Bayonet Dawn (SMC Marauders Book 1)

by Scott Moon

  The mysterious 2nd Lt Ktrina Davenport winked at Kevin and pointed with her chin for him to move closer to the circle of officers gathered around a rollout tactical screen and maps scratched in dirt.

  He finished his systems check, then ambled toward her location on the perimeter of the important people group. Several junior and noncommissioned officers half listened to staff officers as they planned the next move. The major and brigadier generals didn’t look significantly different from the captains, majors, and other ranks putting the division back together after a hard invasion.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” he asked, fascinated with the healthful vitality of her walnut-colored skin and her kind, happy eyes. She looked tough but also warm — a unique combination he had never seen in man, woman, or child.

  “It isn’t a secret meeting, Private K. C. Connelly,” she said. “By tradition, you could sit next to your captain as long as you kept your mouth shut. It’s an SMC thing. I wouldn’t try it in the SAC or SPC.”

  “Good to know.” He wanted to ask more about his grandfather but listened instead.

  Captain Kingstar took charge of the meeting as his bosses moved from group to group listening in, making select comments, and laughing at occasional jokes.

  “Lovejoy, you are on clean-up patrol. Make your way back to the LZ. Check for Nix, Siren, DU, or Void Troll presence in our rear and report. Document any other items of interest,” Captain Kingstar said.

  “So basically head back and do whatever the fuck I want,” Lovejoy said. “What about Alpha and Bravo Companies? They plan on doing anything?”

  “You have a way with words,” Kingstar said. “Time is important, and neither Alpha nor Bravo are mine to command. Get back to the LZ without delay. Don’t neglect anything important.”

  Lovejoy smiled and turned to Ktrina, making brief eye contact with Kevin as his gaze moved to her. “Trina, make a note. Nothing but miracles for this mission.”

  “Noted, sir,” she said.

  Less than twenty minutes later, Lovejoy’s platoon moved out. Kevin stayed in visual contact with Davis on his left and Corporal Montgomery up ahead, a field replacement now in charge of Bravo Squad.

  He couldn’t believe the destruction left in the wake of the previous advance. Orbital artillery must have been following them with an impressive barrage, guarding their line of retreat. During the movement and the fighting, it seemed the entire planet had been getting slammed by explosive and kinetic rounds. He’d assumed most of that was elsewhere, only seeming close because of the noise and violence of human-made meteor strikes.

  “Something on your mind, K. C.?” Davis asked on a one-to-one link.

  “I didn’t expect this kind of destruction,” Kevin said.

  “Welcome to Brookhaven,” Davis said. “Scenic craters, crushed enemies, and the general confusion of war.”

  “Is it always like this?”

  “No, this is just a skirmish.”

  Kevin processed that revelation until the next stop with his fire team. “Check your gear, rehydrate, eat something.” He approached Davis before Lovejoy summoned his sergeants to report.

  “You have a look on your face I like,” Davis said.

  “You can see through my helmet?”

  Davis shook his head. “I know you and your type and I saw you talking to Priest about the Nix.”

  “I think we should swing wide and investigate further. All we did yesterday was chase them to their launch site and search the area after they left. What if they dropped something on the way? What if they left another injured Nix behind?” Kevin said as he thought of the improbability there had been more Sirens involved and that those Sirens had abandoned a certain set of twins for the sake of speed.

  “You aren’t telling me all of it. I get it. You have a thing for the Sirens. Don’t sweat it. You’re not the first. I think the Nix are the biggest threat to Earth since humans learned nuclear physics. Priest laughs at me, but he knows I’m right,” Davis said.

  Kevin waited.

  “I’ll put your fire team on the right flank. You can swing wide and investigate whatever you find as long as you keep up. Is your team up for this?” Davis asked.

  “I wish I had Foster.”

  “Are you up to it, keeping in mind you might stumble into a fight without a lot of immediate backup?”

  Kevin looked at Chaf and Edwards, who were watching the conversation from a distance, helmets off, expressions neutral.

  “Yeah, we can handle it,” he said.

  Davis smiled and narrowed his eyes as he nodded. “That’s my boy. Don’t wait too long to call me if you stumble across a Nix captain.”

  The day grew long and breaks seemed shorter as dusk advanced across the land of rivers, lakes, and mountains. Kevin experimented with the distance he could maintain from Corporal Montgomery of Bravo Squad and Sergeant Davis and the rest of the Delta Squad; too far and communications dissolved into a mishmash of static and swear words from Davis, too near, and Kevin didn’t feel he could search without looking like he was screwing off.

  “I just barely have the new corporal in sight. He is setting a quick pace,” Chaf said.

  “Perfect. Your job is to make sure we keep up with the platoon and adjust our basic course to theirs,” Kevin said. He hurried up a rocky goat trail that twisted around a steep hill. Scraggly bushes nearly as tall as trees grew on the other side of the landmark, deceptive because of the unfamiliar geography and failing daylight.

  “Edwards, keep an eye on Chaf but follow me,” Kevin said without looking back to see if his squad-mate obeyed. “There is definitely something here.”

  Edwards stopped, then rushed to catch up. “Looks like someone camped here. Couple of days old at least.”

  Kevin sent Chaf a message to hail Davis and function as a relay link, a human radio tower. “Tell him this is important but not a tactical emergency. No need to send it up the chain of command.”

  A short time passed, during which Kevin was restless — eager to move and investigate beyond the scene.

  “What do you have, K. C.?” Davis’s voice sounded weary and hopeful.

  “A camp… two days old, maybe older,” Kevin said as he continued to examine hastily buried campfire ashes. “Looks clean. Very orderly, almost ritualistic.”

  Static. Environmental interference with radio waves. Wind traveling across the landscape, moving tall grass, swaying trees, and disappearing. Kevin stared without blinking as he waited.

  “Five minutes. Then we have to move out to keep up with the platoon. Lovejoy must have a date or something,” Davis said when he broke through the interference.

  Kevin looked at Edwards. “Get Chaf over here to help us search for clues.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  Kevin wasn’t sure. “Yeah. I’m sure it is. We can catch up. Just stay sharp and get ready to run.”

  Edwards cursed. “You want me to do the catching up, reel the unit back when they leave us behind. Figures. Lovejoy isn’t going to be pissed at you; he’ll blame me. You know he will.”

  The search yielded nothing. By midnight, they had found another camp just as empty and nearly been separated from the platoon twice.

  Exhausted sleep was a blessing when all two hours of it arrived.

  “What did you think you would find?” Edwards asked during the next day’s forced march.

  Kevin shrugged.

  “The way you and Davis talk about the Sirens and the Nix freaks me out. That guy has a death wish,” Edwards said.

  “Don’t repeat that where anyone might hear. You know better,” Kevin said. “What do you mean?”

  Edwards shrugged. “I’ve heard you and Sarge talking. He’s isn’t interested in the Sirens so much; you know that, right? I think he has a grudge against the Nix.”

  “You know about them?”

  “Just what I hear,” Edwards said. He handed over a small medical bracelet labeled CONNELLY. “I found that at the first camp. T
hought you dropped it and got distracted looking for real clues.”

  Kevin stared at the aluminum band, worn around the edges with age.

  “Doesn’t make sense you dropped it, so I guess it must be a clue,” Edwards said. “I’m tired, Kev.”

  “This isn’t what I expected.” Kevin turned the medical identification bracelet over and over, reluctant to turn it over to Davis or anyone else. “I will hold on to it until I figure out what it means.”

  “Okay,” Edwards said, shifting his weight and avoiding eye contact.

  Chaf, once again minding the gap between Kevin’s fire team and the rest of the squad, ran up the hill. He panted and took a second to catch his breath. “Get back into comms range; establish radio contact. Davis is pissed. He got word from Recon that Doctor Robedeaux wasn’t on the Nix ship. He’s headed toward the mountains. The battle was a diversion.”

  Kevin, Chaf, and Edwards rejoined the squad, running into formation with no need to be told where they should go.

  “K. C., I hope your team is rested, because we need to run and fight. There are DU Commandos racing us to the objective,” Davis said. “Get moving!”

  Kevin looked across about fifty meters to Chaf and activated the direct, line-of-sight link. “Davis is closer. Why is he sending us?”

  “He sounded scared,” Chaf said.

  “That’s bullshit. Don’t let anyone hear you say that,” Kevin said, shaking his head to negate his friend’s shrugs and spread hands.

  “It is what it is.”

  “Maybe he has injuries or technical problems.” Kevin gave Chaf and Edwards hand signals and sprinted the first hundred yards. His traveling pace was uncomfortably fast as well.

  “DU commandos in my sector. Two of them, 1-3-5 degrees. One is holding a satellite dish communication device,” Edwards said, words bouncing and blurring as he ran.

  “They’re calling artillery! Move for cover,” Kevin said.

  “There is no cover!” Edwards grunted, racing after Chaf.

  Kevin noticed Edwards following the bigger private as things got tough but didn’t know what to make of the observation.

  “Run faster. Get to the next hill. Go prone other side! Keep your head down!” Kevin was the last to dive and roll as ancient artillery rounds pounded the area. Each descending shell whined an ear-piercing threat and shook the ground on impact.

  Uncaring that his radio mic was open, he panted and crawled after the worst explosions ended — only to realize the first strike was just to get the range and lock in to the grid coordinates.

  30

  Cyclops

  “I don’t like hanging them out there,” Priest said.

  “Sounds like something you would say,” Lacy said over the platoon link. “Fortunately, you don’t have to get off your high horse for this one. Davis is holding back, which makes Connelly and his buddies our best chance to act on the new information from Recon Battalion Command.”

  Already running, he waved a backward salute like flick sweat from his visor.

  Lacy laughed through the helmet speakers. “Henri and I are the only people who can keep up with you.”

  “We’re the fearsome threesome,” Henrietta McCraw said.

  “You had to make it weird,” Lacy said as she moved into position on Priest’s right flank. “Is he always this quiet?”

  “Two girls running him into the ground does something to his delicate ego,” McCraw said.

  The DU commando pair packed up something, then unassed the area. Seconds later, the distinctive sound of old-school artillery — 155 millimeter guns — screamed downward.

  “They’re almost as good as they think they are,” Lacy said, dodging explosions that missed by a few yards.

  “Push through?” Priest asked.

  “Following your lead,” Lacy said, concerned enough with the escalating intensity of the Dissident Union artillery barrage to end her banter.

  The Recon trio moved with skill and speed few soldiers could match. Priest grunted. McCraw cursed and prayed. Lacy laughed.

  “Do you know something we don’t?” Priest asked, voice rough.

  “Lovejoy and some others are exposing themselves to spotters. Can’t you feel this bombardment shift? We will have a clear path all the way through — as long as we keep moving.”

  Priest saw the truth of her words.

  McCraw cursed with renewed force and creativity. “You left them back there, Priest.”

  “And now this is my fault,” he said.

  “Staff officers listen to you, most times. We could still scatter the Infantry Companies and Recon,” McCraw insisted. “Let them regroup. We don’t need them.”

  “It’s too late for that, Henri,” Lacy said.

  “I never said you could call me that,” McCraw barked. “Let’s get this done so a bunch of green replacements don’t get slaughtered.”

  Landscape rushed by as they ran, some of it pristine, other parts blackened and dead.

  “Listen, we’re close now. I can see K. C.’s fire team closing on the DU commando squad. They slipped around that two-man rearguard nicely. That kid is just like his grandfather,” Priest said.

  No one talked as they pressed the pace.

  “K. C. is following the main DU group, which is moving slower than I’d expect,” Lacy said. “That is our target. They have Robedeaux. I’d stake my career on it.”

  McCraw snort-laughed.

  “You know what I mean,” Lacy said.

  Priest used terrain as best he could for concealment. Despite the flatness of the river delta system, there were always low areas and gullies for a person willing to seek them out.

  “I have an incoming message,” Lacy panted. “We are to prepare for Rowdy Houseguests.”

  “Fuck,” Priest said. Cyclops are all we need.

  “Just be ready for them. You know they won’t be deployed,” Lacy said.

  McCraw groaned and cursed.

  Moments later, a message came by priority-secure link. “This is Captain Jon Murali. We are standing by to support your mission, should you need us. Please read sub-section five of the Warning Order soonest. Security and extraction of Cyclops units remains, by General Order and Senate Oversight Decree, on par with your actual mission objective at all times.”

  “Period, paragraph. Dude, shut the hell up,” McCraw said.

  Priest glanced at the sky as he slowed, then stopped for a break — and to read the text messages, not that he needed refreshing on the proper protocol. Cyclops Company looked good on paper and often performed impressively in well-choreographed demonstrations. Not a single member of the special forces community, from Recon to SEALS to Green Berets to Performance Armor Specialists trusted the Cyclops project.

  Captain Jon Murali seemed like a good man to lead them, even if he came across as a two-dimensional cutout of a movie hero.

  “We have synchronized to your position. Take it easy on us, kids. We have a couple of trainees building up hours,” Murali said.

  “Are you kidding me?” McCraw flung the question like a curse at the captain, unheeding of who might be listening.

  Lacy overrode the platoon link, taking absolute control of every communication device in her unit. “They won’t get near combat. You know it, I know it. Stop wasting time on the Cyclops Company. They’re not playing in this game.”

  31

  Cronin the Nix

  TEARS streamed down Amanda-Margaret Connelly’s face as she watched her brother entering the distant trap. No one from Earth could understand how long the Dissident Union fighters had been preparing the area. The trees and bushes concealing their enormous armored vehicles were green and full of life. Amanda had lived here just long enough to know the pattern of the forest was as wrong as the individual trees.

  Brookhaven residents would never be fooled by the living camouflage growing on top of old style mega tanks. Her brother and the other soldiers raced toward their doom too quickly to understand what wasn’t right about the
forests between and around the tributary streams and rivers. The nine-meter-high war-machines had bigger guns than the artillery that was pushing her brother’s unit into the trap.

  To the left and right of the mega tanks were thousands of Rock Trolls. She had never seen the monsters look more like soldiers than they did now.

  “Help me, Enkidu,” she said.

  “That is not what I am called. Why do you continue to use the inaccurate identification label?” the Nix warrior said as he stepped closer and looked down, eyes burning darkness, armor glowing at the seams.

  “Enkidu is a great warrior from a story,” Amanda said.

  Cronin grunted. “The Nix do not need stories.”

  “He was made of clay by gods and died to save his friend Gilgamesh.”

  “Clay?” He made a long series of odd sounds.

  “Are you… laughing?” she asked.

  “Cronin the Nix does not know what it means to laugh. Why would I make noises serving no purpose?” Cronin asked. “Perhaps clay was the first Chrysalis.”

  “He doesn’t want to admit to having a funny bone,” Ace said, then imitated the giant warrior. “I am Cronin the Nix. I do not laugh. Look how big and scary I am.”

  Cronin lunged toward Ace, arms wide, the samurai mask that wasn’t a mask twisting, roaring until Ace covered his ears with both hands and fell away from the onslaught. “Ha, ha. Look at me — the human boy pissing as I sleep.”

  “I hate you!” Ace said, standing and clenching his fists.

  “Then kill me, human boy-male.”

  Amanda walked between them as though she hadn’t heard or seen them. She examined her hands, front and back, and gave them both an exasperated look.

  “Kevin is walking into a trap. I want you to help him,” she said.

  Cronin snorted several times as he exhaled and paced. “I would do this for you, but you are not my master. You are not Siren, and even if you were, you would not be my master.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, dumbass,” Ace said.

  Cronin spread his feet into a narrow but combat ready stance and pressed his palms together to meditate for several seconds. “Your people seek the human called Robedeaux. Once, he was like you. Now he is a false thing. I do not fear him.”