Gunz

by William Stacey

  Gus turned and surveyed the enemy dead. "Their magic didn't help here. We shot the shit out of 'em. Christ, they're armed with spears and crossbows."

  Alex sighed. "Maybe these ones can't use magic. We just don't know. I'll remind you that Task Force Devil had several teams of Tier-1 Special Forces operators, armored vehicles, and really, really serious perimeter defenses, yet Task Force Devil is gone now, and those people are all that's left. Don't underestimate magic, Gus. Don't be a fuckwad."

  Gus smiled. "I'll try, Captain." He sighed, staring at the devastation in the woods. The dark elves had been wearing leather and chain-mail armor, which had done nothing to protect them against the fragmentation rounds fired by the 25mm Bushmaster chain guns. Despite the emergency aid provided to the wounded enemies, there must have been a hundred or more dead. "I'm going to wear it for this," Gus said softly.

  "You saved lives. Nobody is going to fault you for that."

  Gus snorted. "I killed aliens. The UN Security Council is already losing its shit. Now I've made it infinitely worse."

  "After what they did to the civilians in Fort St. John…" Alex fought down his anger. "They came to our homes and started killing people. The UN can go to hell. You didn't have a choice."

  Gus stared in silence for a few moments then turned his gaze north. The heavy rainfall had been hammering them for almost a half hour. "The bridge will be passable now. Will they keep coming or stop now that we've bloodied their noses?"

  "I don't know. But I think we need to assume the worst. Intel estimates a force of thirty thousand at least. With all the civilians slowly moving south along the highway, if the dark elves come…"

  Gus nodded, biting his upper lip. "We need to hold the line while the province moves them across the Kiskatinaw River. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The entire world is going to vilify me, but we need to provide cover for those people."

  Alex said nothing. There was nothing to say.

  "Just before I arrived, I was on the sat phone with the prime minister. He's … well, he's under a great deal of strain. You can hear it in his voice."

  "You were talking to the prime minister?"

  "I'm an important person, Captain Benoit. I got you out of prison, didn't I?"

  Alex smiled. "What does he want?"

  "What do you think? He wants us, and all the refugees from Fort St. John, safely across the Kiskatinaw River, and he wants it yesterday. Oh, and he doesn't want us fighting aliens."

  "Maybe not his call."

  Gus shook his head. "The lead elements of 1 CMBG are establishing a defensive line along the river. The plan—which is subject to change every few minutes—is to pull back and—how did the prime minister put it?—quarantine the incursion."

  "Fort St. John?"

  "The aliens get to keep it. We're all going to sit back and let the UN establish communications—should take a few months."

  "They're not here to communicate. This is a bad idea."

  "Bad idea or not, the prime minister was pretty firm on it. Says the only reason he didn't already order us back was that he felt an obligation to the people of Fort St. John."

  Alex pursed his lips. "Didn't think he had it in him."

  "He is too young and handsome for his own good and loves the cameras a bit too much, but I think he's a good man. I also think he's under intense pressure to deescalate the situation—which is the exact opposite of what I've done here, what I'm going to do next."

  "Call it. I've got your six."

  "We're pulling back but providing cover for the refugees. If these … dark elves come again, they're going to have to come through us. No way I'm letting them massacre civilians like they did in Fort St. John. We secure the highway between here and the river while the province moves the refugees to safety."

  "How long?"

  "I'd say no earlier than sunrise, but count on problems and delays."

  Alex glanced at his watch. "So we're mounting a mobile defense for … what? Eight, nine hours?"

  "Sounds about right. It'll be just like the Army Operations Course again, only this time with elves, trolls, and magic. I'm gonna put observation positions on either side of the highway with the infantry in the center."

  "Makes sense," said Alex. "What about the mag-sens?"

  "Keep 'em with you. My guys aren't up to dealing with magic women right now. They'll need to focus on their training and their jobs."

  "Gus, that's a mistake."

  His friend shook his head. "My mistake to make. I don't want civilians messing with my standard operating procedures."

  "I hear what you're saying, but I don't think you appreciate how badly a dark-elf mage can mess up your plans. SOPs are only for dealing with shit you already understand. Magic is a game-changer."

  "We did all right here."

  "You brought me along as a subject-matter expert. Well, I'm giving you my expert opinion—use the mag-sens. If nothing else, put one forward with the infantry. They're like canaries in a mine and can sense magic being used and give you advanced warning if—"

  "Major!" Sergeant Major Ouellet yelled as he appeared with a sat phone in one hand, which he handed to Gus. "It's the prime minister again, sir—and he's not having a good day."

  Gus sighed. "It's about to get worse." He held his hand over the mouthpiece. "Listen, I'm not blowing you off, but I can't experiment right now, not with all the kids I've got in my cars. They're just not ready for new things, and these mag-sens are too much of a wild card."

  "Gus, you're making a mistake."

  "I make them all the time, brother. It's what I'm paid to do." He turned away but then looked back over his shoulder. "I'll do this much. Keep the women with you and Huck. The artillery aren't set up yet, so I don't need a FOO right now anyway. Move with the squadron headquarters, and if time permits, we'll reassess the situation."

  Alex, not happy but understanding the pressure Gus was under, nodded. "Got it. Thanks."

  Gus turned away, speaking into the sat phone. "Hello, Mr. Prime Minister."

  37

  Private Lee Costner, born and bred in the nearby logging town of Hudson's Hope—population: no one—sat in the gunner's position of his Coyote armored reconnaissance vehicle. He shared the cramped cupola with his boss, Lieutenant Erin Blackwell, who, as the 1 Troop commander, supervised this vehicle, call sign 1-1, as well as three other cars, call signs 1-1 A, 1-1 B, and 1-1 C. So technically, this car was hers, not his. On the other hand, Lee did almost all of the maintenance and spent most of his time keeping it shipshape, so he tended to think of it as "his." The boss didn't care; she had other concerns, especially this night.

  He shifted in his uncomfortable gunner's seat, wishing he had thought far enough ahead to bring along a pillow. Next time we go to war against an alien invasion force, I'll remember to bring a cushion for my butt. He sighed, peering through his gun sight once again, slowly scanning his optical lens back and forth over the wooded terrain to their front. Nothing moved in the trees, nor had he or anyone else seen anything larger than a deer since they had taken up their observation position. The rain had stopped almost as quickly as it had started, and a slight mist clung to the trees.

  Lee had joined the army less than a year ago, almost immediately following the basilisk attack upon the Fort St. John hospital, which had almost killed his former girlfriend Cassie Rogan—and did murder her older sister. The last time he had seen Cassie, she had been sitting on the back of Lee's motorcycle as it was "borrowed" by some dude with a pistol who claimed he needed it to save her. Days later, the RCMP had returned his motorcycle with a weak explanation that the government had needed it, Cassie was safe, and that he should make no further attempt to contact her. Lee, already scheduled for basic training, had had no other choice but to get on with his life, but every time he talked to his family since, he always asked for news of Cassie.

  No one knew anything.

  She had no surviving family in Hudson's Hope, so everyone assumed she had gone back to university in Van
couver, but that made no sense. Lee knew Cassie had already been expelled for assaulting some asshole trying to drug girls. He very much doubted the university administrators had just changed their minds and let her back in. No, Cassie was gone, vanished from the face of the earth—until earlier that night when he had seen her with the Special Forces operators they had just rescued. He had driven right past her, only getting a quick glimpse of her conversing with Major Ryker and others, but he was sure it had been Cassie. She wore the same combat clothing as the soldiers and even carried a rifle, holding it as if she knew how to use it. She looked, he mused, as though she belonged with the other Special Forces types, as crazy as that sounds.

  Things were beginning to fall into place.

  Just before they had departed Canadian Forces Base Edmonton, Lee had been sure he had seen the same dude who had vanished with Cassie a year earlier. This time, the guy had been getting out of a duty van with Major Ryker and Sergeant Major Ouellet. At the time, Lee had assumed he'd made a mistake, but then he heard someone say the major had just busted a prisoner from detention barracks because he was an alien-subject-matter expert. Lee had seen the man again at a refueling stop along the drive north. He had been climbing out of the FOO's LAV wearing the three pips of a captain. Weird shit was happening.

  Why was Cassie here?

  Why was she with the Special Forces?

  What were Special Forces doing this far north?

  And who the hell was this strange captain?

  Focus on your job, Lee, he told himself, scanning the terrain once again. His feelings for Cassie distracted him—and he still had strong feelings for her. There were things Lee needed to tell her. He desperately needed to have a long conversation with her. Letting her get away had been a stunning mistake, maybe the biggest of his life. He had probably come on too strong, talking of marriage, children, and a life together. You frightened her away, idiot. Go slow this time. Don't be such a needy a-hole.

  He definitely needed to talk to her.

  First, though, they had a job to do this night.

  The troop's four Coyote cars were deployed forward, running in a line west of the highway, separated by about two hundred meters between each car. The four cars from 2 Troop were east of the highway, with the dismounted infantry on the highway between them, and 3 Troop's four cars were farther back in secondary firing positions, not far from the squadron command post. The A Echelon—the squadron's supply, maintenance, and medical vehicles—were about five kilometers back, where they'd be safe from any fighting. Because of the harsh terrain, if the aliens came, they'd likely come directly down the highway or slip through the woods to either side of it. At least, that was how Major Ryker had described the situation over the radio earlier. They'd need to provide a shield for the refugees for the rest of the night.

  No one knew if the aliens were coming, but most of the guys doubted it after the ass kicking they had given their cavalry earlier that night.

  Just to Lee's right in the cupola was Lieutenant Blackwell, currently standing up through her crew commander's open hatch, her legs level with Lee's face as she scanned the terrain with her night-vision binoculars. She had a pintle-mounted C6 7.62mm machine gun atop the cupola, and he knew from the firing range that she was a monstrously good shot with the machine gun. Private Hank Tofter, who had joined the Lord Strathcona's Horse just before Lee, sat in the driver's seat, keeping the 275-horsepower Detroit diesel engine rumbling. Seated at the rear of the vehicle and operating the sensor suite was the final member of the four-soldier crew and the vehicle's second-in-command, Corporal Bradley Norn—who was, in Lee's professional opinion, a bit of a douche but capable enough. Norn was scanning the woods with the sensor suite attached to the collapsible ten-meter mast behind the cupola, looming over the armored vehicle like a cell tower. The mast's height vastly improved their surveillance range, taking full advantage of the Doppler radar, night-observation device, and thermal camera. With the mast fully up, they could locate and identify vehicle targets out to twelve kilometers away—night or day, rain or shine. It would be far less effective at identifying dismounted infantry moving through the woods—which seemed most likely given what little they knew of the aliens—but Lee remained confident in his crew's capabilities. If the aliens moved against them, they'd see them coming.

  Then they'd get some payback for Fort St. John.

  The main turret gun, Lee's baby, was an M242 Bushmaster 25mm chain gun equipped with dual ammunition feeds for either armor-piercing sabot rounds or high-explosive fragmentation rounds. A second C6 7.62mm machine gun was mounted coaxially to the Bushmaster. Depending on the target, Lee could choose either weapon with the flick of a button. A Coyote wasn't a tank, but neither was its firepower negligible.

  "Bradley." Lieutenant Blackwell activated her radio set, using the vehicle's internal communications circuit. "You seeing anything out there?"

  The radio clicked. "That's a negative, ma'am. Trees and brush, the odd deer. Nothing walkin' upright."

  Lee glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost midnight with no one on the squadron's command net having reported seeing anything, although about a half hour earlier, the dismounted infantry platoon had reported one of the flying lizard-creatures southeast in the distance, moving away from their position. They had requested permission to open fire, but Major Ryker had told everyone they were "weapons-hold" unless acting in self-defense.

  Lee desperately wanted to see a flying lizard … dragon … whatever the hell it was—then he wanted to shoot it out of the sky.

  "Hey, Lieutenant." Bradley keyed his internal radio, a strange trace of uncertainty in his normally blustering voice.

  "You see something?" she asked.

  "Not on infrared or thermal, but the radar is taking hits."

  "Animals? Hey, Lee, you're from around here. You got bears in these woods?"

  "We do. Grizzlies. A grizzly would light up the radar for sure."

  Bradley keyed his radio again. "Not a bear. I'm picking up multiple hits now, dozens, all moving forward in unison. I think they're coming!"

  "Calling it in," Lieutenant Blackwell said, her voice surprisingly steady. A moment later, the radio activated while she broadcast over the squadron command net. "1, this is 1-1, contact report, grid UNIFORM ALPHA 79042617, dismounted infantry in platoon strength moving south through the woods and advancing on our position. Observing, over."

  A moment later, call sign 1, the squadron command post, acknowledged receipt of the contact report.

  "You better be right about this, Bradley," Lieutenant Blackwell said. "Don't make me look like an ass."

  "I'm not wrong," said Bradley.

  "Are they probing us?" Lee asked. "Sending a platoon of recce?"

  "I'm picking up more hits on the radar—a lot more," said Bradley, panic in his voice now. "Not a platoon."

  Moments later, other vehicles began calling in their own contact reports along the line east and west of the highway.

  "It's not a probe," said Lieutenant Blackwell. "They're coming in company strength, maybe battalion. Clench your sphincters, people. We're about to be in the shit."

  "Ack," said Lee, once again peering through his thermal sights but seeing nothing.

  "Ack," said Hank from the driver's position.

  "Ack," said Bradley, sounding more in control now.

  "Fuck them," said Lieutenant Blackwell. "This is our world. They don't get to murder people and get away with it."

  Sweat dripped down the back of Lee's neck, soaking through his combat shirt and body armor. When had it gotten so hot?

  "I've got movement on thermal!" Bradley called out. "It looks like… Shit, it looks like big freaking dogs, dozens of them."

  Lieutenant Blackwell called in the new contact, and for the first time, Lee saw movement through his own thermal sights. Bradley was right—there were dozens of large animals, all running out of the trees, charging at them. But they were too big to be dogs, more like giant wolves or smal
l ponies. The contacts were repeated all along the line.

  "Shit," said Lieutenant Blackwell softly, "they're moving too fast. Come on, boss, pull your head out of your ass!"

  Lee suspected she had forgotten he was close enough to hear her.

  "I've got movement behind the dogs," Bradley called out. "It looks like infantry, hundreds of them, maybe more."

  "1, this is 1-1," said Lieutenant Blackwell. "We've got infantry moving behind a screening force of … big dogs."

  When the radio squawked in reply, it was Major Ryker's voice, steady and calm. "1-1, this is 1-9"—he pronounced it "one-niner"—"Erin, I want to avoid lethal force if possible. Put a burst of 7.62 over their heads."

  "1-1, roger, over."

  "1-9, out."

  "Lee?" she called down.

  "Yes, ma'am?"

  "Use the coaxial. Put a short burst—and I damned well mean a short burst—over their heads."

  "Ack." Lee switched to the machine gun and took aim over the giant dogs charging at them. His finger tightened on the trigger, and he took a deep breath, his heart pounding, then squeezed the trigger. Inside the turret, the burst of machine gun fire was muted but still loud.

  Several moments passed, then Lee heard Lieutenant Blackwell swear. She keyed her radio. "1-9, this is 1-1. No joy. They're still coming."

  "I've got multiple fires!" Lee yelled. Through his thermal sights, it appeared as if the dogs themselves were on fire, the flames coming out of their mouths.

  A moment later, Major Ryker's voice came over the radio. "All call signs, all call signs, weapons free. I say again, weapons free."

  "Light them up, Lee!" the lieutenant yelled. "Use frag rounds."

  Lee switched weapons to the 25mm Bushmaster chain gun, selected the explosive rounds, and took aim on the approaching animals, now less than two hundred meters away. Formed up in massed ranks behind the dogs were what looked like hundreds of infantry, but they were carrying spears and swords and axes. This is like a movie.