The Return of the Grey

by Robert Lee Henry

  ‘In this campaign. Some of the others have been used by raiders in the past, but always at this end of the Rim.’

  These fragments were pieces of rocky planets. He suspected that the remains of gas giants would dominate the central portion of the great crescent that made up the Rim, with cold dense entities in the far horn. The sweepings of a solar system. He needed to confirm this hypothesis. It would take months to survey the Rim, days just to make a journey along its length. He could not demand this of the Grey, even though the import was greater than the survival of all the participants in the present conflict. No longer acting at the direction of his former masters, he could not invoke the authority of the Inner Belt. He would just ask him.

  The Grey’s assent surprised him, qualified as it was. One more attempt to penetrate, close to the fragment that the Guard warred upon, sign off to Gati, then a circuit of this end of the Rim.

  ‘There is more here than we understand,’ said Trahern. ‘The motions aren’t true. There are reports of dead zone at the back of the Rim. Maybe that is having an effect. That or something else. I agree with you. I think we better go take a look.’

  CHAPTER 61: TOLLEN’S PAINS

  Tollen straightened and stretched, trying to ease his back and shoulders. They had been working hard for days, good physical work. Usually the soreness left him after the first day of heavy work, but this time it had stayed. In the morning when he got up, and at times like this after he had been crouching for a while, it bit at his back and neck. He stretched further and caught a sharp pain in his chest. He had to hunch over to relieve it. Damn, don’t like that at all. He put his hands on the top of his thighs and leaned forward as if he was scouting the ground to the north.

  The walls had been his idea. The Amazon Commander had been dragging up containers from the base in the western low using the lander, a whole train of them at a time, running on their skids. None of the plastron boxes were going back. After his supplymen emptied them, Tollen had them pushed to the perimetre. Set in the ground about a metre and filled with foam and rubble, they made a nice low wall. It was the digging and bullying into place that was hard, but he had plenty of men and not too much to occupy them.

  The Armourer had sent Tollen and his men out ahead of the main force. Funny how we had joked about that when the replacements had arrived. The scouts had found this position, midway along a valley that extended from the western low into the new ground to the northwest. A fault had cut through the bounding ridges, leaving a narrow straight defile on the southern side. Only good for foot traffic but easy to defend. A small force could fight and fall back almost indefinitely. The Armourer wanted a supply depot here, where this bolt-hole met the valley, where they could regroup and re-equip if things did not go well. Gati had brought word from Trahern and the Scholar that the western low was a trap; that it was going to get hit big time. More than the sky was going to come down. Another piece almost as big as the one they were fighting on, was on its way. The Armourer held the bulk of the Group in the low for the time being so he would not tip this knowledge. Tollen expected them to come past within a few days on their way to contest the northwest. The Armourer would not let the enemy determine his ground.

  He heard the low growl of the lander making its way up the valley. It was the only craft that could make it up this far. Designed for atmosphere, it had the weight and power to fight the fields at low speeds. The Amazon was a master at its control. Yet despite her skill, he had seen her have to drop it on the deck. He turned his head to watch it come in. Steady, nice and easy. The lander used fields for some of its fine control. It was a risk employing it on something as basic as transport but the Armourer had asked for speed and it was much faster than sledding the containers out one at a time. Bethane did all the piloting herself. Those brave enough to take the trip with her said it was something to see. Cool as ice, she was.

  He needed to talk to her, catch her before she left. Bethane could pass a message on for him. His warning to Celene had been received. Sanseen had told him so over the comm. Confirmed by Sub-commander Visco himself. But there had been no reply. He expected a response from Celene, even if it was only to tell him to mind his own business. He could not shake his concern. The idea that all the caretakers were involved had taken on the feel of truth to him. The Specialist might dismiss it without something better than a story about a stone to back it up. Sometimes she was too smart for her own good.

  There was another way around it. La Mar was still in Med. Bethane could pass the word to her through the supply network and she would see that it reached Celene. And some capable marines. There should be some on their feet in Med by now. La Mar was old-style, like himself. She would get Celene to act on it, with a squad to look after her. Unofficially, so as to not rile anyone.

  That problem solved, he was able to bring his mind back to the job in hand. He lifted his gaze above the lander. The sky was low, just streaming over the tops of the ridges. It won’t get any better, either. He heard steps approaching and straightened.

  *

  Barry walked along the top of the wall toward Tollen. He’d noticed the old sergeant stop his stretch and lean out to the northwest, hands on the top of his legs, then stay like that, still as a statue. It worried him. He felt nothing from the northwest. If there was something there and he didn’t feel it, then maybe this was all pretend, this business of his ‘feel’. Tollen had made big of it and the rest of Supply had picked it up. Barry went along. It made him feel special. But maybe that’s all it was. Maybe the old sergeant was just trying to help him cope, ease him along. If so, he had really screwed himself. Commander Johnson had offered him the chance to leave, to go back to Base. But Tollen was there and said he was too valuable, and he felt proud and let the chance pass in the wash of the older man’s courage.

  ‘Young Barry,’ said Tollen in greeting.

  ‘Hi Sarge. I saw you looking out to the northwest and wondered if you saw something?’

  ‘No. Nothing. I was just thinking.’ The old marine rubbed his hand through his short hair and stretched his shoulders. ‘That’s where the show is going. The big battle will be up there. That’s my gut feel.’ He turned and clapped his hand on Barry’s shoulder, smiling. ‘And what’s your ‘feel’? Anything up that way?’

  ‘No, nothing that way, I just thought that maybe you saw something.’

  The wall was wide enough for two and they walked side-by-side to the stacked cases that served as stairs.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ said Tollen. ‘But if we are here long enough, I’m going to make this wall twice as high and put a second layer on the inside.’

  Barry hopped down easily. The Sarge was slower, a bit stiff in his movements. He seems tired, thought Barry. He studied the old marine while Tollen’s attention was on the steps. The lines of his face are deep today and there are a few more around his eyes.

  Tollen caught him looking and saw the concern. His eyes narrowed.

  ‘Not sure about this way,’ said Barry, waving his arm out to the side, covering up. ‘Nothing much but it makes me uneasy.’

  Tollen switched his squint to the distance. Barry followed his gaze. The low sky limited the view of the far ridge. Anything could be out beyond that. In the foreground, men were already dragging containers in from the lander.

  ‘We are weak on this side,’ agreed Tollen. ‘We need that opening for loading. That has to stay. And I turned the wall on that little ridge, a nice hard bit of rock but it has a slope to it and someone could come over that. Two weak spots close together.’ He paused. ‘We could do something about that ridge though. A little surprise. Something for the servicemen to rig up, see how clever they can be. And we better get sensors and automatics up on either side of that opening.’ The old marine stopped talking and looked at him closely.

  Barry started to lose his nerve under the inspection.

  ‘This makes good sense, soldier,’ said Tollen. ‘If you get more than a feeling of ‘unease’, you let me kno
w. Or slip into a suit straight away, you understand.’

  CHAPTER 62: THE SCARS OF COMMAND

  Mike racked his weapons, hung his helm, popped his chest plate and shrugged out of the top of his suit. Around him the rest of the squad were doing the same. No banter. Everyone was subdued. He sat to kick off his boots and the lower half of the suit. He couldn’t wait to get out of it. A bad sign. Your suit was meant to be like a second skin. It protected you. Mike had walked and run and fought and slept in it. He had lived in it. Scratched and scored, it had stopped shell and laser and bits of rock, metal, gore and worse. He rose and gathered it. He carefully wiped the pieces down and stacked them in a bin for sterilization. The scars would still be there, but next time he needed it, the suit would be clean and fresh and ready to go.

  Mike sat down, leaned back against the wall, stretched his legs out in front and closed his eyes. The room emptied as the others made their way to the ablutions. Mike knew that he should get moving. Gati would be waiting for him. A Ranger had called to him as the squad came in.

  ‘Hey, Mancine! Gati is in the mess. He said to tell you if we saw you. He gave us the day off when he heard you were due back. Thank the stars, he is worse than Oulte, that one. We can do with a quiet day.’

  Mike had smiled at that, even in the state he was in. He would see his friend soon. Now he needed some time. ‘Alone,’ he would say if anyone asked him, but he was not alone at these times. This is when he would talk to Aesca. Sometimes he ached for her with his whole body, wanted her in the suit with him, as close as that. But mostly he needed to talk. Of what he had seen and done, and felt. In his mind she answered him, asked questions till he had it set out cold and clear. Up until now it had been mostly soldiering and he could explain it to her, including the horrors that he would never tell her about in real life. This last patrol had been different though. Hard to sort out. Bad, even for the Rim.

  The Armourer had given him four days. A squad, two scouts and four days. To find Peg or the Black Hands or both. Back on the fourth day, to be ready for battle, no matter what.

  The scouts had taken them to the site of the massacre. The marine dead, his men, had already been brought in. The enemy dead had been left as they lay, within the circle of their lights, lying where they had died. Except for one, the scouts told them. They led him to a body propped up by rocks near the foot of the ridge. Fully suited, seated, looking out over his men. Mike recognised the Red Suit commander from the pass. A circle of sensor tubes had been set around the body.

  ‘Peg’s work,’ said Roli.

  ‘He must have liked this one,’ said Collin.

  ‘I liked him too,’ said Mike.

  The three men went silent. The rest of the squad waited nearby. Tane walked over. ‘What do we do Mike? Bury them, or burn them, or just leave them?’

  Mike knew that the squad was keen to get on with the hunt. These were enemy dead, no real concern of theirs. These Red Suits could have died at the pass. Mike and his men had run south from that mess without a backward look. I should have killed them at the pass. It would have been better than this. He had told Aesca that he did not do it for them, let them live at the pass. The mercy had been for himself. He could not kill anymore that day. And because of that weakness, fifteen of his people had died, including wounded that could not protect themselves. Men and women that he was supposed to look out for. And these others, these Red Suits, had suffered the worst betrayal possible for a fighting man, to be killed by those you fought alongside of. This is a cruel place, this Rim.

  ‘What do you say Mike,’ asked Tane.

  ‘We leave them as they are. Recharge all the sensors. That will keep the vermin off them until the sky comes down. After that it will not matter.’

  While the squad saw to the sensors, Mike made his way to the far side of the circle, where the few Black Hand bodies lay. He lifted the rotting remains one at a time and threw them outside the lights. Let the creatures have these if they can stomach them.

  They spent the next three days following the tracks. It felt strange at first to be hunting men, but the feeling soon became familiar, a bloodlust that carried excitement with it. Different from anything he had felt in battle. Mike didn’t try to deceive himself. This was base. Revenge. A man could go pretty low and still feel right.

  They didn’t find their quarry or their scout, although Peg left them some sign, mostly dead Black Hands.

  ‘He is driving them,’ said Roli.

  ‘When they find a way out, he turns them somehow,’ said Collin.

  ‘Keeps them in the badlands,’ said Roli.

  ‘One by one, he kills them.’

  ‘Sometimes in nasty ways.’

  ‘He is wild as the wind now.’

  ‘We may not get him back.’

  ‘Lost, like the Captains leg.’

  *

  ‘Sergeant. How did it go?’

  Mike opened his eyes to find Captain Chalkley in front of him. The locker-room smell of sweat and showers brought him back to where he was. Still, he couldn’t help looking down at Chalkley’s stump.

  ‘They haven’t found it yet,’ said the Captain.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t hear you coming,’ said Mike.

  Chalkley smiled at that, spun on one crutch and lowered himself to the bench beside Mike. ‘Getting pretty good on these. So, what have we got out there?’

  ‘Thirty to forty mercenaries, only half with proper weapons. The rest with sidearms. Rations for a week, maybe more. Moving generally west. Peg is harassing them, picking some off. I doubt he will come in until they are finished ... or they catch him. He is taking risks.’

  ‘Peg can take care of himself. Looks like we may be moving up to the northwest ourselves. Tollen is already out that way with some of the Supply boys. I better pass the word about these mercenaries.’

  ‘They are a bad lot,’ said Mike. ‘I shouldn’t have let them go at the pass. If-’

  ‘Let the ‘ifs’ ride Mike,’ Chalkley said softly. ‘Think it through once or twice then let it go.’

  ‘Yes, but if I had finished them at the pass, we wouldn’t have lost our men. Wounded, Captain. I let them kill my wounded.’

  ‘No you did not. The Black Hands killed our men and their own allies. No one could have expected that. What you did at the pass was fine. It made me proud, Mike, to be a marine and have a marine do that. The rest? Now we know how low these mercenaries will go. It was a hard lesson but we know now. The Black Hands won’t get quarter from us again. But don’t let it ever stop you from considering mercy for others, Mike. Our job is to fight. Killing may be part of it, but never all of it.’

  Chalkley leaned forward and pulled himself up on his crutches. ‘Get cleaned up and get something to eat. The word is that the Grey is coming back in. There will be a meeting this afternoon.’ The one-legged man was at the door in two swings of his crutches. He stopped and looked back. ‘Get what rest you can Mike. I’ve got a feeling that this could be it. When Trahern is involved, things tend to get final.’

  CHAPTER 63: STRATEGY

  The meeting had just started and already Johnson felt that events had passed beyond him. They were on their last cast. Trahern’s news had sealed it. Either abandon the Rim or risk everything.

  Passages! There were Passages at the back of the Rim. Possibly all along its length, the Scholar had added, most impassable because of the proximity of dead zone and massed matter. Yet one, at least, open to the enemy.

  ‘They can reinforce and re-supply indefinitely. We are limited. They win if we go on as we are,’ said the Armourer. ‘But that is not their plan. They are manoeuvring us for the final blow, to be administered by the Rim itself.’ He glanced to the Scholar. ‘Now we perceive their schedule, feel the hand of their planners. Finally we begin to see their strategy,’ he concluded. ‘Control of a Passage to add to their other conquests. A Passage unknown to the Inner Belt. That is a prize!’

  Unlimited foes and the Rim set to crush us, and he is happy.
Johnson wondered at the minds of men. Elsewise was the only one who seemed to share his dismay, a look of mild apprehension had settled on the Scholar’s usually composed face. The others were as keen as the Armourer. There was no choice. They would not abandon the Rim.

  ‘They could attack Base from here,’ said Bethane.

  ‘If they hadn’t already gained control,’ said the Armourer. ‘It would be of more use to the Houses as a surprise for the Inner Belt when they respond.’

  ‘How do we stop them here?’ asked Chalkley.

  The Armourer waved them in around the model, set out on the ground now to accommodate the crowd. Their numbers were large. All the marine sergeants were in, except for Tollen up at the supply base. ‘We are here,’ the Armourer pointed.

  Johnson recognised the western low.

  ‘The new ground is there.’

  A strong concentric pattern dominated the area he indicated. More oval really, corrected Johnson to himself. The north-south running arms were longer. The centre was low, where the fragment had hit. It looks like a target, he thought, a stretched out bull’s-eye.

  ‘They will expect us to contest their movement there,’ said the Armourer. ‘It is what we have been doing all along. The sky is low. We can’t get aircraft in. It would be a marine operation. Our ships would stay back here.’ The Armourer moved to the corner of the model. He squatted and leaned over, pointing out features as he spoke. ‘The centre suits them. It is broad and open. As you go out, the ridges are higher, the valleys poorly developed. Only a few are low enough to get men through. The centre is better for them and that is where we would expect them to come. There is room to flank us. Also their heavy support could be brought up. Back here though, the ridges swing around.’ He indicated the southern end of the bull’s-eye. ‘Interference with the old pattern to the south has left a few gaps, offset breaks in the ridges. Here we could meet them, hold them, then drop back one ridge at a time. Make the enemy fight through the gaps. If we couldn’t stop them, then we would make a run back down this valley to the western low, back safe under our ships.’ The Armourer went silent for a moment. ‘However, Commander Trahern advises us that this area is going to get hit again, and soon.’ He indicated the bull’s-eye. ‘And that is not the big one. A bigger piece comes after and takes all this out.’ He waved his hand over the western low.