by John Bowers
“Don’t shoot!” The male voice was muffled, but sounded like it was near the door. “Hold your fire! We have children down here!”
“No one is going to hurt the children,” DuBose replied, “if you do as instructed. Open the door and come out with your hands in the air. Don’t make me tell you again!”
Nick heard the rasp of something metallic—a locking mechanism, he guessed—and saw a vibration in the wooden doors. Slowly, with a creaking sound, one of the doors began to open. Everyone tensed, rifles ready. The door lifted slowly, one foot, two feet—Kopshevar leaned forward and grabbed the edge, jerking it open. It fell to one side, revealing a bearded, white-shirted man in his forties standing on the steps, hands in the air. Nick lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar, jerked him up the steps, and flung him to the ground. He dropped down and planted a knee in the man’s back, driving the air out of him.
DuBose pulled the second door open and peered down the steps.
“Who else is down there?” he demanded. “How many?”
“Nine,” the civilian grunted. “Three women…six children.”
“Tell them to come out. Now!”
“I will, but…promise you won’t hurt them.”
“If they come out now, they won’t be hurt. If they don’t, they’ll die.”
Nick rolled the civilian onto his back and leaned over him. He pulled a grenade off his belt and held it in front of the man’s eyes.
“Do you know what this is? It’s a canister grenade. It doesn’t just kill, it shreds! It contains four thousand tiny ball bearings the size of shotgun pellets. You know what a shotgun does, don’t you? This is a thousand times worse.”
The man stared at him with horror in his eyes. He began to pant in fear.
“Please! They’re just children! Women and children!”
Nick gave him an exaggerated nod, as if speaking to a moron.
“Okay, then. Tell them to come out. If we didn’t hurt you, why would we hurt them?”
Still panting, the man swallowed. Tears beaded his eyes.
In a weak voice, he called out.
“Rachel! Leah! Mother! Come on out! Bring everyone out.”
The Star Marines around the doors repositioned themselves for better firing angles, trigger fingers ready. Nick rolled the civilian face-down and stood, aiming his own rifle at the door. It took a few seconds, then they heard the muffled sound of someone sobbing. As the sound approached the cellar door, a child began to cry, then another.
The first person to emerge from the shelter was a grey-haired woman in her sixties. She came up slowly, as if in pain, and stumbled to one knee on the top step. Her hands were raised, her tear-streaked face taut with fear. DuBose gripped one of her arms and helped her up the final step, then pulled her clear of the opening. One of the replacements, Pvt. Norquist, took over and led her a few yards away, where he set her down on the ground.
Two more women emerged, one in her late thirties, the other a dozen years younger. Each was carrying a small child less than two years old. Next came a boy of about ten, then a girl who looked about nine, and finally another boy who looked about twelve. With him was another small boy who might have been five.
The older children were frozen with fear, the smaller ones were weeping. As they emerged, each of them was led to join the oldest woman, who hugged and kissed them as they arrived.
Nick stared at them, deep-down angry. Like all the other cult civilians he had encountered, the women were dressed like 19th Century Terra—full skirts, tight bodices, white bonnets, hair pulled back into severe buns. The boys were dressed like the man in white shirts and black pants; they even wore the same flat black hats, reminding Nick of pictures he had seen of the Amish in North America.
But the Amish had never started an armed revolution, so the comparison ended there.
Staring at them, he wanted to hate them. Was it possible that such simple looking people had started a continent-wide revolution that had cost tens of thousands of lives? It seemed unlikely, even impossible, but he knew they had. They were responsible for all the lives lost on both sides, for all the friends and comrades he’d lost, for the people he’d been forced to kill. These were Christian people? Really?
He wanted to hate them.
Desperately.
He stared at the sobbing children, little more than babies; at the older children, dry-eyed but shaking with terror. He stared at the terrified women cowering on the grass, hugging the little ones close as if waiting to be murdered.
Tears of anger welled up in his eyes. He wanted to hate them.
He wanted to hate them…
…but…
He couldn’t.
DuBose walked over and stared down at the male prisoner.
“Who else is down there?” he demanded. “Is that everyone?”
The rebel farmer nodded jerkily, his blue eyes watery with fear.
“Yes! Yes, that’s all.”
“If you’re lying, someone is going to die. We’re going to put a grenade in that hole, so this is your last chance to tell me the truth.”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“Why would I lie to you? I’m a truthful man.”
“I hope so. Because we’re about to find out.”
DuBose turned back toward the underground shelter. Nick called after him.
“Sergeant, use mine.” He tossed the grenade to Dubose.
The civilian tried to sit up, but Nick pushed him back down. The man’s face flushed red.
“Why do you people have to destroy everything? Don’t you know you’re fighting against God?”
Nick grunted.
“Yeah, I’ve been doing that most of my life. But just remember who started this war. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t any of us.”
“Fire in the hole!” DuBose shouted.
Nick heard the grenade rattle down the steps. Six seconds later came muffle crump! Smoke swirled lazily up the steps.
DuBose motioned to Kopshevar.
“Kopycat, check it out.”
Kopshevar, rifle ready, descended into the shelter. Thirty seconds later he emerged, waving his hand to clear the smoke from in front of his face.
“It’s clear, Sarge.”
He sneezed.
DuBose nodded. “Okay, let’s get an HVI in here and evacuate these people. We need to get dug in before it gets any darker.”
Chapter 33
The burning house collapsed into a blazing heap, sparks flying in the evening breeze.
The farm was a mess. It was bad enough to discover that horses had been trapped in a burning barn, but they also encountered other farm animals. Half a dozen chickens were stumbling around with open wounds and broken legs; thirty or forty others, blasted by the P-guns, lay scattered about like smashed toys. Nick saw a goat with one hind leg blown off, looking around in perplexity, bleating helplessly.
And Billy Avila found a dog.
Nick wasn’t aware of it until he heard the dog screaming. He turned to look and saw Avila crouched a few feet from the animal, grinning. The dog, some sort of mutt that looked a little like a greyhound, was tied to the stump of a shattered tree, lunging in panic against its leash. Most of its fur had been burned away and one eye was missing—the animal was obviously in agony.
Avila, giggling like a maniac, was poking it with his bayonet. Thin streams of blood trickled from the puncture wounds. The animal’s screams were hideous.
Nick’s vision blurred red. He started to run toward Avila, but before he reached him the dog tried to defend itself; it snapped at Avila and bit him on the hand, drawing blood.
Outraged, Avila leaped to his feet and began kicking the dog.
Nick slammed into him and drove him to the ground, then drove his fist into Avila’s face as hard as he could.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!!!”
He slugged Avila again, then again.
Avila still held the bayonet. He swung it toward Nick’s head, but the blade glanced off his helmet. Nic
k jerked it out of his grip, then, in a murderous rage, drew it back for a kill thrust.
DuBose hit Nick in a body tackle and knocked him sideways. The bayonet flew out of his grasp. Avila struggled to his feet, grabbed the bayonet, and turned back to the attack. DuBose leaped up and knocked him flat with a fist to the jaw. Swaying, he retrieved the bayonet and stood over both men, panting with stress and exertion.
“What the hell is the matter with you two? We don’t have enough to worry about with the goddamn Freaks?”
Nick was on his feet again, but DuBose pushed him back. He pointed at Avila with a trembling hand.
“Sergeant, I want him up on charges! He was torturing that dog, and when it bit him in self-defense, he started kicking it!”
Avila also scrambled to his feet.
“What is your fucking problem, Walker! It’s a goddamned animal!”
“You’re a goddamn animal! You’re worse than an animal! Animals do what they do by instinct, but you’re a fucking psychopath! You don’t deserve to live!”
“Fuck you! I don’t see why you’re so upset! It’s a rebel dog, a Freak dog!”
Nick lunged at him again, and they traded blows for a few more seconds before DuBose could separate them. Nick fell back again, heaving for air, hatred pumping through his veins.
“You stupid motherfucker! Animals don’t have religion! They don’t have politics! It’s too bad they outlawed abortion, because you’re a perfect candidate! Your mother should have drowned you when you were born!”
“What the hell is going on here!”
Lt. Jaeger had been checking the perimeter defenses, but now strode toward them, his expression dark. He glared at Nick and Avila, then glared at DuBose.
“Sergeant?”
“Uh…just a little enlisted dispute, Lieutenant. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Jaeger looked at Nick and Avila again; both were bruised and bloodied.
“Would either of you care to explain yourselves?”
“No, sir.” Nick turned and looked away. Avila stood silent.
DuBose spoke up.
“They were fighting over the dog, sir.”
Jaeger looked down at the injured dog, which now lay trembling, tangled in its leash. Without another word, he drew his pistol and shot it through the head, ending its pain, then turned and faced the two Star Marines again.
“Jesus Christ!” he muttered. “Have you two lost your fucking minds? We’re in the middle of a shooting war and you two are fighting over a dog?”
Nick spun back to face him, taking two steps forward.
“It’s a lot more than that, sir. And to answer your question—no, I haven’t lost my fucking mind, but he has!”
He pointed to Avila. His voice cracked when he spoke.
“I want that fucker out of my squad! He’s been a piece of shit ever since we got him, and now he’s completely crossed the line!”
Jaeger pushed Nick back a few feet.
“First of all, Walker, it’s not your squad, it’s mine. Second of all—”
“The hell it isn’t! If I’m in it, then it’s my squad too, and I’m not gonna serve another minute in the same unit as that son of a bitch! If you don’t transfer him out of here, then you’d better transfer me. If you don’t, I promise you he won’t be alive when this fight is over!”
Jaeger’s eyes narrowed.
“Did I hear you correctly, Private? Did you just threaten the life of another Star Marine?”
“YES I DID! I’ll kill the fucker, I swear to God! You want to starcourt me? Go ahead. I’ve seen more shit than any human should ever have to witness, and I’ve had it! It’s bad enough we have to kill people, but at least the people know why we’re killing them. Animals don’t have a clue, and they don’t deserve it!”
Nick wanted to carry on his tirade, but had run out of words. He stumbled back, turned away, and burst into tears. He dropped to both knees, braced one hand against the ground, and shook with sobs. All the stress, the strain, the fear, the guilt, the sickening horror—everything he had seen, everything he had done over the last eighteen months surged up out of him, and he didn’t care who saw him.
Lt. Jaeger watched him for a moment, frowning, then pulled DuBose to one side.
“What did you see?”
DuBose shook his head.
“I didn’t see what started it. I heard Walker screaming at Avila, and when I turned to look, he was already beating the shit out of him—”
“Walker was beating Avila?”
“Yes, sir. Then Avila swung the bayonet at Walker, but…Walker got it away from him.”
DuBose frowned, as if at a bad memory.
“Is that it? What aren’t you telling me, Sergeant?”
DuBose cleared his throat.
“I saw Walker draw back the bayonet to…”
“To what?”
“It looked like he was…going to…stab Avila. That’s when I tackled him.”
Jaeger’s expression darkened.
“So you’re telling me that two Star Marines in my platoon attempted to murder each other?”
DuBose winced.
“Look, Lieutenant…Walker is the best man in my squad, maybe the best man in the whole company. He’s been through a lot of shit and I think he’s right on the edge…”
Jaeger scowled.
“So I have to choose between a starcourt and a Section Thirty-Eight? That’s just fucking lovely!”
“No, sir, I don’t think any of that is necessary. We can handle this in-house, can’t we?”
Jaeger, looking undecided, glared at him. He walked over to Avila, who was watching Nick with contempt in his eyes.
“What’s your story, Private? Did you try to kill Walker?”
Avila looked surprised. “He attacked me! It was self-defense!”
“What about the dog? Did you try to kill it?”
Avila held up his hand, which still trickled blood.
“The goddamn dog bit me!”
“And what did you do?”
“Nothing! I just defended myself.”
“Walker said you were torturing it,” DuBose said.
“Walker is a fucking liar! I did no such thing! It was already all burned and shit. I didn’t do that.”
Jaeger’s jaw clenched. He turned and looked at Nick, who was just picking himself up, wiping his face with a sleeve. Jaeger wiped a hand over his mouth, then heaved a deep sigh.
He turned back to Avila.
“Private Avila, turn in your gear. I’m evacuating you to a rear area.”
Avila looked shocked.
“What the hell for? I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“We have a clear conflict of interest here, and I don’t have time to deal with it, so one of you has got to go until I can figure it out.”
“Then send Walker out! Why should he get to stay?”
Jaeger shook his head in irony.
“I’m sending you out of harm’s way and you’re complaining?”
“Yes, sir…well, no, sir, not exactly, but—”
“Your conduct in battle has been exemplary, but I have received a number of complaints about your inability to get along with your fellow Star Marines. In the interest of morale and unit cohesion, I’m sending you back. We can sort all this out later, but right now I need everyone’s mind on the task at hand.”
He turned to DuBose.
“Sergeant, relieve Private Avila of his weapons and keep him away from Walker. I’ll call for a sled to pick him up.”
DuBose nodded.
“Aye-aye, sir. Consider it done.”
Avila’s mouth dropped open.
“Lieutenant, this is bullshit! I was just—”
Jaeger was already walking away. DuBose pushed Avila back a couple of feet and reached for his rifle.
“Shut up, Avila,” he said. “Just shut the fuck up.”
Avila took a step back and stared at him in dismay.
“This is wrong, Sergeant! You know it
’s wrong!”
He pointed at Nick, who was standing nearby.
“It’s his fault! You’ve always had a hard-on for Walker, and everybody knows it.”
“Don’t even start, Avila. You heard the El Tee. Give me your rifle.”
“No! This isn’t right! It isn’t fair!”
“Avila…”
Avila unslung the rifle, but instead of handing it to DuBose, he drove the butt into his skull, dropping him like a rock. He slammed the rifle to his shoulder and took aim at the back of Nick’s head.
“Motherfucker!”
*
Nick heard Avila shouting and turned just in time to see the rifle aimed at him. He had no time to duck.
The shot deafened him.
For just a moment, eyes wide, he stopped breathing.
Avila staggered, the rifle sliding out of his grip. The bullet had hit him right below the throat, which now gouted blood in bright crimson spurts. Nick watched him fall, then turned to see who had fired the shot.
Lt. Jaeger looked stricken as he lowered his still-smoking .45. For a moment he didn’t speak, then turned his eyes toward Nick. For long seconds, their gazes locked, neither man speaking. Jaeger broke the spell.
“That should not have been necessary.”
Nick cleared his throat. “No, sir.”
Jaeger turned to DuBose, who had picked himself up and was bending over Avila. He looked up and, grimly, shook his head. Jaeger, breathing hard, swiveled his head to check in all directions. Not a Star Marine was in sight. He turned back to Nick and DuBose.
“We won’t speak of this again. None of us saw a thing.”
Nick nodded, but DuBose got to his feet.
“Lieutenant...how do we explain Avila’s death?”
Jaeger shrugged.
“Who knows? A random shot, could have come from anywhere. There won’t be an autopsy, so it doesn’t matter.”
Both Nick and DuBose stared at him a moment, then DuBose nodded.
“Aye-aye, Lieutenant.”
Jaeger nodded.
“Carry on, men.”
He holstered his pistol and walked away.
***
Avila’s body was placed beside the rebel dead, to be evacuated in the morning.
Echo dug in for the night and braced for a possible rebel counter-attack. As always, the men slept in shifts, but by midnight no attack had materialized. Shortly after 0100, Capt. Seals addressed the company over their helmet comms.