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

by John Bowers

  All four men nodded, unslung their rifles, and trotted across the street.

  Nick and Kopshevar charged into the hotel lobby with rifles ready, scaring the hell out of the desk clerk. Kopshevar covered the stairs leading up to the second floor while Nick confronted the clerk.

  “I need to know who is in the rooms facing the street. Right now!”

  “Which floor?”

  “All of ‘em!”

  With a gulp of adrenaline, the clerk, who looked about sixty, pulled up a list on his computer and swung the screen around for Nick to see. The list was short, only three names—and they were all female.

  “These are the only guests we have. Only one is in a room that faces the street.”

  “Did you check these people in?”

  “Yes, but it was quite a while ago. These are local residents. Their homes were destroyed by the shelling and they’ve taken up temporary residence here.”

  “No strangers? Nobody from out of town? ”

  “No. We haven’t had any new customers in weeks. Not since the Star Marines drove the Freaks out.”

  “Okay. Aside from the staircase and the elevator, is there any other way for them to come down?”

  “There’s another staircase at the rear, but that’s it.”

  “Thanks. Now do me a favor and lock that elevator. If anybody comes down and gets out of here without me knowing it, I’ll come back and talk to you again…and you won’t like it.”

  The clerk gulped again, reached for a switch on his console, and flipped it.

  “The elevator is locked. Can I ask…what this is about?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  Nick backed away and chinned his helmet mike.

  “Sergeant, I think we’re gonna need a couple more men, just to block the exits.”

  “Way ahead of you, Walker. Zimba and Custer are on the way.”

  While they waited, Nick left Kopshevar in the lobby and climbed the staircase to the second floor. He looked down the corridor but didn’t see anyone. A couple of minutes later the front door burst open and their backup arrived. Nick went back down and gave instructions.

  “Kopycat and I are gonna clear the rooms on the second floor. I want you guys to stand guard on the landings above us, the third and fourth floors. Don’t let anyone get past you, including civilians.”

  “What are we looking for?” Custer asked with a frown.

  “We think there may be a sniper in the building. One of First Platoon’s guys was found dead in the alley across the street. The police think the bullet came from one of the rooms on this side of the hotel.”

  The men spread out as instructed. Nick and Kopshevar started down the corridor, weapons ready. It was a small hotel with only four rooms facing the street at each level—and four rooms across the hall. Twenty-four rooms in all.

  As he advanced down the dim hallway, it occurred to Nick that whoever had sniped Pvt. Schroeder could be hiding in one of the rooms across the hall from where he’d fired the shots…or might have left the hotel completely. In short, he had no idea what he was facing.

  Kopshevar covered him as he knocked on the first door. No one responded, so he tried the door—and found it locked. He took two steps back, braced himself, and kicked the door in. It slammed against the inside wall and bounced back in his face. He shoved it aside and burst into the room, ready to fire. The bed was made. Everything was neat, but covered with a film of fine dust. He checked the bathroom and the closet, but no one was there.

  He repeated the process on the second door, with the same result.

  When he knocked on the third door, he got a response.

  “Just a minute!”

  He heard footsteps approach the door, where they stopped.

  “Who is it?” The voice was female, and she sounded elderly.

  “Star Marines, Ma’am! Open the door, please.”

  “Star Marines!” The door opened a crack and a feeble-looking white-haired woman gazed out. “Oh, my goodness! It is you!”

  She opened the door wider, saw Nick’s rifle, and her eyes expanded.

  “Oh, my!”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Ma’am, but we’re looking for a possible sniper. Is anyone else in your room?”

  “Why, no! I’m here alone. My house got shelled, you see, and I—”

  “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I need to look inside. I won’t be long.”

  “But—I already told you—”

  “Yes, Ma’am, and I believe you, but I have to consider the possibility that someone is holding a gun on you. I have to make sure you’re safe.”

  The old lady pressed a hand to her heart and smiled. She actually blushed.

  “Well, that is so sweet of you! But I’m not surprised—you Star Marines are all such fine young gentlemen, and you can rest assured that everyone in this town is thrilled to have you here!”

  “Thank you, Ma’am. Now, if you don’t mind…your room?”

  “Oh! Of course. Please, come on in.”

  Still smiling, almost breathless, she took a step back. Nick, his rifle levelled, stepped inside. This room was as neat as the others, minus the dust. A vase on the dresser contained flowers. The bathroom and closet were also clear. Nick returned to the door and stopped.

  “Looks like everything is okay. Tell me, have you seen anyone around here the past couple of days who looked like they didn’t belong? Any strange men, maybe with shaved heads and tattoos?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. I haven’t seen anyone like that.”

  “Did you hear any loud noises last night? Like a gunshot?”

  She stared at him a second, her mouth halfway open.

  “You know, I did hear something early this morning, just before the first sunrise. It sounded like a gun shot. It woke me up, but when I didn’t hear it again, I went back to sleep. You know, ever since the war came you hear things like that all the time, and you just learn to ignore them.”

  Nick nodded. “Did you happen to hear which direction it came from?”

  “No, I’m sorry. If I had been awake I might have noticed, but I was sound asleep.” She frowned. “Did someone get hurt?’

  Nick grimaced.

  “Yes, Ma’am. One of our men was killed, right down there on the street. We think he may have been shot from one of these windows.”

  Her face contorted in pain.

  “Oh, no! I’m so sorry to hear that!”

  “Thank you. Now, I need to ask you one more favor—until we clear all these rooms, I need you to go down to the lobby and wait. If we find him and he opens fire, you could be in danger. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes, of course. Just give me a minute to—”

  “No, Ma’am, I mean right now. Please.”

  Looking distressed, the old lady agreed. Nick led her down the hallway to the landing, then notified his men.

  “One civilian coming down!”

  As soon as the old lady was safely down in the lobby, Nick resumed his search. All the remaining rooms on the second floor were empty, but it took six or seven minutes to check them.

  The third floor was largely a repeat of the second, except Nick found two people living there, both in rooms away from the street. He moved them to the lobby as well. Those rooms facing the street were all empty, and in the dust that had accumulated since their last use, he saw no evidence that anything had been disturbed. He and Kopshevar moved up to the fourth floor.

  “It’s now or never,” he grunted.

  “Yeah. Unless they cleared out last night.”

  That was probably the case, Nick reflected. Only a fool would hang around after killing a Star Marine, unless the guy was on a suicide mission. Nick left Custer on the fourth floor landing and sent Zimba to cover the back stairwell. A quick glance out the rear window on the landing showed Rudy and Wilson covering the rear entrance. With Kopshevar still covering him, he began clearing the top floor rooms.

  This time he changed strategy and cleared the inner ro
oms first. The first three were clear, but in the fourth he hit pay dirt. The room was empty, but the bed had been slept in and was unmade. On the floor beside it rested a field pack similar to those carried by the Star Marines. Inside were a pistol, several ammunition clips, three grenades, and a dozen ration packs. In a nearby trash basket he found four empty ration boxes, and on the night table beside the bed was a paper book that, judging from the cover art, looked like a spy novel.

  The lettering was in Cyrillic characters.

  His heart pounding, he checked the bathroom a second time, then looked inside the closet, but found it empty. He backed into the hallway and motioned Kopshevar toward him, placing a finger over his lips.

  “We’ve got a Ruke in the building,” he whispered. “Looks like he was squatting. There’s a weapon in there with ammo and some ration packs. He may have left by now, but if he did, he left his gear behind.”

  Kopshevar’s eyes were wide.

  “You think he’s in one of these front rooms?”

  “Could be. You ready?”

  Kopshevar nodded. “You want me to go first this time?”

  “Naw, we’ve got a good routine worked out. Let’s stick to it.”

  Kopshevar backed up six feet, pressing his back against the wall, and aimed his weapon at the nearest door facing the street.

  This time Nick didn’t bother to knock, he just kicked the door in. He didn’t really expect anyone to be there—the Ruke must know by now they were searching the hotel—but he couldn’t rule it out.

  The door smashed against the wall and bounced back against the frame. Nick braced himself and kicked again, not so hard this time. The door swung inward and stopped—

  A grenade bounced into the corridor.

  Nick’s heart leaped to his throat.

  Kopshevar yelled in panic.

  The normal procedure with an incoming grenade, if possible, was to throw it somewhere, but in the tight corridor there was nowhere to throw it. Custer was standing on the staircase landing, so that was no good. All the doors to the various rooms were closed, and there was no time to push one of them open.

  “Fire in the hole!”

  Nick dived as far from the grenade as he could and flattened out. Behind him, Kopshevar did just the opposite—he grabbed the grenade and threw it back into the room—but he threw too hard. It smashed through the window and dropped toward the street, where it exploded ten feet above the sidewalk, smashing half the windows on the second floor.

  Nick rolled onto his side, switched his rifle to full automatic, and sprayed the wall beside him. He heard a grunt on the other side, then crawled toward the doorway, but Kopshevar was already there.

  “Drop it, motherfucker!” Kopycat yelled. “DROP IT!!!”

  Nick was out of position and couldn’t see, but whoever was in there did not drop it. Kopshevar fired two short bursts, filling the corridor with powder smoke, then wiped his face with the back of his hand. He stood panting, staring into the room. Nick pushed the door open and peered inside.

  The man slumped against the wall by the window was holding a sniper rifle—at least a .50 cal, maybe bigger—and it was pointed at the doorway. Nick nudged Kopshevar’s rifle to one side and stepped inside, sweeping the room for more of the enemy, but the man was alone. He was wearing camo fatigue pants and a grimy white undershirt; a red beret had fallen off his shaven head. His head, shoulders, and arms were matted with tattoos.

  He was dead. Nick checked the bathroom and closet, then turned to his friend.

  “Good work, Kopycat. Jesus! Good work.”

  Shaking with stress, Kopshevar looked like he was crying. Tears slid down his cheeks and he panted against the fear that still consumed him.

  “Sorry about the grenade,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to go out the window.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Hopefully nobody was hurt, but if you hadn’t done it, we’d both be dead…or seriously fucked up.”

  Nick called DuBose by helmet comm and within minutes both he and Seals had arrived on the scene. Seals studied the body, then the evidence in the room across the hall. He talked to the hotel clerk, interviewed the residents, and arrived at a conclusion.

  “I think this guy was set up to kill a lot of our people,” he said. “Looks like Schroeder was the only victim, and we were lucky at that. The clerk told me the doors aren’t locked at night, so this guy must’ve slipped in here one or two nights back, judging from the rations he ate, and waited for a target. If you hadn’t got him, he probably would have moved to another location for his next kill, and keep moving around so we couldn’t get a bead on him.”

  “Did that grenade hurt anybody?” Kopshevar asked, his eyes wide with dread.

  “No.” Seals laid a hand on his shoulder. “We kept the street clear while you guys were doing the search, and it’s a good thing. Don’t worry—short of diving on the grenade, which I do not recommend—you did the only thing you could.”

  Kopshevar heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Thanks, Captain. You know what—you might want to pin a medal on those two kids we found playing with that plasma grenade. Without them, we might not have found Schroeder’s body for several days and wouldn’t even know we had a problem.”

  Seals grinned.

  “I think their parents are probably going to blister their little asses, but you’re right, a recommendation is in order. I’ll see that they get it.”

  “What happened to Schroeder’s partner?” Nick asked.

  “Lieutenant Tran called me back. He said that Schroeder and his partner had finished their patrol and started back to camp. Then Schroeder said he wanted to check on something and turned back. He never said what, so we don’t know why he did it, but his buddy went on to camp and never saw him again. He didn’t know Schroeder was missing until Tran questioned him.”

  Seals grinned.

  “You men did good work here. And Walker—when this is over, you ought to become a cop. You were dead right about the angle of the bullet. Ever think about working in law enforcement?”

  “No, sir, I never did.”

  “Well, your observations matched what the detective said, so I’d say you have a knack for it. You might want to give it some thought.”

  Chapter 29

  Saturday, 27 October, 0435 (CC)

  Capt. Seals kept the men of Echo updated on the progress of the war. On 27 October, he held another company briefing.

  While 2nd Battalion remained in reserve, he said, 4th Battalion had struck north toward Trimmer Springs, but after only sixty miles, their thrust had been stopped cold. Elements of 31st Star Marines had moved in from the east to assist, but the rebel defense had stiffened considerably and all units were reporting the most intense artillery concentrations they had yet experienced.

  In the south, progress was slow. First Division and two battalions of the 33rd were also reporting increased artillery, and casualties were higher than expected. In the west, 32nd Star Marines, pushing northeast from Devon Station, were saying the same thing…and then the worst news of all—

  The rebels now had armored vehicles!

  Nick didn’t like the sound of that. Armor in rebel hands could be a game changer. The infantry companies had nothing to fight them with beyond the weapons they already carried; grenades could do the job in certain cases, but required men to get in close and, hopefully, drop them inside the vehicles. Landmines could be laid, but hovertanks could sail right over them, and even if they didn’t, the average mine was designed for anti-personnel use and would cause only minor damage to a heavy tank.

  When Seals called for questions, Nick raised his hand.

  “Captain, two questions. First, where the hell did the rebels get hovertanks? And second, what the hell do we use against them?”

  Seals looked just as concerned.

  “From what I’m getting from Regiment,” he said, “we’re not talking about hovertanks. What the Freaks are using is an armored wheeled vehicle, not a tank. It i
sn’t tracked and it doesn’t hover, but it is armored and it carries a seventy millimeter gun, along with a heavy machine gun of at least fifty calibre. So, as bad as it is, it could still be worse.

  “As for where they’re getting them…who knows? Our best intel suggests they’re being supplied by the Rukes. We know for certain that the artillery is Rukranian, and the Rukes are known for dealing in illegal weapons—but that’s really all we have. I understand the diplomats at home have lodged complaints with the BC government, but they deny all knowledge and any connection to the revolution.

  “What was your other question?”

  “How do we kill them?”

  “Right. The Heavy Weapons guys have a few shoulder units that fire armor-piercing rounds, but those may not be enough. Division has requested shipments of anti-armor weapons from Terra, and it sounds like the request has been approved. Unfortunately, we may not get them for a couple of weeks.

  “In the meantime, plasma grenades might do the trick, if you can get close enough—and far enough away at the same time. A direct hit by artillery will probably take them out, but that won’t help if you’re being overrun. Honestly, until we meet them ourselves, it’s hard to know what will work. Maybe a grenade underneath the vehicle will set off the fuel tank, but until it’s tried, I can’t say.”

  Rudy Aquino raised his hand.

  “Captain, how come they don’t make plasma shells for the P-guns and artillery? If plasma works against armor, they could drop it right on the target.”

  Seals suppressed a smile.

  “I believe that was tried a few decades back, but it was abandoned as too dangerous. Playing with plasma is like playing with nuclear fission—mistakes are way too costly. Do you know what a short round is, Private?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, if a short round falls on friendly troops, it might kill a handful of men. But if that same round is a plasma round, it can wipe out an entire company. If it hits a civilian target, say when shelling a town, it can kill hundreds of noncombatants, or even thousands in some cases.