by Nic Plume
She directed them to the correct hallway and then took off on a last scouting run. The hallway zig-zagged past a dozen or so residential doors before T-intersecting into a wider hall that dead-ended in a glass wall.
The glass turned out to be the far wall of a ninety-degree turn in the hallway, which wrapped around the patio on three sides. It was made up of large retractable panes that allowed the hall and patio to combine into one large, open space. Only one pane, situated at the head of the U-shape, was open.
Once outside, the tiers Salayla had told them about came into view. They were connected by short stairs, with planters bordering each drop-off. Each floor had two or three tiers, none of which were laid out in a straight line. Not even the stairs were lined up with each other. And, the plaza didn’t come into view until they reached the second floor. Salayla met them on its top tier.
"Traverse are assembling in one of the larger inner courtyards of this block."
"What about the plaza?" Tonee asked. They had yet to glimpse it.
"The RV point is set up and taking in refugees, but they seem to be unaware of the Traverse."
"The sensors probably don’t reach that far."
"That would be my guess."
"We’re running out of time," Taylor said.
"We’ll get you down there."
"We’re too slow and too big a target."
Tonee and Taylor locked gazes. Not in opposition, but synchronization.
"Nitus, Leer, Mica," Tonee looked at the teens in turn. "I need you to get yourselves down there."
"We’re not leaving you," Leer replied.
"You’re not. You’re getting a head start down that wall so it doesn’t become a choke point for us. Once you’re in the plaza, I need you to alert the troopers guarding the RV point that we’re coming in with wounded and Traverse hot on our heels."
Nitus and Leer nodded and turned to leave, but stopped when Mica didn’t follow.
"Mica, come on," Nitus urged.
Mica shook his head. "I’m staying here to help Taylor."
"I got him," Tonee assured the boy.
"Then you won’t be able to shoot."
"I’m not planning on running slow enough to be able to aim."
"Crossing the plaza, maybe, but what if somebody attacks before you get down there?"
"Mica. Come on," Leer demanded. "They can handle it."
Mica shook his head.
"You need to go with them," Taylor implored. "Now."
Still, Mica refused. Taylor grimaced and closed his eyes. A moment later, his head snapped up.
"Go," he told Leer and Nitus.
"But—"
"GO. NOW."
The two boys jumped at Taylor’s vehement bark but followed his order.
"And don’t slow down for anything," he called after them.
The teammates studied him, surprised at his strong reaction. Again, his gaze flickered with what Kaydeen could only identify as apprehension. She lifted her hand to Read him, but he waved her off.
"You don’t want to know." Seeing her hesitation, he added, "It’ll cloud your choices."
His deep green eyes lingered for just a moment before he turned toward the next set of steps. They needed to keep moving. Kaydeen stared after him as Mica helped him down the stairs. No, it wasn’t apprehension, but his gift at work, and he didn’t like what he saw.
By the time the team made it to the bottom patio, Nitus and Leer were sprinting across the plaza.
And then all hell broke loose.
The doctor’s information was nowhere near as much as Dean would’ve liked. No names, no units, no bio IDs. All he had to go on was physical descriptions of four young people in civilian clothing who said they were Intergal. That one of them might be Din gave some credence to their claim. Since Din were visually indistinguishable from humans, though, and anyone could pretend to go through the motions of a Reading, only participants or fellow Din were able to tell the difference.
But Dean wouldn’t dismiss Aksel's account as easily as the officer the doctor had previously talked to. Not if there was the slightest possibility that there were survivors. Even if their survival and captivity in a mine, of all places, sounded a little out there, that didn’t mean it wasn’t true; improbable was not impossible, after all. And he would not ignore that chance, however minute it might be. Plus, he’d promised the doctor that he’d look into the situation and keep him updated. It had been the only way to get Aksel to focus on the upcoming meetings.
"Robert," Dean said after he cued his comm. "Do you still have access to Torrents?"
As soon as he’d spoken, he realized how absurd the question was. The slicer had returned to his unit only two days before.
"Of course, you do," Dean said. "I need him to dig through the files of the MIA SF Units and see if the doctor's descriptions pull up anything."
"And what makes you think I’ll be able to get approval for diverting his efforts for this new project?" Robert replied.
Dean didn't bother to respond. They both knew Robert would get it done. It was what he did.
"Are we restricting the search to members of the same team?" Robert asked.
"No. Let's open the board. Do not tie the description to the same team, squad, or even the same unit."
"You realize that having four SF from different units being captured together and kept in a mine as labor force is more improbable than four crash survivors being from the same team."
"I do," Dean said. "What’s your point?"
"Never mind," Robert paused. "This goes back to the four IDs disappearing off the MIA files, doesn't it?"
"Possibly."
"You know something, or have a hunch," Robert mused. "Care to share?"
"Maybe. I knew somebody who had people disappear like that. But he’s long dead."
"Are any of his students still around?"
"At least one," Dean answered, "and I know for a fact he didn't do it."
"All right." Robert mulled over Dean’s reply. "Well, if it’s the same signature and they’re as good as you think, then it will take more than a simple search to find them. Much more."
"I’m aware."
"You’re really intrigued by this."
"I am."
"Well, as long as you don’t allow it to cloud your judgement."
"Isn't that what I have you for?" Dean signed off.
He walked into the comm center and asked the nearest officer, "Has today's RV in Mannahe already started?"
He knew the answer, of course. The evacuation progress of the TRM families was something he followed closely. The fighting members of the Tinaree Resistance Movement weren’t professional soldiers, but civilians pushed by circumstance to employ extreme measures. They fought for their homeland, but mostly for their families. Having honest status updates—preferably positive ones—at the ready, was the best way to keep them, and their minds, in the fight and willing to take that extra step to complete a mission. And with three SF units missing in action, Intergal needed the local specialists' help more than ever.
The young comm officer saluted briskly. "Yes, sir. It started five minutes ago."
Dean nodded. "Which comm station?"
"Three-Two, sir," the officer replied. He pointed Dean in the right direction and hurried on his way. Dean walked over and settled in to listen.
Twelve minutes into the RV, the first transport, with the ten evacuees it had taken in so far, was preparing to take off and join the one Chick-Chara had left in the air. The plaza was large enough to hold all four transports, but landing and taking off at the same time would put each of them within four meters of at least one of the surrounding buildings. That was a little too close for comfort. Plus, with all the cover provided by the surrounding buildings and the network of tunnels below ground, Chick-Chara preferred to keep at least one of his major weapon platforms mobile—especially since the sensor techs hadn’t been able to reach the minimum required scanning distance.
One o
f his new Team Leaders approached him.
"Commander." The young man skipped the salute, as was standard in a battle zone.
Chick-Chara acknowledged him with a nod.
"What is it, Tipson?"
"Sir, I received a report of a group of seven evacuees still making their way here. Four of which are ours."
"Four of ours?" Chick-Chara asked. "Who reported that?"
"One of our forward observers," Tipson answered.
"We don’t have any forward observers in the area."
Tipson looked at him in surprise. "Isn’t the 615th backing us up?"
"Son, the 615th is the only SF unit we have left for the whole fleet. So, yes, we have one of their squads assigned to back us up, but they’re also backing up every other unit, not only in the city but in the entire region. You really think they dropped one of their twelve precious specialists to be a forward observer for this pickup? Sounds more like somebody is trying to play us."
"But what if they are ours?"
Chick-Chara looked at his comm, "They have three minutes to get here." He signaled Stell to ready for lift-off before looking back at Tipson. "If they don’t make it, then the four troopers will have to take care of the civvies a while longer."
"But, sir," Tipson said, "it sounded critical that we take them."
"Why?" Chick-Chara looked around, saw the transport was about to take flight, and ducked into the cover of his transport’s ramp, motioning Tipson to follow.
Tipson fell behind for a moment but quickly caught up.
"Shouldn’t we at least investigate? I mean—"
The lifting transport drowned out the rest of his words. Tipson closed his mouth and waited for the transport to leave.
Before he could continue, Chick-Chara asked, "What’s the FO’s ID?"
"He didn’t give one."
Chick-Chara nodded knowingly as he stepped back onto the ramp. "And he contacted my most junior team leader."
"I was on the far perimeter," Tipson said. "With the local comm system down, I might have been the only one in range of his comm."
"If he was able to reach you, he could’ve used our ad-hoc network to talk to Unit HQ."
"He didn’t use our ad-hoc."
"Because it would’ve automatically sent his ID and location."
"Contact,” came across his comm before he could expand his point. His eyes flicked to the map on his HUD as new icons populated it. The voice continued, "Seven civilians. Inbound. Front. Weapons and casualties.”
Evacuees had been instructed to approach the RV without weapons, with the warning that being armed might result in them being turned away or engaged. So far, every evacuee had followed those instructions—most civilians understood that facing off with a squad of professional warfighters wasn’t a good way to stay healthy.
Taking a moment to orient himself and identify the location of the sighting, Chick-Chara finally laid eyes on a group of five people rapidly moving down a set of patios cut into a community building in the center of the structures ahead of his transport. Farther down, two more were in the process of climbing down the wall between the lowest patio and the plaza.
"Give me a close-up," he said into his helmet’s comm.
A picture came to life in the upper right corner of his HUD. A marker identified it as the camera feed from the nose of his transport. Through eye movement, he brought it front and center to better see details. He had barely focused on the group moving down the patio when the camera feed suddenly widened to the full line of buildings in front of his transport. He was about to rebut his sensor tech, when his view lit up with enemy contacts. Not only the overlapping green dots highlighting the two groups moving down the patio, but also a slew of red dots highlighting every access point onto the plaza and even some aboveground windows and balconies.
"Contact, contact," came across the comm. "Traverse. Inbound. Small arms and shoulder launch."
At the same time, his visor lit up with alerts of possible hostile contact sightings in the other three building fronts.
"Shit."
Chick-Chara focused on the two people racing across the plaza. Males, mid to late teens; dressed in the style of local civilians. The other group was similarly dressed, but the AI behind the ship’s sensors identified their age range as teens to mid-twenties—two females, three males, one of which seemed injured, carrying two long arms and one short gun. The two teens were halfway across the plaza when the shooting began.
Salayla reached the patio’s railing first, leaned over, and promptly pulled back.
‘Enemy sighted,’ she signed. ‘Below.’
The whoosh of a missile launching underscored her words. The missile left only the ghost of an afterimage as it made its way to its target, along with a half-dozen others. A second later, more thuds and hisses indicated the launch of more munitions. Fireballs erupted across the plaza, accompanied by a cacophony of small-arms fire.
A fireball blotted out Nitus and Leer right as they reached the RV’s boundary. Kaydeen was sure that it had fallen short. But, had it been short enough?
Mica didn’t think so. Taylor’s hand clamping over the boy’s mouth silenced his wail instantly, but not soon enough. Alarmed shouts sounded from the far side of the patio’s border, only meters away.
The team scrambled back up the steps to the next landing and through the door to their right as a grenade landed on the lowest patio. The explosion shattered the glass behind them.
23
Retreat
"One, this is Command. Give those kids some covering fire," Chick-Chara ordered.
"Working on it," came the reply.
"Command, this is Three. Sighted some heavier weapons."
"What type?" Chick-Chara replied.
"Shoulder-launched anti-armor."
"Activate APS," Chick-Chara ordered.
The comm network came alive as the section leaders called in contact reports.
"Command, this is Four. Contact. Engaging infantry."
"Command, Three. Engaging infantry."
"Command, Two. Contact rear. Infantry. Engaging."
Chick-Chara ducked back into the transport. He pushed the comm chatter into the background, minimized the camera feed, and pulled up the unit’s tactical screen, entering its AR mode. The bulkheads around him became translucent, giving him an unobstructed view of the plaza, courtesy of an AI-generated collage that drew on the real-time data of the unit’s cameras and sensors. Solid objects were still visible as outlines or shadows of different opacities, which adjusted to his viewing angle and level of zoom. At least as far as the sensors could reach. As it stood, the sensor techs had not been able to punch through more than three solid walls, so he wasn’t able to see as far as he would’ve liked.
The AI voice cut across the comm net. "Rocket launch detected. APS launched."
Orange streaks initiated from eight of the red dots that had resolved themselves into human shapes. Moments later, eight turned into forty as the incoming rounds divided into submunitions. The smaller size would do less damage to his ships but still be deadly to his troops. And the increase in numbers increased the chance that some would make it to their targets.
The whir and thop of the APS sounded in the background, indicating the transport’s Active Protective System was tracking the incoming missiles and launching its munitions to eliminate the airborne threat mid-flight.
"Rocket launch detected. APS launched." The AI’s warning cut across the comm again as six more orange lines grew from enemy positions.
Explosions thundered into the open hatch, some close enough to rumble through the decking he stood on, but so far, none had reached his hull.
Orange fireballs blossomed around him, punctuated by the pling and sizzle of small-arms fire impacts and the continuing chatter on the comms.
His unit’s casualty markers flickered in shades of green and orange, but so far, no reds or blacks. The two runners, on the other hand, might not be so lucky. One of the missi
les had impacted a few meters behind them. Since the data of the casualty markers originated from the bioskins the troopers wore, he wouldn’t get an exact status on the two boys until one of his medics had triaged them. Not that he had time to worry about that right now.
The five people in the second group turned away from the LZ and headed back for the buildings. Chick-Chara dismissed the AR view and pulled up the Tactical Overlay. The enemy icons showed an alarming number of soldiers gathering behind cover. They’re getting ready for a mass assault, and I don’t have the weapons or manpower to hold this position.
He highlighted the bigger concentrations of heavy weapons.
"All ships, concentrate fire on highlighted targets in your sectors. First Squad, secure the two wounded civilians. Third and Fourth Squads, send a fire team to support first. Second Squad, pull back to your ramp. Do not load until my order."
The transport shuddered under the recoil of its weapons, but the sudden onslaught of heavy fire gave the escaping civilians the time they needed to make it to cover. He switched back to AR view. First Squad was picking up the two wounded civilians and making their way back to the transport.
"All squads, load the ships. Pilots, launch when loaded. Rally point, Tortiga Two."
Chick-Chara watched as the last of his troopers loaded onto the ship, bringing the two civilians with them.
"Get us out of here," he ordered the pilot.
As the ship took off, he ordered the landing lights to flash the ‘Will return’ code and wondered if he was leaving four of their missing SF troopers behind.
Tonee led them down a short passage, through a few rooms, and back into the main hallway. From there, he aimed for a skywalk cutting across an inner courtyard but quickly backtracked when Traverse entered the courtyard below. The enemy squad stopped momentarily to look around, and then headed for a set of stairs, whose top landing was about twenty meters behind the team. Tonee raced down the hall, and into the first door presenting itself, right into a maze of shelves filled with books, games, and other leisure articles. Items rattled around them as an explosion shook the building, but the shelves stayed put. They raced on—into the next hallway, through a community bathroom, another passageway, and into what looked like a snack bar overlooking the plaza. Its windows were blown out, giving a clear view of the ongoing fight, and in turn, a clear view of them. Not the place they wanted to be right now, but Tonee was already crossing to the door on the far side. Kaydeen scanned the plaza as she followed. The Intergal troops were falling back to the transports under the ships’ covering fire. Shortly after, the last transport closed its ramp and took off with its landing lights flashing.