“What about A-drivers?”
“They’re mercs, sir, not Federation. Lean and mean, like they say. We have to have A-drivers by regulations, but I’m betting they can’t afford to spend the personnel. And they probably feel pretty comfortable so far from our forces.”
“Only, our forces are sitting right here in their backyard, ready to explode on their asses,” JJ added. “Four of us.”
“Their bust,” Sergeant Go said. “And they’ll pay the price for that mistake. If we hit them, sir.”
“How many rounds do you have left, Jasper?” Mountie asked.
“Seven,” Jasper answered, seemingly surprised to be brought into the conversation.
“And your charges are full?” Mountie asked the two Marines.
“I’m at 92%. Portillo’s at 43%, but I gave him an extra powerpack. We’re good for a couple of thousand darts between us.”
“You’ve got that many darts?” he asked, sounding surprised.
Sergeant Go patted his vest and said, “They fold up tiny in the mags, Lieutenant. They’re only 8mm after they leave the barrel. We’ve got more than enough. We’ll run out of power for the mag-rings before we run out of them.”
Jasper could hear the longing in the sergeant’s voice. He knew Go was aching for the mission, but it was up to the lieutenant. As for himself, he wasn’t sure. If he knew for sure the trucks offered a valid target, he could see destroying them. He thought Sergeant Go, however, was trying to will them to be important to justify the mission. But risking themselves just to attack four merc drivers didn’t in and of itself justify the risk, in his opinion, especially with who knows how many mercs trying to track them down.
He wanted to make that opinion known, to tell the others that in this case, discretion might really be the better part of valor, but he held his tongue.
What the heck do I know? They’re the professionals, not me.
“Well, I guess we’d better kick some merc ass, then,” Mountie said with conviction.
“Roger that, sir. And I’ve got an idea, if that’s OK.”
The other three pulled closer to the sergeant as the Marine outlined his plan.
Chapter
JJ
No one ever said Sergeant Go’s got any finesse, JJ thought as he crawled into position. He’s like, just punch them in the mouth and take it from there.
He wasn’t critical of his sergeant. Sometimes, pussyfooting around just gave the enemy time to react.
Oh, now I’m some sort of Rottweiler Williamson, I guess, hero of the Corps. Better just leave the tactics to the Go-man.
JJ had been playing infantry for almost five days now, and during that time, he’d killed at least four mercs. He was pretty proud of that, but he knew it had been mostly a result of training and luck, not that he was some sort of tactical protégé. He’d been a grunt during his first tour, as was the case for almost all Marines, but for the last two years, he’d been an engineer, learning out to blow up things. He was a far cry from the recon team who’d escorted them to the bridge. If those snake-eaters hadn’t survived the mission, JJ was under no false conviction that he’d automatically survive every engagement.
Except that a tiny part of his ego did believe that. He fingered the crease in his breastplate again. It should serve as a wake-up call, but instead, it seemed to buttress a feeling of invulnerability. Which was dangerous.
JJ was about to go into a fight with patched-together armor and with only one other Marine, a pilot and a militiaman. That didn’t look good on paper. Still, he felt the rush of competitive juices, as if he was back on San Filipe getting ready for a punchball match. He was confident that the four of them would prevail.
He gave his M90 a quick check. The magazine was full, 300 darts ready to go. His power was at 43%. He switched the diagnostics to resistance: zero ohms. His hypervelocity rifle was primed.
The door of the second truck opened, and a merc stepped out, sucking on a stim. He wandered around behind his cargo bed, then after carefully looking forward to see if anyone was watching, he pulled a flask out from where it was hidden under his blouse and took a swig, hesitated, then took another. He wiped his mouth with his forearm, turned to look around the end of his truck to check if anyone had seen him, and then put the flask back inside his blouse.
I hope it was some good shit there, buddy, ’cause that’s the last taste you’re ever gonna get.
If we ever kick this thing off. What’s taking them?
He checked the time. The assault was already almost ten minutes late. He understood the confusion back on the comms relay hill with Jasper being on local planetary time and the rest being on 24-hour time, but ten minutes was too much to be explained by the difference. Sergeant Go and the lieutenant had gone forward, crossed the road, and were supposed to be on the other side of the trucks now, ready to launch.
He turned to Jasper. The militiaman was lying prone behind a fallen tree trunk, ten meters away. He still had his old UKI, saying he was used to it. But with only seven rounds left, JJ wasn’t sure he’d be much of a factor. No, it would be up to the sergeant, the lieutenant with his appropriated Gescard, and him to win this battle.
JJ tried to pierce his vision into the trees on the other side of the trucks to see if he could spot the other two. He couldn’t, and that was a good thing, all told. If he could spot them, then so could any mercs looking their way. But not knowing what was happening was driving JJ batty. He’d never realized how wedded Marines were to their comms, himself included. In training, they’d gone into exercises with a comms blackout, but never for five days, as they’d now been off the circuits since the bridge.
When the first truck powered up, the hyped JJ almost fired his M90. In a moment, the second truck, the one right in front of JJ, powered up as well, rising a few centimeters as its road system activated.
For a moment, JJ thought they had been discovered, but there was no firing from the mercs. Either two of the half-tracs were getting ready to leave, or they had to power-up every once in a while to keep the electronics going.
JJ raised his head slightly until he could partially see into the cab. Someone’s legs were visible, feet on the dash. JJ felt a rush of relief. That didn’t look like a driver who was ready to leave, more like someone wanting to escape the muggy air and enjoy the cab’s air-conditioning.
JJ had just started to lower himself when he caught motion on the other side of the trucks. It took only and instant to realize that Sergeant Go and the lieutenant were charging out of the brush.
No! They’re not leaving! he wanted to shout.
It didn’t take a bubble space scientist to know that the two must have heard the trucks power up, and they’d charged, abandoning the previous plan of measured fire from cover.
“Fire, Jasper,” JJ shouted as he triggered a burst at the side window of truck number 2’s cab.
Stars exploded in the glass as the legs jerked down and out of sight. For a moment, JJ thought he’d gotten another kill, but then he realized that the window had held. His darts generated tremendous speed, and despite their relative paucity in mass, they impacted with tremendous force. Evidently, though, the armored glass, or whatever the window was made of, could withstand them.
The truck lurched, the back tracks spinning wildly, which caused the rear end to slide around to the left. Whether that was by accident or through impressive skill by the driver, the end result was that the front of the truck was pointed out of the line, giving it a clear way to escape.
JJ reached into his harness and pulled out his lone Ferret. The tiny, hand-launched rocket was only 30 mm across, but it packed an intense pencil of super-heated plasma that could burn through most armor. JJ stood up as the truck lurched forward, the back tracks gaining traction. The front of the truck was facing him as he stepped forward, Ferret in his hand. He didn’t need the flip sights at this range; he simply thumbed the release. The rocket popped out ten meters until the tiny pulsejet motor took over, getting in one pulse before the
warhead hit the front grill of the truck. Through the windshield, JJ could see the look of horror on the face of the driver as he realized what had just happened.
There was a flash of light as the shaped charge deployed. The plasma ate through the engine, reverting metal and ceramics back to their component atoms. The truck shuddered, but to JJ’s surprise, it didn’t stop.
JJ could hear grinding noises above the sound of the battle, but the truck continued forward, coming right at JJ, the face of the driver turning from fear to one of glee as he tried to run him down. JJ fired another burst from his M90, but as before, the only effect was to create starbursts in the glass.
JJ ran forward and to the side, almost getting caught on the edge of the front fender. He wasn’t sure quite what he was going to do, but his mind was racing as to his options. He was just about to jump up on the truck’s running board beneath the driver’s window when something pinged off the side window, zipping past his ear. He dropped down when bam, bam, bam, three more rounds impacted. He scrambled out of the way, spotting the lieutenant, his Gescard at the hip in the best Hollybolly tradition, hammering away. The fourth round hit the truck with a denser “thunk.”
To JJ’s surprise, the frame of the cab was warped, right at the window. The round hadn’t penetrated the cab, but there was a tiny gap now between it and the glass.
“Cease fire, Lieutenant! I’ve got it!” he shouted, pulling out a shock instigator.
The E-22 Explosive Instigation Device worked like an old-fashioned blasting cap. C-10 was a very powerful, slow explosive, capable of moving vast amounts of soil, rock, or man-made-objects, but it was too stable to be detonated by electrical or chemical detonators. It needed a big boom to start the reaction, and that big boom was normally the E-22. It produced a powerful blast that set off the C-10. Best of all, was its size, packing a powerful punch in a small object.
JJ jumped back up on the running board, arming the instigator. The warp in the cab frame was very small, and for a moment he wondered if the device would even fit through. But he was committed now. There was no disarming it.
The man inside the cab looked confused, but when JJ reached to push the E-22 through the gap, he knew it couldn’t be something good. He dove to block JJ just at the Marine started fitting it through. For a moment, the two were at a stalemate, the shock instigator half in and half out of the cab. The merc inside started to swing around to bring two arms to bear.
JJ was holding the E-22 with one hand, the M90 in the other. If the merc could knock the E-22 back out, JJ would only have a few moments to get clear. The little device wasn’t designed as a weapon, but it could do a number on a person who was within a couple of meters of it when it went off.
Just as the merc started to reach forward with his other hand, JJ dropped his right hand just as he swung the butt of his M90 with all his might with his left arm, striking the protruding half of the instigator and sending it shooting into the truck cab.
The merc’s face contorted into horror as he dove towards the E-22. That was a dumb move, although in the confined cab, it probably didn’t make any difference. JJ jumped back and managed two steps before a muffled whump and a moderate shock wave hit him. He turned and jumped back onto the running board, M90 at the ready, as he peered into the smoky cab.
It wasn’t a pretty sight.
JJ jumped back off, spinning to take in the rest of the fight. The lieutenant was changing magazines, his back up against the cargo bed of the first truck. JJ jumped back to the ground to rush over when two rounds impacted against the side of the truck, centimeters from his head. He turned his jump into a dive, rolling on the ground and trying to bring up his rifle.
On the first truck, from the opposite side of the cargo bed from the lieutenant, a merc was leaning out from beneath the bed cover. JJ tried to swing his M90 around, but the muzzle caught in the dirt, slowing him just enough so that he knew the merc would fire on him again before he could fire back.
He tried to roll to make him miss when the merc dropped his weapon and slumped forward, his head and torso hanging limp. Beyond the truck, just coming into JJ’s focus, Jasper stood upright, his old UKI aimed at the dead merc.
“Holy shit, old man, thanks!” JJ said under his breath.
“Coming up on you, Lieutenant!” he shouted as he jumped up and ran to him.
“What’s happening?” the lieutenant asked, his face flushed.
“A merc was in the cargo bed. He had me dead to rights until Jasper zeroed him.”
“Here? In this cargo bed?” he asked, stepping back away from the truck.
“Yeah, I think we’d better clear it, sir.”
“Where’s Sergeant Go?”
“Sounds like over at Truck 4,” JJ answered, pointing to where a large volume of fire was emanating.
“This driver’s dead. He tried to get out of his cab, and the sergeant nailed him. Let’s go help him, and then we can come back and check the inside.”
JJ didn’t like leaving until the truck was secured, but the lieutenant was already running.
“Keep this truck covered!” he yelled at Jasper as he took off after the pilot.
Truck 3 was on fire, and up ahead, Sergeant Go was firing into the cab of Truck 4—with the same amount of effect as JJ had on Truck 2.
“Target the cab with your Gescard!” JJ shouted to the lieutenant who a moment later, fired two rounds into the windshield.
Sergeant Go looked up as a victorious grin spread across his face, and he jumped on the running boards. He reached for the door handle with his left hand, his right on his M90. JJ wanted to yell out that the door was locked from the inside, when to his surprised, it opened.
That must have taken Sergeant Go by surprise as well, because he stumbled back, fighting to keep his balance. JJ saw the hand reach out from the cab, the unmistakable outline of a handgun its grasp. JJ tried to bring his M90 up, but before he could engage, the handgun spit out a flash of fire, sending Sergeant Go flailing backwards off the truck. By the time JJ’s darts were impacting, the door had already closed.
JJ rushed forward in a rage, ready to run amok on the merc. He’d seen the burst of blood explode from the back of Sergeant Go’s head before the body fell to the dirt. He knew his sergeant was dead, and his mind was solely focused on killing the man responsible.
He emptied his magazine at the windshield as he charged, and when the magazine was empty, he threw down his rifle and fumbled for his engineer kit. Jumping on the front bumper, he stopped to show the merc inside the toad he pulled out, grinning maniacally. He mimed arming it, then used his hands to indicate an explosion.
Pulling himself up higher, he leaned back so he could toss the device on the roof of the cab.
“I surrender! I surrender!” the merc shouted over an external loudspeaker.
JJ ignored the man.
“I said I surrender! The Harbin Accords!”
“I can’t hear you,” JJ said, leaning back down to look inside the cab. “Bad ears, you know.”
“I surrender!”
JJ started to straighten up when the voice of command reached him, “Lance Corporal Portillo, halt! Stop!”
By instinct more than anything else, he froze.
“Get down. That man surrendered,” Lieutenant Klocek said in a steady voice. “Climb down from there, son.”
JJ turned to where the lieutenant was slowly walking up, then back to the toad in his hand. With a start, he dropped the unarmed device, bouncing it off the bumper of the truck to fall to the ground.
Holy shit! I was about to burn this guy.
JJ looked through the windshield into the cab at the merc, who had backed up as far as he could go, both hands held out in supplication. Anger came rushing back, and he wanted to break the windshield and pulverize the man’s face, but discipline had taken ahold of him. The lieutenant had issued a command, and a Marine follows orders.
“It’s OK, sir. I know he’s surrendered.”
JJ used the m
uzzle of his M90 to motion the guy to get out of the cab. He could see the guy was scared shitless, and he didn’t want to get out. JJ reached in and pulled out his other toad, holding it up for the merc to see.
“JJ—” the lieutenant started.
“Just convincing him to get out. And if you can go cover the door, I’d appreciate it, sir.”
The merc evidently understood JJ’s implied threat, because he crossed himself, then scooted over to the door. He only hesitated a moment before he opened it. JJ jumped off the bumper and motioned for the man to get on his face.
The merc slowly got down, but kept his face turned to watch JJ’s every moment. JJ resisted the urge to smash his head down with the butt of his rifle. Instead, he pulled out a set of zipties and secured the merc’s hands.
“If you can cover him, sir, I need to check on the sergeant, then clear Truck 1 and retrieve Jasper.
He turned to where Sergeant Go lay on his back. Dull, dead eyes stared at the sky. The round had hit him in the mouth and had probably taken out most of the back of his head, given the amount of blood that was pooling under it. JJ didn’t need to check his pulse.
He didn’t say a word as he straightened out and marched to Truck 1 where Jasper was still standing guard.
Please, let there be someone in there!
He whipped open the back.
It was full of chairs, simple folding chairs that anyone might have. The legs and butt of the merc Jasper had killed were still in the cargo bed, draped over the rails. The bed smelled of shit, and the stain in the merc’s trou pinpointed the reason.
“What happened?” Jasper asked as JJ waved him over.
“Sergeant Go’s dead. We got the mother-fucker who did it, though, as a prisoner. And for what? This truck’s cargo is chairs. Freaking chairs!”
“Sergeant Go? Dead?” Jasper asked, his expression one of horror.
“Yeah, ain’t that the kicker,” JJ said, not even sure what he meant by that. “Let’s check the other trucks to see what vital war gear we captured.”
Truck 2 had what looked to be bedding material. Truck 3 had food rations. JJ was steaming as he moved to the last truck. He marched wordlessly past the lieutenant who still had his Gescard trained on the prisoner and flung open the back.
Behind Enemy Lines: A United Federation Marine Corps Novel Page 12