The Good, the Bad, and the Merc: Even More Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 8) Page 12

  We exchanged silent salutations, too spent from the action to do more.

  Zandra lifted off, and I held onto one of the special containers that had been fabricated to hold our CASPers during the assault that would never be. My eyes looked one last time at the shattered battlefield, and my guts wrung at the sight of all my dead friends—O’Hara, face-down in the burning CP, Olefemi in a heap at the base of the knoll, and the shattered chest of Krypkey’s supine machine looking like a practice target. Faces and names of dead friends filled my brain and the guilty depression wrenched my soul, but then—“Sonofabitch!”

  Jake Hollis’ machine stood in the downpour staring at our departure. The comm link I’d broken activated in my ear. “Thanks for the hardware, Tommy-boy.” I glanced at the unmanned CASPers that hadn’t been manned during the battle standing still and silent in the rain. “Told ‘em we could get the whole company, but that damned Irish bitch. Oh well. Catch you next time.”

  My head swirled with questions: Had Hollis been in it from the beginning? Or recruited at the very end? But, I thought of the cosmic coincidence of the Night Stalkers, and the time Hollis had spent as their prisoner. This had been no betrayal of opportunity. He’d been a sleeper since Styx. Rage swept through me like wildfire, obliterating the guilt and depression that had been on the rise.

  “Next time,” I said, glaring at him through the driving rain. I stared until the storm obscured him from my view. “Next time.”

  # # # # #

  THE BEACH by Philip Wohlrab

  It is hot and smelly inside the lander. Ahead of me are columns of men and women, silently praying they make it out of this thing alive. I am halfway back in one column. As a medic, they can’t chance me being one of those initially hit. Two seats over from me is one of my other medics, Caldwell. She meets my eyes for a moment, and I can tell she, too, has that nervous mixture of fear and excitement. The jitters. I have them. I am trained; I know what I need to do, and what I am here to do.

  The lander bucks up and down, and from side to side. I can’t see it, but the coxswain of the craft is evading incoming enemy fire as he pushes his craft to its limits. Closer to our objective we come. I can hear the explosions from near misses. Someone throws up, adding the pungent odor of vomit to the smell of bodies and machine oil. Once one person vomits, there are others who throw up, as well. I can also smell the tang of urine—perhaps it is my own; I don’t know. We hit, the ramp lowers. Chaos.

  I shuffle toward the ramp. If I am screaming, I can’t tell, but I know others are. I can hear the rounds of enemy fire impacting the lander, and the sick thuds of rounds finding targets. The company XO stands to one side of the ramp screaming, “GO, GO, GO, GO!”

  I am out into the light, leaving the dimness of the lander behind me. I go right, following the man in front of me. As I exit the ramp I can see bodies all around. I recognize several, but the one that jumps out at me is one of my squad mates. Hitomi’s face is half gone. Hell, half her head is gone. I keep going, nothing I can do for her now.

  To my left, I see Caldwell racing up the beach toward a casualty. She has the grace of a gazelle, I think. What a damn nonsensical thought to have at this moment.

  “MEDIC?!?!”

  The cries are everywhere. All around me are the dead and dying. I hear the whistle of rounds passing me. They are so close, like angry bees. Something hits me, and I spin around. No pain, and I don’t see anything.

  “MEDICCCCCCCCC!”

  I zero in on the cry. One of my troopers is standing over Pearson, my platoon sergeant. I run up, and I can see it is bad. Very bad. I hate Pearson, and the feeling is mutual, but in that moment, he looks up at me with the pleading eyes of the dying. I kneel and begin my assessment. There are 3 large holes in his chest plate. I have no idea how he is alive, as I can see through him. I take his hand as he begins to mewl for his mother. He is a huge, 45-year-old man, crying like a toddler with a banged knee. I take it in, and reaching into my bag of syrettes, I grab one of the orange tipped ones. I didn’t know when they were issued or why they gave us so many of the orange-tipped 15cc painkillers. It’s a lethal dose of painkiller. I know now. I comfort Pearson and promise him his mother is coming. I administer the drug. His already glassy eyes glaze over further, and he begins gasping. He is already dying, I am just easing his way.

  I look up from Pearson and across the beach. I am the senior medic, and I want to account for my people. I see Caldwell furiously working to save the life of a trooper who is missing both her legs. I see Norwood charging toward another casualty when a line of tracers crosses him. He just drops. I howl in anger and pull my M38 carbine around to engage the machine gun that killed him. BRRRP. BRRRP. BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP. I’m out of rounds. If I had any effect, I can’t tell. I can’t see my three other medics in the chaos.

  “MEDICCCCCCCC!”

  I move toward another casualty. This one is near a berm. I can see it is Olsen, from my platoon. The entire company is out here, along with the remnants of 1st Battalion, the 116th Strike Infantry, and the 29th Infantry Division. I zigzag my way toward the berm. More rounds come close to me, but I am not hit. I leap over a dead trooper, his body blasted to pieces by a mortar round. I hear screaming all around, much of it incoherent. The smells of blood and shit are everywhere. Over the top of those smells are those of burning metals, plastics, and people. I can’t let myself think about that right now.

  I get to Olsen. His squad leader is hovering over him.

  “Doc, Olsen’s been hit,” he yells at me.

  “Olsen, I’m here, man. Where you hit?”

  “I don’t know Doc,” he gasps.

  I can see an impact on his armor, but putting my finger into it I can tell it didn’t burn through. I reach around to grab my medical wand, but as I pull it from its container I see it is shattered. I now know what happened earlier, a lifetime ago. I turn back to Olsen and push him further into the berm. His squad leader begins to bound off, only to catch a machine gun burst to the face. His head disappears in a mist, and he falls backwards onto the ground. I don’t think about that. I focus on Olsen. Olsen’s eyes have widened at the death of his squad leader.

  “OLSEN! OLSEN LOOK AT ME!”

  His eyes snap back around to me.

  “You are going to live. Olsen; the hit didn’t burn through. Catch your breath, and for God’s sake fire at the enemy!”

  I look back at the beach. Where the hell are the rest of my guys? Caldwell has moved to a new patient and is once again working to save a life. I see an explosion where she is. I scream in anger and frustration. The dust settles, and she is still there, but I can see her screaming in anger as her patient, and the trooper assisting her are clearly dead. I run to her, as she hurls bits and pieces of equipment at the enemy with pure animal fury.

  “KALI! KALI! PULL IT TOGETHER! WE HAVE WORK TO DO!”

  Calls for medics are coming from up and down the line on the berm. Where the hell are the rest of my guys? I pull Caldwell after me as I race toward another cry for help. Seeing that the trooper has been gut shot, I kneel down, pull out a blue-tipped syrette, and administer painkiller. The kid might make it, but I don’t have time to address a stomach wound like that. I tell the trooper beside the kid to put an abdominal dressing on him, handing one to the trooper.

  “Sure Doc,” he says.

  I pull Caldwell to the next casualty. A through and through on the leg.

  “Caldwell take care of that trooper!”

  She gets down and immediately starts addressing the soldier. I couldn’t have been prouder. Her training was overriding her fury.

  “MEDICCCCCCC!”

  I move on, confident that Caldwell is back in the fight. I get to the source of the cry for help and see it is the Battalion Chaplain. She is leaning over, trying to comfort a trooper missing part of her left arm. I move in and apply a tourniquet. It is a relatively straight forward wound, though one that is ugly. I get her bleeding under control, quickly bandage the stump, and a
dminister a mild painkiller. Turning to the Chaplain, I tell her to move on, that one of the other troopers can take care of Simpkins. Grabbing a lightly wounded trooper, I tell him to watch Simpkins, and if she starts having trouble, to call me or Caldwell back over. We have other troopers to attend to.

  The fight continues all around me. Troopers fire their rifles and machine guns into the defenses above us. I can see more landers approaching from the seaside. One of them explodes. A second one does, too. My God, each of those landers carries a company of troops. I hear the sound of freight trains racing overhead toward the enemy defenses. Great gouts of flame and debris explode from the enemy line. In the distance, I can just make out a Navy Destroyer coming in, firing madly. I hear that freight-train sound, again, and I see dozens of outgoing missiles. The Destroyer blows up. Can’t think about that right now. Fresh waves of troops explode from the landers hitting the beach.

  CRUMP! CRUMP! CRUMP!

  A few of the Delta company mortars are now in action.

  WHOOOOOOOOOSH!

  A Delta company rocket troop fires a Dragon round straight into a machine gun nest. I can see a couple of Squids tumble out, on fire. A trooper yells at the rest to let them burn. Can’t think about that, I have casualties to treat. I run to the next one. And the next one. And to the next one. Caldwell and I are up and about, constantly moving from casualty to casualty. There are so many. Where the FUCK are the rest of my guys?

  The fire from the Squids begins to slacken. I can hear shouts of almost joy as the defenses are truly breached. The remnants of the 1st Battalion, the 2nd, and the 3rd, begin to push up the hill. Shots from our lines become frenetic as the assaulters root out the defending alien scum. No quarter is given. Can’t think about that.

  More landers are arriving. The 429th Support Battalion is coming ashore. Charlie Med, an entire company of medics, doctors, and nurses, surges onto the shore and begins searching for casualties to treat. Caldwell and I are feverishly working on a trooper missing all her limbs. She has a nasty gash across the abdomen. She is going to live. We get up from treating her as a surgeon and his team arrive to take over. We look at each other.

  “Where the fuck are Glover, Epperly, and Harrelson,” I ask Caldwell.

  “I haven’t seen them,” she replies.

  “Let’s find them,” I say.

  We scout around the beach, searching for bodies. The Charlie Med teams have collected most of the badly wounded from the beach. The walking wounded go to their collection point. There are just a few of us walking around, looking for wounded among the dead. I see Glover first. I call Caldwell over.

  I have been with my team of six medics for three years now. I trained them to my exacting standards for those three years. I was the only one with recent combat experience, the others came into the Army for the new war with the Squids. This was our first action as a team. Team…..

  The tableau before me and Caldwell is a scene from hell. Glover, Epperly, and Harrelson, were all clustered around the Battalion Commander, Lt. Colonel Smith. It was clear that Smith and his command team had been hit, and my three guys were working on them when they all died. They are recognizable only through a fluke that sometimes happens in combat death. Their bodies had all been blown to pieces, but their faces were still mostly intact. I just stand there. Shaking. Caldwell drops to her knees beside me, a howl of anguish escaping her. Three years.

  I don’t know how long I stand there. I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder, pulling me around. It is one of the Charlie Med squad leaders, a guy I deeply respect, Staff Sergeant Ferris.

  “Holt, come on man, come with me,” he says.

  I see that another medic, Roddy, has grabbed Caldwell. They guide us over to an area of the beach mercifully free of bodies. Ferris sits me down and undoes my armor. Roddy does the same for Caldwell. They are talking to us, but I don’t understand any of it. They run their wands over us, looking for wounds. Neither Caldwell nor I know it, but each of us has dozens of small wounds from shrapnel. I break down. I weep for the dead. Ferris hugs me to him and makes comforting sounds. For Caldwell and me, and the rest of the mangled 1st Battalion, our fight is over for the day. Nine-hundred-sixty-eight men and women came ashore with 1st Battalion; there are fewer than 400 of us left.

  # # # # #

  VELUT LUNA by Chris Smith

  “Doe, two seven four dash one six.” The heavyset woman looked up from her slate with a bored scowl. “Front and center. Your ride is here.”

  Taryn stood, stretching slowly, still favoring her left ankle. Her ride? She’d been in the holding area at the ‘Frisco Juvenile Detention Center for less than four hours. She hadn’t made any calls, had no known relatives or contacts in her file, and her friends had bailed as soon as the pigs had shown up.

  She couldn’t blame them, really. ‘Friends’ was a term she used loosely; ‘co-conspirators’ was the term thrown around by the legal system. Had their positions been reversed—one of the others was holding over a kilocred worth of gear when the lights flipped on—she’d have run and never looked back. As it was, she’d made it halfway back to the crash pad before the cops had caught up. Lousy luck and a turned ankle had been in their favor.

  “C’mon honey, I ain’t got all day.”

  With a small shrug, Taryn followed the Juvy officer to the out-processing desk. The officer turned to the bins behind her and rummaged.

  “Your stuff ain’t even been moved from this area yet. Lucky.” She tapped a few commands on her slate. “Personal belongings: Four steel earrings. One nose ring, semi-precious metal. One tube lipstick, purple.” She glanced up. “Need a touch up, sweetie.”

  Taryn pouted, touching her bottom lip with her middle finger.

  “Right about here?”

  “Hmph. Just saying.” She shifted back to the slate, muttering, “Roots are showing, too. Should’a stole some hair color, snotty brat.”

  Without thinking, Taryn touched her hair. Officer Snack Cake was right. The bright pink had been fading out, letting her natural dark brown show through. She smiled, blew a kiss as she took the slate, scrawled an X on the bottom line, and gave it back.

  “You’re free to go.” The older woman stopped, her features softening slightly. “Look honey, I know you’re tough, but you gotta be careful. You’re awful close to 17, and that means the next time you don’t come here. You go to the big house.”

  “Thank you so much for your concern.” Taryn snapped the nose ring back into place. “I’ll be all right on my own. Now, what’s this about a ride?”

  With a heavy sigh, the officer pointed toward the front door.

  “The young lady in the business suit is waiting for you. Good luck.”

  With a sneer and an eye roll, Taryn turned. Sure enough, a woman, no more than ten years older than herself, stood close to the entrance, a smile on her face. As Taryn approached, the woman held out her hand, eyes sparkling with excitement.

  Ugh. She’s perky. Probably *super* excited to meet me.

  “Hi! My name’s Cass, and I’m super excited to finally meet you!”

  Taryn didn’t even try to keep the irritation from her face.

  “Yeah. I don’t know who you are, lady, but thanks for bailing me out.” She ignored the hand and started for the door. “Later.”

  “Oh, no, Ms. Bannon, you don’t understand.” The smile hadn’t changed, but the eyes grew hard. “Yes, I know your last name. I know quite a bit about you, actually.”

  “Like what?” Taryn’s shock at hearing her name smothered any retort she’d been ready to use.

  “Let’s discuss this arrangement in private, shall we? My flyer is right outside.” Cass turned her hand slightly, as though guiding her toward the door.

  “Whatever. I could use a lift.” Bluff until I get the chance to make a break.

  “Excellent!” Cass’s smile still seemed genuine. “Oh! Silly me, almost forgot something before we go.” She rummaged in her leather hand bag, pulling out what looked like a slim
bracelet. She held it to a small slate, nodding in satisfaction when both beeped the same sequence of notes. The piece in her hand clicked open.

  With an impossibly fast motion, Cass snapped the bracelet around Taryn’s wrist.

  “There! Now you can’t get lost.”

  “What the Hell, lady!” Taryn clawed at the circlet, trying to find the catch. The seamless band remained closed. “Get this thing off me.”

  “Nope! Can’t have you trying to run out. My boss really wants to meet you. He’s a super great guy, too.” Cass gestured again. “Shall we?”

  “Like I have a choice?”

  * * *

  The city of San Francisco stretched into the distance as they flew toward the Starport. Taryn sat still, keeping her face expressionless. Cass, taking occasional sips from a crystal tumbler, watched the skyline, a slight smile on her lips.

  “Put them back.” She hadn’t turned away from the window.

  “Put what back?”

  “The bottles from the mini bar.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lady,” Taryn said. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Or what you think you know about me.”

  Cass turned to face her.

  “Taryn Bannon, sixteen. Been in and out of foster homes and juvenile detention for the last ten years, since you lost your parents in a skirmish with the MinSha. You like stealing stuff, mainly pharmaceuticals and lab supplies. You’ve been involved with most of the major drug gangs in this area, but never in distribution, only manufacturing.” A small grin. “How’d I do?”

  “The drug stuff wasn’t in my Juvy file! I’ve never been popped with junk on me!”

  “My boss is someone very few people refuse. When he wants the deets on a particular person, he gets them.”

  Taryn sat up straighter, studying the young woman across from her. Cass met her gaze with one of her own, hazel eyes unflinching under the scrutiny. Perky or not, this lady wasn’t a pushover.