Valour's Choice (34 page)

“And wouldn’t it be nice if it worked that way, sir?”

* * *

There were gaps in the ring of boulders. Some of the smaller ones had rolled closer to the compound, some of the larger had bogged down farther back. Most of the Silsviss running with the rocks had survived.

“If it was me,” Lieutenant Jarret murmured, almost to himself, “I’d have moved the guns they took from the VTA down the hill with the boulders. Then I’d run as many people as possible to the rocks while the guns lay down a covering fire.”

“And now they’ll be close enough to hit us deliberately, instead of only by accident,” Torin observed, flipping up her scanner. She couldn’t see anything useful, and the glare had started a pounding headache. Just what she needed.

“You’re not helping, Staff.”

“Sorry, sir.” Tone and delivery, that comment could have come from Captain Rose. Somewhat taken aback, she rubbed at a dribble of sweat running between her breasts and remembered how concerned she’d been that the polished diplomat working the
Berganitan
cocktail party wouldn’t be able to handle combat. Her lips twitched.
They grow up so fast.

“Once the Silsviss reach their barricade, can the heavies drop a grenade in behind?”

So much for the defensive battle he’d told Cri Sawyes they were fighting. Although, at this point, anything that helped keep them alive could pretty much be defined as defensive. They certainly weren’t charging out anywhere.

Torin traced the trajectory from the piled grain bags to the boulders. “It might take them a shot to establish the angle, the heavies aren’t exactly precision shooters, but it can be done.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s my job to be sure, sir.”

“Good. Tell them.”

“Yes, sir.”

The surrounding Silsviss started thrumming again before she finished speaking with Sergeants Glicksohn and Chou. By the time she got back to the lieutenant’s side, they were at full volume and she could feel her teeth vibrating right out of her jaw.

“Another challenge?” Jarret was demanding of Cri Sawyes as she joined them.

“The sssame challenge, part two.” His throat pouch had half inflated. “They’re telling you they aren’t going away.”

“Really. Well, neither are we.” To Torin’s surprise, he took his slate off his belt and thrust it toward the Silsviss. “Tell them.”

“Lieutenant, the dialect...”

“They aren’t using words, just sounds, emotions given voice. You don’t need to speak the language.”

His inner lids flicked across, and he shook his head. “They won’t be able to hear me, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, they’ll hear you.”

After a quick glance at Torin, who kept her expression absolutely neutral, Cri Sawyes took the slate.

Heads turned as the Silsviss challenge boomed out in the compound. Under helmet rims, eyes were wide and hands moved nervously up and down the length of weapons.

The lieutenant scanned his perimeter, pointed and beckoned. As Ressk ran toward them, Torin flipped down her mike. “Eyes front. Marines!” Barely able to hear herself over the noise, she nodded in satisfaction as the gawkers spun back around.

Ridges flushed, Ressk skidded to a halt. “Yes, sir?”

“Can you take out the background noise so we just have Cri Sawyes’ voice on the slate?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do it. Then use my code to transfer a copy of the recording to everyone in the platoon.”

“Your code, sir?”

Jarret’s eyes lightened. “Are you telling me you don’t know it yet?”

“Uh, no, sir.”

As Ressk’s fingers danced over the lieutenant’s slate, Torin took a step closer so she could be heard without shouting. “May I ask what you’re doing, sir?”

“Certainly, Staff. We’re about to tell the Silsviss that
we
aren’t going away either.”

* * *

Both older and larger, Cri Sawyes’ voice had a deeper tone than the massed voices of the surrounding Silsviss. Booming out of every slate in the compound, it laid a bass line under their challenge that spoke not so much defiance as contempt.

Half a dozen Silsviss broke cover and died, one of them hit nine or ten times.

“Let’s be a little more frugal with the ammo,” Torin advised sharply. “That’s six down and two thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-four still out there.”

“You counted?” Jarret asked as she flipped her mike back.

“Ballpark, sir.”

Lilac brows drew in. “What?”

“An approximation,” she corrected, making a mental note to smack Corporal Hollice upside the head if they both survived the day.

* * *

“I wonder what we’re saying.”

“Fuk you!” Haysole grinned as Hollice turned to scowl at him. “No, really, that’s what we’re saying!”

Weapon butt tucked under his good arm, he lifted his slate off the windowsill, listened for a minute, then nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“Not a phrase I’m usually wrong about.”

* * *

The tempo of the thrumming changed.

Shots rang out from behind the boulders.

Torin glanced down at the new hole in the wall beside her, then up at the lieutenant, knowing he hadn’t dropped only because she hadn’t. “Good call, sir.”

“Thank you, Staff. Tell them to turn off our reply and get ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You two are both crazy,” Cri Sawyes hissed from the ground.

* * *

“Most of the targets will be coming down from the top of the hill. Some won’t. Those are the ones not to miss.” Torin rested her weapon on grain bags—once used for access to the roof, now built into a sort of command center. Given the angle of the buildings, they had as close to a full field of view as was possible. “Mark your targets and remember that they’re shooting at us from a lot closer now.”

“Here they come!”

No Silsviss reached the compound.

A great many reached the boulders.

As the first of the grenades arced up and over, Torin scanned the perimeter. No casualties, but that wasn’t likely to last. She finished the circle and realized that all four Dornagain continued to work calmly at the side of the well.

How did we miss something that big?

“Sir! The Dornagain!”

Another grenade arced up and over.

“Get them under cover, Staff!”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Juan stared out at the almost solid mass of bodies running for the south wall. He’d just dropped his last grenade behind the boulders. “I don’t fukking believe it.”

“You don’t have to believe it,” Binti snarled. “Just shoot!”

* * *

“Ambassador!” Torin had to grab at a fur-covered arm and pull to get his attention. “Get your people inside!”

“We are almost fmished, Staff Sergeant.” He effortlessly tugged his arm free. “We choose to continue working for the few moments more it will take. If we are injured, we absolve you from any blame.”

“And if you’re all dead, who’s going to tell that to my superiors? Get your people inside. Now!”

His sigh fluffed out his whiskers. “A compromise, then. Strength of Arm will work from within the well, placing the last few pieces.”

“She’ll be within the well?”

“Yes.”

All things considered, that didn’t seem exactly safe, but at least it would move the others out of danger. “Fine. Do that. Just get inside!”

Biting her lower lip to prevent an undiplomatic outburst, she waited while the ambassador passed on his decision to his people. Shifted her weight from foot to foot, while they gathered up makeshift tools. Muttered under her breath while Strength of Arm climbed into the well, her movements surprisingly graceful although no faster than usual. And finally gave thanks to whatever gods were listening when all four Dornagain were safely under cover.

* * *

The lieutenant had moved to a position by the south wall while she was gone.

“Sir!” She had to shout to make herself heard. “The attack is strongest here!”

“I
had
noticed that, Staff Sergeant.” He fired, adjusted his aim, and fired again.

Torin snapped off two quick shots of her own. While she admired the lieutenant’s enthusiasm, leading from the front was not a good idea. If he died, she’d be stuck with Lieutenant Ghard—and she’d have to shoot him. “Sir! You’re in command! We can’t afford to lose you!”

“If the Silsviss get over this wall, there’ll be nothing left for me to command!”

Dropping one of the front runners, she had to admit he had a point.

“What’s happening on the north?”

One of the last grenades landed short of the rocks, but since there had to be more Silsviss in front than behind, it didn’t much matter.

“There’s a lot less of them on the north. They know they don’t stand a chance running into the crossfire between the buildings, so they aren’t. They’re only trying to keep us busy enough that we can’t reinforce the south.”

Snapping another clip into his weapon, Jarret shot Cri Sawyes a tight glare. “Considering that until we arrived they’d been fighting with pointy sticks, they learn fast.”

“For the sssake of my ssspeciesss, I accept the compliment. For the sssake of the sssituation, I apologissse.”

“Apology accepted.” He fired point-blank at a Silsviss, nearly to the wall, and took out the runner behind him as well. “Staff! Pull every third Marine off the north wall and send them to reinforce the south!”

“Yes, sir!”

* * *

The reinforcements weren’t enough. The first Silsviss came over the wall.

Then the second...

Torin spun around as a Silsviss launched itself over her head and barely managed to block a spear thrust. Ducking under the point, she slammed the metal-reinforced butt of her KC up into an unprotected elbow, and when the arm flew wide, got the muzzle in under the chin and pulled the trigger.

A weight landed on her back.

She let it take her to the ground, rolled, and watched a spear point drive into the earth inches from her shoulder.

Not good.

Standing over her, the Silsviss paused to scream a challenge, and the center of his chest exploded with a soft, incongruous phut. Torin blinked away a spray of blood and rolled again as he toppled forward.

Up on one knee she fired twice more over the wall and without even the seconds necessary to change the clip, swung the KC like a club, smashing in the head of a Silsviss about to stab Cri Sawyes in the back.

That seemed to clear the immediate area.

Breathing heavily, adrenaline sizzling along every nerve, she slapped in a new clip and looked around.

There were more Marines than the enemy standing.

Always a good thing.

Then she saw Ressk take a spear in the leg. He screamed, fell, and bit down on a tail that just happened to be too close to his mouth. The Silsviss seemed more surprised than hurt, but it delayed the second blow long enough for Torin to fire.

* * *

Chewing and swallowing the mouthful of flesh, Ressk shoved aside the dead Silsviss, got his good leg under him, and tried to stand without much success. Frowning, he glared down at the wound.

Most of the muscle had been carved off the side of his thigh and he could see bone.

It hadn’t actually hurt until then.

The world became pain.

Blood welling up through his fingers, he squeezed everything back more or less where it went and curled protectively around it. He’d have screamed except he couldn’t catch his breath.

When, inexplicably, he began to rise into the air, he whimpered.

“We do not wish to hurt you, Private Ressk, but we must move you.”

He opened his eyes to see a Mictok eyestalk bent down by his face. “G’head,” he gasped at his reflection as multiple forelegs laid him on the stretcher. “Get me out of here.”

The eyestalk suddenly disappeared.

That was strange enough he found the strength to lift his head.

One of the Mictok—he didn’t know which one, they all looked the same to him—had been flipped over on its back, all eight appendages in the air. No, seven. One was in the hand of the Silsviss standing over it. Given time, the Mictok could have righted itself, but a second Silsviss smacked it with its tail and sent it skidding across the compound.

The other three stood motionless around him.

“My weapon!” He swung at one, imprinting the mark of a bloody fist next to the red enamel cross. “Give me my weapon!”

No reaction.

The underside of a Mictok looked a lot softer than the top.

One of the Silsviss smacked it again.

Mandibles clacking, it bumped hard against the back of Sergeant Glicksohn’s leg.

Half off the stretcher, fingers still inches from his weapon strap, Ressk watched Glicksohn turn.

Nearly trip over the Mictok.

Deflect the first spear thrust with the barrel of his KC.

Bend, get both hands under the body of the giant spider.

“Every time I see one, this little voice inside my head keeps screaming, Get it off me! Get it off me!”

Flip it back onto its feet.

Straighten.

Die.

The second spear went up in under the edge of his combat vest, slicing through soft tissue, up under the ribs, and into the heart.

He looked down at the rough wooden shaft angling out of his body.

His weapon fell from nerveless fingers.

His knees buckled, and he hit the ground.

* * *

“MIKE!”

Halfway across the compound, Torin saw him fall. Her first shot took out the Silsviss who’d speared him. The second Silsviss fell before she could get off her second shot.

* * *

As the world went black, Ressk closed his fingers around the KC. This time, he wasn’t letting go.

* * *

By the time, Torin reached Glicksohn’s side, the Mictok were clustered together and beginning to spin webbing around themselves. She didn’t need his med-alert to tell her he was dead. Only the dead fell with that boneless disregard for gravity. She dropped to one knee and laid two fingers against his throat anyway.

No pulse.

But Ressk was still alive.

Lifting his upper body back onto the stretcher, she pulled her knife from her boot. Mictok webbing was supposed to be uncuttable. Torin got through it.