Star Marine!

by John Bowers

  The fighter staggered sickeningly, and Onja felt bile spill into her mouth. She remained calm, but fear froze her blood; she panted through her mouth as she began shutting down weapons, then grabbed hold and hung on while she waited to learn whether she was about to die.

  Coffey had his hands full in the cockpit, for though he didn't know it yet, he'd lost nearly four feet off the tip of his starboard wing. What remained of the wing root was mostly shredded metal, with just enough structure remaining to keep the whole thing from flying apart. Whether it would support the fighter long enough to clear the atmosphere was anybody's guess.

  "Mad Man, Java Man!" Coffey yelled over the SpectraWav, his voice chattering as the fighter bucked like a roller coaster under him. "I'm hit! Request permission to head for orbit!"

  "Java Man, Mad Man! Can you make it?"

  "I dunno, Major! She's shakin' like a whore in church! If I don't get out of the atmosphere in a hurry, we're finished!"

  "Roger that, Java Man! Get the fuck clear! We'll watch for you."

  Coffey struggled with the controls, talking to the AI as it complained about structural damage. After nearly a minute of bowel-churning terror, he got it stabilized enough to use his rockets, and with his nose angled up a mere twenty degrees, fired them at full thrust. The QuasarFighter surged forward and began to climb. It tried to roll to the right, but Coffey used his attitude jets — designed for extra-atmosphere only — to nudge the ship back level. The ship shuddered violently, and Onja wondered if they would literally fly apart before they could reach escape velocity. Somehow, after nearly ten minutes of blood-chilling fear, the QF reached the upper stratosphere and was soon clear of Alpha 2.

  Now, if they didn't run into enemy fighters, Onja thought, they just might get home alive.

  "Do we still have our hyperdrives?" she asked Coffey. She hadn't dared speak to him during the climbout.

  "I think so.Looks like wing damage only."

  "I hope you're right."

  "Mad Man, Java Man. I'm in orbit. Request permission to head for home."

  "Go ahead, Java Man. We're right behind you. See you back at the dorm."

  "Roger, Mad Man." Coffey heaved a deep breath, and to Onja he added, "Hold your breath!"

  Onja literally did, and when Coffey issued the order, she also offered a silent prayer.

  "Execute!" he said, and instantly she felt the ripple. They were back into hyperspace.

  They'd be back aboard ship in six hours.

  Chapter 29

  11 Sept. 0229

  Dear Angela,

  By the time you get this, I'll be in battle again. Sgt. Rags said we should make chips for our families, but they won't be sent for a few weeks, after the public already knows about what's happened.

  We're going to Alpha Centauri. I don't know any details yet, but we'll be briefed aboard ship. The captain says it's risky, that the enemy will be waiting for us. Okay, then, I guess that's how it is. We're Star Marines, we're trained to take chances. We'll kick their ass anyway.

  Angela, I don't want you should worry, okay? I'm going to be just fine. I came through the last one alive, when almost no one else in my outfit did. I'll come through this one, too. Just keep on believing it, and keep praying.

  Whatever happens, take care of Mama. She needs you. And tell Juanito he's a great kid. I love him. Got to go now. Promise me you won't worry. Tell everybody at work to keep making those fighters.

  I love you, 'mana. Take care.

  Rico

  Tuesday, 15 September, 0229 (PCC) - Alpha 2, Alpha Centauri System

  Maniac was in the infantry berth next to his, and he kept rubbing his crotch.

  "God damn! I shoulda gone to see the pink ladies before we shipped out! I never had a hard-on like this before!"

  "Shut the fuck up, Maniac!" Texas muttered from the berth in front. "Don't need that outta you right now."

  "This fucker's like starcrete!" Maniac insisted.

  "Great. Beat the Sirians over the head with it. Now shut up."

  For once, Rico agreed with Texas. He was in no mood to hear Maniac's woes — he had plenty of his own. For the third time in two years he was back in a lander, heading into battle. Unlike the last time, when the enemy had been absent, this time there would be no reprieve. He just hoped to Jesus they could reach the ground before the shooting started.

  The transport hit the outer atmosphere above Alpha 2 and bounced; Rico bit his tongue painfully, and swore under his breath. The ship hit air again, and the roller coaster ride commenced. Retro thrusters fired and everyone shifted painfully forward, helmets slamming against bulkheads. Rico closed his eyes and sweated, tasting his stomach contents as they tried to cycle through his mouth. His breath came in short, rapid gasps, and he wondered how long it would take to reach the ground. Alpha 2 was twice as big as Titan.

  The ground-pounders had been told as little as necessary; they knew only their immediate objectives, and little else. They'd been advised that Federation fighter sweeps had already cleared the atmosphere of Sirians, but that wasn't completely true. Enemy air and space opposition had been reduced to a minimum by massive strikes against over two hundred fighter bases, but in no way had Sirian space power been eliminated.

  But the men in the transports needed all the confidence they could get.

  Once the bone-jarring reentry was complete, the transports burned toward the ground at as steep an angle as possible, their skins heating dangerously as they maintained a steady Mach 3 until the last possible minute. Sonic waves cracked across the continent below as hundreds of troop transports split the atmosphere in a ragged string, heading for the launch points that would drop a quarter million men on this first pass alone. Twenty squadrons of Lincoln fighters ranged on ahead, clearing the sky for the troop carriers, shooting down aircraft and what few space fighters they found. Landing zones were blasted by missiles, lasers, cannons, and gravity bombs.

  The war had come full force to Alpha Centauri.

  Polygon, Washington City, DC, North America, Terra

  Wade Palmer sat in the War Room and sucked hot coffee, his eyes like star maps, hands trembling, nerves shot. He'd done all he could do, and then some; his role now was to watch and wait — and worry.

  He couldn't help it. His blood temperature was near freezing, and nothing could settle him. Kamada had tried reassuring him, even joked with him, but nothing helped. The only relief he would find was if the troops got down safely, and managed to stay alive. He was only a junior officer, yet it was his plan beginning execution, and before it was over some ten million lives would be at risk. Even the slightest miscalculation on his part could cost thousands of them.

  Sure, his plans had been reviewed and scrutinized — by Kamada, by Boucher, by Willard … even the President. Some changes had been made, modifications added or subtracted, but — it was still his plan. If it failed …

  He couldn't bear to think about it.

  Altair was going smoothly — the fighter delivery had taken place ten days earlier, with no indication that the Sirians had detected it. Just hours ago, Operation Gang had begun, and though the space battles were still swirling in the skies around Altair, word had arrived that the first wave of troops was on the ground. They'd met no opposition at all, and landed in friendly territory.

  But Alpha Centauri was the big one. Alpha 2 had no friendly territory.

  Wade sipped his coffee and waited.

  Alpha 2, Alpha Centauri System

  Through the roar of jets and the scream of atmosphere, Rico heard the outer doors open. Unlike Captain Mendez, Captain Connor hadn't bothered to tune his men in to the cockpit frequency, so they could only guess at what was going on. But when Rico heard those doors, and the increase in wind shriek, he knew. He began to hyperventilate, and crossed himself without thinking. He'd barely begun to chant the Hail Mary when the lander fired; his feet slammed against the bulkhead and his skeleton whiplashed — and he felt the sickening drop as the lander began a headfirst d
ive toward the planet.

  Start the engines! Start the engines. Come oooon, start the fucking engines!

  The engines were already turning, but he hadn't noticed. Until the thrust pushed him backward, and then he realized the lander was under full control, but was still diving.

  Hope that fucker up front can see where we're goin'!

  He heard explosions then, and his heart almost stopped. The lander bucked and shuddered as something exploded nearby, and Titan flashed before his eyes like a death scene. It was safe to say he was no longer frightened — he had completely turned to stone.

  The lander finally began to pull out of its dive, forcing the Marines hard against the bottoms of their berths, their body weight suddenly doubling under the G force. The lander rolled precariously, right and left, never quite tipping over, as turbulent air from nearby explosions jarred them severely.

  God damn! How much farther is it?

  Rico smelled puke.

  The lander bounced like a cork as another ship screamed by not far away, and Rico heard cannon in rapid-fire mode. A fighter, he thought. Hope it's one of ours.

  "Delta Company!" Capt. Connor bellowed in his headset, "one minute to touchdown! On your toes!"

  Rico swallowed and began sucking air again. Across from him, Maniac was silent. Rico dared not look at him to see why. He felt like a marble inside a vigorously shaken bottle, at the mercy of forces beyond his control. The never-ending ride continued.

  Explosions near and far, the shriek of lasers, the scream of jet engines, the thunder of cannon … a person could go deaf.

  "Twenty seconds, Delta! Give your hearts to Jesus!"

  Roberson would call that blasphemy, Rico thought, and suddenly wanted to laugh. He broke into a grin, even as sweat burned his eyes. He could hear the ground fire now — added to the din was the swoosh of rockets rising to meet them. Oh, God, please! We're so close — don't let them get us now. At least let us get down first!

  His grin faded.

  Forward thrusters fired and Rico slid forward an inch, his helmet slamming into the bulkhead. Up and down the lander men swore reflexively, and then he felt the gear touch down, hard. They were on the ground, thank God! But the ground was rough, and the retros were firing harder. All his blood seemed to rush into his head.

  And then, unbelievably — they stopped. The lander sat rocking on its gear, engines still turning, and up and down the line officers and squad leaders were yelling.

  "Let's go let's go let's go let's get outta here!"

  "Go-go-go-go-go-go-go! Get the fuck moving! You got ten seconds!"

  The yelling continued as Rico unsnapped his harness and rolled off his berth into the aisle, hanging a boot and falling headlong to the deck. Someone swore at him, someone else kicked him, and four men leaped over him on their way to the exit. He scrambled up and lurched forward, gripping his rifle in both hands, his backpack swaying from side to side. He reached the hatch at the tail and saw daylight. The ground was four feet below, and he leaped, landing solidly and turning left to follow the other olive-clad Star Marines racing for cover forty yards away.

  He heard small-arms fire from somewhere not far away, a steady crackle. As he raced after the others, his peripheral senses gave him an impression of things around him. They'd landed on some kind of runway, a military base — exactly according to plan. The fire seemed to be coming from some burned-out buildings a few hundred yards to his left. He tried to run a little faster.

  At the moment he jumped from the lander, he'd seen at least four other ships rolling to a stop behind them, men already pouring out of one, and more ships arrowing in for a landing behind. The sky was heavy with smoke. Everything was like a kaleidoscope, confusing images burned forever into his mind, but in disjointed pieces. First impressions would remain for a lifetime, but the true picture would take much longer to sort out.

  The man ahead of him disappeared, leaping over an embankment, and Rico was right behind him. He reached the embankment and leaped just as a stream of bullets swept across it; he heard the ricochets behind him as he landed heavily in the bottom of a drainage ditch, rolling to take up his momentum. The man immediately behind him shouted in pain and lurched sideways as bullets swept the embankment again.

  Rico came up with his helmet askew, panting like a hound after a hunt, and plastered himself against the side of the ditch nearest the fire, trying to burrow into the grass. Dozens of helmets lined the inside of the ditch, looking like a turtle convention. A sergeant was running down the ditch, counting heads.

  Rico wanted to look, but was afraid to. He heard an explosion from the runway, felt the blast wave pass over the ditch, and ducked as dirt and broken starcrete rained down.

  Weapons began firing from the ditch. He looked up to see at least a squad of men hanging their rifles over the top of the embankment, hammering back at the enemy. Belatedly, he checked his own rifle to make sure it hadn't got clogged with dirt or grass when he rolled. He hefted it without noticing the weight. It was a Spandau 48, balanced and comfortable. A good weapon, with a forty-eight round magazine, firing an 11mm slug that mushroomed on impact. Accurate and deadly.

  For this operation they wouldn't use laser rifles at all.

  The firing from the ditch increased in volume. Rico realized then that no one was giving orders, and he didn't know the men next to him. The squads and platoons were all mixed up, so if he waited for orders from his own leaders, he'd be there all day. He peered over the top of the embankment.

  An incredible scene met his eyes. Two landers burned fiercely on the runway, gouts of red flame boiling out of them. At least twenty bodies sprawled on the starcrete, thrown about like matchsticks. The lander he'd arrived in was gone, headed back for orbit to take on a fresh load of troops. Two more were accelerating under full thrust, racing down the runway as their jets poured thunder back at him. And to his left, at least twenty more dropping in to land. On the ground, six were unloading, troops scattering in different directions. But those poor fuckers were under heavy fire now, and he saw several drop as enemy fire increased in intensity.

  Shit! He swiveled his head, looking for the source of the fire. The men in the ditch were blazing away at the burned buildings, but Rico could see nothing over there, except chips flying where the bullets were hitting. He raised his rifle, but held his fire, seeing no point in shooting blindly unless he had a target.

  A pair of QuasarFighters streaked overhead, just fifty feet off the ground. They were opposite the runway from him, keeping clear of the troop landers, and weren't shooting. Rico wondered why, until he realized they didn't dare fire for fear of hitting Star Marines. Their job was strictly intimidation, he decided. Then he heard their bombs explode two miles away, and decided he didn't know so much after all.

  Shit, combat was confusing!

  Polygon, Washington City, DC, North America, Terra

  The technician monitoring the comm unit froze rigid and held up a hand for quiet, pressing his left hand against his headset for better contact. Every eye locked onto him and no one dared breathe, Wade Palmer least of all. The tech listened for nearly twenty seconds, then nodded casually and replied.

  "Copy that, Snowflake. Avalanche out."

  He turned and stared at General Willard for an extra second or two, obviously enjoying his role in the drama.

  "Snowflake reports the first wave is down. Initial losses estimated at point zero two percent!"

  An explosive cheer rocked the War Room. Kamada and Wade pounded each other on the back, shouting and laughing happily. The tech grinned hugely as even General Willard grabbed a senior planner and hugged him. The report was only the first, and there would be years to go, but the news was encouraging.

  San Francisco, CA, North America, Terra

  Henry Wells jerked as the vidphone went off by his bedside. He'd slept poorly for several weeks, and the sand under his eyelids made him feel as if he hadn't slept at all. He peered at the bedside clock — three-thirty. He reached for
the vidphone and punched the VOICE ONLY button, not caring to be seen in his present state.

  "Henry Wells," he mumbled, frowning as he tried to concentrate. The caller was also on voice only, as the screen didn't light up.

  "Senator, this is Andrew Lockner. Do you have a scrambler?"

  "Lockner?" Henry sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Why would the Assistant Director of FIA be calling him at this hour? He picked up the handset and put it to his ear, then punched the SCRAMBLE button.

  "Yes, go ahead."

  He listened for thirty seconds. His heart began to beat faster.

  "Are you sure? Yes. Yes … I see. Yes, thank you."

  He put the handset down slowly, feeling a sense of awe he hadn't felt in a long time. He took a deep breath, rubbed his face with both hands, and let out a long sigh. There was no way he'd be getting back to sleep now.

  "What is it, Henry?" Yvonne had lifted up on one elbow, was staring at him.

  "That was the FIA," he said. "Operation Gang-Bang has started."

  "What's Operation Gang-Bang?"

  He shook his head. He'd never told her about it, since it was top secret. He supposed it didn't matter now. He stood up and turned to face her.

  "The simultaneous invasion of Altair and Alpha Centauri."

  "Both of them? At the same time?" She was startled.

  "And the good news," he finished, "is that the first waves are on the ground, with minimal losses."

  She digested that for a moment.

  "Was there anything about — Regina?"

  He nodded. "He told me she made it possible. That was all. He didn't explain how."

  "Is she all right?"

  "He didn't say. But if she weren't, he would've told me."

  Yvonne bit her lip with worry. "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely," he said. And hoped he wasn't lying.

  Lucaston, Alpha 2, Alpha Centauri System

  The initial landings on Alpha 2 were aimed at occupying the Sirian fighter bases, almost two hundred of them. Once they were under Federation control — or at least contested by Federation troops — they would be largely unable to launch counterstrikes against further landings. But it was risky — the bases were situated around the planet, and if they were to be held, reinforcements would be needed in large numbers at each base. For that reason, some sixty of the bases would be abandoned as soon as the Star Marines could secure and destroy them. Those units would then be withdrawn and sent elsewhere.