by Richard Fox
“Air assault ships,” Opal said, pointing toward the sky.
“Would you look at that?” Duke spat to one side. “These Kesaht ground pounders don’t quit.”
Rakka crowded the open doors of airships, ready to hit the ground running. Duke couldn’t see the intended landing site, which was behind the Strike Marines. “The PDF knows better than to let them land there. That’s deep inside the city.”
“Between us and the PDF spaceport downtown,” Hoffman said. “We need to go defensive. Call in support.”
Duke cursed.
“Can’t we have one mission go according to plan?” Hoffman asked.
“The PDF need help,” Duke said.
“We need to slap a bandage on this mess, secure a Mule that can get past the Kesaht fighters, and deliver the Ibarran agents to the Falstaff. Enough war games.”
Air defense missiles whooshed away from PDF batteries, slamming into Rakka troop transports and exploding two with direct hits. Others broke apart as they spiraled to the ground, throwing Rakka assault troops in all directions.
“They waited long enough. Might be enough to stop them if they could do it twenty more times,” Hoffman said, stalking toward what looked like a boathouse built into the side of the dry canal. “This building has thick, stone walls and it’s right next to a possible exfiltration route across the bridge. If we’re going to get enveloped, we might as well choose the location.”
Duke and the others rushed inside the building and up the stairs to the roof, where sweeping handrails and elaborate stone benches spoke of ancient parties and special events. He spread out his sniper kit—a white and gray camouflaged mat with extra magazine pouches sewn into it—and checked his range.
“Commanding view of the waterways and the parks,” Duke said. “I think these walking trails are actually some kind of race course—were some kind of race course.”
“There’s a balanced logic to everything when viewed from here,” said Booker. “With my scope on maximum magnification, I can see to the end of the causeway. They had to move their tanks and other equipment that way or come from the mountains…and I’ve good reason to believe they don’t like that route as much as they once did. If the PDF could get through the forest or around the lakes with a large enough force, they might repel these Kesaht jerk-offs.”
“Opal, watch for the air assault troops,” Hoffman said, then crawled nearer to Duke. “The airborne shock troops are attacking everything, which means they’re concentrating on nothing.”
“You’re trying to tell me they aren’t coming this way,” Duke said without looking at his team leader. “Yet.”
“Getting through them to HQ downtown is officially miracle territory,” Hoffman said.
“Better pray,” Booker said.
“Tanks are stalled. Sanheel-led Rakka are bounding forward in large groups,” Duke said. “One moment.” He fired. “That’s one less Sanheel officer.”
Hoffman retreated to the center of the roof and attempted radio contact with C&C on the ship or anyone at PDF HQ. Duke heard his broken conversation with staff-level officers. He tuned it out and scanned the battlefield for the best targets.
“We can drop a lot of the officers but not all of them,” Booker said just before she fired. “I think I got one. Shit, he’s limping back to their tank line. Why are there so many Sanheel out front?”
“They’re going to charge,” Duke said.
“You’ve been fighting them longer than I have. What the hell is this?” Hoffman asked.
“I don’t know, sir. Almost seems like a personal thing,” Duke said.
“They really don’t like Duke,” Booker added.
“Hoffman for King, respond.” Hoffman drummed his fingers on his knee as he attempted radio contact several times. “We should be able to get through. I can contact HQ for updates and PDF commanders keep sending me requests for sniper missions. Why doesn’t King answer?”
“Maybe something happened to them,” Booker said.
“It’s not like them to ignore radio protocols. They should’ve reported in,” Hoffman said as he studied the advancing enemy. “They’re coming fast. Their artillery will be attempting to soften us up about now.”
All of a sudden, Kesaht air space cleared of fighters and troop transports and shells screamed down from high-angle shots, shattering buildings, streets, parks, and walking bridges at random. Five or ten shells hit the scattered, undermanned PDF defenses. Moments later, the Kesaht artillery teams began marching explosions three hundred yards ahead of the charging Sanheel.
“Not good,” Booker said.
Duke caught a glimpse of Hoffman running toward the other side of the roof and thought he was most likely looking for the airborne Rakka units.
“Booker, we have a target-rich environment,” Duke said, firing three times. “All this for one little old sniper.”
“Two snipers, Duke. We’re a team, remember?” Booker said.
Duke selected a Sanheel officer ahead of the others and shot him in the throat from almost three hundred yards. The horse-like legs gave out, tumbling the alien and two others following him. Again and again, he fired, pausing to check the temperature of his barrel and his ammunition levels. “No art in this kill fest. Just shooting fish in a barrel.”
“Until they reach us. Then it’ll feel a lot less artsy-fartsy.” Booker fired.
“Give ’em hell, Booker. I need to check something,” Duke said.
Booker didn’t respond and continued to fire on Sanheel officers as Duke twisted onto his side. Dragging the rifle around to use its scope would take too long so he pulled out his binoculars with one hand and searched up and down the canal. What he saw was a street leading into a cul-de-sac, a route than looked like an escape route but wasn’t. The right flank of the Sanheel charge would reach it soon and right behind them, Rakka infantry and tanks.
If the most wanted enemy of the Kesaht were to flee that direction, the Sanheel would pursue him. He might slip between buildings and cross the dried-up canal before they reached him, unless the snow filling it was deeper than it looked. An image of sinking to his neck during the middle of his escape plagued him, but he knew what he had to do.
“Duke for Hoffman, I have an idea. A way to get us out of this mess and back to HQ,” Duke said.
“Tell me,” Hoffman said.
“There are a series of streets looping around a lot like the park boulevards. A big tangle of dead ends. I can draw them in. The Sanheel and the tanks will clog it up. Won’t be able to turn around or make half the corners. They might bust through, but that’s a risk we have to take. My not-so-humble opinion.”
“How do you know the Rakka airborne units will chase you? They’re on the other side of the canal. We’ll have to move in the canal or take the bridge by the boathouse.”
“I’ll give them a reason.”
“Fine. Let’s do it. We’re right behind you,” Hoffman said. “Opal. Get ready to rappel.”
“Opal no fall this time.”
Duke packed his gear in record time and spooled out his rappelling line, hoping it was long enough to get him to the ground. “Do you have ropes?”
“Used what we had in the mountains. Wasn’t included in the resupply,” Hoffman said.
“Why am I suddenly the sniper, the senior team member, and the quartermaster?”
The artillery barrage ceased.
Booker fired a final round and gathered her own equipment. “I have rappelling line.”
“Leave it in your kit. We won’t have time to police it up and you might need it somewhere else after I’m on the ground,” Duke said.
Booker stared at him in horror. “No, Duke, don’t be stupid.”
“Complete the mission, Booker.”
“What’s he talking about?” Hoffman asked.
Duke backed off the rooftop and rappelled to the ground in two bounces along the wall. The moment he was down, he gave the rope a twist and a pull to bring it down.
&
nbsp; “Duke!” Hoffman cursed. “What the hell was that?”
“He’s like this sometimes,” Booker said. “He’s taught me so much.”
Duke sprinted toward the advancing right flank of the Sanheel. The half-horse aliens picked up speed, some of them firing wildly as they galloped ahead of the Kesaht force. Snarling and cursing, their mangy hair and tusks made them look like demons seeking revenge.
He stood tall, shot a leading Sanheel in the chest, then pivoted to search for the rampaging Rakka airborne on the other side of the snow-filled canal. Five or fifty feet deep, there was no way to tell. Getting the Rakka’s full attention took nearly twenty rapid-fire rounds requiring three magazine changes done at speed.
Jumping to his feet, he sprinted into the maze of streets and walking paths he had seen from the top of the ancient boathouse. Sanheel clustered together, their advance slowing when they shouldered each other sideways to reach Duke first.
Rakka shock troops plunged across the canal, half of them sinking over their heads in the snowbank. Others walk-swam through the snow and reached Duke’s side of the canal. They climbed over buildings, daggering their claws into the walls, screaming war cries, racing ahead of the ranks of Sanheel coming up behind them, their hooves striking the frozen ground in an eerie rhythm.
He reached a covered structure that reminded him of a picnic complex along I-70 before the Ember War, except the trim was artistic, the short support pillars were enshrined with ruins, and ice accented all the hard lines and corners. The snow canal ran under it, wider here than in other parts of the city. Narrow trees lined a dozen roads leading to the open-air building.
The best thing would be to keep moving—fast—but he stopped, fished one of Garrison’s premade charges out of his kit, and connected it to the entryway. A trio of Sanheel rushed into view, charging up the main access road to the building.
Duke aimed a two-hundred-yard shot from a standing position, drilling the leader in his mouth right between his bent tusks. “This is going to hurt my reputation, but here goes nothing.” He shot one in the shoulder and the other in the arm, just to keep them properly motivated. Seconds later, he was running through the picnic hall and out the other side.
Ignoring the switchback road before him, he dropped on his left hip, sliding down the steep hill with his patrol rifle held high. The sniper kit on his back caught the ground several times, nearly flipping him around as snow blasted against his visor. At the bottom of the shortcut, he came to his feet and sprinted to the next structure—a mirror of the one he’d just left but on the other side of the canal.
His booby trap exploded and a brace of Sanheel officers screamed in pain. Others charged around the structure, lined the bank of the canal, and fired rifles and handguns at him. He looked back once. The entire facade of the structure collapsed on his pursuers. Gasping for air and trying to ignore the burning in his legs, he rushed into the city.
Rakka shock troops were everywhere—in the streets and buildings and swarming from alleyways. Duke rushed into a dark doorway, gunfire rippling from the end of the street as he disappeared. Bullets shattered against the wall and pain seared through his left cheek. Blood spattered down from his lightweight sniper helmet. The fingertips of his right hand came away bloody before he realized he had touched the wound. Cursing the distraction, he settled into a steady jog.
Catching his breath seemed more important that getting shot in the face. He could run. No Strike Marine made it through selection without maintaining their physical conditioning, although that didn’t mean he was winning any races against the kids he served with these days.
“Great idea, Duke. Good job. What kind of sniper gets himself shot by a bunch of alien grunts?” He berated himself as he fished a compression bandage from his blowout kit without stopping. He dropped the bandage, caught it, nearly dropped it again, and finally slowed to a walk.
The front of his gear was slick to the waist with blood. “Looks like more than it is,” he muttered. Checking his arms and hands, he found more blood. “I must be a sight. It’s gotta look worse than it is. Only a flesh wound. No…big…deal.”
He pressed the square of fabric into his face wound, clenching his teeth in anticipation. The compression bandage was treated with quick-clot chemicals. They worked great but always felt like fire in an open wound. “Ahhh…that doesn’t feel good.”
He closed his emergency medical kit and ran. Buildings were taller this far from the ancient park system and the maze of canals and sounds of battle echoed from every direction. Nothing was visible. With luck, he planned to keep it that way.
Running too quickly to reverse his momentum, he rounded the corner. A cluster of Sanheel reared up, hooves flailing like deadly clubs. He ducked and twisted to avoid having his face pulverized, but one hoof glanced his shoulder and he fell, turning his ankle at a bad angle. He heard something snap and felt heat shoot up his leg—broken or sprained, he couldn’t tell.
“You are Ice Claw!” the leader shouted in heavily accented English. “Death to Ice Claw. Honor to Thran’Ul.”
Another Sanheel shouted something Duke didn’t understand while others pushed forward, shoving each other aside to aim large pistols at him. The eight-foot-tall monsters heaved him into the air and tugged him back and forth, screaming alien sounds that hurt his ears.
“I have your death weapon,” Thran’Ul said, his metal foreleg scraping against the ground, spitting the words like a curse as he ripped the patrol rifle from his hands and his sniper rifle from his back.
Duke resisted just enough to keep his arms in their sockets and avoid being thrown under their hooves.
“For honor! For honor! This victory is mine!” The metal-legged Sanheel said, lifting Duke higher.
The Sanheel mob went silent as one he recognized trotted around the corner with one mechanical front leg upsetting his rhythm. An honor guard of Sanheel, armored vehicles, and Rakka shock troops accompanied him. The newcomer slowed, narrowing his gaze on Duke and sneering. His uniform and armor matched the senior-most members of the Sanheel officer corps. Only his prosthetic and the recently stitched wounds on his face set him apart.
He took the sniper rifle and ripped open the travel case. “I have it,” he said. “For the honor of my family, I have it!”
Duke spat from what was left of his long-forgotten dip. “You speak decent Terran. Maybe I’ll let you live long enough to be interrogated when we take back this planet.”
The pair of Sanheel holding Duke dropped him. He grunted when he hit the ground, rolling onto his knees and then his feet as soon as he could force his muscles to obey.
The Thran’Ul snapped the rifle in half. Electricity arced up the twin vanes and over the Sanheel’s forearms. He tossed the pieces aside like trash.
“Buffy!” Duke staggered forward.
The Sanheel boss grabbed Duke’s wrists with one massive hand and lifted the Strike Marine up. The cyborg commander pulled out a wicked knife, curved and serrated, and aimed it at Duke’s belly.
“It will be slow for you,” the Sanheel said.
“Hold me a little higher,” Duke said just as a sniper round snapped past Duke’s ear and a black hole appeared in the Sanheel’s forehead. The alien’s mouth moved and his head lolled to one side, blood pouring down its neck.
Duke fell to the ground and stared at the bullet hole right between the alien’s eyes. An image of Booker’s attempt to dip tobacco flashed in his mind and he laughed, suddenly realizing what had just happened.
“Kill enemy!” Opal roared as he charged around the corner. Hoffman followed a half step slower, shooting on the move as they rushed at the backs of the horse-bodied aliens.
“Humans!” one yelled. “Traitors and murderers!”
Hoffman switched his gauss rifle to full auto and emptied one magazine after another while Opal grabbed Duke, tossed him over one shoulder, and fired his rifle with one hand. At near point-blank range, he was accurate.
“Go, go, go!” Hoffman
shouted.
Opal turned and ran. “Sir!” Worry filled his voice as he bounced Duke this way and that.
“I’m right behind you, Opie,” Hoffman said as he chucked grenades to discourage pursuit.
****
“Put me down, you big dummy,” Duke said when the doughboy finally stopped running.
“No. Sir said carry stupid sniper.”
Hoffman, in the lead now, slowed to a walk. “Drop him.”
Opal let Duke fall unceremoniously to the pavement and Duke grunted on impact. He stood and brushed pink snow and ice from his uniform.
“Thanks, Opal. Real nice.”
Booker dropped from a fire escape. “You shouldn’t have used yourself as a lure. I wasn’t sure I could make that shot.”
“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.” Duke looked at the medic in sniper training, then at Hoffman and Opal. “Just wanted the rest of you to get away.”
“Thanks,” Booker said.
“Sloppy shot.”
“You complaining?” she asked.
“Just don’t forget your breath control. We’ve been working on that since before the Dotari mission.”
****
Hoffman reached the top of a long, gentle slope into the center of the city and made a note to dress Duke down and document his reckless hot-dogging in his file. It would fit nicely between the previous entry and the next entry. The man was a recidivist.
He studied the wide terrace that marked the end of this hill and the beginning of a residential area that hadn’t been evacuated. Almost a plateau, the inhabited portion of the city had been built on a solid foundation as well ordered as the winding streets and canals below. The outer city had been beautiful to look at, not a place to live or work.
“Take five. Rest, recover, drink water if you have any,” Hoffman said, then looked over the growing conflict. “We have PDF en route to our location. I’ll need to brief their commanders, then get to the police station and see what’s going on with King and Garrison.”
Koensuu City convulsed as the Kesaht attacked in waves. Their pursuit of Duke had been a major distraction, but now the enemy forces seemed to have regained order and purpose. The Kesaht airborne assault troops still rampaged the lower ring, but the Sanheel and armor advance had stalled…for now.