That left him two WP 3’s. Both had fired at the Malakh, but the close-in defenses and active armor had defeated the missiles. Lance Corporal Acevedo had tried a pop-up, coming down on top of the vehicle, but the missile had been shot down. They had to get a side aspect for a mobility kill or a rear aspect to destroy it.
For half a second, Hondo considered taking a limpet from one of the dead host—one of them probably had enough punch to burst through the side armor. He discarded that idea as it would require one of the Marines to molt.
He did have a bullfrog, the heavy-duty incendiary device that was designed to destroy an abandoned PICS or other equipment. He pulled it out of his thigh slot, and with a careful toss, threw it on top of the Malakh. It bounced once, then slid down the sloped sides, falling to the ground before erupting into a blinding hot ball of fire.
Another blast of energy lit up his display, this time knocking Private Jorgenson out of commission. She was alive, but she was out of the fight. With only three host still on their feet, the Marines had lost their cover, and the Malakh had fired into them.
“Second, on me!” he passed. “Keep seven meters off.”
According to his readout, the Malakh had four close-in anti-personnel pods on each corner of the tank, set to activate when someone broke the seven-meter zone.
“Antman, hold fire until you get around to the back,” he told Lance Corporal Acevedo. “And I’m serious about the seven meters.
“Davis, cover us,” he ordered the last WP 3 Marine.
Davis had three more Chimeras. He fired the first. At this close range, it only took a second to reach the Malakh, but Hondo could see the close-in defenses rise like a cloud of gnats, detonating the missile short. Hot plasma continued its trajectory and splashed the vehicle in a shower of sparks, but didn’t penetrate.
A split second later, someone’s M146 shoulder rocket hit the same spot and made it through to the tank itself. It detonated with a blinding flash, and his face shield display compensated, revealing a gouge in the armor, right where one of the four CIAP pods was located. Hondo painted the spot on the AI, then ordered everyone else to concentrate their fire there.
Without any host left standing, the Malakh let loose a stream of 12.4 rounds from the supplementary turret, but those didn’t have the punch to take out a PICS. The big GET-70m, though, started to swing towards Hondo. He wasn’t sure if that was simply bad luck or if the carrier’s battle AI had figured out he was in command from the comms web. He supermanned a jump forward, trying to keep ahead of the tracking gun as it closed in on him.
He forced down the rising panic, knowing that if the crew was tracking him, then that left Antman free to get a kill shot.
But it wasn’t Antman who closed in. Rushing through the gap Hondo had left, PFC Pickerul, of all Marines, rushed forward to the Malakh, angling right for the gouge on the front right corner. Hondo’s heart caught in this throat, as he expected the CIAP pod to let loose and cut her down, but it never engaged. With her own superman, she jumped up onto the vehicle, scrambling to stay on her feet on the slanted surface.
Immediately, the GET-70 tube reversed direction off of Hondo, and the Malakh surged forward, only to stop with a jolt. Pickerul was knocked to her hands and knees, the PICS’ servos struggling to keep her in a vertical aspect.
“Cease fire!” Hondo screamed out over the net to protect her from friendly fire.
The Malakh jerked forward again, knocking Pickerul toward the turret as the GET-70 closed in on her. More to keep herself on top of the vehicle than anything else, she reached up with her left gauntlet and clamped her arm over the barrel. As it kept traversing, the barrel pulled her along, actually assisting her with regaining her feet.
The Malakh’s gunner fired, and Hondo held his breath. An unprotected Marine would be killed by the power surging down the focusing tube, but Pickerul’s avatar remained a stead bright blue. She wasn’t hurt.
With one arm clamped around the tube, she fumbled in her thigh slot and pulled out her own bullfrog.
“Get some, Tammy,” he muttered to himself, as she activated it with one arm and slid it under the tube, right at the base of the turret.
She started to bail when the Malakh jerked hard to the right, making her almost lose her balance again—and more importantly, knocked the bullfrog from the one flat spot, making it roll off the sloped top and onto the snowy ground, where it detonated like a tiny star.
Shit, shit, shit!
PICS Marines only carried a single bullfrog, and hers was gone.
“Pick!” Wolf shouted over his externals as he came running up to join the fight. “Take mine!”
“The CIAP!” Hondo warned him, but the corporal stopped ten meters short, and with a soft underhanded toss, flipped his bullfrog up just as the Malakh spun hard to the left like a bull trying to throw its rider.
Pickerul stretched out, tipped the bullfrog spinning back into the air, and somehow managed to snag it as it came back down. The Malakh bolted into reverse and spun around with Pickerul simply hanging on. When it lurched forward, Pickerul reached under the tube to the base of the turret again, this time jamming the bullfrog forward as hard as she could. She waited a moment, and when the fuze lit off, she supermanned yet one more time to jump off the tank as the bullfrog detonated. Sparks followed her, arching up in the air to shower the snow around the Malakh with an eerily beautiful display.
The top hatch flung open, and bodies began to pile out.
“Hold your fire,” Hondo passed, as three hosts tumbled off the Malakh and into the snow, hands raised as soon as they got to their feet.
“Corporal Takimora, secure them,” he ordered his Second Team leader.
“Pick, that was freaking awesome,” Antman passed over the squad net.
“Cut the chatter,” Hondo passed.
It was freaking awesome, but Hondo had to get a grasp of the situation. In a little less than two minutes, 30 Brotherhood host had been wiped out. If mankind’s two major powers hadn’t been at war, Hondo might have driven them to it.
This is serious shit, Hondo. What the hell have you done?
First things first, though. Whatever the consequences, he had to secure the scene.
“Ling, secure the Brotherhood grunts. If any are still alive, get them into the gym. Davis, check Jorgenson and the others. I’ve got to report this.”
He took a deep breath, but his P2P crackled on before he could contact battalion himself, and the battalion operations officer said, “Good job, Sergeant. Secure the area and wait for someone to reach you.”
He should have known that battalion would have known what was happening—they just hadn’t wanted to get in his way during the fight.
“I’ve got dead, wounded, and prisoners, sir. I need transport.”
“Can’t do it now, Sergeant. Fighting has broken out all over the training area. Keep the dead out in the snow, bring the wounded inside, then just wait. Three, out.”
With that, the operations officer cut the connection.
All over the training area? What the hell is going on?
He had his orders, though, and it looked like they were on their own for now. He looked over the battlefield. The lieutenant, platoon sergeant, and Haus were KIA, probably beyond resurrection. Doc, Weinstein, and Julli-Patterson were KIA, too, but they had a chance of being zombied, at least. The Klethos squad leader was dead. They had three prisoners, and 30 host, including a major, were dead, even if most might be zombied and resurrected.
Hondo had no idea as to the consequences of what had just occurred, but it couldn’t be good. With a war against the Grubs taking up most of the Federation and its allies’ resources, he wondered if they had a new enemy: a human one. He hoped not, but that was something to be hashed out far above his pay grade.
EARTH
Chapter 2
Skylar
“The Minister wants you at the conference, ma’am,” Jack said, sticking his head in the door.
“
You knew he would,” Keyshon told Skylar Ybarra, Assistant Vice-Minister for Alien Affairs.
“Yeah, I thought he might, but this isn’t an alien thing. This is human against human,” she said.
“Twenty-four Klethos were killed, and the Liaison Quad is asking for answers,” Keyshon reminded her.
She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. The confrontation on Krakow had taken everyone by surprise. From what she’d been able to glean over the last hour, the intent of the UAM forces had been to goad the Brotherhood, but not to the point of a shooting war. Reports were still coming in, but no fewer than seven fights had erupted from the 15 confrontations. Forty-two Federation Marines had been killed, as had one-hundred-and-twenty-four Brotherhood host.
And the twenty-four Klethos her chief-of-staff had just mentioned.
Some, if not many, of the dead would be resurrected, but no matter how it was spun, this was the single largest loss of life in a conflict between the Federation and Brotherhood since . . . well, since forever.
Skylar was still numb. She’d been reviewing one of her committees’ reports on the most likely Dictymorph expansion route into human space when word of the fighting on Krakow reached her. She couldn’t think of worse development, save a Dictymorph landing on Earth itself. Humanity needed to band together to face the threat, not fight among itself.
“Ma’am, you really need to go,” Keyshon gently reminded her.
She opened her eyes and brought her chair upright. He was right, as he usually was. Sky was quite young for her position, and she’d made a few enemies among the more established bureaucrats. She might be an expert in Klethos psychology and knew as much as anyone about the Dictymorphs, but she was a neophyte as to the inner workings of the Federation ministries. Keyshon, on the other hand, had been with the Second Ministry for over 60 years, working his way up from the very bottom. If he resented being under a woman a third his age, he never let on, and he’d been invaluable to Sky as she established herself.
“OK, I’m ready. I’d like you with me, though,” she told him.
He nodded, then told Sierra, “Let them know we’re on the way.”
Sky stood up, straightened her oh-so-conservative suit, and followed Keyshon out of the office where an anxious-looking proctor waited by the entrance. As soon as she saw Sky, the woman opened the door, one arm back as if she wanted to push her through.
The three walked down the hall, the proctor subtly speeding her pace as if she wanted to sweep up Sky in her draft. Sky knew she had time, but the Proctor Service was not known for their flexibility, and this one would want her charge in her seat with time to spare.
The Second Ministry’s headquarters was in Pittsburgh, far away from the hustle and bustle of DC or Brussels, and Sky was glad of that. The minister himself had taken a stratojet to Brussels to back up the chairman, but the rest of the ministry was gathering in the conference room. Sky nodded to Dr. Tolker, her closest ally in the ministry, then took her seat at the table. Her proctor hooked up the earbud, checked the connection, and then with what Sky thought was a sigh of relief, left the room, her job done.
The UAM’s grand hall was visible in the projection over the conference table. It was three-quarters full, with the main meeting to commence in another twenty minutes.
“Glad to see you made it,” the minister said through her earbud.
The minister had taken a special interest in Sky, another thing that distanced her from her colleagues. He’d been the one who’d elevated Sky from a lowly FS-13 scientist to the ministry’s rep to the first task force against the Dictymorphs. That task force had ended in the disaster of the attack on Purgamentium, but somehow, Sky hadn’t been stained with the fallout, and in fact, had been elevated to her present position.
“Yes, sir. Not much choice with the PS’s escorting us.”
“Is Keyshon with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a short pause, then the minister said, “You need to fly off on your own, Skylar. You don’t need him.”
Sky blushed, then quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed. She knew she was using Keyshon as a crutch, but she hadn’t thought anyone else realized it.
“I just thought—” she started before he cut her off.
“You just thought you needed him there with you. Look, if I’d wanted him, I’d have given him your job. He’s a good man, a good assistant, but I chose you. Next time, I expect to see you and only you, understand?”
“Yes, sir, I understand.”
She looked up at the projection. Except for the Brotherhood section and those of their allies, the hall was filling up, and she had to query her AI to find the minister. It zeroed in on the man, and he was looking right at the universal pick up. As soon as it locked in on him, he gave the slightest nod, then turned to the woman on his right.
The minister was right. He’d put her in the position, and it was about time she took charge and said screw the rest if they had a problem with it. She was about to tell her chief-of-staff that he could leave, but since he was there already . . .
Next time, I’ll fly solo, she promised herself.
She studied her PA for the next five minutes, scanning for updates. Nothing new of any import was streaming in.
“The Klethos quad’s arrived,” Keyshon whispered into her ear.
Sky didn’t have to search the hall to spot them. Four Klethos, wearing the minimal harnesses that for them was full regalia, strode into the hall, then leaned up against the oversized backrests that had been installed for them in the observer section. She switched to her PA and zoomed in on them. When agitated, a Klethos’ neck fringe tended to straighten, reaching full peacock display when entering battle musth. These were seasoned diplomats, however, and their fringes were down and flat against their backs.
“Make sure you get our own recording of them,” she told Keyshon. “I’m going to want our K-team to analyze their reaction to whatever goes down today.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m on it.”
Sky went back to her PA, messaging Dr. Harry al Upton, her K-team leader, to focus on the quad.
Which he’s undoubtedly already doing, she had to admit to herself.
Captain Throckmorton, her Navy liaison, had been gently advising her to keep from micromanaging her team, but because she didn’t feel comfortable as a leader, she had a habit of trying to do too much herself.
“Here they come,” someone said.
Sky looked up, and with almost military precision, the Brotherhood contingent marched in together, led by the ambassador. He continued to the front row, his people breaking off to fill their section. He ignored the chairman and the president of Greater France, a huge breach of protocol. The murmurs from the gathered worthies was evidence that his slight was noted.
The ambassador started towards the secretary general, then halted for a moment, his head cocked in the manner of someone listening to a call.
“Looks like First Bro’s handling the strings,” Yelcy Smith said.
Not that Sky had expected anything different. The first brother might not have made the trip to Earth, but he and his conclave would be directing every word the ambassador made.
After a slight nod, the ambassador turned back and sat in his designated seat, his eyes impassive as he stared somewhere over the secretary-general’s head.
At exactly 1300 GMT, the secretary-general stood and made her way to the main podium. She paused for a moment, leaned forward, and dramatically swept her gaze from one side of the hall to the other.
“As per the request of the ambassador of the Alliance of Free State, I hereby call this extra plenary meeting of the general assembly to order.” She paused again, her famous dark brown eyes boring into the assembly. “We are here after a series of unfortunate events, events that could—”
“Madame Secretary,” the Dentonian ambassador stood and shouted out. “I request that you yield to me.”
The secretary gen
eral stopped, her eyes widening in surprise at the interruption.
“Oh, shit,” Tolker said, totally out of character for him. “She’s going to eat him alive.”
Sky looked at her compatriot sitting across the table and nodded. No one crossed the secretary-general unscathed, especially an ambassador from a piddly-ass government like Denton.
To her great surprise, however, the secretary-general, her eyes almost spitting out lightening, nodded and said, “I yield to the ambassador from Denton.”
“And I yield to the ambassador from the Brotherhood.”
“Holy shit,” someone to her right muttered under his breath as Sky wondered what had just happened.
“UAM rules. SOP 1201.3.4410. For an extra plenary meeting, even the secretary general has to yield to whoever called for the assembly. And that person can yield to anyone else.”
“And you just happen to have the exact paragraph handy?” she asked her chief-of-staff.
“Given that this is an extra plenary assembly, I thought it prudent to go over all the possibilities.”
Sky looked at him, trying to see if there was a rebuke in his eyes, but if there was, he hid it well. He was right, though. It was only reasonable that he look up the rules for such an assembly. She should have, as well. In her mind, Sky was a scientist, first and foremost. As an assistant vice-minister, however, she was a bureaucrat, and if she wanted to succeed, she’d better start acting like one. She gave Keyshon a short nod, the looked back to the projection where the Brotherhood ambassador was walking to the podium.
The secretary-general waited for him, and for a moment after the man reached her, Sky wondered if she would yield to him. It was all for dramatic effect, however. With a sweep of her hand, she ceded her position to him.
The ambassador took his position, and without the dramatic pauses of the secretary-general, immediately said, “The recent attack on Brotherhood host perpetrated by the Federation Marines is an intolerable assault on not only our citizens, but on all mankind. Even more intolerable is the continued alliance with the Klethos.”
The Price of Honor (The United Federation Marine Corps' Grub Wars Book 2) Page 3