by Tanya Huff
* * *
“No.”
“But, Ambassador, yesterday…”
“Yesterday was a terrible and unique situation, Lieutenant. Terrible and unique.”
“And that same situation is likely to be repeated today.”
The Dornagain ambassador cocked his head, a gentle breeze ruffling the fringe of fur along the curve of each ear. “I hear nothing from the Silsviss.”
“Yet,” Torin told him, shortly.
“Ah. Yes. Yet. And if they come, you would like the Dornagain to join your Marines in defense, Staff Sergeant?”
“In answer, Ambassador, I ask you what you once asked me, do you not think it would be better if you learned to fight your own battles?”
He sighed. “And I must answer what you answered me; it is a little late for that.”
“So you won’t help?”
He raised a hand and she noticed that the pad under the broken claw was red and inflamed. “Not won’t, I’m afraid, can’t.” When he saw where her scowl was directed, he used the hand to brush his whiskers back. “No, not because of so minor an injury; we would literally not be able. Strength of Arm reacted without thought, impulsively if you would, and that is not a reaction we can replicate on command. As a species, we weigh everything we do, considering all possibilities. If we were to weigh our own death against the taking of another sentient life, I’m afraid we would die.”
“But Strength of Arm…”
He glanced back over one massive shoulder to the building that sheltered the other three Dornagain. “Strength of Arm is now thinking, and her impulsiveness is causing her a great deal of pain. She is the first Dornagain in centuries to take a life. We fear for her sanity.” He looked down at them both and spread his hands in surrender. “I am sorry, but if it comes to it, all we can do is die beside you.” Rising up off his haunches, he turned and walked back to his people.
“Given their size, they’d be a lot more useful if they died in front of us,” Torin muttered.
“Staff.”
“Sorry, sir.” She fell into step beside him, wondering why she was having so much trouble maintaining her detachment. Maybe because this wasn’t supposed to be a combat mission. Maybe… She touched the cylinders she carried… because no one was supposed to die.
They’d barely gone three meters when the Silsviss began to thrum.
“Seems like we’re out of options, Staff.” He sounded calm, but the end of his hair had begun to flip about. “Get Sergeants Chou and Gli…sorry, get Sergeant Chou and the heavies. We haven’t much time.”
* * *
Frowning, Juan scratched at his wrist point. “You want us to fukking flame them, sir?”
“Yes.”
“But we don’t flame people, sir.”
Standing just behind the lieutenant’s left shoulder, Torin wasn’t certain she’d ever heard Juan Checya complete a response without a profanity before.
Lieutenant Jarret managed to maintain an outward calm but they could all see the struggle under the surface. “It’s all we have left,” he said at last. “If any of you have a better idea…” He paused so they could hear the Silsviss gaining volume. “…now would be the time.”
Only the Silsviss answered.
“I’m issuing the orders. I take full responsibility.”
Juan glanced around at the other eight heavies grouped in a loose half circle in front of the lieutenant. Over half of them were fighting injured. Then he looked from the lieutenant to Torin. Then he sighed. “Just followin’ orders has never been much of a fukking defense, sir. We’ll take our own responsibility, if you don’t mind.” Leveling his weapon, he reached out and twisted the front receiver around so that the pressurized gas cartridge clicked into place. “We’ve only got two of these each,” he said over the sound of eight other cartridges, “so it had better be enough.”
* * *
They couldn’t use the flamethrowers from the remaining building, so Torin doubled the number of KCs shooting through the walls. If the Silsviss moved toward the buildings to get away from the fire, they’d move into a fire of a different type.
“Here they come!”
“Steady.” Torin dropped into position behind the wall and raised her weapon. “Wait for the lieutenant’s order.”
They’d distributed the ammo from the dead and from those too injured to contribute to the defense. It had to be enough.
Other days, other attacks, they’d started shooting by now. Torin squinted into her scanner. Did the Silsviss look confused? Were there moments of hesitation in the shrieked challenges? And since they kept coming closer, did it matter?
“Marines!”
Lieutenant Jarret’s voice in her helmet sounded completely confident. If he had any doubts at all, she couldn’t hear them. And if she couldn’t hear them, no one could. Which was exactly how it should be. She drew in a deep breath and held it.
“Fire!”
A three-round burst slammed into the Silsviss from every KC in the compound. They rocked back but didn’t stop.
“Fire!”
Another three-round burst.
“Heavies!”
She felt rather than heard the nine ready themselves to stand.
“Flame!”
The Silsviss were so close to the perimeter, they were almost shoulder to shoulder, too tightly packed for the sort of erratic defensive maneuvers they excelled at. The flame swept over them and back, and over and back, each of the heavies roasting their own arc of the circle.
The screaming didn’t differ that much from the shrieking, but the smell…
Torin clenched her teeth and ignored it.
“Marines on the walls, fire at will!”
The Silsviss who broke forward died.
“Marines, in the building, fire!”
The Silsviss who broke away from the flames died.
“Fire!”
And kept dying.
“Fire!”
The smoke had begun to make it difficult to find a target. Sighting through her scanner, Torin kept firing.
A burning Silsviss crashed into the grain bags and died. The closest Marine reached over and pushed the body off the barricade.
An arrow rattled off her helmet, bounced off her shoulder, and hit the ground. Beyond hoping that the doctor had the antidote ready, Torin ignored it.
Then the first of the flamethrowers ran out of fuel. The rest lasted only a second longer.
The only Silsviss moving on the other side of the perimeter were writhing on the ground, keeping the smoke from settling. Wondering why the lieutenant hadn’t called a cease fire, Torin turned. She knew exactly where he was supposed to be, but it took her a moment to find him. She hadn’t expected him to be lying on the ground.
By the time she reached his side, his muscles had begun to tremble.
“Corpsman!”
He’d been on one knee to shoot and the arrow had gone almost an inch into the back of his left calf.
His eyes were half open and the palest lilac she’d ever seen.
“Corpsman!”
Hollice fell to his knees on the other side of the lieutenant’s body and held out a small, snub-nosed syringe on a wrapped hand. “Legs work, not much else,” he panted. “Doc says…wham it into one of the big blood vessels in the neck.”
Pushing the lieutenant’s chin up with one hand, Torin took the syringe with the other. Below the surface, Human and di’Taykan physiognomy was not exactly the same and the tremors weren’t helping. If she injected the antidote into the wrong place…
He’ll be as dead as if I don’t inject it at all.
She ran her thumb along the column of his throat, found a pulse, and drove the syringe home.
Lieutenant Jarret jerked once, his eyes dilated almost black, and he went totally limp.
Ripping her slate free, Torin checked his med-alert, breathing as heavily as if she were running full out. “It says he’s stable. This is stable?” A short nudge showed no resp
onse at all. “He’s unconscious!” Glaring up at Hollice she snapped, “This is an antidote?”
Sitting back on his heels, Hollice sighed wearily, cradling his burned hand in his lap. “At least he’s not dead.”
And the world came rushing back.
Breathe, Torin. She filled her lungs with smoky air and found calm. Or possibly denial, but at this point either would work. “You’re right.” Mirroring Hollice’s position, she hooked her slate back on her belt. “Aren’t you supposed to be lying down?”
“Corpsman needed help. The spi…Mictok webbed themselves into a comer.”
“And the Dornagain?”
The disgusted expression answered for her.
Torin shook her head, not exactly in disbelief, because this information only reinforced something she’d believed all along. “Let’s try and look at it like job security, Corporal. If it wasn’t for us, the Others would overrun the Confederation in twenty minutes.”
Hollice snorted. “Fifteen.”
“Very likely. Can you stay with him?”
“Yes, Staff.”
“Good.” She flipped her helmet mike down as she rolled up onto her feet. “Cease fire! Let’s have a look around.”
Greasy smoke rose up from every point on the compass, drawing inky lines across a blue-white sky. There were Silsviss bodies everywhere, most stopped by fire, then shot. Against the south wall of the remaining building were places where the bodies were piled three deep. The smell of burning flesh could be ignored, but the smell of burning blood was very nearly overwhelming.
In the heavy silence, Torin could hear someone vomiting behind her, but she didn’t turn to see who. It wasn’t important, and it wouldn’t be the last. All along the inside of the perimeter, Marines knelt facing the enemy, duty and adrenaline together overcoming exhaustion to hold them in place. In a few minutes, if nothing happened, they’d start to sag. The corpsman knelt by another casualty. It looked as though a Silsviss had made it over the wall and had fallen, burning, on a Marine. The Marine was alive. The Silsviss was dead.
The only living Silsviss in sight was Cri Sawyes, standing motionless by the well, a KC hanging limply from his hands.
Torin sent out a team to deal with any possible wounded, watched as Lieutenant Jarret was moved to a stretcher and inside. Then, finally, she walked over to Cri Sawyes.
“Are you all right?”
He shook his head. “Ssso many dead. I have ssseen battlesss before, Ssstaff Sssergeant. I have marched into citiesss after the bombersss have been there, but thisss…That ssso few of you could dessstroy ssso many of usss.”
“For what it’s worth, I’d have preferred it if the platoon could have survived another way.”
“At the moment, that isss worth very little. Later, perhapsss…”
She didn’t insult him by saying she understood. He either knew she did, or he didn’t want to hear it. “I suppose this’ll pretty much close the door on the Silsviss signing that treaty with the Confederation.”
His tongue flicked out, just once. “On the contrary, it will ssseal it. Thisss isss the sssort of thing our governmentsss ressspect.”
“And you…”
“Me?” He turned slowly in place, his eyes never leaving the circle of bodies and the Marines now walking among them. He flinched as a single shot rang out. “I am here, Ssstaff Sssergeant; the government is not. Lieutenant Jarret was injured?”
“An arrow. Dr. Leor’s antidote stopped the poison, but he’s unconscious.” At least he’s not dead. Torin shifted her weight onto her good leg. “I’d better go tell Lieutenant Ghard that he’s in command.”
“Should I be worried?”
She snorted. “I can handle him.”
* * *
“Me?”
“Yes, sir.” If there was another functional officer around, Torin had no idea where she or he was hiding. “Lieutenant Jarret was hit by an arrow.”
“A poisoned arrow?”
“Yes, sir.” By the time she finished explaining, Lieutenant Ghard’s facial ridges had returned to their normal color.
“I wanted this command you know, back on the VTA.” He turned, much as Cri Sawyes had. “I don’t now.”
Torin swallowed her first response. And her second, which was considerably longer and just as inappropriate. “The hard part’s over, sir. It’s only mopping up and waiting now.”
“You think the Silsviss won’t attack again?”
“There’s no way of knowing, sir.”
“Then what are we waiting for, Staff?”
“Whatever happens, sir. A Marine’s expected to improvise.”
Ghard stared up at her, eyes wide. “We’re almost out of ammo, there’s only a handful of us uninjured, we still don’t know who shot us down or why, and you’re saying we’re expected to improvise!” His volume had risen with every word, and the surrounding Marines were turning to listen.
“Do you have a better idea, Lieutenant?” She held his gaze with hers and locked it down.
“No, no better ideas.”
“Orders, sir?”
“Orders?”
Torin raised a single brow.
Ghard swallowed. “I, uh, guess you’d better get me a list of, uh, personnel and supplies.”
“Yes, sir.” She would, of course, obey every order he gave, but until he convinced her he knew what he was doing, he’d give the orders she intended to obey. Releasing him, Torin turned and walked away.
* * *
“What the fuk was that about?” Juan asked.
Biriti tossed him a pouch of water, then dropped down with her back to the grain bags and laid her KC across her knees. “Staff was just telling Lieutenant Ghard he’s in command.”
“So we’re down to that, are we? Fukking air support in command.”
“Don’t sweat it, Juan.” Eyes closed, she let her head fall back. “Staff won’t let him screw us over. Keeping twoie looies in line is what she does best.”
“Good fukking point. She did a nice job on Jarret.”
“Yeah, he’s been doing okay. Nice buns, too.”
Juan snorted. “Hadn’t noticed. You think it’s over?”
“I’m too tired to think.”
“You see Ressk and Hollice when you went for the water?”
“Hollice looks like death warmed over, but he’s going to make it. Ressk’s got so much sealant holding him together he can’t bend his leg.”
“That’s no fukking reason to leave us out here all alone.”
Binti opened her eyes and stared up at the heavy gunner. “He can’t bend his leg, how’s he supposed to kneel behind these bags?”
“Let him stand,” Juan snickered. “He’s short.”
A sigh followed close on the heels of her answering chuckle. “I must be tired, that wasn’t funny. Anyway, Staff had him shooting from inside, propped up against the wall. And he says the smell of all this cooked meat is making him hungry.”
“Fuk!”
“That’s what he said you’d say.”
* * *
They’d left the station with forty-one Marines plus six—the two pilots and four aircrew, forty-seven Marines altogether. There were fifteen dead—thirteen in cylinders and two aircrew in the VTA’s engine room. Thirty-two live Marines. Of that thirty-two, nine were too badly injured to do anything but wait for rescue—and at least three of those had better not be kept waiting for long.
“We have twenty-three Marines able to stand the perimeter, sir.” Although Ressk wasn’t so much standing as propped. “Including you and me. The heavies have three flares left between them, nothing else. Combining all remaining ammo, we can give each of the twenty-three a little better than half a clip.”
Lieutenant Ghard rubbed so hard at his lower ridge it paled. Torin barely managed to resist grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. “And the good news?” he demanded, clearly expecting there to be none.
“We have plenty of rations still and the Dornagain
did fix the well.”
“So we won’t starve while we’re waiting to be slaughtered.”
“Apparently not, sir.” She hooked her slate back onto her belt. “Also, the Silsviss have retreated all the way to the top of the hill. The teams sent out to deal with the wounded report no one alive behind the boulders.”
“How do you send people out to deal with the wounded, Staff Sergeant?”
“Without hesitating, sir, when the only other option was to let them die slowly in great pain.”
He shuddered. “Better you than me, Staff.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They’re not done with us. I can feel it. They’re up there regrouping.”
“Lieutenant, I don’t think…”
From the top of the hill, the Silsviss started to thrum.
Torin turned away before she smacked the “I told you so” expression right off Lieutenant Ghard’s face.
SIXTEEN
“What are they doing?” Torin curled both hands into fists to stop herself from grabbing Cri Sawyes by the shoulders and shaking him until he answered. “Why haven’t they had enough?”
Cri Sawyes turned a dull, defeated gaze toward her. “Why should they? Becaussse you have?” Then he snorted and smacked his tail against the ground. “But you haven’t, have you? You’ll keep fighting until there’sss no one left ssstanding.”
Arriving in time to hear that last bleak observation, Lieutenant Ghard stumbled to a stop and panted, “Would they give us an opportunity to surrender?”
“No.”
“Then this is it. It’s over.” He swung his KC up, stared at it as if he’d never seen it before, and let it swing back against his side on its strap. “They’ll show no mercy; we’ve been killing their wounded.”
“They’ve been killing their own wounded, sir. A mercy death from us changes nothing.” Torin found herself almost reluctantly pushed back into pragmatism by the lieutenant’s reaction. A little hysteria would’ve felt good.
“But we won’t survive another attack!”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but how the hell do you know?”
Looking confused, he opened and closed his mouth but was unable to find an answer.
“We survived the last attack. And all the attacks before that. We survived a crash landing, weeks of diplomatic posturing, and the incredible tedium of marching in straight lines. Why should we quit now?”