A Pale Dawn

by Chris Kennedy

  At least the Goka are keeping their heads down, Walker thought. Although that made them harder to kill, they couldn’t look up as well. The grenade detonated, stunning most of the unprotected people and Goka in the tunnel. He tapped his jumpjets just enough to get off the floor and slammed down on the Goka in front of him, crushing its head under the weight of his suit. He stomped on Goka troopers’ heads as he rushed forward, tapping his jumpjets as he went. Just to make sure.

  He reached the wall as a big Goka was squeezing through, and he speared it from underneath with his arm blade, pinning it in place. The creature grabbed onto the blade and tried to pull itself within knife range, but Walker slammed the blade on his other arm through its head and the creature ceased moving. Using the big Goka as a plug for the gap, he grabbed the dead body of a second and forced it into the other hole the aliens were coming through. The wires from the charges hung tantalizingly close…if only he had a third hand to work with.

  “Hurry!” Walker yelled as the pressure of the Goka pushing against the bodies of the troopers he held against the wall increased.

  The former merc had shaken off the effects of the blast and ran toward him, dodging the Goka troopers that were still alive and fighting in the tunnel. He made it about halfway before one of the Goka spun on him and sliced through his right Achilles tendon with one of its knives. The miner hit the ground, and the alien was immediately on him, knives flashing.

  “Help him!” Walker transmitted to the other two CASPers under his command, putting a laser targeting caret on the Goka. “I need the box the miner has.”

  The closer of the two, Private Sean White, stepped forward and drove his arm blade through the Goka’s head, then raised his arm, lifting the creature off the man. White flicked the enemy trooper off his blade into the wall.

  Before he could grab the box next to the obviously-dead miner, two of the Goka jumped on White’s CASPer, and Walker could see portions of his suit going red in Walker’s HUD as the Goka knives found joints and exposed systems.

  Walker lost his balance as the Goka troops stopped pushing against him and began pulling, instead, trying to draw the bodies of the two Goka he was holding through the wall. He shifted his right arm blade and was able to jam it into a crack in the wall, holding that Goka in place, but the other one was pulled most of the way back through, and he went down to a knee, losing most of the leverage he had. He could feel the Goka on the other side of the wall tearing at the bodies of their comrades, dismembering them, and he knew he didn’t have long before the live Goka shredded the bodies and began attacking again.

  Distracted by the CASPer, the Goka didn’t see Colonel Ferguson scoop up the box and race forward to where Walker was quickly losing his grip on the Goka bodies.

  “Better hurry,” Walker said with a grunt as the Goka body was pulled from his left hand. He started to withdraw his hand from the hole, but several Goka grabbed his wrist and began pulling him back in. He fired the MAC on the arm several times, and the Goka pulling him were blown backward, freeing his arm.

  He continued firing into the hole, once a second, but then lost his rhythm as the Goka pinned by his right arm blade disintegrated as it was cut apart from the other side. He fired his laser into the hole, knowing it was unlikely to kill any of them unless it hit them just right.

  Walker glanced at Ferguson—he had one of the two wires connected—and two Goka reached through and grabbed his right arm, pulling him off balance. His MAC was pulled out of the hole on the left, and a Goka shot through it like a cockroach after a piece of cake left out on the counter.

  “Run!” Walker yelled, knowing he couldn’t hold back the tide any longer.

  “Can’t!” Ferguson replied. “There isn’t enough line. It will have to be detonated from here. Go!”

  “Not leaving—” Walker stopped to spear the Goka that had come out of the hole as it spun to face him, and two more emerged, “—without you.”

  “You have to!” Ferguson yelled as he stepped back from the Goka. Both wires were connected, and his thumb hovered over a red button. “We need you to run the defense. Go! Quickly! I’ll wait until you’re clear!”

  Seeing he had no other choice, Walker tapped his jumpjets to give him a boost off the rock pile, then raced toward the tunnel exit. He kept one eye on Ferguson and braced himself as the security officer was swarmed by the Goka emerging from the wall. Ferguson pushed the button, and the end of the tunnel disappeared in the dust and fire from the blast.

  Walker was blown forward off his feet, and he slammed his cheek into the Tri-V screen in front of him as he hit the floor face first.

  He rose unsteadily to his feet and turned to find the passageway blocked with new rubble. The last Goka skittered up and jumped onto his right arm. He scraped it off with the arm blade on his left hand and stomped on its head. The exoskeleton snapped with a satisfying crack! and blood flew from under his boot.

  He looked back at Ferguson’s cairn. The old merc had obviously done his job mining the ceiling, according to the merc credo, “There’s no kill like a good overkill.” The ceiling, along with nearly thirty feet of tunnel had completely collapsed, including much of the sandstone layer above it. The Goka would be a long time clearing the passageway.

  He squared his shoulders as he walked toward the remaining defenders, who were milling around. Although they looked happy to be alive, he could see they had no idea of what to do next. He started issuing orders as he approached.

  Ferguson’s sacrifice would not be in vain. The defense would continue.

  * * *

  CIC, Maki Cruiser Spreading Shade, Paradise System

  “What do you mean, ‘The Goka have failed, too?’” the admiral screamed. “They were the only group to accomplish any of their objectives!”

  The SitCon grunted something noncommittal, not wanting to answer the question. The city the Goka attacked had surrendered upon seeing the first black carapace and never offered a single shot fired in anger. Although he was confident the Goka troopers would have captured the city in the end, the fact that they had succeeded so quickly was because the Humans hadn’t tried to defend the city at all seemed to be lost on the admiral.

  “All batteries, fire!” the admiral ordered. “Reduce them to rubble!”

  “Firing,” the weapons officer replied.

  Admiral Jarkyl’s tails twitched as he watched the missile launches on the tactical Tri-V screen. Now, finally, he would pay the humans back for their temerity.

  * * *

  Leaning Peak, Talus, Talus Star System

  Colonel Jim Cartwright was out of his Mk 7 CASPer for the first time in two days. He’d gotten a four-hour nap and was now standing inside a half-collapsed school auditorium, mechanically eating a field sandwich while watching the tableau of conquest unfold.

  His XO, Lieutenant Colonel Ezekiel Hargrave, was overseeing an improvised trial. Twenty locals, picked by those not involved with the aliens, were trying nearly 100 of their own for treason against their fellow citizens. The prosecution was being handled by a local representative named Avery Bates. He’d apparently been a popular man locally who’d once owned a mine before the aliens invaded.

  “This is bad.”

  Jim turned and saw his top sergeant, Buddha, also watching. He was drinking a protein shake, one of the other field rations. Buddha was a big man, and casual observers might think he was overweight, like his commander. Jim had been fat his whole life, and even after years as a merc, he continued to struggle with it. Buddha simply had the physique typical of his Polynesian ancestry, a rather round torso, but with considerable muscle under it.

  “I know,” Jim said and shook his head, “but what can I do about it? These people have a right to rule themselves.”

  “They’re going to kill those people,” Buddha said. Both still wore their haptic suits, with a light plastic rain jacket and a hat. The former mining town of Leaning Peak was more than 2,000 meters above sea level, and rain mixed with snow was fal
ling. The temperature hovered just above one degree Celsius. Jim watched the “trial” continuing, with all the accused zip-tied to their chairs as the accusers testified, one after another. Hargrave was presiding over the event while Colonel Spence from Gitmo’s Own acted as defense counsel.

  Jim didn’t answer his top sergeant, because he didn’t know what to say. The group of prisoners had cooperated with the occupying alien forces, and many of them also were part of the Council, the secretive organization which had run the planet’s previous government. Jim was a little uncertain of just how and why these Council members managed to avoid being caught, and how the alien occupiers used them to try and run the planet. He was clear on the fact that the residents of Leaning Peak wanted them dead.

  “This isn’t the kind of stuff we’ve ever been involved in,” Jim eventually said. “Mercs aren’t soldiers. We don’t have the body of laws that the military used to have back before first contact.” He wondered how Earth was faring under alien occupation and hoped they’d finish on Talus in time to move onto that final objective. And then what? a little voice asked in the back of his mind. He had no clue.

  Jim went out into the former parking garage, which was currently a combined barracks and maintenance center. Once they’d finished neutralizing the Besquith resistance, Captain Su began sending down the remainder of the Cavaliers’ forces. After Bravo and Charlie Companies were on the ground, two dropships full of maintenance crew and ordnance came down. Across the street, a mechanical maintenance company served the same purpose for Gitmo’s Own.

  The Cavaliers’ maintenance teams were swarming over Alpha Company. Everything from simple refueling and rearming to major repairs were underway. Splunk was sitting on the shoulder of Private Ventura’s Mk 8 CASPer, munching a pepperoni and watching a pair of techs troubleshooting the computer. Ventura had taken a non-lethal hit, but it had screwed up the computer. Splunk had performed a field repair, and now the crew was trying to reverse the Fae’s repair and bring the suit back into normal operation.

  As he walked past, personnel waved, nodded, and occasionally saluted. Jim was sure to give each his attention. The company held him in high regard, according to Hargrave. Considering he started as an 18-year-old fat kid with zero experience, that was quite the accomplishment.

  Off to one side were the Lumar of Big Fist, with their commander, Japu. They’d scavenged some of the equipment formerly belonging to their ex-merc commanders, the Besquith. They were chatting and eating and seemed in good cheer. Japu waved with two of his four hands as Jim walked by. They were amiable beings and had helped mop up their former allies. Still, Jim’s people were keeping an eye on them. Just in case.

  Finally, at the far end of the area a pair of medics were zipping up a body bag. Jim stopped to watch, his jaw muscles bunching as he ground his teeth. The Cavaliers had lost four men between the landing and the assault on Leaning Peak—light losses by any estimate. Jim had learned a lot of things from his father, and one of those was that no loss was acceptable.

  The names were in a special file in his pinplants. From First Platoon, Privates Scott Atkins and Bill Bradford, Second Squad. From Second Platoon, Private Phil Acey, First Squad, and Curtis Haden, Second Squad.

  “You okay, Colonel?”

  Jim realized he’d just been staring off into space, and one of the medics had spoken to him. He used his pinplants to put a name to the face: Lieutenant Dustin Hoagland, combat nurse/medic, Alpha Company. He was a little embarrassed he didn’t already know that, but a lot of people had been hired while he was off looking for Raknar secrets.

  “I’m fine, Lieutenant Hoagland.”

  The man looked from Jim to the line of four body bags, then spoke to him again. “They all died quickly,” he said.

  “They shouldn’t have had to die at all,” Jim said, scowling.

  “I-I’m sorry, sir,” the medic said, “I didn’t mean to mis-speak.”

  Jim looked at the man, ten years older than him by his file, and felt humbled. “You didn’t mis-speak, Lieutenant. I just meant that I hate losing any men and feel like I failed when it happens.”

  “From what I heard, that we only lost four is an accomplishment.”

  Jim didn’t entirely agree, but there was some truth to it. Considering they’d faced a prepared, numerically superior enemy, the losses were light. Gitmo’s Own had lost six. “Any more wounded?”

  “Just a few minor ones,” Hoagland said. “All were treated without nano-therapy.”

  “Very well,” Jim said. “Thanks, Lieutenant.” The man gave him a quick little salute, and Jim moved out through the door.

  The weather was still trying to make up its mind if it would rain or snow. It was cold, but he could ignore the cold. The town of Leaning Peak was somewhat worse for wear. The damage wasn’t extreme, and most was caused by the aliens. Jim had resisted using heavy weapons; the aliens had not.

  The citizens had all sheltered in place when the Cavaliers advanced through the town center. Gitmo’s swept around the east, hugging the mountain edge to flank the last of the alien defenders. The Besquith commander unleashed multiple waves of rockets on the town, trying to flush the Cavaliers. They had missed the mercs entirely and destroyed dozens of homes in the process.

  There was a crowd of men, women, and children sitting around the outside of the Cavaliers’ area, all waiting. Jim went over to them. “Are you people okay?”

  “Are you going to kill my daddy?” a boy of maybe five asked.

  “I’m not going to kill anyone,” Jim replied. “We’re just trying to make sure the trial is fair.”

  “But our daddy didn’t do anything,” the child persisted.

  Jim looked at the kid for a moment. He was standing next to a woman in her thirties who sat on the curb. She was holding a younger girl, perhaps three years old, who looked up at him with big scared eyes. Jim felt like an asshole.

  “What does your daddy do?” Jim asked.

  “He works on computers,” the boy said. Jim looked questioningly at the woman, obviously the mother.

  “He’s a data engineer,” she said.

  “Why was he working for the Council?” Jim asked.

  “Because they had us locked up and said they’d kill me and the kids,” she said.

  Jim blinked in confusion for a second. “Are you saying the Council kept you as hostages?” The woman nodded, and her kids were silent. “How many of you were hostages?” Jim asked. Every hand went up. Son of a bitch, he thought. “Didn’t the people we helped get rid of the aliens ask about that?”

  “They don’t give a fuck,” someone said. The crowd mumbled their approval.

  “Yeah?” Jim asked. “Well, I do.” The men and women began to move around Jim, curious.

  “You didn’t know?” one woman asked him.

  “No,” Jim said, furious.

  “Will you help?” the first woman asked.

  “Give me the names of all your people in there,” Jim said, and started a list.

  When Jim marched into the auditorium, Hargrave looked up from the slate he was using to take notes. He immediately noticed the expression on Jim’s face, and saw four men from Jim’s squad were behind him, all armed with laser rifles. Buddha was there, too, though armed only with a sidearm.

  Avery Bates stopped in midsentence and looked angrily at Jim. “What is the meaning of this, Cartwright?” It was clear he considered the interruption a challenge to his newfound authority. Negotiating the nature of the trial had been a difficult thing.

  “That’s Colonel Cartwright to you, Bates,” Jim snapped. He went to the men and women all zip-tied to the auditorium chairs. “If you hear your name, acknowledge.” He used his pinplants to begin listing names. “Allens, Edgar, G.” A man nodded his head. “Ayers, Ted, B.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Bates demanded. “We were assured that you mercenaries would let us handle our own trials.”

  “They were to be fair trials,” Jim said, and pointed to the li
ne of prisoners who now watched him with laser intensity. “I’ve been told many of these people only worked for the aliens because their family members were held.”

  “They’re traitors, what difference does it make?” Bates demanded.

  “A fucking lot,” Hargrave snapped. “What would you do if your family was being held at gunpoint?” Bates glared at Hargrave, who nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Go ahead, Colonel.”

  Jim nodded and picked up his list. As each man or woman was identified, one of the troopers with Jim went over and cut the zip-ties binding them. By the time he was finished, only twenty-three of the original 100 were left. “You men and women are free to go,” Jim said.

  The 77 men and women turned around and ran up the steps to where their families were waiting, tears of joy streaming down their faces. Jim nodded as a huge weight was lifted from his chest.

  “How do you know if any of them cooperated voluntarily?” asked Bates.

  “We have a way of doing things in my country,” Jim said. “Better ten guilty men go free than one innocent man go to jail.”

  “Let alone be put to death,” Buddha added.

  Jim glanced at his top sergeant and nodded. “Indeed.” He turned back to Avery Bates. “You can proceed with your trial, Mr. Bates.”

  “We can always settle up later,” one of the men next to Bates said in a stage whisper.

  Jim immediately rounded on the man. “Oh, you go right ahead, and we’ll deal with you ourselves.”

  “Big man, Mister Merc,” the man said, looking down his nose at Jim. “You’ll be gone eventually.”

  Jim narrowed his eyes at the man, but the bastard had a point. The Cavaliers and the other merc companies would finish the conquest and then leave. What could he do about it? He looked at the reunited families, all holding each other and crying over their unexpected freedom. Then an idea came to him. “Top?”

  “Sir?” Buddha replied.