Revolt on Alpha 2 (Nick Walker, United Federation Marshal Book 8)

by John Bowers

  After three circuits, one of the skimmers made a hard turn and darted directly toward him. The other maintained its circular patrol to cover the first. Nick swallowed and felt his blood pressure mount as the skimmer approached at high speed. Now he could see the gunner quite clearly, standing behind what might have been a .52 calibre machine gun, which was aimed in his direction. Fighting the urge to run, he held his position, as perfectly still as he could manage, and held his fire. Not until the skimmer, traveling at probably fifty or sixty knots, was only thirty yards away did he make his move.

  With a silent prayer in honor of his dad, he lifted his rifle and took aim. His first shot killed the skimmer pilot, who slumped forward against the control yoke. Before the gunner could react, the skimmer nosed down and slammed into the ground with a horrendous crunch. Nick saw the gunner catapult out of the wreckage, just as Nick himself had done a little while earlier. The man cried out in fear, then hit the ground thirty feet away. Before he could pick himself up, Nick shot him three times.

  He scurried around the sled and ducked down on the other side—just in time. A stream of heavy-calibre rounds from the second skimmer slammed into the far side of the sled, some whining as they ricocheted away. Nick heard the heavy gun booming and kept his head down as three more bursts sprayed around him. The command sled, though light and maneuverable, had an armored skin that prevented anything from coming through.

  The firing stopped. He fought the urge to sneak a peek, but they were probably waiting for that; instead, he used his ears to judge where the skimmer was and which way it was going. Sure enough, it was circling him again, now to his east, and within seconds would have him in sight. He crawled around to the bow, making sure the visible horizon was clear, and kept his rifle ready. Another burst of heavy rounds sprayed his position, some hitting the sled, others plowing up the ground around him. A second burst was slightly high, and he heard the bullets pop as they passed over him at supersonic speed.

  The skimmer was still coming around on his left side, hoping to circle the wreck faster than he could crawl around it. They almost got him—he saw the skimmer burst into view, terrifyingly close, and skittered around the bow to the other side just as a long, sustained burst punched dents in the opposite side. Now it was like a game, dogs and cats circling for advantage. He kept crawling to his right, unwilling to raise his head for a look. The skimmer was getting closer, maybe fifty yards out, still circling, picking up speed.

  Another long, sustained burst ripped into the sled, then he heard a metallic snap! He knew instantly what it meant—the bastard was out of ammo! He would have to reload before he could resume fire.

  Nick could be wrong, of course; he might be misinterpreting what he’d heard, but he didn’t think so. Only one way to be sure.

  He stood upright, rifle at his shoulder. His life hung on his instincts, and if he was wrong…

  The gunner had already removed an empty ammo canister and was slamming a new one into place. Nick saw him pull his slide to charge the weapon and swing it back in his direction. Bracing himself against almost certain death, Nick fired first, pumping three rounds into the gunner’s chest. The man staggered and fell, so close that Nick saw the shock in his eyes and saw his mouth moving in protest to his fate.

  Barely a second later, Nick pumped another three rounds into the pilot, who slumped away to the right. The skimmer nosed up and to the right at an impossible angle. The engine didn’t have the power to maintain the climb, and like an airplane in a stall, the little vehicle lost the battle against gravity. It hung in the air for nearly a full second, then plunged backward into the ground, where it exploded.

  Goshen

  Chapter 8

  Nick wiped his face and let his breath out again. He stood up straight and scanned the horizon. That had been a close call, but at least he was no longer distracted. Right now his father’s death was the last thing on his mind.

  Holding his rifle ready, he walked toward the burning ag skimmer. The skimmer was finished, and the pilot was clearly dead, engulfed in bright red flame. Nick backed away in case the skimmer’s ammunition began to explode.

  The gunner had fallen out when the skimmer nosed up—his broken body lay in a crumpled heap twenty yards farther away. Nick walked toward the gunner and stood over him, gazing down.

  The man must have been fifty years old, much older than one would expect a soldier to be. His sunburned face was wrinkled and bearded, his teeth bared, and his half-open eyes gazed at nothing. Nick stared at him without rancor or animosity. Three minutes earlier the man had been trying to kill him, but that worked both ways, and Nick had come out on top. Aside from the fact that the rebellion itself was immoral, he couldn’t fault the guy for fighting for his cause. The men who did the actual killing and dying rarely had much say in the matter—they just followed orders. Nick almost felt sorry for him; he probably had a wife at home, maybe half a dozen kids, and probably grandkids as well. He shouldn’t have been in this situation. What kind of pressure had been applied to make him do it?

  Nick backed away. He couldn’t afford too much contemplation of this sort, since he still had to fight these people and, most likely, kill a lot more of them. He checked the horizon again. Now the rescue sled had two smoke columns to follow, so they should be here soon. He walked toward the other ag skimmer, which had flipped but wasn’t burning, and checked both bodies from that one. Assured that they were no longer a threat, he returned to the command sled and waited.

  Less than a minute later, in the distance, he heard the hammer of machine guns. Peering toward the east, he saw two specs circling something on the ground, and thought he saw flashes from one of them. Gunsleds, probably attacking one of the rebel positions that had shot him down. Just a few seconds later, much closer, he spotted an infantry sled coming toward him, and felt a sense of relief. Thirty seconds later, it arrived and nosed up slightly as it slowed, then settled to the ground thirty yards from where he stood.

  Nick had expected Star Marines, but was surprised to see four Fed Infantry leap over the side, followed by a Star Marine corpsman. The soldiers fanned out and approached the crashed skimmers while the corpsman came straight for Nick.

  “You okay, Private?” The corpsman, who looked about eighteen, laid a hand on his shoulder and lifted his chin to inspect the cut on his forehead. “Is this your only injury?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Just a scratch.”

  “You’re a lucky son of a bitch. Were you thrown clear?” He lifted Nick’s helmet and began to clean the cut with an antiseptic swab.

  “Yeah. Landed on my ass in the dirt, didn’t break anything.”

  The corpsman finished cleaning the wound, then sprayed it with a healing agent. He backed away.

  “Don’t touch that until it dries. By tomorrow it will be nothing but a scab.”

  “Thanks.” Nick put his helmet back on. “I don’t know about the guys under the sled. They haven’t made a sound, so…”

  “Doesn’t look good. We need to turn that thing over, but I think it will take more than the six of us to do it.”

  One of the infantrymen, having determined the area was safe, had returned to the rescue sled and now approached with a fire-suppressant canister. He sprayed the burning engine compartment and killed the flames, then sprayed the area around it to cool the metal. The boiling black smoke turned white and began to dissipate. The danger of a fuel tank explosion was over.

  “Where were you headed?” The ranking Infantryman, a sergeant, looked him over with a critical eye. “You gonna be okay?”

  “I’m fine. I was headed back to my unit. They’re supposed to be somewhere west of Minkler.”

  “Okay, we’ll get you there. Just as soon as the gunsleds join us.”

  Nick pointed at the overturned sled. “What about these guys?”

  The corpsman shook his head grimly.

  “I’m afraid they’re not going anywhere.”

  “You sure? One of them might be alive under
there.”

  “Even if they are,” said the Infantry sergeant, “we can’t get to them without the proper equipment. Just be glad you got tossed out.”

  Nick nodded. “I appreciate you guys coming after me.”

  “Not a problem. You guys are carrying the ball now; the least we can do is bring you water when you need it.”

  Nick grinned at the solarball reference, then looked around as he heard the whine of approaching gunsleds. Two of them set down a few yards away and a gunner leaped down to join them.

  “We took care of that gun position. Don’t know how it got missed.”

  “There were two of them,” Nick told him. “We were taking fire from two directions.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find the other one. But first we’ll escort you so you don’t get ambushed again.”

  Like most Star Marines, Nick carried a prejudice against Federation Infantry. They were jerkoffs, dog faces, inferior in every way…or so the prejudice went. But these guys were okay. They had come to save his ass and seemed extremely caring. It wasn’t their fault their service branch was inferior—at least their hearts seemed to be in the right place.

  “Okay, then. I’m ready to go.”

  Nick boarded the infantry sled. Twelve minutes later, six miles west of Minkler, they found the Star Marines. Nick jumped down, shook hands with the Infantry guys, and watched as the three sleds turned back toward Camarrel. Once they were gone, he asked directions to Echo Company.

  When he found his squad, Rudy Aquino was the first one to spot him. He dashed forward in his excitement.

  “Nick! Hey, where the hell did you go? I thought something happened to you.”

  Nick slipped his arm around Rudy’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze.

  “I got called back to the firebase. Message from home.”

  “What kind of message? Not bad news, I hope.”

  Nick hesitated, then forced a grin and shook his head.

  “Naw, nothing like that. My stockbroker just needed instructions.”

  “Stockbroker? Are you kidding? You have money in stocks?”

  “Yeah, millions. Didn’t I ever tell you?”

  “No, you never d—”

  “Walker! Glad you’re back. Everything okay?”

  Nick turned to see Lt. Jaeger approaching.

  “Yes, sir. Everything is fine.”

  Jaeger pulled to a stop in front of him, his eyes narrowed.

  “You sure? You don’t need any time off?”

  Nick shook his head. “I’m fine, Lieutenant. Good as gold.”

  Jaeger stared at him a moment, his eyes intense. Finally he nodded.

  “Okay, glad to hear it. Let me know if that changes.”

  “I will, sir. Thank you.”

  “Awright, saddle up. We’re moving out in a couple of minutes.”

  Rudy stared at Jaeger’s back as he walked away, then turned to Nick again.

  “Jeez, that was nice of him. Who would have expected it?”

  “Expected what?”

  “That the El Tee would be so concerned over your investments.”

  Nick fought back a sudden urge to laugh. Instead, he dipped his head in agreement.

  “Maybe he isn’t such a bastard after all, huh?”

  He and Rudy joined the rest of the squad. DuBose spotted him and came over. After a couple of assurances that all was well with Nick, DuBose brought him up to speed.

  “You missed a briefing this morning. We cleared Minkler yesterday and now we’re pushing the Freaks west. You’re just in time.”

  “How did Minkler go? We lose anybody?”

  “Six casualties altogether, but nobody killed.”

  “How many prisoners did we kill?”

  DuBose frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “The order was, no prisoners. How many did we kill?”

  “You don’t approve of the order?”

  “I didn’t say that, but it’s clearly contrary to all the rules of civilized warfare.”

  DuBose stared at him a second, looking annoyed.

  “We didn’t kill any prisoners. They all fought to the death.”

  Nick nodded. His question had pissed DuBose off, but at the moment he didn’t care. DuBose finished his mini-brief.

  “First Battalion took out the enemy bases southwest of Camarrel, so the Freaks have nothing left to hang onto. The only thing threatening the city now is artillery, but if we do our job right, they’ll be out of range by tonight.”

  “What’s our next objective?”

  DuBose produced an e-tablet map and showed him.

  “The next town west of here is Goshen, population fifteen thousand. It’s a good-sized town and drone recon reports half a dozen strongpoints. It’s going to be a battalion-sized operation. Col. Dietrich thinks the Freaks will fight for it. They almost have to, unless they’re willing to start surrendering territory they’ve taken a lot of trouble to capture. It will be our first real fight, nothing like Minkler.”

  Nick stared at the map and nodded. His stomach knotted just a little, but he also felt a surge of adrenaline.

  “You up for it?” DuBose watched his expression.

  Nick looked up.

  “Of course, Sergeant. This is what I live for, you know that.”

  “You sure? I heard about—”

  “I’m sure. I need this, Sergeant. Don’t even think about making me sit it out.”

  “All right.” DuBose clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry about your dad. It happens to all of us eventually, but the timing in your case is especially shitty.”

  Nick sucked a breath and let it out. He didn’t want to think about his dad, or his loss; he wished people would shut up about it.

  “Just point me at the Freaks and turn me loose.”

  DuBose frowned. “What happened to your face?” He was staring at the spray dressing.

  “Oh…nothing much. But a word of warning, Sergeant—don’t try to kiss any of those female medics back at the firebase. They’re just mean!”

  ***

  The farmland west of Camarrel stretched almost thirty miles, where it gradually ended in the foothills of the Alphalaya Mountains. The Alphalayas, a rugged alpine range, stretched nearly a thousand miles east and west along the southern edge of the continent, giving way in the west to another fertile plain that ended with the city of Lancalpha near the Centauri Sea. The highest peak was Mt. Tamalaya, a perennially snow-covered monument that rose nineteen thousand feet into the Centauri sky.

  Fortunately for everyone concerned, the rebels had never tried to occupy the Alphalaya range, but did control the territory on all sides of it. Goshen, a medium-sized town nestled at the eastern foot of the mountains, was still in rebel hands and, if it wasn’t taken, represented a dagger aimed at Camarrel. In addition to being a farming community, Goshen was also the winter headquarters for skiers and other snow-sports enthusiasts, and was popular with hunters in warmer seasons.

  Nick and his squad weren’t privy to the command conferences that planned the assault on Goshen, but were aware of electricity in the air as Echo Company advanced closer to the objective. Echo had already been in a couple of firefights for Minkler and the rebel fort, but Nick had a feeling they hadn’t seen anything yet. He picked up the tension among members of his squad and an air of urgency in the orders that came over his helmet comm. His own pulse was up and he felt a strange excitement more intense than anything he’d experienced since Advanced Infantry training on Luna. This must be how solarball players felt before a big weekend.

  Amazingly, he wasn’t scared. He’d been scared at Minkler and before that at the fort, but not now. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it had something to do with his dad, or maybe it was just the fatalism that had settled over him after boot camp; after Advance Infantry, he had come to grips with his own mortality. Nine men had been killed during zero-gravity training. Nine men out of a platoon of forty. It had been a sobering thing to witness, and Nick had come through it with
an almost subconscious certainty that, if he ever went into combat, he wouldn’t survive it.

  At twenty years old, he was ready to accept his fate, whatever it might be.

  Goshen was located nineteen miles west of Minkler. During Nick’s absence, Echo had advanced six of those miles, and now that he was back, they were just thirteen miles away. Second Battalion had assembled in a dry river basin for final staging. First Battalion, having cleared the enemy forts southwest of Camarrel, had advanced west to join them, but would remain in reserve. As his platoon readied for the assault, Nick noticed that elements of 103rd Star Marine Artillery were digging in their guns for action. He frowned.

  “Hey, Sergeant—what the hell are they doing? They going to plaster the town?”

  DuBose grimaced.

  “You got a problem with that, Walker? Maybe you’d rather go in cold, with the enemy alert and ready?”

  “It’s not that, but…what about civilians? I can’t see the Freaks letting them evacuate.”

  DuBose drew a deep breath and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “The shitty thing about war, Walker, is that civilians die. I thought you knew that, with all your historical studies. They usually die in greater numbers than the soldiers doing the fighting.”

  Nick nodded. “Yeah, I know that’s true historically, but does it have to happen here? Those people are on our side.”

  “Like you said, if the Freaks don’t let them evacuate, then it’s on the Freaks, not us. They know we’re coming, so it’s their call.” He withdrew his hand. “If it makes you feel any better, Cap’m Seals says they’re only going to bombard the known enemy positions, and most of those are on the perimeter of the t—”

  KA-WHOOOOM!!!

  The sergeant’s words were drowned by a horrific blast as the nearest battery of 77mm rapid-fire guns opened up. They were located sixty yards away and pointed toward Goshen, but the muzzle blast swept down the river bed like a flash flood. Nick’s ears rang and everyone nearby reacted to it.

  “Jesus FUCK!” someone shouted.