by PP Corcoran
Gregory broke the uneasy silence. “I take it you are one of the ‘assets’ I was told would be accompanying Kyle?”
Dave rested one hand casually on his holstered pistol, tilting his head up and closing his eyes as he enjoyed the warmth of the summer sun. With a small sigh, he released the tabs of his form-fitting smart weave jacket and slipped it off. The smart weave may have been designed to keep the wearer cool in hot weather, but Dave still preferred the feel of a cooling breeze against his skin. Gregory was still waiting patiently for an answer, so Dave gave him one. “I’m nobody’s ‘asset,’ Captain. Kyle Henderson is as close to family as it comes and…” Dave felt the first tugs of a smile at the side of his mouth. “If he and Jodee get their way, he may very well be family.”
“So where does that leave us, Dave? My mission parameters are pretty clear regarding Kyle,” stated Gregory.
“You try and take Kyle against his will and I’ll be the least of your worries, believe me. Ask your man Wu. My daughter has been hunting since she was big enough to carry her first gun. I reckon there’s every chance she could take all your guys single-handed before you get two klicks.”
Gregory held both hands up in supplication. “Dave, I have no intention of forcing Kyle to do anything. If he wants to stay, it’s fine by me. Personally, I thought the whole idea was a crock of shit to start with. How was I meant to do my job while looking after some spoiled rich kid?”
“That spoiled rich kid took down two of your best men with nothing more than a stun baton,” Dave reminded him.
A low grunt came from the sitting Obo. “Damn dirty trick was all.”
Gregory knelt beside his groggy sergeant. “Glad to see you’re back with us.”
Obo tried to force his eyes open, but the wave of dizziness washing over him made him changed his mind. “Any chance of some water, Boss? I feel like a rabid mule kicked me in the head then pissed down my neck.”
Dave stepped over to the bowl of dishes and retrieved a cup, which he filled with cold water from the faucet located by the back door before touching it to Obo’s lips.
“Thanks,” mumbled the sergeant after sipping some. Slowly this time, he cracked his eyelids. His vision was clearer than before. The face of Gregory swam into focus, but behind the captain was a large shadow, still fuzzy with only the outstretched arm holding the cup clearly visible. Peeking out from underneath the cropped sleeves of the t-shirt was the bottom of a tattoo. Obo forced his eyes to work as he followed the outline of the image. Two sandaled feet. Black baggy-clothed legs. The tip of a sword. Obo wracked his brain. He had seen that tattoo before. The stun baton’s effects were wearing off, and the cogs in his brain were spinning faster now. Where the hell had he seen that damned tattoo?
Dave was bending over Obo; the sergeant’s eyes were thin slits and his mouth was working like he was trying to say something, but it wouldn’t come out. Gregory leaned in closer to hear the sergeant’s whispered words, putting his ear against his friend’s mouth.
“Obo, speak up, I can’t hear you.”
Curiosity got the better of Dave, as he too leaned in to hear what Obo was trying to say. In a flash, the soldier’s eyes opened wide, a vice-like grip holding Dave’s hand in place as Obo’s other hand slipped up Dave’s arm, pushing the shirt sleeve away to completely reveal the tattoo. A figure clad in black, the face covered so only the eyes were visible, and a Japanese curved sword held in both hands ready to strike.
“I knew it!” cried Obo, dropping all feign of sluggishness.
Dave pulled his arm roughly, springing back from Obo like a scalded cat. Obo braced himself against the cabin’s wall, coming to his feet, a thick index finger pointing at Dave. “You’re a fucking Ninja!”
Gregory spun to face Dave, eyes wide, accusation written all over his face.
Well, the cat is well and truly out of the bag now, thought Dave. “Perhaps we should start again. Major Dave Carter. Chief Instructor. Joint Special Warfare Course. Retired.”
Gregory struggled to make sense of Dave’s words. His brain demanded answers to a thousand unasked questions, though, his most prevalent thought was what was a Black Ops soldier… no… the Black Ops soldier of all Black Ops soldiers, doing on a backwater planet like Agate? Protecting a rich kid like Kyle Henderson as if he was his own first-born son? The best his racing mind could come up with was, “Holy shit!”
The lopsided grin that spread across Dave’s face only made the scene more farcical. “I couldn’t have put it any better myself, Captain Gregory.”
The Pathfinder captain’s mouth was now catching up with his brain, and he began to recover from the shock of meeting a member…correction… ex-member of the Special Operations Regiment in the flesh. “Sir, please excuse any assumptions I and my men may have made regarding your abilities and professionalism. I, of course, had no way of knowing your past… eh… area of expertise.”
“No offense taken, Captain. Perhaps I should pull the stick out of my ass as well. I appreciate you are here to do a job, and considering the situation we find ourselves in, I’m pretty sure I once swore an oath to protect the League from all enemies, foreign and domestic.” A sardonic chuckle rose in his throat. “And I’m pretty sure the K’Tai fall into the foreign category.”
A soft groan came from Collins, reminding the standing men he was still sat on the ground, suffering the effects of Kyle’s stun baton. “Why doesn’t Sergeant Obo here stay with our stirring sleeping beauty here while I take you inside? I think I may have something that will interest you.”
With a nod toward the slumped figure of Collins, Gregory followed Dave into the cabin, while Obo retrieved his cup and fetched some water for the rousing soldier. Entering the cabin, Gregory was immediately struck by how much cooler it was, before he had to jump to one side as two racing children barged past him, intent on seeing who could make it to the front door first.
“That’s Lin and Shen. Jacob rescued them after the K’Tai killed their parents,” explained Dave.
At the mention of his name, Jacob appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, a quizzical expression on his face. “You two kids playing nice?”
“I think the Captain and I are about to come to an understanding,” replied Dave as he continued down the narrow hall that led to the bedrooms. About halfway down the hall, Dave halted next to a nondescript door. Running his forearm up a portion of door frame, the biometric lock recognized Dave’s individual signal and popped the heavy lock open. At the sight of Gregory’s raised eyebrow, Dave held up a hand, forestalling any questions and pushing the door open fully, an act which triggered automatic lighting revealing a set of wide, steep downward stairs--made of permacrete, if Gregory was not mistaken.
Gregory followed Dave down the steps, the entrance door swinging closed behind him. The sound of the heavy lock reengaging reminded Gregory of being sealed in a tomb. Reaching the bottom of the steps, Gregory saw for the first time the true extent of the windowless basement. It must have covered the entire footprint of the building above, as it was easily 300 square meters. One longitudinal wall was covered in gently humming stainless steel refrigerators and freezers, while the opposite wall held racks of dried foodstuffs. Gregory’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of a fully automated medbed at the far end of the basement, situated in front of a dozen or so hermetically sealed containers.
“That medbed probably cost as much as the rest of the cabin put together. It can handle anything from a simple cut through broken bones and complex surgery,” explained Dave.
“Collins will go nuts when he sees this,” gasped Gregory.
That lopsided grin appeared on Dave’s face again as he walked to the far end of the basement and leaned against an immense work bench, roughly three meters on each side. “Let me introduce you to the Totszchek-Yajima DAFU 280. DAFU being Design and Fabrication Unit.” Dave tapped a control on the flat glazed top and after a few moments of humming to itself, the machine came to life. The holographic emblem of the Tots
zchek-Yajima corporation revolved slowly in midair above the tables center. “This little baby can build anything you care to mention. All you have to do is supply the base elements, which…” Dave pointed down at the floor. “I like to think I have an ample supply stored in the sub-basement below us. If it doesn’t have the design in its memory, you can either program it by hand or, if it’s a one off, design your item from scratch. This unit has had all the standard safety protocols removed, so it will happily build any weapon system you care to mention.”
Gregory’s mind was already churning with the myriad of possibilities the DAFU presented. The Pathfinder patrol only carried limited munitions, enough for a thirty-day op without resupply. The DAFU before him represented an endless supply of anything he might need to carry out not only his reconnaissance mission, but also to fight an all-out guerrilla war if he chose to.
“Oh, and just in case you are in a bit of a hurry.” Dave approached the row of plasteel cabinets arrayed along the far wall, each popping open in turn as they recognized his biometrics. Gregory’s face as he viewed the contents was akin to a child on Christmas morning. Two cabinets were stocked with CAR 56 assault rifles, Advanced Combat Rifles, PIN pistols, all with neat rows of pre-loaded charge units and magazines. The next couple held what looked remarkably like boxes of anti-personnel and anti-armor mines. The final cabinet bore a stack of sealed boxes emblazoned with a small skull and crossed bones.
“Holy crap, Dave, is that what I think it is?”
“You better believe it. Tyrenol Three. A single kilogram is enough to level a single city block.”
Gregory looked in wonder at the cabinets brimming with munitions. Forget a guerrilla war; with what was in these cabinets, Gregory could equip a small army. Recovering from his surprise, he looked over at the smiling Dave perched on top of the DAFU.
“So, I take it this is the other ‘asset’ I was briefed on.”
Like a thundercloud had passed in front of the sun, Dave’s face went from childish delight to pained grief in a second. “No. The ‘asset’ is… unaccounted for.”
Whatever the other ‘asset’ was, it was obvious to Gregory he had touched a raw nerve. Best leave that conversation for another day, thought Gregory. As quickly as it had appeared, the cloud over Dave disappeared as he jumped down from the DAFU.
“Why don’t we get your men down here? We’re a bit short of space in the main cabin, but there’s plenty of room down here for them to bunk down, and I’ll bet my last credit that the DAFU has the design for camp cots in its memory banks. Once you get set up, why don’t we have a talk about where we go from here?”
Gregory nodded his agreement and both men headed back upstairs, the weapons cabinets snapping closed, the DAFU powering down and the overhead lights going off as they noted Dave’s biometric signature leaving the basement.
#
The cabin’s dining room table played host to the ad hoc council of war as the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the surrounding forest into deep, inky black darkness. Dave sat at its head, with Kyle on his right and Jacob to his left. Moving down the table, Chris and Jodee sat opposite each other; Jodee inevitably chose the seat beside Kyle, and her closeness to the young man caused a momentary frown to crease Dave’s forehead, before he dismissed it as something he would have to accept.
The seat at the far end of the table was occupied by the leader of their guests. Gregory hid his discomfort well at what was tantamount to an interrogation, though, Dave had spotted the occasional stroking of his chin stubble with his right hand during the past half hour, as the soldier had been literally bombarded by questions from those seated at the table as to his mission and his bosses’ plans on what they intended to do about the K’Tai. Gregory’s revelation that there had been a marine battalion based at Fort Sheridan explained his and Kyle’s run-in with the female colonel, though whether the battalion or remnants of it had survived the K’Tai invasion was an unanswered question. Dave filed the tell-tale away for another day; whatever sympathy he felt for the captain’s current predicament came a very distant second to keeping his family safe. Dave decided it was time to call a halt to the soldier’s misery by cutting directly to the chase.
“Look, Captain, the way I see it, the first part of your mission is a partial success. You’ve located Kyle and he’s safe and sound.” Dave tried to ignore the way Jodee gently stroked Kyle’s arm reassuringly. The smirk on Jacob’s face, however, only got the large man a deep scowl that had the effect of changing the smirk into a wide smile. Dave pretended to ignore him and fixed his gaze on Gregory.
“As for getting Kyle off planet, I would suggest you have a better chance of walking on water than separating him from Jodee.” Dave gave his daughter a pointed look. “No matter how much I would like to see it happen.”
For her part, Jodee stuck a petulant tongue out at her father, snuggling even closer to Kyle.
“The question is, where do we go from here?” Dave looked at the now serious faces surrounding the table before continuing. “I think we all agree it makes common sense for your team to use the cabin as a base. It has all the facilities you could possibly need.” Dave’s statement led to a series of nods from those present, especially Gregory, whose men were already making good use of the basement area.
“Unfortunately, the use of the cabin as a base of operations brings with it risks.” Dave’s toneless voice was free of emotion as he stated a simple fact.
The Pathfinder officer’s features similarly showed no emotion. “A fact my men and I fully appreciate, Dave. We will do our damnedest to keep those risks to a minimum but, and I’m sure you have already considered this, I cannot guarantee at some point, through no fault of anyone, that the K’Tai won’t stumble upon this place.”
Gregory’s words led to a hushed silence around the table as each person considered the implications of the K’Tai finding their safe haven. If they were forced to flee, then they would only have whatever they could carry on their backs to aid in their survival until the forces of the League could retake Agate from the K’Tai. And the prospect of that happening anytime soon was, as Gregory had been at pains to explain, not likely. The Carters and their adopted family were on their own for the foreseeable future.
Dave broke the awkward silence. “I think we all appreciate the risks involved and are willing to take them.” Again, the nods of agreement. “Now, I gather, you intend to contact the surviving marines, correct?”
“Correct,” replied Gregory. “My plan is to sweep toward the outskirts of Gemini City in a series of extended patrols, mapping any K’Tai defenses and bases as I go. If I come across any cohesive units of marines or militia, then we’ll liaise with them and see what sort of effective opposition we can establish.”
“You mean guerrilla war,” said Kyle.
Gregory pointed a finger at the young man. “Exactly. We nibble away at them down here while the navy do the same thing from above. Target supply and ammunition depots. The spaceport. The power, water, and food supplies. We make life as uncomfortable for them as possible.”
A loud harrumph came from Chris, causing heads to turn in his direction. “Yeah, and we all know who pays the price for your actions, don’t we? I’ve read my history. It’s always the civilians who pay the price.”
Gregory opened his mouth to answer, but Dave beat him to it. “Enough, Chris.” In a softer voice, he went on. “This isn’t some history text we’re in here. Make no mistake, this is war. The real thing, not some abstract moment from the past. The K’Tai have killed your friends. Killed Jacob’s wife and son. Killed the twins’ parents, and God knows what’s happened to your mother.” At the mention of his mother, Chris’ head bowed down, determined his father would not see the glint of unwept tears clouding his vision. “We need to stand up to the K’Tai, Chris. Captain Gregory is a soldier and he intends to do his duty. I know this is all coming at you pretty fast, son, and I wish I had more time to let you grow up and learn how to be an adult a bit at
a time, but the K’Tai invasion put paid to that. You are a citizen of the League, and as such, you have a duty to defend the League.”
“I know, dad.” Chris’ voice was soft and tremulous. “I just wish mom was here with us.”
Dave got up and went around to his son, hugging him. “I know, son. So do I.” Where the hell are you, Sue?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Segments
DAY FORTY
Colonel Reynolds approached the edge of the wood line cautiously. There was no indication of K’Tai presence; however, years of being a marine had taught her just because you couldn’t see something didn’t mean it wasn’t lying in ambush awaiting the unwary.
For weeks now, Reynolds had been trying to contact elements of her scattered command to get a better idea of her fighting strength. Her orders under Plan Shadow had been a double-edged sword. Yes, it had managed to save the vast majority of the battalion from either being killed or captured by the enemy, but by effectively scattering them to the wind, it had lost any chance of retaining a working command and control mechanism. Knowing the enemy would be monitoring communications frequencies, if anyone was stupid enough to broadcast, it was a slam dunk their position would be identified and targeted for destruction from either the enemy ships in low orbit, a drone or aero fighter strike, or a good old-fashioned ground assault. Whatever method the K’Tai chose, a stray transmission was as good as signing their own death warrant. Hence, the remnants of the battalion were under strict orders not to use any form of electronic communications. That left her only one reliable method, a method that harked back to preindustrial warfare. The runner.
A single marine, with the most basic of equipment, would physically carry an encoded communications chip and make his way on foot from Reynolds’ headquarters in the Scraggy Mountains to the predetermined location of each of her platoons. According to Plan Shadow, each of the sixteen platoons should have made their way to its designated operational zone and hunkered down, avoiding all contact with either the enemy or the civilian population. If, after thirty days, they had not received orders to the contrary, then they were to begin independent guerrilla-style operations to inflict maximum casualties and disruption to the K’Tai. The tactic was as old as warfare itself, but it had shown itself time and time again, throughout history, to be effective. It might not win the war, but Reynolds and her marines were determined to make themselves as troublesome as possible.