A couple of missions were usually enough to dispel that fantasy.
A red message from Sparky appeared on his HUD: EXPLOSIVES DETECTED: ANTI-PERSONNEL MINES. Rizer consulted his map overlay on his visor. The buried mines appeared as circular orange dots, while orange squares signified those rigged as traps above ground. Sparky had found six mines altogether, but his ground-penetrating radar could only scan about 100 meters ahead. He would doubtless find more when they ventured into the clearing.
NO ENEMY DETECTED, assured Sparky’s next message. Rizer’s sensors relayed the same meaningless information. They’ll have sensor-scattering gear. According to intel, Vic snipers were operating in the area. Doom Squad had been dispatched on a search and destroy mission to root them out.
“Wasn’t like this last time we came through here,” Cpl Brackman commented.
Bach grunted his assent. “Fuckin’ dumbass Guards.”
“Yeah, imagine, snipers operating in these wide-open spaces,” Stiglitz said. Promotion hadn’t cured him of terminal sarcasm.
“Can it, Stiglitz,” came Lt Dupaul’s voice. “The command isn’t interested in your appraisal of the situation.”
Why wouldn’t they be? He’s out here; where the fuck are you? Back at Shaw, watching their camera feeds and listening in, Dupaul rarely joined his Marines in the field and only for the shortest softball missions. He lived in his office, while cobwebs hung in that of Lt Snider, first platoon commander, a real infantry officer who rarely missed a patrol. First platoon loved to rub this fact into the faces of second.
Baltazar ordered the squad to proceed in fire team order, single file, a five-meter spread between each man. Fourth fire team brought up the rear. They moved out quickly through the scorched terrain, weaving through still-standing tree trunks, bounding over charred, fallen logs with the aid of their power armor. Though they all had field experience, some Marines still didn’t move well in their armor. Bach tripped over downed limbs and logs several times, as did Hagel. Not a sprig of green sprouted in the devastated clearing. More mines appeared, randomly scattered over Rizer’s map, Sparky picking them up on the fly as he moved with Stiglitz, the present point man. They detected no enemy.
We need to move faster. We’re sitting ducks in this clearing.
One hundred meters from the tree line at the clearing’s edge, Baltazar ordered them to halt and spread out in a line parallel to the jungle to visually survey and scan with sensors. Fourth fire team took position near the center, between first and third. The clearing offered only fair cover, but Rizer made do behind a thick, towering tree trunk, a burnt and limbless pole.
More mines, all above-ground traps, appeared on Rizer’s map.
Then came a faint rifle shot, followed by a groan and then chaos on the radio. “Brackman’s hit!” Ward said.
Rizer and the rest of the squad hit the deck at the sound of the shot, scanning for the source of the threat. He recognized the now familiar report of a high-powered coil rifle. The weapon utilized rings of electro-magnets to accelerate metallic slugs to high velocities and had a distinct crack when fired. The Vics carried an array of weapons, including an increasing number of Union-supplied plasma rifles, but coil rifles and machineguns made up the bulk of their arsenal. The Marines’ power armor provided some degree of protection from the slugs, but the visor, seams, and joints of the suits were vulnerable. Only heavier crew-served weapons could readily penetrate the armor.
SNIPER NNE APPROX 480M, Sparky warned via text.
“Track the heat signature!” Baltazar shouted, but Sparky was already on it.
Stitches sprinted into action to aid Brackman, who lay behind a fallen log a few meters away, shot high in the chest. It looked like his armor had stopped most of the projectile, yet he bled, so fragments must have blasted through.
The sniper’s approximate position blinked red on Rizer’s map; Doom Squad directed their fire to the distant area. Green pounded the target with his machinegun, bracing it atop a log for stability. Hundreds of red-white flashes impacted the area as the squad fired in earnest on the threat. Limbs on the tree where the sniper hid bowed and then fell, mowed down by their rounds. Surrounding vegetation burst into flames in the crimson sleet
CEASE FIRE blinked Baltazar’s order. They retreated into cover as Baltazar reported their status to Dupaul. The sniper did not fire again, and Baltazar optimistically assumed they had gotten him.
“Proceed to sniper’s suspected location,” Dupaul ordered. “Locate the body for confirmation.”
“Sir, we should medivac Brackman,” Baltazar said. “I can have two men carry him back across the clearing to wait.”
“Can he move?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Stitches, cutting off Baltazar. “His wounds are superficial. I can assist him.” He sounded grave and precise, programmed without much bedside manner.
“Very well, then. Press on, Sergeant Baltazar.”
“Aye, sir.”
Nice looking out for your men, there, sir.
Proceeding to the sniper’s location in a straight line would entail a north-northeasterly trip of five hundred meters through the clearing. Baltazar ordered they continue on their original course, enter the tree line a hundred meters to the east, and then proceed due north through the jungle cover.
Good call.
He then ordered Doom to remain in line and move out.
We never checked the tree line. “Sergeant Baltazar,” Rizer said, “we never—”
“Shut up and move, Rizer!”
Knowing it was pointless to argue, Rizer did as ordered. Sparky moved in the center and slightly ahead as he scanned. A slug-throwing heavy coil machinegun spurted rounds in a staccato serenade, electricity flashing at the tree line. Sparky jerked in a spasmodic dance, pieces of his armor flying as the rounds tore him to smoking bits. In his final act of service, Sparky broadcast the warning: ENEMY PLATOON IN TREE LINE.
“Take cover!” shouted several Marines as the enemy rounds came at them from a dozen points, a buzzing, crackling swarm of plasma bolts and heavy coilgun slug fire.
Rizer dashed back behind his tree and opened up on the flashes in the jungle ahead, his helmet computer identifying and projecting likely targets on his HUD. Rounds churned up dirt all around them. A gray cloud of fine ash rapidly arose, obscuring his vision. Branches and leaves clipped by whizzing steel and bolts of energy rained down, and splinters flew as enemy rounds struck wood both fallen and standing. A tree to Rizer’s left, riddled by gunfire, toppled and landed with a dusty crash not two meters from Stubs.
“Fuck!” Stubs yelled, startled.
More trees fell. Rizer could no longer see the tree line through the gray dust, which limited visibility to maybe fifteen meters, the cloud growing darker by the second. Relying on sensors was no way to shoot, but at least the enemy were having the same problem.
“Attack! Charge the tree line! Go! Go! GO!”
The squad advanced across the clearing, running bent as low possible into the gray storm. Enemy slugs snapped and cracked, and blue-green beams streaked by Rizer as he ran. His world shrank down to the few meters he could see in front of him as he squeezed his rifle in anticipation of being hit.
Farkas ran foremost in the squad—a bolt of cyan energy struck him in the neck, causing him to stumble and pitch forward. Blood sprayed from under his visor as he crashed down like a rag doll, dead in a puff of ash, his head still attached by a couple of tendons and blood vessels.
Tiny red letters blinked atop his visor: LCPL FARKAS KIA. Shocked by the gruesome carnage, Rizer froze, right out in the open. Something slammed into Rizer’s back. He stumbled forward over a blackened log yet did not fall. He got his bearings, glanced back to see Sgt Baltazar, who had run into him in the cloudy chaos. He’d fallen, though he was already getting to his feet.
“You stupid fuck! Get moving!” he shouted upon seeing Rizer.
Rizer clenched his teeth and charged off t
hrough flying splinters and snapping projectiles. Frantic cries and curses rendered the radio practically useless. Something exploded a few meters to his right with a booming flash, the shock wave almost knocking him back down. SGT BALTAZAR KIA flashed atop his visor.
“Baltazar’s down!” Stiglitz shouted. “Jump packs, get to the trees, kill these motherfuckers!”
Packs ahead ignited, flames blue through the gray dust. Rizer took off as he ran, rose in an arc to about ten meters and then descended, only to jump again the instant he landed. The squad’s quick and unpredictable leaps made it difficult for the enemy to hit them in the swirling clouds of gray dust. Rizer concentrated on making quick horizontal jumps and light landings. He might have enjoyed the thrilling challenge of this exercise in power armor were he not under fire.
Stiglitz had his faults, lots of them, but ordering a charge with jump packs was the right move. Kid’s not as dumb as everyone thinks!
The rest of Doom moved slightly ahead of Rizer, able to fire as they jumped, their aim dubious at best, but it was doing the trick. A few red enemy dots remained at the tree line, but several were retreating back into the jungle, turning into orange dots signifying their last known position. Accurate fire or not, the squads’ overwhelming firepower from above seemed to break the insurgents’ will as they pulled back.
Rizer arrived late on the chaotic scene of a close and vicious battle with the remaining enemy who wore sensor-scattering ponchos over cloth uniforms mostly, though a couple had skins and open-air power armor. Doom assaulted through the thick tree line, exchanging fire at point-blank range. Stubs stumbled into a bolting insurgent and drove his rifle butt into the man’s face, shattering his face shield and knocking him back into a tree, where he finished him with a point-blank shot center-mass. The man’s chest exploded in a flash of crimson, scattering parts several meters away. Ward lay at Rizer’s feet, bleeding profusely from his shoulder, his arm nearly ripped off. His suit attempted to self-seal the wound, but he needed a med bot stat. An enemy impaled one of Rizer’s squad mates with a vibro-blade with a shrieking scream, only to be shot in the back and killed a moment later. Alongside Rizer, Green took a knee beside a thick tree. He laid on the trigger of his machinegun, pouring a constant stream of plasma bolts down range. The situation appeared to be in hand, the enemy routed or dead, though a few retreating insurgents fired as they fled.
Rizer shot at a fleeing man and missed when the insurgent slipped behind a tree. He’ll break cover from the same side. He sighted in, his reflex sight turning red an instant later when the insurgent emerged just where he’d predicted. Rizer squeezed the trigger as the enemy turned to shoot, catching him in the gut, just off center. The burst of sun-hot plasma flash heated his insides in a burst of steam that gutted his abdominal cavity and spun him around. The insurgent fired into the trees as he fell. He crashed into a tree trunk, back first. Rizer hit him again with a quick double tap to the chest. The ravenous bolts knifed through his chest plate and vaporized most of his torso, which left a trail of bloody goo as it slid down the tree trunk.
“East! Hasty one-eighty!” Stiglitz ordered.
Rizer took a prone position at the base of a tree, one man in a 180-degree arc of defenders facing into the thick jungle. Someone fired a long burst at the last retreating insurgent, missing, as he disappeared into the jungle. All finally went quiet but for the cries of the wounded.
As he laid there in the sweltering jungle catching his breath, Rizer actually felt cold once the adrenaline dump began to wear off. Bile pushed up his throat, and he fought back the urge to vomit.
Stiglitz reported in to Dupaul, who dispatched Evil and Fury Squads to the area as reinforcements, along with air assets. Rizer thought it pointless. They won’t be back today, not after this.
Doom Squad racked up nine confirmed enemy kills and several probable. The victory cost them three dead: Farkas, Baltazar, Wexson, plus several wounded to varying degrees. Brackman wasn’t too bad, but Ward wouldn’t be returning to duty anytime soon. His shoulder wound was too grisly to look upon as Stitches worked to keep him alive for the inbound medivac. Stubs had taken a shallow vibro-blade slash to the arm. Shot in the right hand, Bach lost three fingers, an excruciating wound from the sound of him, though Rizer suspected he’d refused to activate his painers.
With the area secure, Evil and Fury Squads now on scene, Rizer finally got a chance to check out his first kill. He rolled what remained of the insurgent over and opened his visor, exposing a gaunt, tan face and empty brown eyes staring upward at shafts of sunlight penetrating the canopy. Though slightly shorter with a lighter build, he didn’t look much different from Rizer, whose elation deflated a bit upon seeing his kill’s face. His mood went downright flat when he found a holo-card loaded with pictures: an older man who must have been his father, an attractive pregnant woman posing with the dead man in a flower garden. Such a waste… He and this man he’d never known were connected forever now, but only in Rizer’s mind. He’ll never know. That made the insurgent the lucky one, the true victor, he supposed. The sight of his girlfriend carrying the fatherless child dropped an even heavier load of guilt upon Rizer, though he tried to remind himself that this man had been trying to kill him only moments earlier. I could have been the corpse.
Stiglitz arrived and knelt next to Rizer, stuck his helmet in the man’s face. “Say cheese, dickhead.” He snapped the kill’s picture with his helmet cam; he then produced a fingerprint reader and scanned the right index finger as per SOP. The command would attempt to ID the kill to detain and interrogate his relations if they made a match. His girlfriend, father, and child would likely be imprisoned for the duration of the conflict.
“This your kill, Rizer?” Stiglitz asked.
“Yeah.”
“Congrats, bro, how’s it feel to lose your virginity?”
Rizer didn’t answer.
Stiglitz waved dismissively. “Eh, you get used to it. Let’s see what we got here.” He picked up the dead man’s coil rifle, examined it briefly, and tossed it toward Rizer.
“Souvenir.”
Rizer briefly examined the weapon, though he knew the brass would never let him keep it. It was heavier than his M-17 and looked very worn. He wondered how many Marines had been killed or wounded by it.
While he examined the rifle, Stiglitz rifled through what remained of the man’s load-bearing kit. Finding nothing of interest, he pulled off the dead man’s left gauntlet, then sighed. “Shit, not married.” Then he pried the guy’s mouth open with his fingers. “Bin-gooo! We got gold teeth. You got love the backwater dentistry of these Vics.” He grinned at Rizer. “You gonna take ’em or just sit there feeling sorry for this schmuck?”
“Don’t want ’em.”
Stiglitz shrugged. “Suit yourself.” The vibro-blade in his right wrist guard shot out. He got down to oral surgery, humming merrily as he dug out the gold.
After the wounded and dead were flown off, Evil, Fury, and the survivors of Doom Squad moved on to the sniper’s position. They found a lot of destruction from Doom’s return fire but no dead sniper. Not even a drop of blood.
***
The sun had long set by the time Rizer stowed his power armor in the charging rack after cleaning it. He trudged to the chow hall with Hagel for some mid-rats, both men silent. Hagel had likewise scored his first solo kill and had helped Stiglitz waste a second man.
“Rizer, come over here,” called SSgt Len from the company office steps.
“Aw shit,” Hagel muttered. “Good luck, man.” He continued on to chow.
“Platoon commander wants to see you,” Len said, leading the way inside. He had been patrolling with Ghost squad, which encountered no enemy that day.
“What about, staff sergeant?”
“He’ll let you know.” They paused outside the office. “Report to the platoon commander.”
Rizer came to attention before Dupaul’s desk and reported. SSgt Len stood off to the sid
e next to the wall.
“At ease,” said Dupaul, glowering at him from his desk chair. “Due to shortages in Doom Squad from casualties taken in today’s battle, you will be promoted to corporal at morning formation tomorrow. You’ll be a fire team leader now.”
“Aye, sir.” The news surprised him, though he felt no happiness, the death of his friends and the face of the insurgent still haunting him.
“You have been chosen over other lance corporals due to your education level, clean record, and Staff Sergeant Len’s recommendation. Nevertheless, I have my reservations.” He stared down at Rizer with dark eyes, saying nothing more.
“Sir, I—”
“I’ll show you why.” A holo-screen on the wall illuminated, showing a video feed from a Marine’s helmet camera. Sergeant Baltazar. Baltazar ran through a cloud of gray ash, suddenly colliding with a stationary man—Rizer—whom he knocked forward. The ground came up and met Baltazar’s helmet, but he started getting up immediately. “You stupid fuck! Get moving!” he shouted at Rizer, who then took off into the murky cloud.
Rizer remembered it all perfectly well. Where the hell is this going?
Baltazar started to run after Rizer, then suddenly halted. “Shit!” he barked as a shadow fell before him, followed by a tree crashing down on his path. He redirected to his right and continued through the blackened trunks at a full-out run, on a different route than Rizer had taken. Moments later the screen turned into a snowstorm, and Rizer knew Baltazar had fallen victim to an anti-personnel mine he’d carelessly run upon and triggered, even though it had shown on his HUD. But he also knew it was easy to miss the warnings during the chaos of battle, especially during an ambush.
The screen went dark. Dupaul said, “Your squad leader is dead, and you share responsibility in that.”
What the fuck are you talking about? Rizer almost made the mistake of asking. “Sir, I don’t understand—”
“You might as well have stuck that mine in his mouth, Marine. If you hadn’t hesitated—if he hadn’t run into you during the charge and fallen—he wouldn’t have gone in that direction. He would have followed you and come through unscathed. Like you did.”
War's Edge- Dead Heroes Page 27