Hell Fighters From Earth Book 2

by William C. Seigler

  “But one should admit, they did take out that world with one nuke,” Lee added.

  “Yes, but was that really a part of the battle plan or just a rabbit they pulled from a hat?” asked von Karlstad.

  “I’d just like to know where they got the hat,” added Schiller.

  “You are not the only one in Parliament asking that question,” responded Lee. “The navy did not provide the nuke?” he added glancing at von Karlstad.

  “Not to the best of my knowledge,” answered von Karlstad. “I’ve taken the precaution of having all our stores checked by visual inspection. Nothing is missing.”

  “I think we’re all thinking the same thing,” interjected the adjutant.

  “What do you mean?” asked Lee.

  “There is no one left other than the Prime Minister’s faction,” he said, glancing at his boss. Von Karlstad smiled as he lifted his drink to his lips.

  “That’s a serious accusation,” warned Lee. “Be careful with that sort of talk.”

  “I don’t mean to accuse anybody, but what are the alternatives?” the young officer responded.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Lee looking defeated.

  “Why isn’t Parliament launching an investigation?” insisted von Karlstad.

  “Perhaps they don’t really want to know the answer,” added Schiller.

  “How do you mean?” asked Lee.

  “I’m simply saying that such a weapon could only come from people in high places, and we certainly do not need anyone moving nuclear weapons around as it pleases them,” responded Schiller.

  “What makes you so sure it wasn’t the navy?” retorted Lee.

  Von Karlstad stiffened. “If there is any doubt in your mind, whatsoever, then I must insist that Parliament sends its own inspectors. You will have my command’s complete cooperation.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Lee.

  “Oh, but I think it is,” responded von Karlstad. “If such a solid supporter of the navy as you have entertained such ideas, one can only imagine what others have concluded.”

  Schiller, who had managed to hold onto his seat in Parliament, spoke up. “Let me assure you Admiral that Parliament is not sitting on its hands.”

  “What have you heard?” asked Lee intently.

  This question told von Karlstad and Schiller that Lee knew nothing and that Parliament probably was sitting on its hands. The Admiral was happy to leave the politics to Schiller; he had no stomach for it.

  He and Schiller had met at the Academy, during their first week as plebes, and immediately hit it off. They had served briefly together in the fleet; however, under his father’s insistence, Schiller left the service and entered politics. His father was a high-ranking cabinet member who wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. The old friends had kept in touch as each rose in his chosen profession.

  It was only the ill-fated joint mission that kept Schiller from becoming Prime Minister and von Karlstad from retiring and assuming leadership of the Admiralty. This situation, they intended to correct. It should not be too hard; Parliament was spineless.

  As was the Prime Minister, Harry “Pinky” Boynton. How else could one explain how easily he was frightened into authorizing this Legion of down-earth monkeys?

  Both men understood these things and others as they sat savoring their drinks. The Legion and the sorry state of Separatist society was a common topic during their many private conversations. They had accepted the tenet that “desperate times require desperate measures”. However, only Schiller had the vision to take it to its logical conclusion.

  It would not be long now.

  * * * *

  Mr. Chu was not at the party. He was not of the social strata to be invited to such as yet, but that would change. Regardless, it was better for him to remain invisible at this time.

  He met his man in a deserted area, several kilometers from the seaside resort on the newly occupied planet unofficially referred to as New Earth. No one saw him arrive, just as no one knew he had a personal aircraft at his disposal.

  His people, loyal only to him, closely followed developments on Earth and when necessary they would back-engineer anything he needed. This aircraft looked like one of the early one-man aircraft known as “ultralights”. Only an electric motor with advanced batteries and a ducted fan ultra-quiet propeller powered this one.

  It was flat black and sported advanced short takeoff and landing technology. This aircraft he hid behind a sand dune and walked almost half a kilometer to meet his accomplice: the assassin. He carried with him a rifle, one of the Legion’s rifles.

  This had proven almost impossible to obtain. However, it appeared that the main supplier of machinery for the rifle had some extras that, inexplicably, had not been turned over to the Legion. Only by payoffs, to the right people in the Russian underground, had he gotten one of these clandestine weapons.

  This contact had also provided a limited supply of ammunition. It was just as well; only one good shot was needed.

  He watched as the small battery powered vehicle approached the meeting place. Chu stayed out of sight until he was convinced his man, a ne’er-do-well who went by the name “Roach”, had not been followed.

  While Separatist society prided itself on being superior, every society has such people. There seems no way for any society to cleanse itself of them, possibly because there are those who find them useful.

  “Roach, over here,” called Chu.

  The pale, gaunt man swung nervously around, “I told you not to do that.”

  “Not to do what?” asked Chu.

  “Not to slip up on me like that.”

  “I was standing here all the time.”

  “Well, don’t do it.”

  “You ready to go to work?” asked Chu.

  “Yeah, you bring it?”

  “Yes, you look jittery. Is something wrong?”

  “I haven’t eaten all day,” answered Roach.

  “But you have been drinking.”

  “If you paid me more, I could eat.”

  “If I paid you more, you would drink more,” insisted Chu. “Here, I brought you something, something to eat and something to steady your nerves.” Chu tossed the container over to him.

  “Thanks,” Roach said as he ripped into the package.

  Between bites, he asked, “You bring it?”

  “Of course.” He produced the rifle. The sun had gone down, and Chu was glad for relief from the heat. He fished the ammo from a pouch and waited for Roach to finish ingesting his drugged meal.

  In a few minutes, Roach had quit shaking. He was calm and focused, not his usual state. The drug had positive effects in small dosages.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Good.” Chu quickly explained the functioning of the rifle.

  “The night vision scope and laser spotting device function just as I explained. Do you have it memorized?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

  “Good, here is a full magazine and it is inserted like this,” said Chu, while demonstrating. “To remove it, just depress this lever.”

  “I won’t need that. One shot should do.”

  “Do you see those containers, there against the dune?”

  “Yes,” Roach said looking through the night vision scope.

  “Squeeze off a few rounds. Get the feel of it.”

  “Okay.”

  At fifty meters, he hit the first target. As it rolled away, he hit it again. “Not much recoil,” noted Roach.

  The one hundred meters’ target proved more challenging. He was firing freehanded, and the first round impacted low and a bit to the left. He took three deep breaths and let the last one out slowly. This time the makeshift target went flying.

  “You got anything at two hundred?” he asked.
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  “Yes, see the red two-liter cans?”

  “No.”

  “Just keep swinging along the dune; you’ll find them.”

  After several moments, “Okay, I got it. That’s a long way.”

  “Can you hit them?”

  “Of course, I can.” retorted Roach sounding offended. “I’m not going to do the job shooting freehanded. I’ll have something to prop up on.”

  “Use your vehicle.”

  “Okay.” Roach went over, slid the rifle up over the front of the car, and sighted for two hundred meters. His nerves were rock steady as he slowly released his breath. He squeezed.

  The first can went flying. He moved to the second and hit it without any trouble. “Okay, I think I got it.”

  “Good, here is some more ammo.”

  “Not that I’ll need it.”

  “No, but why not have a full magazine to start with?”

  “No reason.”

  “Do you have the plan down?”

  “Yeah, I shoot the guy with the red sash while he is at a party. I just drop the gun and run. I’ll have a car parked close by, and go back to the place you got for me. In the morning take the first transport back to the spaceport, then take the next ship off planet. You got my money and tickets?”

  “Yes, here they are.” Chu handed a packet to Roach, containing his payoff and the necessary tickets.

  “Why do you trust me with the money up front?”

  “You’re too smart to let me be able to skip out on paying you after the job. Besides, meeting later would only complicate things.”

  “Yeah, I’m too smart for that. What if I double cross you and take the money and run?”

  “Then I would never trust you again. You won’t because I might need another job done someday,” Chu said smiling.

  “Don’t worry; I’ll do your job.”

  “I never doubted you. You have something to conceal the rifle?”

  “Of course, I have a duffel bag. Where are the keys to the building?”

  “I have them here, and here is the code. The party starts at 6:00, be early. Here is a picture of the man. He should be easy enough to find. There will be people all around him trying to steal a few minutes of his time.”

  “Okay, I’ve got it; is there anything else?”

  “No, that should do it,” answered Chu.

  “Hey, where did you park?” he asked.

  “Oh, I came out early and hid it.” He pointed off in the wrong direction.

  “Okay, see you around,” Roach said depositing the rifle in the car and sliding in beside it.

  “See you around,” said Chu. As Roach drove away, Chu chuckled to himself. “No, you won’t.”

  Chapter 4 - The Hit

  The mayor of the seaside resort, New Town, stood at the head of the receiving line, next to Mr. Boynton. He was busy playing the gracious host and gladly introduced the local movers and shakers to the Prime Minister on his first visit to New Earth.

  Since the Legion training camp had been set up, business was booming. Many things had to be done in the background to set up and run a major military facility. New Town was a place for Separatists to relax on down time, get away from the office grind, and the monkeys.

  The Prime Minister had come to New Earth on an inspection tour of the navy and felt it incumbent on him the visit the Legion as well. Pinky Boynton was a tall, portly man with short, gray hair and a drawn face. His severe appearance made people notice him. He wore a suit of the imitation silk the Separatists made. The red sash over the white shirt and white tie set him apart from the rest of the guests.

  New Town was growing as the Separatists who worked for the navy really liked the seaside resort, and it had attracted money from the solar system. Many touted New Earth as a new beginning. Still everyone knew the weakness in the plan. While Pinky trusted the Greys, there were those who did not. New Earth was a new beginning, for all of them. Living on the low gravity asteroids and moons of the solar system just did not develop bodies like living in Earth’s gravity. Now their people could live outside again, on the surface of a world.

  He knew there would be those who would not want to relocate. Some, like the elderly or infirmed, liked the low gravity worlds. Sol’s system of planets, moons, and asteroids suited a great many of them just fine. There had been a city growing alongside the naval base, even before the Legion training camp had been set up. Already there was a manpower shortage in what people jokingly called Navy Town, and the problem only grew worse as the seaside resort began taking off.

  * * * *

  Roach smiled a broad, sick smile. It had been all too easy. Two hours before the party was to begin, he had parked across from the building behind a small park. He went around to the back and let himself in using the key. Once he found the fourth-floor room, the code he had unlocked the door for him. He quietly cut out a piece of the window and set up for the shot on a desk.

  He waited, dosing a time or two. In his fitful dream, he could see the bully that kicked his teeth in. “Let it go,” his mother had said, “they can fix your teeth. Besides, the boy is attending psychotherapy. It will be all right.”

  It was not all right not for a while. The hard part was making the son-of-a-bitches death look accidental.

  “You should not play with electricity,” the little children were constantly reminded. The only hard part was pretending to be in mourning when the school held a service for the little scumbag.

  It got easier after that. He learned how to make weapons from the school computer. One of his first was a bow and arrow. Even in the controlled environment of Rill City, there were places where few people ever ventured. These he employed to perfect instinctive shooting. Then he was on to weapons powered by elastic bands.

  He kept to himself, and others avoided him. He learned to lie, then to steal, and finally, as a teenager, fell in with the dark underside of Separatist society.

  His eyes popped open. There was movement. People began placing flowers on tables; others began to bring out food and wheeled in a mobile bar. It quickly became obvious where the receiving line would be set up.

  Roach silently moved the desk around, folded the duffel bag, and laid the Legion rifle across it. Only minor adjustments were necessary now.

  He waited. The target with the red sash stood out in the open shaking hands and meeting people. It was all smiles. Range to target: one hundred and eighty-two meters. A guest paused to speak to the mayor.

  Roach took three breaths and slowly let out part of the last one. This was the part he loved. These people strutted around like they were better than everyone else.

  He squeezed.

  Without warning, the Prime Minister fell backward. A moment later, the guests heard the shot. Mrs. Boynton fell to her knees beside her husband, but he was already dead. A woman screamed. “The Prime Minister has been shot.”

  He lay there in a pool of his own blood, the first murder in over a quarter of a century.

  * * * *

  Denver and Argie were sitting in a restaurant overlooking the sea. There was some sort of fiesta underway down on a floating platform at the water’s edge. While they sat out on the terrace, the glass walls of the establishment had been retracted, and it was open back into the restaurant.

  They had expected Fitz and Mei Ling to be along shortly; Argie was to help her with the wedding plans. They were talking softly when they heard the sound of sirens.

  A shot of adrenalin went through both of them. The looked at one another. “You think it’s another sneak attack?” she asked.

  “Don’t know.” He took out his com and called the Officer of the Day. “Hello, this is Captain Smith. I’m down at New Town, and there are sirens going off. Are you people getting any signs of trouble?”

  “No sir, nothing here, just a fight over in B Company of 2nd B
attalion. That’s about it.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  He tried Naval Ops. “Someone at Intel should be awake.”

  “No sir, we have nothing. Maybe somebody had a heart attack or something.”

  “Okay, thanks,” replied Smith clicking off the com.

  “No luck?” she asked.

  “Probably some local problem.”

  “Here come Commander Fitzpatrick and Mei Ling,” Argie said brightly.

  “Commander,” said Smith, standing and extending his hand.

  “Hello, Smith.”

  “Hello Mei Ling,” Denver added.

  Mei Ling and Argie embraced. Denver thought they were becoming friends.

  “What’s with all the sirens,” asked Fitz.

  “Don’t know. I called the Legion Duty Officer and Intel. They’ve got nothing.”

  “Oh well,” said Fitz as he pulled out a chair for Mei Ling. “Have you ordered?”

  “Just drinks. I’ll find a waiter,” offered Smith.

  They were enjoying their drinks and waiting for dinner when there was a commotion in the restaurant. They turned. There were loud voices.

  “Something’s happening,” observed Denver.

  A man stood up at the next table. “They’ve shot the Prime Minister,” he called out. “I just got the report.”

  Mei Ling and Fitz exchanged glances and turned to the others. “Uh oh,” said Fitz.

  “Shot,” asked Smith, “shot with what. I thought you people didn’t have guns.”

  “We don’t, at least not officially. Until the war came along, they were considered unnecessary, except to ship’s captains and such. Even those were kept locked away. Usually, even the constable does not go around armed.”

  “Then where did they get a weapon?” asked Argie.

  Dinner came, but everyone ate in silence. The atmosphere was tense. The party down on the dock had ended quickly, and the foot traffic on the sidewalk had thinned out.

  The waiters were congregated around the bar. Apparently, the news was coming in. One broke away and headed toward the terrace. Denver flagged him down.

  “What’s happening?”

  The man turned toward him, and then his expression changed. “The Prime Minister was shot by a legionnaire,” he said in a loud, accusing voice.