by John Bowers
He scanned the streets to the east, the alleys, the back yards, and spotted the men of First Platoon who were waging a desperate battle to hold the rebels back. Then he started seeing the rebels themselves, dozens of them. Scores of them.
Hell—hundreds of them!
His mouth turned dry. Capt. Seals hadn’t been kidding—the Star Marines were badly outnumbered.
“I’m in position, Sergeant.” He spoke quietly into his helmet mike, aware that the enemy might be monitoring the frequency. But he hadn’t said where he was.
“Copy,” Sgt. DuBose said in his ear. “Choose targets of opportunity.”
Nick didn’t answer. Instead he chambered the first round. The Browning magazine held twenty-one rounds, and after the first one fired the rest would chamber automatically. He took a deep breath to steady his adrenaline, then peered through the scope and took aim. He saw so many targets it was hard to know where to start, but one particular machine gun was hosing down a squad of Star Marines just six blocks from where he sat…that might be a good starting point.
Two men in flat black hats crewed the gun; the Star Marines on the ground were pinned and didn’t have a shot at them, but Nick had a clear field of fire. Unhurriedly, almost leisurely, he fired his first round; the man behind the gun catapulted backward, landing in a bloody heap eight feet from the gun. The man feeding the gun spun around in surprise—Nick could actually see the astonishment in his eyes when he turned back. Before he could decide what to do, Nick blew his head off. The sharp crack of the rifle echoed across town like the voice of doom, and Nick heard the brass cartridge ring as it hit the composite-stone floor of the belfry.
He shifted the rifle a few inches and picked out two more men providing covering fire for the gun—they also looked startled, and one began to crawl away to look for better cover. He hadn’t gone three feet when Nick fired again. The rebel’s body jerked as if electrocuted and his white shirt blossomed red. The second man lurched to his feet and turned to run, but Nick shot him right between the shoulder blades, and his rifle clattered to the ground.
Just that quickly, the sound of small-arms was reduced by half.
Nick took a moment to wipe his brow, his helmet dipping below the railing for a few seconds. He had no illusions about what was coming—as soon as the rebels realized they were facing a sniper they would figure out where he was located, and then he would be in deep shit. He needed to inflict maximum damage before that happened. He pulled his canteen out and took a brief swig, then capped it and raised his head again.
Several houses were burning on the east end of town, and some streets were obscured by smoke. But he saw motion in several places. Star Marines were scattered about in strategic locations, blocking key streets and intersections to hold the rebels back. At best it was a delaying action—Second Platoon had already been pushed back behind First Platoon, and if the rebels kept the pressure up First Platoon would soon have to retreat as well, leap-frogging backwards.
Nick spotted four Star Marines holding an alley, pouring lead toward the Coalition troops…but one block to the north a column of Freaks was moving through residential back yards trying to flank them. They were farther away than the machine gun he’d taken out, but well within range. Realizing the Freaks were almost in position to hit the Marines from behind, Nick quickly took aim. Intent on their prey, they were bunched together, only a few feet between them. Nick counted nine of them, and opened fire. He pumped out six quick shots and saw five men ripped apart—a sixth spun in horror as his left arm came off at the shoulder and pinwheeled across the alley.
With five men down and one spinning in panic, the remaining three sprawled hastily on the ground, casting frantically about for the source of the attack. As Nick focused on them with the scope, he saw one man’s eyes widen in understanding as he gazed directly at the bell tower… it was the last thing he ever saw. Nick shot him through the face and saw a volcano of blood and gore spatter across the man behind him. The two remaining rebels scrambled backward, and Nick was tempted to let them go, but realized they also probably knew where he was and would give away his position. He killed them quickly, a little frown creasing his brow. He really hated doing that, but if he had any hope of surviving the next few hours, he didn’t have much choice.
He dropped behind the skirt again and ejected the magazine. It still had rounds in it but he hadn’t been counting, and it was always better to have a full mag inserted. He reloaded the rifle, chambered a round, and took a deep breath, releasing it with a puff of his cheeks. The floor around him was smeared with a thin film of blood, but he no longer noticed the pain. With a grunt of resolution, he raised his head again and aimed the rifle.
He saw targets, but some were so far away they were difficult shots, and the Star Marines on the ground seemed to have rallied a little—here and there Coalition troops were falling back.
But farther out, at the very edge of town, a horde of men was moving in his direction, forty or more. Peering through his scope, he realized this was the bottleneck Capt. Seals had been talking about, the point where the road came into town from the mountain pass on the east. Two light armored vehicles were burning in the mouth of the pass, no doubt knocked out by Second Platoon when the battle started, but there was still room for more vehicles to get through, and men on foot would have no trouble at all. Right now that mass of men was fully exposed, and Nick took aim.
They were half a mile away, eight or nine hundred yards, but the scope brought them right into his face, and they were so closely grouped he couldn’t miss. He got off four shots before they realized what was happening, and as they began to scatter he could tell he was getting three or four men with each shot. Once they dispersed he saw a dozen or more men on the ground, and he hit five or six more before they could find cover. Suddenly the horde was in hiding, no longer moving forward. He shifted to another target.
The bell rang.
Only it didn’t exactly ring—it was more of a clunk.
Nick ducked as another bullet ricocheted off the bell. This was it—they had him spotted. The turkey shoot was over. He looked up and saw the bell moving slightly, vibrating with a low harmonic. A bright spot had appeared on the brass surface and as he watched, another appeared, to the accompaniment of another dull ring. He stayed down for another minute or two while several scattered rounds whined through the belfry.
Sgt. DuBose was suddenly in his ear. “How’s it going, Walker?”
“Funny you should ask, Sergeant. They’ve figured me out.”
“Thought so. Heard the bell ring.”
“Makes a lovely sound, doesn’t it?”
“You been hit?”
“Not yet. I’ll let you know when to send in the scrubs.”
He heard DuBose laugh. “Watch your ass, Walker. We can’t afford to lose this fight.”
“Semper fi, Sergeant.”
Targets became scarce for a while. Nick watched and waited, ducking occasional shots aimed at the bell tower, but only scored three more hits.
Sometime in early afternoon another armored vehicle crawled out of the pass and stopped at the edge of town facing him. An open turret on top of the vehicle sported a heavy machine gun that looked big enough to bring down a star destroyer. Nick killed the driver before the vehicle could move any closer, but before he could get an angle on the turret the heavy gun opened up. It was aimed straight at him.
BONG-ONG-ONG-ONG-ONG-ONG-ONG!
Heavy steel slugs hammered the bell in a steady stream—
“Ungh!”
Nick felt a sharp, penetrating pain as a ricochet punched through his lower back. He gasped in shock and hit the floor, agony washing over him. For a moment he lay helpless, numb with fear, as the wooden skirt above him began to disintegrate. Wood splinters flew in all directions, one of them opening his cheek, but his real problem was the bullet in his back. He wondered if this was it—the pain diminished a little, as long as he didn’t move around too much, but he couldn’t tell ho
w badly he was hit. Blood pooled on the floor around him, but it was just a steady trickle, not a flood. He waited to see if his vision would dim, or if he would get light-headed. In the meantime, heavy bullets still chewed up the bell tower, effectively pinning him down.
The sky flashed and he heard a roar in the distance.
The bullet stream stopped.
Nick gripped the railing with one hand and pulled himself up, peering over the top toward the east. The first thing he saw was a fireball dissipating in the afternoon sky; the armored vehicle burned fiercely, and as he watched, ammunition began to explode. Flaming fuel spread in all directions, driving rebels out of hiding. Nick blinked to clear his vision—it was dimming just a little—but felt a sense of exhilaration; he could see two Star Marines falling back into a defensive position, one carrying a rocket launcher; they had taken out the armor for him. If he lived through this, he would have to buy those guys all the beer they could swim in.
“You still there, Walker?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
“I’m alive.”
“You hit?”
“Yeah, slightly.”
“How slightly?”
“I dunno. Ask me again tomorrow.”
The afternoon wore on. Coalition troops tried twice more to move reinforcements into town, but each time Nick stopped them with devastating kills that dispersed them. Those already in town, though they still outnumbered the Star Marines five to one, seemed too demoralized to press their advantage. And the Star Marines seemed emboldened by the sniper in the tower; they were taking fewer losses and stopped giving ground. Just before dark they actually launched an attack that pushed the Freaks back two full blocks.
But rebels were hiding in the houses, and nobody wanted a house-to-house fight, so as the twin suns disappeared over the horizon the lines became static.
Kopshevar came up after dark and brought Nick some hot coffee. When he saw the blood on the floor he looked horrified.
“Jesus Christ, Walker! You need a corpsman!”
“I’m okay.”
“The fuck you are! I’m taking you down with me.”
Nick shook his head. “Kopycat, just get the hell out of here and keep your mouth shut. The Freaks are gonna do something while it’s dark, and we’ll have a better chance of stopping them if we can see what they’re up to. I have to stay.”
“I’ll take over for you. At least get that wound looked at.”
Nick shook his head again. “If it was going to kill me it would have killed me hours ago. Just shut up and get out of this tower.”
Grumbling, Kopshevar retreated. Ten minutes after he left the belfry, DuBose came up, bringing a corpsman with him. Nick grimaced in pain as the corpsman dressed the wound and bandaged it, then attached an IV pack to replace blood volume. DuBose waited until the corpsman left to get in Nick’s face.
“Goddammit, Walker! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I didn’t want to get the corpsman killed. I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not. That’s a serious wound, and it’ll kill you if you don’t get into a surgery pretty soon.”
Nick grunted. “And who’ve you got to replace me?”
DuBose sighed unhappily. “Nobody. I have to leave you here until we get relieved. I’m sorry, but—”
“You don’t have a choice. I know, Sergeant. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
DuBose put a hand on his shoulder. “Hopefully it’ll only be a few more hours. We’re expecting the 31st tomorrow, if we can hold out that long. Once they get here, we’ll go into reserve, and you’ll be evacked.”
Nick nodded. “I’m cool with that. Now get on out of here so I can do my job.”
Sgt. DuBose nodded reluctantly and left. Not long after that, Third Platoon moved into the battle, just twenty-one men—the final reserves were committed.
Nick sipped the hot coffee and resumed his vigil. The sniper scope had infrared capability and he was able to watch for enemy formations, but in spite of his misgivings, nothing serious developed during the night. He detected a few scouting probes and killed three more rebels, but that was it until daylight.
Shortly after sunrise he heard a sudden storm of automatic fire. It took him a moment to locate the source, and he realized the Freaks were trying an end-run on the north end of town, moving a full company along the edge of the plateau in a flanking maneuver designed to cut off the platoons that were holding the east end. Second Platoon was falling back even as Nick recognized the danger, and Coalition troops were only five blocks from where he sat.
Weak with fatigue and blood loss, he nevertheless opened fire, pumping magazine after magazine into the rebel troops. They were making better use of cover than they had the day before, and he scored fewer kill shots, but he wounded dozens, and saw many broken, bleeding men crawling away. For over an hour his rifle cracked across the town, dropping Coalition troops. The Star Marines on the ground consolidated their positions and took a toll of their own, spraying tracers in all directions. Nick took another ricochet, this one across the chest, and the bell clanged repeatedly as enemy troops tried to get a bead on him; he continued firing until they began to fall back.
He slumped behind the wooden skirt, now perforated with bullet hits, and closed his eyes for a few minutes. The town had fallen silent for the moment, but he had no illusions that it was over. He was surrounded by spent brass and empty magazines; the belfry was sticky with his blood, and as the morning began to warm, insects swarmed around him. He rested until he heard gunfire again, then lifted himself up with what strength was left to him and began searching for targets.
It continued another two hours, enemy troops moving forward in small knots, seeking a way through the scathing fire from the Star Marines. Nick killed them when he could, but his aim became less accurate and many were only wounded—but even wounded men were ineffective, and every single thrust was stopped cold. It was still going on when 31st Star Marines broke through the enemy lines on the west and surged into Trimmer Springs.
Nick was unconscious when the corpsmen finally got to him.
Chapter 5
Friday, January 14, 0444 (CC) – Trimmer Springs, Alpha Centauri 2
Four parallel streets made up the core of Trimmer Springs, stretching almost a mile along the mountain shelf. On the west, the train station marked the end of town, but on the east everything gradually narrowed to a single road that followed the mountain curves onto the plain below. Most of the town consisted of homes mixed with schools and municipal buildings; the business district was about six blocks long.
Every morning since he arrived, Nick Walker had strolled through the business section meeting people and getting acquainted. He hoped the populace would be reassured by seeing the badge and knowing the Federation was alive and well. His reception had been largely positive; most people recognized him by name. They knew of the statue in the park and what it represented. It had come as something of a shock when he realized that, long before he got there, he was already a local hero.
Of course, none of the businesses in town were owned by religious cultists.
Suzanne accompanied Nick on Friday morning, anxious to see the town for herself and start getting to know people. Back on Sirius 1 she had owned a restaurant and knew every single person in Kline Corners. Life would be quite different here, and she was looking forward to it.
Nick enjoyed watching people meet Suzanne for the first time. None had apparently encountered a Vegan woman before, and their stunned expressions were almost universal. The men, in particular, were almost speechless; the women recovered more quickly, but usually reacted in one of two ways—green with envy, or simply delighted. The latter welcomed Suzanne with generosity and made plans to get better acquainted, but the envious usually withdrew rather quickly, hostility in their eyes. Suzanne took it all in stride, supremely confident in herself and not the least bit intimidated.
Aside fro
m being amused, Nick was very proud of her. She had dressed modestly for the occasion, but couldn’t hide her assets and made no attempt to do so. When she saw someone staring she simply smiled and said hello.
Suzanne, in turn, was impressed by the esteem the townspeople held for Nick. Everywhere they turned people were calling him by name and seemed eager to shake his hand. Children stared at him in awe, as if he were a vid star.
“Goddess!” Suzanne murmured as they moved down the street. “These people really love you!”
Nick shook his head, a little embarrassed.
“Not all of them.”
“Maybe not, but you’re a lot more popular here than you ever were in Kline Corners.”
“Marshal Walker!” a shrill voice said behind them.
They stopped walking and turned to see a heavy-set, rather matronly woman just coming out of a boutique. She marched up to them like a schoolmarm and extended her hand.
“I heard you were in town and I have just been dying to meet you!”
Nick took her gloved hand and shook it gently. “Thank y—”
“I just want you to know what an absolute joy it is to have you back in Trimmer Springs! I was telling Mildred just yesterday that it’s as if you were one of our own sons, returned to us at last. We are so fortunate to have you here watching over us.”
“Well, it’s my pl—”
“And is this lovely creature your wife?”
Suzanne smiled and shook her head. “No, Ma’am, we aren’t married.”
“Engaged, then! Wonderful! I look forward to the wedding—I’m sure the whole town will turn out.”