Rage of Winter (Terran Strike Marines Book 2)

by Richard Fox

Duke and Booker counted in silence as a long line of vehicles came into view and maneuvered down the switchback road.

  “Most of those are lightly armored. That one, right there, is open-topped. What the hell is wrong with these Rakka dudes? Do they enjoy freezing their balls off?”

  “Mountain clansmen before being assimilated into the Kesaht hegemony,” Duke said.

  “How do you know all this shit?”

  “I read the briefings.”

  Booker lowered her binoculars. “That wasn’t in our brief, not for this mission.”

  “I read all the briefings. Every non-classified document on the enemy I can find. Thought everyone did that,” Duke said.

  “I can make a shot from here.”

  “No.”

  “Give me a chance. I need to start logging shots,” she said.

  Duke raised one finger. It was a small motion, barely noticeable. “Patience. We’re hunting.”

  “What makes you think this’ll work?”

  “Kesaht are using Toth tech. Reminds me of an after-action report I read from the Ember War. A sniper named Bailey had to make a shield penetration on a high-value target.”

  “Toth? I thought they were gone,” Booker said.

  Duke spit into his bottle, a highly technical sniper skill learned only through experience.

  “Wait, you read old sniper files too? Like for fun?”

  “Do you read medical journals?”

  “Of course.”

  Duke studied the landscape for a moment. “Do you think I read that crap?” Three birds flew up from a copse of trees between their positions in the road. “Here we go.”

  An explosion sent a vehicle straight into the air, the sound reaching Duke and Booker a moment later. Smoke and flames trailed the vehicle during its upward progress. Rakka scrambled to each side of the road and went prone, weapons thrust out before them as they fired blindly.

  “Fourth truck. One thousand eight hundred ninety meters,” Duke said.

  “Got it,” Booker said. She took up the slack on her trigger and waited.

  Gauss bullets from the PDF ambush team bounced off the shield protecting the Sanheel officer. The half-humanoid, half-horse creature aimed its oversize weapon into the woods and placed accurate fire on the PDF position.

  “Three, two, one.” Duke and Booker fired simultaneously.

  The Sanheel’s power shield wavered but held.

  “You missed.”

  “I…might have.”

  Duke slapped in a new power pack, then kicked his boot against hers. “Get ready.”

  She was already recharging her rifle when he spoke.

  “Three, two, one.” They fired.

  A snap-crack later, the Sanheel’s head exploded in dark mist.

  Rakka infantry saw where their officer had been firing on the PDF and opened up with everything in their arsenal.

  Another Sanheel rushed forward, bypassing the bottleneck of armored vehicles. The galloping officer skidded to a halt and opened fire on the ambushers. The Rakka used his accurate fire to direct their bullets and shoulder rockets.

  Gusting wind blew snow and smoke across the battlefield.

  “Aim nine degrees left,” Duke said.

  “I can make the shot.”

  “Don’t argue,” he said. “Three, two…bang.”

  Both sniper rounds blasted through the Sanheel. It twisted and reared as it crumpled to the ground.

  A ripple of visible fear swept through the Rakka line. One moment they were brutalizing the PDF ambush team, the next they were huddling around an armored personnel carrier. The Rakka equivalent of a sergeant or small-team leader yelled and screamed and shook his fists but changed nothing.

  “Load and hold fire. Be ready,” Duke said to Booker as he took aim at the armored personnel carrier that had yet to open. He put a round through it and watched ammunition cook off. Seconds later, an Ixio officer escaped out the back. Long and gangly, even less physically suited to this environment than humans, the Ixio ran into a snow-covered field.

  “He wants to die tired,” Duke said. “Time to fill up your logbook. Range, nineteen hundred seventy-nine meters. Target moving at consistent speed. Lead by two meters and watch your breath control.”

  Booker drew back the trigger of her sniper rifle until the weapon sent out a powerful gauss round. A moment later, the top half of the Ixio splattered across a snowdrift.

  “All right. Class is over. Time for the teacher to play,” Duke said. “Switch to low-power shots and make them count.” He began dropping Rakka in quick succession and could feel Booker watching him.

  “That’s a lot of kills,” she said. “I wish I could acquire targets that fast and hit most of the time.”

  “Every time,” Duke corrected. “You must decide to hit every time, not most of the time. Get to work. Take your time and focus on your breath control and range.”

  He shot three more as they emerged from cover and made a break for the tree line. Before long, the Rakka were in full retreat. Some tried to recover vehicles while others sprinted in panic.

  Duke reloaded, then looked at the storm.

  Booker followed his gaze. “We should head back to camp. This position is pretty hot right now and I don’t like the look of that storm.”

  Duke shook his head. “No. Got an idea.”

  “Uh…I thought only officers got visited by the bad-idea fairy.”

  “Snipers only have good ideas.”

  Booker stifled a slightly hysterical laugh. “You want to go looking for an army of Kesaht?”

  “Got it in one.”

  “I’m down like a clown,” she said. “I think I’ve reached level one sniper crazy.”

  “Only eleven more levels to go,” Duke said. “If this works, we can really put a hurting on the Kesaht.”

  Chapter 15

  Tell me again,” Hoffman said.

  Masha repeated her description of the route through the high-altitude maze. Across from Hoffman and Masha, King listened attentively while Garrison and Opal waited just out of earshot with Medvedev.

  “It is not something to go through, but over. Like walking rooftop to rooftop,” she said.

  “Except we’ll be traversing stone spires and vertical escarpments instead of buildings.” King opened and closed a fist, then held it flexed for a moment—clearly restraining his temper. “With no cover or concealment. If you’re wrong, we fall thousands of feet to our deaths—and that’s assuming you don’t have confederates waiting to ambush us.”

  “There is no one to help me but Medvedev. As for the route we must take, my bodyguard might remember details I have forgotten.”

  “I doubt that,” Hoffman said. “Ibarran spies aren’t known for poor memory or insensitivity to details.”

  “Touché,” Masha said. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. The way down from here is deceptive. Take the obvious way, you will find yourself on an exposed ledge as the storm moves in.” She nodded toward clouds stacking across the horizon.

  “This route doesn’t make sense,” King said. “Whoever these ancients were, they made it harder to get up here, not easier.”

  “You must be tired, Gunney,” she said.

  King clenched his jaw, holding her gaze as though they were prize fighters squaring off.

  “The maze work was a defensive measure. Threats to their civilization always came from that side of the mountains,” she said.

  “You assume,” Hoffman said.

  “My assumptions are frequently correct. This is my area of expertise,” she said.

  “Of course. I forgot you were sent here to look for alien artifacts. Let’s talk about that,” Hoffman said.

  “Oh, right, guess this is the time I should see if the Terran Union wants me as a double agent,” Masha said with a sniff.

  “What was that?” Medvedev asked.

  “We’re a package deal,” the spy said. “But good luck convincing him to flip. He’s like a damn stump.”
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br />   “I cannot wait to be done with you two,” Hoffman said. “Let’s figure out how we’re getting through this mess.”

  He waited for King to chime in, but his top NCO kept his eyes on the horizon.

  “I might have made a different decision if you had described this secret path of yours. Rope bridges and rock spires would be more inviting if the ropes hadn’t disintegrated a thousand years ago,” Hoffman said.

  “Have courage, Strike Marine,” she said.

  “Garrison, watch her.” Hoffman moved away to speak with King. “What do you think?”

  King stared at his feet, then raised his gaze. “Not much choice at this point. We use what safety lines we have. Go down ten feet at a time. Recover the lines and repeat. It’ll take forever.”

  “Speed is essential in this. Move without the safety lines?”

  “Risky. Opal’s proven to be a weak climber,” King said.

  “No choice.” Hoffman assembled the team and the prisoners.

  “Masha and I will lead. Garrison will follow, holding security over the entire team. I’d rather none of us have to shoot you, Masha, but we’ll wound you and carry you if necessary. If Medvedev steps out of line, my men will shoot to kill.” He looked at the big Ibarran legionnaire. “Are we clear?”

  Medvedev nodded. “Yes, Lieutenant Hoffman. We are very clear. This is what I assumed from the beginning.”

  “Good,” Hoffman said. “Opal, your primary job is to watch Medvedev. Keep him alive if possible. Kill him if necessary.”

  “Yes, sir,” Opal said.

  “King, you’re also with Opal and Medvedev, adjusting your position as necessary. You’re responsible for guarding the rear of our formation.”

  “Yes, sir,” King said.

  Masha led them down a steep trail to the first footbridge. Hoffman wasn’t sure how it was still swinging but saw clearly that the hand ropes had rotted away long ago. He hesitated at the edge of the platform, finding it flexible and intricate by design. “This bridge looks like archaeotech. Simple, but amazingly well-engineered.”

  “You probably made the same assumptions that I did, that there were handrails or ropes that have degraded over time. Medvedev and I decided during our first trip here this is not the case. These causeways were made for creatures who didn’t fear heights, or perhaps didn’t walk on two feet as we do,” Masha said.

  Hoffman followed her across the bridge, keeping his knees bent and controlling his breathing as the surface moved left and right under their weight.

  “You could crawl on your belly. Hold on to the platform with your arms and legs. It would be like climbing a rope horizontally,” Masha said. “The problem we found with this approach last time was that your packs tend to pull you around to the underside of the structure. Hanging from this footbridge with all my gear tugging me downward is not one of my fondest memories.”

  Hoffman looked at the rest of his team waiting to step onto the footbridge. The simple act of turning his head to face Masha nearly tipped him over the side. “Let’s just get across and take a break.”

  She smiled, then walked confidently to the end of the bridge. He looked down, seeing the chasm below his feet as wind buffeted him. The bridge became less stable without her weight.

  Cautiously, he raised his gaze to hers. She watched him, arms crossed over her chest.

  Step-by-step, he reached the ledge. “Hoffman for King, copy?”

  “King for Hoffman, receiving clearly.”

  “Allow the bridge to come to a complete stop, then come across with Garrison. The bridge needs a certain amount of weight to remain stable. Medvedev won’t do anything with Masha on this side, and if he does, my money’s on Opal.”

  “Understood. Coming across with Garrison.”

  Hoffman and Masha watched until the entire team was on the ledge together, then he looked down at the next phase of the high-altitude maze. The course they needed to travel cut back upon itself and was invisible from this angle. It irked him that he had the high ground but couldn’t see the route.

  “All right, Masha, let’s go,” Hoffman said.

  As they descended toward the bottom of the canyon, level by painfully slow level, he looked up. Attacking in that direction would be suicidal. He wondered what kind of creatures were this adept at mountain climbing.

  “Are you starting to trust me?” Masha asked.

  “No.”

  “I could have killed you ten times during the last few hours,” she said.

  “My team would continue the mission. King would make your life miserable, right after he killed your bodyguard,” Hoffman said.

  “That would be unfortunate,” she said.

  “Which part?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Chapter 16

  A pair of Rakka huddled near a fire, its yellow light illuminating hairy faces and scraggly uniforms. Frost and mystery stains covered their body armor. Weapons were invisible beneath layers of improvised clothing—bedrolls and blankets wrapped on top of combat gear.

  A gauntlet grabbed one around the mouth from behind as a blade protruded from the Rakka’s throat. His eyes went wide but probably never saw the exact same thing happen to his companion.

  Duke lowered his victim to the ground, then wiped the bloody blade on the Kesaht battle kit. Booker, behind the other dead Rakka, did likewise.

  “Told you this is where they are,” Duke said.

  “Nice of these assholes to shine a beacon for us,” she said as she kicked snow toward the fire.

  Duke grabbed her arm. “Don’t do that.”

  They backed away as though they’d never been there. Snow was already covering the bodies, leaving them as growing mounds. When Duke looked back a short time later, he could see the glow but few details. Gray clouds raced low over the mountains, often skimming the ground. Snow fell so hard he couldn’t tell the precipitation from the storm system that produced it. He could hear a groaning sound and thought the wind might be angry enough to rid Koen of humans and Kesaht.

  Booker held his gaze, obviously wanting to say something.

  “Go ahead and break the first rule. Tell me how freaking cold you are,” Duke said.

  “I really didn’t think it could get worse. My fingertips feel like I’ve been pounding them with hammers. This is like an out-of-body experience,” she said.

  “Worst I’ve been in.”

  Booker perked up. “Really? An old bastard like you has probably been in thousands of storms.”

  “Watch it, spring buck.” He swallowed chewing tobacco inside his helmet. “I’m thirty-seven. Not old.”

  Booker made some kind of grunting snarl in response. “All right, maybe I deserved that.” A crosswind knocked her sideways. Duke slipped and went to one knee.

  “Yep, worst storm I’ve ever seen. Let’s go kill someone.”

  They moved down a steep animal trail, slow and steady all the way to a low ridge about one hundred meters from a large Kesaht camp. Duke went prone, the cold ground soaking through his insulated armor as though he were wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Booker snuggled in next to him with her sniper kit at her side and no more words of complaint. Freezing and exhausted, Duke didn’t feel like a conversation either.

  He spied on the camp for several minutes before either of them bothered to whisper in their IR mics.

  “Might be a full division. Not sure about their table of organization and equipment, but it’s something close to that. Four squadrons of tanks. Reconnaissance vehicles. Armored transports. What am I missing?” Duke asked.

  “I’m just checking your numbers against my numbers,” Booker said.

  Duke’s first indication that this was the cream of the Kesaht crop was the frequent patrols, one of which was headed their way. “Get ready for company. They’ll have to come really close to spot us.”

  “Standing by to stand by,” Booker whispered into her helmet chin mic. “Have I told you prone is my least favorite position? Hurts my neck.”

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nbsp; “Sucks to be you. Good thing you’re not a real sniper.” He paused. “But if you were, you could roll up your poncho and put it under your chest. Elevate your thoracic spine and take pressure off your neck.”

  “You couldn’t tell me this an hour ago?”

  “Don’t. Move. At all,” Duke whispered.

  The Rakka patrol stomped through the miserable weather, closer and closer to Duke and Booker. Gusts of wind pelted ice against Duke’s helmet loud enough he could barely hear Booker when she talked, as infrequent as that was now that the Rakka were dangerously close.

  The first Rakka passed over Duke, nearly stepping on him. The aliens were bigger than he expected up close, the Rakka’s hair and armor and demeanor as wild as any xenotype Duke had ever faced. The patrol had a heavy musk somewhere between a wet dog and old straw. Seeing them in battle led him to believe they were always on edge berserkers. What he saw now was a suffering soldier. The Rakka point man would likely welcome combat rather than endure night after night of this bitter storm.

  The main body of the patrol passed. The rearguard was almost as large as the main body, which Duke found interesting.

  Booker whispered over the IR commlink once they were passed. “Do you think they’re worried about ambush? With that rearguard?”

  “I’m not sure. So far, we’ve been on the money predicting what they’ll do in any given situation. The first mistake we make will probably be our last,” Duke said. “Pathfinders deal with this type of stuff a lot. I read their reports too.”

  “I skim, looking for info on new and interesting diseases.”

  Duke aimed his binoculars at the camp and went over it section by section, looking for any detail he had missed.

  “Lot of good it does us to find this place,” Booker said. “There’s no way PDF arty can range this far out. What exactly is the point? I mean, we can take out a couple officers before they find us. You gave me the impression we were going to strike a major blow.”

  “O ye of little faith. I’m going to kill them all.”

  “How?” Booker’s fatigue was starting to show in the tone of her voice, just as Duke knew he would be less than pleasant in any conversation not relevant to ending this mission and getting warm. “We’ve got maybe two dozen rounds between us.”