As the Seppy Orcus drop tanks focused on the lieutenant colonel, the remaining twenty-three FM-12s of Cardiff's Killers brought death from the sky, from behind buildings, within the whirling smoke debris clouds, and one even tore upward through an overpass. The surprise of two dozen American Marine strike fighting mechas threw the more numerous Separatist drop tanks into a state of confusion.
At first they scattered aimlessly, like mice skittering for cover, with no clear plan or forethought into where that cover might be. After the initial shock of the surprise attack dulled, the veteran Seppy mecha pilots began to fight back with some effectiveness. But their numbers had dwindled to even or less with the Americans. And the Americans were moving swiftly and deadly. Cardiff's Killers were doing what they did best—kill.
"LT? Sarge? Can you make a run south?" Corporal Shelly announced over the QM. "The mechaheads are covering the north and me and Kootie are bouncing to ya!"
"Oorah! Shelly!" Sergeant Jackson called back as he brought his city view back to the forefront of his visor. There were the blue dots for Shelly and Kudaf but not a sign of the FM-12s or the Seppy Orcus drop tanks he could see with his own eyes. No time to think about that, he thought. We ain't gonna die today damnit!
Oorah! his AIC Susan replied.
"Shelly, we got you. Sarge and I are bouncing south for better cover. We're out of ammo you gotta give us some cover." Washington tried to bear-crawl away from the fountain as best he could with a half-meter-long hunk of steel sticking out of his left leg. The pain resurfacing from each movement forced him to grit his teeth and focus. He knew he had to focus on surviving and getting the hell out of there.
Tammie! Where do we need to go? We need a retreat route now! Thomas asked his AIC.
Here sir! The southbound interstate overpass gives you the best cover! She highlighted the escape path on the map in his head. She then transferred the same data to the sergeant's AIC.
"Shelly, Kudaf, here is our rendezvous point!" He relayed the data to them through the QM. "Let's bounce, Sergeant!" He stood quickly and released the jumper field on his boots, flinging him twenty meters southward. The jarring motion of the jumping rushed up through his bum leg and sent sharp needles of pain piercing through him. The pain medication was beginning to wear down. He needed medical attention. The second lieutenant gritted his teeth and dreaded the next landing and bounce. He adjusted his stride so that most of the impact would be taken by his right leg instead.
"LT, hang on to my shoulder." Sergeant Jackson saw the second lieutenant shudder on his first bounce and thought he was going to collapse, but the tough young officer pushed through the pain. Jackson caught him by the second bounce and grabbed his left arm. The two men bounced as fast and far south as they could manage. Fortunately, the Seppies were otherwise preoccupied.
It had taken nearly thirty minutes for Alexander and his band of misfit refugees to backtrack through the main dome to the nearest downward accessing elevator without being spotted by the Separatists who had overrun Mons City. There they had taken the elevator down three levels to a maintenance travel shaft where they took a small electric buggy through all the way to the main elevator shaft of the city. The Separatist troops had not bothered to make it as far below the city yet. Hopefully they would keep it that way.
For a brief moment, Senator Moore and his AIC had considered walking out of the dome through the lower levels, but that would place them at the edge of the dome more than seventy kilometers from the evac point south of the dome—too far to run to in time. On the other hand, if they traveled up the elevator to the maintenance shaft and then up again to the top of the dome they could base-jump with the gliderchutes and cover the territory in ten or twenty minutes, depending on the prevailing winds. Jumping still seemed like the best option. The other alternative might be to hide out in the city bowels until the city was liberated by the American forces, but that seemed dangerous. The fact that it seemed more dangerous than jumping off the top of the city dome might have been debatable but Alexander preferred action and escaping rather than evading and hiding in occupied territory. He had been captured before in his life and it was no fun then. He didn't care to repeat the experience, especially with his wife and six-year-old daughter, an adrenaline junkie, and an older woman from Triton as his responsibilities.
"Okay, we get in the elevator and go up through the hatch on top of it. We'll ride up there in case it opens on the occupied floors. And everybody keeps quiet. Got it?" he said.
"Got it" was the answer he got back with firm nods. The group had learned in the process of their trek just who was in charge and making decisions. Nearly two decades as a Marine had that effect on people.
"Good. Let's do it." He pressed the elevator button. "Everybody hide. If nobody is on the elevator then we get on it." They backed down the hallway to a crossway in the halls and turned around the corner out of sight. Alexander stood to the side of the elevator door with his back against the wall.
The elevator seemed to be taking its time, as if it were making multiple stops along the way. He had been afraid of that. If the Seppies were guarding the elevator then it should be obvious that it would not descend to the lower levels unless somebody had pressed a button. The elevator stopped at the ground level in the open court according to the display above the elevator door. Then it started up, again pinging with each floor level it passed. Ping, basement level one, Ping, basement level two, Ping, basement level three . . .
Good luck, Major! Abigail shouted in his mind. Oorah!
Oorah! His fight-or-flight reflex was on full alert and adrenaline coursed through his body. It's been a long time.
The elevator opened with a whoosh and then there was a click as somebody hit the stop button inside it. Alexander pushed himself back against the wall as tight as he could as the flood of elevator music washed over the quiet hallway. Had he pressed back any harder he might have crushed the drywall. The dull gray barrel of an HVAR rifle poked out the edge of the elevator door on the opposite side, pointing in a direction that was just in front of him by a few centimeters. A second barrel pointed out from his side of the elevator in a similar fashion.
Move, Major!
Alexander grabbed the rifle barrel closest to him with both hands and yanked it back against the elevator door, using the leverage of the door facing to force it free of its owner. As the rifle flung loose he adjusted his grip on the barrel and slammed it butt-first against the barrel of the rifle across the elevator door, pinning it against the door facing. He rushed the elevator door and stepped inside the firing path of the pinned-down HVAR, then recoiled the HVAR in his hands, and then hit the man holding that weapon square in the nose through his open faceplate with the butt of the rifle, cracking the bone and tearing a bloody gash, stunning the man. Alexander then used his body to wedge the man's rifle against the wall of the elevator.
In a single spinning motion, Alexander turned clockwise, jamming the barrel of the HVAR he had commandeered completely through the open faceplate of the other Seppy bastard in the elevator. By this time the Seppy soldier who had taken the rifle butt to the face had regained his composure and was fighting for control of the rifle Alexander held. In the process, one of them, and Alexander wasn't sure which one, he or the Seppy soldier, managed to pull the trigger just as the barrel began to recede from the faceplate of the other soldier's helmet. The hypervelocity round removed a major portion of the back side of the man's head and punched a hole through the elevator wall, splattering red foamy gray matter and skull across the wall of the elevator's plush green and yellow decorative wallpaper.
Alexander struggled with the soldier on his back for several seconds trying to get an upper hand or elbow or headbutt, with little luck or effectiveness. Neither of them could seem to get advantage on the other or maintain a grasp on either weapon long enough to do any damage to the other one. Several times the HVAR in Alexander's hands was triggered, sending hypervelocity rounds down the hallway and through the walls.
Jumpboots, Major! Abigail barked at him in drill-sergeant fashion.
Alexander dropped below the Separatist soldier, allowing the man the high ground. He took the bait and bear-hugged Alexander from behind and wrapped up on his e-suit helmeted head. Once Alexander was certain that the man's head was above his, he squatted lower, tucked his own head in as best he could, and bounced his jumpboots. The boots accelerated the two of them upward through the elevator ceiling, snapping the Separatist soldier's neck, and killing him instantly.
Stunned and uncertain of his attacker's condition, Alexander continued to fling wildly at the body behind him but both were stuck in the hole they had made.
At EASE, Major! Abigail calmed him. Sir! Senator, he's dead.
It took a few seconds for Alexander to regain his focus, but the jumpboots had worked. Now he was stuck in the elevator's ceiling with a dead man on his back. He squirmed and tugged for a few minutes until he managed to work his right hand free. A few more tugs and he managed to pull himself up through the hole in the elevator ceiling and turn himself over onto his bottom, sitting with his legs hanging through the hole. He dropped the dead Separatist soldier back through the hole and began checking himself for damage. None that he could see. Good.
That could have gone better, he thought.
How do we plan to get past them now? No doubt they will stop the elevator if it starts to move again, Abigail noted.
Shit, this isn't going well. We'll have to climb. I should have had a better plan. Too late now. Alexander had been a slow-thinking politician for the last decade or so and had been a long time away from combat strategy and tactics. He was angry with himself for now having given their position away and for endangering his wife and daughter. He had to think. But first things were first.
Alexander dropped back through the hole in the elevator ceiling, landing astraddle of one dead Separatist soldier. A second lifeless bloody mess lay against the back left corner of the elevator. The Stop button was still depressed and the doors of the elevator open wide.
"Wait out there for a moment, girls," he warned his wife, holding out his left hand palm forward. Sehera was peaking around the hall corner at the elevator to see if the coast was clear. "Reyez, come here a minute."
Reyez peaked his head around the corner to see if it was safe, then he straightened himself up and walked tall to the senator. Seeing the red bloody mess in the elevator, the adrenaline junkie had to turn his head and vomit.
"Aw shit!" Alexander moaned. He grabbed the body closest to the elevator door and dragged it out by the feet. "Get out of my way if you can't help," he told Reyez.
"No, I can help. I just never . . . uh!" Reyez began to heave again. Alexander just pushed him away from the elevator door with a swift kick in the ass and then set about moving the other body.
"Soft kids these days." Joanie Hassed, the little Triton woman, stepped in over the first dead body and gave Alexander a hand. "Saw a lot more than this on Triton during the raids."
Alexander understood what she meant. The raids on Triton were some of the bloodiest battles in the past decade—in human history, for that matter. Even the civilians ended up fighting for their lives. The Great American Plan to bring peace throughout Sol and the four colonies was still a long way from being successful. Many of the kids from this generation and one prior who lived on Earth or the Moon and a few places on Mars—like Mons City—had no idea of the utter horror humanity was still inflicting upon itself elsewhere.
"Thanks. We need to . . . " Alexander was about to explain that they needed to strip the two men of their e-suits and take all their weapons and gear, but the little Triton native was halfway through the process on the first body.
"Uh huh." Joanie nodded.
"Right then." Alexander smiled. A good Marine had to smile when he saw a real survivor.
" . . . Manuel . . . Charlie . . . are you there? Report!" Alexander heard faintly out of one of the e-suit helmets.
These suits are still keyed into the Seppy coms! The Seppies had older, less state-of-the-art, suits that did not go encrypted when the occupant was incapacitated like the American e-suits did. That technology had to be fifty years old.
ON IT! Abigail immediately started handshaking with the suit's low-level AI functions.
Can you spoof it?
Just a second. There. You can eavesdrop on this channel. I'll keep the audio open for you, Abigail replied.
Great work. Are they connected to the jamming signal at all? Alexander asked the AIC.
No. Not as I can tell.
Damn.
Yes, sir. Damn.
Well, keep on it. That jamming signal was the key to this whole mess, Alexander just knew it was.
Senator? the AIC added.
Yes, Abigail?
These suits are keyed into the Seppie IFF. The AIC said into Alexander's mind with what felt to him like excitement. The IFF or Identify Friend and Foe system in the Separatist e-suit helmets were keyed to understand the encrypted wireless signals and signatures of the Seppy troops and enabled their locations to be followed and mapped in HUDs or direct-to-mind maps. The U.S. troops used similar systems but ones that were more state-of-the-art. DTM had been the way of the warrior for many generations—it went as far back as the first Martian War in Sienna Madira's day.
Can you transfer the code to me? Senator Moore thought.
I think so, sir. But it will take a minute or two. And I'm not sure we have a minute or two. We'll have company soon.
Can we take his helmet?
No sir, we'd need his AIC. The average Seppy didn't carry an AIC but years of intelligence on the troops showed that they apparently did. Or perhaps, Elle Ahmi required it so she could keep tabs on all of them. General Ahmi was either brilliant at understanding and managing massive amounts of data or was a stone cold paranoid whack job—or maybe a little of both.
Where is it?
Here. The image of the Seppy appeared in Alexander's mind with a spot on the back of the dead man's head highlighted in red.
"Uh huh." Moore grunted and unsheathed the knife he'd liberated from the adventure shop and then twisted the man's e-suit helmet off. "This is gonna be gross." He nodded to Joanie to look away but instead she took the blade from him. Reyez looked as if he'd vomit again.
"Wait. I've done that before." The little woman from Triton hefted the dull gray two-decimeter-long monomolecular blade in her hand and studied its point for a second. "This'll do."
Joanie slid the point of the blade just behind the man's ear and pounded the base of the grip with the palm of her hand hard enough to crack through the skull bones. She twisted the knife and then pulled it out slowly. Dark red blood oozed out around the blade. She then repeated the process, this time slightly to the right of the previous bloody stab wound. Then she yanked the blade upward fairly hard and with a twist, causing bloody gray matter and pale white and pink skull bone fragments to crack free and spring upward being held together only by hair and skin. Joanie slid her finger into the man's brainpan just behind his left ear and fished around for a second.
"There it is." She pulled out a small orange and bloody red plastic device about the size and shape of a sunflower seed in its shell.
She did it, Senator. We have to go, now. They are coming down alternative elevators and stairwells. Here and here. Abigail showed him on a three-dimensional city map in his mind. I'll let you know when I get the IFF transfer.
"Great work, Joanie." Moore took the implant from her.
"You know you have to smash that thing or they can track us?"
"I'm counting on that . . . and a few other things. We have to get out of here now," he said as he listened to the Seppy open channel. The Seppies were missing their two buddies and were sending someone else to look for them. The dead Seppy's AICs could have alerted others to their presence, as Abigail couldn't be sure if her jamming attempts had worked or not. At least now they had two rifles, a handful of ordnance, and access to the e
nemy communications channel. And soon, hopefully very soon, they would have the enemy IFF.
"Look, Daddy." Deanna tugged at her father's arm pointing to a line of small holes in the drywall down the hallway.
Moore knelt beside his daughter. "What is it, baby?"
"Mommy and I were right here." Deanna pulled her father around the corner at the hallway crossing and crawled down onto the floor on all fours as best she could in the child-sized e-suit. "See?"
Alexander did see. Not only was his daughter smart, but she was lucky. The HVAR rounds that had gone off in a random spray during his scuffle with the Seppy soldiers had penetrated the wall in the main hallway and continued right on through the crossing hallway just above where Deanna and Sehera had been hiding. Reyez and Joanie had been on the other side of the hallway, but Moore's family had been right in the line of fire and very lucky and he had been very stupid.
"Jesus!" Alexander and Sehera both grabbed their daughter and began running their hands over her suit looking for puncture wounds. There were none. "Are you okay, sweetheart? You're okay, right?" Alexander gulped hard. "Sehera, you sure you're not hit?"
Abigail ran a quick vitals sweep with her QM sensors. They are unharmed, Senator.
Shit, that was so stupid of me. We have got to get them out of here.
"Alexander." Sehera looked at her husband sternly. "We cannot do that again."
"I know. I'm so sorry, dear. We have to get out of here."
"Look, I hate to break this up and all," Joanie interrupted. "But we should keep moving. Everybody is all right here, yes?" She nodded knowingly at Moore.
"Right, let's get moving."
Lieutenant Commander Jack Boland wiped the sweat off of his face and set his helmet on the seat of his Ares fighter. For some reason the squadron had been recalled and the fighters were zipping in through the braking field and slamming into the landing deck as fast as they could ingress.
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