“They won’t have any radios any longer, not unless they’re complete idiots,” Singh said shortly, when I reported what had happened. “Remain alert. The helicopters should be here in ten minutes.”
I scowled. If we’d told the flyboys we might need - no, that we would need - a pick-up, they might have been prepared to fly in the storm. Or perhaps not. I’d never liked flying through turbulence and it was hard to blame the pilots for being nervous. Maybe we should have held off on the raid ...
And then they would have a chance to prepare for us, I thought, grimly. This way, at least they know they got hammered.
“Incoming,” Joker said, quietly.
I tensed, again, as a fighter appeared, waving what looked like a piece of white cloth in the air. Joker sniggered, briefly; it took me a second to realise that the fighter was waving a pair of panties in the air as a makeshift white flag. I pushed my amusement to the back of my mind and stepped forward, ignoring Joker’s frantic hissing. Up close, the fighter looked middle-aged, perhaps prematurely aged by the war. He was far from the only person on Moidart who was much younger than they seemed. Experience had worn him down.
“Hello,” I said, carefully.
“We have this place surrounded, along with our former base,” he said, without bothering with any pleasantries. “You can and you will be wiped out, if we charge.”
“Debatable,” I said.
“It will happen,” he insisted. “Hand our leader over and we will let you go, without further interference.”
I keyed my radio and updated Singh. He and Webb would have to make the call, but I was fairly certain they’d tell him to go to hell. There was nothing to be gained by letting Douglas go, not when it would give them a propaganda victory ... assuming, of course, they were telling the truth. They might be planning to attack again, with overwhelming force, once their leader was safe. The only upside was that the insurgents clearly didn't have a second-in-command who intended to kill his boss and take the post for himself.
“Tell him no,” Singh said, firmly.
“No,” I said, relaying the message. “We’re not interested in any deals.”
His eyes went wide. “But you’ll be wiped out!”
“No, we won’t,” I said. “Go!”
Maybe I should have shot him, there and then. But he had come under a flag of truce and I was damned if I was going to do anything that would give us a reputation for treachery. I watched as he stumbled off, then hurried back to the shack. If they really wanted Douglas back alive, they couldn't use any heavy weapons ...
Unless one of his subordinates is an ambitious toad who thinks he can kill his boss and make it look like an accident, part of my mind whispered. A single mortar round would kill all five of us.
I told that part of my mind to shut up as I entered the shack, then closed and bolted the door behind me. Joker could take one side of the shack; Bellman and I could take two more ... Singh, thankfully, didn't seem to have been slowed down by being stabbed. He took the final side, then waited. It wasn't long before we saw the first enemy fighters come into view and opened fire.
“They’re being careful,” Singh said. He glanced at Douglas, lying bound and gagged on the floor. “Your men are quite admirably loyal.”
I shrugged as I fired at two men, who seemed reluctant to fire back. The shack, of course, was deterring them; they could riddle the walls with bullets, if they wished, and quite probably accidentally their leader. Actually, he was the safest person in the building, as he was lying on the floor. Luckily, they didn't know where we’d stowed him.
“Two minutes until the helicopter arrives,” Singh said. A handful of bullets cracked through the window - they’d taken aim at Bellman - and then vanished somewhere on the other side of the shack. “We can keep them off for that long.”
I nodded, understanding the unspoken words. Whatever happened, Douglas could not be allowed to return to his people. If nothing else, the faction fight over who should succeed him might just buy General Gordon time to slip more reinforcements into the Western Hills and, perhaps, find a political solution to the war. Douglas would have his throat cut if it looked like we were losing ...
And the General couldn't find a political solution if one was spray-painted in front of him, I thought, bitterly. He can't even find his own bollocks without a satellite fix and a team of expert navigators helping him.
And then the helicopter swooped down like the wrath of god, firing missiles into the surrounding forest. I watched in glee as the enemy melted away, running for their lives. The next few minutes became a blur as we grabbed Douglas, kicked the door open and ran into the helicopter, which was hovering just above the ground. As soon as we were inside, the pilot yanked the craft back into the sky, a handful of shots following us.
“Chain him to the seat,” the co-pilot called. “Regulations!”
“Fuck regulations,” Singh swore. He glared at the co-pilot, who flinched back. “He’s bound and gagged ...”
“Incoming,” the pilot screamed. The helicopter lurched so violently I lost my footing and fell forward, hitting the bulkhead. Joker shouted something obscene, but I barely heard it; my head was spinning badly, so badly I was sure I was concussed. “Brace ...”
Something exploded, far too close to us, and we dropped like a rock.
Chapter Forty
There was, of course, no hope of a political solution. Moidart cost the Imperial Army over nine hundred lives - the Marine Corps lost fifty-seven - but it simply wasn't worth it. By the time the Grand Senate finally pulled the plug, the local government was losing power even in its own capital city, while the final governor was issuing edicts that touched on everything but fighting and winning the war. The rebels, including Douglas’s successor, surged forward in the wake of the Empire’s departure and overran the Redshirts in one final battle.
Neither their victory nor the brutal civil war that followed were noticed by the Empire ...
-Professor Leo Caesius
I was barely aware of anything as the helicopter slammed down into the forest, rolled over twice and finally came to a halt. My head took several minutes to clear, even after I managed to retrieve the booster capsule from my belt and press the injector tab against my skin. It was a risk - we’d been warned that the drug could have unpleasant side effects, up to and including death - but there was no choice. I had no idea just how far we’d flown from the enemy positions before we’d been blown out of the sky.
Not quite, my thoughts advised me, as I staggered to my feet, almost tripping over the remains of my rifle. I felt a sudden pang as I realised it was beyond repair, then dragged my thoughts back to the matter at hand. If the HVM had struck the helicopter, we’d all be dead.
Singh was dead, I realised to my horror. I honestly hadn't thought that anything could kill him, but his neck was quite clearly snapped. Bellman had been thrown forward, straight into the co-pilot; they were both dead too, the latter still bleeding even through life had gone from his body. I couldn't see the pilot at first; dark suspicions ran through my mind until I spied his corpse lying outside the helicopter. His upper body had been completely separated from his lower half. I gagged - the drug was affecting me more than I’d realised - then hunted for Joker. He, at least, was alive.
“My legs aren't working,” he complained, after I injected him with the booster. “Did you get the number of the shuttlecraft that hit us?”
I snorted - he was always cracking jokes, despite endless push-ups - and checked his legs quickly. Both of them were broken; one might be salvageable, with a proper hospital, but the other would need to be replaced. I checked myself as best as I could - the booster blocks pain, so there was no way to tell where I was hurting - and didn't find anything worse than cuts and bruises. But the booster might be concealing interior damage that might bring me down.
“We have to get out of here,” I said. The hatch had jammed, forcing me to consider blowing it open before I finally managed to hit the e
mergency release and send the dented piece of metal falling to the ground. “I’ll carry you out.”
“I can walk,” Joker protested. “It's only a flesh wound.”
“No it fucking isn't,” I said. In my damaged state, I was midway through a resolution to kill the person who’d shown that stupid flick to Joker when I realised it had probably been Nordstrom. No one else would have dared. “I’ll have to carry you.”
I hefted him up, somehow - it was so much easier on the Slaughterhouse - and half-carried, half-dragged him out into the sunlight. The helicopter seemed completely dead, thankfully; there didn't seem to be anything on fire or threatening to explode. I glanced upwards, hoping to see another helicopter, but saw nothing. The sky was empty. Webb would have ordered a search, wouldn't he? We don’t leave anyone behind.
The thought came unbidden. But what if they believe the helicopter was completely destroyed?
I shuddered. The HVM had detonated close to the helicopter - it must have done, or it wouldn't have swatted us into the ground - and anyone watching from a distance might have concluded that we'd been wiped out. If so, there would be no point in looking for bodies ... Webb might want to come looking, just in case, but his superiors would probably refuse him permission. Why risk move lives for a handful of dead bodies?
A thought struck me. I placed Joker on the ground - he sounded more coherent, thankfully - and hurried back into the helicopter. Douglas was lying there, his body so badly injured that there was no point in taking his pulse. I cursed myself under my breath - I should have checked him at once - and scooped up the emergency pack before stepping back out of the helicopter and rigging a nasty surprise from the remaining grenades. No doubt the enemy would be along soon, looking for their leader and whatever they could pull from the wreckage. It would put them off chasing us.
“It's just the two of us,” I said, as I checked the compass. By my reckoning, there was no point in trying to return to the enemy base - they’d have overwhelmed it now Webb and the others were gone - but if we headed south, we would eventually cross the road leading to the FOB. “Just like it was in the old days.”
Joker chuckled. “You want to use the emergency beacon?”
“Too much chance of being picked up by the wrong person,” I said. The rebels might be reluctant to use radios, but they could certainly track them. Besides, the flyboys had already lost at least one helicopter and wouldn't want to risk any more, the bastards. If I ever had anything to say about it, I’d make damn sure that every marine unit deployed with its own helicopters and assault transports. “We'll have to walk.”
I picked him up, made sure he had a weapon in hand just in case and then started to walk, heading south. The helicopter rapidly vanished in the undergrowth; I forced myself to keep moving, even when the trees closed in and passage became almost impossible. Joker seemed to be growing heavier by the minute; I reminded myself, sharply, that I’d carried heavier weights before remembering the booster. If it was already wearing off, the aftermath was going to be thoroughly unpleasant for both of us.
“I keep hearing insects,” Joker said, softly. I wondered if he too was concussed. If so, there was nothing I could do about it beyond disarming him. “I swear they're everywhere, all around me.”
“It’s an illusion,” I said. “I ...”
An explosion, loud enough to make me jump, blasted out from behind us. The IED I’d set had been triggered ... and presumably detonated the remaining fuel cells as well. I prayed the enemy had had a nasty fright; hell, while I was praying, I prayed they were all dead. Not a nice thing to ask, I knew, but it would keep them away from us. Hopefully, any survivors would assume that everyone on the helicopter had been killed, including us ...
“They’ll know the area,” Joker muttered. “If you left any tracks ...”
I swore. I'd been taught to move without leaving traces, but it was hard to do that when I had Joker slung over my shoulder. I’d be heavier ... crap. No matter what I did, I’d probably left a trail of footprints leading right to us. I put Joker down, rigged up a second IED with my final grenade, then scooped him up again and walked on. Ten minutes later, I heard an explosion.
“Put me down,” Joker said. “I’ll stay here and sell my life dearly.”
“I'm not leaving you,” I said. I thought frantically. What else could I do? Leaving him was unthinkable and not leaving him was certain death? “Maybe we can find a place to make a stand.”
“Trigger the emergency beacon,” Joker urged. “They’re on our trail. It can't possibly make matters worse.”
I smiled - we’d been told not to say that at Boot Camp - and then did as he suggested. A signal started pulsing out, alerting the watching satellites to our location. But would they believe we were a real pair of marines? Or would the higher-ups think we were terrorists, trying to lure a rescue helicopter into an ambush? I groaned inwardly, then kept moving onwards as fast as I dared. If I hadn't had Joker with me, I might have doubled back and tried to outsmart them, but there was no chance to do anything of the sort. All I could do was hope I stayed ahead of them until help arrived.
“Crap,” Joker said. He fired, once. “They’re here.”
I ducked down, dumping him on the ground. He cursed in pain as I rolled over, drawing my own pistol. I could hear something crashing towards us, yelling loudly to summon assistance. He came into view, dashing my hopes he might be part of a rescue party. We fired together, taking him down. I crawled forward and checked his body, removing a small pistol and several magazines of ammunition before crawling back. For once, the ammunition wasn't compatible with any of our weapons.
“Well, there are worse places to die,” Joker said. We could hear the enemy approaching now, even though they were trying to be quiet. “And worse people to die besides.”
“Really?” I said. “Name one?”
But he was right, I knew. The Undercity would be a far worse place to die. If I’d been killed there as a child, my life cut down in an instant, no one would care. Even my family wouldn't be too upset, not when it meant more food for everyone else. And if I’d died with the rest of them, I wouldn't even have been a footnote in history. Now, at least, I would die trying to save my friend’s life.
“My older sister’s husband,” Joker said, after a moment. It took me a moment to remember what he’d said. “Complete coward, if ever there was one. I have no idea why she married him.”
“Maybe he made her feel good,” I guessed. “Is he a decent person?”
“Fucked if I know,” Joker said.
“We know you’re there,” someone shouted, half-hidden in the trees. “Surrender now and you will live.”
“Fuck off,” Joker shouted.
I shouted something ruder. There was no way I was allowing myself to be taken prisoner, not when I knew what would happen to me. We’d sell our lives dearly ...
“Crawl backwards,” Joker whispered. “I’ll hold them off.”
“No,” I said, flatly. My answer hadn't changed. I was damned if I was abandoning my first real friend. “I’m not going to leave.”
I lifted my pistol, bracing myself for the final onslaught. Two magazines left ... eighteen bullets, more or less. I could make them count. Beside me, Joker lifted his own weapon ...
It happened very quickly. There was a flurry of shots, then a loud explosion, as a helicopter flew overhead. The rebels fired a handful of shots back at the craft, before turning and running deeper into the forest. I let out a sigh of relief as the helicopter came to a halt, then lowered itself to the ground. Joker laughed out loud; I stood, picked him up and carried him towards the opening hatch.
“Hey,” the door gunner called. “You want a hand with him?”
“He ain’t heavy,” I said. Joker snickered and joined in. “He’s my brother.”
Yes, it’s a cliché. But damned if it isn't true ...
... And damned, too, if it doesn't encompass what it means to be a marine.
***
There isn't much more to tell, really.
We made it back to the FOB, where Captain Webb debriefed us carefully, then warned us to expect to be questioned heavily by the higher-ups. Douglas was dead, after all, and there were hopes it would put an end to the war. Maybe the other warlords would see the futility of resistance ... we answered their questions as best as we could, but whatever came of their ideals I don’t know. The company was redeployed to another world shortly afterwards, once we'd held a funeral for those who had died on Moidart. Their deaths, I suspect, were for nothing.
Moidart was a classic example of just what was wrong with the Empire in the final decades, before we were exiled to Avalon. The local government was incompetent, the off-worlders were more interested in stripping the planet bare than investing and the rebels were just too brutal to forge a lasting peace. Each side had different aspirations, while the political gulf between them was just too wide to be bridged easily. I promised myself that if - when - it was me in command, things would be different. But I had to wait until Avalon to put my theories into practice ...
First To Fight (The Empire's Corps Book 11) Page 38