by John Bowers
The first landers were loaded with medical personnel; three of the field hospitals had been shut down, the equipment abandoned, and the staff ordered off the planet. The wounded were now being brought directly to the runways for evacuation. More were arriving every few minutes, for the last defensive line had been pushed to the very edge of the airport, and only a few tattered line companies remained.
Loading took several minutes for each ship. Several dozen men handled the task, but the job still took time. Finally only one ResQMed still waited to load. Rico and his squad ran up to it with stretchers, and Rico looked up to see Carla Ferracci standing in the airlock. She jumped down immediately, her eyes glued to his face as he handed his end of the stretcher to Tyrone Brown. He took her in his arms again.
"Amore!" she whispered.
"What the hell you doin' back here?" he demanded.
"We have orders," she told him. "We keep flying until they tell us to stop."
He kissed her as hungrily as if he hadn't seen her in a year. It had been a little over an hour.
"God, I've missed you!" he whispered.
"Rico, I love you!" she breathed into his ear. "I never want to leave you."
"Don't talk about it. We've got five minutes."
"Please say you'll go back with me!"
"Let's not talk about that. You know I can't."
Tears welled up in her eyes again, though on the way back down she'd promised herself that, if he was still there, she wouldn't cry. But she couldn't help it.
"Rico, you're the finest man I ever met in my life. Did I tell you that?"
"I don't remember, querida. But you are the most beautiful woman in the universe. I think I told you that."
"I think you did." She forced a smile. Standing there in the lee of the rescue ship, with the war raging around them, she felt almost like a schoolgirl, sneaking around behind the gymnasium to kiss her boyfriend. Their feelings for one another seemed to create a magic shield that protected them from harm. In his arms she felt completely safe. They murmured private things to each other for the few moments they had, and then it was rudely interrupted as Chavez tapped Carla on the shoulder.
"Captain — sorry, Captain, but you're loaded."
Carla's dark eyes widened and she turned to Rico again.
"Please!" she begged.
He kissed her firmly. "Vaya con dios, mi amor." He pushed her into the airlock.
He stepped back, ducking clear of the wing. The ResQMed began to roll, but at that moment he heard shouts behind him.
"Gunsleds! Get the fuck down!"
Rico heard their lasers before he saw them. Spinning quickly, he whipped the Spandau off his shoulder and jerked the arming lever. He spotted three gunsleds sailing in from the airport perimeter, their tripod lasers spitting condensed light. Star Marines dived every which way as the laser bolts chipped along the starcrete, cutting down walking and wounded alike. Rico barely had time to aim and fire, and got the lead sled in his sights as it streaked by twenty yards in front of him. Flame poured out the muzzle of his Spandau as he pumped 11mm slugs toward the sled, leading it slightly as he adjusted his aim and held down his trigger. He saw the tracers drift back into the nose of the sled, saw the shapes of the pilot and gunner, and actually saw the pilot jerk violently as the stream of slugs ripped into his body.
The sled nosed up abruptly, throwing the gunner off balance, then flipped and began to spiral like a thrown paper plate. Rico shifted his fire toward the gunner, who now dangled beneath the craft by his safety belt, and saw his body jerk in agony as the last few rounds from the magazine struck home. The sled soared crazily for a few seconds, then crashed several hundred yards away, its explosion adding to the general holocaust that was Periscope Harbor.
But two other sleds had completed their pass, and as Rico slapped another magazine into his rifle, he twisted left to see Carla's ResQMed stagger in midair. It had gained fifty feet of altitude, but seemed to hang precariously as it struggled to stay aloft. Flame poured out the starboard engine, and Rico's heart froze in his chest.
"Oh, Jesus!" he begged. "Please … !"
* * *
Capt. James Carson sweated with fear as he saw the engine-fire light on his cockpit console. The ship was suddenly sluggish and unresponsive, and he thought for a minute it was going to stall. The ship was definitely overloaded for atmospheric takeoff, but that wouldn't be much of a problem with both engines functioning at full thrust. Now he had only one, and didn't know if he could even maintain level flight. He already knew he wasn't going to clear the atmosphere.
He covered a half-mile of runway before he could get the ship trimmed and stabilized. He shut down the starboard engine, cranked up the one on the portside, and rotated his flaps to try and put it down. He wasn't sure how much runway was left, but it was the only choice he had — there wasn't time to circle and come back around.
"Grab onto something back there!" he shouted into his intercom. "We're going back down!"
It wasn't much information, he realized ruefully, but he had little enough time to think, let alone explain things. Lt. Ho was talking to the computer, which was complaining like a jilted lover. It would be up to Carson to get them down alive, if it could be done.
He'd already retracted his landing gear, and now lowered them again; the stubby little ship shuddered heavily as the starboard engine dragged in the air currents. He nosed over gently, and the ground seemed to rush upward incredibly fast. He flared at the last possible moment and felt the gear crunch down hard, jolting the entire ship. He empathized with the wounded in the back, knowing that had to hurt, but he couldn't help it. Now he had to get the damned ship stopped before they ran out of runway.
He fired reverse thrust from his nose nacelles and the port engine, only three-quarters of normal thrust, perhaps not enough for the load they were carrying. They'd already passed the maintenance buildings and repair shops, and ahead was only darkness as he raced into the unknown at over a hundred knots. The runway lights were off and he dared not turn on his floods for fear of giving the enemy a target — the fire in that engine was target enough. The wheels hammered over the rutted runway and the ship shook like a wet dog. Red lights blazed across his console and he held his breath as he waited for the speed to diminish.
He dropped under sixty knots and began to apply brakes, shuddering the ship even harder. But it was slowing now, and would stop in time, he was sure. At the last minute he peered through his windscreen and froze with horror as he saw the hulking wreck of something that had crashed the day before, right in his path. He had no time to do anything but jerk the yoke to the left and stand on the brakes. Had he done so thirty seconds sooner, he would have rolled the ship and killed everyone aboard; but at thirty knots the wheels bit in and the ResQMed executed a groundloop, accompanied by a sickening skid that ended when the ship's gear sank into the soft dirt off the edge of the runway.
The ResQMed was down, stopped, and everyone was still alive. James Carson lowered his head and let the breath explode out of him.
* * *
Rico barely saw the ResQMed come down; as it accelerated down the runway, he lost its outline in the darkness. He followed it by the glow of the engine fire, and picked it up occasionally in the flash of artillery. He watched in breathless horror as the ship staggered, wobbled, and began to drop. He fully expected to see another fireball, which would mark Carla's epitaph, but incredibly the ship landed. It was too far away for him to tell much about the landing, but it was down, and with that knowledge he grabbed the men nearest him and set off running.
Fifty yards down the runway he spotted an ambulance hover that had just been unloaded, and leaped aboard. Yells of protest followed him as he fired thrusters and raced down the runway toward the downed medical ship, the three men with him hanging on for dear life. Less than a minute later he jerked to a stop a few yards from the ship and leaped off.
The airlock was open and Capt. Carson was standing under the starboard wing, pl
aying CO2 onto the engine with a hand-held fire extinguisher. The engine was smoldering but the flames were out, and it appeared there would be no explosion. Rico stared up at it with open mouth.
"Goddamn, Captain!" he blurted. "That was close!"
Carson peered at him wearily and nodded.
"You don't happen to have a spare engine in your pocket, do you?"
"No, sir, I don't work on 'em. I'm a rifleman."
"'Scuse me, myte," a new voice interjected, "but I been known to work on 'em." McGarrity brushed past Rico and grinned at Carson. "Bloody good thing I cyme here, if you ask me, Kept'n. Myebe I kin repair it."
Carson broke into a grin, relief in his eyes.
"What do you know about engines, you fuckin' stockman?"
"Bugger you, too, sir," McGarrity laughed. "Ever'body okye inside?"
"I think so. Shook up as hell, but nobody was killed."
McGarrity climbed up the outside of the ship and crawled onto the wing to inspect the damage. Rico and Chavez went around to the airlock and looked inside. Carla and her nurse were bending over wounded men, reassuring the terrified and trying to relieve the pain of those in agony. Rico started to call to her, then realized these men needed her more than he did. He stood there in the near-darkness and watched her move from man to man, impressed by her professionalism, fiercely proud of her compassion.
"What the fuck these people gonna do, Rico?" Chavez muttered as he stared at the wounded with naked eyes. "These poor fuckers need help, man."
"They'll get it," Rico said. "We'll figure a way to get 'em out of here. Somehow."
* * *
Lt. Steven Langley dived over the mountains into Periscope Harbor, keeping clear of the prevailing air traffic that came and went in a steady stream. The QuasarFighter was fully armed and ready for combat. It was a new ship, a spare they'd taken when their original lost part of a wing on a bombing run. In the turret, Onja Kvoorik watched the target holos with a sense of disbelief; for four days Periscope Harbor had been under nearly constant attack from the air and the ground, yet it was like a den of hypercats — it bristled with more venom than ever. Everywhere she looked she saw targets, many of them too far from the airport to be a risk to the Star Marines, others so close to Marine positions they couldn't be attacked for fear of hitting friendly forces.
Where did she start?
Or was there even any point?
"Goddess Sophia!" she whispered.
"What's that?" Langley's voice was crisp in her headset.
"Just looking for targets," she said.
"Tell me where to go."
Onja looked at the airport area, where the heaviest fighting was. Even on holo she could tell that the enemy had almost overrun the facility. Evacuation ships still came and went, but it looked like a losing proposition. She could see hovertanks just off the east end of the runway, hammering at Marine positions right in front of them.
"Put us down at the airport," she said suddenly.
"Say again?" He sounded startled.
"That armor is too close for us to bomb it safely," she said. "Let's land this thing on one of the taxiways. I can hit back at the armor from the ground."
"I guess I don't need to remind you that our best defense is speed," he pointed out. "We'd be like a paper target on the ground."
"Not if you activate topside shields," she said. "That will give us an edge."
She heard him sigh. Without another word, he banked steeply and executed a high-speed turn that would line them up with one of the taxiways paralleling the main runway. Seconds later they touched down hard. As they passed over, Onja rolled her turret ninety degrees to the side and hammered down at the enemy tanks with her autocannon, then had to cease firing as they crossed over the Star Marines and touched down on the runway.
Local time was 0342.
* * *
Dennis Carrington joined McGarrity as he inspected the laser damage to the starboard engine. Explosions from tank shells walked across the runway a hundred yards from the ship as the war continued in all directions. Invisible shards of steel sang past them from time to time, but they worked on the problem as if they were inside a hangar on Luna 4.
"Here we go, myte," McGarrity murmured finally, peering into the engine cowling with the aid of a light held by Carrington. "Lookit this — bloody fuel line. That's all it was. Missed the bloody turbine by inches."
"Jesus!" Carrington muttered.
"Bloody miracle the fuckin' thing didn't just go flash-boom and bye-bye! If we wasn't usin' that retardant fuel, it would have."
"Can you fix it?" Carson called up from the ground.
"I think so, Kept'n. Bloody lyser hit a fuel line. I think we got some spares in the locker. Tell you in a minute."
By sheer luck and Australian ingenuity, McGarrity had the problem fixed in just under an hour. By the time he closed the cowling and climbed down off the wing, everyone was jumpy as hell, for shells were falling faster … and closer. The entire airport was now under a heavy barrage, and it was clear that when daylight arrived in just about an hour, the evacuation would be over, one way or another. Landers and ResQMeds had soared over them in an unending stream during the repair effort.
"It oughta get you back to the carrier," McGarrity told Carson. "Should give you normal thrust, too. But don't come back until somebody looks at it."
After seeing to her patients and doing everything for them that she could under such conditions, Carla had stepped out of the ResQMed for a break, only to discover that Rico had been there all the time. They spent thirty critical minutes together, leaning against the side of the ship as they tried to think of things to say. They'd known each other so briefly, had so much to say, and now so little time — neither could think of much that didn't sound contrived. Mostly they just held each other.
"I'm gonna teach you to ski," he told her. "I'm gonna take you to Aspen or Vail, and we're gonna forget about all this."
"I already know how to ski," she told him.
"You do? Do they ski in Italy?"
"Of course. Haven't you ever heard of the Alps?"
"I thought the Alps were in Switzerland," he said.
"They are. But they also form the northern border of Italy."
He shook his head. Terran geography had never been of much interest to him.
"I want to take you to Venice," she told him. "The city of love. You can't believe how romantic it is, riding the gondolas and listening to the music. And the food — if you've never been to Italy, you know nothing about Italian food."
"I can't wait," he whispered, and kissed her again, long and hungry, as if he couldn't get enough of her.
"Okay, folks — we're gonna try it again." Carson had come around the back of the ship and stood looking at them. "Better get aboard, Carla."
She looked at him fearfully, then glanced at Rico.
"Captain," she said softly, "I want you to meet my fiancé. Captain Carson, Rico Martinez."
Rico grinned sheepishly at Carson. They shook hands.
"Nice to meet you, sir."
"The pleasure is mine, Corporal. I've heard a lot about you."
"Thank you. By the way, Carla, I'm a sergeant now. Since about midnight." He grinned. "I'll be an officer before you know it."
She bit her lip against the tears in her eyes.
"Come with us, Rico!"
"Carla … "
"There's room for one more, James — isn't there?"
Carson winced at the pain in her voice.
"We're overloaded now, Carla … "
"Please, James! I'll stay behind, but —"
"Bullshit, Carla!" Rico said. "You ain't going nowhere but out of here!"
"I think … " Carson hesitated, then nodded. "I think we can squeeze one more man on board," he said.
Rico turned to face him.
"Thank you, sir, but I couldn't leave my men down here. They only stayed because I did. You just get the wounded out, sir, and take Carla with you. I'll catch a ri
de later."
Carson eyed the young man with fresh respect; they both knew that not everyone was going to leave.
"Okay, Sergeant. Good luck to you. You men did a hell of a job here."
They shook hands again, then Rico saluted him.
"It's time, Carla." Carson turned and boarded his ship.
Carla trembled with emotion.
"Please be careful, amore," she whispered.
"Hey, I'm charmed. They can't kill me."
He kissed her one last time, then walked her to the airlock. Stretchers filled half of it, and he lifted her up. She sobbed brokenly, and bent to kiss him yet again.
"I love you! I love you!"
A shell exploded thirty yards away; shrapnel hammered the side of the fuselage. Rico ducked, but never took his eyes off the Italian beauty.
"¡Te quiero más que mi vida!" he said. "¡Cuidado, mi amor!"
Louise Chin hit the airlock switch, and the last thing Rico saw of the woman he loved was the angelic image of her face, smudged with blood and smoke, tears streaming from her midnight eyes.
Chapter 60
Periscope Harbor, Beta Centauri
Rico returned to where the wounded were still being loaded, using the ambulance hover he'd taken earlier. Returning with him were McGarrity, Carrington, and Chavez. When he arrived at the flight line it quickly became obvious that the situation had deteriorated rapidly in the last hour. Ragged groups of Star Marines were limping in from the perimeter of the airport, line companies of only thirty and forty men, many of them wounded but still on their feet. Suicidal volunteers had remained out on the line to keep up a harassing fire so the enemy wouldn't realize that most defenders had left. Rico looked into the eyes of the men now waiting for transport and saw the Thousand Yard Stare, the numbness of their souls reflected in that look.
The Fearless Fourless were still loading wounded, but most of the stretcher cases had gone. The only wounded now were being brought in by their own units, as part of the final evacuation. Rico cornered Texas and asked him for an update.