by Chris Hechtl
More and more people were showing up all the time. Which meant the Marines had to cover it heavily though with security to protect the innocents in the crowd.
“I'm off to crowd control. What have you got?”
“I'm on tower duty again. I tried to swap with Howard, but the boss wouldn't allow it,” Dolph said with a grimace. “Watch out for the kids,” he said.
“Yeah, that reminds me, I need to load up,” Jack said with a grimace. He looked around then looked at Dolph. “Give me yours.”
“What? No way!”
“Come on. I've got to get moving,” the Neochimp implored. “You've got tower duty. You don't need it as pogey bait. I need it. The kids mob us now,” he said with a grimace.
Dolph echoed the grimace. The native kids had grown out of their fear of the Marines slowly. It took a few days before curiosity won out and a few dared others to check the Marines out. When they weren't chased off, they started to become intrigued with Marines, their equipment, and their aircraft. A few of the Marines like Dolph and Jack gave food rations or treats sometimes to keep the kids and their parents on their side.
Dolph grimaced as he ripped open Velcro flaps and pulled out some of his handouts. “You know they said that we need to be careful, right? The enemy could pose as one of us, poison these kids. Just the rumor could bite us in the ass.”
Jack looked up at him in surprise. “That's sick.”
Dolph snorted. “You remember who we're fighting, right?” He shook his head and pointed to the shuttle that was about to take off again. “What's up with that one?”
Jack turned. “I heard they've got a high muckity-muck civilian on board. He's critical. They got him stable but needed to refuel before they went to orbit to the Colonel Harper,” he explained.
“Ah,” Dolph said with a nod. “You know the guy?”
“That Debois fellow. I'm going to let people know that the lost has been found and is in safe hands. That's one of the reasons I needed the handouts,” Jack replied. Dolph frowned. “It's orders. Don't worry your pinhead about it,” Jack teased.
“Cute,” Dolph said as he ran a self-conscious hand over his flattop before he waved his buddy on. “Go on then. Get out of here.”
“Right. See you around,” Jack drawled as he started to walk off.
“Not if I don't see you first,” Dolph called out.
<)>^<)>/
When the doctors reported that Mister Debois was out of the regen tanks, Colonel Harley waited a day before she went up to see him in person.
“You look a bit better than I'd hoped for Mister Debois,” the colonel said as she came in.
“I recognize that voice. Colonel Harley I believe?” Jean Claude asked with a smile.
She extended her hand. He tentatively extended his. She took his fingertips and squeezed them instead of shaking his hand. “Getting used to the repairs?”
“Somewhat. I didn't realize they fixed my arm too,” he said looking at the arm. “From what they told me, it hadn't been healing right,” he said. “I'm grateful.”
“Well, it's good that you are getting patched up,” the colonel said as she took a seat next to him. “Sorry, I'm a bit shagged,” she said, stifling a yawn. She'd worked a triple shift so far and would most likely work another shift before she finally forced herself to rest. The more she learned about the enemy, the more her unease grew … and the more her desire to run them down once and for all grew in direct proportion.
“You don't look it,” Jean Claude said, eying her.
“I caught a few Z's on the flight up but it was brief. I'll catch a few more on the way back down, then get pummeled by everyone and anyone for playing hooky,” she teased with a slight smile.
“Should you be up here at all?”
“Well, it's important,” she drawled.
“For one guy?”
“One important guy,” the colonel corrected. “Right now, your people are more or less rudderless. Those who were killed, well, they are mourned and past the veil so can't help the living much. Those who helped the Horathians are out for obvious reasons. That leaves people like you who did what you could to stand up to them.”
“I didn't do much,” Jean Claude said, looking away in sudden discomfort.
“You are being modest. You might think talking and organizing people into passive resistance or in aiding the resistance fighters wasn't much. It was. You formed the bridge. Both sides respect you. They heard your voice; the entire population knew your name. The enemy hated your guts. Still do. That's nothing to sneer at either,” she said with a nod to him.
“I think my family would have appreciated it more if I'd kept a lower profile. Ned …,” He closed his eyes in pain. He felt a hand touch his. He gripped it until he opened his eyes. Her eyes met his levelly.
“We can find them. Put them in protective custody if you wish. Send them where the resistance can watch over them or I can get them up here.”
“I can't stay here forever,” the man said, looking at the bed. He smoothed the sheets with his free hand.
“No, no you can't.”
“I can't run from my fears. I've already done that and it didn't get me far. Too many people died for me!” he said in anguish.
“Then don't let their deaths be in vain,” Dana ground out, eying him severely. “Make sure they matter. We remember them by every deed and thing we say from now on.”
“Thank you,” Jean Claude said as he sucked in a breath. A nurse came in and looked at him with a moderately scolding look. “It looks like I'm getting a bit more worked up than they'd like to see,” he said.
Dana looked over her shoulder to the retreating nurse and snorted as she released his hand. “Yeah, I guess so. Sorry about that.”
“Don't be,” he said.
“We need such things down there, on the ground,” Jean Claude said, nodding his chin to the image of his homeworld on the screen.
Dana looked over to the image and then nodded. “All good things in time,” she said.
“But what about the cost?”
“I think,” Dana said slowly, “after seeing how hardy your people are, that they'll be able to do a lot. We're not giving it to you,” she warned. “Some yes, to help you rebuild. But we're going to give you a leg up. Where you go from there is up to you.”
“Thank you for that.”
Dana waited a moment then shifted. “So, are you in?” she finally asked.
He snorted. “If the people will vote for me, I guess I don't have much of a choice do I?” he asked.
She chuckled.
Chapter 45
General Drier was unhappy with the state of the war. The Marines had too much of an advantage, most of it boiling down to their control of space and the air. The satellites, drones, and aircraft were slowly spiraling out and sniffing for his bases. Eventually, he knew they'd get wind of one or more of them and then send in their gunships and shuttles with troops. He couldn't do anything about the ships and satellites above, but he could do something about the aircraft.
They were at their most vulnerable on the ground. Which was why he decided to take the gloves off and show the enemy some of their true capabilities. “We're keeping this conversation short for obvious reasons,” the general said.
The transmissions from each of the two bases ran through a series of ODN cables to a laser that hit a series of targets with the message. The target transceivers picked up the transmission and then passed it on in kind. There were gates, loops, and dead-ends to keep the enemy guessing as they tried to trace the signal if they got a whiff of it.
But the best security for both bases was to keep the conversations short and sweet. “I want you to hit the enemy hard, Captain.”
“We can do that, sir.”
“I'm glad to hear it. I want you to alert Detachment L and implement Operation Stirling. Get in, do the dance, do as much damage as you can, then get the hell out,” the general ordered.
“We could wait until they've g
ot more invested on the ground …,” the captain said. The general just growled. “Or not,” the captain said with a shrug in his voice. He kept his face and tone expressionless as he changed tactics. “Yes, sir, we'll get it done.”
“Good. But not you personally I trust. I need to keep you alive,” the general said.
“No, sir. Lieutenant Sng has the honor,” the captain replied. “Corporal Stirling insisted on being involved. Given it was his hair-brained scheme, I'm letting him go. The unit is at the first staging point.”
“Good. See that they get it done. Soon.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain frowned, then switched channels once the conversation was concluded. “Detachment L this is Delta Baker One. Operation Stirling Alpha is a go. I repeat Stirling Alpha go.”
There was a long pause. As he opened his mouth to repeat it to make sure he got the message through, he heard two clicks. He nodded once and then shut the transmitter down and left the radio room.
He passed Private Askdall in the corridor. The private had a cup of something hot in one hand but still made a hole by pressing his back to a stack of boxes and coming close to attention.
“As you were,” the captain murmured in passing.
<)>^<)>/
Captain Zhukov wasn't above taking risks; for without risks, there were no rewards. But they were calculated risks, ones he weighed very carefully before he took them on. And he wasn't above planning to cover every contingency that he and his people could think of. Planning tended to help minimize the risks involved and make sure everyone understood their job.
Before the Federation had returned, he had ordered his people to hide two squads of light suits around the spaceport and Capital City. They were buried in shallow graves under a lead shield and had had their power plants removed to ensure they wouldn't be easily detected. Their ordinance had been hermetically sealed in vacuum-sealed plastic to avoid other detection methods.
Detachment L, two squads of his people had been in the area in hiding at several safe houses. They had been carefully placed in remote farms to avoid being inspected by the enemy. They had watched the Marines land more and more craft at the spaceport once the initial battle and repairs had been completed. They'd waited as patiently as they could for the orders to activate their plan. Waited and planned carefully, using their observations to keep the plan up-to-date.
To add a bit more confusion to the mix, he ordered a couple fire teams to take down a couple squads of Marines out on patrol in two different locations several hundred kilometers away. They were to gather up whatever gear they could salvage and then hide it in caches before they went to ground and shut down.
“That should stir up a hornet's nest,” the captain murmured as he issued further orders to have his people lay watch on the caches for anyone who came after them. If they were lucky, they'd be able to pick off another squad or at least get a feel for their deployment patterns.
<)>^<)>/
Once the signal was received by Lieutenant Sng, he ordered his people to be down in shifts during the day. They would get as much downtime as they could; they'd need it. A storm rolled in that evening, weather that sucked for them initially, but suited a few of the distracting elements for them nicely. The suit operators spread out to each shallow grave and dug them up with hand tools. Once the suit's shields were uncovered, they then carried the power plants in shielded boxes in last. A fire was started by each grave and a set-up was created to look like a farmer out tending his flock and protecting it from predators. They activated the suits under the lead tents, but they knew that their thermal signatures would give them away in minutes despite the lead blanket and thermal shielding they'd done their best to create.
Corporal Dale Stirling had come up with the idea for the plan. It wasn't his name on it. It was actually the name of a different Stirling, but one that had intrigued him. He was one of the fire team leaders and something of a history buff. He'd gotten razzed for his pre-occupation earlier in his career, but he'd turned it around and pitched the current plan to the captain and officers. They'd said it was so crazy it just might work and had greenlit the operation.
He used a K-bar to rip open the packages with his ammo and weapons, then carefully loaded them. When he was finished, he took a wiz and shit, then plugged his batteries in and climbed into the suit.
He was third out of his shallow grave. He didn't bother to dust off, just gathered up his excess gear and moved out as the mission objectives dictated. He had a kilometer to go and had to get there in a hurry while being weighed down by gear.
His was a light suit, built for speed over armor and carrying capacity. That would allow them to hit hard and fast. He knew that the weight of gear he had strapped to his back and strapped to his suit in various places would quickly diminish as the raid kicked off.
He was second to the base perimeter. He paused to scan it and then moved in with grim purpose.
<)>^<)>/
Lieutenant Sng grinned as he brought up the rear. His squad had gotten past the first objective point and to the second without a flicker from the enemy. Now came the fun part he thought as he filed past the mostly empty houses and to where his people were climbing over the wrecked perimeter the Skywhale's crash had created and into the heart of the Spaceport's defenses.
“Here we go,” he murmured as spotlights kicked on and pointed towards them. “Like we planned people!” he said. He used hand signs to the sergeants to each take a side with their squad and move out.
He would play “hey diddle diddle and go right up the middle” taking on targets of opportunity while also acting as their only reserve and cover.
<)>^<)>/
Sergeant Brutus had been on MP duty and about to turn in after his last inspection tour. He hadn't liked the assignment, but the colonel had wanted him to keep an eye on things at the spaceport and tying him and half his MPs down there freed up her other troops for frontline duties or downtime.
He'd seen the spaceport grow in importance as the engineers had rushed in to make slapdash repairs. They'd even ploughed the craters in the runways and gotten them more or less useable again a day or so ago.
He looked up to the pitch black sky and grimaced as rain hit him on the forehead and goggles. He wiped it away, then shook himself. He heard a muted chuckle from a gate sentry and snorted to himself.
“It's so dark we can barely see our hands in front of our face even with our implants,” he muttered.
Not quite true but close enough. The base was dark due to blackout conditions. That meant there were limited lights around, and all of the Marines had their night vision turned up or had night vision goggles.
And only a duck or a Marine would be out in the mess coming down from the sky at the moment. And a Marine wouldn't be out in it if he could help it; the rain was getting colder as the temperatures continued to drop.
<)>^<)>/
Dolph took a sip of his coffee to keep him awake and alert as he did his job. It was tedious and boring, but someone had to do it. He knew robots did it better, but an extra set of eyes never hurt. Besides, an order was an order.
He was in the blacked-out room in the air tower. The windows had been blown out in the fighting, but it was the highest perspective in the base. The instruments hadn't been completely replaced yet. There was something about wiring and space, but there was enough there for the air traffic controllers to keep an eye on things.
The wind sock was almost flat; a good thing since it was pouring outside. They'd taped up plastic over the windows that had rain coming in but the rigger tape sucked. They'd had to patch it twice.
He set his cup down and then rubbed the small of his back and picked up the night vision binoculars. They would enhance his implant vision he knew from experience. He turned them on with a flick of his finger, then put them up to his eyes and began to scan.
“What the hell is that?” Private Pvesk demanded as he scanned the perimeter. He had been taught to scan, left to ri
ght, up and down, line by line without locking in on anything in particular. Motion caught his instincts, and his training kicked in. He refocused on the motion to see black things moving in-between buildings in the remains of the town nearby.
“We've got movement in the town!” he barked. “Black objects …,” he caught sight of one of them. “Black humanoids!” he said.
<)>^<)>/
That night vision sweep by the bored but dutiful sentry in the air tower caught wind of movement on the perimeter, but it was in the inner ring of the perimeter and moving fast, too close for the outer defenses to take on. Brutus heard the warning and cursed. He tapped the feed and saw the black humanoids moving in. “Tangos on the inner perimeter!” he snarled, setting off the alert klaxons. “We're under attack!” he said as the enemy units continued to move in past the remaining homes in the town.
He grimaced. They couldn't fire on them with the air drones out on the perimeter because the bastards were near civilians. “Cute,” he growled.
“Move!” he snarled to a patrol in a jeep. The jeep sped off in a rooster tail of mud and much. The gorilla spat and flicked mud off himself as he watched things unravel.
The warnings and klaxons had gone off but the powered armor jumped the defenses at the weakest point, where the Skywhale had crashed. They were then inside the spaceport perimeter and went to sprint mode, firing their hand weapons, mortars, and tossing explosives with gleeful abandon and murderous consequences.
“Frack! Frack me!” Brutus snarled as he looked around for something to get him to the scene faster. As usual, there wasn't a jeep in sight.
<)>^<)>/
Before the base could go to full alert, Detachment L performed a raid much like the British had done during World War II's African campaign on Earth thousands of years before. The original had been performed by British SAS under the leadership of Colonel David Stirling, one of the founders of the SAS and his Stirling Raiders. The original Stirling had used cut-down jeeps with obsolete RAF guns mounted on them to raid the German lines and air strips. They were in and out fast, sometimes going down the runway and opening up with their guns while attaching Lewes bombs to aircraft and items of strategic importance.