War's Edge- Dead Heroes

by Ryan W. Aslesen

  Erskin walked calmly through a ship transformed into a panicked beehive of sailors and Marines running about and shouting orders over the damage alarm. In contrast, the bridge was an island of quiet in the storm. Because they know what’s coming next. The lower ranks who did most of the fighting were always the last to know. If they knew what they were in for, they might not choose to fight. Such had been the way of the military since ancient times.

  “Status on the dropships, admiral.”

  Hale surrendered the command chair to Erskin. “Launching as we speak, ma’am.”

  “Display the numbers on screen.”

  She checked the available ships provided by each vessel. The Valiant had deployed only ten of its twenty-five Condors.

  “Get me Rear Admiral Stillwell,” she ordered the comm officer. We’ll see what his excuse is this time. Seconds later, Stillwell awaited on the channel. “Put him on the main screen.”

  Fires on two ships in his group had only just been extinguished, yet Stillwell stood smiling in a fresh uniform, appearing pleased with himself as always. “Rear Admiral Stillwell reporting as ordered, ma’am.”

  “Admiral, you’ve only launched ten of your Condors; where are the other fifteen?”

  “Ma’am, I—am I on screen?”

  “You are. Put me on screen as well.”

  That infuriating grin flickered for an instant. “Aye, ma’am.”

  “Now where are those Condors, admiral? We have Marines down there literally dying to get aboard.”

  “Ma’am, I launched those fifteen Condors earlier, before your order came down. They should be back—”

  “Without my authorization? Where are they?”

  “I released them to evacuate BM executives and critical personnel, ma’am.”

  “Divert those ships to Camp Shaw immediately!”

  Stillwell blinked rapidly, obviously nervous. “Ma’am… I really can’t do that; they’ve already picked up. Their return ETA is twenty minutes. Soon as they’re back, I’ll redeploy them to Camp Shaw.”

  Erskin said nothing, only glared at him.

  Finally Stillwell said, “Ma’am, the Council has directed that BM personnel—”

  “You had no right and no authorization. Is your XO on the bridge?”

  “He is, ma’am.”

  “Put him on screen. And make damn sure every sailor on the bridge hears what I’m about to say.”

  Captain Stover, Stillwell’s XO, appeared. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Captain, I am relieving Rear Admiral Stillwell of his command. You are now commanding officer of the Valiant.” She heard Stillwell’s ugly chortle in the background. “Confine Admiral Stillwell to his quarters under guard. His orders are not to be obeyed by any personnel. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Stillwell appeared on screen. “Ma’am, this is all a misunderstanding! The Council has directed—”

  “I don’t direct, admiral; I command. You are charged under the General Article with gross negligence and misappropriation of Navy property. You’ve kissed your last ass.”

  “We’ll see about that!” Despite the dire situation, a couple of officers on the Resolute’s bridge snickered.

  Two Marines appeared next to Stillwell. “Put binders on Admiral Stillwell and escort him to his quarters. If he resists, subdue him by whatever means necessary.”

  Stillwell laughed yet offered no resistance. “Grand Admiral Deely will see things my way, Admiral Erskin. Trust me on that.”

  “You’ve never given me reason to trust you on anything. Show the admiral to his quarters. Captain Stover, send those Condors out the instant they’re unloaded. Put the BM execs in your cargo hold; they’re not to displace a single sailor aboard the Valiant. Notify me when your ships are launched.” She cut the transmission.

  Low voices hummed on the bridge after the ass chewing. No one said anything about it, though Erskin could tell that all approved, not that she cared. She knew that Stillwell was right—Deely would likely override her and dismiss the charges. But if he thinks he’ll chew my ass over this, he’s damn sure mistaken. If it came to that, she would remove her stars and walk away.

  Enough now. You have a battle to win.

  ***

  24:50… 24:49…

  The seconds counted down in the upper corner of the face shield on Commander Mako’s helmet. To avoid panic among the crew on his dead ship, only he and his engineering officer, Lieutenant Commander Arnet, were privy to the countdown. When the timer reached 0:00, the Astoria would enter Verdant’s atmosphere, where she would break apart and burn within seconds.

  Arnet had cut oxygen to the engine room to extinguish the fire, but the area had taken extensive damage. While other sailors worked frantically in the dark, cramped space to rewire burned components, Mako, Arnet, and Chief Petty Officer Hammond, all wearing pressure suits, struggled to replace the sub-light control unit.

  The jump drive was gone, burned up. Sub-light engines were the best they could hope for, all they needed to escape Verdant’s gravitational pull and get back into the fight. But getting them online wouldn’t be easy. The spare control unit, two hundred kilos of electronics contained in a bulky metal box, was meant to be installed in a maintenance dock by specialists who would drop it through a top hatch with a crane. Mako didn’t have a crane, and though it could be installed from a side angle, the unit’s mass and their limited workspace stymied their efforts as the seconds ticked by.

  “Once this is installed, how long until it becomes operational?” Mako asked.

  Arnet replied, “After the diagnostic checks—”

  “No time for that.”

  “Yes, sir. Assuming we wire it correctly the first time, it might be up in under twenty-five minutes.”

  Key word might. Like any good engineering officer, Arnet only promised when he knew he could deliver. “We’d better nail it then. Are the connections ready?”

  “Just about, sir.” Arnet had his helmet buried in the cabinet where the unit would go.

  “Let’s get it in place, chief.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Hammond.

  Mako texted the other engineering personnel: DEACTIVATING ENGINE ROOM GRAVITY. They would never get the control unit into the cabinet otherwise.

  Mako helped Hammond guide it into place. The sailors’ boots stuck to the floor, while the control unit hovered a few centimeters above deck as Hammond kept it from drifting, no easy task.

  “All set, sir,” Arnet said, pulling his helmeted head from the cabinet. He clutched a handful of wires in several different colors. “Let’s get her wired up and in there.”

  “Sooner the better. I’ve got that, chief.” Mako took hold of the unit so the chief could assist Arnet with the connections.

  Mako always helped in whatever capacity he could; right now, that meant keeping a control unit from drifting in the narrow walkway where they worked. Making the connections was best left to his experts. While keeping the unit in place, Mako watched the timer.

  21:15… 21:14…

  CHAPTER 32

  Bach sped into a small rectangular plaza. In the center of the space, Alliance and Marine Corps flags waved halfheartedly in a sooty breeze kicked up by fires raging throughout Camp Shaw. Flames shot from the roof of 41st Battalion headquarters, which fronted one long side of the plaza. A black column of smoke rose high from a conflagration consuming a building at the plaza’s far end. A wheeled APC emblazoned with the SecureCorp logo sat across the plaza from the battalion, its turret firing laser blasts at the second floor of a nearby building. Enemy rifle bolts sparked in flashes as they discharged off its hull.

  Doom had nearly reached their destination. Rizer, used to walking the base as opposed to navigating it with his HUD, now realized where they were bound. Electro-maintenance services sat in the cluster of support buildings where civilians awaited rescue. Shit, Kasra. He hoped they wouldn’t find her trapped
there. She’s a survivor. She already made it out. But until he knew for sure, he couldn’t worry about her. He had two trucks of Marines to lead into another battle.

  “Make a left into that alley,” Rizer told Bach. “We’ll park down by electro-maintenance.”

  Bach slowed, rounded the corner, then slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone forward. “That’s a no-go, boss.”

  A smoldering Union mech lay on its side blocking the alley. They could squeeze around it on foot but not in the Hog.

  “Shit! Back it up.”

  Rizer didn’t like the idea of parking in the open plaza, but they had no choice, no time to reroute down other streets that might also be impassable. On his HUD, enemy infantry crawled like red ants on a fresh carcass.

  “Park by the merc wagon,” Rizer ordered. “We’ll continue on foot.”

  The merc APC had silenced the enemy around the plaza for the moment. Rizer’s gunners would aid the mercs in keeping the plaza clear, and the thick, drifting smoke would mask them from visual recon. He could hope for nothing better under the circumstances.

  Rizer slapped a fresh magazine into his rifle before stepping from the truck. “Duran, you’ve got the grenade launcher; Merill, man the minigun. Everyone else with me.”

  He ran toward the alley, Bach a step behind him. Whining engines and a belching rotary gun sounded nearby. The green icon of a Dragon gunship appeared on Rizer’s HUD, moving fast toward their position from the south, strafing as it went.

  He’s got a shitload of targets to choose from.

  Rizer had almost reached the smoking mech. The Dragon’s engine noise increased to a banshee wail; its rotary cannon ripped again as it fired on a new position: theirs. Red dirt kicked up, and pieces of torn metal grating sliced through the air, ersatz shrapnel that clanked off their armor.

  “What the fuck, you assholes?” Bach shouted, hitting the dirt.

  Rizer dove forward into the mech’s shadow. Not a wise move, for the Dragon’s rounds tore into the hulk a moment later, riddling its hull and blasting apart its legs. “Fuck!” he yelled as the rounds pounded down around him. “Cease fire! Friendly position!”

  A helmet trailing blood bounced past where he lay. LCPL MICHAUD KIA.

  “You stupid motherfuckers!” Leone shouted. She then texted a cease fire, but the Dragon was already gone. It did not acknowledge their calls.

  “The fuck was that about?” Hogue asked.

  “It’s over; keep moving!” Rizer ordered, miraculously unscathed and back on his feet.

  He skirted around the ruined mech. It must have registered as an active target on the pilot’s scope, thus the strafing run. We were damn sure on his scope too! But dwelling on friendly fire was pointless. The complaint department wasn’t just closed, it was probably burning.

  After passing a few more alleys they came to a four-way intersection with the three other thoroughfare streets. On the corner to their right a half-assed fire scorched the far end of the long, low building housing electro-maintenance. Across the street a dozen Union riflemen and one machinegunner fired from the second floor of another building. The EM building offered little resistance: three Marines, a med bot, and several gray dots of armed civilians, according to Rizer’s HUD.

  He and Bach took cover among some shitcans by the alley’s end; Leone and Hogue posted high and low at the corner across from them. “Rockets, fire ’em up!” Rizer shouted.

  Bach, who always seemed to anticipate his orders, fired first, taking out two enemy as Rizer provided cover fire. Leone’s rocket flew through a window and exploded, blowing out the last few panes of glass in the building and killing two more riflemen.

  “Down there!” shouted Bach as he readied another rocket.

  “See ’em!” Rizer responded.

  He sighted in on the first of two Union plasma-thrower teams entering the street twenty-five meters down. While Leone and Bach fired two more rockets into the building, Rizer and Hogue mowed down the first thrower team, who barely had a chance to return fire. The plasma-thrower itself exploded, taking out all survivors along with half of the second team, whose survivors wisely retreated.

  Rizer approved of the overconfident enemy calling the throwers in early. They hadn’t counted on Doom Squad showing up to spoil the barbecue.

  After Bach and Leone’s rockets, four enemy targets remained, including the machinegunner, currently an unavailable target as he moved within the building to a new position. Another Union soldier disappeared from Rizer’s HUD, taken down by the Marines in the EM building.

  “They’re about done,” Bach said. He had their final rocket ready to fire. “You three should go; I’ll wait for their machinegun man to show.”

  Rizer nodded. “Join us when you’re done.” His HUD gave him the names of the three Marines in EM. Rizer texted Sgt Barber, the man in charge: COMING TO YOUR POS NEED COVER FIRE. “All right, let’s go!”

  With the EM’s front door hazardously far away, Rizer led Doom’s charge toward a window large enough for them to enter through.

  “Come to papa, you son of a bitch!” Bach said. Rizer felt the rocket’s thrust as it shrieked over his head toward the new machinegun position. “Score!”

  Explosions suddenly tore up the street around them, the concussions knocking Rizer off his feet. The near corner of the EM building collapsed beneath the barrage. Mortars again. The smoke rose and dust settled as Rizer stood.

  “Hogue!” Leone said.

  “Down,” Hogue replied, barely a whisper. “Just go.”

  He lay in the street, a couple strands of bloody guts showing through a hole in his sundered armor. They could do nothing for him at the moment as mortar rounds continued to fill the air with buzzing shrapnel.

  “Come on; let’s go! Through there!” Rizer ran for the collapsed corner of EM.

  The mortar rounds had started small fires, but nothing they couldn’t run through in armor. As for Hogue, Rizer hoped he would have the sense to play dead until they could pick him up on the way out. He probably won’t last that long.

  Rizer jumped into the wreckage, throwing aside twisted shelving and pieces of fallen roof. “We’re in the building, approaching from the south end,” he informed Barber since the EM defenders probably had twitchy trigger fingers at the moment.

  “Roger,” said Barber. “Casualties in the storeroom, rear center.”

  Rizer entered the main lobby where he had once picked up his gear. Two mercs and a handful of armed civilians fired across the street from the cover of a clever arrangement of hulking computer cabinets. One unidentified merc wore a helmet, but Rizer recognized Dick’s bald head amongst the cabinets. Neither merc paid him any mind as he hopped the counter and headed for the rear.

  Upon reaching the storeroom door, Rizer knocked hard. Only the med bot waited with the civilian survivors but several were armed. He announced, “Marines coming in.” Better to make noise than take fire for startling jumpy defenders.

  Rizer entered, Leone and Bach behind him. Civilian contractors in a variety of uniforms—some of them injured, all of them filthy—occupied the room. The healthy sat in stunned silence against the walls while the med bot tended to four casualties on the floor. Several civilian corpses and three dead Marines lay in a line next to another wall.

  He spotted Kasra immediately—her dirty blond hair partially burnt away, face covered with soot and streaked with rivulets of blood, blue eyes glassy with shock. She wore two auto-adjusting tourniquets, one above each knee—or rather where her knees had been. Blood-sodden bandages covered the ends of her stumps. Two med packs had been applied to her lower abdomen; blood was soaking through them.

  “Kasra!” Rizer knelt beside her and raised his face shield. At her blank stare he wondered if she were dead. Then she blinked, though he didn’t believe she’d seen him. “Oh God!” He ran fingers through her hair, wiped chill sweat from her brow.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. Leone said, “Rize
r, we gotta—”

  “What the hell happened?” Rizer yelled at the med bot. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

  Busy tending someone else, the bot replied, “Saved her life, that’s what I did. But she won’t make it if you guys don’t get her out of here fast.”

  “First mortar attack hit that end of the building,” said a stout older man, the Babcock-Mauer Industries logo emblazoned on his tattered coveralls. “Mangled her legs, barely attached.”

  “Let’s take care of business, Rizer,” Bach said. “We’ll get her outta here safe.”

  “Yeah” Rizer squinted back tears. “Let’s do it.” He bent to pick her up.

  “Mark,” she whispered, recognition finally flickering in her eyes.

  “Kasra!” An insane laugh of relief escaped his lips. “You’re gonna be okay!”

  “I know.” she barely breathed. “You came back for me…” She smiled, the simple gesture restoring his hope of not only saving her but perhaps surviving the invasion.

  The helmeted merc burst through the door, followed by Dick. The mystery merc’s name tag read BILSON. Haven’t seen you since I slammed you into Uncle Pauly’s brick wall. Behind them Sgt Barber and a lance corporal named Shepard carried a dead Marine.

  Dick announced, “Enemy ’cross the road is done, but we gotta move, people; our window for escape might slam shut any second.”

  “On it,” Rizer said.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Dick nodded his recognition. “Never know who you might run into during a war.”

  Bilson uttered a primal growl when he spotted Rizer.

  Dick gave his man a wilting glare. “What’re you s’posed to be, a fuckin’ dog? Pick that man up and let’s go!”

  Bilson glowered at Rizer from behind his face shield, then bent to grab the injured man. Of the eleven civilians, five were wounded.

  Rizer lifted Kasra.

  “Let your PFC do that,” Dick said. “I’ll need your rifle—”

  “No. I’ll carry her.”

  Dick shrugged. “All right, then.”

  “I’ll get this guy,” Bach said.