Stone Blade (7 page)

The medic muttered another curse then muffled it as Micah turned sideways and vomited.

Micah walked gingerly, trying not to re-open his wound. The morning after the raid found most of the 113th doing similarly. They'd all taken casualties and all of the squads swapped stories on theirs. The eleventh of Micah's squad, Ubert, never made it to the ground. Whether his rat hit wrong or just took ack no one knew. His name would go to the Pylon.

The other casualty, Holder Jamison, earned them a bangle. Surrounded by several squads of armored meat and injured himself Jamison triggered all his plasmas. He dropped most of that meat, several equipment rooms and a lot of supplies the rebs wouldn't be using now.

“Micah!” The voice belonged to Tyler and Micah was glad to hear it.

“BJ!” The two swapped hugs. “How many?”

“Hades! I don't know. You?”

Micah shrugged. “Opcams'll show. You find any food?”

Tyler guffawed. “Absolutely! Come along, me pucko, we'll feed you right!”

Tyler spoke no less than the truth. Not far from the main perimeter lay a deserted farm. Micah found the rest of his squad and several others enjoying freshly-roasted meat. He had a portion of that, followed it with roasted tubers and filled in the gaps with ration bars. For once he didn't notice their lack of taste.

“Enjoy it, Micah,” said Tyler, “We'll have some dessert after dark!”

As night fell Micah noticed his squad drawing away from the buildings. He ghosted after them.

Micah found his squad gathered above a hollow a few hundred meters away. Micah caught a glint from cover as someone moved. Mick Martin, thought Micah. Despite his size the canny Martin could hide behind a footprint! When Micah entered the hollow he saw what he'd taken as the bottom was a tarp with a shelter underneath it.

“We decided on a prisoner of our own,” said Tyler with a grin, “Ops finished with this one but we think they missed something.”

LaRue pulled the shelter open and Micah saw what it contained.

She was not old. Her long hair was tangled and dirty, likewise her face. Her eyes were wide and deep and brimming with wetness that hadn't yet made its way down her cheeks. She bore several bruises but didn't struggle. Fear, utter and absolute, froze her in place.

“We cut cards for first yesterday,” said Tyler, “I took your draw since you weren't here. Lucky bastard!”

Micah stepped forward and the girl cringed. A sudden stabbing ache hit the base of his skull.

“C'mon, Micah,” said one of the others, “We don't got all night. She's a reb, for hades sake!”

“Headache,” said Micah, truthfully. He tried to make it sound funny but it didn't.

“Flames! Go spell Martin and don't let anybody find us.”

Micah sat behind cover, watching the terrain and trying to ignore the harsh animalistic sounds below him. And the occasional muffled screams. His head throbbed and he wanted Flame. Regulations forbade this and Micah couldn't banish the pain.

He knew the girl was a rebel. He knew she was a prisoner. He knew most of the squads probably had their own prisoners. Still his head pounded.

Micah shuffled through his after-kit. Extra meal bars. Candy. Drugstick. Music chip. Micah popped the chip into his helmet and jacked up the volume. He tried to relax to the gentle music, surf and rain sounds.

***

Micah relaxed and flexed his fingers. The TACLander dropped through the rebel ack, twisting and dodging around the worst of it. Micah had three stripes on his sleeve now and more missions than he cared to remember. The 113th got little rest between missions and they'd have it no other way. Combat made the best training and Micah and his squad proved that again and again. Along with his stripes Micah now had four bangles, the last being Kitten LaRue.

A group of in-system smugglers set up an asteroid as a base and cachement area. Guarded as Command suspected. The fighting was long and bloody and mostly in vacuum and no gravity. That last was Kitten's work. The gravgens were near the fusion plant so major explosives were out. After the base went down they found Kitten there surrounded by the dead meats his demo took out. There wasn't much left of the bodies but that didn't matter. They dragged them to the surface, piled them on an inferno, a plasma's big brother, and put Kitten gently on top. When the inferno flared Micah popped some Flame and raised a silent toast to Kitten. The warm rush brought tears to Micah's eyes and he always thought of Kitten when he raised a glass.

“Report,” barked Sanders.

“Ninety-five seconds to dirt, sir,” said Micah, “In the tube, four-by.”

Sanders might have replied but Micah didn't notice, nor did Sanders take offense. This zone had several hot spots, most of them sending Micah heat. The others would ground and go as soon as Micah dusted down leaving Micah and Tyler with Sanders. Micah didn't particularly mind flanking his L-T but he certainly didn't volunteer.

Ten seconds to dust Micah fired the last of his chaff and smarts. He set the latter for any active signal and the former would scatter to the winds. Each had a part in ensuring the lander dusted safely. Micah's energy readings peaked and the TAC hit the ground. The small ship popped and groaned both as the hull cooled and the soldiers within deployed.

When the reports started Micah, Tyler and Sanders left. This strike represented a coordinated effort between Commonwealth and League forces. This planet lay close to League territory and had petitioned to join the League. The Inner Rim Corporate States Consortium took exception and launched an offensive. A hollow protest since the IRCSC lay well outside League space. Rumor said they'd been grooming it as a staging area for raids against the League.

Micah had little respect for League crunchies. From what he'd seen they devised large complex plans with numerous complex ways to fail. Moreover, the League didn't believe in using its troops! The Corpsies had established several mutually supporting headquarters with interlocking peripheral fire bases inside convenient cities: standard tactics for anybody but the League. Standard counter: pick one HQ and two or three of its peripherals. Overwhelm the fire bases and move on to the HQ. Pick the next and repeat. There would be casualties, of course, but the tactic would work.

Not for the League, though. Sanders' understanding as he explained it was to lightly engage the fire bases and distract the HQs whilst the League Navy microjumped in and bombed the hades out of them. Unfortunately, when the cards were cut Sanders' squad landed on the border with the League forces. Micah hoped they'd be done with lunch by the time the rest of the 113th mopped up.

***

“Heavy fire! Heavy fire!”

A dot on Micah's hud blipped with the report. Sanders barked several orders and the dots representing his squad shaped and converged. He, Micah and Tyler made their way through the carnage Micah no longer noticed. Babble erupted from several others and their dots faded soon afterward. When they reached the edge of the hot zone Micah and Tyler stopped looking at the hud and started covering backsides: theirs and Sanders'.

They crouched in the remains of a building with plasma-scorched rubble around them. Armored meat had most of the squad pinned and the rest of the Caustik forces were out of position to help. Micah and Tyler clipped plasmas to their blasters. They advanced to where Sanders could see. He snapped an order. Micah and Tyler shouldered their weapons and fired.

Launching plasmas made the rifles kick like a farm dray; Micah bit off a curse. He and Tyler launched several more plasmas and Sanders ordered a move.

Micah spared a glance at his hud. The tactical situation worsened. He saw nothing but hostiles between the squad and any other Caustik forces. The number of hostiles didn't shrink, either.

Ambush!

Micah let the Flame kick in as enemy armor erupted from the debris around them. He thumbed his rifle to AP and started sniping. Return fire forced them back and away from their line.

A squad of light crunchies worked to emplace a semi. Micah lobbed a plasma and backed away as the armor advanced again.

Sanders barked more orders. More blips faded as reports of heavier armor came through. Just Micah's luck to intercept a major thrust with nothing but League meat to back them!

They lost Tyler to a half-squad of jump armor. Enemies behind meant certain disaster; Typer armed his plasmas, primed his blaster and jumped in the middle of the armor. Some of them might have survived the plasma but the building collapsing on them rendered that survival moot.

Too many! Micah found himself grounded and covered beside a fairly heavy wall with Sanders not far away. None of his fellows registered on the hud and Micah knew the equipment worked. They'd done a credible job holding back the meat but Micah knew it couldn't last.

“Sir,” said Micah, “Heavy power's coming.”

“W-what? Yes. Heavy power.”

Micah took a second to eyeball Sanders' position. The lieutenant crouched behind cover only snapping shots occasionally and certainly not aiming them.

“Sir! That's a tank or a can. We need to do something about it!”

“Yes, soldier. Quite.”

“Sir! Inform the League. We're almost back against their position!”

“Inform...”

Micah had no time to swear. Before Sanders finished his thought a massive tracked something knocked down the wall bottlenecking most of their opposition. Not, thought Micah, that it mattered now. Even as the thought crossed his mind a turret turned toward him. Micah threw his last plasma and triggered his myos to maximum. The explosion hurled him farther than the myos could jump and he hit hard. The saviorband triggered but Micah needed an extra edge. He popped another Flame and rolled to cover. The tank nosed toward Sanders' position followed by several columns of armored meat. They investigated the pile of stones that had been Micah's. Micah checked his myos. One good jump. All he needed.

Micah had two smites left. He thumbed them to automatic anti-personnel and scatter. He also had a pair of demo charges. He took one in each hand and sighted on the tank.

With the noise of battle around him Micah felt strangely calm. The Flame gave him an ethereal and airy view as he triggered his myos. At the peak of his jump the smites launched, each tracking the largest cluster of armor its primitive warhead detected. Beams and blasts sought Micah but missed as the meat ran for cover.

Micah landed short and not on the tank where he'd aimed. The turret tried to track him. Too late! Micah slapped both charges to the hull, over the fusion if he guessed right. Micah rolled for cover.

Several crunchies fired at Micah. He slapped a fresh clip into his rifle and opened fire. Near the edge of his vision he saw a crunchy raise something to its shoulder. The pile of rubble next to Micah exploded and he'd barely hit the ground when a second and much larger explosion pounded him against the it. Micah grayed out.

When Micah came to his senses he hurt in at least ten thousand places and the terrain around him had vanished. He'd obviously not hit the tank's fusion but its ammo supply. Micah felt sure he was alive. Time to leave.

“Lieutenant Sanders.” Micah's voice sounded weak, even to him. “L-T! Respond, sir.”

Micah staggered to Sanders' cover. Several of the man-shapes on the ground moved and Micah blasted them without thinking. In the distance he saw more approaching but he'd worry about that if and when.

Micah found Sanders buried and less than half coherent. The bottom half of one leg stayed in place when Micah pulled him free. Micah ratcheted the tourniquet tight and hit Sanders' saviorband. The man gibbered and showed no sign of rationality. At least he didn't resist Micah's efforts to move him along.

Plasma and blast bolts spatted around Micah. He thumbed his hud to the alternate channel and placed the League forces in relation to himself. At least he could warn them.

Chapter 4. The Reward

Once away from the line Micah concentrated on making speed. Rumbles and explosions behind meant the Corpsie meat didn't see them leave. Micah grinned. Give him a few spiders and a smart inferno...

As well wish for an orbital strike. Of which there had been none.

Two shapes in the haze turned into League troopies with weapons aimed and ready.

“Halt and identify!” snapped one.

“Stone. Micah J. Alpha Nexus 1459. TAS 113, Commonwealth of Caustik,” replied Micah impatiently, “Where is your commander?”

“Sir?”

“There's a full flaming column of Corpse meat back there, crunchy,” growled Micah, “They're coming this way fast!”

After a moment they directed Micah to their command post. Micah found two lieutenants and a captain, all in a frantic state. One of the lieutenants wore Navy tabs.

“Sir...” began Micah.

“Medic!” called a lieutenant, on seeing Micah's burden.

Two corpsmen took charge of Sanders and another began scanning Micah.

“Sir...”

“Easy son,” said the medic, “He'll be fine and so will you. Now sit down, please.”

“SIR!!” barked Micah, totally out of patience.

The captain glared but at least Micah had his attention. With as few words as possible Micah explained his situation. He squirted his data into their battlecomp. 

“Bloody rut,” swore the captain, “They have us boxed!”

Micah examined the terrain.

“Sir, what about an orbital strike?”

“Negative, soldier,” said the Navy officer.

“But...”

“At ease, Mister,” said the Captain, “We are waiting for orders.”

Micah glanced at the battlecomp.

“Sir. Here, here and here the lines seem weak. With a few soldiers and some ordnance you could easily...”

“Belay that, Mister! That's an order!” That brought the captain to his feet. “You will join the third platoon. You will comply with this medic's orders when you get there and you will place yourself under the platoon commander. These are also orders! Do you understand them?”

Micah snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes sir.”

The League gave priority to evacuating wounded and they had ample opportunities to apply it. Captain Dalion, who gave Micah his orders, he learned, ordered the wounded aboard what cans he had and sent them back escorted by his light armor. The rest of the troopies covered the pullout and waited.