by Rod Carstens
“You getting them, Odaka?”
“Yeah, yeah. Shut up so I can concentrate.”
Lee broke right, then left again as Odaka frantically worked the ship’s defense systems. Another rocket exploded in front of the nose of the ship, blinding Lee for a few seconds. Debris bounced off the windshield as they flew through the smoke and fire of the explosion.
“Could you please not let them get so close?” Lee said. He threw the ship into a steep dive.
“Fuck. They are dead serious about knocking us down,” Odaka said, his voice tense.
“They must be shooting everything they got before giving up on the spaceport. Toland, what’s going on?”
“Chief, I thought I’d seen a lot of ’brids, but this is something different. We need to get down there. They’re hauling ass and getting close to the port.”
“Oh, no they won’t,” Lee said.
“Hard left, Lee! For God’s sake, left!” Odaka yelled.
Lee threw the ship over on its left wing and they were rocked by the closest explosion yet. It exploded directly under them. The ship was thrown over on its back. Lee worked the controls and pushed the throttles to the firewall. With extra speed he was able to right the ship. He took it up in a steep climb, then stalled and let the nose fall back toward the planet. He dove toward the plain and the spaceport.
“We clear?” Lee asked.
“For now,” Odaka replied.
“Now we’re going to show these fucks what payback is like. Starting a run.”
“Let’s rock and roll,” Toland said.
“I’m going to light up the night with their asses,” Lee said as he readied his weapons systems.
1st Raider Battalion
Alpha Company
First Platoon
“Here they come! Fire as they get into range!” Hu said over the platoon frequency.
Fenes’s head snapped up. Minga was silent as she focused on the sensor plants downrange.
“You got any Xotoli?”
“No, not yet. I’m going to give you what looks like officers and NCOs.”
Minga touched an image in the spotter’s 3-D virtual reality, and suddenly there was a figure glowing yellow in Fenes’s scope. He put the crosshairs on, then pulled the trigger halfway to let the rifle know it was his target. It glowed red. Fenes pulled the trigger and the round was off. He had moved on to another target before the first one was hit. He had fired three times before the first target was thrown backward. All three targets went down.
“We’ve got X’s now. Get ready.”
The firing below was increasing as more and more of the platoon found targets off in the distance on the barren plain. Fenes heard the cough of another sniper’s rifle from over his shoulder. It must be the other sniper team in the control tower. Now the first of the Xotoli suddenly glowed yellow, but even with the help of the rifle’s and spotter’s computers, it was hard to keep the crosshairs on it. They were incredibly fast. One was outdistancing the rest and running straight at the spaceport, not trying to zigzag, just running flat out. It was getting bigger and bigger in his scope. Fenes pulled the trigger and waited for the round to hit. When it did, the Xotoli staggered but did not slow. Fenes fired two rounds, one after another this time. When they struck, the big Xotoli fell to its knees. It used its rifle to try and stand, and Fenes put a round in its helmet and blew it backward.
“Four fucking rounds to put that fuck down!”
“We got more to go.”
The fire from below them was cutting into the hybrids as they raced toward the position, but the Xotoli weren’t going down as fast. They were going to make it to the building. Every time Minga highlighted one, Fenes put two rounds in first then followed with two more in rapid succession. It never took less than four to put one down, and they were getting closer and closer. Then Fenes saw a Mike boat dive down, firing its metal storm and rockets. The rounds tore into the hybrids, ripping them to pieces. One Xotoli even as fast as it was could not out run the Mike boat metal storm and it was killed with the hybrids it led. Fenes lost all targets in the sand and smoke from the explosions. When the Mike boat finished its pass, it did an almost impossible turn on its wing and came back for a second run. Once again the plain was a huge plume of sand, pieces of hybrids, and explosions. Fenes couldn’t see anything moving.
“Minga, you got anything?”
“I’m still trying to get over the strafing. It was like I was a hybrid in the middle of it. I almost jerked out the I/O, it was so real. Things are settling down now. Yeah, there are still hybrids out there. The Xotoli disappeared. Wait.”
The Mike boat was coming back for a third pass when there was a flash out on the plain where the Xotoli had been. Faster than he could follow, a rocket streaked out of the ground toward the Mike boat.
#
Hu watched in alarm as the rocket hit the Mike boat in the front-right engine. It exploded with a huge blast and the Mike boat flipped on its back and plunged toward the ground. He could see the pilot fighting to pull the ship out of the dive and bring it upright. He was able to get it upright and reduce the angle at which the ship was diving, but not soon enough. It crashed into the ground, skidding across the empty plain and throwing out a huge plume of sand and rocks before slowly coming to a stop. One wing was gone and the cockpit was crushed in, but there was no fire. The battle seemed to freeze, as if the crash of the Mike boat was such a big event that everybody had to watch. Then Hu realized that not only had the Mike boat’s passes torn up the hybrids, but it had crashed into the wave and broken the charge. It had stopped the attack. The dust slowly settled and he heard, “Goddamnit. That’s the tail number of the boat that extracted us. We’re not going to leave them to these fucks.”
Hu realized it was Striker, and he was running as fast as his armor would take him. Not far behind him were the rest of the penal-battalion troops, all racing for the wreckage.
“Get back here, Striker! Goddamnit!”
Striker only increased his speed. Before Hu knew what was happening, half his platoon was following Striker. Fuck it, Hu thought. Those Mike boats had been saving their asses all night.
“First and third squads, covering fire. Second squad, follow me.”
Hu jumped up and raced toward the wreckage. He could see Striker as he reached the ship and began to look for signs of life.
“Penal, set up a perimeter. Snipers, cover us.”
“Check,” Fenes said.
“Roger that,” Basso said from the control tower.
“What the fuck are you doing, Hu?” Nani snapped as she watched half her platoon running toward the crashed Mike boat.
“It’s Striker and the penal-battalion guys,” Hu said as he ran. “This was the boat that saved their asses. I wasn’t going to stop them, so I thought I might as well join them.”
“Goddamnit, Hu.”
“Nani, the boat’s runs stopped the attack. We can do this,” Hu said, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he ran.
“Okay, but if the ’brids don’t kill you, I will when you get back. Gras, Lena, Bien, move more to the left and fill in the middle. Snipers, shoot anything that moves. Cover their asses,” Nani ordered over the platoon’s comm.
Hu glanced at his heads-up. Nani had filled the holes in their position and was still adjusting the positions of the rest of the platoon. She had things covered—that was why she was the acting lieutenant. As Hu got closer, he could see the pilot moving but not the copilot. The rear ramp been thrown off, and the rear gunner moving in her harness.
“Vallaion, Retig, Flavvia, behind that dune on the right. Harkin, Tolla, to the left,” Hu barked. The Raiders took up positions so they could cover the perimeter, but not so far out as to allow any hybrids to sneak in behind them.
Hu ran to the rear of the ship. There were two penal-battalion guys working on the gunner.
“How is she?” Hu said.
“She’ll live. She keeps mumbling something about cutting tools.”
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“Yeah, follow me,” Hu ordered.
Hu and the other Raiders had been trained on how to rescue people from the Mike boats. One lousy class months ago. The boats carried their own rescue tools in an outside compartment. Now if he could only remember which side. As Hu looked, his stomach began to knot. Oh, please be on this side not the side buried in sand. Then he saw it. It had a big yellow streak across it and said Rescue.
“They’re in there. Cut her out while I check on the pilot,” Hu said to the penal-battalion guys working on the gunner.
Hu began to hear rails firing close by to his left.
“What have we got?”
“Nothing serious, boss, just a few stragglers. But I don’t think we should take our time,” Harkin replied.
Hu got to the pilot’s side. The pilot’s hatch was off—Striker had opened it and was trying to figure out a way to pull the instrument panel off the pilot. The pilot was groaning and mumbling. Hu looked over at the copilot. He'd been crushed into his seat by the instrument panel—it had impaled his chest. Blood was pouring out of his helmet. He was dead. Somebody grabbed Hu by the shoulder and pulled him out of the way, then shoved Striker aside.
“Listen, you stupid—” Striker started to say, then stopped.
It was Borges, the corpsman, in just her powered exoskeleton with no armor as usual. She had a big red cross on her helmet and on the medical pack on her back.
“Would you boys get out of the way and let me work? Go shoot something,” Borges said.
“Where’s Kant?” Hu asked.
“He’s in the back with the gunner,” Borges said. “Somebody tell him I’m going to need the stretcher and the cutters as soon as he’s finished.”
Hu ran to the rear of the ship. He could see Kant, Borges partner working with the others to remove the rear gunner.
“Hey, Kant, Borges needs the cutters as soon as you’re finished,” Hu said.
Kant looked over at Hu and shook his head without quitting what he was doing. Hu trotted back to Striker and Borges at front of the ship.
“Here, whatever your name is. Put this in the I/O on my backpack. Hu, show him where it is,” Borges said, handing Striker a tube that was attached to the pilot.
Hu pointed to the port she wanted and Striker put the tube in the port. Striker stood and shook his head. “She always like this?” he said.
“Afraid so,” Hu said.
“Hybrids!” Harkin yelled. “Left flank.”
Hu and Striker turned and faced away from the wreckage. Hybrids were coming up out of the ground through some kind of opening. Hu fired at the first group as they emerged. The rest of those in the perimeter fired almost as soon as he did, and the hybrids were cut down. The firing had just stopped when Striker took off running toward the opening.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Hu yelled.
“Got some explosives left over!”
Striker ran to the opening and threw the bag of explosives, then turned and started running back. There was a large explosion, and smoke and debris boiled out of the opening. Then there was a second and finally a third explosion farther out on the plain.
When Striker returned to stand by Hu, he asked him, “What did you do?”
“Beats me, but I think that might slow them down.”
Hu and Striker walked back to the cockpit, then turned outward to provide cover.
“How we coming, Borges?”
“Pretty good. Now hush. He’s regaining consciousness and I need to talk to him.”
Striker looked over at Hu and shook his helmeted head. He laughed. “I like her.”
“Hey there, can you hear me?” Borges said to the pilot.
“Yesss,” the pilot mumbled.
“Good, now tell me your name,” Borges said.
“Uh, sure. I’m Zenes Lee.”
“Okay, Lee, where are you?”
“I’m…I’m…oh, fuck. We crashed. I’m the pilot. How is my crew?” Lee said.
“Look. Don’t worry about that right now. I need to get you stable.”
“Goddamn. Odaka! Odaka, answer me!” Lee began to yell.
“He’s gone, Chief,” a voice behind Hu said.
Hu turned his head to see the figure standing there. It was the rear gunner.
“Toland, good. We need to get Odaka out. He’s all messed up. You’ve got to help me.”
Lee began to fight Borges. Hu looked back and saw Borges inject something into an IV she had established on Lee, and then he was quiet. Borges looked up at the crew member standing there, staring down at her pilot.
“Look, sweetie, I got your pilot. Hey, Kant, get her to the CCP. I got this,” Borges said.
“No, I’m not going anywhere until my pilot is out.”
Kant came up behind the crew member. He and Borges exchanged a glance.
“I got it," Borges said. "I got enough strong backs around here. Get her out of here.”
Kant pulled a syringe out and gave her a shot. She collapsed into his arms, and he took off toward the casualty collection point across the open sand. Two of the penal soldiers ran with him, giving him cover.
“Okay, guys. We need to roll this instrument panel off of him, and then I think I can slip him out and onto the stretcher.”
Hu and Striker secured chains from one of the rescue tools to the points labeled Rescue on the body of the ship and ran their other ends under the instrument panel. Borges turned on the rescue tool and it rolled the dash off the pilot’s legs toward the nose of the ship and the rescue point. When the pilot was free, Borges had Hu push the stretcher over. It hovered inches off the ground, waiting for its load. Borges carefully pulled the pilot out and onto the stretcher. She closed the two clamshells, covering the pilot in an armored cocoon. She punched in a bunch of numbers, and the stretcher’s systems began to provide a medicated atmosphere that would begin to stabilize the pilot, it also slowly collapsed into an outline of his body. Hu could movement under the cocoon as the stretcher began to treat the pilots wounds.
“Now we haul ass,” Borges said, grabbing the stretcher, and she began to run back to the building, the stretcher hovering inches over the plains behind her.
LSD Tarawa
Tactical Operations Center
Combined Confederation Expeditionary Force
“Sir, you need to see this,” said the battle captain.
“What is it, Captain?”
“Video from the spaceport. It’s only a few minutes old. I was monitoring the LZs and didn’t see this.”
“Any reports on this action from the ground yet?”
“Negative, sir.”
Sand leaned back in his command chair and waited while the captain brought up the video. It flickered on the room-wide display at the front of the TOC, then came into focus.
“What am I looking at, Captain?”
“It’s the east side of the spaceport. This is about ten minutes old.”
At first it was just a video of the wide, barren plain that the spaceport sat on. Suddenly doors in the sandy plain flashed open. Hundreds of hybrids streamed out. They were making a final push on the spaceport. He watched as the Raiders opened fire into the rushing wave of hybrids. They began to fall by the scores, but it wasn’t slowing the rush.
Then out of the top of the frame came a Mike boat. It was firing its metal storm and rockets into the waves of hybrids. Sand began to catch sight of Xotolis mixed in with the hybrids—this had to be the final push if the Xotolis were attacking too. The rounds from the Mike boat were chewing up the hybrids and Xotolis by the tens and hundreds as they continued to rush forward. It was almost hard to watch a living being shredded. It was so graphic. The first wave slowed and stopped. Then the waves behind them began to slow to make it over the bodies that littered the sand, so the fire from the Raiders was even more effective. The Mike boat runs were making a difference. The attack was slowing to a stop.
“Did the spaceport ever call for naval gunfire support?” Sand asked.
“Negative, sir. We’ve been keeping them informed when destroyers are in the right orbital position to fire. They were out of range when the attack started.”
“Shit,” Sand said.
The Mike boat made one run, then another, firing into the now-slowed hybrids. Then it tried for a third pass, but this time a rocket flashed up and knocked it out of the sky. It came skidding down into the middle of the aliens, throwing hybrid bodies, Xotoli, rocks, and sand out in a huge plume of dust and gore.
When it finally came to a stop, nothing moved on the body-filled field. Then a few hybrids came stumbling out of the dust. They were immediately cut down by well-aimed fire from the Raiders. As the dust settled, Sand could see that the attack had been stopped. All that remained was a few moving bodies on the plain. The runs by the Mike boat and its crash into the hybrids had halted the attack in its tracks.
Then, before Sand could say anything, he saw small figures running out of the Raiders’ positions toward the crash.
“What are they doing?” the battle captain said.
The room was silent as the figures ran to the crash site. They set up a perimeter and began to tear at the ship, trying to get the crew out. Two figures toward the ship with a stretcher. If Sand had had to make a guess, he would have bet it was Borges and Kant. They were the best in the battalion. He had seen their work firsthand on Rift, and now they were medics for the Raiders. He felt real pride as these tiny figures worked to free the crew, and then something struck him.
“Lieutenant Chuto, what is the tail number of that Mike boat?”
The Naval Special Warfare Squadron coordinator checked the video closely, then stood and said, “Seventy-nine, sir.”
“What was the tail number of the boat that rescued that platoon?”
He checked his displays, then sat down before he said, “Seventy-nine, sir.”
“Fuck,” Sand said.
He should have known it would be that crew. He watched the video with a renewed sense of urgency. They had extracted the tail gunner but were still working on the pilot. He watched as they carefully extracted the pilot then put him on a stretcher and rushed him across the open plain to a casualty collection point.