Grendel Unit

by Bernard Schaffer

  "This is incredible."

  The blacksmith ran his fingers along the surface designs etched into the metal and said, "All this cosmetic stuff is a bit embarrassing, now that I see it. I never really thought I'd use the damn thing, I guess." He shrugged and added, "I got bored after I put all the armor on but didn't want to stop working on it, so I decided to fancy it up a little. Doesn't make it any less effective, I promise."

  Bob walked around the rear of the wagon, and found the latch to the rear gate. It was so heavy that he had to use both hands to turn it and pull. The armor plating was a half inch thick, and bolted onto sturdy wooden framing. Nothing on the planet would be able to penetrate such a fortress, Bob thought. Modern weaponry would slice through it easily, or simply cook the occupants inside by heating it up with lasers, but unless someone on Pentak 1 had figured out a way to launch a torpedo with a catapult, the wagon looked unstoppable.

  "It's going to move real slow," Oren said. "And of course, you'll need someone to drive it for you."

  "I'm sure we'll work it out," Bob said. He clapped the blacksmith on the shoulder, "I think you've just given us a fighting chance, Mr. Adams."

  By the time Bob Buehl returned to the Strong farm, people had heard the outsiders were developing a plan. So many had gathered around to listen and render their opinion of it that Jebediah had moved them all outside. He and Frank had carried a chair for Vic onto the porch, and Bob nodded at them as he waded through the crowd of settlers. He stared for a moment at Monster, who was crouched over the far end of the porch, feeding what looked like slices of apple to a massive bull. The creature snorted in appreciation every time Monster dropped another slice into its mouth, then lowered its head to the ground and brushed the dirt with the tips of its horns as it chewed.

  "Welcome back," Jebediah nodded to Bob as he climbed the porch steps. "We were waiting on you. You need something to eat before we get started?"

  "No, I'm good, thanks," Bob said.

  Vic grimaced as he sat up in his chair, then wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand to clear some of the sweat off. The crowd was dead silent, listening intently. "Do we have a full account of our assets, Sergeant?"

  "We do, Captain. About a dozen functional firearms. I have a full list of calibers and capacities here," Bob said, handing over the list. "In addition, there are plenty of sharp implements and good wood around if we chose to fashion traps or melee weapons of any kind." He looked at Oren Adams, who was standing alongside the porch, and said, "And Mr. Adams has made available to us an armored wagon that will allow us to penetrate enemy defenses."

  "How mobile is it?" Vic said, raising an eyebrow.

  "It's heavy," Bob said. "It runs on wooden wheels and will need two horses to pull it, plus a driver to steer."

  "How do we protect the driver? Or the horses?"

  "There's some armor on either side of the driver's seat," Bob said, feeling his enthusiasm for the wagon deflate slightly. He already knew from the look on his Captain's face where the conversation was headed. "But truthfully, the driver is exposed until he can get around back of the thing and lock himself inside."

  "At which point the enemy forces will already be on top of you, and if you open it, defeat the entire purpose of the thing," Vic said.

  "Sorry, but I didn't have enough time to build an escape hatch into it," Oren called out, eliciting some laugher from the crowd.

  "I am sure it's a work of art, blacksmith," Vic said, "But we don't have enough men to risk it."

  "I'll drive it," Oren said. "Hell, I'll even supply the horses."

  "I can't ask you to do that."

  "Look here, son, this is our home," Oren said, his voice booming loud enough for everyone to turn and look at him. As he spoke, the others in the crowd began to nod and call out in agreement as he said, "I see nothing but able-bodied men all around me, men willing to fight and protect what we have. No offense, Captain Cojo, but who the hell are you to tell us we can't?" By the time the blacksmith finished, the crowd was shouting over him in agreement.

  Vic raised his hand in the air, trying to quiet them. When he could be heard, he said, "I have to insist that none of you fight. There's good reason for it. It has nothing to do with whether or not you love your home, or whether or not you could help us." He looked out over them, "Let's say we win our little battle. That's not the end of it. There will be more and more coming, for as long as my team stays here, and we still have no way off your planet. If even one Unification soldier escapes and manages to hide from us, he will eventually reunite with incoming forces and tell them one of two things. Either it was my team fighting alone, and once we are killed, they can leave in peace. Or they will hear that you helped us, and then they will turn their eye on all of you. And not just the ones who fought. Your homes. Your families. Your children. I appreciate the offer, and I appreciate your courage, but that is not how we operate."

  "They might kill us all anyway, Captain," Jebediah said. "You think we don't realize that?"

  "Not if you're smart about it. Not if you cheer every time one of us is killed. Not if you string our bodies up from your trees and hang signs on us as traitors."

  Frank and Bob looked at one another in surprise, then collected themselves.

  "You can't be serious, Captain," Jebediah said.

  "I'm dead serious. I expect you to do exactly that, and I'm ordering my men to do that to me if I fall first."

  "Vic, we can't—" Frank began.

  "I said it's an order," Vic shot back. "We will keep these people safe, no matter what, and if our living bodies aren't enough to do it, then maybe our dead ones will be." The crowd had fallen silent at the grim idea, looking down at the grass instead of up at him, and Vic was glad to have their eyes off of him for a moment. He looked out over the sea of faces, recognizing only the few that he'd seen coming to the farm in the past few days. Toward the back, someone stood in the shadows, her face obscured by a large hat, with only long lengths of dark hair spilling out over the sides. He wondered if that was the woman Frank had told him of, before he turned to look at Monster and said, "What is your report about the terrain?"

  "The valley where the first ships crashed is the only flat surface large enough for a landing zone near any populated area. It is likely that they will continue to deploy ships to that location. We should erect any defenses we have in that vicinity and hope I am right," Monster said.

  "Duly noted," Vic nodded.

  "There are several roads leading up to the settlement from the valley, or to other areas. None of them are good options for what we must do. The best option is to drive the attackers into Copperhead Canyon."

  Several people standing near them nodded in agreement, and Jebediah Strong said, "There's parts of that canyon too narrow for a herd of cattle to pass. If you can find a way to get these bastards inside that, it will stretch them out real nice and thin."

  "Good," Vic said. "Do we have any options to reduce the threat once they are in the canyon?"

  "A few," Monster shrugged. "Nothing substantial. There are boulders near the top of the cliff that we could push down on them, but the foundation is to strong to collapse or attempt to cause an avalanche."

  Vic leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and thinking for a moment. "So we need a way to get them corralled into the canyon, and once they are in the canyon, a way to reduce their forces enough so that whatever is waiting for them on the other side can finish the job."

  "Correct," Monster said.

  Vic looked at Bob, "And you're sure our only assets are a dozen guns and this wagon you told me about? Except for things we try and make?"

  "I'm afraid that's it, Captain," Bob said. "Nothing on the Samsara or any other ship is going to be any use to us."

  "Are you sure?" Vic said, squinting at him. "I really need you all to think right now. Do we have anything we can improvise, at all? Any sort of chemical, explosive, anything?"

  They all looked at Frank, who shook his head and said, "Noth
ing I can think of."

  "Damn," Vic grunted.

  "Except the karjarra."

  Vic looked back at him, "The what?"

  "The karjarra. The narcotics we took from those maniacs, remember? It's still on the ship."

  "The stuff you told me we should never burn?"

  "Exactly," Frank nodded.

  Vic smiled slightly, then turned to Monster, "I think I have an idea."

  39. I'M HOUSIN'

  Major Dan Albright stood with his hands clasped uncomfortably behind his back, looking at the entirety of his division. The senior officers were assembled in front of him ahead of the other ranks, their uniforms a sharp display of various medals. Each of them was an instructor at his Academy, brought in for their expertise in various fields. Many had seen combat. Albright looked at their faces and realized, with no little amount of dread, that they looked like men who'd been sentenced to death. And in a way, they had. They were simply the only ones smart enough to know it.

  The soldiers forming the majority of the division were of a different sort. They were the misfits of Unification. The ones sent in for remedial training. Slackers, do-nothings, and in some cases, imbeciles. Now, these soldiers who had never received any accolades in their entire careers were being personally selected by the President himself to hunt down four of the most notorious outlaws in the galaxy. Albright swallowed hard and thought, I'm going to be the first commander in a decade to lose his entire division in combat. They will teach this incident to new cadets at this very Academy someday as a cautionary tale.

  Engines roared in the Academy's upper atmosphere, and Albright turned and looked up, having to hold his hat on top of his head to keep it from blowing off. An enormous cargo ship was settling down toward the landing zone behind them. It was no ordinary military transport, he realized. It was not even equipped for combat. The only time he'd seen ships like that used were for transporting construction vehicles off-planet.

  He stepped back slightly, withdrawing from the heat of the thrusters as they flared, sending long streams of fire down that singed the grass. The ship was larger than the landing zone itself, its nose and rear engines both hanging over the edges, brushing aside the tallest trees that surrounded the Academy grounds.

  For the first time, Albright felt a sense of relief. The ship was large enough to hold three more divisions the size of his own. He'd been a fool to doubt the President, he scolded himself. When the landing platform lowered, he was going to see the ship's interior filled with soldiers. He might even see the entire Presidential guard, standing at attention, ready to come under his leadership. He stiffened a little. Raised his head a little and puffed out his chest a little. This was going to be the greatest day in the history of his military career.

  When the landing platform lowered, he did see members of the elite Presidential guard. Two of them.

  They marched side-by-side down the ramp, both of them in full battle armor and helmets that shielded their faces, carrying rifles. They came to stop in front of Major Albright, but did not salute. "Sir, by order of the President, have your men aboard and ready to depart immediately."

  Albright turned and nodded at his senior staff, who immediately turned and began barking at the ranks behind them to hurry up and get up the ramp. Some had to be yelled at several times to get in formation and pay attention.

  "Gentlemen," Albright began, "What is the meaning of this ship?"

  "Our orders were to have you and your men aboard it and ready to depart, Major."

  "I understand that, but why a cargo ship? This thing is not meant to carry personnel."

  Both guards turned as the last of Albright's men entered the ramp, and closed in behind them, following them up into the ship. Albright hurried after, staring up into the dimly lit bay above the ramp, feeling it already beginning to close before he'd gotten off of it.

  As he entered the bay, he looked around in wonder. Each wall, and most of the floor, was filled with individual emergency escape pods. Normally, the pods were built into evacuation chambers of Unifications ships. He'd never seen them stacked on top of one another in such fashion, sitting out in the open.

  "Line up!" one of the guards shouted.

  The men began to form into ranks once more, and Albright walked around them, trying to take his place at their front. He realized that it did not matter where he stood, as the guards were already addressing the division in his place, saying, "By order of the President, each of you is to be congratulated for your participation in such a high-priority mission." He looked at the guard standing next to him, who nodded and added, "Congratulations."

  "Each of you is to enter one of the transport pods stationed around you. When you are secured inside, key in your identification number on the screen, and await further instructions. It does not matter what pod you choose."

  The men began to shuffle toward the pods, and Albright had to nudge his way past them to get to the guards. "Excuse me," he called out. "What exactly is going on here? I was told I was to be in charge of the mission, yet here you both are giving orders directly to my men."

  The guard shrugged, "That's what our orders read, sir."

  Albright could see his reflection in their face masks, and did not like how small and maligned he looked. He drew in his breath, trying to regain his command presence. "Did the President have any instructions for me, by any chance?"

  The second guard pointed at one of the available pods and said, "I'm sure once you key in your identification sequence, all of that will be made clear, Major. We were just told to escort you. I'm sure whatever the President has to say to you is above our pay grade."

  "It's meant for you alone, sir," the other guard nodded.

  "Very well," Albright said. He made his way toward the escape pod, glancing back at the guards. They had not moved, watching him and holding their rifles. He wondered why they had come to greet them in full armor, carrying weapons, anyway. As he entered the pod and the door hissed shut behind him, the answer occurred to him with horrific simplicity. They'd been armed in the event that someone had not wanted to get on board the ship, or get into their pod, he realized.

  Albright tested the pod's door behind him, to make sure it was closed, and he looked again at the guards standing in the bay, then turned and shifted inside the tight-fitting space so that he could raise his hand to key in his identification sequence on the screen.

  Welcome, Major Daniel Albright, Mission Commander, the screen read. Please secure your safety harness.

  "Well, that's a little better," Albright whispered as he slid his arms through the harness straps.

  The screen flickered as it came to life, revealing the deep jowls and sweat-soaked face of President Wolmar. Wolmar stared at the screen, waiting for some type of cue. Finally, he said, "Ah, now we are live?"

  "Mr. President," Major Albright began. "Thank you again for this great honor. I have just a few—"

  His voice was quickly cut off by the man on the screen, who obviously could not hear him. "By now, you are secured inside the emergency pod provided to you for your arrival on Pentak 1. I assure you, this unconventional manner of transportation is necessary. You see, every ship we've ever sent to Pentak 1 has crashed. We also believe that none of our weapons or vehicles will work on the planet's surface. That, my friends, is where you come in."

  Albright felt his fingers tighten around the straps holding him in.

  "Your mission is to locate the traitors formerly known as Grendel Unit. I want all four of them terminated with extreme prejudice. I want the people housing them terminated with extreme prejudice. I want anyone that knows they are there, or that we came for them, the food that they ate from, the places they sought shelter, and every other living thing on that backwater cesspool, terminated with extreme prejudice!" Wolmar took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, trying to collect himself. He even managed to smile slyly at the camera, the rolls of his neck bulging above his tight necktie. "But of course, that all probably sounds a
bit extreme, I'm sure. After all, Cojo and his group are some of the most highly-trained combat operatives existence. And for me to send in a group of misfits such as yourselves? Madness."

  Albright turned around in the escape pod and tested the door handle, jiggling it to see if it would open. It was locked tight. He pressed his face to the window, seeing the bay was empty except for the stacks of escape pods. The guards had left. Behind him, the President continued speaking.

  "But just because we cannot send any technology to the surface, does not mean we are sending you empty-handed. No," he said softly, "That would be cruel. To ensure your success, we are going to provide each of you with something special. Something that turns the washed-up and useless into unstoppable killing machines."

  A soft hissing sound escaped through the pod's vents above him, and Albright's head shot up, seeing a fine yellow mist coming through. He sucked in as much breath as he could, trying to keep himself from breathing it in, but it was not possible. The mist stung his eyes and nose, and seemed to seep into his very pores.

  "I admit, it's a bit of an experimental drug," President Wolmar said. "So you see, we are getting the added benefit of seeing how it performs in field conditions."

  "No!" Albright cried out, slamming his hand against the monitor screen. "You son of a bitch! You can't do this!" His voice sounded strange and alien to him already, the words becoming garbled in his mouth. He rubbed his eyes, trying to see, but could barely keep them open. Everything was turning red.

  "Good luck, men, and when you find Victor Cojo, as you're tearing him limb-from-limb, tell him I said hello."

  A chorus of frenzied, animal-sounding screams rang out from inside the escape pods as the rest of the gas was pumped down inside of them. What had been Major Dan Albright now clawed at the screen, his elongated nails leaving deep grooves in the digital faces of the four members of Grendel Unit, staring back at him.

  He rose early that morning, unable to sleep. Something deep in his bones told him it was coming. An old soldiers trick, the feeling deep in the pit of your stomach that said it was too quiet, too peaceful, and attack was imminent. It had lied to him before. The truth was, Vic Cojo always felt that way. He secretly thought that if he ever relaxed his constant state of mild paranoia, it would be the one time that something horrific happened and he'd be at fault for not being prepared to face it.