Stand Against The Storm (The Maxwell Saga Book 4)

by Peter Grant

  The other five insurgents froze for an instant as they saw their leader fall, and that gave Kinnear time to get into action. His rifle cracked a split-second ahead of Steve’s next shot. They’d both selected the same insurgent as their target, his weapon already shouldered and ready to cut loose on them. The two beads spun him around and dropped him lifeless over the legs of his erstwhile boss. The four survivors scattered, opening fire to cover their movements as they dived for cover.

  Steve threw himself sideways as several rifle shots passed through the space his body had just occupied. He reached the shelter of the nearest transporter’s big front wheel with a gasp of relief, then peered around it to look for another target – only to see the Gunnery Sergeant lying motionless in the open. With a bitter curse he started towards him, only to be driven back behind the tire by a burst of fire that bounced off the vehicle’s heavy front bumper. I’ve got to deal with these bastards first, he realized. I can’t help the Gunny till I’ve done that.

  A third insurgent was sprawled on the ground, halfway between the first two figures and the line of pallets. Kinnear had clearly shot him before he could reach cover, but had then been hit himself. That meant there were still three attackers to deal with. Steve scanned the area in front of him, but couldn’t see a target – until the second transporter, behind the one sheltering him, suddenly gunned its power pack. Its civilian driver jumped frantically from the cab’s passenger door, rolling on the ground, then scrambling to his feet and running away across the hardstand. His vehicle turned as far as it could, braked hard, then began to back up to get clear of the transporter in front. Steve couldn’t see the insurgent driving it, but knew the cab’s thin metal would pose little obstacle to the hypersonic beads from his rifle. He fired five times, spacing his shots across the passenger door from which the original driver had just jumped, but to his surprise the transporter continued to back up as if the rounds hadn’t hit anything. The insurgent rammed the vehicle into forward gear and poured power to the wheels.

  Steve fired three more rounds into its cab before the transporter passed out of sight. He started to run towards the rear of the vehicle sheltering him to see where the other one was going, then skidded to a halt as several rapid rounds ricocheted off the dirt around him. He suddenly realized he was no longer protected by the transporter’s front wheel. His legs could be seen beneath its loadbed by insurgents sheltering behind the stacked supplies. He scrambled back to the shelter of the huge tire, then peered around it to see the barrel of a rifle pointing in his direction from over a pallet of ration packs. Before he could line his own weapon, the insurgent ducked back behind cover.

  Steve heard a wild shout over the harsh whine of the other transporter’s power pack. “Get aboard!” He tried to look around the front of the cab, but a burst of fire drove him back. He cursed aloud, waited a moment, then tried again – just in time to see one attacker climbing into the cab of the escaping transporter through the passenger door. A second was running alongside the cab, fumbling for a handhold to swing himself up. Steve aimed hastily and fired three rounds at him, hitting his legs and sending him tumbling to the ground with a cry of pain. His rifle flew from his hands as he hit the dirt.

  The stolen transporter accelerated towards the line of bushes bordering the cleared area around Carsamba’s walls. Steve tried to aim at the cab, but as the vehicle turned away from him the pallets strapped to its loadbed obscured his line of sight. There was no point in shooting at its tires – their gel filling was designed to absorb damage without leaking. With another curse he sprinted towards the insurgent he’d just wounded, who was trying to pull himself towards his rifle. Steve stamped hard on his back, pressing the muzzle of his rifle ungently into the back of his neck. “Don’t even think about it!” he warned harshly as he watched the transporter disappear into the brush, bouncing and twisting as it carved a trail through the undergrowth of trampled bushes and flattened hummocks of grass.

  “Why’d you shoot at us, damn you?” his victim demanded, voice tight with pain. “We wasn’t attacking you!”

  “Uh-huh. That’s why you were pointing rifles at us, to prove you were peaceful, right?”

  “That was to make you stay away while we took those transporters! We didn’t shoot first – you did!”

  “Pointing a weapon at us is the same as an attack in my book. Now shut up!” Steve pushed with the muzzle of his rifle to emphasize his command as he looked around. More of his Marines were appearing at the gates. He shouted at them, “Arm yourselves, get the Gunny to sick bay, then check the attackers and take any wounded there too. Someone bring flex cuffs to secure this bastard, and a stretcher to carry him inside.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “He was extremely fortunate,” Dr. Ju told Steve as she swabbed the gash on the right side of Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear’s head. “The bead scored a line in the bone over his ear, but didn’t penetrate or fracture it that I can see. The impact was enough to knock him out. We won’t know how badly he was concussed until he wakes up and we can run some tests, but I don’t think it’ll be too serious.”

  Steve sighed with enormous relief. “Thanks, Doctor. That’s great news! D’you need to keep him here?”

  “I’d like to keep him overnight, to make sure there are no complications.”

  “Do it. If he objects, tell him it’s an order from me. I’ll come back after I’ve sorted out the rest of the mess out there. What do your medics say about the wounded insurgents?”

  “Both need surgery, their leader most critically. We’ve already slid him into a Medbot, and it’s working to stabilize him. He’ll have to be transferred to proper hospital facilities. The other’s leg wounds are more manageable.”

  “Will they be able to answer questions?”

  “Not the leader. He’ll be out of it for a few days, I think. The other one will be able to talk once he wakes up after surgery, probably this evening.”

  “Thanks. I’ll leave you to it.”

  Steve emerged from the sick bay to find Captain Johannson coming down the corridor towards him. The Marine officer had arrived with two assault shuttles carrying a platoon in response to an emergency call for reinforcements, and his people were scouring the area around the depot.

  “We sent up a hoversat to track that transporter,” he informed Steve. “It left a clear trail through the bush, then turned onto the old road leading to Hairun, a settlement in the foothills. We lost its tracks after a kilometer or so when the dust and dirt stopped falling off its wheels onto the hardtop road. We can’t send the hoversat any further without it going out of range of our controller, so I’ve asked Battalion HQ to task a satellite with checking the road.”

  “Fair enough. That was fast work. Any sign of any more of the bastards around here?”

  “No, and that’s what puzzles me. Where the hell did those six come from? As far as we knew there were no active insurgents at all in this area. Did this lot escape from the fight in the foothills and make their way back here, or are they holdouts who hid until their food ran out and then decided to steal some more? We’ve got a lot of questions to ask the two you caught. Well done on that, by the way. You got into action very fast, despite having no armed guards on standby.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to have words with Major Emory about that.” Steve’s tone was distinctly frosty. “I don’t appreciate being told I can’t have any guards, only to have to fight off an attack! How do we know there won’t be another one? I still don’t have enough staff here to spare them for guard duties as long as you guys keep pushing more work onto us.”

  “I hear you.” Johannson’s tone was sympathetic. “I don’t know what the Major will say, but he’d better figure out something. We can’t spare anyone to help you. A battalion’s a pretty small force to secure an entire city like this, so we’re already over-extended.”

  “I guess so. I hope you learn more from the prisoners, so we know what the risks are.”

  “If we can, we will, but I dares
ay the Colonial Guard will insist we hand over the prisoners to them. They’ve taken everyone we’ve arrested so far. They’re quite hard-nosed about it. We usually don’t hear anything further.”

  “Then why not interrogate them ourselves before we tell the Guard we’ve got them? We can hand them over after we’ve learned all they can tell us.”

  The Captain grinned. “I like the way your mind works. I’ll suggest it to Battalion HQ. By the way, where did you learn to fight Marine-style with a rifle like that? It’s unusual for a Spacer to be so handy with personal weapons.”

  “I took it seriously right from the start, and I’ve learned more from members of your Corps. I’m rated Expert with both rifle and pistol, as well as in unarmed combat. My wife, Abha Sashna, is a Marine officer in the Reserves. My closest friend in the service is Captain Brooks Shelby, who’s currently commanding the Heavy Weapons Company of Third Battalion, Second Regiment in Lancaster’s Marine Reaction Force brigade.”

  “I recognize both of their names. You all had a couple of big engagements with pirates in the Rolla system a couple of years ago, didn’t you? I recall reading about them in the news.”

  “Yes, we did. This was pretty small by comparison.”

  “Maybe, but you can get just as dead in a small fight as a big one. You did well today.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “What the hell happened?” Bairam’s voice was incredulous as he watched the sole uninjured survivor of the patrol pull another from the cab, his unconscious body leaving blood smeared across the seat and pooling on the floor. Other rebels hurried to help him. “Where’s Fikri and the rest?”

  “They won’t be coming.” Riza’s voice was grim. “Those Marines didn’t want to let us have the transporters. I’m here to tell you, Boss, they fight like buzz-saws! There were only two of ’em with rifles. We got one, but they took out four of us and hit Kerem three times as he tried to drive the transporter away. He’s tough as nails, but not even he could take punishment like that. He blacked out only half a kilometer into the bush. I got him out of the driver’s seat and took over. When we reached the road I turned towards Hairun and ran a few clicks to mislead them, in case they had a drone watching; then I turned off at the burned-out shop by the crossroad and circled around on farm roads. I didn’t see any patrols. I left the trailer in the woods, ’cause I figured you wouldn’t want one of their hoversats spotting it in the yard. I put a few ration packs in the cab for us to eat today.”

  “Good idea. Let’s get Kerem into the barn. Pull the transporter in there too, out of sight.”

  Their medic came running from the farmhouse wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair and body still wet from the shower. He hastily examined the unconscious Kerem, then looked up and shook his head. “He’s too badly hurt and he’s lost too much blood. I don’t think even a hospital could save him, Boss. At least he’s not in pain. It won’t be long now.”

  Bairam swallowed a curse. Kerem had been one of his earliest recruits when he’d started planning this uprising five years before. He hadn’t been particularly intelligent or displayed any powers of command, but he’d been faithful, reliable and – as Riza had remarked – tough as nails. It hurt to lose him; almost as much as it hurt to know Fikri was either dead, or wishing he was dead as the goons interrogated him. He thrust the thought from his mind. Fikri wouldn’t talk. He’d die first.

  What now? he wondered as he walked out of the barn. Did they track the transporter here? We’d better move to Miller’s farm as soon as it’s dark, just in case. As for those Marines, if they want to join the party, we can handle that too. They’re normal people – they wanna stay alive. We know we’re gonna die, and we don’t care. That gives us an edge. The Marines should’ve stayed out of it. Now they’ll pay for Fikri an’ the others, just like the Governor’s gonna pay for all those empty years I wasted on this rock!

  June 25th 2850 GSC

  It was well after noon the following day before Major Emory returned to the depot. His assault shuttle landed on the hardstand outside the temporary enclosure protecting tens of thousands of ration packs. He’d radioed ahead, so Steve was there to meet him.

  “Great job yesterday, Lieutenant,” he began with a handshake of congratulation. “Captain Davis wasn’t very happy about it, but my boss pointed out that you’d been attacked and had no choice but to defend yourselves. He rather grudgingly accepted that.”

  Steve frowned. “I… perhaps I’d better not say anything, Sir.”

  “Not if it would be rude. He is the Senior Fleet Officer on this station, after all.” They grinned at each other. “The leader of those insurgents is still out of it, but the other one’s talking. It seems a group of them made their way back here after escaping from the fight in the foothills. He doesn’t know whether any other groups are doing the same thing – he wasn’t told. Frankly, if I’d been his boss I wouldn’t have told anyone either. You know what they say about keeping something secret?”

  “Yes, Sir; ‘three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead’.”

  “That’s right. We’re more than a little worried about the lack of intelligence information from the Eskishi authorities. The Governor’s been sharing with us all that his civilian administration knows, but the Colonial Guard’s been a lot less forthcoming.”

  “Is that because of professional jealousy, d’you think, Sir?”

  “Maybe – I really can’t say for sure. Anyway, how’s Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear doing?”

  “He’s fine, Sir. I’ve kept him on light duties for the day, but he doesn’t like that at all. He’s at his desk in the Administration building, breathing fire and brimstone at his Marines to keep them hard at it. Would you like to see him?”

  “I would, thanks. Lead the way.”

  Kinnear rose from his desk to greet them, snapping to attention as he saw the Major. “Afternoon, Sir.”

  “Good afternoon, Gunnery Sergeant.” Emory grinned as he shook the NCO’s hand, inspecting the broad bandage wrapped around his head. “I don’t think your new fashion in headgear will catch on in the Corps.”

  “Perhaps in a different color, Sir?” Steve suggested artlessly. “How about pastel pink?”

  There was revulsion in Kinnear’s face and voice. “Trust a Spacer to think of pink – begging your pardon, of course, Sir.” He sounded remarkably unrepentant.

  Laughing, the Major assured him, “I doubt the Corps will adopt Lieutenant Maxwell’s suggestion. You both did very well yesterday. I wanted to thank you personally for protecting your people, including local personnel as well as our own. I was surprised to hear that you had rifles so readily available. I thought you were complaining that you didn’t have enough weapons?” He looked at Steve inquiringly.

  “We… ah… we took steps to resolve the problem, Sir,” Steve said as neutrally as possible.

  Emory winked. “Meaning that if I ask no questions, you’ll tell no lies, right?”

  Steve remained silent, but the Gunnery Sergeant grinned. “I see the Major’s remembering a few things I taught him when he was still a Lieutenant.”

  The Major looked at him severely. “You led me into paths of corruption and dishonesty from which it took me years to recover. I’ve only recently succeeded in becoming the shining knight and paragon of military virtue you see before you.” His sally was greeted by a barrage of loud coughing from both Steve and Kinnear, and he laughed. “Oh, what’s the use! You’ve probably corrupted each other by now! Anyway, the Governor’s taken note of what you did yesterday. He may arrange official recognition for both of you in due course, but he’s a bit tied up at present with the Eksalansari’s visit.”

  “Is he here already, Sir?” Steve asked, surprised. “I’m afraid we’ve been so busy here I haven’t had time to keep up with other developments.”

  “He arrived this morning. He’s staying with the Governor. For the next few days he’ll be inspecting the Colonial Guard operations in the interior, then the MRF battalion and it
s operations in and around Surush, including our engineers at the sewage plant and waterworks. He’ll visit here as part of that. I’ll let you know more nearer the time, but I wanted to give you a heads-up so you could have things in as good an order as possible.”

  Steve frowned. “We’ll do our best, of course, Sir, but we can’t possibly meet normal standards for inspection.”

  “We don’t expect you to. It’s clearly out of the question under present circumstances. Do your best, but operational efficiency is far more important than outward appearances. I’ll be with the Eksalansari during his visit, and I’ll make that clear to him, particularly because you’re using a mostly convict labor force rather than military professionals.”

  “Thank you, Sir. I must say, though, that based on their work so far, the Qianjin prisoners are almost as professional and competent as our Fleet Spacers or Marines.”

  “He’s right, Sir,” Kinnear agreed. “I’ve been surprised by how much they’ve got done, and how well they did it. I’ll work with them again anytime.”

  “That’s good to know, although one hopes if we work with people from Qianjin in future, they won’t be convicted criminals.”

  Steve suppressed a grin. They might not have been convicted, but the odds that any senior members of Qianjin’s military personnel or its civil servants would also be members of a criminal organization were very high indeed. However, he decided, it would probably be best not to mention that in present company.

  ~ ~ ~

  The last group of insurgents didn’t reach Miller’s farm until after sundown. By then Bairam was pacing the floor of the barn, cursing beneath his breath at their dilatoriness. He took time to make sure the new arrivals got ration packs and were allocated places to sleep, then called the group leaders together in an empty lean-to shed at the side of the barn.