by John Bowers
The rebel with the beard lifted an arm and waved. He and his companions crouched where they were and waited. Nick’s scalp tingled when six more figures appeared and started across the street. Jesus Christ, it was a full squad! The six newcomers joined the others and clustered in a knot, crouching, as if still waiting for someone else.
Somebody should also tell them about dispersion and the danger of bunching up.
Nick’s heart was barely beating. He wanted to tell Rudy not to shoot—they hadn’t been spotted yet and the enemy was too close to get them all without the risk of killing each other. But he didn’t dare even whisper into his comm—they were too close.
Don’t shoot, Rudy! Please don’t shoot!
Rudy apparently came to the same conclusion. Neither of them made a move. Neither of them dared to breathe. The seconds dragged by.
A tenth figure appeared in the alley across the street. He stepped into view and glanced both ways, then trotted across. Nick’s eyes widened—he had a stocky build, he wore a camo uniform with the sleeves cut off, and on his head was a dark beret.
A Ruke!
He joined the white-shirted rebels and, in a quiet, heavily accented voice, began giving them orders. As the others moved on down the alley toward the east, the Ruke stayed where he was, crouched on one knee, his eyes roaming in all directions. Nick frowned. The guy was apparently in charge of the rebel squad, but why was he hanging back? Was he was covering their rear, or waiting for someone else?
Nick heard him talking into a collar microphone, speaking in low tones. The language was foreign, strange. He must be talking to other Rukes.
Thirty seconds crawled by. The Ruke didn’t move, nor did anyone else appear in the alley. The nine rebels, moving slowly up the alley, were fifty or sixty feet away, still bunched up. If he and Rudy didn’t do something soon, they would get away…and constitute a threat to their rear.
He made a decision.
With his left hand, he pulled a concussion grenade off his belt, tugged the pin loose, and held down the arming lever. He waited a couple more seconds until the Ruke was looking the other way, then rose to a half crouch and, with his left hand, lobbed the little bomb underhand. It arced upward for a dozen yards, then dropped onto the hard-packed surface of the alley, bounced once, and rolled in among the rebels.
The Ruke spun in his direction. The arming lever had made a metallic pop as it released, and in the tight space, it was loud as a gunshot.
The Ruke fired blindly, but Nick had flattened out and his rounds went into the fence a foot above his head. Down the alley, the rebels shouted and scrambled for cover, but it was too late. The grenade roared and they were blown off their feet like matchsticks, some of them crying out. At the same moment, Rudy shot the Ruke in the hip, knocking him off his feet.
The wiry man went down, but held onto his rifle. Cursing in what sounded like Russian, he struggled to swing it in Rudy’s direction, but Nick leaped up and lunged at him. He slammed his rifle butt down on the man’s arm before he could fire again. Killing him would be easy, but Seals had told them sometime back that S2 needed Ruke prisoners for interrogation. This one, if they could keep him alive—and stay alive themselves—might be valuable.
Rudy emerged from the darkness and stood over the wounded man, covering him. Nick relieved him of his rifle and took a pistol off his belt. He slipped the pistol into his own belt, then searched him for any other weapons. He rolled him face-down.
“You better check those Freaks,” he told Rudy. “I don’t know if the grenade killed them all and we don’t need any surprises.”
Rudy nodded and trotted down the alley, where he began checking bodies. He found two still breathing and dragged them, one at a time, back to where Nick was bent over his prisoner. Rudy relieved them of weapons and then used their belts to bind their hands behind their backs. He sat them against the wooden fence on his side of the alley, then returned to help Nick.
“What’re you gonna do with him?”
“If he doesn’t bleed to death, we’ll turn him over to S2. I think they would like to hear his life story.”
The Ruke, now lying on his back, grinned in the darkness.
“You will never live that long, cowboy.”
“Well-well, look who’s talking. What’s this fascination you fuckers have with cowboys?”
The Ruke tried to laugh, but instead grunted in pain. Nick saw the blood pool expanding under him.
“We need to stop his bleeding. A dead prisoner won’t do S2 any good.”
The Ruke grimaced.
“It does not matter. I will never talk to your S2.”
“Oh, I think you will. We have ways of making you talk.”
The grin broke out again.
“Ha! You fucking Federation! Who do you kid? You will not torture me, you will not kill me. Federation is weak, is why you will lose.”
“Okay, you won’t talk. But tell me one thing—why are you guys helping these Christian fanatics? What do you have in common with them?”
“Is no secret. We care nothing for them. They are means to end, nothing more.”
“Yeah? A means to what end? Are you trying to take over the planet? You want it for yourselves and you’re using them to get it? Is that it?”
The man grimaced in pain again, caught his breath, and shook his head.
“I already talk too much. You find out, when war is over.”
“How many of you are there?”
“You will find out.”
The Ruke grinned again and closed his eyes, his body twitching every few seconds with spasms of pain.
Nick rolled him onto his side. Blood was seeping out of his wounds in a steady trickle. The bullet had hit him just above the hipbone and penetrated his stomach, then exited on the other side. Without surgery—and soon—he wouldn’t make it.
“Give me your aid pack,” Nick told Rudy. “You have a vacuum dressing?”
Rudy nodded and handed it over. Nick dug another one from his canteen belt. Rudy held the man steady while Nick attached one of the vacuum packs to each of the wounds. It wouldn’t stop the internal bleeding, but it was all they could do.
They dragged him to the fence where the other prisoners sat and leaned him against it. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness.
“Now what?” Rudy asked. “We just going to leave them here?”
“I’m not sure. If we do that, someone might find them and turn them loose, but if we stay…”
“Where else are we gonna go? Sarge said find a spot and hole up, didn’t he?”
Nick nodded, still trying to work out a strategy.
“Why don’t I scout the next block,” Rudy suggested. “At least then we’ll know if there’s anyone coming this way. Maybe we can set up an ambush if they do.”
“I hate to send you down there alone.”
“Why the hell not?” Rudy grinned. “You said it yourself—I’m a helluva Star Marine!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m a big boy now.”
Nick had an uneasy feeling about it, but relented.
“Okay, man, but watch your ass. This guy was talking to somebody on his comm, and I have no idea who or where. There could be more of them in the area.”
“I will. You, too, huh?”
Nick nodded. He moved to the end of the fence and checked the street in both directions. Nothing much had changed—the sounds of battle rose and waned in all directions, the 205s were still falling, but the street looked clear.
He gave a signal, and Rudy, bent over at the waist, dashed across the street. He disappeared into the gloom of the alley and faded from sight.
“Take it slow,” Nick advised into his helmet comm. “You’re not in a hurry.”
Rudy acknowledged by chinning his mike twice, which created a double-click in Nick’s helmet. Nick looked back at the prisoners, who hadn’t moved. The Ruke was out cold, and the rebels still looked dazed and disoriented. Blood seeped from one�
�s ears. Nick turned his attention back to the street. It was still quiet.
A minute crawled by.
Then another.
To his left, he heard the sudden roar of a surface car and swiveled his head to locate its source. It sounded like it was traveling fast, and was coming closer. He remembered the police cruiser and wondered if it was the cop.
Then, two blocks to his left, a car careened around the corner and sped in his direction. It had no headlights, but he spotted its outline thanks to the flash of 205 explosions. It wasn’t the cop, but a civilian surface car.
His chest constricted as he raised his rifle. Was this a civilian, or were the rebels stealing cars now? If it was the latter, he needed to stop it, but if it was civilian…
When the car was still fifty yards away, he opened fire, aiming at the tires. The car skidded sideways and, still twenty yards short of where he stood, spun in a circle. The engine died. The pilot frantically tried to restart it, but the turbine only made a popping noise. One of Nick’s rounds must have damaged it.
He heard a woman crying in fear.
Civilians.
With a glance over his shoulder to make sure the street was still clear, he ran toward the car, his rifle ready. The woman saw him and screamed.
Nick smashed the pilot’s window with his rifle butt and shoved the muzzle inside.
“Don’t move! What the hell are you doing?”
The man looking back at him was around forty. His eyes were wide with panic and his wife continued to wail. In the backseat, two little girls added their terrified cries to the din.
“Let us go!” the man wailed. “I’ve got to get my family out of here!”
“Where the hell do you think you can go? There are Freaks all over town and the Star Marines are scattered to hell and back. Nobody knows where anybody else is, and everybody’s a target!”
“Our house was hit by some kind of explosive,” the man explained. “We can’t stay there!”
“Don’t you have a basement?”
“Yeah, but if the house burns, we’ll be trapped.”
“You’ll be safer there than on the street. I damn near killed you myself. I thought the Freaks might have stolen your car.”
The man gazed at Nick with tears in his eyes.
“It’s my job to protect them! I can’t just let them die without trying.”
Nick nodded, his anger fading a little.
“I understand, but you’re still safer at home. You need to go back.”
“I can’t get the car started! I think you shot out the engine.”
“I was going for your tires. How far is your house?”
“About six blocks.”
Shit!
“Okay, look—get everyone out of the car and take cover in one of these backyards. Keep your heads down and don’t make a sound until the shooting stops.”
“When will that be?”
“I have no idea. At the very least, stay put until daylight. Maybe then you can get back home, and if the Star Marines see you they’ll hold their fire. But I’m not sure about the Freaks.”
Nick felt for the emergency lock in the clamshell door and activated it. The door started to spiral open, but jammed. The woman activated the door on her side, and the entire family clambered out of the vehicle. Nick moved around to the other side to cover them, and pointed to a gate in one of the residential backyards facing the street.
“Maybe try that one. Get on the ground and stay there.”
“Okay.”
The man wiped his eyes with a wrist, then turned to Nick again.
“Thank you. For not shooting us.”
“Thank you for not forcing me to. Now, get going.”
He watched as the family of four—father, mother, and two children—skittered toward the gate in the fence. They had just disappeared through it when he heard another engine approaching from the other direction.
He turned to look, and his blood ran cold. The engine noise was horrific, and when it turned the corner, he saw why—it was an armored car, silhouetted against the steady flash of 205 fire. And it was coming right down the street toward him.
He crouched behind the civilian car and peered through its windows. The armored car stopped suddenly, rocking on its giant tires. He heard the turret whine as it rotated in his direction, heard another whine as the 70mm rifle depressed.
Fuck!
He leaped out of hiding and sprinted toward the sidewalk opposite the fence where the family had taken cover. Before he made ten yards, the 70mm fired; a gash of flame split the darkness and the surface car exploded. The concussion knocked him off his feet, and he rolled up against another wooden fence. A machine gun hammered and .52 calibre slugs ripped into the fence above him.
He was trapped. The armored car’s machine gun had him pinpointed, and he had no time to run in any direction. He slammed the rifle to his shoulder and returned fire, sending a stream of .291 slugs toward the open turret where the machine gun was mounted. He couldn’t tell if his rounds had any effect, but for a few seconds the MG didn’t return fire. The 70mm whined again, turning in his direction. His eyes widened as the whining stopped, and without hesitation, he leaped up again, sprinted ten or twelve yards, and dived face-down in the street a few feet from the surface car. The 70mm blasted again and the fence where he had been lying disintegrated in a flash of steel and wood splinters.
The machine gun opened up again. Once again, its slugs were off target, just inches over his head. Most of them ripped into the burning car behind him, and he dared not try to run again, because—
He heard a grenade blast, and then another.
He looked up.
To his absolute shock, the armored car was burning. Flaming fossil fuel spilled from underneath it, and as he watched—
Whoosh!
BOOOOOM!!!
The monster exploded. He heard screams from inside, and two men in the turret leaped up in panic as a mushroom of flame boiled over them. One jumped over the side into the street; the other tried to follow, but collapsed and dangled over the side of the burning turret.
The smell of burning hair and flesh reached him.
Panting with stress and barely able to suppress a sob, he clambered to his feet again and stumbled out of the street. Behind him, the surface car’s gas tank cooked off and another ball of flame rolled into the sky. He reached the fence and dropped to one knee, clinging to his rifle, shaking harder than he had in recent memory.
Count your chickens, Walker! It will never get any closer than that!
He heard combat boots approaching at a run, and looked up. Rudy Aquino dropped down beside him.
“Jesus, Nick! You okay?”
Nick looked up at him.
“Was that you?”
“Yeah. The captain said grenades might work if you rolled them underneath, so I tried it. They never knew I was there.”
“You saved my ass, Rudy. They had me cold.”
Rudy laughed.
“You sure you’re okay? You’re shaking like a little bitch.”
“Yeah, it’s all good. I guess I’m just a coward at heart.”
Rudy reached down and wrapped an arm around him, lifting him to his feet.
“Bullshit, man. You saved my ass more times than I can count. Let’s get out of the street. We’re too exposed here.”
Nick got his feet under him, but was still shaking. Rudy supported him as they started back to the alley where they had left their prisoners. Nick idly wondered where the rest of Echo had gotten off to.
The armored car was burning like a torch, burning fuel spreading toward a storm drain. Ammunition began to explode, but most of it was contained inside the hulk. Machine gun rounds crackled and popped, drowning out the sounds of battle elsewhere.
To reach their prisoners, they had to cross the street again. Rudy was still helping him, but Nick’s equilibrium was coming back. He hefted his rifle and heaved a deep breath, his fear and shock fading. They were nearly a
cross when he detected movement at the end of the street.
“Get down!”
He dropped to a knee as a squad of rebels turned the corner and raced in their direction, seven or eight of them, running right past the armored car. They hadn’t yet spotted the two Star Marines, but clustered around the machine gunner, who lay smoldering in the street, flames still licking at his clothing.
Nick opened fire and Rudy joined in. Four of the rebels dropped and the other three turned in surprise. Before they could return fire, two more fell. The last one got off a single shot, then joined his comrades on the pavement.
“Fuck! It’s getting hot around here,” Rudy said. “We probably need to move.”
Nick nodded and slipped a fresh magazine into his rifle. He dropped the empty and bent to retrieve it…
A burst of automatic fire exploded out of the dark alley behind them.
“Unh!”
Blood sprayed over Nick as Rudy hit the ground like a fallen tree, his helmet rolling away.
Stunned, Nick spun and fired from a kneeling position. He still didn’t see who had fired the shots, but somehow his shot was on target, and he heard another body hit the ground. He switched to full automatic and sprayed the alley, sweeping from side to side. For good measure, he jerked a frag off his belt, pulled the pin, and lobbed it. He dove across Rudy until the grenade exploded and the shrapnel stopped falling, then, with a frozen heart, got up and leaned over his friend.
“Rudy! Can you hear me? Rudy!”
Rudy had been hit in several places. Blood flowed around him, soaking Nick’s pants where the knees made contact with the ground. In the flickering light he could see Rudy’s eyes, open and vacant. He wasn’t breathing, and a finger to his neck detected no pulse.
Rudy was dead.
Rudy…I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You got that? Stick with me, okay? We’ll get through this.
Nick sat back, staring down at the body. Rudy Aquino, the innocent kid who, for some reason, had always looked up to him. Everyone had fucked with him, just for laughs, but he had endured it all, and gained in both competence and confidence. He had survived everything the Freaks had thrown at them, had displayed uncommon courage, and yet somehow retained most of his innocence.