Heavy Weapons (Grendel Uprising Book 3)

by Scott Moon

  Around midnight, there was a parley attempt by elements of the Remington Local Security Force, or Park Rangers as both the ESC and CTC soldiers called them. General Galveston 50273 sent them away politely but firmly.

  Morning came with forceful glory as the sun climbed over the immense valley between gentle mountain ranges.

  “Now I understand why the Remington Corporation purchased this world,” Cindy said.

  “Too bad we are about to tear the shit out of this place,” Red Brave said.

  Technically, his name was Redus 71000. Like most new humans of Earth descent, his racial and ethnic heritage were difficult to identify without DNA scans. He claimed to be a Sioux of pre-Crises North America.

  Maybe he was.

  “Listen up, people.” Aefel’s voice came over the radio as though he had been awake for hours and knew exactly what the rest of the day held. “The Park Rangers finally got the ear of someone more important than the 1-6-7 Battle Group Commander. Apparently, there is a safari that had been planned for over two years. Don’t ask me who’s in it. Just be satisfied that they have enough clout to put a war on hold for nine days.”

  “Christ,” Cindy said. “The CTC could invest our position if we sit here for nine days.”

  “We won’t be sitting around for that. For the next nine standard days, the FALD Reavers will lead the way in reverse, then around to a yet to-be-determined tactical position.”

  Standing next to Cindy, but without keying his radio link, Red Brave grunted. “Ooja, Reavers.”

  “We should join the safari,” Chip said. “Look at that.”

  Sunlight warmed the frost-covered panorama as winter grass swayed and sparkled. Cindy adjusted the tint of her visor and faced the morning glare. Bison were not indigenous to Remington, but the company had secured a waiver on genetic manipulation of sport animals and populated the high plains with monstrous creatures of power and beauty.

  The herd moved toward the horizon. Thousands of the animals ignored the 1-6-7 Battle Group on one side and the CTC Forces on the other. Antelope imported from Commonwealth menageries and native animals mingled with the slow migration.

  “I don’t see the hunters,” Chip said.

  Red Brave stared at the herd. Dust rose into the winter air.

  “They won’t show their faces until they are certain of the ceasefire,” Cindy said. She watched Red Brave carefully. He was a solid soldier, FALD Reaver through and through, but she had never seen him this quiet and this intense at the same time.

  THE following days went badly for the First Armored-infantry Lightning Division. Twenty-seven standard hours of forced marching brought them around the off-limits hunting area well ahead of the main body of the 1-6-7. The Capital Trading Company mercenaries had the same idea and less distance to cover.

  Lieutenant Aefel 70391 outmaneuvered his enemies, only to find his support units lagging behind, forcing him into a defensive battle of attrition he could not win.

  “We are going to sally from this position,” Aefel said.

  “I don’t like that idea. Every soldier in my squad is wounded. We’re low on ammunition.” Cindy searched for a sign that her lieutenant had finally cracked but saw only confidence and resolution. There was a light in his eyes that promised a miracle.

  Aefel turned, looked down on her, and met her gaze. “General Toptop wants the 1st to be the first. So we are going to break out right now. If the 6th is as fast as they claim to be, then we should have reinforcements right about the time we need them.”

  “Ooja,” said the other sergeants.

  “We need them now.” Cindy stared at Aefel, wanting to be angry at him, but feeling the powerful reassurance of his presence like a magic spell. “See you in the charnel house, Lt.”

  Aefel didn’t respond. She thought he heard and decided not to participate in the normal banter.

  “Alpha Squad, let’s move out,” she said.

  “CHIP get your ass back here!” Cindy wanted to drop behind the blasted redoubt but had to stand to see where Chip went down. You were right behind me. Why couldn’t you keep up? She settled for crouching and praying as she cursed the corporal. “Come on, Chip. Move it!”

  “Can’t do it, Smashface. I’m missing a leg and losing power to my armor.” He laughed hysterically. “My Internal is instructing me to seek total rest and caloric intake!”

  Cindy ran, shuffled, and ducked-walked through the barrage of supersonic projectiles pounding the once beautiful terrain. Snatching his drag-handle, she pulled him toward safety. Her eyes locked on the leg they were leaving behind and the gooey red liquid connecting the organic artifact to Chip’s ruined armor.

  A bullet ricocheted from her helmet, cranking her neck and forcing her to stumble.

  Another shot thumped heavily into Chip.

  His radio quit broadcasting his screams.

  She heaved him over the hastily dug earthworks and dropped low. The sound of static was louder than the chaos of battle to her ears. Incoming enemy fire seemed meaningless compared to Chip’s silence.

  Red Brave pulled her away from Chip’s body and methodically checked her for injuries.

  “He was such an asshole,” Cindy said.

  Red Brave finished examining her, then climbed to his assigned position and began shooting.

  AEFEL ignored the order to fall back as a platoon from the Sixth Armored-infantry Lightning Division surged toward the objective.

  Cindy laughed so loudly that her volume suppression software distorted the sound of her voice inside of her helmet. “It is just you and me now. What are we going to do if we get to the CTC Headquarters first?”

  “Seize it and wait for reinforcements,” Aefel said. He didn’t seem winded or worried. Driving a modern suit of powered armor was intensely physical. At this stage of development, the units were designed to be plodders, not cross-country sprinters. In the event of a power failure, the complex system of gears and hydraulics augmented human strength so that the expensive war-fighting gear could be walked back to base for repair. What this meant for soldiers like Aefel and Cindy was that they could add their own strength to the armor’s locomotion. Like the rest of the FALD Reavers, they hauled ass.

  “Keep up, Reaver,” Aefel said. He didn’t yell or curse.

  As far as Cindy could tell, he was more intellectually than physically engaged. That was part of his reputation. Nine times out of ten, he went into battle as calm as a computer programmer on a lunch break. She had seen him tuned up and desperate and hoped never to witness his darker side again. If he became angry at the SALD units racing them to the final objective, she would never be able to keep up with him. He was tall and strong and capable of pushing his body through legendary amounts of pain.

  She surged forward and ran on his left flank, watching a group of Park Rangers parked on the slope of a hill in the distance. She glanced to the right and slightly behind Aefel to check on the progress of the SALD platoon. They were down to ten percent of their strength but still driving ahead without slowing down.

  We’re down a lot more than ten percent. This is crazy, she thought.

  “They almost beat us,” Aefel said.

  “This race isn’t done yet.” Cindy regretted speaking. Fire burned in her lungs and her fog-proof visor was starting to fog up.

  Several moments passed as she realized the Park Rangers had begun to parallel the race on their lightly armored, but very fast all-terrain vehicles. They couldn’t possibly be planning to join the fight. They weren’t even mercenaries; they were security guards. Unfortunately for them, they lost regardless of whether the CTC or ESC forces won.

  On days like this, she hated spectators.

  “You’re right, Cindy. This isn’t done. The SALD platoon is faster than I hoped.” He turned and veered toward the rival ESC soldiers. “You are going to capture the flag this time. I will catch up if I can.”

  Cindy cursed. Aefel was about to pull one of his stunts. She didn’t have time to watch exactly
how it played out, but she did catch a glimpse of him “falling” into the lead element of the SALD platoon, tumbling them like bowling pins.

  “If you aren’t going to help, then get out of my way,” Aefel said over the main channel.

  That is really going to piss those guys off, Cindy thought as she caught three members of the CTC high command and their support staff packing their gear to flee the field.

  “We’re out of ammunition!” the leader said.

  The CTC general looked smaller than he had from a distance. Cindy laughed through her external speaker. “That’s your problem.”

  “Our lawyers will have you tried as a war criminal,” the CTC general said.

  “Relax. I am only going to kill the dumb-asses who refuse to comply with every single fucking order I give. Now get down on the ground, you pansy-ass mercs.”

  She secured what was left of the CTC Headquarters and counted her prisoners. A short time later, Aefel and the SALD platoon arrived as reinforcements.

  “Good work, Reaver,” the SALD First Sergeant said.

  She studied the man Aefel was ignoring.

  “Sergeant Black 79942. My mother calls me Jon Washington Black,” the SALD said. “Good work. I’ll be glad to be done with this mission.”

  Cindy expected sarcasm and insults. She moved closer to the man and shook his hand, staring him in the eyes, looking for the trick. It was a matter of time before the trash talk began. “I’ll buy you a beer. That was a dirty trick, but my boss likes to win.”

  “That was Aefel. To be honest, I was wondering what took him so long to put us in our place.” Jon Black glanced at Aefel, who was supervising the movement of the prisoners. “I’ll take that beer as soon as possible, sergeant.”

  3

  ESCAPE & EVASION

  GRENDEL 0473829: ORBITAL STATION

  MISSION CLOCK: 00:00:00

  CINDY watched as Paul used a pipe as a lever. He could have kicked the door to the unused structure, but prying it open was quieter. She wanted to believe the SALD soldiers were friends, maybe even led by Jon Washington Black, who had turned out to be a good kisser. Not too bad at back rubs when she could keep him on task.

  With Commonwealth Military Police canvassing the area as though Paul had murdered someone, SLRDs acting like the spies they were, and SALDs roaming the street in full urban assault gear, she didn’t know who to trust. ESC Command wouldn’t give her an update on Aefel, and she was his First Sergeant.

  “I’d like to get off this station,” she said.

  “I’d like another drink.” Paul removed the door and set it quietly to one side. “Why didn’t we grab a bottle when we left?”

  “I don’t like this drinking thing with you.”

  “I never realized how pleasant it was to get shit-faced oblivious.”

  “Don’t get used to it. Sooner or later, Aefel is going to need our help,” she said. The inside of the structure smelled stale, but not as much as an equivalent planetside building would have. During the station’s mothball stage, most of the atmosphere had been pulled into storage tanks to eliminate rodents, including smugglers and outlaws.

  “That would be outstanding,” Paul said as he pulled the door back into place and checked his work. “Are you telling me you think Aefel is alive? Are you saying he has hopped a shuttle up to the station and scheduled a meeting for whoever is running this cluster fuck? Why are we running, Cindy? Please explain it to me.”

  “We were told to wait in our assigned area.” She looked around for CMP or other units, speaking without thinking. “Not sure what the penalty is for that.”

  Paul grunted. “That’s a verbal counseling, maybe a written reprimand at most. It isn’t like we are in a war zone.”

  “It feels like a war zone.” Cindy explored the ground level as Paul followed her and watched her back. She couldn’t stop thinking of Remington and how the campaign went back and forth. One day the FALD was surging toward the CTC main battle group and the next they were defending a natural cavern, or river delta, or fortified plateau and freezing their butts off. One day the FALD was saving the SALD, and the next they were both running for their lives. Then the SALD came to the rescue and they were racing to finish the CTC mercenaries for good.

  “I don’t like it when you’re so quiet,” Paul said. He stood very close, shielding her from whatever might slide out of the darkness.

  “Just remembering some battles.”

  “Regenison,” Paul said quietly.

  She wished he hadn’t mentioned that particular war. The Regenison Jump Gate Engagement had been the worst slaughter for two standard centuries, but every Regenison World had been a knockdown, drag-out fight. Three systems were eventually consumed by the conflict. Each world had been unique and exceptionally compatible to human life before the Scientific Society of Regenison created the Carosn Device and told the Earth System Commonwealth to shove it.

  “I say we hunker down for an hour, then work our way back to our quarters,” Cindy said.

  “Unless they come in after us.” Paul looked tired but ready for a brawl as always.

  Cindy kept her mouth shut and concentrated on improving their position. They locked the doors they could and barricaded the others, leaving two ways to escape if needed. “I wish you hadn’t mentioned Regenison.”

  “Wasn’t that what you were thinking about?”

  “No, dummy. I was remembering Remington and the time Aefel and I raced the SALD assholes to the CTC Headquarters.”

  Paul laughed. “That was a walk in the park. The way you were moping about, I thought you had to be flashing back to Regenison crap.” He paused. “Now that you mention it, isn’t it weird that the old 1-6-7 is here on Grendel, or ready to deploy to the Grendel system at least?”

  Cindy shrugged and sat with her back to the wall. Paul joined her, lowering himself with more grace than seemed possible for such a tank. “Aefel about bought the farm.”

  Paul nodded.

  Cindy’s guts went loose as her eyes glossed over and she thought about how Aefel had looked after Regenison, a far worse campaign than the fucking Remington holiday. That hellish experience had made Aefel famous for his description of a fully functioning Carosn Device Host. She remembered the vacant look in his eyes and thought it was like he had seen all the death and horror of an entire career crammed into a few minutes. A team of medics had treated his wounds as she stepped back from the chaos to watch him bleed out.

  His eyes weren’t his eyes. He’d given up, and Aefel didn’t give up. The color was gone, but what trapped Cindy in his gaze was the depth. She could see straight through eternity. The effect caused her to lose her balance and fall forward.

  One of the medics shoved her sideways and cursed, but otherwise ignored her fainting.

  Back in the moment, Paul laughed. “You fainted like a green recruit.”

  Cindy forced a smile but didn’t look at him. “Don’t make me kill you, big guy.”

  She settled in for a long wait, experience telling her the midnight hunters lacked patience.

  Time passed. Paul snored softly for a minute, standing in place as though he were watching his zone.

  Cindy shook her head. The man definitely wasn’t a drinker. With all that muscle, he should be able to metabolize a bottle of scotch in each bicep.

  He snorted, shook himself, and looked around in panicked embarrassment.

  “Shit,” he said. “Shit, shit, shit. How long was I out?”

  “About an hour,” she said. “Feel better?”

  “Oh, damn. I’m sorry, First Sergeant,” he said, trying suddenly to watch everywhere at once.

  “Relax. It was about ten seconds. Chill out,” she said, minimizing his offense in hopes of avoiding further apologies.

  Alert now, he helped her guard their hiding place behind a nondescript building in the poorer section of the space station.

  “This place used to be nice. A real luxury resort for history tourists,” she said.

 
“Doesn’t look so great now,” Paul said. “Why don’t we just head back to quarters? If we get caught, we get caught.”

  “I want to petition up the chain of command to General Friday,” she said, expecting his excited interruption.

  “Are we going to rescue Aefel?”

  “Yes. The original mission called for our entire platoon. If we’d softened on the weapons issue and agreed to blend with the natives, we’d all be down there right now,” she said, holding up a hand to fend off interruption. “I don’t want a recent discipline problem on my file right before I meet with the man. I had to pull a lot of favors to get the appointment outside our chain of command.”

  “Not your fault with Aefel gone,” Paul said.

  She chose not to argue the point. “Let’s sneak back inside and pretend you never made me come get you from that pub.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Civilian and military workers began moving toward work stations about an hour later. Cindy led her hungover friend and subordinate back to their assigned area on the space station in orbit over Grendel. They hadn’t been billeted in a proper barracks, but it was close enough. Security was mediocre, or seemed that way.

  She wondered about the SLRD units with their fresh tattoos as she walked into familiar territory. Paul stepped away from her as soon as they were inside the spacious hallways and gathering rooms. She dreamed of sleep even before reaching her uncomfortable bunk.

  4

  RIVALS

  GRENDEL 0473829: ORBITAL STATION

  MISSION CLOCK: 00:00:00

  THE Grendel space station shuddered. Someone less familiar with old places like this would have bolted for the escape shuttles. There were several explanations for the phenomena, including years without proper upkeep. The people who had been left to live here, roughly one percent of the original population before unexpectedly high reproduction rates, were dispirited, lazy, and not entirely sane. Their existence explained why there were already slums when she had thought the place abandoned for a hundred years. As a maintenance and security crew, these people had lost their way some time ago.