The Good, the Bad, and the Merc: Even More Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 8)

by Chris Kennedy

  He was dressed in clothing typical for those who worked the sea platforms—a tight fitting singlet from mid-thigh to shoulders that kept the water out and his unexposed skin dry, topped by a mesh ‘shirt’ and head scarf to filter the sun. His feet were clad in lightweight neoprene moccasins that provided traction without adding weight or getting waterlogged. Unlike the Humans, nearly all of the Arritim lived in Commu’neDi. Humans on the other hand lived in many places, the cool dry uplands, the hot, humid coast, the deep-sea platforms, and now the archipelago and shallow seas near the Arritim city. They were adaptable, and Frank’s clothing reflected that adaptability to the point that he was pretty comfortable, despite the heat and humidity.

  Frank was still a bit bemused at the Human and aliens sloshing through the water around him. Even though it happened decades before he married Betsy, ‘bought the farm’ and settled on San Pietro, it still hadn’t been that long since the Human colony and the Arritim had been at war over the perceived ‘invasion’ of their colony worlds. The truth was that both colonies were planted at the same time, and the two races would not even have known the other was present except for a chance encounter. The archipelago and shallow seas around Commu’neDi were far enough from the settlement of San Pietro that it would have been decades before the Humans ventured that far. To make matters worse, the two colonies were meant to be religious sequesters, and finding aliens in their respective hermitage had led to the short Heretic Wars. Only when an Arritim Prisoner of War discovered common ground with a San Pietrese priest, was a settlement reached. The peace turned into alliance and even friendship on common religious grounds—an issue which irritated the respective home churches on both Terra and Arezzo, the Arritim home world, leading to the current unpleasantness.

  He reached his destination and entered the building through the water-level doorway. Like most Commu buildings, it was low, but wide, with three levels: one completely under water, the entry level half-filled with water to the same depth as the canals, and an upper level that could be kept dry for storage or Human use. The Arritim used all levels, although Humans preferred to get out of the water. A few buildings even had additional or enlarged upper floors to accommodate the Humans with business in the city. This particular building filled a city block and had a roof access. Frank quickly moved to the uppermost level and looked out over the city. He could see the evidence of the siege on the horizon—dark shapes and ripples from the submerged platforms. Occasionally there was a wisp of smoke, but that was probably from the Zuul; neither the Arritim nor their Arezzo cousins had much use for fire. There was also no need for Frank to hide from their own view of him; the Arezzo barely acknowledged the uplanders existed, except to condemn their corrupting influence on the Arrita’yTer religion. Their biggest blind spot was anything more than a few meters above water—a fact that Frank and the Father had counted on for getting their own mercenary reinforcements into the city. He’d wait until dusk, then light the infrared marker for the shuttle delivering the first of the Mercenario Svizz, as Father Salvatore called them.

  As darkness fell, Frank could see the green beams and white tracers as the surrounding Zuul and Arezzo fired their weapons. The last week had been filled with rumors—mostly that Pompe’oCo was losing control. The weapons fire seemed to be increasing and suggested there was some truth to the rumor. It was fully dark when he heard three clicks through the waterproof radio he was wearing under his head scarf. Even though he was toward the edge of the roof, he moved even further out so the roof access was between him and the designated landing zone. A brief rush of wind and a silhouette heralded the arrival of the shuttle. After some muffled sounds and indistinct movement, one of the shadows separated itself from the others and came over to Frank.

  “For the Grace, for the might of Our Lord,” Frank said.

  “For the Faith, for the Way of the Sword,” replied a voice with the countersign. “I’m Captain Riedel. You are?”

  “Frank Jefferson. I’ve been sent to meet you.” Frank peered out at the still indistinct shadows moving on the rooftop. The Captain had night vision optics pushed up on his head, so the others probably had the same. “I see maybe a platoon. Where are the others?

  “Oh, hell no, this isn’t even a platoon. The shuttles aren’t big enough.”

  “A Mark Nine can handle two platoons and gear.”

  “We’re not using Mark Nine’s anymore, ‘Prez.’”

  Frank whirled to face the person behind him. He was about to lay into the newcomer for using that handle until he recognized the face behind the voice. His face lit in a smile. “Steel? How’d they drag your sorry ass down here? And why aren’t you using Mark Nine’s?”

  Nicholas “Steel” Stihl laughed. “Same as you, I guess. I hadn’t expected to see you here, either, Prez.”

  “Actually, I live here now. I bought the farm.” He paused a moment, then clarified. “Colonization credits. Betsy wanted forty acres and a mule. They haven’t decanted all the mules yet, but we’ve got a spread up in the mountains where it’s cooler and drier.”

  “Betsy, huh. So she waited for you. Lucky dog. Oh, and a farm sounds nice right about now.”

  “Yes, but you haven’t answered my question. Why aren’t you using Mark Nine shuttles? I cleared a landing zone expecting at least a Mark Eight or even O-I-V’s!”

  “We don’t have them. The Company’s not in great shape. We were on the wrong side in Zaragossa, lost half of our men, most of our CASPers. Your forty acres and a mule are why most of us are here. One last job to earn colonization credit, and then we get the hell out of this life.”

  “Umm, okay. I didn’t realize that was the Company at Zaragossa. On the other hand, I might know how you can get some of that equipment back...”

  “Gentlemen. Focus,” the captain interrupted. “We need to secure a perimeter, secure the Principal, clear the area inside the perimeter, and then determine exfil. Once we get the Headquarters platoon down, the major can fill you in.” He paused, as if listening to something. “Oh. That’s f—ed up. The Zuul have filed protest and breach of contract. Their general has lost control of his mob.”

  Raising his voice slightly, he spoke to the troops on the rooftop: “Mission change. We need to get the rest of Second Platoon down now, with First and Third down by daybreak. Clear the shuttle and send it back up. McCarthy! Alpha Squad arm up and on me.” Turning back to Frank, he explained, “The major has been monitoring the Guild channels. He was expecting something like this. It just means we accelerate the schedule and we are bringing everyone down tonight. I think we’d better go see your Holy One right away.”

  Steel grinned. “So, does this mean you’re back in the game, Colonel?”

  The captain’s head whipped around at the mention of the rank. “Colonel? What? Who?”

  Steel pointed to Frank. “Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Washington Adams Jefferson. Callsign ‘Prez’ since he was named for presidents of the old US of A.”

  “Full Colonel, Steel, and Benjamin Franklin was never President.”

  “Sure, but at least he got his face on the hundred-credit chit.”

  * * *

  “Your Holiness, please keep your head down,” Major Christopher DiNote advised the Arritim priest. “We cannot be certain that there aren’t snipers within the city already.”

  DiNote, Jefferson, and the Human and Arritim priests were on the top floor of one of the few three-story buildings in the city. The balcony was designed to not only provide a commanding view of the city, but also to provide the city with a view of the occupants of the balcony. It was this latter that concerned the mercenary commander.

  For a race that has little use for fire, they are certainly embracing it now, Frank thought. Columns of smoke rose from several points around the perimeter of the city. In a purely Human city, there would be shouting and crowds in the streets. The Stars had a high ululation instead of shouting, but it was largely inaudible to the Humans. The depth of water in the streets had deepened
as levees at the edge of town were damaged by the besieging army, making passage more difficult, but keeping the crowds down. Still, the locals were resisting to the best of their ability—the Arritim had changed more than their racial name when they left their homeland on Arezzo—they had no desire to submit once again to their distant cousins. In all, though, it was a remarkably quiet siege, save for the sound of distant weapons fire and the occasional ricochet or stray projectile shot.

  The priests had wanted to come up to the balcony to assess the conditions in the city themselves. As was fairly typical for both holy “men” they disregarded the risk to themselves, leaving that worry to Frank and the major. A slight “tink” sound caught the Franks attention, and he looked down to see a deformed fragment of metal. He picked it up and held it out in his palm for the priests to see.

  “Father Salvatore, Patriarch Clement, you really need to take cover. This is a railgun projectile. It’s spent, which means the range was too far, but that won’t be the case for much longer. We need to get you to cover...sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  Frank awoke in the dark. He blinked twice, and the chrono display in his contacts showed the time: 0423. Oh-Dark-Thirty. So, he’d been asleep for two hours. Mediating the argument between the two priests and the mercenary commander had taken them well past midnight. Two hours’ sleep was enough to take the edge off his fatigue, but it wasn’t real sleep...that or he’d gotten soft in his years as a farmer.

  Something had awoken him, though, and as he searched his memory, he realized he’d heard a squishing sound, similar to that made by water-filled boots. Arritim? Or Arezzo? He blinked and then squinted, activating the night-vision mode of his contacts. Strange, he hadn’t worn a chrono in years, let alone a tactical vision system. He’d liked being out of the game, but apparently, the game wasn’t out of him.

  Without moving, he scanned the room. There! It was one of the Stars, but not armed. The threat-detection readout in the corner of his visual field was yellow-green, no threats other than the strange presence.

  “Colonel Jefferson?” The synthesized voice gave little clue as to the identity of the speaker, but the use of his old rank did. So far, only a few of the Company, Father Salvatore, and the Star’s High Priest knew that detail.

  “Patriarch.” Frank gave the minimum response, waiting for the Holy One to reveal his purpose for disturbing Frank’s sleep. “

  “Colonel. I do not know these Men of Fire and Flame,” the Patriarch continued. “I do not know you, but Father Salvatore says you are a good man. I fear for my people. I fear for the Faithful, and am not comfortable with this plan. I should reveal myself to Pompe’oCo and let him take me and spare the city.”

  Frank sat silent. This was precisely what they had argued so late last night. DiNote favored booby-trapping the main avenues of advance, then setting up a hard line of defense around Patriarch. This would slow down the Arezzo, funnel them into zones where snipers could attrite the forces and smash them against reinforced defenses at the basilica. The priests had argued that the plan was too dangerous to the city’s inhabitants. Personally, Frank thought that the major’s plan was ignoring the fundamental axiom of never assuming you had an unassailable position. On the other hand...

  “Your Holiness...” Frank began, but was interrupted by a static sound from the Star’s translator.

  “That title is somewhat doubtful at the moment. Please, just call me Father Clement.”

  “Very well, Father, but I am not a Colonel at present. Just Mister Jefferson...or Frank.” Frank paused a moment, then continued his original thought: “Father, you have no guarantee surrender will save your people. The Arezzo forces out there are behaving in every manner consistent with fanatics. The General has stirred them up, and they will settle for nothing less than destroying you and your church. You may think you’ll save lives by not resisting, but it is my professional opinion the only guarantee of saving lives is stopping the enemy cold.”

  The electronic box produced a pretty good emulation of a sigh. Interesting that someone had programmed the translators in such a manner. “You may be right, Mister Jefferson, but I fear for my people. Mine and yours, for Pompe’oCo may not stop with just Commu’neDi.”

  “His troops won’t be venturing up into the high plains, Father. Not easily.”

  “Not by themselves, but they’ve demonstrated a willingness to use orbital weapons.”

  That was true. It was why the full Company was not on the ground, including the CASPers. The shuttle carrying Headquarters Platoon had been shot down. It was next to last, with the CASPers scheduled to come down in the final pass. If Major DiNote hadn’t come down as soon as he heard of the Zuul withdrawal; Frank might very well have found himself in command. He had mixed feelings over that possibility. He wasn’t sure the major was taking into account the fanaticism of the enemy, nor the obstinacy of the defenders.

  “We need something different, Father. Something no one is expecting...” Frank trailed off. An idea occurred to him. It was something that had been nagging at him since he first heard that the Arezzo were bringing Zuul mercenaries to the planet. It had more to do with where he’d last heard of the Zuul...Zaragossa.

  He stood, donned his boots and reached into the small locker at the foot of his cot. He’d brought it. Despite Betsy’s protests and his own misgivings, he’d brought his uniform tunic, with the three stars and braid of a full Colonel’s rank insignia. “Father, I think perhaps we should wake up the major. I have an idea, and I suspect I’m going to have to pull rank to get him to go for it.”

  * * *

  “I still say we fort up and make them come to us,” the major said, insistent. “We can hold a fixed position against a thousand irregulars, no problem...and it won’t even be a thousand because we’re grinding them down as they work their way to us.”

  “At the cost of half the city. These people have to live here, Major. I have to live here when this is done,” Frank clarified. “We need to draw them off. Make them think they’ve won, or at least are winning, and that their main target is not here. It’s the only way to get them to leave the city alone.”

  “How? You just argued the priest out of surrendering himself on the basis that Pompe’oCo will kill everyone even once he has the Patriarch!”

  “Misdirection, sir.” That was Steel. Frank had given him a brief outline of the plan, since everything would hinge on Steel’s platoon. “If the Father is in Pompe’oCo’s hands, he has no reason not to sack the city. On the other hand, if he has confirmed intelligence that the Patriarch is somewhere else, he’ll pivot his forces to follow, leaving only a token force, which we can easily clean up.”

  That gave the major pause. He stroked his chin. “...and just how do you intend to get the priests—I assume you mean everyone, and not just the Patriarch—out of the city? If you hadn’t noticed, we’re somewhat surrounded. The Arezzo are aquatic, so underwater is out. Pompe’oCo is no idiot, so he knows that Humans would take to the air. We’ve certainly seen that he has anti-air assets. How are you planning on getting them out?”

  “For that, we need the CASPers,” Frank said quietly.

  “What the hell?” Major DiNote exploded. “Our CASPers are in orbit! They’re modified Mark 6s, and we can’t just drop them from orbit!”

  “But what if you had Mark 7s?” Frank continued in that quiet voice.

  “We lost our Mark 7s at Zaragossa. I thought you were better informed than that, Colonel!” The major spat the rank title in disgust.

  “...and who did you lose them to?” Frank was being extraordinarily patient. His face showed neither anger nor apathy, but his quiet demeanor was somewhat unnerving to onlookers.

  “We lost them to the damn Zuul when we had to pull out of Zaragossa!” The major was cooling down at bit, but it was more out of regret at the loss than disgust at the situation. “Damned incompetent Eatees, but we were hired by the wrong side.”

  Frank waited just a moment bef
ore dropping his final point. He wanted to see if the major would fill in the gaps himself. “Remember the day you landed? The breach of contract notice?”

  Light was beginning to dawn in the major’s eyes. “The Zuul...” He swallowed, and turned toward Frank, for the first time with a look of appraisal and respect. “Do you think they still have them?”

  “The letter of protest cited lack of payment, divided command, and the fact that the Stars had confiscated the six CASPers the Zuul had brought with them intending to use as siege engines. They can’t operate them, but they can slave them to a common command link.” It was Steel’s turn to fill in the details, even though it was clear that the implications were dawning on his commander.

  “What about ammunition?” It was an honest question, not a challenge like the major’s former comments. “Surely the Zuul wouldn’t have done much to rearm the CASPers. Not that I would trust anything the Zuul would use.”

  “All we need are small munitions. Grenades, Penetrators, just about anything explosive; HEAT would be nice, but not really necessary, and no long-range or orbital.” Frank pulled out a slate with a list of armaments he needed and handed it to the major. “Call for a ballistic drop pod, have them place it in the Wet for recovery.”

  “The ‘Wet?’”

  “Bayou. Swamps. To the west back where this archipelago starts. We’ll need to work from there, anyway.”