Virtue of War

by L O Addison

  They were free of the flames, but they were far from safe. They needed to get away from the downed ship. Immediately.

  14

  Beck

  Beck took the lead, climbing through the charred rubble of the cabin and toward the nearest exit. He crouched next to the smoking remains of the cabin’s side door, peering out at the battle raging outside. Fog and smoke clung close to the ground, but far off to the left, he could see the hulking buildings of the Resistance base. Smoke billowed from their roofs while the battle raged in their shadows.

  The base was about half a mile away, far enough to make it tough to figure out who was fighting, but close enough to still be able to tell it was a battle of humans against humans. Near the walls of the base, plumes of fire reached up through the fog, their bright green flames a telltale sign of sticky bombs.

  The sight of the green flames filled Beck with surprise. Whoever was attacking the Resistance base was using chemical weapons that were strictly forbidden by every government in the world. So that meant these were rebels of some sort.

  But who the hell were they? And why were they attacking?

  His mind spun with questions, but he’d have to wait and find answers later. All that mattered now was survival.

  Above him, a fighter ship screamed past. Beck pulled back into the shadows of the ruined cargo transport, his heart pounding as he squinted into the sky, watching the fighter retreat to the south. It was a European model and military grade, but he couldn’t see any sign of what organization it belonged to.

  Two more fighters rocketed over Beck’s head, and these he recognized as belonging to the Resistance. The rebel fighter attempted an evasive turn, veering into a dark cloud bank. But the Resistance fighters were waiting for it. They easily followed and let loose a barrage of cannon fire, and the rebel ship burst into a ball of flame.

  Beck spotted several more Resistance fighters in the sky, working in teams of two to chase after the attacking ships. The sight filled him with relief.

  The Resistance was winning. Whoever these enemies were, they were being driven away.

  He itched to run toward the base, to join the fight and help drive off the attackers. But he knew it’d be stupid to even try. If he came charging up from outside the base, they’d probably just mistake him as an attacking rebel and shoot him on sight.

  “What’s going on?” Kaylin asked, straining to peer over his shoulder.

  “The base is under attack, but the Resistance is driving them off,” Beck said to Kaylin. “We need to find the rest of our team and stay low until the fighting ends.”

  “Where do you think the others went?” Kaylin asked, gazing out the exit. They’d landed in the middle of an old field filled with scrub-grass and small, rolling hills. A downed fighter smoked at the base of a hill to their left, but other than that, smoke and fog obscured most of their surroundings.

  “Let’s find out,” Beck said. He tapped at his comm unit, trying to link the channel to Jamison’s so he could get an update on their position. A sharp beep filled his ear. He tried again, but only got another beep, an error sign from the comm unit.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “The comms channels are blocked.”

  Kaylin turned around, diving back into the charred depths of the cabin.

  “Kaylin!” Beck hissed. “Get back here!”

  There was no way in hell he was chasing after her again. But instead of ducking into the cargo hold, she jogged over to the seats, pausing in front of the one Lio had been sitting in.

  A splotch of blood clung to the cabinet where the ambassador had slammed his head in the crash. Kaylin ran her fingers through the blood and then crouched down, facing Red. The lizard was licking at his burned paws, but he halted when Kaylin stretched her hand toward him.

  “Track,” she said, her voice a gentle command.

  The lizard sniffed at the blood on her fingers, his nostrils flaring and the spikes on his back half-raising. Then he snorted and turned around, trotting toward the exit of the ship.

  Kaylin jogged after the lizard and said to Beck, “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Beck said. He went over to the storage cabinet on the opposite side of the cabin and opened the thick door, breathing a sigh of relief when he found most of the contents still intact. He grabbed his supply pack he’d stowed there, along with the backpack Kaylin used as her thieving toolkit. He tossed the small, black pack to Kaylin, whose eyes widened eagerly as she caught it.

  "You brought my kit," she said, sounding surprised.

  "I figured we'd need it on this trip," Beck said.

  "That's surprisingly smart of you," Kaylin said, slipping the strap of her toolkit over her shoulder.

  Beck scoffed, knowing that was the closest Kaylin would ever get to a real thank-you. Then he grabbed a rifle and a pistol from the supply cabinet. The rifle he slung over his shoulder, but he tossed the pistol over to Kaylin, who caught it with practiced ease.

  Her eyes grew wide with surprise, clearly shocked that he was giving her a real weapon. But Beck simply said, “You still have the taros bracelet on, and that thing has a tracker chip in it. Remember that. You shoot me, and you’ll be tracked down and dragged back to the Resistance.”

  Kaylin swallowed hard and checked the clip loaded into the pistol. “This has hollow points loaded.” She glanced back to the cabinet. “Are there any non-lethal rounds in there?”

  Beck gave her a bewildered look. “You really want to be shooting tranq darts on a battlefield?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t know who the hell is attacking the Resistance or why. I don’t want to use lethal rounds when I don’t even know who I’m fighting.”

  “Too bad,” Beck snapped. “This is a kill or be killed situation. Now let’s go.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to argue before taking off after Red. Beck knew it was a gamble giving a prisoner a weapon, but it was one he was willing to take. Kaylin was a damn good fighter, and if they ran into any enemies, he’d need some backup.

  Red crept over to the exit of the ship, his neck snaking back and forth as he tasted the air with his tongue. He rumbled low in his throat as the acrid smell of smoke washed over them, but then he scurried out of the ship and onto the field.

  Beck leaped down, following closely behind the creature. Thick mud squished under his boots, making it hard to find solid footing, but he rushed forward as quickly as he could, Kaylin following closely at his side. Red turned to the right and skittered down the nearest hill, and thick fog rose around them as they descended. Behind them, the rumble of explosions and shriek of cannon fire echoed through the air.

  Beside him, Kaylin slipped in the mud, but Beck snatched her arm, yanking her upright. She yelped in pain, but managed to keep her footing as they charged forward. Red scampered along in front of them, his scales camouflaged in a dull brown color, and his tongue tasting the smoke-filled air. He began to run faster, as if having locked onto his target. Beck and Kaylin followed, sprinting to keep up.

  The slippery mud under Beck’s boots gave way to dried grass. His lungs burned with each breath and his heart hammered relentlessly against his chest, but he refused to let himself slow down.

  Red took a left and led them up a steep incline. When he got too far ahead, he stopped and pranced in place, snorting anxiously as he waited for them to catch up.

  The farther they got from the ship, the thicker the fog got, until Beck could barely see ten feet in front of him. As they neared the top of the hill, Red suddenly darted to the right, giving a low chirp of alarm. Beck and Kaylin rushed after him.

  To their left, the sound of voices erupted. Three, maybe four people, all of them men and all speaking French. Beck readied his rifle and nodded at Kaylin to do the same with her pistol. But her hands were empty. He bit back a curse, realizing she must have dropped the weapon when she stumbled in the mud.

  They sprinted from the voices, but it was too late. Footsteps pounded after them, and bla
ster fire tore into the ground next to Beck, searing his skin with heat. He stumbled, nearly falling, but Kaylin grabbed his shoulder and yanked him upright.

  The light from the blaster fire was red. That fact slammed into him, making him curse. Most human-made blasters gave off a white or blue light. They were cheap and easy-to-use weapons, but their accuracy was shit.

  Alien-made blasters were a different story. They were far more powerful and accurate, and their bright red light was enough to send fear through any sane soldier.

  Whoever was attacking the Resistance had alien tech at their disposal. And that meant a well-funded and professional military.

  Beck returned their fire with a volley from his rifle. A cry of pain rang through the air, and one of the men fell to his knees. Beck whirled around and broke into a sprint, yelling at Kaylin to run.

  They only made it a few steps before more blaster fire filled the air. This time it was louder and quicker, obviously from a more powerful weapon. Beck held his breath, waiting for a shot to hit his back. Instead, cries of pain cut through the air behind him.

  Beck whirled around and saw only one soldier still standing. The others were on the ground, shot down by the mystery gunfire. The remaining soldier pointed his blaster pistol at Beck, but Beck aimed right at the man’s chest and fired his rifle.

  The soldier crumpled to the ground. Then there was silence.

  Beck peered through the fog, his rifle held at the ready as he searched for the source of the gunfire that’d hit the other soldiers. Gravel crunched under his boots as he whirled around, taking in his surroundings. Off to his left, he could make out the vague outline of a building looming in the fog.

  “Who’s there?” he called out.

  “Put your weapon down. It’s only us.”

  The voice echoed through the patch of fog beside them, and Beck whirled toward it. A tall, thin figure stood there clutching a strangely shaped pistol crafted of pure white material.

  Relief flowed through Beck, and he lowered his rifle. “Marin!” he blurted out, too relieved and exhausted to think of anything else to say.

  Marin lowered her pistol and jogged over to them. As she got closer, Beck saw that blood was smeared across her cheek, highlighting the electric blue of her eyes. He looked her up and down, searching for any injuries. She seemed to be favoring her right leg slightly, but he didn’t see any obvious wounds.

  He glanced around, keeping his voice low as he said, “What happened? Where are the others?”

  “We’re taking shelter inside,” another voice said.

  This one was blessedly familiar, and Beck breathed a sigh of relief as Jamison stepped forward out of the fog. Red growled as he drew near, but Kaylin quickly shushed him.

  “Calm down, boy,” she murmured to her pet. “You found them. It’s all good now.”

  Beck whirled back toward the fallen soldiers and jogged over to them, quickly examining their corpses. All of them were around thirty-years-old with dark blue uniforms, short-cropped hair, and a hodge-podge of various rifles, each with a seven-pointed star painted on the stock.

  “Wardens,” Jamison said, coming to stand beside him.

  Beck shook his head. “No way. They’d never launch a full-on attack on a Resistance base.”

  But even as he said the words, Beck knew they weren’t true. The seven-pointed star was the emblem of the Wardens, signifying a unified force from all seven continents of Earth. No one else wore that symbol.

  Jamison nudged Beck’s shoulder and gestured to the building at the top of the hill. “Let’s go. We’re taking shelter in the barn.”

  Beck nodded and followed Jamison as he started up the hill. Kaylin and Marin fell into place behind them, with Red tailing them. They picked up a fast pace, eager to take cover from the dangerously open field.

  The barn was a small, homely building that was at least a hundred years old, and it clearly hadn’t been used in decades. It was falling apart, its wood rotted through and gaping holes punched in the side. But it still seemed a hell of a lot more inviting than the desolate, fog-covered hills.

  Beck put on an extra burst of speed toward the building and glanced down at his watch. He blinked in shock. Barely twenty minutes had passed since they’d crash-landed. He’d been sure it was at least a few hours.

  They all stayed quiet as they filed into the barn. Jamison shut the rickety door behind them, and the old building shuddered. Half the roof had collapsed, and light filtered in through the broken slats.

  Lio sat in a gloomy corner that still had some semblance of a roof, and Liam crouched in front of him, an open medical kit laying at his feet. Liam was clumsily wrapping a bandage around Lio’s bleeding forehead, his mouth pursed in concentration.

  Beck glanced around, searching for Cate. His stomach dropped when he didn’t catch sight of her.

  Jamison took a shuddering breath and said, “Cate’s dead.”

  Beck whirled toward Jamison, desperately hoping he’d misheard the soldier. But the shock and grief etched into his face erased his hopes.

  “We ran into a group of retreating Warden soldiers,” Jamison said, his voice quiet and hollow. “They struck her right in the head with a blaster round. She didn’t stand a chance.”

  Beck rubbed a hand over his mouth, fighting back a surge of nausea. He was no stranger to death. He’d faced it countless times, and lost dozens of friends to it throughout the Syndicate War. But after spending so much time tucked away on secure bases, working as a trainer, he’d nearly forgotten the pain of losing a team member during a mission.

  Beck swallowed hard, struggling to find any words to express his sorrow. But all he managed to whisper was, “Shit.”

  It was a useless, stupid thing to say. But it didn’t matter. No words could ever bring Cate back.

  Kaylin shifted on her feet, making the rotted floorboards groan. “What about Lio? How badly is he injured?”

  Beck blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head. He should have been the one to ask that question, not their prisoner. He looked back up at Marin, waiting for an answer.

  “He has a head injury from the crash,” Marin said. “He’s awake, but he definitely has a concussion.” She shot a distrustful glance at Liam. “He needs more care than just a bandage. Much more.”

  Beck nodded, knowing she was right. “We’re going to get him to a doctor as soon as possible,” he said. “I’ll get to work restoring the comms channel, and we’ll request an airlift the first chance we get.”

  “The base is only a mile away,” Marin snapped. “There must be some way to get him there quickly.”

  Beck shook his head. “Not right now. If we just carry him over there, we’re either going to run into more Wardens who want to kill us, or get mistaken for Wardens and get killed by the Resistance.” He tapped his defunct comm unit. “Until we get our comms channel back up, we need to stay here.”

  Marin gritted her jaw, and Beck held his breath, waiting for her to argue. But then Kaylin butted in, saying, “Let me look over him.”

  Beck raised his eyebrows at her skeptically, and she crossed her arms.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Kaylin snapped. “I have medic training. Why the hell shouldn’t I use it?”

  Beck wanted to say, “Because you’re our prisoner, and you probably would be happier with Lio dead.” But something in Kaylin’s eyes kept him from saying it. There was no anger in them, no desire for vengeance. Just a quiet look of concern.

  Beck turned to Marin and said, “Kaylin was one of our snipers who took extra courses on field medicine. She has the skills to help Lio, if you want her to try.”

  Marin narrowed her eyes, pinning Kaylin with a suspicious stare. Kaylin tilted her chin up just slightly.

  “I’m the only option you have right now,” she said. “Take it or leave it.”

  Marin stared at her for a long moment, her expression dark with uncertainty. Then the bodyguard took a shuddering breath and pressed her palms against her face. I
t was the first time Beck had ever seen the stoic woman express any sort of real emotion, and it made a sudden surge of pity strike him.

  This wasn’t what Marin had signed up for. She’d traveled to this planet to watch over Lio while he accepted an object, chatted with some officials, and then hopped back aboard his ship. Getting shot out of the skies and falling into a battlefield was never supposed to be part of the plan.

  Marin slid her hands away from her face, her expression once again stern and stoic. “All right,” she said to Kaylin. “Examine him. But I swear to you, if you harm him, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

  Kaylin nodded and strode over to the corner, Red following at her heels. Marin walked behind them, her pistol clasped in her hands. Beck turned to Jamison, who was staring toward the door, his body tense and his hands gripping his rifle tightly.

  “Take first watch,” Beck said. “Stay by the door. If anyone comes close to the barn, sound an alarm.”

  Jamison nodded and strode off, his movements stiff and robotic. Beck knew he was in shock from seeing Cate killed, and sorrow edged into his mind. But he shook off the emotion, refusing to let himself focus on it.

  He could mourn Cate later. For now, he needed to focus on making sure the rest of them survived.

  15

  Kaylin

  It’d been well over a year since Kaylin had treated a wound on anyone other than herself and Red. During the Syndicate War, pulling her medical kit out of her pack had become muscle memory, but ever since the war ended, she’d rarely had any need for it.

  As she opened the medical kit, a flood of familiar memories struck her. She’d been a Tier 2 medic, only trained to deal with minor injuries—stitching cuts, patching up burns, occasionally setting a broken bone. Small things, but vital.

  Lio’s injury wasn’t a small thing. Blood coated one side of his face, and although his bright blue eyes were open, they were unfocused and staring blankly at the wall. He sat slumped in the far corner of the barn, and he didn’t acknowledge her presence as Kaylin knelt beside him.