by Dennis Young
She clicked over to Cujos’s lieutenant. “Roland, Talice. It’s too quiet. Where’s the traffic we usually hear? All I hear is static.”
“A minute.” Talice waited as Lieutenant Roland consulted his platoon. “Confirm, it’s quiet here, too. Suggestions?”
Talice’s mind raced. If they’re not concerned about a Company of Marines at their front door… “Roland, they’re not falling for the feint. They’re looking for something else. Somebody there knows this tactic.”
A pause. More static. On a secure circuit? Holy shit! “Roland, they’ve tapped into our comm! They know we’re here!”
That was when everything went to hell.
Tracers arched into the sky from the compound.
“Incoming!”
The ground surged under Talice. Then again. Then a third time. She found herself on her back, against a flat rock, ten meters from where she’d been, and dazed. Explosions shattered the night and flares brought false light to what was now a killing ground.
Roland’s voice roared in her headset. “Fall back! Fall back! All platoons —”
The circuit cut out. Two seconds later another explosion slapped Talice five meters away. She crawled behind another rock, knowing it was no cover at all, and hit her comm button. “Valkyrie flight, we’re in trouble. Request immediate air support! Hit the compound hard!”
She looked around for anyone, Mac, Ollie, anyone.
“Lieutenant!”
She saw Ollie sprinting toward her, crouching low.
“Down!” Another explosion. Ollie rolled down an embankment and was still, then rose and waved.
Talice groaned, came to her knees. Her shoulder carapace was split, and warm blood ran down her arm inside her armor. Her visor was cracked, half her readouts dead. She clicked to her Support channel. “Mac, Talice. Report.”
“Not… so good…”
Shit! With smoke and dust and harsh flare light, it was nearly impossible to make out any sort of detail for more than an instant. She clicked again, this time to Rory. “Primary, status!”
“Pulling back, one wounded, team scattered, no engagement possible.”
“Get out of there! Do not attempt counter attack!”
“Hua…” Rory coughed. It suddenly dawned on Talice the wounded might be Rory himself.
“Mac, I can’t see you.” Talice dithered. “Give me a flash.”
A ping on her Headup display showed Mac thirty meters away. She rose to a crouch and ran, leapt over a fallen tree, ducked when another explosion rattled the earth beneath her, and skidded to a stop beside her fallen sergeant.
Mac’s legs were trapped beneath rocky rubble. She’d been under an outcrop, which had apparently taken a close strike, shattering the overhang and dropping tons of rock onto her.
Suddenly Ollie was there beside her. “Lift!” Talice nodded to the largest boulder, and they put their augmented muscles into it.
Mac screamed. The boulder was tilted, laying across both legs. Lifting one side put more pressure on the other.
“Not working!” Talice looked around quickly, then pointed to a heavy branch. “Use that as a lever on one side, I’ll lift the other!”
Ollie scrambled to the branch, dragged it back, and shoved the end under the rock’s edge. He tapped his helmet and shook his head.
Comm’s out, thought Talice. She nodded, the raised three fingers, mimicked lifting with the branch. Ollie nodded back.
Chatter continued in her helmet. The bombardment had mercifully stopped, but she knew that was likely prelude to a ground assault. They had no time, but she wasn’t about to leave Mac. Or anyone, if she could help it.
She clutched the boulder side and looked to Ollie. “Mac, we’re going to lift this, but you’ve got to drag yourself out. Got it?”
“Got…it…” Mac tensed her arms, grunting.
Talice looked to Ollie again, and nodded, one… two… three.
She pulled, and her suit actually groaned. Or was that just her own voice? Ollie lifted with the branch, raising the rock a few millimeters. Talice strained again, pushed her feet to the side and lifted with her legs.
The rock came up. Mac inched her way forward, crying all the while. Talice went to her knees, braced her feet against a rock behind her. The branch emitted a warning crack. Mac was almost out. Almost out. Almost…
The branch broke, the rock fell. Talice nearly lost a hand, but her gauntlet was rigid enough to keep it from getting smashed. As it was, the rock drove it into the soft ground. Ollie lifted the edge of the stone enough for her to squeeze her hand out, leaving Graphene and circuitry and probably some flesh. But Mac was out. And unconscious.
“Lift! Two-man carry!” They gathered Mac up, her leg armor crushed and dangling, blood everywhere. Talice thought she saw the white of bone protruding, but she couldn’t tell for sure.
A wave of Marines came at them and passed as they made their way to the rear. Four Valkyrie fighters swooped over with a roar of turbos and let loose on the compound.
Talice knew their objective had been capture as many alive as possible, confiscate the hardware, and interrogate prisoners, in hope of breaking the pirates’ organization in a single blow. Now, between the Valkyries and the Marine infantry, it would be Operation Clean Sweep.
With Mac in her arms and Ollie limping along with her, she never looked back.
It was the only mission in which Talice had retreated since becoming a Marine. Unlucky number thirteen.
And she hated it.
CHAPTER FOUR
How it All Began (Part Three)
Harsh Reality
“The worst calamities that befall an army arise from hesitation.”
Sun Tzu, “The Art of War”
The Aftermath, and Changes…
It took the Trooper carrier medtechs six hours to stabilize Mac. Twice her heart stopped. Twice, they restarted it.
Her left leg was crushed, both the fibula and tibia broken in at least a dozen places, the kneecap cracked like an egg. Ligaments connecting everything from both knees down were snapped like so many elastic bands, likely when she dragged herself from beneath the rocks. Her foot was all but gone. Her right leg was, as the surgeon explained, “like a bunch of marbles in a bag”.
Talice and Rory, along with half their platoon, stood, watching and silent, as the medics administered to Mac. Dirty, gritty, blood drying on their faces and dripping at their feet, stinking of smoke and char, none of them would leave, and more than once had to be moved aside for the medtechs to do their work.
They did what they could with their limited facilities; their primary duty was keeping Mac alive. She could get new legs; prosthetics, vat-grown clones, there were a half-dozen choices. But she had only one life.
They wheeled Mac into the ICU niche and slid her gurney beside three others. Of the one hundred and eight Troopers in the six platoons, five had been killed in the attack, two more died during treatment, and seventeen were wounded. That didn’t count those with superficial injuries, damaged armor and weapons, loss of hearing from the bombardment, or other issues. Or Talice.
At the last, she dismissed her team and spoke with Babs, the senior medtech. “Give me the bad news.”
Babs was exhausted, but bore it well. “Both legs are pretty much useless. It’ll be easier to replace them than fix these. She’s got internal injuries, too, and a nasty bump on the head. If she’d been in an older suit, she’d be dead.”
Talice glanced to Mac, tucked in neatly and her face calm for now. The med-panel traced lines mostly in yellow, but a few were green. Fortunately, none were red. “Prognosis?”
Babs shrugged. “Three months to get her strength back, then we’ll see. The new prosthetics are pretty good, but knowing Mac, she’ll want real legs.”
Talice nodded. “And that’s a year to grow and a year learning to walk again. Damn it. Damn it!”
Babs held a hand. “Let’s see how it goes. There’s not really much more we can do until we get ba
ck to Base. In the meantime, let’s look at your arm.”
Talice glanced to her shoulder. “Shit, I didn’t even feel that.” She lifted her arm and winced. “Until now. Thanks, Babs.”
Talice sat, and Babs untoggled her shoulder armor. What came away with it was nasty.
“Ooohhh boy.” Babs gingerly peeled away shreds of the bodysuit remaining. Talice’s shoulder was a mess of shredded skin, a few pointy-things embedded in her muscle, and assorted dirt and grit.
“I’m gonna shoot up your shoulder so I can dig this stuff out.” Babs raised a hypo-injector and laid it to Talice’s bloody bicep. A hiss, and her grimace turned to relief.
“Thanks. I didn’t even realize how bad that hurt.”
“You know,” observed Babs, as she picked the multitude of foreign objects from Talice’s arm, “you’re a pretty good Trooper and have the makings of a fine officer. But looking at those tear-tracks down your cheek, you’re a baby when it comes to this stuff.”
Talice gave her a look but said nothing. Babs had all sorts of sharp objects well in reach, and besides, just might decline to administer another pain-killer, should it be needed.
“Holy crap.” Babs withdrew a needle-like something from Talice’s arm. It wriggled as they watched.
“Is that… alive?”
Babs dropped it into a specimen bag and sealed it. “I’m going to give you a wide-spectrum antibiotic. I don’t know what you were doing out there, but you seem to have picked up a passenger.”
Talice held the bag at eye level, staring at the squirming shape within. “What are you going to feed it? I mean, I assume you want to keep it alive until we get back to Base.”
Babs grinned. “I could put it back in your arm. It seemed to be happy there.”
Talice lowered her brow. “Over my fucking dead body. Wait, let me rephrase that.”
They laughed.
* * *
A day into their return to ship, and Major Fawkes held a vid-conference of his officers, including the dirtside captain of the Marines. Talice listened as the report from Crius concluded.
“Situation is secure. We have over fifty bodies and thirty-two prisoners. Our medtechs have been treating wounded for nearly twenty hours. The compound is a burned-out shell, and we’ve salvaged all we can of materiel. We have two turbocopters patrolling and set up a defensive perimeter.”
Talice watched the captain, Henson by name. He looked the part, steel-eyed and square-jawed, still in his HCS and dirty. Three armed Marines were in the background, watching round. Smoke rose in the distance from the remains of the compound.
“Very well,” said Fawkes, split-screened. “We have a relief company on the way, should arrive in two days. Do you need additional support?”
Henson thought for a moment. “If your Troopers are available, any additional would be helpful, sir. It’s a mess down here.”
And never should have been, thought Talice. Fawkes is waiting for this captain to get off the line, so we can all try to figure out what the hell went wrong.
“I’ll get that done,” said Adams, captain of the Troopers. “Two of our Trooper carriers remained in orbit, just in case. We’ll send what we can today.”
“What else, Captain?” asked Fawkes.
“That’s about it, sir. We’re still fending off the local authorities as ordered. They seem to be really anxious to get their hands on the remaining weapons and supplies.”
Fawkes nodded grimly. “I’m sure they are. Corrupt to the core. Keep them at arm’s length, Captain. We’ll be in contact in twenty-four hours, assuming no problems. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.” Henson saluted and clicked off.
The screen filled with the faces of Fawkes, Adams, Corbett the Marine Company captain, and the platoon lieutenants, all on split-screen. Talice sat straighter, looking into the mini-cam.
“Comments?” Fawkes made eye contact with Talice, then she watched his gaze shift on his screen to the others.
“I’ve contacted Base and have them working on how the pirates broke into our secure comm circuits,” said Adams. “By the time we get home, they should have some answers.”
“We lost another Trooper,” said Corbett. “That’s four out of our Primary team of Cujos, including Lieutenant Roland. Half the squad.”
Fawkes nodded grimly. Someone said something beneath their breath Talice didn’t catch.
She raised her face to the camera again. “Sir, Sergeant Macauley is recovering, but she’ll need new legs. Once back at Base, I’ll make recommendations for a platoon replacement and see to her attention.”
“Mac?” Adams shook his head. “I didn’t know, Lieutenant. Sorry to hear. Mac’s a good one.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll pass along your best wishes.” Talice nodded respectfully to the captain’s image.
Fawkes waited for more comments. “We’ll convene an officers’ meeting once back at Base. Get your notes together and be ready for some hard questions from the top brass. We still have a job to do on Crius, and it needs to happen pretty quickly. Lieutenants, get your platoons up to full strength and make sure your replacements have a couple of missions under their belts. Likely the next operation will be larger.” He met all their eyes again. “If you have questions or private comments, you’ve got my number.” He met Talice’s eyes with purpose, then broke the connection. The screen cleared.
Talice waited thirty seconds before she placed a call to his office. The auto-orderly answered, asking for her identification. “Lieutenant Talice Wyloh for Major Fawkes, priority.” She waited, not sure what she would say, but knew Fawkes would want it straight.
The screen lit. “Took your time.” Fawkes smiled.
Talice nodded, not returning the jest. Thoughts tumbled in her mind, and she wasn’t sure where to begin.
Fawkes’s smile faded. “What’s on your mind, Lieutenant? And I’m also sorry about Mac, but she’s tough and will pull through.”
“Thank you, sir.” Talice took a breath, then another. “Sir, this operation was a disaster, and not just because of the way it turned out, nor the breach in our comm.”
“Really? What else do you find wrong? Strategy? Tactics? Too cold? Too hot?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then spoke. “We didn’t have a chance to get to the tactics stage. Our platoons were dispersed correctly, moving into textbook positions, and alert. But the strategy, yes, in my opinion was faulty. Sir… Troopers are not… fodder.”
Fawkes raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty serious statement to make.”
“Yes, sir, it is. Special-Ops is… special. We’re the sneaky guys. We’re not a spearhead force, to make a direct frontal assault on a hard target. We find our way through the cracks and take out the enemy like a… like a surgeon’s scalpel, not a bludgeon. Deploying six platoons to make first contact was poor strategy.”
“So, the Thirty-Third should have been the fodder?”
“Sir, no one should have been fodder. Perhaps a feint attack, or even an opening salvo of Valkyries to soften things up. Then the Companies go in while the Troopers find the weak points from behind.” She paused to think. “The plan was not only poor in strategy, it was weak in effort. It’s like… like we didn’t know if we should really be doing what we were doing.” She swallowed and continued. “It cost us a lot of good Marines. Needlessly, in my opinion, sir.”
Fawkes had maintained eye contact through Talice’s oratory. Now he looked away for a moment. “Do you know who planned this mission, Lieutenant?”
Oh, shit, please not you! Please! Talice shook her head. “No, sir, I don’t.”
“Would you be willing to discuss your concerns with the planners, using the same candor you’ve expressed to me?”
Great, another court-martial opportunity. What the hell… “Yes, sir. I’ll stand by my concerns.”
“Very well. When we’re back home, you and I will discuss this further and see what we can do about your… concerns.” He nodded. “Anything el
se, Lieutenant?”
“No sir. Thank you for hearing me out.”
“Truthfulness is something I expect from my officers.” He chuckled. “Even when it stings. But we’re Marines, and we have a duty to not only honor, but be truthful in doing our jobs. If we can’t face the truth, however unpleasant, we don’t deserve the uniform.”
Talice felt the lump in her throat growing and swallowed it down. “I would never do otherwise, sir. Thank you.”
“Take care of your platoon, Lieutenant, and stay close to Mac. Give her my best.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do that.” Fawkes gave her a nod, and the screen went dark.
Talice sat back, drained. Be still, my beating-like-a-fucking-drum heart.
* * *
Northland Base…
Eight dead Troopers, five men, three women. Eight military funerals. Eight grieving families. Eight times the mournful notes of Day Is Done drifted across the grave site.
Three wives now widows. Two men now widowers. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, now standing numb before coffins of their loved ones. Six children left with only a single parent.
Talice attended every funeral, as did most of the Trooper Company. Mac, alert but still confined to the infirmary, watched by vid, as did those who were otherwise indisposed.
Anchor Prime, when the Base had first been opened, had offered a plot of land in the hills as the site for a military cemetery. Picturesque and secluded, it was the perfect place to lay those to rest who had served Theia well and given the ultimate sacrifice. Northland Base declined politely, with thanks, suggesting the offer be used for a public park instead.
Privately, the command staff pledged that never would Marines be interred anywhere but on the Base’s private lands. They would not send their dead away, to be forgotten in some lonely, however beautiful, place. They would be kept close, that all would know of their sacrifice, and remember.
It was during the final moments of the last commemoration, that of Lieutenant Roland himself, that Talice renewed her pledge to Fawkes. Those who would plan so poorly that Marine lives were lost due to callous preparation, would hear her out. No matter what.