by Alan Black
Stone scrambled up a dirt mound and down the other side, following Jay. He was worried about his drascos, yet he was more concerned about the people. He was having difficulty remembering which marine platoon was in what triangle. He remembered Numos was in the east barracks near the conference room and Stone’s office. Alpha Platoon was housed in the marine east barracks in the triangle. Allie’s Bravo Platoon was west. He would have to check soon, for now he wasn’t sure he wanted to know whether Hammermill’s Charlie Platoon or Heller’s Delta Platoon was in the north barracks. Whoever had been there was now gone.
He hoped the loss of life wasn’t as bad as it looked. He stopped and wretched. Lying in the dirt was a chunk of human leg. It wasn’t a simple ankle and foot, or even the lower part laying on the ground. The chunk was a piece of an upper thigh, jagged thick bones poking out each end, blood still oozing from the raw meat. This was a female thigh, the skin smooth and sleek without the heavy muscle of a marine. Who the piece belonged to would have to be determined by DNA testing, assuming they had anyone in medical or on the science staff alive who could run the test.
He felt bad about checking on his pets before checking on injured people, however, he followed Jay. He found Peebee lying in the dirt, Jay holding one of her sister’s front legs in her mouth. The moment he appeared, Jay let go of Peebee and pounced on him. She knocked him to the ground and snuffled his body, sniffing here and there. He tried to push her away, but she wouldn’t go. Looking, he realized the blood on Numos’s hands back in the conference room hadn’t been the major’s. The blood was his.
Scrambling back to his feet, he saw scrapes and cuts crisscrossing his arms and hands. His uniform was in good shape, the cloth was designed to be tear-proof, but it wasn’t indestructible. His first visit to Allie’s World had shredded an unshreddable uniform. He slipped a hand up to his face, almost afraid to touch himself, not wanting to know if he was seriously hurt. A hand came away bloody from his right ear. It felt like the ear lobe was dangling farther down than it usually did.
He didn’t try to push Jay away. He maneuvered around her until he reached Peebee. She lay on the ground, a deep gash cut across one of her front legs. Her leg didn’t look mangled, yet the cut was ragged and looked painful. Jay reached around him, wrapping her mouth around her sister’s leg. All doctors since Commander Wright had noted the analgesic properties of drasco spit. It would be helpful if Jay didn’t do anything more than clean the dirt and debris from the wound. Peebee quit whimpering, as if she was more concerned about him than her own pain, as Stone patted her head.
Neither drasco was wearing their fancy chrome armor, though Stone thought they had been wearing it when he saw them from the conference room window. He could see some slight scratches across their hides where the power of the blast may have blown the heavy metal armor off. Neither drasco appeared concerned.
“Okay, girls. I’m banged up a bit, but I think I’m doing all right. You stay here for right now. I need to go find Allie and help with any injured.” Turning to leave, the drascos flanked him in the blink of an eye. Peebee looked determined to follow him, still favoring her injured leg.
He looked around. Spotting a piece of cloth in the dirt, he pulled it free. A short while ago, the cloth had been a civilian shirt. Now it was a shroud covering some mangled unidentified piece of human. Stone shook the body part free. He rolled the shirt into a tight twist. Wrapping it around Peebee’s leg, he tied it into a knot, hoping to close the bleeding gash on her leg. He didn’t know if human blood and guts would hurt the drasco if it oozed into her bloodstream. He’d worry about infection later. Their spit hadn’t hurt him and he hoped the reverse would hold true.
Jay and Peebee continued to flank him as he scrambled to the top of a dirt ridge. North was a smoking pit—east and west were jumbled piles of half-demolished buildings. People were stampeding out of the south building, spreading out seeking injured, rendering aid, marking bodies and scattered remains with small white flags. 1LT Hammermill stood at the entrance to the first floor south offices. Sans uniform, in nothing more than small white skivvies, he was bellowing commands; shouting at this person to do this, that person to go there. He turned every other marine back into their barracks, directing them to get suited up and armored.
Jay wonked loudly. It caught Hammer’s attention and he turned. Stone shouted, “Where’re Numos and Allie?”
Hammermill shouted, “West barracks, helping pull wounded from the wreckage.” He started to turn back, but Stone waved at him to keep his attention.
“Get cover up,” Stone shouted. He wanted Hammer to get marines in armor up on the parapets to protect the now open parade ground. Hammer must have misunderstood because he grabbed a marine and thrust the man toward their hangar and the marine shuttle.
Stone looked at his drascos. “Jay, find Major Numos. Peebee, you stay with me and we’ll go find Allie.” The trio started toward the west side of the compound. Before they got to the double doors usually opening onto the parade ground, Jay veered off to the right and raced up to a blank wall. She whined and danced in front of the wall. With a bellow, she shot her tail spike over her head, jamming it into the wall, hooking it. She pulled, her feet skidding on the loose dirt.
Peebee raced over in a three-legged hobble next to her sister. Scrunching low to the ground, she scorpioned her tail over her head, stinging the side of the building, hooking the wall.
Stone raced over and shouted. “Pull, girls. Tear it up.” He heard an audible “ooo-rah” from inside the building and the wall vibrated as something inside smashed hard against the metal. Jay and Peebee grunted and yanked against the wall, jerking in unison. Voices again shouted “ooh-rah”. Crash. The wall shuddered but held. “Ooh-rah!” The wall collapsed as four massive marines hit the wall at the same time Jay and Peebee jerked.
Lance Corporal Barbara Tuttle and three other marines were hurtled to the ground as the drascos tossed the wall to the side. The marines rolled to their feet as if they hadn’t done anything more than step over a throw pillow instead of helping two aliens tear down a wall designed not to be torn down.
“What the hell, sir?” Tuttle shouted. “We got injured marines in … ” Her voice faded as she took in the devastation around the compound.
Stone said, “Medical was in the north section. Get anyone with first aid training helping with the wounded. Doctor Menendez is in the east section. Get the seriously wounded together for her to help as she can. Everybody else help Major Numos clear these buildings and look for survi—”
A hiss from overhead caused him to duck. The bright streak from a small missile shot across the open sky at treetop level. The marine shuttle from the south shuttle bay had barely struggled into the air. The pilot turned it upside down, jammed out a stream of flares and ECM pods, jinking away from the little missile. The missile missed, raced down range, and turned, coming back. The pilot corkscrewed trying to gain speed and altitude.
Stone shouted, “Get under cover.” He knew if this was the same type of missile that hit the north end of their compound, it would obliterate anyone caught in the open. He dove into the dirt, trying to dig a deep hole. He grunted as Tuttle landed on top of him with Jay and Peebee dropping next to him.
The drascos made an effective wall. They pulled their feet under them, belly down, curling their tails over Tuttle and Stone. Tucking their heads down, the only exposed part of them was their thick rusted-pig-iron hide.
Covered as he was, Stone still had a small view of the sky. The marine shuttle veered sideways and lit off another stream of flares. This time, he wasn’t trying to avoid the missile, instead, calling it to him. He raced away from the compound. The pilot had to know, just as Stone knew, a second missile on the compound wouldn’t leave any human alive.
Stone saw the shuttle roll and crash to the ground followed closely by the missile. He heard the explosion this time. The noise wasn’t as deafening as before, yet the ground heaved and roiled. Jay was pushed off her defensiv
e huddle and rolled on top of Tuttle adding her weight to the corporal’s weight on Stone. He wanted to grunt, but he was being crushed by those trying to save him.
TWELVE
Before he ran out of air, Jay leaped to her feet. Tuttle grabbed Stone by the collar and yanked him to his feet. A thick column of smoke stained the sky to the south where the marine shuttle and the missile had danced their last tango. Other than the small earthquake caused by the explosion, there didn’t appear to be any added damage to the compound than there had been from the first missile. The shuttle pilot had saved them by drawing the second missile away.
A third missile, or a fourth, fifth or sixth would do them in.
Stone pushed Tuttle trying to get her to move toward the east compound door. “Find Major Numos and help him search for wounded.”
Tuttle didn’t budge. “No, sir. Lieutenant Vedrian already told me to find you and stick by your side until she said different.”
“Allie? Where is she?” He didn’t need to ask as Peebee, following her earlier command, shot forward into the room they had exposed by clearing the wall. Half a dozen bloody marines lay on the floor.
Allie hovered over one man, jamming thick cloth pads into a gaping side wound trying to stop the bleeding, a can of anti-coagulant lay empty at her side. Any casual observer could tell she fought a losing battle, but she didn’t quit trying until the bleeding marine quit fighting and took his last breath. She glanced at the other marines. The wounded were helping other wounded. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Stone and nodded.
Stone could see the sadness in her eye. As he raced across the short distance, she turned the rest of the way to face him. A gash cut across her face from the middle of her forehead slicing down through her right eye, stopping at her right cheek. The blood didn’t flow, but more oozed down her jaw line to drip away. A ragged gash across the face should be gushing blood, but her marine nanites were stemming the flow, keeping her on her feet.
“Sit,” Stone commanded.
Allie shook her head. “We have people to help.”
Stone looked at Tuttle. “Find a dressing and bind this wound, please.” Tuttle turned and Stone noticed the previously unhurt Corporal now had scrapes and scratches from making contact with Jay’s sandpaper-like skin. Even her marine utility uniform had small tears and rips.
Allie shouted. “Belay that, Tuttle. Help these—”
Numos stepped out of the doorway, “Do as Ensign Stone commanded Corporal. No. Lieutenant Vedrian, we need you and you need to quit bleeding.”
Tuttle grabbed a first aid pack from a wall-mounted cabinet and rushed back to Allie. Tilting Allie’s head back, she sprayed a stream of liquid bandage across the cut. “The eye is gone, LT,” she said in a matter of fact voice.
Allie shrugged. “That’s why the marines issued me two. I’ll just get a new issue to replace it when we get out of this.”
Tuttle put a pad over Allie’s damaged eye and wrapped a strip of bandage around her head. The bandage was marine black, designed to match a marine uniform so as not to stand out. A quick press on the appropriate colored dot and the bandage cinched tight. A quick wipe with a cleaning pad and the excess blood was wiped away from her face, leaving her looking like a pirate from an old entertainment vid. A large, angry pirate, but Stone was glad she was upright instead of in pieces.
A quiet whir caught Stone’s attention. He glanced upward, shuddering slightly at the sight of all the open sky and caught a movement out the corner of his eye. A fist sized recon drone whizzed overhead. A dozen armored marines on parapets fired at the drone, but it zipped around as if laughing at their attempts to shoot it down.
PO3 Tammie Ryte raced from the south building. Carrying a small two-handed weapon, she slid to a stop and squeezed the trigger without taking aim. She spotted Stone and trotted over to him, ignoring the small anti-missile charge she had fired skyward. It tracked the recon drone, matching it zig for zig and zag for zag until it caught it in a fiery blast. Even in the middle of a business day, she wasn’t in uniform, but some skin tight, yoga-type thing.
Stone didn’t want to stare, however, the young petty officer had a small, tight, smoking body. The stretchy material covering her body did little to hide her attributes. It wasn’t cold, yet her nipples were poking hard against the material. He had to look away before he embarrassed himself. He looked at Allie. Her massive body twitched with anger, all she needed was a parrot and a cutlass to complete his fantasy of being ravished by a female pirate.
Ryte nodded to the small group assembled around Stone. “Ensign Stone, those were Hyrocanian missiles. So was that drone.”
There was a babel of shouting. Numos’s voice overrode everyone, “Hyrocanian? Are you sure?”
Ryte said, “The only other possibility is that someone is exceptionally good at pretending to be Hyrocanian. We could confirm it with pieces of those missiles or scraps from the recon drone, but we don’t have time to go looking for those pieces.”
Stone said, “The drone caught enough shots of us. They know we’re still alive. If they wanted us dead, then another missile is already on the way.”
Numos said, “If it is, there isn’t anything we can do. The shuttle they shot down was our last operational shuttle. We couldn’t get away from a missile blast if we wanted to.”
Everyone looked to the north sky. No more missiles came raining down to kill them.
Ryte said, “Good. Unlike some people here, I haven’t seen a Hyrocanian up close. Kind of looking forward to that meeting.” She elbowed Stone in the side and winked at him. Everyone knew he was one of the few humans who had ever seen a live Hyrocanian and lived to tell about it.
Allie said, “Let’s not get too familiar, Petty Officer.”
Ryte snorted, “Oh, the hell with this. Let’s dispense with that crap right away.” She pulled out a badge and identification packet from some pocket that didn’t have any right to exist in her outfit. The badge was clearly printed EMIS.
Stone said, “You’re an undercover Empire Military Investigative Service agent?”
Ryte laughed, “Well, yeah! That’s kind of the point of the badge, Stone. I had orders from the top to check on intelligence leaks. Someone thinks somebody else is sending military data to the Hyrocanians. I think—”
Numos interrupted. “Enough for now, Ryte. Without navy overhead, this compound is untenable. We have to move out. Ensign Stone, you are still in command, so it is your call. Nevertheless, if the Hyrocanians wanted us all dead, we would be all dead by now. They want us alive.”
Stone nodded. No one wanted to be captured by the Hyrocanians, least of all him. Their methods of information extraction were brutal, horrifying, and effective. No one had survived it to tell the tale and the Hyrocanians weren’t shy about broadcasting vids of their torture sessions. Somehow, in their teeny tiny minds, they thought it would make people more willing to talk when they were caught. What it did was make humans less likely to surrender and more likely to fight to the death rather than be taken alive. When all other options failed, suicide runs were becoming popular. Navy commanders had even revived the old sailing command, ramming speed, rather than give up.
Stone had seen Hyrocanians up close and personal. They were ugly enough he still had nightmares about them. They would have to catch him if they wanted him alive.
Ryte said, “You think they want us alive? Well, I wonder if we can turn about and catch a few for me to play with.”
Stone shook his head, “We shouldn’t hang around here.”
Ryte said, “The last missile tracked the shuttle. They will shoot us down again if we take off.”
Numos said, “It doesn’t matter. That was the last operational shuttle. The one in the north hangar is dust by now. The east and west hangars would take us a week to clear the debris to get a shuttle airborne again, assuming they are undamaged after the second story of the compound collapsed onto them. I suggest we hump the hell out of here and find us a defensible position
. We can try to defend here, but they have us pinpointed and this compound has taken too much damage. What are your orders, Ensign Stone?”
“Those missiles came from the north, so I suggest we gather everybody and go south.”
Numos nodded, “Sir. Lieutenant Vedrian, are you fit for duty?”
“Fuckin’ A, sir.”
“Get Lieutenant Hammermill started at the north end of the compound and have him sweep south. Protocol Z-99. We have to be at least one mile south of here in one hour from now.”
Ryte said, “Wait. We can’t bug out and leave the wounded and all of this equipment for the Hyrocanians to capture. We can’t even leave the bodies for autopsy.”
Stone didn’t know what protocol Z-99 was, but it didn’t sound like the first option a marine would choose. Allie didn’t even slow up to listen to Ryte’s objections. She broadcast an order using her dataport for every able body in the area to meet Hammermill at the missile crater near the north end of the compound. She turned back to Stone and Numos waiting for additional instructions.
Tuttle didn’t race away. Keeping Stone in her sight, she pulled a small cube from the bottom of the first aid cabinet on the wall of the exposed room. Pushing a little button on the end, it popped open into a large bag. She quickly checked the pockets of the dead marine Allie had tried saving. She pulled off his ID tag, dropping it into a small bag along with any personal items from his pockets. The only useful item she found was a long knife that she slid into her own boot.
Rolling the marine into the bag, she pushed the tabs to seal it. One quick push of an end tab and the bag began to heat and smoke. Without looking back, she went to the cabinet and pulled out a dozen more bags. She tossed one to each of the wounded marines. “Zed-99, fellas.”
Numos nodded, “Sorry, men. Either get in a bag or get up.”
Tuttle walked back to the first bag. It quit smoking and began shrinking in on itself. It crumpled smaller and smaller, only slightly larger than its original size. She picked up the cube and dropped it into the bag with the ID tag and personal possessions of the dead man. “Six pounds, Major.”