Rage of Winter (Terran Strike Marines Book 2)

by Richard Fox

  Major Bluehill swallowed, staring wide-eyed.

  “It’s not a bad location, Major. Perfect for a delaying action.”

  “OK. Thank you, Sergeant.”

  The people of the town and their militia sprang into action, ringing a church bell to summon everyone for work.

  “That went well,” Booker said.

  “Fun while it lasted. Thanks for ruining my moment of glory.”

  They climbed past the over-camouflaged sniper perch and kept going. Duke found an animal trail, followed it around the town, and discovered several possible perches.

  “Here? Good cover and concealment. Three escape routes. Two natural cave bunkers close by in the event of artillery strikes,” Booker asked.

  “No. Back to town, I think. Building top. The depth of the valley has the town in shadow for a few more hours. Good concealment and good escape routes for afterward,” Duke said.

  “I think we should go back to Bluehill’s spot. They went through all that trouble to set it up for us,” Booker said. When she saw the look on Duke’s face, she added, “Kidding.”

  A lone artillery shell, probably a ranging shot, whistled down and exploded on the amateur sniper hide.

  Duke and Booker stared for several seconds, then made their way to a dark, three-story building. Kesaht countersnipers and artillery fired blindly into most of the potential overwatch positions.

  Duke rolled out his sniper kit on a roof with a good view of the Kesaht advance up the valley. “You’re up, Doc.”

  “Oh, yay. I’m the opening act.” Booker went prone behind her gauss sniper rifle, pulling it in tight to her shoulder as she pointed her toes out. “Give me range on the Sanheel officer with the red sash.”

  “1997 meters. Crosswind gusting twenty-five. Barometric pressure 22.9.”

  “Shot away.” Booker emptied the air from her lungs, paused, fired. The top of the Sanheel officer’s head blew off.

  “Next target,” Duke said, “1990 meters.”

  “Wait.”

  “Get to work, Doc.”

  “Got ‘em. Shot away.” A second later, she drilled her second, long-range shot.

  She missed the third and fourth but hit the fifth Sanheel in the throat as he rode in a panicked circle.

  “Duke, I think they have Doppler devices.”

  “I saw them as well. Triangulation technology is a countersniper’s wet dream. My turn. Don’t call my ranges, just stay on your rifle and take your time with follow-on shots.” He lined up six shots and took all six targets down with smooth efficiency. “We won’t be able to stay much longer.”

  He put a round through the engine block of the lead vehicle, forcing crews to drag it off the narrow road.

  “Duke…” Booker said.

  “I know. They’re pointing at us. Time to go.” He led the way across the building top and down the back way.

  Crescent fighters dropped out of the overcast sky, strafing the building seconds after they left it. Kesaht landers raced over the town, flaring their engines to a sudden stop, and descended to release airborne assault troops in several locations.

  “What a shit sandwich!” Booker said as they ran for the corner of a low building and Koen unleashed another storm.

  “Just start eating it by the corner!” Duke yelled. He slid to one knee while raising his sniper rifle to fire a single round at a stack of enemy Rakka bulldogging their way around the corner. Five of the Kesaht grunts flopped onto their backs, their blood spurting through the falling snow. The point-blank round continued through a building behind them.

  “Moving!” Duke said. Jumping to his feet, he darted forward.

  “Covering.” Booker switched to her patrol rifle, using three-round bursts where necessary. “These guys are tough.”

  “Set,” Duke said, slinging his sniper rifle and pulling his close-quarters battle weapon around front.

  “Moving,” Booker said.

  More Kesaht landers passed overhead. Duke and Booker raced from strongpoint to strongpoint, killing on the move or from stationary positions.

  “Kind of miss the team right now!” Booker shouted. She snapped her bayonet forward on her right arm sleeve, stabbed a charging Rakka in the throat, and kept moving. “Need to reload.”

  “Then do it.” Duke transitioned to his pistol and cleared out a dense knot of assaulting Rakka. “Sorry, dudes. You’re in my way.” He front-kicked one who wasn’t quite dead and ran over him as Booker followed, reloading on the run.

  Sniper rifle and kit tight on his back, carbine held in his left hand against the strap and pistol in his right, he found his best speed and hustled forward. “I need to reload my primary when you’re done.”

  “Do it.” Booker turned, assassinating a squad of Rakka trying to catch up with them. Return fire grazed her left shoulder and helmet.

  “The PDF is pulling back, taking the local militia with them,” Duke said when they reached the edge of town. Farther up the valley, near a bridge, the PDF launched rockets and mortars at the Kesaht entering the other side of the town in force. A company of tough infantrymen led by veterans advanced through their ranks and took up a strong position ahead of the bridge. Soldiers teamed up behind rock formations and disabled vehicles.

  Duke and Booker ran to them, then past them.

  “Ice Claw!” they cheered.

  Duke hesitated. These men were digging in to hold the line against an irresistible enemy advance.

  “Get moving, Sergeant,” an officer said. “That’s an order. We’ll need you to cover us during the tactical retreat.”

  “Yes, sir,” Duke said.

  Booker ran at his side. “They’re not going anywhere.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter 19

  Two platoon-sized detachments of Rakka warriors and one Sanheel officer pursued them to the edge of the forest as Duke’s sniper rifle snapped rounds over the Strike Marine’s heads, taking a Sanheel in the chest and dropping him face-first into the snow. Rakka fired wildly from behind the Marines, kicking up tufts of snow and sending hissing rounds past Hoffman’s head. He pointed at a line of rocks just beyond the tree line and slid around the cover just as Duke fired again.

  Hoffman swung his rifle around a rock and opened fire on the charging aliens while Opal covered Masha with his bulk as she huddled against the rocks. Garrison and King joined Hoffman as they cut down the attackers. Medvedev held his pistol close to his chest, his eyes on Opal.

  Incoming bullets impacted trees, sending bark and leaves flying. Gouts of snow and dirt blossomed into the air with no rhyme or reason. The Rakka charged forward until one with a bone necklace was shot by Garrison and pitched forward. In one heartbeat, the Rakka abandoned their charge and turned tail back to their camp. None of them stopped to check on the fallen Sanheel officer.

  Duke ceased firing.

  Hoffman faced Masha, who wasn’t breathing as hard as he had expected she would be after running for her life. “What were they yelling?” he asked.

  “I think it’s…cold claw, or something like that,” she said.

  Hoffman smiled wryly and looked toward the trees, wondering where his sniper was positioned.

  Masha moved closer and he was drawn to her presence. Cold, filthy, and exhausted down to his core, he still felt a thrill for the woman who was his worst enemy.

  She spoke softly. “He is very good.”

  “You keep your hands off my sniper.”

  “He shot my asset in the face. I will hold a grudge.”

  “You want to get on Duke’s bad side?” Hoffman asked.

  Masha walked ahead of them into the forest. “Now if we can only find this mysterious savior of ours.”

  Hoffman tried to activate his radio inside his helmet to contact the sniper before he remembered that he was completely without power. Not even a residual current generated by his movements existed at this point. He adjusted the sound baffles that he had ratcheted up to maximum during the running gun battle from the wall
and was rewarded moments later by a lonely whistle in the darkness.

  He turned to face the sound of a distant bird. “You hear that?”

  Masha cocked her head. “So?”

  “Ain’t no blue jays on this ice ball,” King said.

  “Exactly.” Hoffman listened carefully.

  “I’d recognize that pathetic squeaking anywhere,” Garrison said. “And I’m pretty sure that’s a cardinal, maybe one who dips tobacco.”

  “Let’s go.” Hoffman checked to make sure Opal and King were watching Medvedev, then fell in beside Masha. She really was cold. At times, he had thought her complaining was an act, and maybe it was up to a point. Right now, she looked small, miserable, and ready to be done with this misadventure.

  A familiar voice greeted them long before Garrison arrived at the point where he had assumed the sniper was hiding.

  “You’re just going to stomp through the forest now? I step away from the team for a couple days and you’re worse than a bunch of boots from basic training. And what was that panicked flight from the wall?” said Sergeant Duke from somewhere in the darkness.

  “I see you, you old dinosaur,” King said. “Get your lone-wolf ass out here so I can address your failure to help us sooner.”

  Duke stood up a few feet from King, who was facing the wrong direction. He held his sniper rifle on one hip so that it pointed at the sky, breaking the outline of his nature-enhanced camouflage. “I brought Booker.”

  “Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter,” Hoffman said. “Booker’s got the concealment talents of a potato.”

  Booker stood from the next stand of bushes. “I’m getting better.”

  “You’re not,” Duke said.

  Garrison strode forward, arms spread wide, and embraced the sniper in a hug that lifted the branch-covered man off the ground. “I never doubted you! Can you please, please loan me some of those modified heat packs snipers are always bragging about?”

  “Heat packs?” Masha nearly jumped into the air after Garrison’s question.

  “Why are you touching me?” Duke asked.

  Garrison backed away, apologizing with every step. “Hey, sorry, Duke. Just wanted you to know you’re still my favorite sniper. Even if you let me freeze, you didn’t let me die out there.”

  Booker moved awkwardly forward in the cumbersome camouflage. She had pieces of Koen bushes tied onto parts of her armor. “I have a few extra heat packs.”

  Garrison beamed, completely abandoning Duke in favor of the medic. “Hey, you look good in shrubbery. I ever tell you you’re my favorite medic? Really could’ve used you back there when that ox was ‘fixing’ my arm and shoulder.”

  Booker handed him a heat pack, then passed the rest of the bundle off to King. She faced Garrison with a frown. “I can see it.”

  Medvedev stiffened. “You can see a field-splinted arm and reset shoulder under his pseudo-muscle layer? I doubt it.”

  Booker faced him and tried disarm the legionnaire with a casual swipe of her hand. She got a firm grip on the weapon and used her armor to pull again. Medvedev held firm until she gave up.

  “You’re letting him do combat medicine and carry a weapon?” she asked. “Duke’s right. This unit has really gone downhill since we left it.”

  “What about us?” Masha asked. “Medvedev and I need heat packs.”

  “Fresh out, sister,” Booker said.

  “Bitch.”

  “Better check your girl, Med. She’s about to get choked,” Booker said.

  “Masha, don’t piss her off. She’s got a chip on her shoulder,” Medvedev growled.

  Booker jabbed a finger at the Ibarran legionnaire. “Have you forgotten about Max? I’ll show you a chip up your…”

  “Booker!” King grunted.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Medvedev said.

  Hoffman stared down his team, then took one of the heat packs and zipped it into his pseudo-muscle layer. “Let’s move out. Duke, fill me in while Booker checks on Garrison. We can do this on the move unless you think we need to stop, Booker.”

  “He’s made it this far. I’m not going to work on him until we’re safely inside the Delta FOB,” Booker said. “What’s your pain level, Garrison?”

  “The blue pills with the white stripes,” the breacher said. “Unless you’ve got the red ones? Then it hurts extra.”

  “Motrin and water? Fine,” Booker said. “Let’s hoof it to the FOB and everyone can get warm and eat. Then we take ground transport into the city. The Kesaht haven’t been able to fully surround it yet. We can get in with a lot less fuss than with the spy girl’s plan.”

  “My way should have worked,” Masha said.

  Duke looked over the Ibarran spy with something less than a professional eye. “I’d be interested in this little secret passage our lady of treachery was taking you through. Might be safer for someone stealthier than a team dragged down by two prisoners and a doughboy.”

  “This is why we keep you on overwatch,” Booker said.

  “You could get through the tunnel, Duke. The rest of your team, especially her,” Masha made a face at Booker, “lack necessary skills.”

  “No tunnel,” Hoffman said. “We’re done with that. Tell me what you’ve got, Booker.”

  “We’ll have to run a gauntlet to get inside, but we have armored ground cars that are pretty fast,” Booker said.

  “Let’s get to Delta and recover,” Hoffman said. “I’m exhausted from certain team members’ constant whining.” He looked at Garrison.

  “Sorry, s-s-s-sir.” Garrison made his teeth chatter as he answered, then inserted a battery into his armor, clipped it down, and shuddered like a cat. “Oh. Oohhhhh, yeah.”

  King smiled broadly as his armor heated up. “You brought a battery to activate said NCO’s heating element. Sergeant Madilyn Booker performs better than her peers in areas of planning, equipment maintenance, and getting along with others. Top marks. Promotion recommended.”

  “That’s all it takes?” Booker asked.

  “Your performance evaluation writes itself,” King said.

  “Gunney smiled!” Garrison said. “We’ll call it the Miracle of Koensuu Field.”

  Duke watched the team impassively.

  “What’s the situation inside the city?” Hoffman asked Duke and Booker while they hiked.

  “Bad,” Duke said. “That wall doesn’t do much. More decorative than functional—and incomplete. Looks neat, but the Kesaht sent in raids. Their last serious assault was barely stopped. The air battle’s been particularly fierce, looks like.”

  “I have some firsthand testimony of that,” Hoffman said. “It’s good to see you, Duke. How’s Max?”

  “Could be worse. Not dead yet.”

  They came through a tree line and the medic motioned to a ring of small tents and a pair of armored cars covered by active-camo netting. Hoffman saw motion in foxholes dotting the perimeter.

  “And here we are. Delta,” Booker said, pointing at the encampment. “In all its glory.”

  “Forward operating base,” Duke said. “I told them I didn’t need it, but they plunked down a QRF team full of untried but over-trained PDF Rangers. Best they have on planet.”

  “They assigned you a PDF Ranger team for support?” Hoffman asked.

  “There have been some incidents. Regulars and militia are doing as good as expected with no experience under their belt. Captain Pine asked me what I needed. I told him my Strike Marine team or some Rangers,” Duke said. “I was half joking, but here we are.”

  Hoffman noted well-placed pickets with alert soldiers improving their foxholes. “Let’s get warm.”

  Garrison and Masha ran to the tent, ducking inside well before the others.

  Chapter 20

  Hoffman held a cup of hot cocoa near his lips as steam curled upward and heat radiated onto his face. The FOB warming tent served more than just Duke’s sniper mission. Patrol and reconnaissance units stopped in to strip out of their armor and warm up
.

  “No need for this. I can tell you my temperature, Sarge,” Garrison muttered around a thermometer as Booker prodded at his arm and shoulder. “Damn cold. Bottom-of-a-frozen-lake cold. Void-space cold.”

  Booker pulled back far enough to look him in the eyes. “I only put that thermometer in your mouth to shut you up. I’ll check it off my list of effective remedies for chatter-box-annoy-ia.” She slid another device under Garrison’s armpit and pushed his arm down to keep it in place. “Hold still. I need to look at your extremities.”

  “So why do I have this thermometer in my mouth? You could just ask me to shut up.”

  “It’s an old rectal thermometer I found lying around. Couldn’t resist.”

  Garrison spat the instrument across the room.

  Hoffman watched the medic methodically check each team member and a few members of the Planetary Defense Forces reconnaissance teams as needed. She was without a doubt the most popular medic within a hundred kilometers of the Koensuu City sector.

  “She can set your broken arm or kill you from a thousand meters,” one of the young PDF admirers said to his buddy.

  None of Hoffman’s team had spoken much since arriving at the warming tent. Exhaustion crashed down on them like a swarm of Rakka.

  “Wrap your feet and hands,” Booker said, distributing warm, damp towels as she talked. “Best we can do right now. A little bit of warming goes a long way when it comes to frostbite. Slow and steady. No more freezing today.”

  “That’s why you’re the best medic in the Corps,” Garrison said. “Do you know what they let that Ibarran ox do to me out there?”

  “Funny you should mention it.” Booker placed both hands on her thighs, smiling at him with all her charm.

  “You’re gonna hurt me, aren’t you, doc?” Garrison made puppy-dog eyes at her, pleading for mercy.

  “Sorry, tough guy.”

  “It’s OK. I kinda like it when you hurt me.”