by Richard Fox
****
“King, I’m putting you up front with Masha this time,” Hoffman said.
“Is it my turn to get hit on?”
“Need fresh eyes on point. I don’t like getting stuck in a rut. I’ll trust that you’ll keep to the long, illustrious line of professionals who wore the bloodstripe before you if she bats those big blues at you.”
King frowned but held his comment. “You know they’re blue?”
Hoffman’s cheeks flushed.
“I bet she’s up to something. She’s been working me—not you—since we caught her. You’re with her in there and it’ll throw a monkey wrench into her plan. Keep her from trying anything that’ll force us to shoot her and the ox.”
King studied him carefully. “I hate spies. The ‘I know you know that I know that you know’ game is a pain in the ass. I miss when we could just shoot things to solve our problems. Easier and more honest.”
“That’s why you’re taking a turn up front. Once we’re inside, you’ll take Garrison and escort them all the way to the local police station. We need to lock them up someplace stronger than a field base. Nothing changes once we’re inside. The mission is still the mission, and I have a feeling she’ll make a break for one our safe houses if we give her a chance.”
“Shouldn’t we stick together in that case?” King rubbed the back of his neck. “Call back the rest of the team, get Duke and Booker to help us out a bit? Maybe even Max if he’s recovered?”
“Of course. I just want you to know that you’re carrying the ball if things start to go sideways. Complete the mission no matter what,” Hoffman said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s get moving.” Hoffman signaled Garrison and Opal, then spoke to the Ibarrans. “Medvedev, I don’t want to see you more than ten feet away from Opal. I’ll be watching you. Garrison will be on overwatch. Masha, you’re going to show King the way.”
She glared at him. He ignored her and ordered the team to move.
Darkness and freezing mist helped them for once. He felt exposed and noisy without his armor. His team had spent so much time training in the gear and maximizing all its technological benefits that going in their under-armor pseudo-muscle suits felt strange.
Not all the Rakka slept, though many did, and once night fell, he didn’t see any Sanheel officers. They seemed to congregate in a large longhouse-style tent that smelled like cooking food. Strange music came from behind the oversized tent flaps. Whenever a group of wandering Rakka approached, Hoffman and his team stepped back into the shadows until they passed.
“Barn door’s open,” Garrison said. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
Hoffman, too tired to laugh, continued.
Masha understood her business. She didn’t take them straight through the camp, but through the areas that were little used. Feeding lines and equipment repair centers were clustered with enemy fighters at all hours of the day and night. The perimeters were guarded by patrols. Areas closer to the wall were dominated by masses of Rakka ready to deploy at a moment’s notice.
After about an hour, they worked their way into the lightly populated area that Masha had pointed out before they began the stealth mission.
King tapped what would have been the collar of his uniform if not in the pseudo-muscle gear—the signal to summon the unit commander forward. Hoffman moved up silently.
“She wants to talk to you,” King said.
“Go ahead,” Hoffman said.
She hesitated, then spoke. “This last part is tricky. It’s an open area and I’m not sure how good their night vision is. If we can get to the wall, I can find a doorway—almost a hatch, really. The only good thing about it is that the Sanheel will be too big to chase us into it if something goes wrong.”
“This section of the wall has a fraction of the Kesaht facing it, still far too many for us to fight through if someone sounds the alarm,” Hoffman said.
“I suggest being really quiet.”
“Let’s get moving,” Hoffman said.
“At least you’re not a coward,” she said.
Hoffman resisted the urge to tell her that was exactly what she had called him when they first met on New Bastion.
They left the relative concealment of the mostly sleeping Kesaht camp. Hoffman guided them with hand signals, encouraging them to stay close enough to communicate without bunching up to become easy targets if the alarm went up. The journey across the short distance seemed to take forever. When they reached the door tucked into the base of the city wall, Hoffman wondered if he had held his breath for the last several hundred meters.
“All right, Masha, it’s the moment of truth,” Hoffman said.
“Horse-man coming,” Opal said.
Hoffman looked around, unable to hear anything unusual. The mist was sliding away on a breeze and stars twinkled above. He felt exposed.
“Your doughboy has good ears,” Medvedev said. “Kesaht stealth patrol, with a Sanheel officer. Probably probing the defenses. That’s why it was so easy to get through their line. The active part of the camp on the other side of the city is a distraction.”
“Get ready,” Hoffman said. “Stealth weapons if you can. Garrison, stand on Masha if you have to. Medvedev, I expect you’re fighting on our side right now.”
“I’ll fight. Watch and learn,” Medvedev said. “The legion knows how to kill these things.”
“What crawled up your ass?” Garrison asked.
“I’m tired of working with amateurs.”
“Med, buddy, we’re going to go a few rounds when this is over,” Garrison said.
“Looking forward to it.”
Garrison took Masha by the arm. “Don’t run off. I’ve got an evaluation coming up.”
Hoffman, King, Opal, and Medvedev moved around the curve of the wall to approach the Sanheel probe.
“Opal, jump on that officer and break his neck. Quietly.”
“Opal kill enemy.”
“Not gonna work,” King said as they met a half-dozen Rakka ahead of the Sanheel officer.
The Rakka stepped back, startled, then charged forward, screaming war cries.
“Get that door open!” Hoffman shouted as he lunged forward with his Ka-Bar extended.
A gauss round slipped by his head, taking his first opponent directly between the eyes. Two more enemy fell on top of the first.
“Kill enemy!” Opal yanked his hammer off his back and rushed the Sanheel, who reared up and flailed at the doughboy with steel-shod hooves.
Opal ducked sideways and swung the crude weapon in a looping, horizontal arc. One of the Sanheel’s rear legs exploded and his entire mass plummeted on top of Opal.
The doughboy rolled sideways but too slowly and the eight-foot-tall alien crashed down and rolled over him.
“Opal mad!” The doughboy twisted free of the horse-flesh avalanche, ducking away from flailing hooves. He came up covered in frozen dirt and muck, swinging his hammer downward on the Sanheel officer’s exposed neck.
Medvedev slipped aside from a Rakka spear thrust, palm-striking the passing elbow a fraction of a second later, hyperextending the joint and driving the damaged arm across the Rakka’s body. In virtually the same instant, he pulled the Rakka’s belt knife with his right hand, stabbed it in the throat, dropped to one knee, and stabbed it twice in the femoral artery inside the thigh.
Medvedev stood as the Rakka’s partner jumped at him, head-butting his new opponent hard enough to knock him off his feet. “Now I fight for the legion and the Lady!”
Hoffman retracted his Ka-Bar, unslung his gauss riffle, and opened fire on a half-dozen charging Rakka. The warriors had bayonets fixed to their machine guns and seemed desperate to draw blood.
“If they weren’t so stupid, we’d be dead already!” King shouted, dropping another pair of the berserkers with well-placed shots.
Another round flashed between Hoffman and King, visible only because it struck a particularly large Rakka in the throat. Both men
hesitated.
“Where the hell did that come from?” King asked.
“Masha, get that door open!” Hoffman said.
“Yes,” Masha said. “We’re inside. There’s a second door that will be more difficult. Hold them off a little longer.”
“Running out of time. Get it open or we’re leaving,” Hoffman said.
She disappeared into the shadows of a short, low-ceilinged tunnel and Hoffman ducked halfway into the doorway to watch her, the darkness giving her movements a surreal unevenness. With muzzle flashes dancing in his vision, it was hard to see exactly what she was doing.
She looked over her shoulder, paused, then held up a hand for him to stay back. “It is trickier than I remember. Sixty seconds and we’ll be inside the wall.”
“That’s a long time right now.” Rakka bullets ricocheted near Hoffman’s head. He turned, fired, and turned back to make sure Masha wasn’t betraying his team.
She knelt near the bottom of the door.
“What are you doing?” Hoffman asked.
“The door won’t open. I’m sorry.”
“Did you try to pick the lock?” Hoffman said, gesturing toward the metal box more than two feet above the bottom of the door.
She looked at the box, her manner distracted—almost stunned.
Hoffman moved farther into the passage, furious at leaving the battle. “Tell me what you’re doing, or by the Saint, I’ll show you what we do to traitors in the field.”
Her eyes were moist, slightly unfocused. “I thought I saw a piece of archaeotech. That was the real reason I came here. We can eventually get in this way, but it isn’t the best. I hoped to recover the alien technology and escape the Kesaht.”
“Are you crying?” he asked.
“No, Lieutenant Hoffman. I’m tired of failure,” she said. “It is ungallant of you to mock me.”
“I’m not mocking you,” he said as a bullet bounced into the low-ceilinged hallway. “We need to go. No more secret quests. If you think there’s an artifact, you better tell me about it.”
Eyes downcast, she nodded. “Just leave me here. I’ve no reason to continue.”
He hauled her to her feet and marched her outside, shielding her body with his when they emerged. “Change of plans,” he announced to the team.
An incoming gauss round flashed over Garrison, killing two lined-up Rakka.
“I love that guy.” Garrison half-laughed as he fired his weapon into an increasingly dense swarm of Rakka.
“What’d I miss?” Hoffman saw more enemies falling than seemed possible and realized what was happening. Only one person he knew could execute that kind of precision shooting.
One of the Rakka staggered backward, staring into the mist as though seeing a demon. “Iasta sivu!”
One Rakka, then two, then all of them repeated the curse. They fell over each other in a panic.
“They’re retreating!” Garrison shouted.
“It won’t last. We’ve got to abort,” King said. “There’s a gap in the enemy line, but Lady Luck isn’t going to wait forever.”
Hoffman saw a glint off a mirror from a line of trees beyond the Kesaht camp—two signal flashes, followed by one, followed by three.
“That’s code for clear to move,” King said.
“Strike Marine code,” Garrison said. “You think that’s Duke?”
“Who else can shoot like that? Look sharp and move out. Can’t let Duke do all the work.” Hoffman dragged Masha by her arm.
“No, no, no!” Masha yelled. “We must get into the city!”
Snow fell from the windless sky.
“Not more snow! I was going to take a hot bath in there,” Masha said.
Chapter 18
The sky was actually blue by the time Duke and Booker reached the small town at the end of the valley. They were no less cold, but not tortured by a blizzard.
“Looks like they have some pretty high-speed lookouts,” Duke said, pointing at a group of kids darting between the trees.
“Colonist kids. Wonder if they were born here,” Booker said. She walked backward for a few steps to observe their rear. A few strides later, Duke did the same thing while she faced forward. It was a relaxed order of march, something they had been doing since they broke camp this morning.
The next picket of youngsters they came to had more kids, but they held their distance.
“And now we’re surrounded,” Duke said. With Booker at his side, they strode into the small town of Terran colonists. Adults came out to greet them, a few armed with militia weapons.
“It’s the Ice Claw!” said one of the young men, pointing at Duke and his rifle. “Who’s the other one?”
Booker snorted. “Wait. Why aren’t they pointing at me?”
“You can be my trusty sidekick. I’ll give you a good name, like Doc the Whiny…”
“I’m not your sidekick. You can get side kicked…”
None of the buildings in the town were old. Duke guessed there had been several expansions. The first people to come here had used prefabricated dwellings. After a while, they started building out of natural materials. What he didn’t see were any of the elaborate buildings or exotic walking lanes of the ancient Koen civilization.
“No danger of finding artifacts here,” Duke said.
“It never seemed like it worked out in the Last Stand on Takeni movie. The original Breitenfeld Strike Marines were always finding something bad. I like this place. It’s homey. We haven’t had to kill anybody today, which is nice.”
Duke patted his side patch for his chewing tobacco, then drew his hand back. “You’re getting soft.”
The crowd grew and surrounded them.
“I’m getting tired of playing second fiddle to a long-in-the-tooth prima donna with delusions of grandeur,” Booker said. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“You carry my ammo. You’re the ammo bearer. AB.”
“I know what AB really stands for. Dick.”
One of the town elders, or some type of official, approached and shook Duke’s hand. “Anything you need, Sergeant Duke. I apologize for the kids. They think the idea of the Ice Claw very romantic. I just want you to know we are informed out here in the backwoods. My cousin is an aide to Captain Pine. He sent me a note to watch out for you and your assistant.”
“‘Ice Claw’?” Duke asked and spat tobacco juice into the snow.
“You haven’t heard?” the older man took a data slate from his jacket and tapped it quickly. He handed it over to Duke. On the screen was a paused video of alien writing on a wrecked building. Duke hit the play icon and the screen panned to dead Rakka and burning vehicles.
“Intelligence officials say the words translate as ‘Fear the Ice Claw’s reach’,” came from the screen, the tone of the words matching a newscast. “The message has been found written on the invaders armor and vehicles, and is a direct reference to the actions of one Strike Marine sniper’s efforts to waylay the alien advance. The Strike Marine, identified as one Staff Sergeant Duke, is currently operating outside Koen City.”
Duke grunted and handed the slate back.
He jerked a thumb at his rifle.
“Her name’s Buffy,” Duke said.
“They didn’t even mention me?” Booker tossed her hands up. “Not even as the ammo bearer? Executive assistant? Better looking half of the duo?”
“This is Bluehill, head of our militia,” the elder said as an older man hurried over, his breath fogging in the cold air.
Bluehill half saluted, then brought his hand back to his side. Salutes were a mortal sin in a combat environment. Signaling who was important was like asking a sniper to kill someone.
“Major Michael Bluehill. Formerly of the 90th Ranger Regiment. Been on Koen since the beginning. Helped put down these prefabs. Didn’t know then we’d be defending them from aliens. So that’s why the layout is less than ideal.”
Duke was prepared to comment, but doubted he was needed in this conversation. The man
talked. Booker shot him annoyed looks. He tried not to laugh.
“…So you see, Duke—I can call you Duke, right—that ridge is a perfect sniper perch. Good concealment, only one way up to it, and even if they know you’re there, what could they do about it? No bumbling Kesaht countersniper can match your skill,” Bluehill said.
“I’d be more worried about artillery and crescent fighters,” Duke said.
“Well, sure. But what’s the chance of that happening?” Bluehill asked. He shouted at one of his militia men to cover the perch with more camouflage.
Duke hammer-fisted Booker in the shoulder when the townsmen were distracted. “Stop kicking me. Just stand there and be a medic. I’m the sniper here.”
“That’s better. Pull the net across,” Major Bluehill said, looking up at his very young, totally confused private. It didn’t seem the young man had any more faith in the position than Duke had.
“I’ll work my way around from another direction,” Duke said. “Rule of mine. Never be seen.”
“Never be seen going to your perch?”
“Never be seen. Anywhere.”
“Ah, gotcha,” Bluehill said.
“We could use a couple of those IRRs,” Booker pointed to a pallet with Infrared Guided Rockets the size of a forearm. “They can punch through Kesaht armor.”
Bluehill looked at her as though just realizing she was there. “You have to hit through the top armor, warheads are about fifty/fifty on a frontal attack. You’re with Sergeant Duke?”
“Maybe he’s with me.”
“I just thought…How do you determine seniority when you’re both…I mean, you look so young.”
“I am young compared to that old boot.”
“Thank you, Major,” Duke said, taking rocket tubes from the major’s men. “We should get set up. You should evacuate. Especially the children and old folks.”
“Evacuate?” Bluehill and the town elder asked at the same time.
“There are about three divisions of Kesaht coming this way. They will overrun this town. All I’m going to do is slow them down. Captain Pine has a PDF blocking force in route, but it won’t be much. I suggest, Major, that you start digging trenches there, and there, and there.” He pointed at several terrain features in the narrow, ascending valley. “Interlock defensive fields of fire. Set up a fallback point there and evacuate all nonessential personnel.”