The 18th Race: Book 02 - In All Directions

by David Sherman

  “You sure know how to make a man feel good about where he is,” Button said.

  “He’s right, though,” Martin said. “We’re in a combat situation here. You can’t assume anyplace is safe. You know, I ought to smack each of you upside the head for the way you let me come up behind you.”

  “We knew you were there,” Vittori protested.

  “We heard you coming,” Button said.

  Mackie stayed quiet, he remembered how all of them reacted to Martin’s first words.

  “Sure you were,” Martin said dryly. “Then tell me, how long was I there?”

  They didn’t say anything at first, but Vittori finally said, “Long enough to hear what we were talking about.”

  “That’s right,” Martin said. “And about that, all three of you are corporals, fire team leaders. The Marine Corps has entrusted each of you with the lives of three valuable assets, the lives of three Marines. The Marine Corps believes you can do the job. Corporal Vittori, are you going to make a liar of the Marine Corps by not giving Appleton the supervision and training he needs if you get taken out tomorrow and he has to take over the fire team?”

  “Uh, no, Sergeant,” Vittori said sheepishly.

  “I can’t hear you, Corporal.”

  “No, Sergeant,” Vittori said in a normal speaking volume.

  “I still can’t hear you, Corporal!” Martin said just short of a bellow.

  “No, Sergeant!” Vittori shouted.

  “That’s better.” Martin put a hand on Vittori’s shoulder and used it to push himself up. On his feet, he looked down at his three fire team leaders. “Now figure out how you’re going to deal with pogues who don’t have experience or recent training. If I didn’t think you could do it, I wouldn’t tell you to.” He paused and gave them a firm look. “I’d replace you.” He cast another look at the landscape, then turned and walked away.

  Shocked, the three didn’t say anything, either to Martin or to each other. They knew he didn’t have the authority to replace them on his own. But they knew his word carried enough weight that he could have any of them replaced if he thought they couldn’t do the job. And the only way any of them was willing to give up being a fire team leader was to be moved up to squad leader. Not that any of them thought he was particularly ready for the added responsibility of squad leader. Still. . .

  They put their heads together to figure out a way to bring Appleton up to speed, so he could take over the fire team if necessary.

  The next day

  Mackie was standing in front of the bunkers that had been built to defend Firebase Zion. Vittori stood next to him. The two of them were taking a break from giving Appleton the training he needed to get up to speed, ready to take over the fire team if necessary.

  Slowly, Mackie shook his head. “Three hundred meters. That’s all we’ve got between us and the trees.”

  Vittori spat into the dirt by his feet, and scuffed dirt over the sputum. “I wish we had five hundred meters cleared, like at the air facility. Hell, a full klick would be better.”

  “Yeah. Think of how many Dusters we could waste before they reached the three hundred we can see now.”

  “A shitload.”

  “And that’s why I’ve got a job for you,” Martin said from behind them. They both spun about with their rifles at the ready on hearing the unexpected voice.

  “Boss,” Vittori said, turning to look at the squad leader, “you’ve got to stop sneaking up on us like that. One of these times somebody’s reaction will be too fast and your ass will get blown away.”

  “And you need to be more aware of your surroundings, not just your front. I’ve told you that before. Then I wouldn’t be able to catch you sleeping like this.” He joined them, looking over the open ground.

  “So what’s the job you’ve got for us?” Vittori asked warily.

  “Not just you, it’s for the whole squad. We’re going out there and plant motion detectors.”

  “How far out there?” Vittori asked.

  “Who’s going with us for security?” Mackie wanted to know.

  Martin shook his head. “Just first squad. Nobody’s going with us.” He glanced at the two fire team leaders. “We’re going a half klick into the trees. I’ve already briefed Button.”

  “How many detectors are we humping?” Vittori asked.

  “Forty. But we aren’t humping them. A Scooter is going along to carry them for us, along with repeater stations for us to plant. We’ll be able to ride on the way out.”

  “You said ‘on the way out’,” Mackie said. “Does that mean we’ll be humping back?”

  Martin shrugged. “Depends.”

  “Depends on what?” Vittori asked.

  “Depends on the situation when we come back. The Scooter will return to base after it disembarks us and offloads the equipment. If we’ve got Dusters coming at us, a Scooter will meet us on the way back in. No Dusters, no Scooter. Is that clear enough to you?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Mackie reluctantly said.

  “Our call sign is Purple People. Get your people saddled up. Full ammo allotment. Make sure your people’s camelbacks are full. I’ll issue one meal ration before the Scooter arrives for us. Do it.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Mackie and Vittori said.

  A half kilometer into the trees

  “You know, you didn’t have to come,” Martin said to Cafferata. “You’re still on light duty.”

  “You already told me that, Sergeant,” Cafferata replied. “Twice. But, dammit, I’m bored. I’ve already read everything in my library at least twice. And just about everything in the battalion library. Hell, I believe I’ve read more than Mackie has! So until Regiment sends down more books, going out with the squad is the only thing I can do, short of going totally bugfuck.”

  “I hear you, Hector, I hear you.” He turned to his third fire team leader. “Mackie, Cafferata doesn’t hump any of the detectors. The battalion surgeon said he’s not supposed to do any heavy lifting. Got it?”

  Mackie looked at the stack of detectors and rolled his eyes, he estimated they each weighed half a kilo. “No heavy lifting. Got it.”

  Cafferata looked away, trying not to smile.

  “All right, everybody,” Martin said. “I’ve got the location for every detector programmed into my GPS. We start here and go west. Vittori, place the first one. The rest of you, come with me.” He looked at his GPS and began following its directions.

  The Scooter had gone back after dropping them off. Along the way it had stopped two hundred meters in to drop off the repeater units.

  “Look sharp,” Mackie told his men, all except PFC Orndoff, who was troweling out a shallow hole to plant a detector in. The lower part of the detector was bulb-shaped, and had several thin spines protruding fifteen centimeters around its greatest circumference. The spines had to be placed carefully, parallel to the surface of the ground. They would pick up the vibrations from footsteps. The neck of the detector stuck two centimeters above the surface and could detect the heat radiating from the body of any lifeform larger than an Earth rabbit. An aerial out of the rear of the neck sent its data back to a repeater, which in turn would send it to the master unit at Firebase Zion.

  “Ready,” Orndoff said, sitting back on his knees.

  Mackie knelt next to him and examined the detector’s placement. “That’s why I have you doing the digging, Harry. You do it right. Now cover it.”

  Orndoff carefully scooped dirt back into the hole, covering everything except the neck. Then he scattered fallen leaves and twigs over it to conceal it from view.

  “Let’s go,” Mackie said. He and his men rose to their feet and headed toward the rest of the squad. They passed first fire team and continued to second, where Martin waited.

  “Follow me,” the sergeant said, and looked at his GPS for direction.

  It took the better part of three hours to emplace all of the detectors.

  “Now we hump,” Martin said. “First fire team,
third, second. I’ll be between third and second.” Cafferata was still on light duty, Martin didn’t want him at either of the most exposed positions. He put himself near the rear of the short column because that was the direction he thought any trouble was most likely to come from; normally he’d be closer to the front of his squad.

  Even moving cautiously, it took little more than half an hour for the squad to reach the cache of repeaters. They repeated the earlier exercise, leapfrogging as the fire teams individually planted repeater units.

  They were just starting to put in the last of the ten units when the call none of them wanted came over the comm: “Purple People, Purple People. This is Homebase. Over,”

  Martin put his comm to his mouth. “Homebase, this is Purple People. Over.”

  “Purple People, Homebase. Repeaters one through six are showing massive movement in this direction. You are hereby instructed to come home. Over.”

  “Homebase, we will begin movement as soon as we finish planting the last repeater, it’s almost in. Over.”

  “Purple, that could be too late. Strongly advise you leave now.” There was a brief pause during which Martin heard indistinct voices in the background. “Purple People, a Scooter and two Hogs are being dispatched to your location. Meet them. Do you understand? Over.”

  Martin looked at Vittori, who was inspecting the placement job PFC Simanek had just finished. “Homebase, I understand. We are moving now. Over.”

  “Purple People, Homebase. We will see you soon. Out.”

  “We gotta go,” Martin told his squad. “Somebody’s coming this way, and we’re going to be picked up along the way. Same order as before. Move out.”

  Vittori kicked some leaves over the repeater’s antennas and said, “Harvey, point. Let’s go at a trot. Move now.”

  The squad formed into a column as they ran, Martin took a place near the rear. They’d only gone a few meters before they heard the muted roar of the vehicles coming for them. In the distance, to their left rear, they heard the first caws of the Dusters.

  Chapter 20

  Camp Zion, near Jordan

  “Into your bunkers, move, move, move, move!” Staff Sergeant Guillen roared as soon as the Scooter carrying first squad dropped its rear ramp and the Marines started rushing out with Sergeant Martin and the fire team leaders echoing him. Guillen was the only Marine standing in the open.

  The Scooter and both Hogs took position to fire on the aliens when they came into sight.

  As Sergeant Martin ran to his bunker, he looked at his men to make sure they were all headed to the right bunkers. Before he ducked into third fire team’s bunker he paused to look out across the open ground. He didn’t see any Dusters.

  Inside the bunker, he took a position at the aperture and got on the sound-powered phone and called the command group. “Where are they? I don’t see them.”

  “Company says they stopped a hundred meters inside the trees,” Sergeant Binder replied. “The Skipper’s called for artillery. Maybe we’ll wipe them out before they begin their charge.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” But Martin didn’t believe it. He told third fire team what Binder had said, and got on his comm to pass the word to the rest of the squad.

  “What the hell are they waiting for?” Lance Corporal Cafferata asked.

  “That’s something new for them,” PFC Orndoff said.

  Corporal Mackie shook his head. “We don’t know that. For all we know, when they attacked before they held a prayer meeting inside the trees to psych themselves up.”

  Horton snorted. “A prayer meeting. Yeah, sure.”

  “Mackie could be right,” Martin said. “Sort of. We don’t have any audio pickups in the trees. Their CO could be giving them a pep talk, telling them they’ve only got a short run and they’ll be able to overrun us. All we can do now is wait.”

  “And hope nobody gets the idea that we should go out there and see for ourselves,” Mackie said softly.

  “Wait a minute, how do we know where they are?” Horton suddenly asked. “The motion detectors are farther out and shouldn’t be able to see them.”

  “It’s the seismo detectors,” Martin answered. “They pick up vibrations three-sixty through the ground.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  To the rear, muffled by the walls of the bunker, they heard the booms of artillery rounds being fired.

  The Marines all looked at the trees, and barely heard the rearward booms that told of another artillery salvo being fired. Seconds later, six explosions blossomed in the trees. The explosions themselves weren’t visible through the trees, but the sudden swaying of foliage and thrown up debris was. All along India Company’s line, the Marines cheered. They just knew that the Dusters had lost a chunk of their power, and were probably thrown into disarray. Hey, they might even be running away.

  No such luck.

  Word came down from the company CP. As soon as the first salvo was fired, the Dusters moved two hundred meters to their right.

  The second salvo hit in the same place as the first, and must have done as much damage to the enemy as the first. Which is to say, little or none.

  A third salvo was fired after an aiming adjustment.

  This time word of the Duster’s movement came sooner.

  “Damn, they’re just inside the trees,” Martin swore. Then he muttered to himself, “Where the hell’s our aircraft?”

  Another salvo came in, once more hitting the place the Dusters had just vacated.

  There wasn’t a fifth salvo.

  The Dusters burst from the trees in their by-now expected jinking and jiving, more side-to-side than to the front charge. Constant unexpected movement to confuse the foe and throw off aim.

  “Open fire!” Captain Sitter shouted into his all-hands freq. “Everybody, blow them away!”

  Along the line, every Marine began shooting. Not only with rifles, but the machine guns and Scatterers as well. The Scooters and Hogs added their fire. The mortars were silent.

  “Why aren’t the mortars firing?” Mackie shouted.

  His answer came seconds later when a division of AV16 C Kestrels zoomed across the mass of Dusters, from one flank to the other, dropping Scatter-Blast cluster bombs. The Scatter-Blasts flew open fifty meters above the ground flinging their hundreds of bomblets in a pattern that covered the length and width of nearly the entire Duster formation. The bomblets erupted individually, looking like nothing so much as popcorn on a griddle. Chunks of flesh and bone and feathers were tossed into the air. Too far away for the Marines in the bunkers or manning the crew weapons, to see how bloody the pieces were.

  The Kestrels turned around and swooped low, less than fifty meters above the Duster mass. The powerful wind of their near-mach passage roiled the bits and pieces of what had moments before been living, charging, alien fighters. The Kestrels gained altitude and orbited, their pilots and instruments searching the carnage for movement. They didn’t see anything that couldn’t be accounted for by random air movement. They turned again and overflew Camp Zion, wagging their wings in salute.

  The killing ground in front of Camp Zion

  “Goddamn shit!” Mackie swore. He tried to be careful where he put his feet, but he’d just stepped with both feet in offal. He breathed through his mouth to cut down on the stink.

  “Shit is what it is,” Cafferata said, laughing. He made no attempt at fastidiousness, yet his boots weren’t any more befouled than Mackie’s. He also breathed through his mouth.

  The killing ground smelled as badly as the words Mackie and Cafferata used to describe it. Third platoon was prowling through the area seeking Dusters who had survived the bombing and low-level, high-speed passage. Nobody expected to find any living aliens. Most wondered why they’d been given this shit job, what genius thought looking for life in a cesspool was a good idea.

  “I hope S-4 has boots in store,” Mackie said. “We’re going to need new ones after this. I don’t believe this stench will ever come out.”

&nb
sp; “You just might be right,” Martin said, coming up behind them. “And if you are, you’ll need new utilities, too.”

  Mackie flinched at the unexpected voice. “I hope not,” he said with a grimace that was partly directed at his squad leader for sneaking up behind him again. “But why?”

  “You haven’t seen the back of your legs.” His lips were closed, though not sealed.

  “What?” Mackie twisted around to look down behind himself. He swore again; the backs of his trouser legs were spattered with Duster blood and offal.

  “I suggest you shitcan your gloves before you return to your bunker.”

  All of the Marines were wearing gloves to protect their hands from anything that might contaminate them in this search for survivors.

  Cleanliness no longer mattered to Mackie. Now he kicked through piles of flesh and bones and feathers, no matter how splashed with blood they were, no matter how covered with the contents of erupted guts.

  “I’m taking this one home,” he said, bending down to pry a Duster rifle from the disembodied hands that still gripped it.

  “Don’t you dare take that into the bunker!” Orndoff yelped. “You’ll stink us out if you do.”

  Mackie snarled at him.

  After half an hour of fruitless searching for survivors, third platoon was called back in. As soon as First Sergeant Robinson got a whiff of them, he ordered the entire platoon into the showers.

  “Don’t take off your uniforms and boots,” he ordered. “Scrub them down on your bodies. After you’ve cleaned the crud and corrosion off them, strip down and scrub it off your scuzzy-ass bodies.”

  They did their best to follow the Top’s orders without too much objection.

  Mackie managed to get enough of the stink off the rifle he’d claimed as a souvenir that nobody seriously insisted he not take it into the bunker.

  Firebase Gasson, under construction, a few kilometers from Millerton

  A week had passed since Alpha Troop’s first platoon had been pulled from Advance Firebase One. New personnel had been brought in from Whiskey Company to replace its losses. One of the toughest for Second Lieutenant Greig to take was Sergeant Gasson. So, with the agreement of the other survivors, he named the new firebase after the late fire team leader. He’d been a brave and steady small unit leader, he’d be difficult to replace. But he would have to work with what was available. Fortunately, none of the replacements were sergeants. Sergeant First Class Quinn agreed with him that Specialist Abner Haynes was the best man best to replace Gasson. Greig put in a request to promote Haynes to sergeant. He expected the request to be granted promptly; the Army wanted its junior leaders to hold the rank their positions called for.