Valor's Trial (11 page)

An officer in charge would have created a situation she needed to deal with for the sake of the Marines his ego had fukked over. For the sake of the Marines left to die in the caves. For the sake of the Marines slowly starving to death under his command. The crap going down in the node was a more extreme example of abuse of power than usual, but finding a solution would still be part of her job description.

A staff sergeant, though . . .

It still came down to doing what was necessary to keep her people alive, but that, that made it personal. Only the thought that it would make it harder to get them around Harnett's throat kept her from curling her hands into fists.

Two meters away, she came to parade rest, and waited. Gunnery sergeants didn't speak first, colonels did. It took Harnett a moment to remember that.

“So, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, is it?” His smile was broad and false. He didn't seem to recognize her name, but from the reaction sweeping through his goon squad, at least a few of them did. “What brings you here?”

“Reporting to the commander of this area, sir.” She'd have liked to use that
sir
to tell him what she thought of him, but it seemed wisest to keep her tone ice and iron. He'd have her opinion on things soon enough.

Pleased by what he heard as deference but clearly confused, Harnett frowned. “How did you get past my guards?”

“I was challenged.”

“Not the purple idiot!” He'd clearly heard what had happened just after she entered the node. “The guards in the . . .” Torin almost saw the lights go on. “You didn't come from the other pipe, did you? You woke up in a small cave,” he continued, answering his own question. “Last day or two.”

“She's got the tunnel rat with her, Colonel Harnett, sir,” Edwards told him before Torin could answer. He spoke quickly, eagerly, currying favor with information. “The Krai. The one with the fukked foot. I knew he was still alive. I told you, remember? She left him outside. And that's not all, the rest of them, they're all up and crowdin' the fukking line. Waiting to see what the . . . what she's going to do.”

“Crowding the fukking line?” Harnett's smile twisted. “Well, get your ass out there and
discourage
them from crowding the fukking line. Take Bakune and Maeken with you. Let's show the gunny we can maintain discipline.”

“Yes, sir, Colonel Harnett.” Edwards grinned so broadly he could barely get his lips around the words.

When Edwards left, he took two of the three di'Taykan with him, lowering the odds to six to one. No one moved into his place behind her. And while the six remaining goons had moved closer, not one of them moved to cover Harnett's left. When this was over, she'd have a few words to say about proper security measures.

“Colonel Harnett, sir. Look at her boot.”

His eyes flicked down to the knife and up again to her face. “So you did run into some of my guards.”

Torin let nothing show on her face. “I believe the three persons were referred to as a hunting party, sir.”

“Were?” This new smile told her he finally understood what was going on and was happy his world made sense again. “Well, yes, I believe they
were
. The question becomes, what are we going to do with you, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr?” He spread his hands, and, still smiling, slowly turned.

Clearly, there'd been coup attempts before.

For a moment, Torin thought about making the bastard work a little harder for it, but she'd had about as much of Colonel Harnett as she could stomach, so she took her cue.

They expected her to go for the knife in her boot. That was one of the reasons she wore it. Ignoring the knife gave her a two or three second jump on a reaction.

He expected her to try and stab him in the back.

When he whirled to face her, she was two seconds closer than expected and already on her knees sliding under his kick. Up on her feet inside his guard, one hand went to his chin and the other to the back of his head. Once again, momentum, his and hers, added force as she straightened her inner arm.

He was already sagging when she felt a knife slam into her vest, and although it didn't have a hope getting through the body armor, the impact pushed her from cold rage to full fury. Bending her knees, Torin let the late colonel fall across her back, hoisted him up, and heaved him at the goon squad. Paradise, her birth planet, had a gravity 1.14 Human norm. It was a small difference, but added to adrenaline, it came in handy. She had her knife out by the time he stopped bouncing, and when she blocked the next blow, she didn't block it blade to blade but blade to hilt.

As she'd already noticed, the flaked edge was sharp.

Three fingers fell. She cut the scream off in his throat.

They obviously hadn't fought anyone who hadn't been starved or beaten in months. Forty hours ago, Torin had been in combat.

One of the women approached and got a boot to the side of the knee. The body armor in the vest was inert, but it depended on tech in the combats and all tech was down. As the joint cracked and she crumbled, Torin ducked in, grabbed her, turned her as a shield toward the whistle of a descending club. The stone sent teeth flying. Impact loosened the wielder of the club's grip, and a second later Torin used his own weapon to smash in his throat. Soft tissue was
always
the safer shot.

Three down.

The other three stared at her over the body of Colonel Harnett.

If they decided to rush her together, Torin wouldn't stand a chance. Even one at a time, the odds weren't in her favor, not having to adjust for both Human and di'Taykan physiognomy.

So she smiled and said, “Don't.”

And like the hundred Marines who'd been ground under the heels of maybe two dozen goons, they didn't.

It was all a matter of perception.

They believed she could win.

The man with the crushed throat had died, heels drumming. The woman with the smashed mouth and the broken knee should have been alive—none of her injuries were fatal—but lips were blue and one hand still clutched at the collar of her combats. If Torin had to hazard a guess, she'd say the dead woman had choked on her own teeth. Had she lived, the pain from her knee would have been intense and the shattered bones in her jaw couldn't have been rebuilt without tech. She'd have complicated what had to be clear and simple.

The three remaining members of the goon squad still standing by the pipe stepped back as Torin stepped over the body.

If there was a moment of savage pleasure taken in their fear, Torin didn't let it show. “Weapons there!” Out in the open where they couldn't retrieve them unobserved. “Then get these walls down.”

“But . . .”

“Now!”

From the time she walked into the tent to the time the walls began collapsing gracefully to the floor, no more than fifteen minutes had elapsed.

Colonel
Harnett had a storeroom of gear taken off dead and dying Marines.
Colonel
Harnett had what passed for opulent personal quarters.
Colonel
Harnett had three of the youngest Marines in a room by his quarters. While not as well fed as his fighters, they were less thin than the general population and the scraps of clothing he'd left them made it obvious what he used them for.

They wore twisted fabric collars and cuffs.

“What the fuk is going . . .”

Sweeping Edwards' feet out from under him, Torin yanked his left arm over his head and slammed the stone knife into his armpit, grinding it through his ribs, and driving it into his heart. The silence as he hit the ground was absolute. Fighting her way back from a blind rage that would have seen every one of Harnett's people dead by her hand, she could hear nothing but her own blood pounding between her ears.

The fabric walls lay in drifts around her. She could feel the weight of a hundred pairs of watching eyes from the other side of the demilitarized zone and six pairs watching from a lot closer. It was dangerous to gain a reputation for uncontrollable rage, no matter how justified. Edwards' death would just have to be fuel for another story then.

“That,” she snarled, bending to wipe her blade on Edwards' hip, “is why you don't cut the sleeves off your uniform.” As she straightened, the two di'Taykan who'd been with Edwards took a step toward her. She let them see what she was thinking, and they backed away. “Private Kyster!”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant Kerr!”

“Release the prisoner.”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!”

“You!” The finger she pointed toward the youngest of the surviving goons was only metaphorically not dripping red. “Name!”

“Private di'Nurin Jiyuu, Gunnery Sergeant!” He looked a little surprised by the vehemence of his reply.

“How many still out in the tunnels?”

“There's two and a runner in tunnel seven, Gunnery Sergeant,” Jiyuu told her quickly. Time under Harnett had clearly taught him to suck up to power. “Three in tunnel four. Tunnel two hunting party has already checked back.”

If there'd been only two hunting parties working, then the three in tunnel four had already checked out. Torin could see Akemi standing just back of the assembled Marines, closer to the tunnels than the pipe. If she decided to run and turn the five goons still out in the tunnels into a strike force, there'd be trouble.

“Private Akemi!”

She visibly started at the sound of her name, her hair flipping back and forth.

“Get over here. Double time.”

There was absolutely no reason Akemi should obey. There were a hundred starving Marines between them, no way Torin could get to her in time should she decide to run, and it was clear—even at a distance—that she was considering it. Had any of the survivors standing unsecured behind Torin said anything . . .

No one did. Although Bakune shuffled back from the spreading puddle of Edwards' blood.

Torin snapped out, “That wasn't a request, Private.”

Decision made for her, Akemi pushed her way through the crowd, jogged across the open area as though expecting a shot in the back at any moment, and rocked to a stop an arm's length away.

“Weapons there,” Torin pointed. “Then join the rest.”

The violet eyes darkened, as she took in the bodies, gaze lingering for a moment not on Harnett but on the three severed fingers. “Are you . . . ?”

“Let's move, Private, we've got a lot of work to do before dark. Mind the blood,” she added. “You track it around, you clean it up.” She waited until Akemi's weapons hit the pile, then drew in a deep breath and faced the mass of gray and brown. “Sergeants and above, fall in. Three ranks!”

A hundred pairs of eyes blinked.

Torin's eyes narrowed. “Now!”

In the end, there were eleven of them. They locked their eyes on the far wall; none of them looked at her. She could have said she expected more of them, but she hadn't been here, she hadn't been starved and beaten, so all she said was, “Who's senior?”

A staff sergeant with a pale beard and a missing front tooth stepped forward. “Staff Sergeant Kerin Pole, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“Get those kids taken care of, Staff Sergeant. Get them clothes and medical attention if they need it.” She shouldn't have had to specify but none of this should have happened, so . . . “Then have the lower ranks divided into groups of ten to fifteen so that we can see about getting them fed. We'll set up actual platoons later.”

“What about them?” His gaze flicked past her at the remains of Harnett's six still standing where she'd left them. They were uncertain, confused, but Edwards had been an object lesson the way Harnett hadn't, and what they'd become proved they weren't the type to sacrifice themselves on a fool's chance.

“They're not our problem, Staff.”

“But . . .”

“You have your orders.”

After a long moment, he nodded and she walked away, turning back to the staring eyes. She took a deep breath and let only calm expectation shape her voice. “Would the senior officer please meet with me here.”

She almost thought she'd have to ask again, but finally, after feet shuffling and muttering had run its course through the group, two di'Taykan emerged. A major and a lieutenant who was clearly supporting a good portion of the major's weight.

Torin came to attention. “Major . . .”

Face and voice both showed no emotion. “di'Ree Kenoton.”

“Major Kenoton,” she spoke to the major but loudly enough to be heard, “Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr, 7th Division, 4th Recarta, 1st Battalion, Sh'quo Company. What are your orders, sir?”

The lieutenant's eyes flicked from light green to dark so quickly it must have hurt.

The major merely stared, his eyes a mid-range blue. It looked as though he didn't understand. He had to understand. This was crucial. They had to become Marines again, or she'd just replaced Harnett as their keeper.

After a long moment, his hair moved, just a little. “My orders?”

“Yes, sir.”

After a longer moment, she began to be afraid this wasn't going to work.

Then the major, blinked, wet his lips, and said, “Carry on as you have been, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir!”

“WHAT TOOK YOU SO FUKKING
long, Gunny?”

Torin turned toward the familiar voice and smiled. This time, her expression meant nothing more or less than how it appeared. It felt good to see a familiar face. “Fuk, Werst, if there was shit disturbing going on, I should have known it was you.”

He didn't look bad, all things considered, but his natural mottling couldn't hide the bruises, one eye was swollen almost closed, and Kyster had definitely been supporting him as they moved toward her. She could see abrasions on one wrist and knew there'd be a matching set on the other wrist and both ankles. He hadn't just lain there after he'd been staked out, he'd fought the bindings. A bloody scab weighed down one corner of his mouth, but his lips still rose up off his teeth. “Harnett?”