by J. F. Holmes
Of the war in space, well, they had heard nothing. Or, if they had, no one was sending it down to the mushrooms of the individual soldiers. Kept in the dark and fed shit, he mused. One thing he knew for sure, that General Warren was alive and somehow plugged into the net. That rumor had been all over the base. It was a good thing to know, because, when the war was over, Nick was going to kill him. With a plasma rifle, to the gut. So he could die the way Brit had.
“Hey!” said Zivcovic to Jones, “do you think we are getting back in time go to Raver Rock? We are war heroes now! Maybe get some ass.”
“Shee-it, why you gotta be so rude to Reynolds? You got a fine girl there, Ziv.”
Reynolds started to splutter, “WE AREN’T …!” but Jones just laughed.
“What is Raver Rock?” asked Singh, bewilderment on her face.
“Don’t tell her, Nick, she’s an officer,” said Jones, gleefully. “If you do, the E-4 mafia is gonna put out a hit on you!”
“I’m not scared of what they can do to me,” he answered with a grin.
“It’s what they WON’T do FOR you anymore,” laughed Doc Hamilton.
Singh was totally lost, and her confusion only exacerbated their mirth. To put her out of her misery, Agostine said, “Raver Rock is a sort of, um, dance club, run by a certain, ah, rank of enlisted soldier, aided and abetted by certain higher ranking NCO’s. It moves from room to room in the base.”
“Seriously?” she asked. “I’ve never even heard of this. What is the ‘E-4 mafia’?”
“It’s… something you have to experience. Like the WPPA.”
“The what?” she asked, even more confused.
“West Point Protective Association!” laughed Jones. “How you ring knockers look out for each other.
Singh smiled and said, “No academy for me, I was ROTC!”
“Good thing, else we might have to throw you off the plane,” said Ahmed, getting into the spirit of things.
“But seriously, what is the E-4 mafia?” she asked again.
“As the only actual E-4 here, I will tell you, but the spirit of my ancestors tell me I have to kill you,” said Redshirt. “After the mission, of course, Ma’am.”
“Of course!” she smiled back at him.
“Well, many moons ago …” he began.
“Cut the Indian bullshit, I know you were studying molecular biology at Harvard when the invasion happened.”
The Navajo smiled, and continued, “Well, a long time ago, Baron Von Steuben created a special rank called ‘Corporal’, the lowest rank that has any power, and lo, the privates did wail and complain.”
“Like they do,” interjected Hamilton.
Redshirt ignored him, and continued, “And eventually, the gods of war created a rank called ‘Specialist’, which was liken unto a Corporal, with all the knowledge but no power. So the Specialists did form a secret society, called the “E-4 mafia” to watch over the junior enlisted, and to protect them all from abuses of power. Many is the leader who has regretted crossing them, even unto this day.”
“And this ‘mafia’ still exists? Even after the Invasion?” asked Singh.
“They have only grown more powerful, supposedly. Remember, this is only a legend, Ma’am. But, anything is possible. In fact, we are pretty sure the Wolverines have their own.”
At that moment, the Osprey dove down and swerved left, making them all grab onto their harnesses. “Sorry about that,” came the pilot’s voice over the intercom. “Random plasma fire from the fight for the City.”
The maneuver brought back a little soberness, and no one had much to say after that. At five minutes out, a red light started flashing inside the cabin, and they each said their own prayers, and looked to their equipment. The landing was anticlimactic, setting down in a deserted parking lot, surrounded by derelict cars and a wrecked shopping center.
Glass crunched under boots as the team filed out, while the Osprey crew erected a camouflage net over the VTOL. Each soldier carried an enormous burden, over a hundred pounds of weapons, ammo and water.
“This plan better work,” said Agostine as he walked next to Singh.
“It’s better than my plan, I’ll admit it,” she said.
“Well, when you put a bunch of experienced people together, you generally do come up with something better. You know that.”
“I do.” She seemed pensive, and Agostine looked at her with concern, though he was still irritated at her.
“Come on, Rachel, I know my head isn’t into the game, but I know why,” he said. “You could have come up with a better plan in your sleep.”
“Yeah, I could have. A week ago. Now, well, I haven’t slept in almost that long. This war… I just want to go home, and I don’t have a home anymore.”
“Are you going to be an asset or a liability?” She knew what he meant. A liability that would get them killed.
“I’m not going to get anyone killed, if that is what you’re asking.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye when she said it, though.
“Good. Don’t, I’d be upset. Or you, either. Thanks for hitting me before.” It was his way of a peace offering.
“Sometimes we all need to be slapped back to our senses. You’re a good soldier, Nick, but I hope you can put that bleeding heart of yours away.” With that, Rachel Singh picked up her pace and left a very worried Master Sergeant walking towards their objective.
Chapter 82
They met the pathfinders a kilometer out, two by two as each section of the team slipped into the hide site. Agostine came in last, along with Doc Hamilton. It was in the basement of a ruined McMansion that smelled of mold and dankness.
“So, down to business,” said the first, a small, dark skinned man. He didn’t give his name or rank, nor did his partner, but Agostine knew them both to be members of Scout Team 22, which specialized in infiltrating Invy bases and facilities.
The second man lit up a holojector, bright in the basement’s darkness. It showed the Brookhaven Campus, with their target building lit in blue, and suspected Invy positions in red. “We spent the last four weeks inside the compound, scouting locations, and this is what we got.”
“Four weeks, damn,” muttered Jones, and the man smiled in the darkness, but continued on.
“The Invy barracks are here,” and a building lit with red. “Air defense here, and here,” more red, “and their Command Center here. All their bunkers face outward; we dug a tunnel from the closest safe sewer entrance to this building here.”
“All that in four weeks?” asked Reynolds in amazement.
“No,” said the first. “We dug the tunnel three years ago. Never know when you’re going to need something, right? It was Colonel Singh’s idea.”
She just looked at Agostine smugly. Plans within plans within plans. That’s why she was the Colonel, not him. He’d take her on tactics over strategy any day, though.
“Single watchtower with a sensor ball, here,” middle of the camp, “should be easy enough with the Barrett. No watch towers, squad sized Quick Reaction Force, and maybe another dozen Wolverines as guard. Probably less than ten, considering they pulled most of the garrison out to head to the City.”
“Pretty lax security for a POW camp,” said Red.
“Where are they going to go?” answered the man. “Long Island is a wreck, three million people stuffed into suburbs when the power went out. There probably isn’t a soul alive between here and Manhattan.”
‘Good point,” said the Navajo.
“OK, then, plan stays the same, except, well, how big is this tunnel?” asked Agostine.
“About four foot high, maybe three wide,” said the first pathfinder, “it was the best we could do with this sandy soil.” Everyone looked at Jones; it was obvious that he would never fit. It was going to be a tight squeeze with our equipment and weapons.
“Alrighty then,” said J. “I guess I’m on the distraction team instead of Red?”
“Not instead of,” Agostine answered. �
�In addition to. We were originally going to go for a sniper attack, right? Well, now we’re just going to add bang to the buck. Take all of AT-4’s and blow the shit out of the buildings on the north side.”
“Will that leave us enough people to handle the POWs?” asked Zivcovic.
“Ahmed and these two guys. Doc, you, me and Colonel Singh will do the entry, and each of the others will line twenty meters with a light, back to the LZ. Rachel, sorry, I mean Colonel, you take the rear when we rush the barracks. Ahmed, your target is the sensor.” He had wanted her to stay out of it, escort the prisoners, but honestly he trusted Ahmed to deal with an emergency more than her, in her tired state.
“And the Air Defense?” she asked.
“We’ve got that wired, there’s an EMP mine buried five meters from each, low charge. Too tricky to get explosives directly onto the guns,” said the second pathfinder.
“OK, then. Team two,” said Agostine, meaning Jones, Red and Reynolds, “move out. We’ll give you an hour to get into position. Watch out for drones if you can, and make sure you drink water. You know what the camo suits can do to you.”
They didn’t say anything, just made their way out of the entrance to the basement. Along the way, each team member handed Jones an AT-4, until he carried six of the tubes in addition to the captured Invy plasma anti-tank gun.
“Can you handle that?” asked Red, pushing down hard on Jones’ pack. The big man shrugged him off, smiled, then easily pushed the small Navajo aside.
“The rest of you, take ten to get whatever PCI’s you need to do. Colonel, can I talk to you for a minute?” She didn’t say anything, just took the stairs up to the ruined first floor, disappearing as she activated her camo suit. Agostine did the same, following her up.
“Rachel, I have a question for you, and I wanted to ask you away from everyone else, in case you didn’t want to be seen giving the order,” said the Master Sergeant.
“You don’t have to ask,” his boss answered. “Any POW’s that don’t want to go with you, you execute. We can only take thirty max anyway, and the Pathfinders estimate fifty or more.”
“That’s pretty harsh,” he said. “And you never brought that up in the mission brief.”
“The Invy are going to execute and eat the ones we leave anyway, not necessarily in that order, Nick. It’s a mercy, really. And I have my orders, just like you do.”
“It’s not right, Rachel,” he said, face stony.
She shook her head, and said, “You have no problem with the ODA’s executing collaborators.”
“They know who is a shitbag and who isn’t, they’ve been scoping their targets for almost a decade,” he shot back.
“You know we don’t have time for sorting through who is who. Just grab who you can, maybe the younger ones, but maybe not the healthier looking ones. They’re probably actively collaborating in exchange for food and good treatment.” To him, it seemed a rehearsed answer, one she had been telling herself over and over.
“How much time on the objective?” he asked, dropping the objections. He would deal with it later.
“Depends on how they react to the diversion. Ten minutes maybe?” she answered.
“OK, that will do. If it looks like opposition is tough, I’m leaving them. I don’t have the time to play executioner at the expense of my people. Besides, it isn’t right, and you know it.” His jaw was firmly set, even though she couldn’t see it.
“Master Sergeant,” said Colonel Singh, her voice frosty, “I am giving you a direct order to neutralize any scientists that you cannot take with you, or who are not willing to go.”
He said nothing in answer for a minute, then said, “No. You’ll have to do it yourself. I won’t stop you, but I’m tired of killing, and I’m not going to ask my people to do it.”
“Are you refusing my order? SERGEANT HAMILTON!” she called.
Doc appeared a moment later, then disappeared as he activated his own camo. “Yes, Ma’am?” he asked, but he had been listening below.
“I am relieving Master Sergeant Agostine of command. You are now in charge,” she said simply.
There was silence, then Doc Hamilton said, “It doesn’t work that way, Colonel. You wrote the rules yourself. You can fire him all you want once we get back, but out in the field, he’s in charge. You’re just here as an extra gun, with all due respect.”
That wasn’t what she had expected, and she looked pissed. “Well, then. I guess I’m going to have to do it myself. Are you going to stop me? Either of you?” She knew that Hamilton had been listening to their conversation.
“Rachel, you don’t want that on your soul,” said Agostine. “I’ll shoot outright collaborators, if we can prove it, but anyone we can’t take on the bird, I’ll try to get out through Escape and Evasion. The rest of the team can go, and you can send a recovery sub or boat.”
“That will get you killed,” she said.
“Probably. But better to lose my life than my soul,” he answered in a tired voice.
Singh walked away, leaving the matter unsettled.
Chapter 83
The worst part was waiting in the tunnel. It was small, tight, and though they had lined it with rough concrete, there was still a smell of mold and dirt. Each soldier was packed in tight with the one in front, Zivcovic in the lead. Behind him was Agostine and then Hamilton, and each had their hand on the boot of the man in front of him. Singh took up the rear position. They had looked at video taken of the tunnel exit, and a night vision peek at the target building, just across the street.
They knew there was going to be a lot of confusion, and Agostine had put Zivcovic in the lead for that reason. The man just didn’t care if a human got in his line of fire, and Agostine feared that he himself would hesitate. He was truly sick of the killing, and he had decided that this was his last mission.
“I have to piss,” said Zivcovic, and proceeded to.
“Couldn’t you have done that before we crowded in here?” Agostine asked, the strong smell of urine assaulting their noses. There were many situations where the scouts had to crap and piss right where they were, but this wasn’t one of those.
“No,” the Serb answered simply.
“You’re a real asshole sometimes, you know?” said Hamilton.
“Thank you,” said Ziv.
They were doing it to mask the tension of waiting, to try and calm racing hearts, though Zivcovic probably had a high heartbeat due to joy at facing battle.
Agostine ordered, “None of your bullshit single combat this time.”
“I do what I must do,” said Zivcovic, “Honor demands it.”
Singh spoke up from the rear, saying, “Sergeant Zivcovic, if you even think about it, I will shoot you in the back of the head. Do you understand me?”
He looked back at her, and she could see his feral grin in the darkness. “You would make a good Serb wife, if you weren’t from a lesser people.” But he didn’t talk back to her about her order. It was weird, thought Agostine, but Zivcovic always listened to her.
They felt, more than heard, a distant explosion, just as their timers reached 18:30, and they waited, one minute, two minutes, three, then Agostine slapped Ziv’s shoulder. The Serb moved forward, pushing through the false wall that hid the entrance to the tunnel. It fell forward, and into an empty basement.
Moving swiftly up and into the open, their chameleon suits hiding them in the darkness, they ran towards the barracks. Zivcovic focused straight ahead, Agostine to the right, and Hamilton to the left. In the rear, Singh raised her weapon and scanned the rooftop as they ran. She was the first to fire, stopping to draw a good sight picture at a Wolverine that was looking over the edge, northward. The IR laser settled center mass on the form, and she fired three sabot rounds, one catching it in the shoulder and the next in head, a spray of heat showing in her goggles. She immediately continued scanning the roof and windows, running to catch the rest of the team.
Zivcovic fired his shotgun twice, shatterin
g the hinges on the side, and Agostine grabbed the handle and pulled, letting the Serb peel in through the door. Inside was a long corridor that led to individual rooms; these were where the collaborators lived.
“Cells are on the third floor, let’s go!” said Singh, and they ran down the corridor as doors started to open. “CEF! GET BACK IN YOUR ROOMS!” yelled Singh. To emphasize her words, she shot a woman who didn’t move fast enough, hammering her back into her doorway. The rest got the message and ducked back inside. Agostine looked at her, but she just looked back coldly.
They took the steps two at a time, Ziv’s shotgun booming as a Wolverine came down the stairs. The creature, even though mortally wounded, launched itself at him, and he fired again, the buckshot catching it in the face, shattering its skull. It was the only Invy they encountered going up the stairway. There had been a guard booth inside the door, but it had been empty; they were probably all on the roof, looking at the attack a kilometer away. At the second floor, they kicked in the doorway, took a quick glimpse into it, saw no enemies, and shut it.
“Doc, you and Rachel take the third floor, and start getting the POW’s out. Ziv, you and I take the roof. Be careful,” he said to his oldest friend, and Hamilton gripped his shoulder, then turned to the door. The Serb ejected all his buckshot rounds, and slipped in slugs made of tungsten.
Agostine and Zivcovic moved slowly up the stairs, weapons pointed straight up. The door to the roof was slightly ajar, and the Team Leader motioned for Ziv to let him see. A quick look showed the dead Wolverine that Singh had shot, and another three manning a heavy weapons platform. They were firing in the general direction of where explosions were still happening.
“Not the brightest, are they?” muttered the Master Sergeant.
“They leave the shitbags on guard duty; all the good ones run towards the battle,” answered the Serb with a grin.
Agostine motioned for Ziv to give him his grenades. Why risk a missed shot and return fire? He laid four of the round devices on the step in front of him, removed the rubber bands around the spoons, picked up the first one, and, in quick succession, pulled each pin, flipped off the spoon, and threw it out the door, to skid across the rooftop towards the gun emplacement.