by Danny Loomis
Ten minutes passed. They were close enough to give another heads-up. “Mac, this is Scout One. Five hundred meters.”
Again his answer was a double click. One more look at the gooners, and he began a thorough scan of the area within twenty kilometers. No sparks, no anything. Good.
Another ten minutes. He’d lost sight of the enemy as they entered the notch. Too close to the ridge for him to scan with the Zoomies, and the satellites had suddenly dropped them in mid-blip. He was beginning to get squirmy, when: “Scout One, do you want any prisoners?”
“Um, yeah, one. Try for the highest ranking, okay?”
“Roger. Any other enemy activity noted close to us?”
“Negative on that. Nothing within twenty klicks.”
An unearthly scream sounded several hundred meters to the south, followed by silence.
“Ian? This is Pointy. Mac and his crew are finishing up now. You can come on down.”
A short while later Ian was met by Pointy, followed by McCaulley who had a large sack tossed over his shoulder.
“What a wonderful night,” McCaulley said. “I do hope you’re able to stay longer and find us more playmates,” he said.
Ian looked at Pointy. “Do I want to know what happened?”
Pointy shook his head. “No, not really. Let’s just say Mac and his team had a little slam-dunk contest with the other gooners, and leave it at that.”
“Something tells me I’ll be glad when ‘Private’ McCaulley becomes a Lieutenant again,” Ian said. He led the procession back to the mine.
Next afternoon Ian and Pointy stood next to their flitter, preparing to leave. Lieutenant McCaulley lumbered up with a large basket under his arm.
“My friends, it has been most pleasant. Please take this food with you as a token of our appreciation for what you did for us last night.”
“What we did?” Ian asked, shaking McCaulley’s hand. “You guys did all the work. We just went along for the ride.”
“Ah, yes. But you were the leader, so our success was your success. Go with God, my friends.”
As the flitter lifted and began its run back to the task force base, Pointy gave a heartfelt sigh. “I’ll never have food that good again. I swear to God I’d desert and join the Star’s End military if they’d let me be in that guy’s platoon.”
“Get in line,” Ian said with a chuckle.
STAR’S END, VERTLAND: CAMP 3 (Day +67):
Major DeVries wiped sweat from his face and watched the four figures disembarking from the propellor driven transport that carried Chairman of the Board and ex-chief of staff Richard Dupont to Camp Three. Dupont brought two security types and a secretary with him. Again he wiped his face, damning the intolerable heat and humidity of this hell hole.
Dupont walked up and extended his hand. “Major DeVries, I presume.”
So like his own world’s leaders. Casual arrogance and an air of being a member of the elite rode this man’s shoulders. He gestured to the elevator. “Mister Dupont, gentlemen, please come with me. It’s much cooler below.”
They were joined in the elevator by Captain Trapp, his executive officer. “Sir, we’ll have the aircraft offloaded momentarily. Is there anything else you need?”
DeVries turned to Dupont. “Would you care to relax and refresh yourself before we have our meeting, Sir?”
“No, thank you. The others, perhaps. I think it wise to have our discussion in private. At least to begin with, don’t you think?”
DeVries gave a small bow. “You are a man after my own heart, Sir. Business first, then to pleasure.”
He turned to Captain Trapp. “Please escort these other gentlemen to the lounge and ensure they are properly cared for.” DeVries exited the elevator and escorted Dupont to a small conference room. “Would you like refreshments, Sir?” he asked when they were seated.
“Some iced tea would be nice. Which reminds me. I brought the quarterly supplies, to include four tons of specialized fertilizer for the, shall we say, less advertised plants we grow.”
DeVries nodded. “The stimweed, you mean. Yes, they have been looking peaked. Too bad your botanist resisted our presence, or we’d have known how to better care for them.”
“Um, yes,” Dupont murmured. “Then it’s a good thing I arrived when I did. The stimweed we’re growing in the greenhouses next to the airfield are one of the plots we have that’s nearing maturation. Without judicious application of certain fertilizers and chemicals to help them during this critical time frame, we could lose a substantial portion of the crop.” The Dupont Corporation made ninety million credits annually from their illegal sale of stimweed.
“Is that why you’re here, Mister Dupont? To save your company’s hidden profits?” He reached for a glass of iced tea a servant had unobtrusively brought in, and passed it over to Dupont.
“That, and to discuss with you the Alliance’s role with our new government when the Jeffersonians take over.”
“Something not likely to happen, since the Orion Confederation has shown up in force,” DeVries casually flicked on the screen of a communications console. “Lieutenant Hammond, please put that call through now.” He gestured an apology to Dupont. “Sorry, Sir. I wanted to have Senator Deville included in our discussion. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” Dupont said, showing annoyance for the first time. “But we have to discuss what it will take to get you to leave this camp.”
DeVries’ broad smile unnerved Dupont with the sight of his fully exposed steel teeth. “Yes, we do. But I wish to do my negotiating with the Senator.” Senator Deville’s face appeared, and he turned back to the screen.
“Good afternoon, Senator. As you can see, Mr. Dupont has arrived. What was it you wished to discuss with me?”
“Your immediate departure from Star’s End, Major. We’ll provide you with safe conduct back to Alliance space.”
“No, Senator, I think not.” DeVries produced a pistol and laid it on the table. “You will instead tell me where you hid your space yacht down here in this stink hole, and supply me with the diamonds stolen from the Stobol mines.”
Deville looked at Dupont. “Richard, did the supplies of food stuffs and fertilizer get offloaded and stored all right?” At Dupont’s puzzled nod, he sat back with a look of relief on his face.
“This has nothing to do with our discussion,” DeVries said as he picked up and cocked the pistol. “You will agree to my demands, or I’m afraid you won’t like the consequences.”
“We can’t do that,” Dupont said as his look of annoyance grew. “Those are to be used to fund our political movement. When we succeed…” DeVries casually pointed his pistol at Dupont and shot him in the head, knocking him from the view of a horrified Deville.
“Now do you understand how serious I am, Senator?” DeVries asked, holstering his pistol.
Deville forced calm into his voice, and stared at DeVries. “You should have listened to him, you fool. He was going to offer you and the Alliance a free trade agreement if you helped us gain power.”
DeVries blinked. “That is too bad. Why didn’t you say so at first?”
“Because he was the one who could make it happen. He had the support of several important political figures in the east. Now, we’re back to square one if the insurrection is put down.”
“In that case, my demands still stand. If you don’t supply me with those diamonds, I’ll be forced to resort to the Valhalla plan.”
“And what is that?” Deville asked, a frown creasing his forehead.
“We’ve placed a nuclear device in a shaft several miles deep near the Stobol Mining complex. Our seismologists believe that if it’s set off, it will bring to life the dormant volcano from which your diamonds were born in the first place. Which means no more diamonds for anyone. Ever.”
Deville paled, and raised a shaking hand to his face. “My God, man! You can’t be that irresponsible. Was this your idea?”
“No, it was decided before
we ever agreed to come to your despicable little planet. If military support or action failed, this was an option to further weaken the government. Do you think this will weaken your government, Senator?”
The Senator managed to control himself and leaned back in his chair, a look of defeat on his face. “Do you have the triggering device with you now?”
DeVries laughed. “I have it here, in a secure location.”
Deville came to an abrupt decision. “Have you heard of Semnate?” Several years earlier the plastic explosive called Semnate had been invented. It was ten times more powerful than other conventional explosives, and when enough was combined with several tons of nitrogen fertilizer could make an explosion rivaling a small nuclear blast.
“I see from your expression you have. My triggering device is not in such a secure place, Major. In fact I seem to have it here.” He lifted the small device and pushed its button. “Goodbye, Major.” DeVries managed to lunge to his feet before the screen turned white.
Deville stared at the disconnect signal for several minutes, deep in thought. A nuclear device in a deep shaft. It would have to be located and disarmed, even though he’d hopefully destroyed the means to trigger it. In fact, once the Alliance learned of the Major’s demise, they would just make another transmitter with the right codes and frequency, and zap. This would take some ticklish maneuvering.
He keyed his intercom. “Mary, please put in a call to President Martinez. Tell him it’s urgent.”
* * *
Ian lay on his bunk and listened to Pointy snore the afternoon away. They’d gone on two more missions since the nickel mine, eliminated two Alliance soldiers on the first, and came up empty on the second. Having a day off was nice, but their last trip out was a bust from the first, which meant they spent most of the time lazing around.
“Knock, knock. Hey, Irish, you decent?” Brita asked from outside their tent.
“Yeah, c’mon in.” He yawned and stretched. Fingers scrabbled against helmet as he tried to scratch his head. Damn. Forgot to take it off again.
“Ian, s’help me I’m gonna freak out if you keep forgetting to take off your helmet.” Concern leaked through Brita’s scowl, making Ian even more embarrassed.
He sat up and took off his helmet. “Sorry, just cruising the electronic highways.”
“Get in uniform and meet me at Boudreau’s tent. We’ve got some problems with our local sensor net, and Top wanted your input.”
Minutes later Ian joined Brita and Boudreau. All three studied the holo map on the desktop.
“Irish, have you noticed anything unusual lately when you’ve used your link to tie in with local scanners?”
“I haven’t tied in to any around here for a couple days, Top. What’s up?”
“We’ve had some go off-line for a few hours, then come back on. Maintenance couldn’t find the problem when we brought them in for repair. So now we’re looking for other reasons.”
“We suspect infiltrators,” Brita said. “Probably trying to keep track of our activities.”
“So you want me to keep an electronic eye out?”
“Right,” Boudreau said. “Whenever you’re back here on base, we’d like you to tune in on the sensor array, not just the satellites. Can you do it?”
“Sure, Top. It’s no sweat to keep tabs on both. I should’ve been doing it before. Just didn’t think about it.” He paused a moment, head cocked. “In fact, one that’s listed as good on this map isn’t on anymore,” he said, as he touched the map.
Brita shook her head. “That’s only four hundred meters from the task force perimeter. When’d it go down?”
“Damned right it’s close,” Boudreau muttered. “That’s the nearest any have been that went gunnysack.”
Ian examined the sensor data. “Just went bad. Probably within the last hour.”
“Get Pointy up. I want you two on standby in case somebody’s out there,” Boudreau said. “And next time you come in my tent I want to see your face, not your helmet with its visor down. Too spooky.”
“Er, right, Top.” Ian hurried out. He didn’t remember putting his helmet back on. It was a little spooky. No time to worry about it now. Maybe later. He staggered, disoriented for a brief second. Control. Have to keep control.
* * *
Captain Vogel snaked his way past the sensor he’d just disabled. He moved slow enough that the local wildlife scarcely noticed him. Another fifty meters and he was just below the crest of the knoll he’d chosen as his sniper position. He eased his way over the top and found a niche behind a large tree. He unlimbered his Mauser 211 and inserted a magazine of the caseless eleven mm rounds.
Once satisfied his rifle was properly loaded and functional, he unshipped a pair of binoculars and scanned the task force perimeter four hundred meters away. Satisfied all was normal, he crept back to the top of the knoll. He aimed a small electronic device shaped like a fat pencil at the approximate location of the disabled sensor, and keyed it back to life. They had paid thousands of Deutschmarks for the Terran Federation devices, and so far the price was worth it.
Back in the hide once more, he built a camouflaged hooch which would be undetectable five meters away. All he had to do now was wait for his target to show himself. The Undertaker was good at waiting.
* * *
Ian roused for a moment. He’d seen a flicker on the satellite recon map. No, it was the wayward sensor coming back to life. He’d better let Top know. He clambered to his feet. What a laugh, being on alert. The only difference between day-off boredom and alert boredom was the uniform.
“Yeah, we just got an update on our tac board. Picked that one back up,” Boudreau said. “Take a load off and I’ll tell you what else they told us.” Ian noted the smug little half-smile Top always got when the news was good.
“It seems the Alliance force that landed on the south continent got itself blown up yesterday. The President’s Chief of Staff went down there, actually he was the ex-chief of staff, to negotiate face-to-face. When it turned sour there was some kind of ruckus that touched off a good-sized blast. Destroyed the entire settlement along with most of the Alliance troops.”
“All right!” Ian crowed. “I was not looking forward to being sent down there to root those bastards out.”
Boudreau nodded agreement. “The planning was well under way to do that very thing. This means we’ll finish up weeks earlier than anyone thought.”
“And no jungle operations,” Ian said with a relieved sigh, starting for the door.
Another two days passed. J.C. and Blade ran across two sniper teams in a row, both south and west of the airfield, thirty kilometers out. Only one was captured alive.
“I think they’ve gotten the word,” J.C. said. “If they’re captured, we suck their brains dry and give ’em to the militia, who execute the bastards for war crimes. If the militia captures ’em, they just get killed. Not much of a choice, huh?”
Ian pushed his barely touched lunch tray away. No appetite for the past several days. “More of a choice than what they gave the families and innocents they’ve killed,” he said quietly. “If I wasn’t under orders to at least try and capture them, I’d kill all of them like the mad dogs they are. No trials, no second chances. Just execute them.”
After a moment of silence Pointy said, “I’ll drink to that.”
“Right on,” Blade said.
Ian slipped his helmet back on and rose to his feet. He got as far as the door before he stiffened and spun around. “I’m getting four locations now, guys. All within four hundred meters of the perimeter. Let’s get to a map. I’ll show you where.”
In Boudreau’s tent, they all gathered round the desk while Ian marked the locations he’d picked up on the satellite recon link.
“We’d better get word out for everyone to keep their heads pulled in for awhile,” Boudreau said. “Irish, you and Pointy get a flitter in the air, land behind them. Blade, J.C., flank from the north. Franny’s due in momentarily. B
rita, meet him at the airfield and the two of you flank from the south. Go.” Within seconds his tent was empty. He commed task force headquarters.
“Lieutenant, this is Sergeant First Class Boudreau. We’ve gotten some intel that snipers are close to our western perimeter. Would you pass the word? Thanks.” He grabbed his battle vest and hurried from the tent, pulling his helmet on.
* * *
Colonel Grayson strode towards Echo Company’s bivouac, on the westernmost edge of the encampment. Ever since the militia had left, little action had been noted in any sector of the perimeter. Command Sergeant Major Alley stayed in lock-step with him.
“Sir, we’ll be passing the battalion’s aid station. Better have a word with the medics, or they’ll think you’re playin’ favorites.”
“You’re right, Sergeant Major,” Mad Mike said. “Can’t let those goddamn meat merchants think I’m prejudiced, now can I?” He turned to the right and stood in front of the entrance to the aid station. No one greeted him, since the four medics and doctor on duty were busy unpacking a large crate. All had their backs to him at the moment. He smiled slightly, savoring the moment they turned and jumped when they saw him.
* * *
There. He was there! Captain Vogel dropped his binoculars and brought the rifle to his shoulder, locked into place so the scope became an extension of his eye. Yes, it was the task force commander. He was walking towards the perimeter unit… No. He’d just stopped with his back to him, looking inside a tent. The Undertaker’s finger stroked the trigger. Perfect.
* * *
Colonel Grayson was slammed forward onto the shocked medics, knocking one down as he fell on top of her. The doctor grabbed the Colonel and stripped blood-soaked clothing from him.
“Open that chamber!” he shouted, hands still flying.
“But Sir, it hasn’t been field tested yet,” protested one.
“No time, goddamnit!” The lid was heaved open and began a rising hum, the lights on the panel blinking amber, then green one at a time. Colonel Grayson was unceremoniously hooked into the just-received portable regeneration chamber, the first of its kind to be fielded.