by J. F. Holmes
“Point is, we don’t know,” stated Governor Conklin flatly. “The Gate’s crashed before, and has been restored within a few weeks at the longest. That’s what people are going to say here officially. We’ll deal with later when later comes.”
“That’s a great idea!” said Bennet. “We can spin it as a routine thing.”
Conklin turned to him and said, “Lloyd, I was pretty sure you were going to be as useless as tits on a bull, excuse my language ladies, but you may come in handy after all.”
****
“You know,” said Olsen as they climbed back into their Humvee, “that it’s all gone, right?”
Halstead said nothing as they drove, merely watched the ocean go by. His friend was right, everything they knew was gone, if a war has started on Earth. After a moment thinking about his son at West Point, the general asked, “Are you going to be OK, Karl?”
“I suppose it will hit me soon enough. Jenny … she was waiting for retirement, pretty damned patiently.”
“More patience than my ex-wives.” Both men laughed a bit, but it was a somber conversation. Halstead had been estranged from his son, the product of a disastrous second marriage, but hoped the boy got out, or that it had been quick.
“Well, time for thinking about that later. If I’m not mistaken, that war is going to spill over into here. Either fighting ourselves in some dumbass civil war, or fighting this planet to survive.”
“Conklin’s a good man, I think he’ll take Verdano’s shit only so far.”
Olsen barked a grim laugh. “I should have shot him, started off fresh on a new world without any scumbag corruption mafia dickheads ruining everything.”
“Human nature, you can only fight it, not end it.”
Neither said anything as they crossed over the causeway into Fort McHenry, but noted with satisfaction the armed MP’s.
Chapter 20
Bachelor Officers’ Quarters, Fort McHenry, Gate Crash plus one minute.
“What the hell was that?” said Chris Santos, his combat senses alerted by the flash in the sky, then three seconds later he felt a dull thump, followed by another. His window faced north, and he could see a dull glow rising in the sky as a fireball dissipated.
Beside him Lt. Worthy sat up, covers falling off her naked body. “I don’t know, but it was big. Maybe one of the oil platforms?” she asked sleepily, already pulling on her uniform trousers and socks.
“No, it was north, not west. Probably the airfield; maybe one of the birds went down on approach.” Neither said anything else as they quickly dressed in the red light of Proxima, slowly being drowned out by the brightening glow of fire. Unknown to them, the fuel tanks at the airfield were doing their best to imitate a blowtorch. When they finished, Santos leaned over and gently kissed her on the mouth, and then more hungrily.
When they came up for air, he said, “Back to work, Lieutenant Worthy. No matter what happens on the job, we keep it cool. Understand?”
She was no fool, and answered, “I love you Chris, but I’m not an idiot. It would kill both our careers.”
“As long as we both understand,” he started to say, but was interrupted by the phone on the end table ringing.
“Captain Santos,” he said, and listened to the battalion CQ fill him in on the attack on the airfield—what little they knew, which was nothing much at all.
“Sir, Colonel Thapa has ordered a meeting of all company commanders in fifteen minutes, and 2-9 is to stand up. The alert is going out right now.”
“Understood, Sergeant.” That was going to be nightmare; his battalion was on rest cycle and scattered all over the city. “I’ll be there. Continue the phone tree and tell the platoon leaders they have one hour to have the men standing in formation, full battle rattle.”
There was a bit of hesitation, then the NCO said, “Um, ah, do you know where the XO is, sir? My runner hasn’t been able to reach her on the landline.”
“Her room is across from mine, I think I heard her in the latrine a few minutes ago. I’ll knock on her door.”
“Right, Sir. I’ll assume you have everything with Lt. Worthy covered.” Was that a hint of humor in the CQ’s voice?
“Thank you, Sergeant. Now get to work.” He hung up the phone just as there was a pounding on his door.
“Sir, open up, we’ve got work to do,” said First Sergeant Camacho. Santos opened the door, and Camacho slipped into the room.
“Hey, XO, fancy meeting you here!” he said with a grin.
“First Sergeant,” the blonde said frostily, annoyed.
He stuck his tongue out at her, then the smile left his face and he got serious. “Shit hit the fan, Sir; rumor has it that the Gate crashed, and there’s a PLA SF team running around sabotaging shit. The airfield just took a big hit.”
“The Gate crashed?” said Santos and Worthy at the same time.
“Looks like it, had a zoomie tell me. Heavy radiation signatures from the other side just prior, too. I bet the Chinese smoked it with a nuke.”
Santos, not for the first time, wondered at the speed and accuracy of the NCO information network. Worthy say down on a chair, her face pale. “Gate control is located in south Texas. That means a nuclear attack on the US mainland. Jesus Christ,” she said flatly.
“Maybe,” said Santos. “Worst thing we can do in the absence of information is to speculate. Top, I want you to draw double loads of ammo for the company, and at least three days of MREs and water. XO, make sure transportation is maximized and dispatched.” Though they were light infantry, each company had four LMTVs for troop and supply transport. Keeping them running was a constant battle for Lt. Worthy as the company XO.
“Got it!” she said and left the room, apparently over her momentary weakness. It was one thing Santos loved about her; give Anna Worthy a job, and she was on it.
When the door had closed behind her, the captain turned to his first sergeant. “Is this going to be a problem, Top? What’s going on between myself and the XO stays in this room, all of it.”
“No problem from me, and since most of the company’s known for a month, apparently no problem from the kids, either.”
That startled Santos. “Most of the company?”
“Well, you guys hide it well, but since we got females in the infantry, they can sniff that shit out like bloodhounds.”
Santos groaned and said, “What about the BC?” meaning his boss, the battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Thapa. Santos was actually scared of the Nepalese-American.
“He knows. So does the SGM. But he also thinks you walk on water, so he doesn’t care as long as you do your jobs. Pretty sure he’ll cut your throat as soon as you screw up or show any favoritism, though.”
Worse and worse. “Well, I guess we shouldn’t screw up then. I’m headed to the commander’s brief, so make sure the platoon sergeants are doing their jobs.”
“As always. Think this is the start of something big?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Santos.
****
The company commanders and battalion staff primaries assembled in a classroom at the 1-9 admin area, a set of concrete buildings and barracks for the lower enlisted soldiers. Santos saw that the S-2 was missing, as well as the BN XO. Probably holding down the ops center and figuring out what’s going on, he thought.
When the commander stepped in, the room was called to attention. He waved for them all to sit, and immediately launched into a quick situation update. “The unit is now on recall, and starting at 05:00 we’ll be training for civilian unrest and riot control. The official word is, the Gate’s suffered a routine malfunction and will be back up and running in no time at all. I’m sure you’ve all heard the unofficial rumors, so we can expect to have seventy thousand civilians shitting themselves.”
The BC was a small dark-skinned man who carried the curved knife of his Gurkha ancestors in his belt at all times. There was a story that General Halstead had been asked why
he didn’t make LTC Thapa put the knife away. The general had replied, “Never give an order you know won’t be obeyed.” Rumor also had it that he’d used it to kill a sergeant who’d disobeyed an order in the Venezuela campaign. Rumor only, but Santos respected the hell out of the man. Combat Arms soldiers wanted and needed commanders who could fight.
“In regard to the attack on the airfield, all we know right now is that mortars were used against our airwing. Higher is still assessing damage. It’s being assumed that the attack was carried out by PLA sleeper cells in coordination with hostilities on Earth. So be on the bounce for suspicious looking East Asians. Of which I am not one. East Asian. Got it?”
That did get a bit of a laugh, injected into what was a very serious situation. Thapa let the moment pass, and then continued, “Your operations order will be coming from the Three in about twenty minutes. In the meantime, I want to talk to you about the unofficial rumor. This battalion will be prepared to take on any threat that comes at us, from civilian unrest, to Gvit raids, to thousands of screaming Chinese running at us through the Gate. Do not let yourselves become complacent. Your four companies will rotate through patrol duty, civil unrest training, Gvit hand-to-hand training, and weapons practice. All live fire training is cancelled until further notice for conservation of ammo. Are there any questions?”
“Sir,” said the Alpha Company commander. He’d just come in as a replacement last week, and really didn’t understand how things on Alpha Centauri and in the Regiment worked yet. Most people on Earth, and in the Big Army, assumed ACECOM was a dull backwater. “We were on block leave. Is there any way to continue the leave rotation? I have a four-day pass to get married in Hawaii on Thursday.”
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room for maybe ten seconds while Thapa stared at him. Then he said simply, “Captain Jensen, you’re relieved. Find your XO and have him assume command. Then report to the G-1 for reassignment, preferably outside a combat unit. As for the rest of you, you have work to do.”
He gathered up his binder and left the room as they stood to attention, leaving Jensen sitting in his chair asking, “What? I’m relieved?”
The Delta company commander snorted and smiled, but only muttered under her breath, “Good.”
Santos, feeling some pity, said, “Better now than in the middle of combat, when he might just have had you shot instead. We do things differently here.”
Chapter 21
Rorke’s Drift, Alpharise, Day One
A mist lay across the water, similar to one that would have blanketed its namesake back on Earth on a fall day. The North River, named after the Hudson, flowed placidly in the pre-dawn hours, migrating fish coming up from the turbulent ocean to find resting places, spawn, and die. On the far bank in Gvit territory, the fog blanketed the forest, showing only the tops of the pine-like trees, if the guard on top of the tower could see that far. He couldn’t, though, because there were only two sets of night vision on the base, and no batteries for either. Instead, the private just occasionally glanced down the road, waving for his partner to be quiet, using his ears more than his eyes. The fog, though, muted any sound that might have carried across the water.
“Damn piece of crap is down again,” muttered Specialist Kolinski, and she slapped the side of the green console box. The leads ran out of the Command Post to the tower-mounted dish of a AN/PPS-5B Ground Surveillance Radar, and the power came from a windmill on the opposite side. The display blinked on, off, and then flickered to life again just as a trace of movement showed about ten kilometers out, far down the road that lead to the Great Bridge. Then, with a hiss-CRACK, it cut out completely. “Perfect Piece of Shit!” she said, perhaps a little unforgiving after four years of no new spare parts. “Damn dragonbirds probably shitting all over it again.”
“LT,” she called loudly to wake the sleeping officer, “I’m going to see if we have a spare motherboard for the Perfect Piece of Shit.” Kolinski didn’t wait for an answer, instead climbing the ladder that led, forty feet above, to a small store room that held their precious stock of electronics.
Her boss groaned and threw off the blanket he’d been hiding his hangover under. “Why the hell,” he asked himself, “did I drink that fucking Chak shit last night?”
“WHAT?” Grozen yelled down, making his head hurt more.
“Nothing,” he growled, swishing the crappy taste out of his mouth with some water and spitting it out on the stone floor. The COP was built around the remains of a castle that had stood in ruins, guarding the thousand-year-old bridge.
Rorke’s Drift currently held a reinforced platoon of infantry backed up with two Strykers, one a mobile gun system with a 105mm cannon, the other, more useful, a .50 caliber M2. It had been almost six months since the last time the Gvit had raided; they’d gotten their asses beaten enough times to teach them a lesson. It was considered easy duty, a rotation that consisted mostly of hassling the occasional research scientist coming through, and training the Chak militia who lived behind the base.
It was also a punishment post, which Captain Greg Papadatos understood all too well. An exile, if you will, to keep him far from the bars of Seaside. In essence, he liked to fight, and even more so after a couple of beers. His last dustup had been at The Pipe, an oil roughnecks’ bar, not a soldiers’ bar. The two sides tolerated each other drinking in their bars, if done quietly, but the minute a perceived insult was uttered, well, fists flew. His wandering thoughts, clouded by his pounding head, were interrupted by an inhuman bellow outside, a gunshot, and a wet, meaty thunk. Before he could react, the wooden door to the Command Post shattered under the blow of a massive axe, and the hulking form of a Gvit warrior charged in.
Slowed by his hangover, Papadatos stumbled back into his room, scrabbling for his pistol. He yanked it out of the holster, racked the slide, and fired through the doorway at the immense bulk of the Gvit. Just as he pulled the trigger, Specialist Kolinski, who’d been on her way back down the ladder with the part clutched in her teeth, tried to climb back up and missed a step. The alien swung the axe, catching her in the side and cutting her completely in half.
With a yell of his own, her commander emptied the magazine, the 9mm bullets gouging holes in the Gvit’s tough hide, but not really doing any damage. He dropped the useless weapon as the warrior turned to him and charged. The human dove to one side, the hangover driven out of his system by adrenaline, grabbed at the pump shotgun leaning against the doorway, chambered a round, and blew a saboted slug into its back, high up. The Gvit crashed to the floor, rolled, and started to get to its feet. Papadatos put the next five rounds into the thing’s face, even after it had fallen back, dead.
Outside, pandemonium reigned. The base had been penetrated in the darkness, and the slaughter had begun. He ran into the CP, which was an adjoining room. Grozen had been on watch, and the sergeant on CQ was nowhere to be seen. He grabbed the phone line that ran back to ACECOM, but the line was dead, and the same for the one to Firebase Glory.
“SHIT!” he yelled, and grabbed Kolinski’s M-14. Just as he did so, he heard the THUD THUD THUD of the .50 opening up, and a smattering of small arms fire to accompany the bellows and screams coming through the open doorway. His gratitude lasted a scant second as a line of bricks blew inward, the .50 tracking across the room. Papadatos watched, frozen, but the final one only showered him with fragments and dust.
“ALL MANCHU ELEMENTS RALLY ON THE KEEP!” he yelled into the local net, and cursed at the sun and wildlife that blocked long range radio. Not waiting for an acknowledgement, he sprinted to the ladder and started climbing. Three flights up, he reached the roof and tried to get a glimpse of what was happening down the bridge. What he saw froze him in his tracks.
The dawn light just touched the spear tips of thousands of Gvit warriors coming across the span at a dead run. They’d already made it to the middle, and he slid back down the ladder to the top floor. Mounted on a table was a plunger-type detonator wired to explosives set in the c
losest three arches. He lifted
Nothing. He lifted it and slammed it down again, still nothing. He climbed back up to the roof and lifted the M-14 to his eye, his scope tracking to the explosives. What he saw in the sight, in the gloom below the sunrise, were three human forms, climbing back down into a small assault boat. They wore the standard camouflage of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army.
“OH, FUCK YOU!” he shouted, lined up, and fired. One dropped into the water and was immediately set upon by the Alphan equivalent of piranha, but the other two leaned forward and gunned the engine, putting the bridge abutment between them.
Looking to his right, Papadatos saw one of the Strykers burning, and the other turned over on its side, wheels spinning. Gvit were smashing at it with their war hammers. Looking closer, he saw that the gate to the ‘keep’, as they called it, had been barred, and half a dozen soldiers were shooting through the portal, while the rest of the survivors of the platoon had manned the walls. The Gvit were ignoring them, for now, in favor of slaughtering the Chak villagers. Their bellows and war shouts echoed through the dawn.
Papadatos walked over to the other side of the wall, where several heavy signal rockets were set up, and lit them off in sequence. Red, Green, Blue, Red, Green, Blue. The signal meant that the shit had truly hit the fan. He got his first hope of the last five minutes when, after a moment, an answering flare arced into air over Firebase Glory.
“Chew on that, you rhino motherfuckers,” he said with satisfaction, then turned to go downstairs and salvage his command. Well, he liked to fight, and this was going to be one hell of a brawl.
Chapter 22
Bravo 1-9 Infantry Assembly Area, Alpharise
“FALL IN! REPORT!”
“Headquarters Platoon, three men out of ranks.”
