Starfist: Kingdom's Fury (30 page)

"Let me know as soon as they do. We'll coordinate a trap for a rail gun."

"I look forward to working with you on that."

"Now I need to return planetside. I have a war to run."

As he strapped himself into the webbing in the Dragon that would ride an Essay back to Kingdom's surface, Sturgeon reflected that while it was nice to know what that hellacious weapon was and that the navy was working on a way to counter it, that knowledge did nothing for him right now. He felt the trip to orbit had been a waste of time and effort; the navy could have transmitted the same information to him in a secure message less than fifteen words long.

A message, not much longer than fifteen words, arrived shortly after his Essay landed outside Interstellar City. S&R had identified and isolated what they believed was the radiation signature of a rail gun. The
Grandar Bay's
Laser Gunnery Division was anxious to utilize its skills and weapons to start taking them out.

Previous operations had identified four entrances to the underground complex that were guarded by rail guns. The Marines' Dragons had barely been used, since they had proved to be so vulnerable to the rail guns in the Swamp of Perdition. Sturgeon decided to sacrifice one to test the
Grandar Bay's
Laser Gunnery Division. He assigned the job to 34th FIST and coordinated with the navy.

This is crazy, Corporal Claypoole told himself for the umpteenth time since Captain Conorado and the captain from FIST operations met with third platoon to brief them on the mission. How many divisions do the Skinks have out here, and we're one lousy platoon?

He heard the rumble, muted by intervening trees, of Dragons about half a kilometer to the west. The Dragons Claypoole heard were empty; the crews that drove them and, if the opportunity arose, would fire their guns, were safe in bunkers in the Marine encampment outside Interstellar City. The civilian engineers in the off-worlder colony had worked round the clock for more than thirty-six hours to design, construct, and install remote piloting systems for three Dragons. They were much chagrined that Brigadier Sturgeon hadn't allowed them time to field-test the systems—he insisted the operation be set in motion at the earliest possible moment.

Maneuver for the Dragons was just a touch slower than normal, and the guns'

response time would also be a tad laggardly because the commands radioed to the Dragons were relayed by the string-of-pearls.

Corporal Claypoole toggled on the fire team circuit. "Wolfman, got anything on your mover?" In his infra he saw Lance Corporal MacIlargie wading through the marsh ten meters to his front, but he couldn't see the motion detector attached to the front of Wolfman's chameleons. MacIlargie moved a bit gingerly. The wound he'd received a few days earlier was still sore.

"Only us and the Dragons, Rock," MacIlargie answered. "Not even any animals."

"You didn't look at it," Claypoole complained.

"I'm listening to it."

"Look at it. How do you know you're hearing it right?"

MacIlargie made a noise that Claypoole translated as asshole, but he pulled the motion detector off his chest and flipped up the cover to look at the display. "It still only shows us and the Dragons," he said.

"What scale?"

"What?"

"What scale are you looking at?" Claypoole sounded annoyed.

MacIlargie expelled a breath. "One klick." The detector showed all movement in a one square kilometer area.

"Increase scale, show ten klicks." Claypoole sounded nervous.

MacIlargie looked around. "Someone that far away isn't going to run into us."

"Check it anyway!" Claypoole ordered in a rising tone.

"All right, all right." MacIlargie made the adjustment. "Still only shows us and the Dragons."

"You're sure?"

MacIlargie stopped and turned toward his fire team leader. "You want to look at it yourself? What's the matter, Rock? You're acting like somebody's grandmother." He held the motion detector out where the display was visible to Claypoole.

"Cover that!" Claypoole snapped.

The display vanished as MacIlargie snapped the chameleoned cover shut.

Muttering to himself, MacIlargie faced front and resumed his movement. He touched the controls on the motion detector and returned it to the one klick setting.

Claypoole wasn't the only Marine in third platoon who was on edge. The last time the platoon had been there, it was one of eighteen platoons in the wetlands; this time it was the only one. And last time there wasn't a big, inviting target nearby like the three Dragons half a klick away.

Lance Corporal Schultz, on point as always, paid a lot more attention to his right front and flank than he did his front or left. The Dragons and their noise—he knew they were there to draw the Skinks' attention—were to his left. He knew the Skinks didn't need to be close to hit the Dragons; they had weapons that could take them out from a distance. He was afraid that when the Skinks fired, they'd fire from the right—through him. The Skinks would use that big gun, the big brother of the buzz saws, to hit the Dragons. He'd seen what was left of a Dragon after it was hit by one of those things in the Swamp of Perdition. Something with that much striking power could atomize a man and maybe not even notice it hit something. He knew it was a line-of-sight weapon and that it had a totally flat trajectory, just like the blasters did.

Whatever its range, it was more than half a klick. If it fired from the right, Schultz knew he was right in its path. So he watched to the right more than to the front or the left. If the Skink gun was in that direction, maybe he'd sense something and have time to hit the deck before he got pulverized. And maybe geese migrated north in winter.

Corporal Doyle would have been catatonic if only Corporal Kerr would let him lay down on one of those nice bits of dry land that edged above the water all over the place. But no, Corporal Kerr kept on him about moving ahead and maintaining contact with Schultz. Why did he have to maintain contact with Schultz? He didn't want to follow Schultz. Schultz always went places that were dangerous. Doyle didn't want to go anyplace dangerous; he was supposed to be a clerk. It was some kind of horrible mistake that he was out in that marsh following Schultz in a mad search for Skinks and their monstrous weapons. All his eliminatory sphincters would have let go and emptied his bladder and bowel, except that they were already empty—they gave out when the orders came down for third platoon to accompany the Dragons, and he hadn't been able to hold anything down since.

"Keep moving, Doyle," Corporal Kerr said on the fire team circuit. Kerr was secretly glad Doyle was in his fire team. Doyle's fear and his constant need to be reminded to pay attention were the only things that distracted Kerr from the motion detector he carried. Somewhere inside, Kerr knew that if he was glued to the motion detector, he could well miss something else and get killed because of it. Still, he listened too hard to the motion detector and looked at its display far too often. He tried not to flash on the Siad horsemen—horsemen!—who had almost killed him on Elneal. The Skinks were far more deadly than the Siad could ever have been. Kerr strained to break his concentration on the motion detector. He knew he had to give his own senses and his hard-earned combat savvy a chance to keep him alive.

At the rear of the platoon column Corporal Dean was keenly aware of how Company M had been mauled by Skinks who hid in the water and didn't attack until the Marines had passed them. He and Lance Corporal Godenov walked backward, looking forward only often enough to keep from tripping over objects in their path.

PFC Quick, his third man, had a tough job. Quick had to keep contact between them and the rest of the platoon, to make sure they didn't get separated. Quick also monitored the motion detector. Maybe he should have had Godenov walk drag and had Quick back here with him, Dean thought. Godenov was more experienced and could handle both jobs better. But Quick was good too, and Dean wanted those experienced eyes watching the rear with him. Godenov was more likely than Quick to spot something subtle. Maybe the next time they stopped he'd switch them around. But there was no way the Skinks were going to hit third platoon, Company L, the way they hit M Company. Nossir!

Staff Sergeant Hyakowa wondered what had happened to the Skink patrols that third platoon and so many others had run into a few days earlier. He didn't think it was simply luck that kept the platoon from encountering patrols—the Dragons should have been a magnet for Skink security. Unless the Skinks had something else in store for them. He communicated this thought to Lieutenant Rokmonov, but otherwise kept his concerns to himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Brigadier Sturgeon sat at a console in a corner of the MEF operations center, out of the way of his staff. They were monitoring everything: the movement of the Dragons, of Company L's third platoon, and of the sensors in third platoon's area of operation. He'd chosen the area for the mission precisely because it had been seeded with a full array of sensors. His staff was in constant communication with the
Grandar Bay's
string-of-pearls monitors and Laser Gunnery Division. The displays on his console and the earpiece he wore kept him in constant touch with everything that was happening—or not happening, as it was turning out.

Third platoon and the Dragons had been out there for hours. They'd already passed within range of several known entrances to the underground system without incident. They would have to turn and begin the arc back soon. Why weren't the Skinks taking the bait? Sturgeon wondered.

"Mudmen, this is Skyboy," a voice said over the string-of-pearls circuit. Sturgeon held his earpiece tight. "We've got the signature you've been waiting for. Details coming."

Sturgeon saw the coordinates and the location appear on a map. A suspected rail gun was a kilometer and a half north-northeast of the Dragons. If it was giving out a signal, it was probably ready to fire. "Locked on," came another voice. The Laser Gunnery Division was ready.

The air seemed to crackle, and Schultz, about to step around the end of a long, narrow hummock, dove into the water behind it instead. Behind him the rest of the platoon also went for cover. The concussion wave from the eruption of a Dragon half a kilometer away rippled the water and shook the trees around third platoon. The fans on the surviving Dragons raced faster, louder, and they shot off in evasive movements. Dean raised his head to look forward and saw a lance of light slash down from the zenith to strike somewhere ahead of third platoon. Something exploded where the laser hit.

"Signature silent," the string-of-pearls reported.

Cheering burst out in the Marine operations center. Officers and NCOs congratulated each other, slapped each other's backs, shook hands.

Brigadier Sturgeon didn't join in the celebratory reaction. How many more of those things do they have? was the question on his mind. Killing one gun wasn't enough cause for celebration. He sidestepped the chain of command and radioed directly to third platoon.

"Patch me into the all-hands circuit," he ordered. When he was on, he said, "This is Brigadier Sturgeon. We just lost a Dragon, but that was deliberate. There was nobody on that Dragon, no Marines were lost. In return, we killed one of the Skink main guns. Now we know how to kill them when they're ready to fire. I want you to go in farther and see if you can get more of those guns to expose themselves. Good hunting. Sturgeon out."

He looked across the room to where the crews of the Dragons sat at their control stations. All nine Marines were looking back at him. They hadn't joined in the celebration: it didn't matter to them that no Marines were injured when the Dragon was destroyed—that Dragon was one of theirs. He got up and walked over to them.

"This time let's see if you can kill one of those guns before it gets another Dragon," he said softly.

The nine Marines smiled grimly at him. "Yessir," one of them said. "Where do you want us to go?"

He told them, then went back to his console and told the string-of-pearls monitors what he wanted them to do. The cheering and backslapping stopped and everybody returned to the job that needed to be finished.

The Dragons stopped evasive maneuvers and sped across third platoon's trail as though they were cutting and running. But they were headed on a course that would expose them to more cave entrances that might be guarded by rail guns. Third platoon rose and followed along a parallel route. The Dragons stopped behind an islet that stood high enough to shield them from the suspected Skink positions and waited for the infantry to catch up. Third platoon went past the islet on its other side, closer to the entrances. The Marines stayed in the water, crouched to present the smallest possible targets for Skink gunners. When they were less than two hundred meters from the cave entrances, they stopped and waited for the Dragons to come forward.

"Rail gun signature detected," the string-of-pearls monitors reported.

The Dragon crews immediately directed their vehicles into evasive maneuvers, and the gunners oversaw downloading of the targeting data from orbit to their guns.

"Damn!" one of the drivers swore. The slap he gave his console sounded like a gunshot in the command center.

"Dragon One down," the Dragon One commander said with a leaden voice.

"Not your fault," the Dragon One crew chief told his driver. "The relay took too long." There had been a slight time lag between when he gave the commands and when the commands reached the Dragon. That lag could have been long enough to keep the Dragon in the line of fire of the rail gun.

"Dragon Three, locked on," the gunner of the remaining Dragon said calmly. Its gun was able to maintain a lock on its target no matter how violently the vehicle maneuvered.

"Fire," the Dragon Three crew chief said, just as calmly.

Unseen in the command center, the Dragon spat a ball of plasma at the rail gun that had just taken out its partner.

"Signature gone," the string-of-pearls monitors reported. "New signal up. Locking on." This time the
Grandar Bay
didn't download targeting data; it was the Laser Gunnery Division's turn. "Signature gone," the ship reported to the Marine command center.