Joined In Battle

by Toby Neighbors

  Dean felt a surge of optimism, even when Chavez reported the dismal state of affairs regarding their ammunition.

  “EMR mags are nearly gone, sir,” Chavez said. “Enough for one or two each, but that’s it. The HA utility cannons are slightly better off, but they’re down to the shotgun rounds, a little over a full load each. We get into trouble, we’ll chew through our supply in short order. No ordinance other than a few odds and ends. Sergeant Harper has most of her MSVs, and Loggins has a few left, but that’s all.”

  “Well, the good news is I just heard from command,” Dean said. “The shuttle is on its way. Vice Admiral Anders packed a resupply of ammunition, and we can get the refugees off-planet. Let’s start with the wounded and those showing signs of hypothermia.”

  The platoon marked out an area on the ridge near their position for the shuttle to make its landing. Dean and Nathan Orlovskey got two dozen of the refugees ready to board the ship. The Raptor seemed to materialize out of thin air right above Dean’s position. He gave Lieutenant Chappelander instructions on landing, then hurried over to the shuttle with Chavez, Tallgrass, and Landin to remove the ammunition.

  “Get the refugees on board,” Dean said as he and Chavez carried out the second of two large ammunition crates.

  It only took a few minutes to get the wounded and those suffering the worst from their exposure through the long night on board the shuttle. It lifted off smoothly and then rocketed up toward the stars, which Dean noticed for the first time that night were exceptionally bright. He felt as if he could reach out and touch the cosmos, and he tried to hold onto the beauty of the night sky for as long as he could.

  “Uh, Captain,” Chavez said. “We got a problem.”

  “What now?” Dean asked.

  “All this ammo, it’s worthless to us right now.”

  “How is that possible?” Dean asked.

  “It’s the plasma cartridges for the HA plasma cannons. We swapped them out for the utility cannons and they won’t fire this ammunition.”

  “Damn, what about the other crate?”

  “It’s all flechettes for our utility rifles,” Ghost said. “We’re SOL.”

  “Why can’t anything go right lately?” Adkins grumbled.

  Dean was just about to reply when another, louder rumble made him stop in his tracks. He felt the sound even more than he heard it; it shook the ground beneath his feet.

  “What the hell was that?” Landin asked.

  “I think I know why the crawlers didn’t advance up the mountain,” Tallgrass said as she pointed over the ridge.

  Dean looked and saw what appeared to be a crack in the side of the mountain. In the predawn light it was nothing more than a jagged line of shadow against the gloom of the mountain—and peering out of the darkness were two glowing, yellow eyes.

  Chapter 26

  “Something is waking up,” Dean said. “Harper, can you get me a closer look?”

  “I’m on it,” the FAS sergeant said.

  “We’re in a bad spot,” Adkins said. “We can’t risk going back down the mountain, the shuttle won’t be back for hours, and we’re almost out of ammo. I wish we were anywhere but here.”

  “Platoon, form up,” Dean said. “Static, Eagle, Stinger Strong, Eye, Neutral. I want our left flank anchored against the hillside. Orlovskey, keep your people behind us.”

  The Heavy Armor Specialists formed a straight line with their backs to the new threat, their large rectangular shields overlapping. Harper and Loggins took firing positions on the right side of the HA line. Ghost used his jetpack to move higher up the mountain, where he stretched out on a small rock outcropping and unfolded the bipod legs to give his long rifle added stability. Dean was several paces behind the HA line with Landin to his left, Tallgrass to his right, and Chavez behind him.

  They watched as the eyes moved out of the crack in the mountain. The creature was too far away to see clearly with his night vision, so Dean switched over to infrared and couldn’t help but gasp.

  “You okay, Captain?” Chavez asked.

  “Switch to infrared,” Dean ordered.

  “Holy shit in a rainstorm!” Adkins declared.

  “Look at the size of that thing,” Landin added.

  “It’s a cragnil,” Tallgrass said.

  “It’s in range,” Ghost said. “Shall I sting it a little?”

  “My fear is that stinging it is all you would do,” Dean said.

  The cragnil was huge, the size of a dinosaur. It was several hundred feet away, and yet Dean felt a sense of panic just being anywhere near the huge predator. It was moving slowly toward the ridge where Dean’s platoon was stationed.

  “Any chance it just goes away?” Dean asked Tallgrass.

  “There hasn’t been much study on the native wildlife,” she replied. “Just a simple cataloging of species, but my guess is we’re a new scent. Its curiosity won’t let an animal just ignore something it’s never smelled before.”

  “We wait,” Dean said. “Let’s not start a fight before we have to.”

  The sky was beginning to lighten and looked pinkish in color. Dean switched his TCU to low light. It was still too dark to make out the cragnil’s features, but he could see the dark shadow among the gloom of the mountains.

  “We have MSVs?” Dean asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Harper replied.

  “Get them out there.”

  “That terrain is rough, sir,” Harper said. “We might be better off placing them by hand.”

  “You mean moving toward that thing out there?” Adkins said.

  “I’ll go,” Loggins suggested.

  “You could get killed out there, Rookie,” Chavez said.

  “Or I could scare that thing away,” Loggins replied. “I’m good with it, Captain. Send me.”

  “Fine,” Dean said, wishing he could do the job himself but knowing it was too dangerous. He hated sending someone else, especially someone as inexperienced as Private Loggins, but he couldn’t risk losing Harper; she was the only person who could detonate the MSVs. “But no heroics, Private. You get those drones on the far side of the ridge, then you double time it back over here.”

  “Yes, sir!” Loggins said.

  The entire platoon watched the young Fast Attack Specialist move out across the ridge. The cragnil was moving closer, but it was impossible to see how much distance there actually was between Loggins and the huge, shaggy creature. Dean had seen documentaries of large creatures on other worlds. He had even run training simulations against large, alien races, but he’d never seen such a large beast in the flesh before. It felt unnatural, as if the creature shouldn’t exist—yet there it was. With each passing minute, the sky became brighter and the details of the cragnil clearer.

  It was moving more quickly, either emboldened by the dawning light or drawn toward Private Loggins. The creature’s shaggy hide was thick and matted with dirt in places. Its long muzzle was covered in rough-looking skin that was mostly bare. Long, pointed teeth stuck out of the reptilian maw at odd angles. It moved with heavy, plodding steps that kicked up small clouds of dust, yet there was a gracefulness to the creature as well, as if great power and speed were hidden by that lumbering gait. It lowered its head, sniffing the ground occasionally, and stopped to watch both the lone soldier setting out MSVs and the rest of the platoon on top of the ridge.

  “That’s good enough,” Dean told Loggins who had set out eight of the MSVs. “Get your ass back here now.”

  “Roger that,” Loggins said.

  But as soon as he started to run, the cragnil sensed an opportunity slipping away. It suddenly bounded after the lone specialist, and it was obvious that the cragnil would catch Loggins before the FAS private reached the safety of the platoon—not that Dean was certain the Recon Platoon was any safer than Loggins on his own. He watched the vid feed from the MSVs on his battle helmet’s view screen as the cragnil approached.

  “Now, Harper!” Dean ordered.

  The MSVs detonated
simultaneously, sending up plumes of dirt and dust directly in front of the cragnil, who reared, its growl becoming a roar that shook the ground. Dean had no doubts the creature wasn’t giving up.

  “Ghost, sting it!” Dean said.

  He heard the report of the rifle a split second before the cragnil jumped backward, lowering its head and pawing at its long muzzle.

  “Loggins,” Dean continued. “Drop the rest of your MSVs on the ridge top.”

  “In a line?” he asked.

  “No, all together. Then get moving again.”

  “Yes, sir,” Loggins replied.

  “Platoon, I want massed fire at the cragnil’s face and chest,” Dean said. “On my mark.”

  Just as Dean expected, the cragnil shook off the pain of the sniper’s shot. Dean was amazed that a .50 caliber lead slug didn’t frighten the beast away, but once the sting of the shot had passed it charged toward Dean’s platoon. Ghost fired several more times, and several of the impacts were visible on the creature’s muzzle, where blood splashed from the wounds—but still the cragnil didn’t alter its charge.

  “Open fire!” Dean ordered.

  The EMR rifles popped as their tungsten projectiles were hurled through the air. The HA utility cannons had a shorter range, which meant their weapons stayed silent while they waited for the creature to close the distance between them. The cragnil suddenly shifted its approach, bounding from side to side in a zigzag pattern. Blood was flowing through the creature’s thick, shaggy fur as it sprang to the top of the ridge. Harper detonated the MSVs without a direct order from Dean. The result wasn’t as massive as the AAV warheads, but it knocked the cragnil off its feet.

  The massive creature didn’t stay down for long. It rose up quickly, continuing its charge even though it was favoring its left forepaw. A long, thin tongue wagged out of its mouth, and the creature’s eyes seemed to fix on Dean, who felt a chill on the back of his neck. As soon as the creature closed to within one hundred feet, the utility cannons of all six Heavy Armor Specialists opened up at full auto. The flechettes didn’t pack the punch of the other weapons, but the sheer volume more than made up for the lighter ammunition. Blood, broken teeth, and bits of bloody fur flew into the air as the cragnil roared in pain. It turned, trying to absorb the punishment from Dean’s platoon and continue forward, but the rate of fire from the HA utility cannons was simply too much to ignore.

  Dean’s rifle clicked empty just before the cragnil turned and ran. There was no need to call a halt to the shooting. Everyone but the Heavy Armor Specialists were out of ammo.

  “That was too damn close,” Chavez said.

  “Ah, we could have held it off,” Adkins bragged.

  “That thing could have stepped right over the entire platoon,” Landin said. “One swat of its tail and you’d be sent flying.”

  “Obviously you still have a thing or two to learn about the Heavy Armor Specialty,” Adkins said. “This armor is impact-resistant.”

  “I’m just glad we won’t have to test how resistant it is,” Dean said. “Circle the wagons and pray we can survive long enough to get off this rock in one piece.”

  The platoon took up defensive positions in a semicircle around the refugees, who were clearly relieved that the cragnil had turned back. The sun could be seen just over the horizon, and already Dean’s battle armor was registering an increase in the temperature.

  “When's the shuttle getting back?” Orlovskey said. “I want to be gone before your luck changes.”

  “The good news is that all the threats are neutralized,” Dean said. “The bad news is we’re out of ammo. The only luck we have left is bad, and the shuttle won’t be back for another hour.”

  Chapter 27

  “Captain Blaze!”

  Dean wasn’t sure what was happening. He was fighting his way through a mental fog, and the sudden brightness around him seemed alarming.

  “Sir, please wake up. It’s an emergency.”

  Dean rubbed his face as recent events finally clicked back into order. His platoon had been resupplied by the first shuttle landing in the light of day, but after two more flights, the Raptor had to be recharged on the Hannibal before it could return and evacuate the Recon platoon. Dean had never been so tired in all his life.

  Once his platoon had finally arrived back on the ship, they made their way through the mass of refugees camping out in the concourse around the gravity drive of the Hannibal. Dean and this platoon had just enough energy to pull themselves out of their armor and stumble into bed. They didn’t even eat anything. The mission on Lars had been a success, and they had all returned unscathed, but exhausted.

  When Dean was able to open his eyes, he saw Sergeant Margot Fennes standing over him. She looked alarmed.

  “What is it?” Dean asked.

  “Emergency Action Message,” the O&A sergeant explained. “Vice Admiral Anders wants you on the bridge.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Ten hours,” she said. “That was a hell of a rescue.”

  “Yes,” Dean agreed.

  He would have argued that he had only been asleep a short while. He certainly didn’t feel rested, but he stood up and pulled on his utility fatigues as Sergeant Fennes quickly turned away. Dean had managed a short shower before he dropped onto his bunk—not bothering to put on any clothes—and slept like the dead.

  “Lead the way, Sergeant,” Dean said, feeling the stubble on his chin and realizing he hadn’t the opportunity to properly look after himself in days.

  They stepped out onto a noisy concourse. The Hannibal had become a refugee ship, her small crew inundated by the rescued workers on Lars who had set up makeshift areas for themselves wherever space allowed, including all around the bridge area. Dean was still a bit foggy, but he recognized that all the ship’s officers were present, and he knew that wasn’t a good sign.

  “Ah, sorry to wake you, Captain,” Anders said. “We have an Emergency Action Message and all officers are required to respond. I thought it best that we rouse you.”

  “Of course,” Dean said. “I’m glad you did. What’s the emergency?”

  “We don’t know. Just an all ships recall to the Sol System. We’ve adjusted course, but we’re still a few hours out. I expect us to reach the heliosphere in…”

  “Two hours, fifty-seven minutes,” Lieutenant Myers said without looking up from his console.

  “Yes, thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “We’re three hours out from Sol?” Dean asked.

  “Yes, we tried to return the outpost workers to Neo Terra in the Voltair system, but when I got the EAM I immediately altered course for Sol. I hope we can get them off the ship once we’re closer to home. We can’t operate with them on board.”

  “Well, that’s good, I guess,” Dean said. “I’ll get my platoon ready. If anything else comes through, let me know, will you?”

  “Of course,” Anders said. “There are sandwiches in the mess hall, and I’ve made sure that none of the refugees were allowed into your Ready Room, but they’re everywhere else.”

  “We’ll manage, sir. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Dean went directly to the room occupied by Staff Sergeant Joaquin Chavez. The small ship required all crew members other than senior officers to share quarters. Chavez was cohabiting with Demo Sergeant Eleanor Tallgrass. Their budding romance had settled into a steady, mature relationship—but when the door swished open Dean noticed the couple were sleeping on separate beds.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Dean asked, as Chavez sat on the edge of his bunk and rubbed his eyes. Tallgrass hadn’t even stirred despite the light coming on and Dean waking Chavez.

  “Hell no,” Chavez responded. “But these tiny beds are hardly big enough for one person, much less two. We don’t mind though, sir. Just happy we can serve together. Enjoying it as long it lasts. And the tight quarters forces us to get creative, if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, I’m glad for you, Staff Sergeant. Unfor
tunately, we’ve been recalled to the Solar System.”

  “We do something wrong?” Chavez asked.

  “No, it was an Emergency Action Message recalling all EsDef ships home.”

  “Shit, you think there’s trouble?”

  “Must be,” Dean said. “I just hope it isn’t in our neck of the woods. We’re less than three hours out. We have to get everyone up. I want armor cleaned, weapons checked, and everyone fed. You’ve got ninety minutes, Chavez. Can we do it?”

  “Absolutely,” the big former Heavy Armor Specialist said.

  “Good. See to it then, Staff Sergeant. I’ll check in on everyone shortly.”

  Dean returned to his room and dictated a report on their mission to Lars. Normally he would have made his report on the action before sleeping, but after nearly seventy-two hours without sleep, he had skipped making the report. He did his best to remember every detail and outline every decision he made. Then he hurried to the mess hall and grabbed a sandwich. It wasn’t the finest meal he’d had on the Hannibal, but Dean didn’t care. He hardly tasted the food as he devoured the sandwich and hurried to the Ready Room to clean his own armor.

  “Ten Hut!” Chavez shouted as Dean came in. “Officer on deck.”

  “As you were,” Dean said.

  Everyone had snapped to attention, but he could see the weariness on their faces. They went back to scrubbing armor, making repairs, and oiling weapons on the long workbench. His platoon seemed curious and wary; Dean understood how they felt on both counts, but he had no new information to share with them. They had picked up the EAM, but the Hannibal was traveling faster than the speed of light, so there was no way to reply or get more information. They would come racing into the solar system using the gravity drive that would take them all the way to Earth’s orbital plane—then perhaps they would get some answers.