In Every Clime and Place

by Patrick LeClerc

That didn’t mean I was going to allow it. I put a hand on his wrist. He spun around angrily. I just shook my head. “It’s not worth it, Marine.”

  He glared a moment longer, then turned away. His hand fell away from the weapon, so I let him go. He would have to come to terms with his emotions in his own time.

  “Collins.”

  “Yo!”

  “You got third squad,” Sgt Hernandez said. “Stay here and guard the wounded and the prisoners. The Lieutenant’s detachment has control of the bridge. Alls we gotta clear is one more passage. If I need your Marines, I’ll call.”

  “Aye aye, boss,” I replied wearily. “You sure you don’t need half of the squad?”

  “I got it covered. Your Marines did enough today.”

  I nodded mutely in acknowledgment. He walked away to his squad and began giving orders. I was tired down to my bones. The adrenaline rush ebbed away and left me numb. Only habit and duty kept me moving. I passed the orders on to my squad.

  One of Hernandez’s Marines had been wounded in the shoulder during their rush. He joined us, sitting beside Sgt McCray and waiting for the corpsman to finish with Williams. One of his buddies had already tied on a pressure dressing.

  “O’Rourke and Johnson,” I ordered. “Go double-check the bodies. Gather up any weapons and look for any survivors.”

  “Aye aye, boss.”

  “Bauer and Li, go check the rafters.” I gave Chan’s surviving team members an assignment, hoping the work would keep their minds off the loss of their leader. Sabatini and I stood guard over the corpsman and the wounded. We kept a close eye on the prisoners, but they seemed cowed. The loss of so many comrades had them convinced that resistance was a good way to get killed.

  I took a good look at them for the first time.

  Every race, shade, and size of scum. They were as diverse as my squad, but we pulled it off better, because of the discipline and neat haircuts. They wore a mishmash of military uniforms and civilian clothes, and many had worn big ugly knives tied down to their thighs or stuck in their boots. They did look like a casting call for street thugs, but now they were whipped, scared street thugs.

  Sabatini’s voice brought me out of my musings.

  “Nice job with that sniper,” she said. “You kept the squad from doing anything stupid and you shoot pretty good.”

  “Thanks,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry I insisted on leading the charge. It was out of line. I just had a gut feeling. I don’t ignore them, they’ve kept me alive through too many messy deployments.”

  “Don’t sweat it, chief.” She smiled. “Seeing how they almost took your nose off, I won’t bitch about you taking the lead on this one.”

  I shrugged. “I could’ve stood to lose a bit off the end.” I rubbed the bridge of my prominent beak.

  “Anyway, that round only missed because you run like the slow old man you are,” she joked. “That sniper probably expected a point Marine to be in decent shape and led you too much.”

  Her mask hid the lower half of her face, so I couldn’t see the smirk, but the sparkle in her eyes was unmistakable.

  I felt a smile start. I really needed one at that moment. “Watch the insubordination, Marine,” I growled. “That’s what I keep O’Rourke around for.”

  She treated me to the sound of her laugh. “And what do you keep me around for?”

  “I need you in the team to remind me what women are supposed to look like,” I said. “Otherwise, my dreams get real disturbing. I don’t like waking up in a cold sweat picturing Sergeant McCray in a dress.”

  She laughed again. We were speaking over our headsets, so the prisoners grew worried at the laughter. I patted the hilt of my machete and winked at them. A little intimidation goes a long way toward preventing trouble.

  I heard a single shot from above.

  “Report!” I said into the microphone.

  After a slight pause, Bauer replied. “A wounded pirate reached for a weapon, Corp Li nailed him.”

  I grunted. I doubted that was the whole truth, but Bauer wasn’t going to rat on a brother for a pirate who’d been shooting at us a few minutes ago.

  For that matter, neither was I.

  “Carry on.”

  “Hey, Corp,” came Bauer’s voice over my headset, “you probably should see this.”

  “You got it covered here?” I asked Sabatini.

  “No sweat, Mick.” She positioned herself with her back to a supporting column and checked her weapon to see that both magazines were full. “They get brave, I’ll take care of ’em.”

  Williams sat against a nearby bulkhead, still holding his rifle on the prisoners despite his wound. I nodded and turned away, trotting to the nearest ladder. I climbed one-handed, holding the pistol grip of my ACR, and joined Bauer and Li. They stood over a crumpled body. Li kicked it over on its back and began searching for information. Bauer had a long-barreled rifle in his left hand.

  “I guess this belongs to you, Corp,” he said as I approached. “That sniper was a bitch.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “Huh? No, I mean it was a broad,” he clarified. “She might be good-lookin’ too if she had her whole head.”

  I looked the way he pointed. No doubt about it, that was the sniper I had nailed. I walked over and looked down at my victim.

  She was a woman. Dressed all in black. I could see the impression the rifle sling had made on the left sleeve of her padded shooter’s jacket. Her hair and eyes were dark. My round had entered her temple just behind the right eye and come out above and behind her left ear. The two insurance shots had punched holes in her chest. I suppose Bauer may have been right, she might have been attractive at one time. Now she just looked dead.

  It was the first time that I know of that I’d killed a woman. I thought I should feel something about that, but I didn’t. She had been a dangerous enemy, and a threat to my brothers, and now she was dead. End of story. I examined the rifle. I dropped the magazine and ejected the round in the chamber. It was a custom-made, high-price competition rifle made in Belgium by Fabrique Nationale. The scope was German. The weapon cost about four times what the government paid for my ACR. Well, this rifle wouldn’t kill any more Marines.

  “You two finish checking up here, then bring down any weapons,” I told the two Marines.

  “Want us to bring down the bodies?”

  “Don’t bother. Just note the location in case the bosses want a recovery. I don’t see why we should waste our time hauling this meat around if we don’t have to. If you find any survivors, bring ’em down.”

  I returned to the prisoners and Sabatini. She looked up as I approached.

  “Whatcha got, boss?”

  “The rifle that was causing us so much trouble.” I handed it over.

  She pulled back the bolt, checked the chamber and then looked the weapon over. She whistled low. “This is one pricey piece of hardware.”

  “It cost us plenty,” I muttered.

  “Hey chief,” she said after a time, “you notice something strange about these weapons?”

  I looked at the pile. No bells and whistles went off. I shook my head.

  “It’s one hundred percent FN.”

  I looked again. She was right. I was a professional, I was used to uniform weapon issue, so it hadn’t stuck out. Pirates, bandits or rebels usually had a more eclectic mix. There was a bunch of automatic rifles, a few 10mm pistols and the sniper rifle, but everything was Fabrique Nationale.

  “This is the gross national product of Belgium for six months,” I observed.

  “Do they sell anything else in Belgium?”

  “I dunno. Chocolate? Maybe souvenirs to German soldiers on the way to France.” I couldn’t figure what this meant.

  “Something’s not right here, Mick.” She sifted through the pile. “The damn serial numbers are all the same lot. You think they maybe robbed a military shipment?”

  “Whose? Nobody has troops up here but us, the Germans and the Chinese.
The Krauts only use HKs and the Chinese won’t buy European if they can help it, not with the new Asian solidarity. No friggin’ rent-a-cop security force needs this much hardware.”

  “So what’s up?”

  I shook my head slowly. A clue was taking root in my brain, but Lt Evers had said to watch the scuttlebutt, so I just kept my thoughts to myself.

  The rest of the squad joined us shortly. They deposited more weapons on the pile. All were FN.

  All told, they’d counted five bodies. The cargo was mostly supplies for the mining colonies. That didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. Raiding ships for the refined ore and selling it to some corporation on Earth made sense, if you were a lowlife scumbag, and it would explain the ability to buy high-end military-grade weapons. But who the hell would risk his ass to steal dehydrated rations and replacement drill bits?

  I shrugged. Officially, that was Lt Evers’ problem. Unofficially, I would do some more digging when I got some free time in the library. For now, I had a squad to run.

  “Bauer, make a recording of the cargo containers in here. Bust a few open and see if they are what they say they are. Take Li with you.” I’d noticed him eyeing the prisoners and wanted him as far from them as possible.

  “Collins.” Lt Mitchell’s voice came over the headset.

  “Go ahead, sir.”

  “We have the ship secured. Get your Marines and the prisoners ready to move. We’re headed your way.”

  “You want me to send you the corpsman?”

  “Negative. We have one Marine WIA and he’s stable. We’ll be along shortly.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The hatch opened and the rest of the platoon appeared, marching four prisoners along, as well as a handful of women who looked like they might have been captives on this ship. Seeing the looks on their faces and the bruises they bore, I regretted not letting Li wade into the surviving pirates with his blade.

  The wounded-in-action Marine was the boss himself. Lt Mitchell had a dressing wrapped around his left forearm. He held a 10mm pistol in his good hand, and carried on as if nothing had happened.

  “Situation, Corporal?”

  “All secure, sir. Five enemy KIA, twelve prisoners, seven WIA, five unhurt. One Marine KIA, three WIA. All weapons gathered here. Video taken of cargo containers and enemy weapons. Third squad is ready to move out, sir.”

  “Outstanding. Saddle up, Marines!”

  Bauer and Li carried Chan’s body, Sabatini and O’Rourke carried Sgt McCray. Two of Hernandez’s Marines brought Williams. Our two walking wounded made it to the shuttle without complaint.

  I wondered what the fallout would be. We definitely kicked up something more than straight piracy here. I wondered what agency or corporation or government was behind it. For the sake of Sgt McCray and the memory of Cpl Chan, I had a burning urge to find out.

  Marine blood was spilled. Somebody was pulling the strings, and we would find out who. And then...

  And then heads would roll. I promised myself that. Heads would roll.

  Chapter 19

  9 DEC 2075

  USS TRIPOLI

  The medical team was waiting when the shuttle docked with the Tripoli. They took charge of our four wounded Marines and the women we’d freed. They would get to the enemy wounded eventually.

  Cpl Chan was brought to the morgue.

  “Sgt Pilsudski,” ordered Lt Evers, in command while the Old Man was in sickbay, “escort the prisoners to the brig. Have your squad stand by in case of emergency. Sgt Hernandez, your squad is on duty in eight hours. Cpl Collins, take charge of third squad. Your Marines are off duty until 0700 tomorrow.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” I turned to my squad. “Get cleaned up, then meet in my fire team’s squadbay. Bring your weapons and cleaning gear.”

  A muttered chorus of assent greeted my order. My team filed back to our little piece of ship.

  The crisis was over, but I didn’t want Li and Bauer sitting in a half-empty room dwelling on the loss. I also wanted to keep a careful eye on Li. He would probably bounce back, but I wasn’t sure about it. I was in command of those two now, it was my job to see how they were doing and what they needed. A two-man fire team was not viable, so at some point we would have to reorganize, but I would leave that to the Old Man. I wasn’t even sure I’d stay in command of the squad.

  While the rest of us showered, I sent Sabatini to the galley to draw our squad’s beer ration. I didn’t trust O’Rourke. With my life, yes. With the squad’s liquor, no.

  Soon we had all cleaned up and changed into fresh utilities. Bauer and Li arrived. I handed over a sixpack of the cheap brew. Bauer cracked a smile and said thanks, but Li remained stone-faced.

  I didn’t have a concrete plan, I was just hoping that activity, companionship and a few beers would take their minds off their loss. I kept Li under close watch as he broke down his weapon and began to clean it.

  For a while we worked in silence. Nobody wanted to bring up the fight, but it was on everyone’s mind. I finally decided to take the lead.

  That’s why Uncle Sam pays me an extra thirty dollars a month.

  “Guess they threw your ass in the deep end,” I remarked to Johnson. “Two combat deployments in your first month with the Fleet.”

  “You mean this isn’t just an average cruise?” he asked sarcastically.

  It’s gotta be pretty bad when the new guy knows something isn’tright. I noticed a change in him. This action, though it had been far more costly to the platoon, hadn’t shaken him up like the first. He held himself more confidently. It was as though he had matured years in the past few weeks.

  “It’s usually ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent scared shitless,” Sabatini clarified. “This one has only been around ninety percent boredom.”

  “We got our cherries busted kinda rough ourselves, Mick,” Terry said. “That first ambush in Africa came after we were in country what, an hour?”

  “You got a point.” I swallowed half of my beer. “Shit, that was one hell of a welcome.”

  “You two dinosaurs gonna tell the story,” asked Sabatini, switching to her Al Capone voice, “or do I got to beat it outta ya?”

  I looked to Terry. He nodded. “Go ahead. You’re just gonna interrupt and screw it up anyway if I do it.”

  I took a sip and began. “OK, me and O’Rourke are brand new Marines. Eighteen years old, right out of Infantry Training Regiment. We get posted to Africa with a whole platoon of replacements for the 7th Marines in Kenya. We haul our seabags off the transport in full body armor, rifles, helmets, the whole nine yards, and hike over to these ancient trucks that we’re using for transport. It’s like a million fucking degrees out, sun’s blazing, sweat’s pouring off us.

  “We board the trucks. The beds are open, just a canvas cover over the top, rolled up so the air can circulate. There’s a machine gun mounted at the front of the bed on top of the cab. First thing we notice is the bullet holes. The sideboards of the truck are riddled. Terry nudges me and points to ’em. So now we think, ‘Oh man, this is serious shit.’”

  “We were right,” added O’Rourke.

  “Damn straight we were. We hadn’t been on the road ten minutes, when the shit hit the fan. We’re driving along this bumpy dirt road, eating dust by the kilo. One side is a wadi, a dry stream bed, the other is just scrubby, thorny little trees and brush. As the convoy slows down going around a bend, these rebels open up on us.

  “Out of nowhere rounds are smacking into the wooden sideboards. I got splinters from a near miss. A round snaps past my ear. Missed me by centimeters. The machine gunner gives a yelp and grabs at his arm. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to chamber a round, duck, and find a target all at once. I’m thinking, ‘Welcome to fucking Africa.’”

  “So what happened?” The younger Marines leaned forward, intent on the story.

  “I go to say something to O’Rourke and he’s not there. He’s over the side of the damn truck, charging into the b
ushes, screaming like a banshee and blazing away.”

  Terry smiled in embarrassed acknowledgment.

  “What did you do?” Sabatini asked.

  I paused and took a sip for dramatic effect. “I followed him. Figured what the hell, it’s better than sitting here getting shot up. We tore into those bushes howling and shooting like mad. Half the frigging platoon followed us.”

  “Seemed like the thing to do at the time,” O’Rourke commented.

  “A round creased my helmet, another one tore my sleeve. I guess when we rushed ’em they just fired blind and tried to abandon ship. I nearly plowed into one of the bastards. Shot him on instinct at about a meter. He was falling before I realized I’d made the decision to pull the trigger.

  “Those poor bastards never knew what hit ’em. We killed a dozen of ’em, captured seven or eight more, drove the rest off. I don’t think they stopped until they reached the Mediterranean. In total we had three Marines hit, counting the gunner who got hit in the first volley, nobody killed.”

  “They didn’t get more of you than that?” Bauer asked.

  “Nope.” I took a swig. “I mean, those rebels can’t shoot anyway. I bet not more than one in ten actually put the damn rifle in his shoulder and looked through the rear sight. They just kinda held the weapon out from their body and burned clips full auto. I think they were as new as we were. A few senior rebels probably took a bunch of recruits out to blood ’em on an easy ambush.”

  “Didn’t quite work out that way.” Terry smiled.

  “Hardly. The thing is, old Blood-and-Guts O’Rourke made the right tactical decision. They expected us to take cover in the wadi, but when we looked at it later, it was filled with sharpened stakes set in the bank among the brush, and a couple trip-wire and grenade booby traps were in there for good measure. If we’d tried to take cover and shoot back, we would’ve taken some serious casualties. If the drivers just floored it and drove out of the kill zone, they would have run over a section of dirt road the bastards dug up and mined. When we were driving slow, we could spot the new holes, but tearing around that bend at high speed to avoid the ambush, we’d have been screwed. The enemy never expected a cherry platoon of replacements to react like we did.”