by Danny Loomis
Brian stood. “We’ve got to get to our meeting.” As they were leaving, Brian turned back. “By the way, we’ve been hearing rumors that the Banshee is making itself felt on Burunda. Apparently our adventures while visiting there are paying off more than we’d anticipated.”
* * *
Town of Bear’s Claw, Burunda Continent:
Corporal Meyers leaned on the bar, feeling the effects of the last beer he’d chugged to impress his friends a moment ago. “Damn, that was good.” He glanced around, looking for Sergeant Welk, his group leader. “anybody seen where Welk got to?”
Thirty other Legislaturist troops were gathered around the bar, all intent on drinking the place dry. This was their last night off before another boring week of constant patrolling around Bear’s Claw.
The bartender shook his head. “Naw, after you two got done braggin’ about your latest gal friend, he headed out.”
An unearthly howl echoed from just outside the bar. All movement and sound ceased until another snarling cry burst forth.
A rushing exodus out the front door carried Meyers with it. He stumbled forward when those around him came to a sudden halt, until breaking through the ring of men that encircled a figure seated in a chair. In the dwindling light it was a moment before he noticed. No head. The man’s head was now in his lap, and it was…
“Welk! It’s Sergeant Welk.” Meyers fell to his hands and knees. The contents of his stomach erupted from him and he collapsed forward.
The soldiers were beginning to recover from their shock and start moving towards the corpse when a shuddering, wailing cry echoed down the street.
“Banshee,” whispered one. Within seconds, the whispered word had been raised to a babbling near-shout: “It’s the Banshee!”
* * *
Roadblock West of Bear’s Claw, Burunda Continent:
Sergeant Berkey and Private Jinkle had been on duty for over twelve hours, with only one vehicle to inspect during their entire shift. Being on the least-traveled road around Bear’s Claw was really boring.
“You’d think our relief would at least make an effort to be on time. I mean this really sucks, Sarge.”
Berkey stood and moved to the barrier across the road, squinting in the near-darkness. “Hey, maybe that’s them now.” A second later he shook his head in disappointment. “Naw, it’s too small a rig.”
By the time the vehicle stopped twenty feet from the barrier, Jinkle was also on his feet, eyes straining. “Hey, looks like two women. Think they’d be willin’ to bribe us with a kiss or two, if we let ‘em through?”
Berkey stepped around the barrier. “Heh. They’d have to be hard up to kiss a face ugly as yours.” By now both of them were on opposite sides of the vehicle. Hm. Good lookers. Might be worth the effort…He leaned down, a smile on his face. “”Evening, ladies. Anything we can do for you?”
Both women drove their knives under the chins of the soldiers at the same time, and wrenched their blades to the side. By the time they were out of their vehicle, both men were kicking their last. Clovis kneeled and placed a small recorder in the hand of Berkey. “Is yours dead, Amber?”
“As a doornail. Let’s get out of here. Maybe we can take care of one more roadblock before word gets out about what happened in town. They’d be too alert after that.” She stepped forward and lifted the pole barricading the road. Within seconds they had disappeared in the darkness.
It was an hour before the bodies were discovered by their relief. Minutes after that, the Officer of the Guard arrived. He was handed the small recorder by one of the guardsmen. “This was in Sergeant Berkey’s hand, Sir. Maybe…”
The officer eyed the recorder, knowing he should take it to his superior. He shrugged and pushed the play button.
The unearthly shriek of a Banshee caused him to drop it from nerveless fingers.
* * *
Rebel Training Camp–12 kilometers from HQ:
Stuart and Brian watched while 20 men shuffle-trotted into the small clearing, full rucksacks on their backs and rifles held at port arms. “They’ve been doing this every day, twice a day for the past three days,” Brian said. “At first it was two kilometers. Now, they do it three klicks each time.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen such a strange way to run before. Almost a walk, almost a trot. Fascinating.”
Irish brought up the rear of the group, which had stopped once out of the forest’s edge. “Fall out and take ten.” He turned towards Stuart and Brian. “Well, what do you think?”
Stuart cocked his head. “Interesting way to travel. How long can you run at that speed?”
“You mean me?” At Stuart’s nod, he smiled and stretched. “With full battle gear, under normal conditions about eight hours. During an actual mission I can stretch it out to eighteen.”
“How much longer before our troops can do it for that long?” Brian asked.
Irish shook his head. “I’m sure I can build up their endurance to do it for at least twenty klicks. That should be good enough. That’s about, let’s see, four or five hours. Good set of troops.” He shrugged out of his rucksack. “You two should stick around for awhile. We’re getting into the meat of the training today. Specifically, how to set up hides to shoot from.”
“We were hoping we’d get a chance to watch,” Stuart said. “We’ll stay out of your way much as we can.”
Irish nodded and walked back to the center of the cleared space, where he gave a soft whistle and twirled a hand above his head. Within seconds everyone had gathered around him.
“What’d I tell you about gathering in a group right in the middle of an open space?” He shook his head, pointing. “See that lightning-struck tree? Let’s go sit around it while I tell you some more lies.”
Quiet laughter followed the group back under the tree line. Once seated, Irish stood in front of them with one of their number next to him. “Today, we’ll start with a quick review.”
He handed the soldier a deep-green cloak with ties hanging off it. A lot of ties. “This is the garment that will save your life. Once you learn to hold still, that is. The first day only one of you held still for an hour. By yesterday, you’d improved up to three hours. That particular training is very critical, important as killing your target. Then, you were introduced to this beauty.” He helped the soldier drape the cloak over himself and his rucksack.
“Remember, always help your buddy put this on. And also help tie on the vegetation that matches the surroundings of your hide.” He touched various parts of the cloak once it was on. “These are the points you concentrate on to break up your outline…” Irish continued the briefing for another five minutes, holding Brian and Stuart spellbound with the level of detail involved in proper camouflage techniques.
“Alright, that’s enough review. Now, we are going to proceed into the picking of a hide and how to prep it so you won’t give yourself away to the enemy.”
After a five minute march through the forest they entered another glade, seventy meters across. Irish held up his hand, bringing them to a halt. “Just this once, you can stay in the open when we stop. Pretend you’re a know nothing Leg.” Outright laughter greeted this statement.
Irish swept his arm around the clearing. “This morning I got a couple volunteers to help set up this portion of the training. Right now, you are looking for someone who’s outfitted just like you and all set to shoot. You’ve got ten minutes to spot them. Feel free to use your binoculars. First one who spots a sniper gets a free drink from your Commanders’ private stash. One hint–remember your training.”
Brian and Stuart had held back at the edge of the treeline. Both unlimbered their binoculars and began scanning the area to their front. ‘What are we looking for?” Stuart asked after two minutes of fruitless searching.
“Movement,” Brian said, stepping to the side as he eased his stance. A muffled squawk at his feet made him flinch back.
“With respect, Sir, could you
get off m’damn foot?”
“Shite! Sorry, didn’t see you.”
Several members of the class had stopped scanning long enough to cast a curious glance at them. Brian turned red while continuing to scan the area.
“Time’s up,” Irish said. “Anyone spot at least one of them?” No hands went up.
He swung back towards the two spectators, a large grin on his face. “Oh, come on, Brian. Didn’t you find one?” He gave a sharp whistle and the man next to Brian came to his feet.
“He don’t count,” the man hollered. “Had to step on my foot to find me!”
Brian shook his head even as he laughed along with everyone else. “Damn, this is going to be around camp even before we get back.”
By now everyone had gathered around them. “Look at the ground,” Irish said. “See how he hollowed out a shallow trench, just long and wide enough to lie down in. That way, there isn’t a hump in the ground to show where he is. His cammys matched the area almost perfectly, and he was able to hold still the entire time.” He glanced at Brian with a grin. “Well, almost the entire time.”
“How about the other sniper, Sir?” asked a soldier next to Irish.
He gave two short whistles, and a figure arose from the middle of the glade. “Let’s go take a look at the hide she was in,” he said.
Once next to the woman who’d been hiding, Irish gestured at her. “Lift the lid and show them the spider hole you dug, Melly.”
A quick tug on the grass at her feet and a lid popped back revealing a hole barely large enough for her to crawl into.
“That, my friends, is one of my most favorite hides for a sniper. It isn’t always called for tactically, and it takes awhile to set up. But once you’ve prepared one and have the proper training, you can stay in one of these for days at a time. Construction of one is fairly simple. Disposing of the dirt from this dig can be tricky…”
At a gesture from Stuart, Brian and he backed out of the group and walked away. “Fascinating,” Stuart said. “Can you imagine having a hundred snipers in your arsenal?”
“Not so fast, Stu,” Brian said. “Snipers are only one facet of the picture. But yes, they’d be perfect for whittling down the enemy.”
“Just wish we had them now.” He shook himself and increased the length of his stride. “I’m disturbed by the latest word from Intel. Apparently they’re going to move several thousand prisoners up to the moon. That would make it difficult if not impossible to mount a rescue like we’ve been planning.”
Brian shrugged. “I wish we could rescue them tomorrow. Unfortunately, we have to deal with other situations first.”
* * *
Near Space–Onboard Ragnarok:
Major Stanton Vogel entered Commodore Lindquist’s office located in the Admin section of the Ragnarok and gave him a sharp salute before offering his hand. “Commodore, it’s good to see you again. I was pleased to hear of your promotion, and even happier to hear you were put in charge of the mining operations in this system.”
Lindquist took his hand. “Thank you, Major. And I must say when I heard you were involved in vetting the work force being sent from the surface, I was much relieved.” He waved Vogel to a chair. “I wish they’d let me keep doing on-site inspections, but the Grand Admiral says I’m too important now. Have to get others to do it.” He grimaced and sat.
Vogel cocked his head. “I take it that since it was me you sent for there must be a problem with some of the work force. What’s up, Sir?”
“No problems with the existing work force. However, we’re going to need a couple thousand more in the near future. We’re going to expand the amount of finished steel from this location. Since the quality we’re making from the ore on the moon is proving to be superior to what’s available elsewhere, at least not without a lot more work, they want us to supply a bulk of it for three major shipyards throughout the Alliance.”
“I’d heard the workforce we received from Eire was pretty much maxed out,” Vogel said. “Can’t find an abundance of civilians willing to travel into space and do the work, especially since the wages aren’t the best, and we can’t get additional funding to increase their pay.”
Lindquist grimaced again. “Unfortunately true. So it’s been decided to send all of the present work force to the two asteroids, and re-tool the moon’s operations so we can use prisoners to do the work here.”
“Something I’ve wanted them to do all along,” Vogel said. “But since we wouldn’t be checking out the backgrounds of the prisoners, why was I sent for, Sir?”
Lindquist smiled. “To handle the prisoners, of course.”
Vogel straightened. “Me? Um–I’d be glad to, but what…”
“You’d be in overall charge of selecting and transporting the prisoners to the moon, and making sure the units we select to guard them are well trained. Admiral Haven said if you were successful in this, you’d be in line for the next battalion XO slot that opened. General Command won’t let us promote you because of your past actions, but far as I’m concerned you’ll be the number two man in charge on the moon while there. You’d be working under Colonel Reimann, who’d be responsible for production and overall security.”
“Do you have an idea of what size the guard force would be, Sir?”
He handed a data cube to him. “Here’s the plan so far. Give me your input on it in 48 hours. That enough time?”
Vogel smiled. “More than enough, Sir. And thank you for this opportunity.”
Lindquist stood and offered his hand. “Just make us proud, Stan. Now you’d better get a move on. The Grand Admiral wanted to meet with you once we were finished.”
He had to wait for a flood of senior officers to leave Grand Admiral Haven’s office before he could enter. The receptionist pointed to a bank of chairs against the wall. “He’ll see you in a few minutes, Major.”
He’d barely seated himself when the receptionist beckoned. “He’ll see you now, Sir.”
Vogel masked his surprise at the speed he’d been admitted. Ever since the incident while on the planet Edo, he’d been held at arm’s length. Even having the Admiral want to see him started a glimmer of hope. Perhaps…He came to attention in front of the Admiral’s desk and saluted. “You wanted to see me, Sir?”
Haven smiled, and gestured at the chair next to his desk. “Hello, Stan. It’s been awhile. Yes, I most certainly wanted to see you. First of all, an unofficial thank you for helping to root out the spies Victor sent. I’m afraid it’s put him in a spot of trouble with the First Speaker.”
Vogel bobbed his head, a smile forming. “Pleased to be of assistance, Sir.”
“I’m not sure, however, the problem’s gone away. I suspect the First Speaker might only be paying lip service to his unhappiness with Victor. Once you’ve helped okay the plans we have for turning the prisoners into a work force, I’d like you to locate any others that may be assigned to watch me.”
Vogel handed over a slip of paper. “I know of these two, Sir. I’m not positive they’re just here to watch you. Permission to arrest and interrogate them?”
Haven hesitated, giving Vogel a piercing look. “I was disappointed by you once before in connection with your interrogation techniques.”
He straightened to attention, even though sitting. “Sir, I’ve learned my lesson and have received professional help for that past difficulty. I can assure you…”
“So I’ve heard,” Haven said. “I agree. But you aren’t to interrogate any women. That’s an order.”
Minutes later Vogel walked down the hall, bound for his ride back to the moon. He allowed a cautious feeling of relief to flood through him. His off-duty activities hadn’t been found out. He firmed up his step. Not yet. Not ever.
PLANET EIRE, NEAR REBEL HQ (Day +37)
Irish lounged against a tree, watching the activity in front of him. For the past 30 minutes twenty snipers-to-be had been earnestly working on their camouflage cloaks, tyin
g bits of brush and grass onto them. They’d also dug out their hides, all in a neat row facing the firing range. Hm. About done. He stood and whistled. “Inspection in two minutes,” he called.
By the time two minutes passed everyone was lined up at the foot of their hide, facing the man-sized targets downrange. He strolled down the line, eyeballing their camouflage efforts. He reached the fourth man in line and stopped, touching a spot on the cloak with his staff. “More grass,” he said. This occurred twice more before reaching the last person.
He turned and smiled. “Not bad. Not bad at all, children.” He pointed with his staff. “Now I want you to snuggle into your hidey-hole and prepare to engage the three hundred meter target. Go!”
The first half-hour of firing had just finished, and Irish surveyed the results on his hand comp. “Perfect scores at three hundred meters; nice work. Five hundred meters, the average is ninety-two percent. Not too bad, but could be better. Six hundred, only eighty-eight percent. Some of you are getting lazy. Your overall scores two days ago were better than this.”
He beckoned the logistics staff forward. “Your ammo resupply is on its way. Make sure to give ‘em all your empty mags.”
Another two hours of firing ensued, before Irish gave a loud whistle. “All right, let’s take a one hour lunch break. Very good score average this time, everyone.” He walked off the firing line, waving a salute at Brian. “You again? If you keep showing up I’m going to have to make you a student.”
“Wish I could. It’s fascinating to watch you train them. Where’d you come up with the ‘children’ name for them?”
Ian chuckled, sinking down and leaning against a tree. “Three days ago I caught some of them playing a game of ‘Rock, Knife, Paper’ in their spare time. Come to find out it’s something all of them have played at some time in their lives. Started calling them children, and they seem to love it.” He shook his head. “Don’t understand why, but I’m using it. In fact, I think they’re proud to have a name that sets them apart from the other soldiers.”