“You too, Dick. Keep yourself alive.”
“Be nice if we could get some service,” the merc Shell shouted at a passing waitress, who ignored him.
“Don’t like your kind here,” the bouncer informed him. “You can fetch your own fucking drinks.”
Dick chuckled, shook his bald head. “As you say. I’ll be right back.” He headed to the bar, paying no heed to the numerous dirty looks he received.
“So I guess that’s how you know Sawyer,” Kasra said.
“Yeah. We had words.”
“Not good. He’ll rip out your asshole and strangle you with it.”
“I see. And how would you know that?”
She sighed. “He’s an ex.”
Rizer stared at her. “I hope you’re joking.”
“Don’t I wish.”
“Holy fuck… How? How the fuck could you look—”
“He wasn’t born like that, dumbass. A civilian sprayed lye in his face during an eviction on Silex-5.”
“I see. So what’s up with you two now?”
“Nothing! It’s been over for years.”
“Does he know that?”
Kasra didn’t answer—she watched Sawyer stride to the table to join his fellows. He remained standing when he saw Rizer and Kasra, then started over.
“Shit!” Rizer hissed.
“Just stay cool, I got this.”
Sawyer stopped, glared down upon Kasra. “So this is what you’ve been up to? Hanging around with Marine pussy boys?”
“Who I hang with is none of your business. Now go join the other rented guns.”
The dance floor lights reflected off his titanium grin. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll join you for a while. You look like a lively group.”
“Nah, I think you were just leaving.” Rizer stood.
Recognition dawned on Sawyer’s burnt face. “You… Oh, I remember now. Seems we have more than one score to settle now, don’t we?”
“There isn’t shit to settle.”
Sawyer stared at Rizer with his mismatched eyes, still grinning, then shrugged. “Okay, we’re done then. Let’s drink on it, eh? Me and you.” He grabbed Kasra’s drink from the table, raised the glass. “For the Corps…” And tossed the contents in Rizer’s face. A fist to the gut followed, hitting him like a laser blast and doubling him over.
“Motherfucker!” Stubs shouted.
Glass broke, women screamed, furniture toppled and so did people. Rizer got his stinging eyes cleared. Stubs towered over Sawyer, had laid him out on the floor. The other mercs, minus Dick, moved in. Stubs turned from Sawyer to steer aside Shell’s punch at the last instant.
Rizer drove his shoulder into a nameless merc’s gut and plowed him into a brick wall, knocking the wind from him. He punched the merc’s face repeatedly, bloodying him quickly, breaking his nose and knocking out teeth. The merc slid down the wall, done for.
A hard object cracked across the back of Rizer’s head. Splinters and pieces of a chair flew. He reeled, turned slowly, took a big right fist to the jaw from Bilson that nearly knocked him out.
“I’ll kill ya, ya fookin’ poofta!” Bilson slugged him in the gut, dropping him to his knees.
Rizer’s resolve, rage, and adrenaline kicked in, forcing out the pain. He spied the jagged end of a broken chair leg, grabbed it, and jabbed it into Bilson’s crotch, punching it through his pants. The merc’s subsequent bellow trumped all other noise in the room. Rizer stood, grabbed Bilson by the collar and slammed him into the brick wall, headfirst.
Two down.
Stubs, battling Shell in a toe-to-toe slugfest, didn’t see Sawyer approaching from behind, vibro-knife in hand. “Stubs, behind you!” Rizer bounded to help him.
Rizer’s shout might have saved Stubs’ life. He turned just in time to take the blade in the side and not his back; nevertheless, the deep slash staggered him.
Stiglitz and Cardona appeared, grabbed Shell and flung him into a booth. Rizer faintly acknowledged them beating the shit out of Shell as he charged Sawyer at top speed. As he ran, he snatched a half-full pitcher of drinks off a table still standing and brought it down atop Sawyer’s head, glass shattering everywhere.
Despite the protection of his skullcap, the blow dazed Sawyer, who took a wobbly step into the wall. Rizer swung for him again, still holding the jagged glass handle.
“No!” Kasra’s scream knifed through the chaos.
Rizer might have hesitated then. Perhaps not. But the glass fell from his hand in the next moment, when a powerful force seized his wrist and wrenched it backward.
“Break it up!” shouted the bouncer holding a stun baton.
“That’s enough, man!” shouted Dick, who had disarmed Sawyer.
The bouncer stepped between Rizer and Sawyer before the latter man, now recovered, could continue the fight. “You mercs get the fuck outta here now!”
Sawyer laughed at him.
“Move it, you fucking freak!”
“Fuck off!” He stared down the bouncer.
“Enough!” Dick yelled. “Sawyer, get outside. Now. That’s an order!”
Sawyer pulled back, smiled, and nodded, his metal teeth bloodied. “Okay, boss.” He clapped Rizer on the shoulder as he passed Dick who tensed while keeping Rizer restrained. “But next time we settle this.”
“For sure, asshole!”
Dick rumbled from low in his chest, “Won’t be a next time.”
“We’ll see,” said Sawyer.
Stubs groaned from the floor, grabbing Sawyer’s attention. “You again?”
He brought down his bootheel on Stubs’ head, knocking him cold, before departing with a laugh.
“No! Fuck!” Rizer lunged for Sawyer, but Dick restrained him with the same move he’d used on Bilson. Fucking freak, I’ll kill you! Only a howl of agony escaped his mouth.
He wasn’t sure how long Dick applied the hold, but when the pain died the mercs were gone, along with Kasra and damn near everyone else. Only his brother Marines remained. He spotted Stubs lying on his side, ran to him, and knelt, shouldering Stiglitz out of the way.
“Stubs! Fuck, you’re gonna be okay, man; hang on!”
“Yeah…” Stubs wore a boyish smile yet spoke in the faint voice of an elderly man. “We win?”
“Yeah, we got ’em, pal. Just sit tight.” Blood soaked through the knee of Rizer’s pants from the knife wound, but Stubs’ head concerned him more.
“Ambulance is coming,” Cardona said. He paced in circles. “Fuck, this is bad, real bad!”
Stubs said no more, closing his eyes shortly before the ambulance arrived. They pronounced him alive, his condition critical. He left Uncle Pauly’s on a gurney.
Rizer and his brothers from Doom departed in an MP wagon, fettered hand and foot.
***
At 0800 Monday morning, Rizer stood before Captain Carr’s desk. Lt Dupaul and SSgt Len stood as witnesses at either side of the room.
Rizer wobbled slightly, righted himself. He hadn’t eaten since Saturday morning in the brig, just before he learned that Stubs had died en route to the hospital. He could think of little but the lonely void ahead, not having his best friend by his side and covering his back, both in the field and out.
He still had brothers, a platoon of them, but he now realized how metaphorical the word was, both in the Corps and out. I only had one true brother. And not his blood brother back home.
“Corporal Rizer,” Carr began, “you stand accused of disorderly conduct resulting from a fight Friday night at Uncle Pauly’s bar in Darmatian. How do you plead?”
“Guilty, sir.” He knew better than to dispute the charge, even in self-defense. The military justice codes were written to benefit all but those who lived under them.
“Very well. My condolences regarding Stubneski. I know you two were brothers, and that this was self-defense. But we have to go by the book. That’s just how it is.”
“Yes, sir.�
��
Carr glanced left and right at the witnesses. “Would either of you two care to say anything before I pass sentence?”
Dupaul raised a finger, opened his mouth to speak.
Len beat him to it. “Sir, Corporal Rizer was attacked by a mercenary and reacted in self-defense as you said. I think a weekend spent in the brig is punishment enough, considering the tragic outcome of the fight.”
“Noted. Lieutenant Dupaul?”
“Sir…” He shook his head, agitated. “I couldn’t disagree more. This incident proves that Rizer has no business being a non-commissioned officer. I think a demotion is called for, if not a court-martial. Rizer’s lack of judgment in handling this situation—”
Rizer, who had given his last fuck around 0900 on Saturday morning, interrupted Dupaul. “And what should I have done, sir? Run away? Sat in the rear on my ass and watched!”
“Enough!” Carr said. He leveled a finger at Rizer. “You’re about to cross a line, Rizer. You’d best step back, and I mean right now. Your grief won’t buy you another break.”
“This proves what I’ve said all along, sir,” Dupaul said. “That is disrespect toward a superior commissioned officer—”
Carr raised a finger yet did not look at Dupaul. “I’ll hear no more, lieutenant.”
Dupaul came to attention. “Yes, sir.”
“Rizer, I sentence you to time served with no further punishment.”
“Yes, sir.”
Carr stared at him a few moments. “You have something to say to me, Marine?”
“Sir, what will happen to Sawyer, the merc who started the fight and killed Stubs?”
Weary expression, Carr worked on an answer. “He’s been reported to SecureCorp. It’s all we could do.” He paused, shook his head. “I tried to have murder charges pressed on him in civilian court and in military tribunal as well. I’d love to see him swing as much as you. But it’s a no-go—he’s an employee of a defense-contracted corporation, subject only to the authority of SecureCorp.”
“Understood, sir.” No problem. I’ll take care of him myself.
“Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“You are dismissed. Report to your squad leader.”
Lt Dupaul caught up to Rizer in an alley between two barracks buildings. “Rizer! Stop right there.” Once they stood face to face, he continued, “You have a lot of goddamn nerve mouthing off to me in front of the CO! I’m going to request that battalion charge you with—!”
“Whatever happened, sir?”
His angry face became perplexed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Whatever happened to Marines taking care of their own?”
He shook his head, seething. “Maybe that’s a fair question, Rizer. In light of what happened out there, I might ask you the same thing.” He eyeballed him a moment longer. “Think about it.”
Dupaul turned his back and walked away.
CHAPTER 27
PFCs Pena and Catalano, two of Doom’s five new boots, stood empty-handed before Rizer. “Where’s the shit I sent you for?”
“Corporal,” Pena began, “they told us we couldn’t sign for them.”
“Why?” Rizer jammed a bore brush into first team’s machinegun, twisted as he pushed to dislodge the carbon buildup.
“They, uh, didn’t say.” Even more nervous, he paused to tremble. “Corporal.”
Rizer turned his attention from the carbon buildup to focus on the clueless boots. “Are you sure you went to the right place? Electro-maintenance services?”
“Yes, corporal,” said Catalano, the taller and even dumber of the duo. “I read the sign over the door.”
“Now that is impressive,” said Bach.
“They told us—” Pena said.
“Who is they?” Rizer demanded to know.
“It was a woman, corporal,” said Catalano.
Leone chuckled darkly. “Uh-oh, say no more.”
“Shut up,” Rizer said.
“You want me to go fetch your shit, Rizer?” she said with a caustic sneer, as she oiled her rifle.
Bitch.
Stubs’ death had devastated Kasra almost as much as Rizer, though she tried to put up an indifferent front. She had attacked Rizer in the shower several nights before. As close to female-on-male rape as it got without being actionable, he offered token resistance at best. For ten minutes they forgot where and whom they were, even the reason they were coupling in the first place. The magic dissipated the instant he pulled out of her, both feeling as though they had betrayed the memory of a best friend and lover.
“Sorry,” she said as she departed immediately afterward. “It’s just so fucking lonely around here now.”
Rizer couldn’t argue that. Unfamiliar faces surrounded them now: five boots from SOI, and a few saltier replacements pulled from other units to fill gaps in the ranks. Rizer ascended to squad leader when Cardona took charge of first platoon upon his promotion to staff sergeant. Stiglitz—his contract extended for at least six months, much to his sardonic displeasure—took over Ghost Squad. Rizer used his new position to cajole SSgt Len into returning Bach to first team. Every team had at least one boot; Rizer had Pena and Catalano, the most obtuse of the bunch.
“I think I can handle it,” Rizer told Leone.
“Yeah, that’s why you sent two kids to do a man’s job.”
Rizer shot her a pissed-off glower.
“Oh, sorry, not in front of the boots, right? I forgot.” She snorted a laugh and kept cleaning her rifle.
The boots stood in dumbstruck stupors, clueless of the context and awaiting further orders. “Draw your rifles and get cleaning; what the fuck are you waiting for?” Rizer snapped at them.
“Aye, corporal!” They damn near hopped to the armory window to draw rifles they’d inherited from dead Marines.
“If Len shows up, tell him where I went,” Rizer muttered to Bach.
“Gotcha, boss. Good luck.”
“Tell Kasra I said hi,” Leone offered as a parting shot.
I need to get the fuck out of here. Leone’s comments were driving him bugshit mad. Truth can do that sometimes. He hated to admit it and would never do so to her. Though he had seen a lot of good Marines get killed on Verdant, the loss of Stubs hit deeper. They had been brothers, bonded in blood and suffering. Together since the beginning, he had known there was always that chance that either one could be killed on any given day on Verdant, but after having gone through so much unscathed, he had just taken it for granted that Stubs would always be there.
Now Rizer felt truly alone. When he could sleep, he would often see the big man in his nightmares, haunting him. He was my responsibility. I failed that mission.
Rizer tried to push the thoughts from his mind as he exited the armory. On the way out, he passed two hulking assault bots oiling a M-411 Gatling-style plasma gun at the last cleaning table. They stood exactly two meters tall and damn near as wide, identical olive-drab twins, their boxy heads pocked with tiny black lenses providing overhead and three-sixty vision. Integral armor three times the thickness of human suits encased their electronic components, and each had multiple batteries capable of powering the heaviest crew-served weapons.
The A-gunner—Butler, after Smedley Butler, a Marine general in ancient Terran times—spun the six-barreled receiver, his ear port close as it clicked like a chance wheel on a game show. “Ah, music.”
“Yep, she’s right on time,” said Victis, the gunner. “Let’s get her over to the test range.” He noticed Rizer passing. “When’s the next patrol, corporal?” He sounded as hearty and courageous as a superhero.
“Too damn soon.”
Butler shook his head, appeared disgusted. “Where’s your motivation, corporal?”
“If it were up your ass with a magnet, you’d know where it was.”
Victis found Rizer’s jab hilarious but only because the bots were programmed to bus
t each other’s imaginary balls.
Their presence evoked foreboding in Rizer. Assault bots were rare in small-scale operations, usually reserved for assaulting heavily fortified positions at battalion strength or better. Either the action’s ramping up even further, or we’re that short on men. Alas, he knew both answers were correct. Nevertheless, their presence on patrol would be an asset. The assault bots could take more bullets than fallible human machinegunners, and they never fired on friendlies by mistake. Their M-411 plasma miniguns could shoot over 3,000 15mm rounds per minute, and Butler would hump at least four times that amount of ammo on the next patrol.
Rizer found Kasra behind the counter at electro-maintenance. She eyed him coolly as she put his items on the counter: two helmets and a tiny plastic box containing three control chips. “So what’s up?” she asked.
“Not much, same old shit.”
She nodded. “Haven’t seen you for a while. Is everything okay?”
“Couldn’t be better, considering the circumstances. You have the pad I need to sign, since you wouldn’t give up the stuff to my boots?”
She slid him the pad. “I know this is kind of a ham-fisted attempt to get in touch with you, but nothing else worked. Where in hell have you been? Didn’t you get the messages I left with the duty NCOs at the barracks?”
“I did. I’ve just been busy is all.”
“Bullshit, you’re avoiding me. It’d be nice to know why.”
Rizer locked eyes with her for the first time. “Would have been nice if you’d hung around to help me… last time.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “There was a fucking brawl going on; everyone got the fuck out but you guys and the mercs. What was I supposed to do, stay there and get pummeled?”
“I needed you when it was over. Stubs was…” He trailed off, not wishing to relive it.
“I know. I’m sorry that—”
“And how the fuck could you ever have dated a monster like Sawyer? That guy’s a fucking menace.”
“Dating him was a mistake, but I told you he wasn’t always like that. I’ve known him for a long time. He changed. Kind of like you have.”
War's Edge- Dead Heroes Page 36