Indomitable (46 page)

“We don't need much. Grab your helmet, a collar, and a spare seabag.”

“I thought we were leav—”

“We
are.
Our mechsuits aren't in shape for combat.” An eyeless servomech dropped from the overhead and beeped at Promise. It was tethered to several cables and moved like an agitated cephalopod. “Get out of my face,” Promise said. She slapped the metal octopus in the optic and it let out a shrill beep and jetted into the overhead. Then she turned to Kathy. “I'm not leaving without Mr. Bond.”

Promise walked under her armor and found her helmet on a set of shelves, cleaned and gleaming new against the far bulkhead. “Good, the dent is gone.” She opened a link to her helmet with her mastoid implant and subvocalized her authorization.

Kathy's eyes grew wide. “You can't be serious.”

“Voice identification confirmed,”
said the standard flat-sounding AI voice.
“Please don the helmet for retinal scan.”

Promise spun the helmet round and quickly pulled it on, which was no small feat without the rest of her armor. The helmet weighed almost nine kilos, mostly because of all the armored plating over the interior shell of battle foam. Unlike the rest of her armor, the helmet didn't have to flex or bend around her muscles. It just had to rotate from side to side and pivot up and down on its collar. The lack of mobility allowed the engineers to print the helmet out of a core of foam overlaid with peristeel. Foam that could stop at least one high-velocity penetrator if it got through the armor, or slow it down to a survivable head wound. In theory. Promise saw Kathy through her visor looking at her like she was out of her mind. She quickly circled her hands to tell the PFC to get with the program.

“Lieutenant, my sensors must be malfunctioning. What's happened to the rest of me?”

“Getting scrubbed.” Promise looked toward the ceiling and caught her helmet as it started to roll backward, off of her head. Without the collar it wasn't seated properly and it weighed a ton. “See. We're going for a ride-along to rescue PFC Cervantes. Your body is staying put but you're coming with me.”

“I haven't been briefed on the operation.”

“I'm doing that now.” Promise sighed, and pulled the helmet off to stuff it into her seabag. “You're to stay off comm and keep your mouth shut. But, monitor the battlenet through my implant.” She felt Bond make the link. “Good. I expect the colonel will patch me in once we dust off. I want locations on our Marines and all known hostiles, and maps of the base as they update. And, I want a fix on PFC Cervantes. She's activated her homing beacon. When we land, find it.”

“Lieutenant, I've just queried the company battlenet and I'm not authorized for this operation. You're listed as an observer only.”

“That's right. Do we have a problem?”
I've never lied to my AI and I'm not about to start now.
Kathy pulled her helmet on. Her AI must have asked the same question, because Kathy's eyes went wide and she looked at Promise, arms spread in a what-now look.

“Technically, you're not deploying, at least not with your body. Kathy and I have no intention of disobeying our orders.
Unless we have to.
But we're not going in blind either. We need your ears and eyes to stay informed.” Promise rapped the top of her helmet and sealed up the bag. “You are designed to function without your armor in emergency situations, which this is, and I'm about to enter a hot zone. I may need to wear you to defend myself. Understood?”

“I may need command authorization for this.”

“You have mine … and Captain Yates's.”
Okay, that was a stretch. But the captain did say to get my gear and Mr. Bond is an essential part of it. I need my AI.

“Why didn't you say that in the first place?”

“Shut up, Bond.”

“Shutting up, ma'am.”

Promise gave Kathy a questioning look as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “We good?”

“Yup, Ms. Pie was listening in. Pie's booted and green-to-go.” Kathy stuffed her helmet and with it her AI, Ms. Pie, into her bag and slung it behind her. “How are we going to explain the helmets to the colonel?” Kathy raised a brow. “Hm?”

“Grab some extra medkits from that shelf, and some rations too. You'll probably get hungry.”

“Right … because you're just trying to be helpful.” Kathy's snark failed to mask her worry. Promise nodded like she understood.

“Come to think of it, I am.” Kathy grabbed a stimbar and tore off the wrapper, and offered a second one to Promise. “Just what do you plan on doing, ma'am?”

Promise stuck out a hand.
No thanks.

“We're getting Jupiter back, no matter the cost.”

 

Fifty-five

MAY 25
TH
, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1919 HOURS

THE KORAZIM SYSTEM, PLANET SHEOL

COMBAT OUTPOST DANNY TRUE

The ash was barely
falling as Promise and Kathy sprinted across the flight deck toward the waiting assault-class LAC. Lieutenant Colonel Halvorsen was suited up and standing at the top of the aft ramp, gauntlets on his hips. His coarse voice crackled over Promise's mastoid implant.

“Took you long enough, Lieutenant.”

Promise was T minus ten seconds and didn't see the problem.

“What's with the gear?”
Halvorsen was pointing at Kathy's seabag, which was bursting at the seams. Promise could see his eyes through his faceplate shift from her guardian's gear to her own.

Careful, P. Remember, a Marine never lies to her superior officer.

“Medkits, rations … because my guardian is a bottomless pit, small arms in case we have to defend the ship. Just the usual gear, sir.” The colonel didn't need a line-by-line manifest of the bag's contents, right?

They reached the top of the ramp and the colonel still looked unconvinced. His brows nearly met as he scowled. Promise held her breath until the colonel turned around and tromped back into LAC.
“Take us up.”
The ramp retracted as they hit the top and the blast door slammed down on their heels. They secured their gear in an overhead smartrack and strapped themselves into webbing. Promise tore her rebreather off and let it hang loose around her neck.

“See,” Promise shouted to Kathy over the up-spin of the LAC's engines and the chatter of Marines headed toward a hot zone. A few gave them puzzled looks before returning to their conversations. “Easy.”

Kathy subvocalized through her mastoid implant.
“We're going to get shot at … aren't we, ma'am.”

“Want a new lieutenant to shadow?” Promise crossed her arms, somewhat annoyed.

“Don't joke like that.”
Kathy smiled.
“After this op, I just might.”

Promise broke into a smile and held up a hand in apology. Kathy and Promise started chuckling lightly. A moment later they were laughing full-throat. A Marine next to Halvorsen motioned toward them. The colonel leaned into view from midway up the compartment and raised an armored finger to his faceplate. His voice boomed over his externals. “Shut it or I'll toss both of your asses out the nearest drop ring.”

“Sorry, sir. Inside joke,” Kathy shouted back before she made the switch and turned back to Promise.
“If we get shot at I get to shoot back, right?”

“That goes without saying,” Promise said.

Kathy leaned back in her webbing and closed her eyes.
“Good, I'm counting on it.”

*   *   *

Colonel Halvorsen's voice boomed
through the LAC's compartments. “Seal up. Lock and load. We reach the LZ in three mikes and—”

Concussions rocked the LAC's hull, interrupting the colonel's final instructions before landing. He could have spoken over the battlenet instead. He hadn't and only one explanation made sense. Her. He still hadn't looped her in.

Colonel's got a soft spot,
Promise thought.
Just not too soft.

“Looks like a hot entry. Prep your armor for drop,” the colonel added.

The pilot's voice filled the compartment a split second later.
“We're taking heavy flak. Prepare for emergency drop. I'll meet you at the rendezvous in Sector Thirty-Four. Godsspeed. Hell's teeth.”
The cabin's interior lights cycled to a low-light red as the LAC banked hard and pitched forward. Promise heard the staccato burps of the LAC's forward minigun and the muffled
thrush thrush thrush
of missiles bursting from their hard points along the sides of the hull. She couldn't hear the point defenses striking down incoming birds with their diminutive beams, or the offensive energy mounts targeting the launchers on the ground. A Scourge-class assault LAC had both in spades and she knew the air outside had just become a killing field. The craft shook off a direct hit and banked to the opposite side, and Promise's gut floated toward the overhead.

“Fun, right?” Kathy said as she bounced in her seat.

Promise bared her teeth as ordnance pounded the hull. Her hand reached into her pocket and retrieved her tube of lips.
Never leave home without it.
As the LAC bounced and ordnance peppered the hull, she stroked the cool metal tube, and focused on its smooth hard surface, on the cap that popped on and off. The explosions seemed to fade and she found herself thinking of Sephora. She wondered what the girl was up to. Perhaps she and Great-Grans were in the general's kitchen baking cookies. Great-Grans didn't strike her as the baking type. Then again, Great-Grans didn't strike her as the type to do much besides bash skulls.

The LAC lurched violently and the webbing cut deep into Promise's shoulders. She winced and said a quick prayer.
Sir, cover them. And Jupiter, wherever she is. Help us get her out.

Another lurch and Promise yelped in her seat.

“You're not afraid of a little flak, are you, ma'am?”

The Marine across from her and one seat down chuckled over his externals. His faceplate was down and his eyes were lit by his HUD, and they were smiling. Promise wanted to wipe the smug right off of his face.

“No, Staff Sergeant,” Promise had scanned his armor for his rank and found the embossed Vs riding the staff sergeant's chestplate, three up top and one below. The Vs were obvious to a jane or jack who knew to look for them, providing she or he was up close. Otherwise they blended in with the armor to prevent the enemy from picking off senior noncoms or officers from sniper range. “But my shoulders are screaming at me.”

“Gotta love the suck,” the staff sergeant said.

“Ooh-rah,” Promise replied.

Several helmets snapped toward her, veteran grins plastered on the faces inside. The whites of their teeth shone brightly in the lights of their HUDs. Then the staff sergeant slammed his fist on his thigh and cried out, “We love the suck, oh yes we do.”

The rest of the compartment bellowed in response, “We love it like a RAW-MC screw.”

Promise saw a much younger woman who looked scared to death on the opposite side of the LAC and one seat down, and gave her two thumbs up. The woman smiled weakly and closed her eyes. The LAC shuddered violently and the woman screamed in her helmet. Her externals were off so Promise couldn't hear her, but she felt for the young woman anyway. Probably her first hot drop.
She might not be blooded.
That brought back memories. Promise caught her attention when she opened her eyes, and mouthed,
It's going to be okay.

“Drop in one mike. Toons to your assigned drop rings,” the pilot said evenly. He might as well have been ordering his meal at chop for all the emotion that was in it. “Repeat, drop in one mike. Toons to your rings.”

Pairs of metal rods descended from the overhead. They were as tall as a suited Marine, and comfortably spaced for grabs-and-holds. At the bottom of each pole was a large textured grip fit for a giant's hand, or a mechanized Marine's. Two platoons unstrapped from their webbing and took their places around the rings. Five by five they circled up and gripped their drop poles, five around the forward ring and five around the aft. Promise heard their maglocks bolt to the deck. They exchanged thumbs-up and fist pumps and Promise knew the platoon sergeants were giving last-minute instructions. “Look lively. Trust your training. Stay on me.” That sort of thing. Promise wished she could join them. She couldn't help thinking how unfair it was that she wasn't dropping with them. It should have been her leading one of those toons. Her dropping in first to extract her Marine. Her rushing the danger because that's what a lieutenant of Marines did.

The toon nearest her came to attention in their armor, backs ramrod straight and boots locked tight, which told Promise they were on a final countdown. Ten seconds later the deck beneath their feet pulled away, the howling wind and sky was visible beneath them. Only a thin layer of magnetic armorplaste separated them from the torrent outside. Then the armorplaste vanished and they fell through the hull and disappeared. The ring sealed and the next toon rose to take its place until just two toons of Marines remained.

The young woman she'd encouraged only moments before got up to drop, and turned to face Promise. She still looked nervous but seemed to have it under control. The single flat stripe or “runway” of a PFC stood out slightly on her armor.

“Don't worry. We'll get some for you … and we
will
bring PFC Cervantes home.”

Promise went to speak and couldn't. Her throat felt thick, her words dissolved in an incomprehensible mush. All she could do was nod and look away. The PFC joined her toon and the deck disappeared. Without warning, flak exploded directly below the ring, and fragments struck the armorplaste shield, which cracked through but held. The light of the explosion briefly lit the overhead of the LAC. The blast knocked the PFC out of the ring. Her arms swung widely as she careered backward, into the bulkhead webbing.