by T. R. Harris
He turned and walked away, leaving Kyle and Donovan to hurry after him, with more questions than answers.
There were three huge, black canvas tents set up in a quartered-off area of the spaceport. It was next to the control and command building, which was currently overflowing with ragged-looking people, none of which were there to do a job. LtCol. Monroe pulled back a flap to the largest tent and entered.
This was a military-grade pop-up tent, with a canvas floor and cloth walls formed into several rooms. The large central area had desks, chairs, a few cabinets and a bank of medical supplies and an exam table. Through openings to the other sections, Don and Kyle could see three-man rooms for the REV’s support team.
A Marine captain was leaning over a desk, talking with a staff sergeant when Monroe and the two REVs entered. The officer gave a quick acknowledgement of the Army officer and then dismissed the enlisted man. He focused on Kyle and Donovan before snapping to attention.
“Mister Monroe…what have we here?”
“Captain Drake, this is Donovan Ross and Kyle Johnson.” He turned to the REVs. “You’re gunnery sergeants, aren’t you?”
“Yes sir,” said Kyle.
“Are your support teams with you?” Drake asked directly.
“No sir, just us,” Kyle answered.
Captain Drake appeared crestfallen. “Then you’ve come to the wrong place, gentlemen. We don’t have an ounce of Rev to spare. In fact, we’re down to one full dose, and my REV is going to need it in about two weeks.” He looked the REVs in the eye. “After that…well, we better come up with some more within sixty days.”
“That’s okay, sir,” Kyle continued, appointing himself the spokesman for the REVs. “We’re not in any need of NT-4.”
“Not now maybe. But we’ve been here for a month already, and the situation isn’t getting any better. You’re going to be here for a while, and then you won’t be okay.”
Donovan looked at LtCol. Monroe. “Sir, may we speak with Captain Drake in private.”
The officer nodded. “Of course. I wanted you to meet the other REV in town. Captain, they’re all yours.” He nodded to the Marine officer and then left the tent.
“Come with me,” Drake ordered. He led the REVs to another small room in the tent and took a seat behind a bare wooden desk. There were three folding chairs on the other side and the REVs took two of them.
“Okay, what the hell’s going on?” Drake snapped. “I know the two of you were part of the Temple of Light fiasco, and now you suddenly show up here on Kaus looking to steal some of our water.”
“No, sir. I said we don’t need any of your NT-4,” Kyle said.
“Then you have a supply of your own, even without your support team? If so, then we could sure use some.”
“No, sir, we don’t have any NT-4 with us.”
Drake scanned the faces of the two REVs before leaning back in his chair, frowning. “Look, gentlemen, I’m a REV-trained Marine medical officer with six years working with your kind. What are you trying to say?”
Kyle looked at Don. “Just that we can get by without the synthetic.”
Donovan kicked Kyle in the shin before taking up the conversation. “We’re sorry, sir, but a lot about our status is classified, and unfortunately, we’re out of touch with our chain of command so we don’t have guidance as to what we can and can’t say.”
Drake ignored Donovan’s disclaimer. “Synthetic? I’ve never heard NT-4 referred to like that, implying there’s something that’s not synthetic.”
“Like I said, it’s classified, sir.”
Drake nodded. “So, let me get this straight. Five of the most-senior REVs in the Corps—working as a team, I might add—attack the Temple of Light on Iz’zar and destroy it. I found that impossible to believe when I first heard it. Then I saw the videos. And now you say you don’t need NT-4, at least not the synthetic. I’m not stupid, gentlemen. Either you’ve overcome the need for NT-4…or you have another source, a non-synthetic source.”
The officer’s eyes grew wide. “Can you help my REV? After the next dose, he has about two months to live. If you can help him, you have to.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but it doesn’t work like that,” Donovan said. “What’s happening to us is unique to just the five of us—now four, since Gunnery Sergeant Brickey died.”
“So, I’m right? You are creating your own NT-4! How is that possible?”
“We honestly don’t know, sir,” Kyle answered. “We were on our way to Earth for more study when all hell broke loose, and we lost our escort.”
Drake grunted. “Well, don’t get too comfortable. I may be worried about my REV, but there’s a very good chance none of us will be alive a couple of months from now. The Lanic are moving in heavy artillery they got from our bases, and they’re about to start shelling the enclave at any time.”
“Why would they do that, sir?” Kyle asked. “There’s several hundred thousand Humans here, many of which were born on Kaus.”
“And about three-quarters of them are devout Order worshippers,” Drake added. “But it doesn’t matter. The bastards are so riled up over what you did on Iz’zar that to them the only good Human is a dead Human.”
“That’s not going to play well, captain,” said Donovan Ross. “You start blasting the insides of the enclave apart, all you’re going to get is thousands of panicking and angry Humans rushing out onto the plains, either looking for shelter or to stop the guns. How many natives are there outside the walls, maybe twenty thousand at the most, and almost all civilians? They won’t stand a chance, artillery or not.”
“Aren’t the Qwin trying to stop this?” Kyle asked. “I thought they were giving the enclaves a pass.”
“They are—or at least they’re trying,” said Drake. “But the natives aren’t listening.”
“Don’t the Lanic know the Humans won’t just sit back and let themselves be slaughtered?”
“We’ll see. But they’ve been bringing in the guns for the past week; they’re setting them on the hills to the south, taking the high ground. I expect the shelling to begin within the next few days—a week on the outside.”
Captain Drake waved his hand impatiently. “But that has nothing to do with the two of you. I can’t fucking believe it; you can survive without maintenance or combat doses?”
Kyle felt there was no reason to keep secrets from the Marine captain, not anymore; he’d already figured out ninety percent of it already.
“We produce a natural form of NT-4, sir. It’s not exactly the same, but close.”
“Does Cross know about this?”
“Yes, sir. He’s the one who’s trying to get us to Earth for study.”
“And the other two—Murphy and Price—where are they?”
“Unknown, sir. We took separate rides off ES-6. Hopefully they made it to the rally point.”
“And there’s no way you can help my REV?”
“Not that we know of, sir. What’s his name?”
“Sergeant Larry Hand.”
“No shit!” said Donovan Ross.
“You know him?”
“I spent a month on the Mt. Whitney. He was the runt of the triumvirate, just a corporal back then.”
“That was before I became his team leader,” said Drake.
“Is he around?”
“In the next tent over. We’ve been trying to keep him sedated as much as possible, to keep him from burning through his residual. Like I said, we only have one dose left. I want to make sure we use it only when needed.”
“Low residual can have some major side-effects, captain.” Kyle said.
“I know. That’s when most of the psychotic breaks happen. We’re monitoring him closely.”
“Is he awake?”
“I believe so. If he is, he may be a little groggy. I’ll take you over.”
34
Navy Captain Donnie Pearson was the ranking officer in the command center. Enlisted and officers snapped to attention at th
e call of “Senior officer on deck!” Pearson gave them a quick “Carry on,” not wanting to infringe on the status of the officers who had been on Kaus longer than him.
The lieutenant escorting him offered coffee and the Navy officer accepted. While waiting for the man to return, Pearson moved over to a paper topographical map, tacked to a wall of the tent. He grimaced, realizing the resources within the enclave had to be primitive if they used paper maps instead of LCD displays. He studied the diagram, noting the pins placed to the south, outside the walls of the settlement.
Over the years, the boundaries of the enclave had been expanded to accommodate the growing population. Even then, there was still a concrete wall placed at the outer-most boundary, either as tradition among the settlers or a requirement of the natives to always have a defining range of the Human settlement. However, there were dozens—if not hundreds—of gates within the wall, conveying a more open feel to the enclave and free association with the natives in the surrounding communities. All the gates were now locked and fortified.
The lieutenant stepped up with the coffee. Pearson pointed to the pins on the map.
“Railgun emplacements, sir,” the young officer explained. “The Lanic have started moving them in recently. All hell is about to break loose.”
“How many troops do you have?”
The officer shook his head. “Not more than twenty-two hundred, and from a variety of commands and branches. The enclave has a police force of about a thousand, but they’re pretty much useless against anything outside the walls. Oh, and we do have a REV.”
“So I heard, but no backup force.”
“No sir.”
“Kinda makes him useless, too, doesn’t it?”
“Yes sir.”
Pearson didn’t tell the young lieutenant that he’d just brought another two of the Human killing machines to the enclave. Yet without a large enough follow-on force to hold the ground taken by a REV, the subject was moot. REVs were only effective in certain situations, and this wasn’t one of them.
But maybe three might make a difference….
“How?” Lieutenant Colonel Monroe asked. “REVs are usually inserted into a battlefield and then pulled out by the support troops. The guns are placed on four of the highest hills, covering a line of nine kilometers. REVs don’t make Runs that long, and certainly not that targeted.”
Only three officers were in the hut: Captains Pearson and Drake, along with LtCol. Monroe. Eyes shifted to the REV officer, Silas Drake.
“I admit, Ross and Johnson are two of the most-senior REVs, but even then, there are only two of them. My REV is more conventional. He wouldn’t be of much use except on a suicide mission.”
“You heard what the one on ES-6 did?” Captain Pearson asked.
“Garcia?” Drake said.
“That’s right.”
Monroe nodded. “Yeah, we got the news just before the Lanic cut our comms.” He turned to Drake. “Would your guy go for something like that?”
“A suicide mission, is that what you’re asking?” Monroe nodded. Drake went pale. “That’s asking a lot, even for a REV. But sure, he’d do it in a heartbeat if he thought it would save lives. But there must be another way. It would be a terrible waste of a good Marine.”
“You said it yourself, Silas, he’s on his last leg anyway. Without more NT-4, he can’t last.”
“So, what, the REVs just go on suicide missions from here on out, one last gasp of glory before they’re all gone?”
Pearson could see the anger and panic on the Marine officer’s face. There was an obvious bond between him and his REV. Yet officers were often called upon to ask for incredible sacrifices from their troops.
“We should ask the other REVs—Ross and Johnson—for their input,” said Drake out of desperation. “They’re a unique type of REV and might have some other ideas.”
“Unique?” Monroe asked.
“They say the information is classified, but considering our desperate situation, I think exceptions can be made.” Drake braced himself for the reveal. “They don’t rely on NT-4. They produce a type of the drug naturally, making them independent of injections, either maintenance or combat.”
The others in the room were stunned to silence. Eventually, Captain Pearson spoke: “And they activate on their own?” He was thinking of the forty-five days they spent aboard his ship…and with his crew.
“They say they don’t activate anymore.”
Monroe sighed. “Then what good are they? They’re not even trained at conventional warfare techniques. How can they help us, captain?”
“Sir, I don’t know. But they’re assets we need to find a purpose for. When the shelling begins, we’re going to have a mess on our hands. We’ll be sitting ducks with half-a-million panicking civilians around. It’ll be hard to organize any effective response at that point.”
“Captain Drake is right,” Pearson said. “We need to do something before the shooting starts.”
Pearson was a Navy Captain. His current assignment aboard the small effect-ship was only temporary until he joined up with the main fleet. After that, he would be assigned to a larger command to better reflect his rank and seniority. Even so, he was not experienced with land-based operations. That honor went to Army Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Monroe. Pearson had already deferred command authority to him. Now the other officers waited for his decision.
“All right, get them over here,” Monroe ordered. “But if they can’t come up with a plan to utilize their unique abilities—and that of Sergeant Hand—then we’ll have to commit what troops we do have to a first-strike assault. It may not be a permanent solution to our problems, but it could delay the coming inferno.”
All three of the REVs attended the next strategy meeting.
The homecoming between Donovan and Larry Hand hadn’t gone as planned. The hung-over Bravo was at first glad to see his old teammate, but when he learned that the new REVs hadn’t brought any NT-4 with them, he panicked, expecting the senior REVs to commandeer his remaining dose.
He cascaded some, which ate into his existing residual, making him even more angry. It took a pair of attendants to administer a shot of RG-9 to bring him back down. He remained conscious but was even more out of it than he was before.
He was moved to the meeting in a wheelchair.
“First question,” LtCol. Monroe began. “Can you activate?”
Donovan Ross took the lead this time.
“We haven’t been tested with full combat doses, which doesn’t matter seeing that there is only one left among the three of us. But in my opinion, I wouldn’t risk it. Our bodies are operating on a much higher level of both residual and natural NT-4 and that could cause us to cascade over much sooner than a conventional REV. But you should know, we have the ability to cascade up to approximately half-activation level without the drug.”
“Half level?” asked Captain Pearson. “What does that mean in practical terms?” He was still angry that these potentially lethal weapons had been allowed to wander freely among his crew without anyone warning him of the risk.
“Just that, sir,” Donovan continued. “We’re half the strength and endurance of a fully-charged REV yet maintain conscious thought and control. This allows us to carry out more complex missions.”
“And how is that done? You just say cascade…and your bodies obey?” It was Marine Captain Drake asking for details.
Donovan scrunched his face. “Unfortunately, a lot of the cascading is out of our control. It’s more a response to circumstances than anything else, as far as we can tell. However, high-stress situations seem to be the catalyst.”
“That would make sense,” said Drake. “But wouldn’t your level of cascading be unreliable?”
“I don’t know, sir. It’s been pretty reliable so far.”
“And attacking the artillery batteries would be pretty stressful, in my opinion, sir,” added Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Johnson.
LtCol. Monroe referred to the ma
p. “There are four batteries of twenty-meter stage-three railguns, spread over a nine-klick line. We could have the semi-activated REVs hit two of them, a conventional REV on another, and then our remaining force take out the last one.”
Donovan didn’t like the term semi-activated, but it was accurate. He could see how it was possible he and Kyle could do an adequate job on the guns and get away. Even a strike force of a couple hundred troops could take out one of the guns and retreat. That left Sergeant Hand the only person with no way in or out. Either a squad carries his armor—like in the case of Gunnery Sergeant Garcia—or he goes in uncovered. By the very nature of a REV’s wild Run, armor was a necessity. They didn’t avoid enemy fire; instead they welcomed it, using the incoming to identify targets. But an unprotected REV wouldn’t last much longer than a conventional soldier in the same situation.
The other problem: The men in the hut didn’t have reliable intelligence on the precise location and support compliments for the weapons. Sending in a couple of hundred troops to face off against several thousand natives would be a suicide mission all its own. What information they did have came from a few of the natives who still considered the Humans friends. And the picture they painted wasn’t pretty.
Although the Antaere were publicly protesting the Lanic assault on the enclave, they had established a command center on the far side of the range of hills and were in fact coordinating the attack. The Humans didn’t find this news surprising; they knew the Antaere protests were just a smokescreen. They were helping the novice natives set up the advanced weapons and site-in the targets. Fortunately, this was taking longer than it would with experienced gun crews, yet by all estimates, the bombardment would begin in less than seventy-two hours.
Also, Lieutenant Colonel Monroe knew of hundreds of enemy agitators within the enclave walls, spreading rumors of the impending bombardment and working the inhabitants into a nervous fervor.