Cherry Drop (Abner Fortis, ISMC Book 1)

by P. A. Piatt

  Meanwhile, Doc Weinberg and Sergeant Strickland busied themselves with the wounded and the dead. The wounded were treated at the triage point. Two serious cases were moved to the makeshift medical ward in the command mech where Weinberg treated their injuries while Strickland performed first aid on the rest.

  After completing her work, Strickland directed several of the able-bodied wounded to recover the bodies of fallen Marines, including Gunny Hawkins, Kilfoy, and Winaki. They were carefully laid out in long rows, and the Space Marines did their best to not look at the faces of their fallen comrades.

  Strickland insisted that every Space Marine be accounted for. When they completed their grisly task, and all the bodies from inside the compound had been collected, the only unaccounted Marines were the members of Pell’s patrol and the nine who had been assigned to the ill-fated eastern patrol prior to the test tube attack.

  The field kitchen had been destroyed when one of the mechs had driven over it during the withdrawal. The Space Marines scavenged all the field rations they could find, and Ystremski laughed aloud when Strickland told him that the DINLI still was undamaged and had been operating throughout the battle.

  The one-hour update window had come and gone without comment from Fortis because he was fast asleep. Weinberg had given him some additional painkillers, and the relief had allowed the young officer to rest. By unspoken agreement, the NCOs went about their tasks like the professionals they were, and they all met Fortis’ implied deadline of sundown.

  * * *

  An hour after dark, Fortis was prodded from his slumber by a tap on the shoulder. He struggled to sit up, but Weinberg stopped him.

  “Take it easy, LT. You fell asleep in the command mech with your foot up.”

  The corpsman helped Fortis sit up, and the dull ache in his leg became a hammer. He gasped in pain.

  “That’s the blood flowing back into your foot. It hurts like hell, but it’s a good sign. How do you feel?”

  Fortis blinked and looked at the NCOs gathered around him.

  “I feel shitty, my leg hurts, and all of you look suspicious. What happened?”

  The group laughed, and Gunny Ystremski cut in.

  “You missed all the fun, LT, but we’ve got the compound secured, for tonight at least.”

  “All the wounded have been tended to, and the troops have been fed,” added Weinberg.

  The lieutenant struggled to focus on the clock of the main display. “Oh, man, how long have I been out? What time is it?”

  “A couple hours, sir. It’s been dark for about an hour.”

  “Crap, why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “Doctor’s orders. Your body needs rest to heal, and you won’t get any rest stomping around the compound shot up full of anesthetic.” Doc motioned to the hatch. “There is one matter, though, that requires your attention outside.”

  Fortis groaned and got to his feet. Weinberg presented him with crutches carved from tree branches. “A couple of our wounded thought you might like some help getting around.”

  The group trooped outside, and Fortis saw the surviving Marines gathered around a large bonfire. Every one of them was clutching a battered tin mess cup, and Fortis instantly knew what was coming.

  “The lads have invited you to have a wee drink with them, LT.” Gunny Ystremski smiled as he passed Fortis a mug. “Just a small one. Doctor’s orders and all.”

  Fortis looked around at the faces reflected in the firelight. They all smiled, and their eyes were bright with anticipation and emotion. For a moment, Fortis was at a loss for words, but he got a sudden inspiration from a freshman college course.

  “Long ago, a man, a playwright, perfectly captured in a single phrase everything that I feel right now about all of you, and—” he gestured to the ranks of the dead, barely visible outside the edge of the firelight, “—all of them. ‘For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.’” Fortis raised his mug and tipped it until a narrow stream of liquid ran from it. “To the dead and the living. My brothers!”

  “DINLI!” the Space Marines roared as they poured out a taste for the dead and then threw back their toast.

  The raw, fruity alcohol scorched Fortis’ throat and sent him into a coughing jag, and he was grateful for the cover it provided to hide the very real tears that leaked from his eyes. When he finished hacking and looked up, he saw there wasn’t a dry eye in the group. He held up a hand for silence.

  “We still have a lot of work ahead of us. Several of our comrades are unaccounted for, and we need to free the people of the colony, too. Take this moment to remember our fallen brothers, and then let’s get back to it. DINLI!”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The next morning, Trenas proposed digging one long trench with a mech and burying the dead Space Marines side-by-side, but the others insisted on digging individual graves for each of their comrades. It took them most of the morning, but their pride when the task was complete was evident despite their exhaustion.

  While they dug, Gunny Ystremski led a patrol into the jungle in search of the missing patrols. Guided by Corporal Lake, they discovered three Marines where they’d fallen. After they transported the trio back to the compound, the patrol returned to the jungle to search for the other patrol. Two hours later, they discovered the missing men in a hastily organized defensive position surrounded by dead test tubes and bugs. The grisly scene revealed the ferocity of the fighting, and it was clear that the Space Marines had sold their lives at great cost to their enemies.

  At noon, they fell into ranks. Fortis presided over the mass funeral for all the fallen Space Marines. He read the customary ceremony from his ISMC Platoon Leader Manual and then hobbled from grave to grave, where he announced the name of the deceased soldier and saluted before moving to the next. When he finished, a seven-man honor guard fired a three-volley salute. The Space Marines remained at attention during a moment of silence as the echoes of the salute faded away.

  Gunnery Sergeant Ystremski stepped forward and saluted Lieutenant Fortis.

  “Request permission to carry on, sir.”

  Fortis returned the salute. “Carry on.”

  Ystremski faced the Space Marine formation. “Company, carry on!”

  The Space Marines took one pace backward, executed an about-face, and shouted, “Carry on! Aye, aye, sir!”

  * * *

  The Space Marines consolidated their perimeter defense for the remainder of the day while Fortis met with the NCOs to explain his plan.

  “Tomorrow morning, the entire force will relocate to the GRC compound to recover and bury the Space Marine casualties there. The following day, we will move to the colony and liberate the miners and their families. Two days after that, the Fleet will be returning for our exfil.”

  Trenas spoke up. “Sir, why are we abandoning the mechs? Why don’t we send a patrol to the GRC base and then on to the colony?”

  “If we go tomorrow, we’ll have to carry at least three Marines, including yourself,” added Weinberg. “Why not leave the non-ambulatory wounded here?”

  Fortis shook his head. “We don’t have the numbers to leave troops here and make a patrol to the colony and do both safely. How many test tubes are still wandering around in the jungle?”

  Weinberg shrugged. Fortis continued.

  “The GRC started with a thousand test tubes. The bugs killed a bunch and we killed a bunch, but there could be a hundred or more still out there. If there are any mercenaries left, and they get them organized, we’d be in big trouble.”

  “You just made the argument for staying here, sir. If we move out into the jungle, we’d be vulnerable to ambush.”

  “If we stay here, we’re also vulnerable. Maybe more so than if we’re in the jungle. Let’s assume, worst case, that there are a hundred test tubes and one mercenary. If they figure out how to trigger another bug swarm, we’ll be forced into the jungle whether we want to go or not.” He motioned at the dead mer
cenaries and test tubes scattered across the compound. “We are not wasting a single ounce of effort or energy to bury them. If we don’t leave tomorrow, the smell will drive us out by the day after.”

  Ystremski, who had been sitting in stoic silence up to that point, weighed in.

  “When I came through the test tube lines yesterday, they were wandering around the jungle in ones and twos, lost. If there are any mercenaries left, it’s going to take a long time for them to find and organize their troops. If we move away from here, we make it much more difficult for them to locate us and concentrate their force.”

  Trenas appeared convinced, but Weinberg still shook his head.

  “LT, we’re going to be in a world of hurt humping three litters for seven klicks through the jungle to the GRC camp.”

  “We don’t have to,” answered Ystremski. “When the test tubes marched this way, they blazed a trail through the jungle like a two-lane road. It will be risky, but it will be faster and easier than breaking virgin bush.”

  “Listen, all of you.” Fortis looked around the group and made eye contact with all three in turn. “We’re going. Gunny Ystremski has the lead on our tactical disposition. Trenas, you get logistics and communications. We’ll need to bring the portable satcom set to guide the Fleet in. Doc, gather all the medical supplies we can carry and prepare the wounded for movement. Any questions?”

  Nobody spoke.

  “All right then. We leave at first light.”

  * * *

  “Hey, LT, take a look at this.”

  Fortis looked up from the computer terminal where he’d been updating his report to include recent events. A message from Captain Reese appeared on the main screen.

  NO REPORT RECEIVED FOR THREE DAYS. SUBMIT IMMEDIATELY

  “What the hell is that all about?” Fortis and Trenas traded puzzled looks. “We sent the detailed report two days ago, right?”

  Trenas nodded.

  “This doesn’t make sense.” He thought for a moment. “Is the circuit operating properly? Is there some way we can test it?”

  “We can send ourselves a test message to the portable satcom set. That would tell us whether problem was on our end or theirs.”

  Trenas set up the portable satcom outside and returned to her console. She cued up the last message and hit Transmit. A red light blinked, and the message became a stream of electrons fired at the satellite high overhead. Trenas went outside to check the portable and returned a moment later, scratching her head.

  “I don’t get it, sir. We watched it go up, but the portable didn’t receive anything down.”

  “Maybe it’s the bird.”

  “Doubtful. We’re set up to check the satellite constellation ephemeris data every hour, and it’s been satisfactory the whole time we’ve been here. It’s something on our end, but I don’t know what. I haven’t changed anything.”

  “Damaged antenna?”

  “For three days? I don’t think so.”

  Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and a stream of incomprehensible characters scrolled across the screen. Trenas made wordless noises in her throat as she studied the data and entered additional commands. Finally, she grunted and froze the stream.

  “Everything looks good except for that.” She highlighted a line of data. “That’s our transmit frequency, except it’s not. I mean, I’ve been doing this for twelve years, and I’ve never seen that frequency used. I’m not even sure it’s on our authorized freq list.” A screen popped up, and she looked at it closely.

  “Yeah, you see that? That’s supposed to be our transmit frequency, but somehow it got changed.”

  Fortis scratched his head. His experience with computers was limited to terraforming planets. Beyond that, his grasp was tenuous. “Can you change it back?”

  Trenas smiled. “Already done, sir. I just don’t understand how this happened.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Go ahead and retransmit my last report to Colonel Sobieski. I’ll finish this one up and then you can send it, too.”

  Trenas entered several keystrokes and the red light blinked again. “Done.”

  * * *

  Relocating to the GRC compound was anticlimactic. Ystremski deployed skirmishers in full auto-flage ahead of the main group and flankers paced the patrol on both sides. The pace was necessarily slow despite the well-defined trail. Fortis and Ystremski had agreed ahead of time that there was no reason to rush the seven klicks to the other base, as they wanted to keep the Marines as fresh as possible.

  They encountered four test tubes along the way, which the skirmishers dispatched quickly. The Space Marines could have captured or bypassed them, but they didn’t have the numbers to maintain a proper guard on prisoners, nor were they willing to leave enemy troops loose at their rear.

  The patrol emerged from the jungle at the GRC compound with several hours of daylight remaining. After a careful examination of the burned rubble and the surrounding jungle, the Space Marines set up a temporary camp and prepared for another burial ceremony. Trenas had detailed two Marines to carry jugs of DINLI in anticipation of the ceremony and Fortis led them in another observance for their fallen comrades. Afterward, the Space Marines grabbed a quick meal of pig squares washed down with another mug of DINLI. Fortis insisted that Ystremski include him in the sentry rotation, and they settled in for the night.

  Trenas found Fortis at the makeshift command post during his watch.

  “Trenas, what are you doing up?”

  “Can’t sleep, LT. I’m worried. We didn’t find Beck’s body in the drone wreckage. He should have been there.”

  “Hmm. Did he burn up?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. It seems like we should have found something.”

  “You know, Trenas, you’re right. The question is, if he’s not dead, where is he? I only met him briefly, but he didn’t strike me as the rugged outdoors type. If he made it into the jungle, how long can he survive?”

  “I have no idea, sir.”

  Fortis thought for a second. “At first light, I’ll have Ystremski send a patrol to sweep the perimeter of the compound. If they don’t find any obvious signs, we’ll have to move on.”

  * * *

  Ystremski led the dawn sweep himself, anxious to find the man responsible for murdering Warrant Pell, Doctor Kramer, and the others. Everywhere they looked, his men saw signs that someone or something had passed through the jungle, but they didn’t find anything specific to Beck. Finally, Fortis recalled them to prepare for the march to the colony.

  The trip to the colony was simplified thanks to the road the GRC had blazed through the jungle. The flankers didn’t see any more test tubes or bugs, and the Space Marines made good time.

  After they reached the plateau that served as the launch pad, and the Space Marines had the chance to reconnoiter the colony, Fortis and Ystremski discussed their next move.

  “We don’t have the gear to cut into the ventilation shafts and I don’t think we have enough explosives to blow the door open,” said Ystremski. “We could try knocking.”

  Fortis shook his head. “I’m not sure we should try to open the doors. What if they have sentries? There could be a hundred test tubes in there.”

  Ystremski stared at him for a second. “You know, LT, that never occurred to me. We could stir up a hornet’s nest. Hell, the colonists might attack if we crack the doors. So, what should we do?”

  “Message Atlas and tell them where to find us. Then catch up on our sleep.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Two days later, Atlas arrived in orbit around Pada-Pada, and the dropships returned to recover Fortis and the survivors. After the first wave of dropships landed on the plateau, Fortis hobbled out to meet the new arrivals.

  A captain he didn’t recognize approached him, along with six Space Marines. After they exchanged salutes, the captain considered Fortis coldly.

  “Second Lieutenant Fortis?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Lieu
tenant Fortis.”

  “I’m Captain Spantz. I’m here to escort you to Atlas.”

  “Okay, Captain. Let me make sure my men—”

  “Now, Lieutenant. You’re under arrest.”

  The Space Marines surrounded Fortis and relieved him of his weapons.

  “What—I mean—I don’t understand. I’m under arrest? On what charge?”

  The captain motioned to the sky with his thumb. “You’ll find out up there.”

  * * *

  His arrest was only the start of a series of unpleasant surprises for Lieutenant Fortis. When the armed guards returned him to Atlas, he learned the Space Marine Judge Advocate General, or JAG, had charged him with Failure to Obey an Order—not to go into the jungle—and he was to be court martialed.

  The master at arms fitted him with an anklet that continuously transmitted his location and released him from pre-trial confinement. Fortis then reported to the Foxtrot Company spaces, where he discovered he had a new company CO.

  “Captain Brickell, Foxtrot CO,” said the square-jawed, gray-haired Space Marine officer who met him at the hatch. “Get your legal shit squared away with division. Until then, I don’t want to see you around.” Then he closed the hatch in Fortis’ face.

  “The general transferred Reese to administrative duties and brought in Brickell as soon as your report hit HQ,” whispered Staff Sergeant Cruz, the same smiling staff sergeant who had greeted Fortis on his first day. “Rumor has it the general didn’t want any of the shit from Pada-Pada to stick to Reese’s fur.”

  The next surprise came when Fortis learned that Dexter Beck had walked out of the jungle to greet the dropships after Fortis was arrested. Beck had become an important witness for the prosecution at his court martial. Which was when Fortis got hit with the worst shock of all. After hearing Beck’s tale, the Fleet JAG decided to charge Fortis with additional offenses, including Loss and Destruction of Government Property, Destruction of Private Property, Assault, and Conduct Unbecoming an International Space Marine Corps Officer.