Star Marine!

by John Bowers

  Snow exploded a few feet below them, another near miss, and the sled dipped to within a yard of the ground. Rico could hear the shoom! as the lasers flashed past, the air closing in where it had been burned away. They were too damned close!

  Without warning, the sled exploded. Rico saw a brilliant flash of light, and was dimly aware of the sled coming apart under him. He was catapulted upward, his feet swinging over his head, and felt himself falling; after an eternity of three or four seconds he hit. The snow was several feet deep, frozen except for the top two feet, which had recently fallen; traveling at ninety knots, he skidded wildly, uncontrollably, spinning helter-skelter until his momentum was finally spent and he came to rest facedown, spread-eagled, his face buried in freezing slush.

  For several seconds he couldn't tell if he was alive or dead, injured or not. His entire body screamed with pain, but when he moved his fingers and toes, they seemed to work. He lay breathing heavily, as much from terror as pain, and carefully lifted his head. It didn't fall off. He pushed himself carefully to his knees, his body shaking, and waited for the stabbing agony of fractures, but it didn't come. He sat hip-deep in the snow and looked at the skid mark he'd made — it trailed off out of sight into the darkness. He must have skidded a quarter mile or more.

  He heard the whisper of other sleds passing over him, still streaming toward the mountain. He didn't try to flag them down, knowing they wouldn't stop. Laser still streaked the air as it sought them out, and he saw another sled explode two miles away.

  Still shaking with reaction, Rico let himself lie down for a bit, letting his heart rate decrease while he pulled oxygen into his lungs. His hands were numb in spite of his heated gloves, and his toes hurt like hell from the cold. His exhaled breath looked like fog, but the wind carried it away.

  After a long moment, he managed to stand. He'd lost his rifle, but it hardly mattered. Didn't look like he was going to make the party this time, at least not right now. Even with the rifle, he wasn't sure he wanted to trek across the snowfield to join the battle.

  He wondered what had happened to the sled he'd been riding. He should probably try to find it — had anyone else survived?

  He watched the mountain for a few minutes, hoping the rest of the sleds could get through the fire. He heard the fighters begin their second run, saw the explosions off the target's shields. Looking up, he saw a laser beam probing the target from high in the sky. The fighter was invisible, but he could follow its downward progress because the laser beam grew shorter second by second. He watched in fascination, with nothing else at the moment to do.

  And saw it explode.

  At least, he thought it exploded. There was the flash, then trailing flame, and the ship began to spin, seemed to recover, and began to roll, flinging fire in all directions. It fell out of line and began to flatten out a little, curving in his direction, still several miles up, looking like a meteor as it swooped toward him.

  As he watched, mesmerized, it almost hypnotized him — it seemed to come right at him. For a moment he was tempted to duck, for the burning fighter was coming at extreme speed, spinning like a bullet two thousand feet above the snowfield. It passed over and he followed its progress as it looped once and disappeared above the nearest dark peak. Seconds later he saw yet another flash, and heard the hollow explosion echo in the distance.

  Rico stood shaking, feeling as if he were in a nightmare, or at least a delirious dream. Then a new sound caught his attention, and he looked up.

  It wasn't as big as a fighter. Just a dark, cylindrical shape dropping out of the sky, trailing a parachute and firing thrust jets toward the ground. A powered descent, yet he had the distinct sense it was out of control, as if an unconscious pilot was on board. Rico's eyes followed it in hollow disbelief as it descended, and then, less than a thousand feet above the valley, the jets shut down and the parachute refilled with air. The cylinder swung carelessly beneath the canopy and then hit. The parachute seemed to hesitate, then began to collapse, as if exhausted after a difficult ordeal.

  Forgetting the infantry sled and possible survivors, Rico began to run. The cylinder had settled down perhaps a quarter mile from him, away from the Vega-held mountain. His breath huffed in his ears as he stumbled through knee-deep snow in a labored run. His path took him back along his own trail, and he saw where he'd first hit the ground. Ten yards farther he was surprised to see his Spandau where it had fallen, the stock buried in the snow, the barrel pointing at the sky. He slung it over his shoulder, and continued running.

  He had no clear idea what he might find, but had a feeling that the object he'd seen was some kind of ejection module, probably from the fighter that had crashed. Someone might still be alive inside. He arrived after several minutes and stood twenty yards away, heaving for oxygen and staring at the cylinder, which now lay on its side, partially covered by the collapsed parachute. He saw no motion, no sign of life.

  He walked cautiously forward.

  The capsule looked like a gun turret, and he realized that was exactly what it was. His sister had told him enough about Lincoln fighters that he knew the gun turrets were self-contained ejection modules. So the gunner had ejected, but now what? How did he get inside? Or was it even possible?

  He walked around the object, trying to see an opening or a hatch. Markings were stenciled in various places, but most were obscured by soot where fire had burned away the paint. He saw jagged metal where the ejection explosives had ripped the turret loose from the body of the ship. He looked for windows, or portholes, but saw none.

  "Hello?"

  He felt silly calling out — the thing was probably sound-proofed as well, but he had to do something. Then he remembered that hovertanks had communications jacks — maybe this thing did, too. He moved in closer, careful in case it should shift — he didn't want to be trapped under it. He peered closely at the skin, running his hands up and down to wipe away the soot and ash where it had accumulated. He worked his way halfway around, then saw an access plate down near the ground. Dropping to his knees, he saw stenciled words, but couldn't read them in the darkness. He pulled off the plate with numb fingers, and saw what looked like a jack.

  Rico pulled off his helmet and reached inside, removing the wiring from his infantry headset. The batteries came with it and he sat holding a confusing tangle of wiring in his hands. He found the male plug and bent down again, shoving it into the female jack he'd found. It was a universal fit. He quickly fitted the wiring over his head, and chinned the switch.

  "Is anybody in there?" he called. "Can you hear me?"

  The voice came back, astonishingly loud.

  "Who the hell are you?" It was a female voice, and if he was any judge, she sounded pissed.

  "Private Martinez, 33rd Star Marines. Delta Company. You okay, Ma'am? Are you hurt?"

  He was answered by silence. His heart sounded loud in his ears.

  "Hello?" he repeated.

  "Come around to the other side of the capsule," she said then.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Are you stupid? I said go around to the other side!"

  "Aye-aye, Ma'am."

  He pulled the plug out and stood up. He had no idea why she'd told him that, but she was an officer — all gunners were officers — and she'd given him an order. A moment later he found the other side, and as he was wondering what to do next, was startled to see the hatch pop open. He hadn't seen it earlier because it was above him — the turret was lying on its side.

  Rico stared up at the opening. It was above his head, but he leaped and caught the edge with his hands. Scrabbling for purchase with his feet, he hauled himself up. As his weight settled onto the edge of the hatch, the entire turret began to roll toward him. He lost his balance and was catapulted back into the snow. The turret rolled back again, and from inside he heard a cry of pain.

  He stood up again, and saw that when the turret rolled back again it had shifted — now the hatch was only four feet above the ground. He stepped up to it
and peered inside. As soon as he did, a hand snaked out and grabbed him by the back of the neck, jerking his head forward. He opened his mouth in fear, and a laser pistol disappeared halfway down his throat.

  Rico Martinez knew he was about to die.

  Chapter 35

  The fighter attack ended after the third pass. Seven QuasarFighters had been shot down, and no appreciable damage had been done to the mountain fortress. But six battalions of Star Marines had reached the foot of the mountain, losing fewer than a hundred men as they traversed the snowfield.

  When the fighters were gone, the Vegan defenders turned their heavy lasers against the Star Marines across the valley, to discourage any more attempts to move troops closer. A dozen or so rescue sleds crisscrossed the valley looking for survivors, and these came under immediate fire. Five were destroyed and the rest were forced to pull back. The entire valley was swept with Vegan radar and nothing dared move across it. The Vegans lifted their fire toward the end of the valley, where the Star Marines had established their forward line, and kept up a steady harassment barrage, just enough to keep anything from moving into the valley.

  In the valley itself, just nine miles from the enemy-held mountaintop, Rico Martinez had his own troubles.

  "If you're not a Star Marine, you are a dead motherfucker," hissed a female voice that was tight with pain.

  "Jesus, lady! I told you — I'm on your side!"

  Rico couldn't move. His head was wedged through the hatch, held there by a surprisingly strong arm that kept his feet an inch off the ground. His hands were useless to him, for she'd pulled him off balance, putting a painful pressure on his spine.

  "Let me see your datatag," she whispered.

  "Take it! I-I can't reach it!"

  She apparently didn't have the leverage or the strength — she abandoned that attempt. She had pulled the pistol out of his mouth and held it tightly against his temple.

  "Tell me your name again," she ordered. "Slowly. And your unit."

  "Private Martinez, 33rd Star Marines, Delta Company." He panted painfully. "Just look at my uniform, Ma'am!"

  "The uniform could be captured." She considered for a moment, then relaxed her grip slightly. "All right, climb inside. And don't unsling your rifle. I won't hesitate to shoot if you even blink!"

  Rico felt the pressure ease enough that he could get a grip with his hands. She still had hold of his collar, and he didn't resist her as he pulled himself off the ground and wormed his way inside the gun turret.

  "Take off your helmet."

  He did so, carefully, and ran a hand through his thick black hair. He tried to get a look at her, but she was wearing a pressure suit, and the visor was tinted. She was huddled in a corner, the laser pistol four inches in front of his face. He panted from fear, still not sure if she would shoot him.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, and he could hear the pain in her voice.

  "I was part of the assault on the mountain. My hoversled took a hit, and I fell off. Just a couple minutes later, I saw you come down."

  "Did you see what happened to my fighter?"

  He nodded. "It cleared the ridge, but then it crashed. I heard the explosion."

  She was silent a moment, and the pistol began to tremble.

  "Ma'am, are you wounded? I thought I heard you scream when I tried to get inside."

  "You're Spanic, aren't you?"

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "Where's your home town?"

  "Denver, Colorado."

  She lowered the pistol slowly, but kept it pointing in his direction.

  "I've been there," she said.

  "Ma'am … Are you hurt?" he asked again.

  She dropped the pistol and laid her head back. Her chest heaved a few times, and he realized she was gritting her teeth.

  "I'm bleeding inside my suit," she said when the pain subsided. "I took a fragment when we were hit. I think my leg is broken."

  He looked at her legs, and for the first time saw the stain on her left thigh, no bigger than a dime. The suit had sealed instantly, before the blood could spread. The leg didn't appear deformed, but that meant nothing. The bone could still be broken.

  "You're not a corpsman, I'll bet," she gasped.

  "No, Ma'am, I'm a rifleman."

  "Well, you're better than nothing. See that switch up there on the overhead? The blue one? That's the hatch control. Push it, will you. It's getting cold in here."

  Rico did as he was told. He was forced to get to his knees, and bumped his head on some of the electronics that jammed the small turret space. The capsule started to shift again, and he froze, balancing carefully until it stopped. He pressed the blue switch and the hatch swung shut, locking him inside with the woman. He sat down carefully.

  "You got a first-aid kit?" he asked.

  "Won't do any good," she told him. "The suit is the best thing for bleeding. It keeps pressure on the wound."

  "Are you sure it's enough?"

  "I'll be okay until the evac gets here."

  "That might be a while," he told her. "The Vegans are shooting hell out of this valley. Anybody tries to come after us, they're gonna be in trouble."

  The female gunner didn't answer. Rico sat looking at her, wishing he could do something.

  "Help me with this helmet, will you?" she asked. "It's hard enough to take off when you're healthy. I feel like hell."

  Rico leaned carefully forward. His rifle bumped into a protrusion, so he unslung it – she had laid her pistol down – made sure it was safed, and placed it out of the way underneath some kind of control panel. He reached forward again and helped her with the locking ring of the helmet. She grunted painfully as he lifted it off and sat back. She heaved a sigh and ran a hand over her spiky, snow-blonde hair. Rico stared at her in disbelief.

  "Holy shit!" he whispered.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him, scanning his face with wide-set blue eyes. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

  "You're her!" he said numbly. "You're the Fighter Queen!"

  She nodded, unimpressed. "Yeah. So what?"

  Rico shook his head slowly.

  "I met you once before," he said. "About a year and a half ago. At some asteroid base."

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him more closely.

  "You were at 131?" she asked, and he nodded.

  "Colonel Ireland ordered me to follow you around. You were with Lieutenant Coffey."

  She nodded slowly. "I remember."

  "Holy shit!" he repeated. "I can't believe it! Talk about a small war!"

  She lowered her eyes for a minute, still struggling with the pain in her leg. Then she fastened her eyes on him again.

  "So how've you been? Seen a lot of action?"

  "Quite a bit."

  She was silent for a few moments.

  "Martinez, can you try the SpectraWav? See if you can raise anyone? Tell them the Fighter Queen is down, and we need an evac."

  "Yes, Ma'am. I'll give it a shot."

  It took him ten minutes, trying different frequencies, before he raised Fighter Command via a relay satellite. It took several more minutes to convince someone that his call was genuine. Finally, the controller on the other end asked him for the rescue request confirmation code.

  "Tell him it's Dolphin," the Fighter Queen said between clenched teeth.

  "It's Dolphin!" Rico shouted into the SpectraWav. "Listen, you guys ought to know that our location is under Vegan laser fire. Whoever you send in is gonna catch some heat!"

  The controller offered him a sarcastic reply, then broke the connection. Rico made a face at the equipment as he shifted his body back closer to the injured gunner.

  "How you feeling now?" he asked solicitously. "Is the pain any worse?"

  "Comes and goes. It's getting cold in here. What's the temperature outside?"

  "About twenty below. Fahrenheit." He peeled off his snow cover and fatigue shirt and carefully tucked them around her. He was left with only his fatig
ue sweatshirt and his laser vest; they were enough to keep him from freezing, but he could feel the difference.

  "Thank you," she said simply, then raised her sexy blue eyes to his face. "Sorry I gave you a hard time at first. I made up my mind a long time ago never to be taken prisoner."

  He shook his head in dismissal.

  "I don't blame you. I hear the Sirians treat women pretty bad."

  "You have no idea. Vegans are just as bad."

  Rico sat for ten minutes in silence, thrilled and awed to be in her presence. She was as famous across the Federation as any video star. He almost felt like asking for her autograph.

  But they had nothing to talk about, and she was weak. They fell silent again, and she finally drifted into a fitful doze. Rico leaned against a bulkhead and listened to the wind whine past the disabled gun turret, wondering how long it would take a rescue unit to arrive.

  If it could even get to them.

  Orbit of Alpha 2, Alpha Centauri System

  Capt. James Carson decided he hated Alpha Centauri. Orbital space around Alpha 2 was so thick with enemy fighters that attempting to rescue injured crews was almost suicide. Marauding Sirian pilots had destroyed several ResQMeds, for no treaty existed between the warring powers that regulated the handling of wounded. An unarmed ship with the Red Cross on its fuselage was a target; if detected, its chances of survival rested largely with the temperament of the Sirian pilot in question. Twice in recent weeks, ResQMed 11 had been forced to break and run when enemy fighters vectored in on them. Carson now believed it had been a mistake not to arm the rescue ships.

  The nature of this particular theater dictated the chances of injured crews being rescued. Many engagements occurred in the atmosphere, where there was at least the chance of ejection. Others took place just outside the atmosphere, with the result that many wounded crews were dragged in and incinerated before rescue could reach them. Still others managed to eject, giving them additional time — unless they ejected toward the planet, in which case they burned like meteors when they hit the air.