He felt a hand on his shoulder, but instead of the old militiaman, it was Sergeant Go.
“Portillo, how about fucking looking back every decade or so? It’s not like I can just hit you up on the comms.”
Ever since the battery fire they’d taken near the bridge, the sergeant had insisted on comms silence.
“Sorry, Sergeant. What do you need?”
“Next decent spot, pull off and take a knee. We need to take 20, and I’d like to scout out a way to keep off the trail.”
“Roger that.”
The trail rose around a bend, but the drop-off was steep and untenable. JJ marched another 400 meters before the uphill side flattened out a bit and he could lead the small patrol into the trees. Jasper took a seat beside him, then lay back.
Sergeant Go whispered something to the lieutenant, who nodded his assent. The sergeant stepped past the two of them and climbed the slope,
“He’s somewhat forceful,” the militiaman said, eyes pointing up into the canopy.
JJ didn’t need to know the older man to understand who he was talking about.
“He’s a sergeant. They’re all like that.”
“We had a sergeant. Greg Brussie. I watched him grow up with my boy. Being a sergeant didn’t matter much, though, when the mercs killed him.”
“It’s different, though. Sergeant Go is a Marine, not a militiaman,” JJ said, then realizing how that might sound, added, “No offense intended, sir. I’m sure your sergeant did his best.”
“Best or not, it didn’t make no difference to him in the end, I’m thinking.”
Jasper was still breathing hard, his chest moving up and down as he looked up into the canopy. JJ didn’t want to dwell on the village militia’s fight. The old man had lost his son there, too.
“His nickname is ‘Go-Man,’” he confided quietly, changing the subject.
“Appropriate.” A few moments later, he added, “And what’s your nickname?”
“Don’t have one. I mean, a cool-ass Marine name. I’ve always been JJ since boot camp. My real name’s Javier. Javier Julio Gregory Portillo.”
Jasper smiled. “Javier Julio. JJ. Not much in the way of imagination, but again, appropriate.”
JJ had always wished for something a little more martial, like “Killer” or “Knife.” Still, it was better than “Lardo,” which had stuck with Corporal Uttley, another engineer in the platoon.
“Where’re you from, JJ?” Jasper said, lingering over the nickname as if trying it on for size.
JJ didn’t like to talk about his past. He might as well have been written into a Hollybolly flick. Boy from the slums—in this case from San Filipe on Neuvo Oaxaca—using the Corps as a way out of a bleak future. His was the story of ever trope in every military flick ever made. It could only follow the script further if he were selected for officer training.
At least that’s never going to happen.
Jasper didn’t seem to be the type to hold something like that against him, though, and it wasn’t as if he’d had any choice as to where he’d been born.
“Nuevo Oaxaca,” he said after on a moment’s hesitation. “San Filipe.”
“Indentured?”
“My old man was. Is. I hadn’t been classified yet,” JJ admitted.
“So, you took the Corps as a way out. Going to be a free citizen, right?”
JJ bristled. So what if I did?
Jasper might have seen him tense up, because he added, “Smart move. I was I4, too. Took me 53 years to buy my way out.”
JJ relaxed. The old man and he had some common ground. He didn’t even ask why it took so long for the militiaman to buy out his contract. The law said the maximum indentured contract, an I4, was for 13 standard years, but the law never seemed too concerned with enforcing that, and those who held the contracts always seemed to have a loophole that kept the commitment intact.
JJ looked over to where the lieutenant sat on the ground, his back against a tree. He’d never been indentured, JJ knew. The Corps and the FCDC[6] would buy out a contract if the candidate were accepted into training, and for someone like JJ, an enlistment contract would block a designation as one. Not the Navy. It was entirely made up of free citizens, and the officer ranks came mostly from the upper classes. They didn’t even have to serve as enlisted sailors, unlike the Marines where officers were drawn from the enlisted ranks.
JJ leaned forward and in almost a conspiratorial tone said, “Back in San Filipe, we had this guy, Bomba Borisova, he had five I4s. Kept buying his way out only to fall back in debt and getting signed on again. The second time, he . . .”
Military men loved sea stories, and even if he’d only been in a week or so, Jasper had already evidently caught on to that. He eagerly listened to JJ relating tales after tales of this Bombay guy. JJ knew that every place settled by man probably had a Bomba, but he was confident his Bomba “out-Bomba’d” most others.
“We’re not on a fucking picnic, Portillo,” Sergeant Go said in a low voice twenty minutes later as he came sliding back down the slope. “I could hear you two from the top of the rise.
“Fall in on the lieutenant, both of you.”
JJ made an exaggerated face to Jasper—behind the sergeant’s back. Both men jumped up, however, and followed the sergeant.
“What did you find?” the lieutenant asked as the three walked up.
“It looks like we can get off the trail up ahead. But there’s something else. Near the top of the hill up there, I spotted three mercs. They’re on a projector of some sort. I didn’t recognize exactly the make, but from the dish, I’m guessing it’s there as a comms relay.”
When none of the three said anything, he said, “If we stay low in the trees, we can march right on past them, providing they haven’t put sensors down the slope. But should we? I mean, they’re sure as fuck doing something, and something important to the mercs. I’m thinking we should take them out. It’s your call, sir, but that’s my strongest recommendation.”
The lieutenant seemed startled to have the decision placed in his lap. He’d taken command readily enough, but JJ was under the strong impression that he wasn’t a natural leader and wasn’t used to making decisions. The guy flew a Lizard, and JJ gave him mad props for that, but it wasn’t like he actually commanded anyone.
“Well, do you, I mean, can we, you know, take them out, as you say?”
“I don’t see why not, sir. We’ve got two Marines with M90s, and even with those two old UKI’s you two are lugging around, we’ve got more firepower. And we’ve got the element of surprise. With all due respect, sir, I think this is a no-brainer.”
The lieutenant looked at JJ and Jasper, lingering over the older man, and not for the first time, JJ wondered what was going on between the two of them.
“A no-brainer?” he asked.
“A no-brainer. And it’s really our duty. If we can zero them, it could cause all sorts of havoc to their missions.”
JJ could almost see when something clicked into place in the lieutenant’s mind.
“Well, in that case, Sergeant Go, how do you suggest we do this?”
JJ’s face broke out into a smile. Their exfiltration had just turned into an offensive mission, and that’s what gave Marines hard-ons.
Chapter 11
Jasper
“I’ve got three of them,” Sergeant Go said. “One’s on the console of the equipment, and the other two are eating chow.”
“Good timing,” JJ whispered.
Jasper gripped his UKI tightly, his heart pounding in his chest. This time, though, there was no fear, no sense of futility. His heart was pounding in excitement.
In a way, that bothered him. He was a nice guy. Everyone said so, the kind of guy who would split off a nitro line when a neighbor’s supply went empty, the kind of guy who’d put up the Grossman’s kids when the two parents were in the middle one of their epic fights. So why was he excited that he might kill a fellow human being in just a few moments?
/> Yes, he’d lost a son, and yes, he had no idea where his wife and family were, but still, taking a human life shouldn’t be a thing of joy—at least he didn’t think it should be. But the fact of the matter was that he was not only willing, but eager to kill one of those bastards sitting there 200 meters away.
“So, you two know what to do?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes,” the lieutenant confirmed. “Jasper and I are going to stay here. You and Lance Corporal Portillo are going to work your way down to the white and silver rock. When you open up, we’re going to fire, too.”
“And when are you going to stop firing?” Sergeant Go prompted.
“As soon as either of you reach the dead tree.”
“Make sure of that, sir. We don’t need to be getting friendly fire up our asses. Remember, don’t expose yourself until after you hear us fire. That should be in 20 minutes. But don’t hold us to that. You go on our firing.
“Any questions?”
Jasper had lots of questions. Who should he fire at? Should he expend all his rounds? What if they run? But he kept quiet.
The plan was pretty simple. The two Marines were going to maneuver closer to the merc position. When they opened fire, he and the lieutenant were to open up as well, putting the mercs into a crossfire. As soon as the Tenners were down, the Marines were going to rush the position—and he had to stop firing as soon as they reached a dead tree 15 meters from the mercs—and then destroy the equipment there. If anything went wrong, then it was everyone for himself, splitting up to make his way back to what Sergeant Go called a “rally point,” in this case, a bend in the trail about a klick back.
In the flicks, battle plans were full of subterfuge and feints, one surprise after another. This was extremely straight-forward. Jasper wondered if that was because of the lieutenant’s and his own lack of infantry training or if this was more of what really happened in war.
“OK, then. If there’s nothing else, let’s get it done,” Sergeant Go said.
He half-slid down the little slope below their position until he hit a flatter section. JJ gave Jasper a clap on the shoulder before he, too, slid down. On the bottom, he gave the two of them a half-salute, then turned to follow the sergeant. Within a minute, they were around the curve in the hill and out-of-sight.
“You OK, Jasper?”
“Aye-yah, Mountie. “Ready to go.”
Neither of the two Marines would call the pilot by anything other than his rank, but Jasper got a sort of perverse pride in using his nickname. A Navy officer was high above Jasper’s social status, yet for now, at least, they were on a first-name basis.
“How was it? I mean before, in your fight?” the lieutenant asked.
“Not good, to be honest. We all pretty much knew we had no chance.”
“Were you scared?”
“At first, yes,” Jasper answered. “But once I accepted it, I was more sad than anything else.”
Jasper turned to look at the lieutenant as he spoke, and he realized the man was nervous at best, but probably afraid. That struck him as rather odd. The man was a Navy pilot, one who’d seen combat. He’d made a dummy bombing run, for goodness sakes, without any ordnance. In Jasper’s book, that took mighty big balls.
Mountie glanced over at Jasper, and something in the older man’s face must have given away his thoughts, because the pilot gave a rueful grin and said, “This is different. I don’t have a 20 million-credit high-tech fighting machine around me. Now, it’s just you and me and these ancient rifles.”
“And the two Marines,” Jasper reminded him.
“Well, yeah. You, me, and two Marines.”
“I think it’s those three mercs who are in a tough spot, not us. And this time, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Payback?” Mountie asked, then hurriedly “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“No problem. And yes, payback. It won’t fix things, but it’s sure going to feel good.”
Jasper mindlessly stroked the butt of his UKI. He’d already accepted that he was excited about the coming fight. He still wasn’t sure why he was, though. Maybe it was because the four of them were taking the action instead of waiting for it to come to them. Maybe it was that he felt better with three Federation military men. Or maybe it was just the chance to extract some revenge. Whatever the reason, he was ready, even eager. He knew he should be finding Keela and the rest, but he was glad the lieutenant had gone along with this.
Is this what Marines feel when they go into a fight?
He glanced at the Seiko chrono on his forearm. Unlike most people with simple PAs, he needed something a little more sophisticated to manage the nutrient and gas flows to the algae tubes. Twenty minutes had already passed since the Marines left them. He wanted to poke his head up over the rise to see if he could spot them, but the sergeant had been very clear on that. They were not to move until they heard the firing.
At 22 minutes, he started to get more concerned. At 23 minutes, he was about to ask the lieutenant what they should do when a staccato of fire reached them. The buzz-saw report of hypervelocity darts was their signal. Both men jumped up and brought their rifles to bear. One merc was already down, but the other two were rushing to take cover from the Marine’s fire behind their equipment—and that left them completely open to the Jasper and Mountie.
Jasper was very aware that he had only nine rounds, so each one had to be aimed. He aligned his sights, just as Maarten had instructed them four days ago (was it only four days ago?) He wasn’t sure about adjusting his sights to take into account range, crosswinds, and probably a score of other effects, so he centered his sights right at the nearest merc’s shoulder. He took a couple of deep breaths, and remembering that he should squeeze the trigger, not jerk it, he tried to take up the slack—and was shocked when the rifle went off.
Buzzard balls! I didn’t mean to do that.
He quickly tried to regain his sight picture, and to his great surprise, his target was down, slumped in a heap and leaning forehead first against the console.
Beside him, the lieutenant was firing wildly, but without effect. The last merc had dropped to his belly and was firing down the slope towards the two Marines. Jasper only had a small window if he was going to hit the man, just the top of his head and part of his shoulders.
The Marines were running up the slope. One of them rushed up a few steps, firing his rifle while the other was prone and firing as well. Then the first flopped down and the second rushed forward. It was an impressive ballet of fire-and-maneuver. But they were vulnerable to the merc.
“I’m out!” Mountie shouted.
Jasper took another deep calming breath, sighted on the merc’s head, then squeezed the trigger. The old rifle bucked against his shoulder, the dampening system in the stock not enough to keep him sighted on his target. He brought the UKI back on target, and the merc was still there, firing downrange. He hadn’t even noticed that Jasper had shot at him.
The sergeant and JJ were getting closer, probably not even 20 meters away. Both the Marine’s buzzsaw of rounds and the merc’s pop-pop-pop kept on unabated, and it seemed impossible that none of them were being hit. A thousand rounds had to have been expended without effect.
The closing Marines must have finally spooked the merc. Just as Jasper tried to target him again, he stood up and spun around to run. He managed just two steps before he fell flat on his face. He tried to get to his feet again, but to no avail. Down he went again, this time to lay still.
“They got them!” Mountie said, his voice hyped with adrenaline.
Jasper raised the muzzle of his UKI, then watched the two Marines, M90s trained, push forward. Their focus was clear. If any of the three mercs were still alive, and if they made any sort of move, they would be would be ready to riddle them with darts.
The two might have rehearsed this a million times—Jasper didn’t know. But it looked like they had. There wasn’t a wasted movement or a moment’s hesitation. With Sergeant G
o covering, JJ checked each body, kicking aside weapons. The merc that Jasper may or may not have shot was still slumped in a sitting position, and JJ’s kick flopped him over to his side.
When the last merc was checked, Sergeant Go lifted an arm and waved the two of them over to join them.
“That’s it,” the lieutenant said a little too quickly before jumping to his feet.
Jasper followed Mountie over the boulder-strewn slope to the merc position. He still felt excited, but more muted than before. He’d thought he’d be jumping up and down with joy after extracting revenge on the three mercs, but while there was a touch of that, there was also an underlying current of a let-down. He wondered if that was just the effect of the adrenaline rush.
“Which one of you was that?” Sergeant Go asked, pointing the muzzle of the rifle at the merc whom Jasper had targeted.
“What do you mean?” Mountie asked.
“Look at his side. That wasn’t no dart that did that. That was one of you with your blunderbusses.”
The merc had been kicked over to lie on his side. Jasper stepped forward to take a look, and the base of the man’s throat was gone, with only a bloody mass of mangled meat left.
“I don’t think it was me,” Mountie said. “It could have been, but I was all over the place. But maybe I got him.”
Jasper knew in his heart that he’d been the one to kill the merc. His sight picture had been perfect when the rifle had fired. He took a step closer, taking in the amount of damage his .30 cal round had made. That hunk of lifeless flesh had been a living, breathing man just a few minutes ago, and now he was nothing but fertilizer for the mountain meadow.
He felt . . . he wasn’t sure what he felt. There was a warm glow of accomplishment, but the expected feeling of exultation on extracting revenge was missing. Maybe he needed to take it all in, to let it settle, before things became clear.
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