Renegade (The Kurgan War Book 7)

by Richard Turner

  The specialist jumped to her feet. “There’s a spare one in the cab. Hold on a minute while I fetch it for you.”

  “Thanks,” said Cole. He stood on the tips of his toes and looked on the back of the twelve-wheeled vehicle. It was packed with ammunition. “Where’s this headed?”

  “It’s for the ninth division’s second echelon ammo dump,” replied one of the soldiers.

  “I guess they’re expecting to see action.”

  “Looks that way, Master Sergeant.”

  The specialist returned and handed Cole the clipboard. He smiled and thanked her. Cole had learned years ago that people walking around with clipboards in their hands looked officious and tended to be left alone. People were afraid to bother them less they be dragged into what the person was doing. He spotted a quad heading in the direction he wanted to go and flagged it down. The driver, a young blond-haired soldier, moved his gear from the passenger-side seat just before Cole leaped into the vehicle.

  “Could you drop me at Central Registry?” said Cole to the driver.

  “Sure thing, Master Sergeant,” replied the private.

  The quad sped up and drove down a road that led away from the frontlines and deeper underground.

  “How long have you been here?” Cole asked.

  “Just under six months.”

  “I’ve never had the chance to come this far back. What’s back here?”

  “It’s mainly civilians, hospitals, the base’s power plant, and its water treatment facility.”

  “I guess that makes sense. You wouldn’t want that stuff where it could be destroyed during a Kurg bombardment.”

  “No, Master Sergeant.”

  It took less than five minutes for the vehicle to come to a rolling halt outside of central registry. Cole climbed out of the quad and waved his thanks to the driver. He walked inside the front doors and looked around for someone he could ask for help. Cole spotted a female soldier humming to herself while she typed away on her computer. He walked over and coughed.

  The private looked up and was startled to see a man standing next to her workstation. “Sorry, Master Sergeant, I was in a world of my own for a few seconds.”

  “It’s all right. We all do it from time to time.”

  “May I help you?”

  Cole smiled at her. “I sure hope so. Do you have someone with the last name Suparat in your database?”

  “One second please,” said the soldier as she accessed the computer files. “Yes, we have one.”

  “And where might I find him?”

  “She’s an administrator at the base’s water treatment facility.”

  “I guess my info was dated. Could you please print me off a picture of her and her contact information?”

  “I already have, Master Sergeant,” she responded, reaching over and taking a piece of paper from her printer.

  “Thanks,” said Cole as he took the paper and looked it over.

  “Is there anything else I could do for you?”

  Cole had to fight the urge to make an inappropriate comment. Instead, he shook his head and walked away. He took a seat on a bench and stared at the picture on the paper. The woman was beautiful with mocha-colored skin and bright hazel eyes. He read over the address a couple of times to memorize it and walked out of the building. The water treatment plant was a kilometer down the road. Cole decided to walk the distance to clear his mind. He wasn’t sure what he’d do when he met her but it was his responsibility to keep her alive.

  The base’s water treatment facility was not what Cole had expected. There were ten giant circular pools of water covered by red plastic domes on the surface. The area where the dirty water was cleaned and recycled was all underground. He looked for a set of stairs, opened the door, and walked down to the third floor where Solada Suparat had her office. Cole opened the door and peered out. The corridor was empty. He checked his pistol was loaded and placed it back in its holster.

  “Okay, let’s see what’s going on,” said Cole to himself. He pushed the door open and walked down the corridor reading the names over the doors. When he came to Suparat’s, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He placed his right hand on his holster. Cole was about to barge in when he heard a couple of women laugh inside the office. He took a step back just as the door swung open and a woman in a set of blue coveralls walked out. Cole tried to make it look as if he were checking something on his clipboard.

  “Thanks for coming by,” said a woman wearing light gray coveralls. Cole recognized her as Solada Suparat from her photo.

  To add to Cole’s discomfort, the sensor on his uniform let off a low hum as the woman in blue walked passed him. He pretended that nothing was amiss, nodded at Suparat, and turned to follow the other woman.

  Just before the woman stepped into a waiting elevator, Cole called out, “Hold, please.”

  She held the door open long enough for him to get in before pressing a button for the basement. “Which floor would you like?” she asked.

  “Same as you,” he replied, smiling. Cole had a hand over his sensor’s speaker. As soon as the elevator started to move, he released his hand and heard it hum.

  In an unexpected move, the woman struck out with her left leg, trying to hit Cole in the knee to cripple him. He saw the move telegraphed and jumped back slightly. The blow missed his knee by millimeters and struck the wall of the elevator instead.

  Cole reached for his holster to draw his pistol.

  His opponent threw herself at him and shot her elbow at Cole’s face. He tried to avoid the coming blow but had nowhere to go. The full force of the strike hit him on the side of his head. White lights flashed before his eyes.

  With her free hand, the assailant reached over and grabbed Cole’s right hand in hers and squeezed tight. He let out a cry as she tried turning his hand over to force him to drop his pistol. Cole gritted his teeth, turned his shoulder against the woman, and pushed back with all his strength.

  The elevator came to a jarring halt. The doors opened, the fighters spilling out into a dimly lit hallway.

  Cole saw an opening and struck. He balled up his left hand and sent it flying into his adversary’s face. To his surprise and horror her face came off and dropped to the ground at their feet. The robot stepped back slightly and brought her right leg back. Cole could see she intended to kick him in the groin and turned his body sideways. The blow missed entirely. The woman, now off balance, was easy prey. Cole yanked his right hand free and jammed his pistol into the robot’s chest and pulled the trigger repeatedly. The woman’s body jerked as the bullets tore through her artificial skin and exoskeleton, destroying everything in their path.

  Smoke poured from several of the holes.

  Cole moved back, brought up his weapon, and fired off a couple of shots into the robot’s head.

  Injured but not dead, the woman turned to face Cole. Her cold, soulless camera-like eyes fixed on him. She raised her hands and charged at her opponent.

  Cole saw her coming, stepped aside, and tripped her with his right foot. The robot tumbled to the floor. Cole ejected the spent magazine from his pistol and inserted a fresh one before the woman could turn over. He wanted the fight to end before anyone came along and saw what was happening. He jammed his foot on her back and shot a line from the base of her neck all the way down her spine. She arched her back and shuddered for a few seconds before dropping her head to the cement floor, dead.

  Cole stood, staring down at the robot. His ragged breathing filled his ears. He was relieved to see that the robots, although trained to fight, apparently lacked the experience he had in hand-to-hand combat.

  Cole wiped the sweat from his brow while he looked around for a place to dispose of the body. He saw a couple of old maintenance lockers and dragged the body there. Although completely artificial, the body didn’t weigh any more than an average human. Cole opened a locker and jammed the robot inside. He memorized the locker number as he knew h
e’d have to come back after he found a place to incinerate or pulverize the remains.

  The basement was thankfully quiet. Cole guessed that with scavenger worms on the loose not too many people ventured this far underground unless they absolutely had too.

  One down, he thought to himself. Four to go.

  Chapter 24

  The soldiers of the Third Battalion, 333rd Infantry Regiment, stood at attention. The regimental flag along with that of the army and Earth’s federation were paraded past the waiting soldiers and placed in the middle of the formation.

  Sheridan watched as the unit’s commanding officer, a bull of a man, walked onto a platform to address his soldiers. The man’s image appeared on a screen behind him.

  “Battalion, stand at ease,” ordered the officer.

  As one, the six hundred members of the unit stood at ease.

  “Soldiers of the third battalion, we are about to go into battle against our hated enemy. A year ago, the Kurgan Empire cowardly attacked our colonies and slaughtered millions in a matter of days. They want to take this planet and its precious resources, but we’re not going to let them. This regiment was created to give people like yourselves a chance to atone for your many sins. I expect every soldier and officer to do their duty. To ensure your loyalty I have placed at the rear of the formation a blocking detachment of hardened killers. If you run, they will kill you.”

  “Jesus,” muttered Shen, standing next to Sheridan.

  “Quiet in the ranks,” snapped Staff Sergeant Travers.

  A picture of the Sayan Highlands appeared on the screen. It zoomed in on a rocky V-shaped formation.

  The colonel continued. “Convicts, this is our regimental objective. Its name on the map is Ridgeline 743; however, the forces who have tried and failed to take it back from the Kurgans have nicknamed it Bloody Ridge. To date, it has cost our forces more than seven thousand casualties, and we’re no closer to taking it than we were a week ago when this operation began. Divisional headquarters has deemed that it’s our turn to try to take this hill. And mark my words, we will take that hill or we will die trying.”

  Sheridan had always hated pre-battle speeches. That’s why his were always short and lacked the hyperbole of the colonel’s sermon.

  The picture changed yet again. This time, an image showing the battalion’s objective came into view. It was one of three hills. Each battalion in the regiment had a hill to take.

  The colonel shone a laser pointer on the map. “Our mission is to seize and hold Objective Pike no later than 0400 hours tomorrow morning. We will depart this location in the next thirty minutes so we can be in our attack position by midnight. Our scheme of maneuver will be simple. Alpha Company will conduct a frontal assault to draw the enemy’s fire while Bravo and Charlie Companies flank the enemy position and take it from its southern flank. Listen to your officers and NCOs, and you will survive this battle. Failure to do so or try running to the rear will cost you your life. There is only one way, and that is forward. Company commanders, carry on.”

  “Bloody hell,” whispered Kozar. “This is for real.”

  Sheridan nodded.

  “Take a seat,” said Travers to the squad. “From here on out no one is to go anywhere without my permission.”

  “Say, aren’t we in Alpha Company?” said Wiman.

  “We most assuredly are,” responded Sheridan.

  “So we’re going to draw the Kurgs fire while everyone else moves around the hill?”

  Sheridan nodded.

  Wiman’s dark skin blanched. He turned, dropped to his knees, and emptied his stomach on the floor.

  “There’ll be none of that,” barked Travers.

  Sheridan had to force himself not to react when Travers walked over and kicked Wiman in the ribs, knocking him back to the ground and into his vomit.

  “I won’t tolerate weakness in my squad,” warned Travers. “Clean him up.”

  Corporal Estrada jumped to his feet and helped Wiman turn over so he could clean the mess from his face and uniform.

  “What the hell’s his problem?” whispered Shen.

  “He’s scared, and he’s lashing out,” replied Sheridan. “You told me not to ask why he’s here. Well, it’s obvious to me that the man’s a coward. He was probably arrested for desertion in the face of the enemy and sent here. His anger is how he copes with fear.”

  “Do you believe the colonel that we’re going to come through this alive?” Kozar asked Sheridan.

  “No. We’ll be lucky if a tenth of the company is able to report for muster after the battle.”

  Kozar groaned, reached for a silver cross hanging around his neck, and began to pray in Russian.

  The tunnel was as dark and cold as a catacomb. The ground shook from the massive bombardment pounding the Bloody Ridge. The stomach-churning smell of vomit and urine filled the air. Fear was everywhere.

  Sheridan could feel the vibrations from the explosions in his chest. He guessed their tunnel came out within a few hundred meters of their objective. Sheridan checked the time and saw they were minutes away from stepping off. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something etched in the tunnel wall. Sheridan turned his light and read what was written there.

  I go forth into the light of dawn knowing I will never see the sun set.

  Private Henri Dumas, 143 Infantry Regiment

  M, Leach, Private, for my parents’ sake, please look for my remains.

  334 Combat Engineers

  Sheridan switched off his light and closed his eyes and thought about the only positive thing in his life. Tarina’s smiling face filled his thoughts. He could smell her alluring perfume and feel the warmth of her skin as if she were standing next to him. Sheridan smiled for a moment, forgetting the hell he was about to endure.

  “Masks on,” yelled someone in the dark.

  Sheridan pulled out his respirator from its case and put it on. Almost right away, he felt the straps at the back of the mask dig into his head. He pulled up his hood and slipped his gloves on his hands. Sheridan flipped the switch on his rifle from safe to automatic.

  The doors at the end of the tunnel were thrown open. The sound of battle flooded inside.

  “Let’s go!” hollered Captain Naran, Alpha Company’s commander.

  Like a dam bursting, the soldiers of Alpha Company surged out of the tunnel and spread out onto the rocky ground.

  Sheridan took cover behind a large rock and glanced skyward. The night air was filled with drones and aircraft from both sides firing missiles and cannons in an attempt to gain air superiority over the ridge. The darkness was temporarily banished as dozens of flares lit up the sky. Guns kilometers in the rear kept up a brisk barrage on the objective. Dust and smoke obscured the hill they were about to assault.

  Up front, Captain Naran got to his feet, pointed at the hill, and yelled, “With me!” He turned and ran toward the maelstrom raging less than one hundred meters away.

  In Sheridan’s mind, his mission was to stay alive so he could find the assassins hunting Denisov rather than fight a battle that had been decided one hundred years ago. He got to one knee and looked around. Sergeant Travers was nowhere to be seen and Corporal Estrada lay face down with his hands over his head, pleading with God to protect him.

  From behind, a man’s voice amplified by a loudhailer ordered, “Get moving.”

  Sheridan turned his head and swore. Less than fifty paces back were a line of men all carrying submachine guns. A soldier, unable to face the enemy, dropped his weapon and ran back toward the safety of the tunnel. He died in a hail of bullets before he had gotten ten meters.

  What Sheridan wanted to do was inconsequential; it was fight or die.

  “Kozar, Shen, Wiman, follow me,” said Sheridan, running forward.

  The scared soldiers saw their leaders were gone or cowering. When one of the submachine gunners opened fire on a terrified man, they jumped to their feet and ran after Sheridan.

  The artillery bombardment cre
pt backward up the hill as the company ran forward before going to ground at the bottom of the hill.

  “Where’s Travers?” called out Sheridan’s platoon leader.

  “I don’t know,” replied Sheridan, struggling to be heard over the thunderous barrage.

  “Well, you’re the squad leader, Convict. Keep them moving forward.”

  Sheridan wanted to tell the man to shove it but instead kept his mouth shut.

  With only one way to go, the soldiers of Alpha Company started to climb the rocky slopes of their objective.

  A shot rang out.

  A soldier on Sheridan’s left tumbled backward with a hole in his chest. Less than a second later, the hill crest seemed to come alive with gunfire as the Kurgans, who had been hiding in their tunnels and bunkers, dug into the rock rushed back to man their trenches.

  Sheridan dove for cover as bullets swept the side of the hill, taking down the front row of hapless soldiers.

  A voice cried out in agony.

  Sheridan turned to see who had been hit. Shen lay on the ground with her left hand pressed against her shoulder. Dark red blood oozed from between her fingers.

  “Shen, don’t move. Stay where you are,” ordered Sheridan. “A medic will get to you soon enough.”

  Their six-person squad was already down to fifty percent strength, and they hadn’t climbed more than twenty meters up the hill.

  From out of the dark, a body rolled down and stopped next to Sheridan. It was the platoon leader. His mask was shattered. Sheridan recoiled when he saw the man’s face was a bloody pulp. The dead lieutenant’s radio operator ran over to see if he could help.

  “He’s dead,” said Sheridan, bluntly. “Where’s the platoon sergeant?”

  “I think he’s also dead,” responded the communicator. “I saw him get hit in the chest just before the LT bought it.”

  Sheridan looked around at the shattered remains of the platoon and instantly made up his mind. Timeline or not, to stay where they were was to invite death. He looked at the radio operator. Even through his eyepiece, he could see fear in the young man’s eyes. Sheridan said, “Fine, I’m taking command. Get onto regimental headquarters and bring down suppressing fire on those Kurgan positions or we’re all going to die out here.”