Any Orphans here? We’re waiting near the hospital tent. What a jug-fuck this place is.
He stepped out at a fast pace, swinging the club to get a feel for it. Though much heavier than his lacrosse stick from university days, it reminded him of warm-ups during the first practices of a new season. The Mound’s hospital was one of the elongated tents, with tubes connecting different segments, so he found it again in no time.
Someone had created a small picnic area nearby, with wooden tables and bench seats. The whole space was occupied by a platoon of Orphan infantry, most of them stretched out on the dark ground, resting against their rucksacks. The sight of their dirty armor and worn boots warmed Mortas, even though he didn’t recognize any of them at first. Seeing a backpack radio set up on one of the picnic tables, he walked over.
“Still can’t raise anybody, Sergeant.” The words were in a field whisper, despite the growling of generators all around them. “I think we’re the only Orphans here.”
“There’s at least one more.” Mortas rested the tip of the club on the ground, recognizing the nearest man at the table. On his first day with the brigade, seemingly a lifetime ago, he’d seen this NCO leading a squad on a conditioning run in body armor. The veteran was much older than the average Orphan, and Jander had seen the scar around his left leg that indicated it had once been amputated. “I’m Lieutenant Mortas.”
The sergeant stood up, disapproving eyes sliding over the unarmed and unarmored officer. “I know who you are, sir. You musta just got back. How’s the leg?”
“Almost healed, but they made me the battalion supply guy anyway. You’re from C Company, right?”
“I’m Sergeant Drayton, and this is Second Platoon. Our lieutenant got promoted, so I’m in charge. We’re supposed to secure the supply area tonight, whenever the convoy gets here, but so far nobody knows what’s going on. You in contact with them?”
“No. Could be hours.” Mortas pointed up the hill. “See that building? They’re selling women up there.”
“Just a second, sir.” Drayton raised his voice, and several of the reclining forms sat up. “Colonel Watt has given clear orders regarding abuse of the locals. You might not have heard yet, but no Orphan is to exploit any refugee in any way. We call it Watt’s Law.”
“Well tonight we’re passing an amendment. I call it Jander’s Law.” He raised the club and rested it on his shoulder. “No civilian is abused in my presence, no matter who’s doing it. That place is run by a bunch of assholes in green uniforms and black hats, and I’m going up there to shut them down. How’d you like to come along?”
The C Company troops were coming to their feet, hulking forms in armor pressing in on the table. Drayton’s lips cracked into an evil smile, the same leering smirk he’d fixed on Mortas when he’d jogged past the brigade’s newest officer over a year before.
“Those assholes in the green suits belong to Asterlit. CIP. Celestian Internal Police. Basically his private army. Makes no difference to me, but you’re pullin’ the tail of the biggest tiger on the planet, sir.”
“I don’t care.”
Murmurs of approval sounded all around them. Drayton nodded, the smile still there.
“Saddle up, Second. Let’s get a little exercise.”
“Gate Team, once you take out the guards, peel to the west so you’re out of the way. Assault Team, blow right through the front door and then take your assigned floors. Ground Team, surround the building with Gate Team.” Drayton repeated the plan while hunkered down in the tree line. Business at the Red House had slacked off in the time it had taken for the platoon to sneak up the hill, ground their rucks with a guard trio, and then creep into position. Two new clients were at the open gate, negotiating with three CIP green suiters. Jander added his own commands.
“Anybody in green gets beat down, and so do the customers. Try not to hurt the prisoners, but do what you gotta do. We’ll get them medical attention as soon as it’s over. We’re not losing anyone here tonight, so if anybody green raises a gun, shoot them.” A borrowed pistol hung on Jander’s hip, but the club was his primary weapon. The troops were fully armored, half carrying their rifles and the rest having produced a range of close-quarters combat weapons. They were almost as keyed up as he was. “Let’s go.”
The branches vanished as the wedge of men crashed forward, the slight rise making Jander kick hard. Several hulking forms outran him easily, slamming through the narrow opening as one, carrying the customers and the guards with them. The entire mass sailed forward a good five yards before collapsing in flailing arms and angry cries. An armored man bumped Mortas as they went through the gate, but he was running too hard to notice. A short flight of steps appeared in front of him, and light shone through the door when someone opened it to investigate the commotion.
The lead troop lowered his helmet, driving it into the silhouette’s nose. The head snapped back, and then the opening was clear. Three more got through ahead of Mortas, all of them charging into a small room with sofas and chairs. A mix of proprietors and clients were seated there, and they didn’t have time to rise before the wall of armor was on them.
Another flight of stairs, this one narrow with walls on both sides, and Mortas took the steps two at a time. A loud crash chased him up the passage, accompanied by yelling and the sound of gun butts on flesh. A tall figure materialized at the top of the stairs, potentially blocking the way for the others, so Jander turned the club diagonally across his chest and slammed into the obstacle. Driving hard with both legs, he jammed the shouting figure against a wall while a sensation like a typhoon wind passed behind him.
The upper floor was one big open room, with heavy drapes separating it into cubicles to either side of a central passageway. He saw the fabric coming down like sails on a broken mast, just before a swarm of angry bees stung his abdomen. Still holding the club with both hands, he punched upward so that the wood connected with nostrils. Only then did he realize his opponent was a large woman in a black T-shirt and green CIP trousers, and that she was jolting him with a shock baton that she no doubt used to discipline her charges.
She shrieked in pain, but was still shocking him, so Jander stepped back and brought the club down hard on her wrist. The baton dropped, and he turned sideways before hammering the butt end of the dowel into his adversary’s stomach. She made a sound like a seal’s bark and then collapsed, clutching her middle and fighting for air.
The floor was entirely opened by then, and a maelstrom of violence had replaced the drapes. A dozen Orphan troops were beating figures on the floor, several in green and some half-dressed, while nude forms cowered under overturned cots. Rifle butts, fists, and a long black sap rose and fell in a frenzy, punishing the bodies while the sounds of breaking glass rose from the floor below.
The soldier wielding the sap had lost his helmet, and he stopped swinging the weapon long enough to come to his full height, breathing hard with exertion. The shattering glass noises seemed to inspire him, and he yelled to the others, “Don’t be selfish! Give the Ground Team some work! Throw ’em out the fuckin’ windows!”
Human forms quickly became battering rams, and Mortas watched in elation as the Orphans tossed their victims through the openings. He laughed out loud, finally noticing his own labored breathing, and reached down for the woman who’d attacked him. That motion stopped the mirth, because he came face to face with a teenaged girl curled into the fetal position in the corner. One of her wrists was chained to the wall, and she stared at him in a paralyzed daze. Next to her was a naked boy the same age, biting both hands and trembling all over.
Mortas tossed the club away, pulling the CIP woman to her feet and then grasping her neck with one hand. She hadn’t caught her breath yet, but her eyes blazed with an insane anger. Feeling his legs driving again, he rushed her across the floor, over the wrecked support bars and torn drapes, and hurled her out the shattered window. He was moving so fast that he almost went out as well, and ended up hanging halfway throug
h the opening in the cool night air.
Below him, the beatings continued with wondrous thuds and rewarding spasms. Drayton and some of his troops were already sorting through the bodies, and Jander was about to call for the medics when headlights surged up the road and then swung away on both sides, bathing the yard in near-sunlight. He’d left a message on the brigade emergency channel instructing any arriving Orphans to come to the top of the hill, and so he wasn’t surprised to see Sergeant Strickland hop out of the lead truck.
The convoy wound back down the trail until it disappeared, the trucks lurching to a halt almost bumper-to-bumper. Members of Sergeant Leoni’s FITCO came running up to join in, male and female, and Mortas marveled at the assortment of personal weapons and their willingness to use them. Sergeant Leoni walked through the gate at a leisurely pace, watching his charges with pride until seeing Mortas in the window.
“Hey there, El-tee!” He waved, surveyed the ongoing carnage, and then looked up again. “You weren’t lying, were you? You really are a troublemaker.”
“Sir. Major Hatton’s coming up the hill.”
The announcement was accompanied by a gentle nudging of his boots, and Jander’s eyes opened to broad daylight. After the abuse victims had been evacuated by the medics and the prisoners had been handed over to a reluctant military police squad, he’d curled up against a low wall in back of the captured building. He now saw that it ran all the way around a rectangular plot that had probably been a garden during the peace. As he sat up, aching muscles in his shoulders berated him and his injured leg burned.
“Here.” Sergeant Strickland held out a canteen cup of coffee. “You need this.”
“That I do.” He inhaled the steam, surprised to realize the coffee was of very high quality. After taking a long sip, he groaned in appreciation. “If I’d known this was the kind of brew I’d get as a supply guy, I would have applied for this gig a long time ago.”
“Oh, there are a few perks to this job, sir.” Strickland turned, waving at the activity on the slope. “Me and Leoni walked around at first light, making friends as usual. This place is loaded with goodies, if you ask nicely enough. The engineers will be by this afternoon to help us clear the trees and start digging in bunkers.”
“Did you find out who’s in command?” Jander stood with effort, and sat on the wall. The base spread out before him, disorganized as ever, but the hill itself was already transformed. The fence was gone, and many of the convoy’s trucks were now parked on a lower plateau that he hadn’t noticed the night before.
“You already guessed it. This base is too small and too nasty for the bigwigs. It grew up on its own, and no one’s been interested in taking charge.” He grinned. “Your name got suggested to me and Leoni more than once while we were taking our tour. You wanna be mayor?”
“No way. Who’s securing the perimeter?”
“That’s a composite company, a mixed bag of combat troops who were physically unfit for field duty.”
“Wonderful.” Jander massaged his leg. “Who’s their commander?”
“They don’t have one. Their most senior NCO is a broken-down Celestian from one of the outfits that went over to the Rogers. Says he’s one of the few who stayed loyal, but I think he figured he wasn’t up to life on the run.”
Mortas saw the large form of Major Hatton walking up the trail, accompanied by Captain Pappas. “What about the building here? Can we use it?”
“Nah. Too tempting a target. The residents here say that Sam—excuse me, the rebels—have never bothered them, but now that the brigade’s operating in this area, I don’t expect that to last.”
“What should we do about it?”
“Knock it down and build a launch site for the resupply darts.”
“I’ll coordinate that with the battalion commander.”
“Don’t bother, sir. It’s already in the works.” Strickland smiled tolerantly. “The engineers are gonna give us an estimate when they’re here a little later.”
“Settling in nicely, I see.” The bear-like figure of Major Hatton approached, and his voice boomed across the hill. Seeing the body armor, helmets, goggles, and rifles carried by the battalion commander and the intelligence officer, Mortas felt out of uniform. Hatton didn’t seem to notice. “I hear you evicted some squatters last night.”
Jander came to attention, unsure of how the challenge to Asterlit’s enterprise was going to be handled. “Hello, sir. I found twenty Celestian citizens being abused here, and put a stop to it. If there’s any heat over this, I want to state for the record that Sergeant Drayton and the members of his platoon were acting under my orders.”
“I got here at the end of the action, sir, but I supervised the evacuation of the abuse victims.” Strickland spoke formally. “I fully support Lieutenant Mortas’s decision.”
“Relax, the both of you. Nobody’s mad about this. In fact, Colonel Watt has adopted your ‘Jander’s Law’ as his own.” Hatton suppressed a chuckle. “Yes, we heard the name. So Watt’s Law has been adjusted accordingly. From now on, no Orphan will tolerate any abuse of civilians, no matter who’s doing it. Even Asterlit’s green suits.”
“I met him just after I landed yesterday, sir. He is a complete psycho.”
“True enough. But he runs what’s left of the government on this rock, so let’s not go too far out of our way to poke him.” Hatton shook his head. “You’ve been grazing wild for too long, Jan. Time to rejoin the herd.”
“It’s good to be back, sir.”
“You’re gonna be plenty busy, anyway. The Rogers have been doing their own thing around here for a long time, but that’s going to change. The brigade’s running patrols all throughout this sector, mostly squad- and platoon-sized elements. We’ve got plenty of orbital and aerial fire support for them if they run into anything big, but resupplying them is on you and Sergeant Strickland.”
“Any truth to the stories about the hogs, sir?” Strickland asked, causing Jander to wonder if he’d heard him correctly.
“It’s all true.” Pappas stepped forward. “There’s a species of feral pig that was already here, and somebody thought it would be a good idea to import several thousand more of them. They propagate like you wouldn’t believe, and they’re destructive as hell. Apparently they’ll eat just about anything, but luckily one of the things they don’t eat is humans. Live ones, anyway.
“They’ll root up any structure they come across, and once there’s enough of them they may even threaten places like this.”
“But in the meantime they’re already disrupting ground resupply.” Hatton refocused the discussion. “Convoys smaller than ten vehicles are reporting attacks if they stop anywhere for more than a few minutes. We’re maximizing the shuttles right now, but once this sector gets hot, the rebels are going to start shooting those down. Sergeant Strickland.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought those resupply darts of yours were a waste of time until now, so you have my apologies. We’re going to be needing that capability soon. How’s it coming along?”
“We can deliver chow and ammo wherever you want it, sir. We’re still figuring out how to pack the water so the sloshing doesn’t throw off the ballistics, but we’ll get there. I only brought fifty of these with us, but there’s a whole yard of ’em back home. Can you get those sent out to us?”
“Colonel Watt’s already given the order. You’ll be sharing this capability with the supply folks from Second and Third Battalion, so be prepared to train them up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t let me keep you.” The words were respectful, but obviously Hatton had something to discuss with Mortas in private. Strickland nodded, and headed off down the hill. Jander looked up at the battalion commander, knowing what he would say.
“Jan, Hugh Leeger is leading one of the biggest bands of the Orange out here. I’m leaving Erlon with you, and I want you to tell him anything that might help us beat him.”
“We won’t get t
he chance to do that, sir.”
“And why is that?”
“Our patrols will pick off some of the other bands, but Leeger’s too smart to lock horns with an outfit like ours. He’ll see we’ve got our shit together, and then he’ll let us wander all over this wasteland without ever engaging us. If he sees a good opportunity he may take it, but it will have to be a lucrative target—nothing small-time. Leeger’s always looking for the knockout punch.” Mortas looked at Pappas. “You figure out what that is, and you’ll know what he’s up to.”
“Thanks, Jan. I know you were close. It can’t be easy, telling us how to stop him.”
“That’s not what I said. I said if you figure that out, you’ll know what he’s up to. Stopping him is another thing entirely.”
“We can talk all you want, but I’ve already told you everything I can about Hugh.” Mortas spoke to Pappas while watching Hatton’s lumbering stride as he went down the trail.
“I’m going to need to work up a profile on him that I can share across the brigade, but actually I wanted to ask about something else. A rumor I heard.”
Mortas smiled, thinking of all the different stories currently circulating about his recently completed, allegedly failed, mission to meet the alien on Roanum. “Tell me what you’ve heard.”
“This isn’t military scuttlebutt. It’s high level, and nobody here is involved.”
“Now you’ve got my interest.”
“You know I’ve made a study of the Sims, matching their combat actions to the sounds they make. Trying to gain some kind of understanding of their language.” Mortas nodded. “There’s supposed to be an audio tape out there somewhere, no video, of a secret meeting where humans communicated with the Sims through a translator.”
Jander’s pulse quickened, remembering the single encounter with the Sim delegates and their leader, the graying veteran with the face scar. He and Varick had gained considerable rapport with the enemy leader. “Have you listened to it?”
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