The Skink—Kerr was sure now that the earlier flash of light he’d seen was a dying Skink—he had shot was to his right, perhaps seventy-five meters distant. As was this one. He groaned. That put the first Skink, and probably more, in front of third fire team, Doyle’s.
“Doyle, are you topside or below?” he asked. His comp told him, but he needed to make sure his weakest fire team leader knew where he was.
“T-Topside. Closest t-to the hull,” Doyle answered nervously. Summers is below. J-Johnson is topside inbound.”
All right. Doyle knew where he and both of his men were. “Everybody,” Kerr ordered into the squad circuit, “look, and use your infras.”
“But Skinks don’t show up well in the infrared,” Claypoole objected.
“As cold as it is in vacuum, any warmth will show up,” Kerr said. “Do it!” And wondered why the two Marines in three already using their infra hadn’t spotted the Skink that shot Fisher.
Three rapid plasma bolts burned a line from Kerr’s left almost to his direct front. He thought he saw a flash of light.
“I got one!” The shout came from Lance Corporal Little.
“Your fire gave away your position. Move!” Kerr shouted back.
“Already did, Honcho.”
Kerr shifted to look around the edge of his hiding place—just in time. He’d barely moved over before something punched through the plasteel housing right where he’d been. Damn, that was close—too close! He scooted backward until his feet reached a drop-off. The whole time his eyes jerked side to side, scanning the area to the sides of the machine he’d been behind, seeking any sign of the telltale slight reddish tint.
“Who’s still below?” he asked into the squad circuit. “Chan, I know you are, but stick with Fisher.”
“I am, Summers.”
“So am I.”
“Who’s that, Berry?”
“Ah, yeah, I’m Berry.”
Kerr dropped over the edge his feet had found and studied the schematic of the subdeck. He knew it showed the location of the permanent items, those affixed to the deck. It was the other items, the crates of ship’s stores, that he couldn’t count on showing up.
“Berry, have you seen anything?”
“No, Sergeant. I don’t think they can see me. I think they’re all on top.”
“I think so, too. Rock, Wolfman, can either of you get down to where Berry is without exposing yourselves to the Skinks?”
“Probably, but one of them fired a projectile of some kind close to me,” MacIlargie said.
“Then stay where you are. Claypoole?”
“I’m already joining Berry.”
“Summers, try to get to Berry without going topside. Claypoole, Berry, I’m on my way to you. Chan, if anything happens to me, you’re in command. If that happens, I want you to get everybody out of here. Go back the same way we came in if you have to. Got it?”
Chan’s voice was leaden when he said, “I get everybody out if anything happens to you.”
“Everybody else, let me know if you see anything. If a Skink shoots and you can tell where the shot came from, return fire, then change your position before they fire back.”
Kerr was moving while he gave the orders. He reached Claypoole and Berry right after Chan acknowledged his orders. Summers joined them a moment later. Kerr waved at the three to touch helmets with him. He’d give them their orders via conduction rather than comm, on the off chance that the Skinks were able to pick up his transmissions and understand his words.
“Both shots that we made were at targets fifty, seventy-five meters ahead. We’re going a hundred meters forward, then go topside and see what we can spot from there. Questions?”
“What if they’re set up in depth?” Claypoole asked. “We could come up in the middle of them.”
“We won’t all go topside and stand where they can see us. I’ll go first and look over the edge. Anything else?”
“Does anybody have a periscope?” Summers asked.
“Nobody,” Kerr answered. “But that’s a good idea. Everybody, keep an eye out for anything I can use as a mirror to look over the top. Now let’s go. Summers, me, Claypoole, Berry. Go as fast as you can and still keep a sharp eye out. Go.”
The four Marines moved out at a brisk walk.
Thirty meters on, Summers dropped to the deck and fired his blaster straight ahead. Kerr had fired an instant earlier; he fired before he dropped. The two had seen faint red glows emerging from between two bulks another twenty-five meters beyond. One of the two faint red spots terminated in a brilliant flash.
“Spread out and line up so you don’t have any of us in your line of fire!” Kerr shouted. He waited for a few seconds, aiming his blaster where he’d seen the enemy emerge. No more came.
“All right, stay down and move back. We’ll get into the nearest side passage to our rear.”
Before they got there, half a dozen or more incredibly fast slugs slammed down where they’d just been—even though they couldn’t hear, or even see the paths of the projectiles, they could see the holes the slugs punched into the deck.
The four Marines awkwardly skittered backward, propelling themselves with knees and elbows.
“Two on the right, two on the left,” Kerr ordered.
It took longer than he was comfortable with, but they reached the cover of the side passage without being shot at again. Kerr and Berry went to the right, Claypoole and Summers to the left.
Which wasn’t the case with the Marines left on top. Kerr didn’t see a flash, but he did hear MacIlargie’s excited shout:
“Ooo-eee! Did ya see that? I must have got a whole squad with that shot!”
“I-It wasn’t only you,” Doyle said. “J-Johnson fired too. So did I.”
“Somebody give me a realistic assessment,” Kerr snapped.
After a few moments of silence, a voice said, “Sergeant Kerr, I saw three plasma bolts going down range. Before I could locate a target in the area where they converged, there were three or four flashes. I didn’t see anything in infra after that.”
“Little?”
“That’s me.”
“Identify yourself when you give a report.”
“Will do, Sergeant.”
“You did a good job with that report.”
Little grunted at the compliment.
I wonder when he learned to give a report that way, Kerr thought. Maybe he’s due for a promotion.
“You left something out, all of you. How far away was your target—your targets?”
“Not much more than twenty-five meters,” MacIlargie said.
Kerr swore, and rolled onto his back; twenty-five meters put the Skinks right on top of him and the Marines with him!
“Claypoole, one of you watch the top. It sounds like we’re right in the middle of them.”
Claypoole swore something unintelligible, then said, “I’m on it.”
So now what, Sergeant? Kerr asked himself. He shook himself. I’m a Marine sergeant. When in doubt, act decisively.
“Claypoole, you and Summers head left. Let me know when you’re halfway to the next aisle. Go.”
“On the way,” Claypoole answered.
Kerr looked at his motion detector. He saw Claypoole and Summers withdrawing, but didn’t detect any movement topside.
While he was looking up, he saw another plasma bolt burn through his vision. “Report!” he ordered.
“Johnson, Sergeant. I thought I saw something.”
“But you didn’t hit anything?”
“I don’t think so,” Johnson said. “Sorry, Sergeant.”
“Don’t apologize. I’d rather have you shoot at nothing than not shoot at something and get one of us killed because of it. And always move after you fire; your bolt gives away your position.”
“Corporal Doyle already told me to move.”
Doyle. He always comes across as timid and not a very good combat Marine. But he knows his stuff, and trains his men well.
&n
bsp; “We’re there, Honcho,” Claypoole’s voice suddenly said.
“Cover us,” Kerr answered.
“If anything red shows, we’re ready to flame it,” Claypoole said back.
“Berry,” Kerr looked to where his infra showed his greenest man was. “Go. I’m right behind you.” Kerr started moving, but had to pull up short because Berry didn’t move.
“Berry, go!”
“Did you see what those slugs did to the deck?” Berry said, almost in a wail.
“Yes. And that’s what the next slugs will do to us if we’re still here when they come.” He grabbed Berry’s shoulder and shoved.
The young Marine stumbled, but quickly gained his balance and ran until Claypoole reached out and grabbed his arm to keep him from running off by himself.
“Doyle,” Kerr radioed to the senior Marine above, “what’s happening topside?”
“N-Nothing. We haven’t s-seen anything since before Johnson’s last shot.”
“Well, everybody be careful of what you shoot at, because the next thing your infras pick up might be the back of my head.”
“Roger, Sergeant Kerr,” Doyle said. “Did everybody hear that?”
Kerr decided that Doyle had the situation under control topside, and took a last glance at the top of the machine housing he and Berry had just been behind, on the other side of the aisle where the Skinks had almost caught them. There was nothing there. He began climbing up the stack to his front.
He was almost to the top when Doyle’s voice shouted over the comm, “They’re coming! Fire!” Then to Kerr, “Honcho, I see a mass of them coming at us across the top. Including where you are.”
“Are there any on the deck?” Kerr asked.
“I don’t know, I can’t see the deck from my position.” Kerr could almost hear the CRACK-sizzle of Doyle’s blaster as the corporal fired time and again.
“There are some coming toward me and Fisher,” Chan reported. “I’m getting him into one of the side passages.”
Holding onto his position with his feet and one hand, Kerr activated his Heads-Up Display and switched it to show his men’s positions. Chan and Little were in the same aisle where he and the Marines with him had been shot at. As he looked, he saw the two turn a corner, out of the aisle. He checked his motion detector. That showed a large number of forms moving rapidly along the tops of the machine housings and along two aisles.
“Claypoole, Summers, go left and open fire forward, Skinks are coming that way. Berry, go right and fire back the way we started out. I’m going topside to take them out here. Move!” He didn’t wait for acknowledgements before lunging high enough to get his head and arms over the top and began firing.
The nearest faint reddish glows were only ten meters away.
Kerr didn’t take the time to aim, he just pointed and shot. The many hours he’d put in training in snap shooting over the years came to the fore—at this range the only way he could miss was if he did it deliberately. In his mind he could hear the blood-curdling screaming the Skinks made when they had charged the Marines on Kingdom and on Haulover—every place where the Marines had fought them—except now the Skink charge was silent. As in those other fights, a brilliant flash met each of his plasma bolts. He was killing the Skinks as fast as he could point and press his blaster’s trigger-lever.
In seconds, the Skinks were close enough for Kerr’s light gatherer to make out details, and he could tell that their vacuum suits weren’t armored. At least they had no protection from the Marines’ plasma blasters; the bolts burned straight into the suits, and the Skinks flamed in the suit’s atmosphere just the same as they did planetside. The heat of their immolations was so intense that they reduced the suits to cinders.
Even though they were smaller than men, there were too many Skinks, and they were too close. One flared up just as it was diving at Kerr, blinding him with the intensity of its flash. Something slapped against his helmet and he fell backward, to the deck below. Momentarily dazed, he didn’t hear Claypoole’s, “Got that one for you, Honcho!”
But before he could see again something slammed into his helmet and knocked him backward, sending him crashing to the deck below. Shaking his head to blink the dazzling stars and circles out of his eyes, he realized that the wind he felt on his cheek was air rushing out of the side of his helmet.
Don’t panic! he shouted at himself. He’d dropped his blaster in his fall, so both hands were free. He groped with one to find the break in his helmet, while reaching for his patching kit with the other. In seconds, he had a patch slapped on the gash in the side of his helmet—he hoped it would hold long enough for someone else to make a better patch. He looked for his blaster. But before he found it, another Skink jumped onto him, knocking him onto his back. He rolled to the side and pushed at the body that lay across his chest. The Skink was light enough that, even still half-stunned and struggling for breath, by using his armor to augment his strength, Kerr was able to shove the Skink off of him.
The creature scooted farther away before it scrabbled to its feet. It pulled a wicked-looking knife from somewhere and lunged at Kerr. Even though the Marine couldn’t sidestep fast enough to avoid the blade, his armor easily deflected it. Kerr slammed his armored fist into the Skink’s faceplate, shattering it. Red flecked mist geysered from the enemy’s helmet. Kerr clearly saw his foe’s face before it collapsed—sharply convex, with pointed teeth, the final bit of proof he needed to know that he and his squad were fighting Skinks. The Skink’s hands slapped at its face as it fell, as though trying to force air back into its broken helmet.
Kerr looked around for his blaster. Before he could find it, another Skink dropped onto him from above, staggering him. He instantly recovered and threw himself backward, hoping that his superior size and the hardness of his vacuum suit’s armor would crush the Skink.
But the Skink didn’t die; it shoved at Kerr’s back with enough force to lift him and fling him away, and then another Skink landed on the Marine’s chest, slamming him back down. This time, Kerr felt something crack under his back, and the Skink he was on top of stopped pushing at him.
Kerr didn’t spare any time or energy wondering about the Skink below him; he lunged upward, forcing the Skink on his chest to lift off. Palms up, he slammed the sides of his hands into the Skink’s neck, just below its helmet. The Skink dropped the knife it had just drawn, and clutched at its throat. Kerr folded the fingers of his right hand and shot the armored knuckles into the Skink’s throat. It collapsed backward.
Kerr spun about and saw the Skink that had earlier jumped onto his back was stirring, groping for a knife, and trying to rise. He raised a foot and stomped on it until it stopped moving.
He looked up; no more Skinks were jumping or falling over the edge to fight with him. Neither did he see a plasma bolt burn through the vacuum. If he hadn’t just been in violent action, he might have thought all was as serene as the subdeck of an empty container ship ever gets. He looked to his sides. The Marines he’d stationed to cover the aisles weren’t firing. He could barely make out their shapes with his infra screen, but they seemed to be looking at him.
“Second squad, report!” he ordered into his comm.
No one replied.
“I said, second squad, report,” he repeated. “So speak up. Chan first.”
Still no reply.
Kerr looked to his left and saw Claypoole and Summers stand and come toward him.
“Claypoole, talk to me, Marine!”
Claypoole gestured, but didn’t say anything. Then he was there, touching helmets with his squad leader.
“Can you hear me, Honcho?”
“Of course I can hear you. What do you…Don’t tell me.”
“I don’t care, I’m going to tell you anyway. Your comm’s busted. Chan and Doyle both report all present and accounted for. The bad guys are gone. No casualties.”
“Except for my comm.”
“Seems that way. Now hold still while I fix that patch on
your helmet. I think that’s what knocked out your comm.”
“All right.” Kerr waited patiently for the moment it took Claypoole to layer on a second, better patch. He looked at the dead Skinks at his feet while he waited.
“Good as new, Honcho,” Claypoole said, touching helmets again.
Kerr looked at the bodies on the deck around his feet. “We’ve finally got Skink bodies for the science people,” he said. “Get the rest of the squad here to collect them for transfer back to the Dayzee Mae.
“Aye-aye.” Claypoole broke contact to radio to the rest of the squad.
Before anybody else arrived, the three Skinks Kerr had killed in hand-to-hand combat flared into brilliant, brief flame, hot enough to scorch the chameleon coverings over the armored vacuum suits worn by Kerr, Claypoole, and Summers.
Back on the Dayzee Mae, Kerr gave a succinct after action report, leaving out nothing despite its brevity. “I estimate there was an entire platoon of Skinks on the Runstable,” he said near the end. “We killed all of them. Or at least we killed every one of them who fought us.” He shrugged. “It’s possible that some hid from us as we left the Runstable.”
McPherson shook his head in amazement that one squad of Marines could be ambushed by such a superior force, and totally defeat them at the cost of only one Marine wounded.
“Any word on Fisher’s condition?” Kerr asked, as though he knew what the starship’s acting captain was thinking.
“Only that he’s in a stasis bag,” McPherson answered. “We won’t know anything more until we get back to Thorsfinni’s World.”
Kerr nodded and looked at a display on which the SS Runstable was visible. “What are we going to do about her?”
“I don’t have any crew to spare to take her to port,” McPherson said. “All we can do is report her position and hope she’s still here when a salvage ship comes for her.”
“And that the Skinks haven’t manned her again in time to ambush the salvage team,” Kerr said.
“And there weren’t any Skink bodies to recover?” McPherson said.
“No, sir. All the bodies flared up as soon as the fight was over.”
Armored-ARC Page 26