within inches of her. As she leaped onto the trunk of the limo, she felt the shock of an impact hitting Jones. On her HUD, his tell-tale began to blink.
“Amber Team on its way, Blue One,” said Raines’ voice in her helmet. “Contain the situation for a few more minutes.”
“Still got your rear, Captain.” Jones’ voice was shaky, but strong. “Brolin’s let the gas loose. Should be over in a few.”
“Slade! You got no backup!” roared a voice that nearly had her losing her footing as, without pause, she jumped off the limo. The shock over, at least she could breathe more easily knowing he and Jones were okay.
She couldn’t wait for him. If she was right, then Kirsten Channing was in this right up to her ears. If she were wrong, then she was saving the hostage.
Rounding the last pillar, she stopped dead at the corner. “Halt! Drop your weapons! You’re under arrest,” she yelled, rifle trained on them.
“Help!” Kirsten yelled, trying to wrench herself away from the man holding her. “Help me!”
Slade froze, confused, letting the end of her gun drop down. This wasn’t the way she remembered it happening.
“Help me,” repeated the girl, a look of surprise briefly crossing her pleasant features as she continued to struggle with the man trying to drag her into the vehicle.
“Captain!” Jones’ voice was harsh in her ears. “Remember what you have to do!”
Yes, she knew what she had to do, as she saw Kirsten and the rebel leader running for the vehicle.
“Halt, or I will shoot!” she yelled, leaving her cover.
Kirsten and he put on a burst of speed. She fired at the limo, disintegrating a tire. “I said halt!”
They slid to a stop by the hood, turning to face her.
“Shoot her, Chris,” said Kirsten Channing, her face contorted in anger.
Without thinking, she fired first.
Columbia City Museum
“Nice job, Captain Slade,” said their narrator through the main battle channel. “You had me worried for a moment at the end, though.”
She stood up, sick to the depths of her soul with this charade, and followed Jones listlessly toward where the glass partition between them and the school children was being lowered.
“Thank you, Captain Slade and Sergeant Jones, for such an informative display,” the teacher said. “Children, thank the marines.”
“Thank you,” forty young voices chorused.
Behind them, the infoscreen chattered away relentlessly. She glanced at it as she unlocked and removed her helmet. A young male reporter was on the lawn outside Columbia’s Oval House. Underneath him, the tickertape banner scrolled past, summarizing breaking news. The words Virtual Reality Academy caught her eye but it scrolled past before she could read it.
“A pleasure, ma’am,” murmured Jones, taking the lead today. “Any questions?”
“Did you really get shot?” asked a girl.
“Course he didn’t,” said her neighbor. “Don’t be stupid. War isn’t real now, it’s only make-believe.”
“Yes, both Captain Slade and I really were injured,” said Jones. “Wars were real then, people had to go out and actually fight.”
“Where were you hurt?” asked a boy.
“Did it hurt?” another called out.
“I was lucky. I only got shot in the arm. And yes, it hurt at first, till the meds in my suit treated me.”
“Can we see it?”
Jones held his helmet out to her. She took it, watching as he went through the daily ritual of removing his glove to show his artificial hand. She began to come out of her daze as the children exclaimed over it, wanting to know if it was as good as a real one.
“I want to be a soldier but we were told only women could do that,” called out one young lad.
Jones looked at the teacher, unsure what to say.
“Yes, men can become soldiers, no matter what they tell you,” Slade said. “We’ll always need good men, and women, to defend our planet and Earth.”
“Captain,” interrupted the teacher, a warning note in her voice. “You know that they only accept women into the military since the United Worlds declared it illegal to fight in real time.”
Slade pointed to the infoscreen where the scene had changed to the new Virtual Reality Military Center.
“That’s not real, no matter what they tell you. War can’t be fought in VR. All those women are is game jackers, wired up to an elaborate game. They call it war. But war isn’t glamorous or fashionable, it isn’t clean and nice like they show you! What do you do when someone comes along who refuses to play by U.W. rules? Freedom can’t always be negotiated, sometimes you have to fight, and then people get hurt, and die!”
Her voice broke as the sound was turned up, drowning out anything else she might say.
As one, the children and the teacher turned to watch the screen.
“Here, outside the VR Military Academy, we’re waiting for the latest Mars combatant to emerge after her bloodless victory on Phobos!” the enthusiastic young female reporter said. “Our new-style virtual soldiers are mainly women, chosen because of their ability to process mental data more quickly
and efficiently than men. Thanks to the U.W. ruling, the days of male-dominated warfare are gone forever, as are the inhumane consequences of it. This latest battle secured mining rights on the moon for Columbian corporations for the next twenty years against stiff virtual opposition from Earth’s leading mining company, Harrison and Dewart.”
The scene shifted suddenly to the front door opening.
“She’s coming out now, the latest Virtual Warrior, our own General Lucy Foster!”
The children rushed over to the screen, leaving Jones and Slade facing the teacher.
“What were you thinking, Captain Slade?” she said stiffly. “I shall be complaining to the museum. You know the United Worlds have agreed there will be no more fighting. Your battle brought about that ruling! I would think after the injuries and loss your team suffered, you would agree.”
Slade stared past her at the screen where a young woman, fair hair flowing over the shoulders of her form-fitted blue one piece, stood at the top of the steps of the VR Academy, waving to the crowd.
“Complain all you like. They’re only playing games, they just don’t realize it. Out there are people like the rebels, and aliens, who won’t think twice about attacking us physically, no matter what insane edicts the U.W. passes! Human rights will count for nothing when you’re being slaughtered by an enemy that doesn’t recognize their existence.”
“You would choose to die for your beliefs?” demanded the teacher.
“I have died for them,” she said flatly, walking away.
The handler’s call sounded through her comm-set, but she was too busy fighting for her next breath.
“She went after the hostage and the rebel leader, Raines,” said Tyler. “I’m following now!”
She knew she ought to let them know she was all right, but the pain was so intense. Overhead, the ceiling began to darken and blur. Two sharp pricks in her neck brought her back from the edge of unconsciousness.
Like cold fire, the stimulant and the analgesic coursed through her system, heightening her remaining senses while dulling the throbbing pain in her chest and leg. She tried to orient herself, feeling the all-too-familiar sensation of the suit’s interior expanding protectively around her injuries.
Women of War Page 27
