by Jay Allan
Holm laughed. Thomas was a character, there was no question about that. But he was right too. The Reynolds landers he and Thomas had used during the Second Frontier War bounced around a lot worse than the more modern Gordons. Back then, Holm had proven to himself you could vomit even when there was nothing in your stomach…despite a horse’s dose of anti-emetics.
There was no fire from the ground, but the landers ratcheted around anyway, following the same evasive program they would have if a hundred surface to air missiles were coming at them. Carelessness killed Marines. Holm had said it countless times, trying to beat it into the heads of little puppy jarheads…and more than a few combat vets too…guys who should have known better than they did. But he’d almost ignored his own advice. Until Sam Thomas scolded him.
Holm was nervous about the mission, worried about the retired vets he’d recruited back into service. Once a Marine, always a Marine…it was the Corps creed. But is there never a time, Holm thought, when someone has done enough? When they’ve earned the right to be left alone, to run their farms or sit in their easy chairs? He’d brought over 1,000 Marines here, men and women who’d done their service before most of James Teller’s people were born. Some of them would die here…maybe all of them. Did he have a right to lay this at their doorstep, to pull them away from hearth and home and back to the horrors of the battlefield after so many years?
His guilt walked hand in hand with his pride, his solemn respect for the men and women the Corps produced. When Thomas had spread the word, the veterans poured onto his farm, answering the call without a second thought. Other Marines were in trouble…that’s all they needed to hear. Even as he hated himself for calling them back to the colors, he waxed with admiration and respect for these veterans who answered, who came without hesitation to rally to his cause.
“Touchdown in 60 seconds.” The soothing tones of the AI pulled him from his introspection. He couldn’t really move, bolted into his armor, but he could see the landscape below. They were coming down in a broad plain, not too far from Teller’s reported position, just north of a huge inland sea.
Holm had never been as relieved as he was when Teller answered the fleet’s query. Rounding up the retirees and dragging them to Arcadia weighed on him a bit less heavily now that they’d confirmed there were live Marines to rescue. Whatever happened, however the battle ahead turned out, Holm and his band of veterans were here to aid their brothers and sisters. However brutal the fight ahead…no matter how many died, that made the effort worthwhile. Marines aiding their comrades didn’t stop to do math, they didn’t weigh the costs of going in. They just went.
“Thirty seconds to impact.” Holm heard his rifle whine, the nuclear reactor on his back feeding power into its circuits. A few seconds later there was a loud crack…the landing struts extending from their retracted position.
“Alright, Marines…” Holm was speaking into the forcewide com, feeling a little silly reminding these Marines, most of whom had been veterans when he was swabbing the bathrooms back at Camp Basilone, to pay attention. “…we don’t expect any resistance at the landing zone, but I want everybody ready anyway.
He felt the upward jerk of the landing jets firing, then the mildly stomach-churning sensation of the ship dropping the last ten meters to the ground. An instant later the landing gears hit dirt, and the locking bolts released their hold on his armor.
He jumped forward a meter or so, pulling his rifle from its harness and looking out toward the perimeter of the LZ. He scanned around his ship, seeing mostly the other landers. There was no enemy in range…no incoming fire at all. Holm had chosen this position carefully. It was close to Teller’s people, but not too close. He didn’t want to expose his aged veterans to an opposed landing. Better to march 50 klicks than to get shot to pieces climbing out of the landers.
“Alright, Sam, let’s get everybody formed up and on the move.” Holm had made Thomas second in command. It felt strange giving orders to his old commander, but Thomas didn’t seem to have any problem following them. It had been a long time since the old colonel had been in the field, and Holm wasn’t the young officer thrust prematurely into command that he’d been the last time he shared a battlefield with Thomas. This Elias Holm had more than four decades of combat experience.
“Already getting them formed up, general.” Thomas sounded sharp and crisp, like the almost 40 year period separating him from his last battlefield was merely an instant. “Let’s go pull Jim Teller’s ass out of the fire.”
Handler was crouched behind a pile of twisted metal, looking out over the pockmarked prairie. He wasn’t sure what his makeshift cover had been before it was blasted into an unrecognizable mess. A drilling rig, perhaps? It didn’t really matter, he thought…it was decent protection. He was out on point, watching for any enemy move from the north.
After the retreat from the mountain, the battle had become a fluid one. Teller ordered the entire army – what was left of it – into extended formation. The enemy had gone nuclear, and that had changed things. It had been a unique target, and they hadn’t used any specials since, but Teller ordered nuclear battlefield protocols anyway. He’d lost almost 100 of his people in the first attack…Marines who hadn’t gotten far enough from the mountain to survive the massive blasts of the heavy nukes. He wasn’t about to risk another disaster like that.
The enemy had been hot on their heels for days, attacking almost continuously. Handler didn’t know what had ignited such urgency. He was about as far from the top of the organizational chart as he could be, but even grunts in the field usually had some idea of what motivated their enemy. Now it all made sense. General Teller had made the force-wide announcement. A relief force had landed. That’s why the enemy had gone nuclear. And that’s why Teller was worried they would again.
So, Handler thought, they wanted to take us out before they had a second army to deal with. “Well, fuck you all,” he muttered with considerable venom. Handler was a training camp slacker who was finding his true self on the battlefield, and one lesson he was learning all too well…hatred for the enemy. He’d started going through the motions, executing on his training. He’d been almost robotic at first, following one instruction after another, like a computer. But then he saw friends and comrades die at the hands of the enemy. Now there was more than training at work. He relished every enemy he took out, savored the vengeance as he massacred those who had pursued and killed his brothers in arms.
“Anything out there?” Bill Greene ran up from behind. He sat down hard behind Handler, releasing the large cargo canister from his back.
“Nope. Nothing at all. Looks like they had enough.” Handler didn’t really believe that. The enemy was as good as the Marines, or at least nearly so. Wherever they came from, Handler had to acknowledge these were elite troops he and his brethren were facing.
“Maybe they’re dealing with the landing.” Morale had soared with the news that reinforcements had arrived, and Greene was no exception. “For all we know, the rest of the Corps landed on their asses.”
“Maybe.” Handler was considerably more circumspect than his friend. It was possible, he guessed, that an overwhelmingly powerful force of Marines had landed, but he doubted it. If an enemy force of this quality was fighting on Arcadia, there had to be other trouble spots too. Perhaps war had broken out between the Powers. No, he thought…the best we can reasonably hope for is enough strength to gain a stalemate.
“You don’t sound convinced.” Greene wasn’t letting his comrade’s concern bring him down. “But it looks like the enemy pulled back. That must mean something.” He was digging into the cargo container as he spoke, pulling out assault rifle cartridges and stacking them next to Handler.
“Call me cautious.” Handler reached to the side, grabbing the clips one at a time and snapping them into the slots on the outside of his armor. His eyes stayed focused on the flat ground in front of him, never wavering.
“What the hell happened to my under-achievin
g best friend?” Greene was trying to suppress a laugh as he spoke. “When did you turn into another Blood and Guts Cain?”
“This isn’t training anymore, Tommy.” There was an edge to Handler’s voice, a seriousness that hadn’t been there before. “It’s life and death. And we’ve…” He hesitated for an instant, staring at his display then he switched his com to the HQ line. “Major Barnes, sir…this is Private Handler on scouting duty. I have multiple enemy contacts on my scanners sir. It looks like another assault coming in.” He paused, just for an instant. “A big one, sir.” He snapped a new cartridge into his rifle’s magazine and looked out over the prairie.
Chapter 23
Alliance Intelligence Facility Q
Dakota Foothills
American Sector, Western Alliance
Earth – Sol III
The moon shone brightly above the rugged hills and jagged ridges of the Dakota backcountry. Major Garth would have preferred to wait for a moonless night, but Vance had made it clear…time was of the essence. They had to go in immediately. Garth couldn’t even imagine what resources Vance had employed to smuggle the whole team into the Alliance undetected. This must be beyond urgent, he thought grimly, as he stared at his display, making sure everyone was in position. He exhaled hard, pushing back the feeling of dread that was trying to bubble up from inside him.
His people had been well-briefed. They all knew what to do, and they’d been ordered to maintain communications silence unless it was an emergency. They were looking for something, an Alliance facility of some sort. Whatever it is, Garth thought, it’s damned well hidden.
His troops were the best the Confederation had, trained both as commandos and intelligence agents. Red Team Beta was the senior formation in the Confederation’s ground forces…and they had been since the Alpha team had been wiped out on a mission so secret, as far as anyone but the council was concerned, they’d simply vanished into thin air. Rumors persisted that there had been a single survivor, but if that was true, no one had ever seen him.
Alpha team’s colors had been cased and the unit retired, the only honor Vance could give to troops lost on such a secret mission. Now Red Team Beta was on another operation, one just as vital…perhaps even more so. Vance had addressed them himself before they were inserted, and it was obvious from his demeanor that whatever they were looking for, it was immensely important. None of them had ever witnessed Roderick Vance anything but coldly efficient, but this time they’d seen fear in his eyes.
Garth moved quietly along a small rocky spine, crouched low behind the meter and a half wall of stone. The team had the newest prototype armor, equipped with every device Martian science possessed to thwart detection, including the still-experimental Mark 10 camouflage. But he wasn’t taking any chances. All the tech in the world wasn’t an excuse to get careless.
“Lieutenant Tobin, take point.” His visor was up, and Tobin was standing right next to him. It was low tech, but it was the most undetectable way for them to communicate.
“Yes sir.” Rick Tobin was a humorless sort, and he sounded like a martinet when he spoke. Garth knew otherwise. Tobin had been a highly decorated platoon commander during the fighting on Garrison. Though twice hit himself, he ran a gauntlet of First Imperium fire three times, carrying back his wounded troopers. When they finally got him to the field hospital, he’d been hit five times and, despite the best efforts of his suit’s trauma control system, he was nearly bled out.
“Be careful, lieutenant.” Garth was speaking softly. His people hadn’t detected any contacts, but there was no point in shouting, just in case. “Avoiding detection is your top priority.” Garth didn’t know how realistic that was. If there was something around here as important as Vance seemed to think, there was no way they were sneaking in undetected. Still, they had to try.
“Yes, major.” Tobin nodded and snapped his visor down as he turned and trotted over to where his team had assembled.
Garth looked out over the scrubby prairie. What could they have out here? What could have gotten the normally ice-cold Roderick Vance so unnerved? Garth shuddered just thinking about it.
“Colonel, I am monitoring multiple surface contacts.” Lieutenant Jackson-315 spoke steadily, almost robotically. “Minimum 20, sir. Possibly more.”
The control center was almost silent, save for an occasional beep from one of the computers. There were a dozen officers present, quietly manning workstations positioned around the perimeter of the circular room. They worked with cool efficiency, managing the complex and its detection and defense systems. Facility Q was the largest base ever constructed by mankind. Its underground tunnels and rooms spread under 40 square kilometers of desolate South Dakota wilderness.
“Alert the duty company.” Colonel Anderson-17 sat like a statue, unmoving, his chair set upon a raised dais in the center of the room. This could be an innocent contact, he thought…local ranchers looking for strays or something similar. Indeed, that’s most likely what it was. He had to be cautious…sending a company of armored guards to shoot up the countryside was a last resort. His primary orders were to avoid any type of contact that might threaten the facility’s secrecy. Most likely, this was nothing requiring a response. Still, he couldn’t take any chances. “Prepare to intercept on my command.”
“Yes, sir.” Jackson-315 snapped off the response, his fingers already dancing across his control pad. A few seconds later: “Gold Company leader reports ready, colonel.” He paused, only for a brief instant. “Awaiting your orders, sir.”
Anderson remained silent. He considered the situation. If he blasted a bunch of locals who’d wandered into the quarantined zone, it would be a mess to clean up later. One ranch hand getting lost and disappearing in the wilderness wouldn’t draw attention. Twenty people missing would kick off a search…even if they were only Cog ranch workers. Number One had been very clear about maintaining the facility’s secrecy. Starting a firefight and wiping out a pack of locals wasn’t exactly low profile. Anderson-17 was as coldly fearless as the rest of the Shadow Force, but that courage didn’t extend to matters involving the Commander. He had a deep fear of Gavin Stark, just like all the Shadow soldiers. He’d wait and watch. For now.
“There are definitely contacts here, sir.” Tobin had moved out in the open, allowing him line of sight to contact Garth with a direct laser communication. The energy of the laser was detectable, but far less so than a standard com line.
There was something in Tobin’s voice. Garth couldn’t quite place it. Not fear, exactly…at least not only fear. Astonishment? “Talk to me, lieutenant. What are you reading?”
“I’m only getting intermittent signals, sir.” The scanner he was using was the leading edge of Martian R&D, a quantum leap over any existing systems. It was also one of the most classified devices in human space. Nothing short of the present crisis would have compelled Vance to release it from the underground lab where it had been tested…and protected by a division of Confederation regulars. “There’s all kinds of shielding here. Without these new scanners we wouldn’t be reading a thing.”
“What are you getting?” Garth was getting impatient. “Let’s go, Tobin. Talk to me.”
“Sorry sir.” Tobin’s tone was still distracted. “Sorry, major,” he repeated. “I am getting readings over a large area, sir.” He looked up from the screen he’d been focused on. “If this is all one complex, it is the biggest thing I’ve ever seen. We have intermittent contacts over 40 square kilometers.”
Now it was Garth’s turn to stand in stunned silence, though only for a few seconds. “Forty square kilometers?” It was all he managed to spit out.
“Yes, sir. If this is all one base, it’s massive.”
“Any indication of entry points?” Garth knew the answer before he even asked.
“Negative, sir.” Tobin turned to look over at Garth. “We’re barely getting any readings at all.”
Garth sighed. Vance had been clear about the importance of this mission. H
is people had already accomplished a great deal simply validating the Martian spymaster’s concerns. Whatever it was they had found, there could be no doubt this barren stretch of wilderness was the home to an enormous construct of some kind.
“Sergeant Barrick.” Garth snapped into the com, again by direct laser link.
“Yes, major?” The response was immediate. Barrick was a veteran’s veteran. The armored figure turned at once to face Garth and trotted over toward the major’s position.
“Take one of the privates and fall back to the rally point.” They had a satellite uplink hidden there, and he was determined that Vance would know what they had found, even though they really knew very little. Garth suspected the simple confirmation that an enormous facility existed would be valuable to Vance. “I want you to transmit a message back to Control. And remember, direct laser communication only until you get to the uplink.”
Garth had every intention of trying to gain access to the mysterious facility…and no illusions about the chances of any of his people making it back out. But whatever happened, he had to be sure Vance at least knew they’d confirmed the presence of…something. With luck, Garth figured he’d be able to follow up with more information once they scouted things more closely. If not, at least his people wouldn’t die for nothing.
“Yes, sir.” Barrick’s voice was as impassive as usual. “Thurber, report to me at once.” Garth could hear the veteran sergeant snapping his orders to one of the privates.
Garth flipped to Tobin’s line. “Lieutenant, transmit the full data set from the scanners to Sergeant Barrick immediately.” He paused. “Everything you’ve got.”
“Yes, sir.” Tobin’s reply was immediate.