Steel Walls and Dirt Drops (13 page)

Misha's suit showed no damage. She quickly checked Ottiamig's vitals. His telltales didn't show any extensive damage, although he appeared to be in distress.

"Tuamma, report," Misha ordered.

"Sir, can't
breathe. It feels like someone is sitting on my chest. I’ve got to open up to breathe."

"
That is a negative, APE. You stay sealed. You're okay. Get on your feet. You can breathe if you can talk. We need your firepower." She reached down and grabbed his suit. With a grunt, she set him upright and tossed him onto the crater's lip. "Shoot, APE. Or they might as well bury us in this hole."

Ottiamig rolled into a prone position
in the grass just outside of the crater rim and began firing controlled bursts. Misha nodded. He would do all right. She shot a barrage of electro-magnetic pulses, comms and heat jammers skyward.

Misha could see by her HUD that
team one was pouring fire into the advancing armored enemy, but at this distance, they were barely making a mark. She recognized both mass driver fire and H.E. coming from Slezak's position. DeLaPax was also pouring fire into the opposing forces. Only Steinman wasn't firing.

"By the numbers
team one, sitrep," Misha ordered. "Command is fully operational." Although her HUD showed her the location and status of each APE from all three teams, she wanted to hear from each trooper.

"Trooper Four
DeLaPax, still firing. No damage. I have half magazine of H.E."

"Trooper Six Slezak, same-same, Third."

"Trooper Eight Ottiamig, I got a dent in my chest, but I am still loaded for bear, sir. My mass-driver ammo is showing low."

"Ottiamig, get back in this hole and on your feet. Set your suit to convert dirt and rocks to ammo. Move it, APE!" Misha shouted.

Misha didn't hear from Steinman. "DeLaPax, are you close to Steinman?"

"Not now,
sir. I was when he got hit. Huge rock just smashed his legs to liquid. I think the suit sealed him up."

"Yes. He is medicated and his vitals are still not red.
He will be fine if we can get dust-off out of here in the next day or so."

"They're almost on us. Damn it, Third. Do something
!" Slezak shouted. Misha could hear the rising panic in her voice.

The enemy forces channeled neatly into the gap between the two hills. Misha knew either the enemy commander was an idiot or his suit didn't have the scanning capabilities to detect her trap. Either way she was not going to
leave a wrapped present under the tree.

"Singletary and Park, you may open fire at your discretion, but listen
APES, I want team one to snag at least a couple of prisoners out of this mess. Other than that, leave nothing but a brown streak in the dirt."

S
ingletary's team two opened fire on the left flank of the enemy and Park's team three opened up from the right. H.E. rained on the enemy forces blowing wide gaps in their ranks.

"They are starting to fall back
," Park shouted.

"Team
two, push at 'em," Misha shouted. "Watch your cross-fire zone. Team three, go airborne. Team one, move into them, I want those prisoners."

Misha bounced up from her crater and shot forward, putting all her momentum into
a loping motion, hugging the ground. In the middle of one leap, an explosion pushed her feet out from under her. Two more explosions rocked the ground around her. She hit the ground rolling and came to her feet. Her HUD highlighted the explosions in green.

She launched herself forward again and crashed into the collapsing enemy front. Bodies scattered and broke as her more powerful armor impacted against the Orion suits.
Misha's HUD tagged an Orion suit. It was emitting a high volume of comm traffic. It was broadcasting with enough power to push through her still active jammers. Logically, this must be a command suit, or at least a communications suit. She sent another barrage of jammers skyward.

She plowed her way through the enemy forces. Two suits reached out to grab her arms, while a third suit swung
a hand carried mass driver muzzle toward her chest. Misha kicked her right foot forward. The foot impacted on the stock of the weapon and sent it sailing away.

She continued the
kick on upward and slammed her boot heel into the faceplate of the man. Then, taking all the weight off her feet, she crashed to the ground on her back, breaking the grips on her arms. Rolling onto her shoulders, she whipped her feet into the mid-sections of the two men next to her. The man on the right collapsed backward as his armor buckled. The man on the left rolled with the kick. He leapt into the air bringing both feet together to come down onto Misha's helmet. She rolled. Instead of rolling away, she rolled into the man. When he came down his feet caught the edge of her twisting armor, knocking his feet out from under him. Misha, still on the ground, whipped her left leg around and impacted against the enemy soldier's helmet. Even through the armor, Misha could feel the blow. The helmet's inferior armor collapsed.

Misha flipped to her feet. She located the enemy command suit by
her HUD's targeting and dashed after it. The enemy was in full retreat. She dove forward, becoming airborne. Her shoulder hit the torso of her target, driving him to the ground.

"Teams
two and three, go airborne, pursue and destroy, except Trooper Cutler. Team one, consolidate any prisoners. Everyone meet back at point one minus one K south in twenty-five. Do not take any longer, or we will leave you behind,” Misha ordered. "Cutler, find Steinman's locator on your TAC. He needs a medic. Call if you need assistance."

"Hey, Trey,
I grabbed two prisoners," DeLaPax called over the comms. "Do I get to keep them both?"

"Good job, APE. Slezak, Ottiamig, prisoners?" Misha
asked.

"Ottiamig here,
sir, I grabbed one, but he is pretty busted up."

"That'll do. If he lives and if we can peel him out of his
suit, we can see what Doc Cutler can do for him," Misha said.

"
I am negative here, Third," Slezak reported. "Uh, mine just died on me."

"Roger that,
trooper. Grab a hold of one of De La Paz's captures. Let's get them to the rally point."

Twenty-five minutes later,
Able Squad stood at one kilometer south of point one. Misha did a mental tally. Only Steinman was seriously injured. Cutler said the man was stable, but needed to get to a med-bay to treat the leg stumps or the new legs might not attach. There was only so much physical trauma their combat enhanced med-nanites could repair.

A few
troopers, including Ottiamig and herself had bruises, but when you are inside a suit, bruises don't show, so they don't matter. Three skid plates were non-functional due to the rock bombardment. The vitals on Slezak's suit were showing some redlining of non-critical systems. That is non-critical unless you are in combat and need them. They had three and a half prisoners.

Misha would have to keep a double dose of comm
jammers in the air to block the prisoners from sending signals until they peeled them out of their suits. They also seriously depleted their stock of H.E. All in all, a very good outcome against ten to one odds.

"Sir, can I ask a question?" Ottiamig asked over the open squad comms.

"Sure, fire away, trooper." Misha was glad to see he used the open comms instead of the one-on-one comm with her that was available. It showed he wasn't shy about asking questions. And if you don't ask, then you don't know. This way on open comms everyone might learn.

"Why one kilometer south of point one? Why not
just go to point one?"

"Good question. Anyone else want to field this? No takers? Okay, you
APES, it is because it was raining rocks at point one. Does anyone know where those rocks were coming from? It sure wasn't these dung-for-brains grunts in the cheap off-the-rack combat suits. Whoever was throwing rocks knew where we were. One kilometer moved us far enough to get out of the rain. And south? Well, that was just the first direction that came to mind."

Misha
continued, "DeLaPax, peel these cretins out of their suits without too much damage. I want to send them back to HQ for intelligence review."

"Roger that, Trey. What about
any bio or chemical reaction on the prisoners?"

"
It's their stuff if there is any here. I would call that poetic justice," Misha said. "Besides, scans don't show anything, so the best next test is on human subjects. We can go back to breathing something besides canned air if they live. However, we will still stay sealed up until we get to the squad bay for complete scans."

Misha continued. "We have to get the
prisoners out of their suits to shut down their comms. We can't take them back to drop point with us if we can't peel them. Anyone tracking them would eventually locate them because of the dead air around our jammers. The quicker we get them peeled, the quicker we get back to drop point and into our bunkers.

"All right
, you APES. Let’s use standard squad stagger for movement and move by the numbers," Misha ordered. "We don't leave any of our equipment, or any captured Orion equipment behind. Double up on skid plates. Let's get this show back on the road."

She toggled the command switch deactivat
ing the tri-wave simulation. One second they were fighting on an unnamed backwater planet in combat that felt, smelled and tasted as real as any action. The next second the squad lay in reclining lounge chairs in the training bay.

Misha checked her time
and sighed wearily. The past three days took less than forty minutes. However, the whole ordeal felt as if it took three days worth of energy and she needed a rest. "Even so," she thought, "I still need to brush my teeth. Nevertheless, first I’ve got to take down Slezak.”

Misha felt drained from the tri-wave sim. Last night’s sleep had been fitful and it had been a rough morning. She pushed her entire unit almost to the dropping point in the past six hours. Each squad had run physical exercise where the seconds tested and probed for weakness. She insisted as many squads as possible spend time in the tri-wave simulators. Each trooper checked and rechecked, fitted and refitted their combat armor.

Only
recently, she ordered the squad leaders to send their cooks off to prepare lunch. Her squad's cook was Steinman. He was still a bit shaky from having 'lost his legs' in the sims, but he looked eager enough to get back to the kitchen. The rest of the unit was humping excess cargo to the proper holds.

She saw Sergeant Forrester sitting on the
deck by the hatch. She had been watching him off and on throughout the day as Second Takki-Homi's Charlie Squad ran him ragged. She even noticed Takki-Homi took him with his squad through the sim training. She smiled at the memory; Forrester came out of the tri-wave sim pale and sweating, but with a smile and eager to do it again.

Misha expected their cooks to call lunch break at any moment.
Even though she remembered her lunch date with Forrester, she didn't need a shower as everyone smelled like fresh sweat. She planned on having him sit with her squad for lunch. Steinman's record indicated he was exceptionally well gifted in the kitchen. But she still had one task remaining before any break for lunch.

"Slezak, come here a minute." Misha waved the woman over to a quiet corner.

"Yes, Third, what can I do for you?" the woman said.

"I ran a computer check of our time in the sim. In fact, Trooper Slezak, I ran it twice. I will also tell you that I am recording this conversation on my glass-pack."

"I don't understand," Slezak said with more than a little unease.

"I think you do, Trooper Slezak. I suggest you request legal counsel now. No?
That is fine by me. We both know you just tried to frag me in the sim."

"No,
I didn't. It was an equipment malfunction. I documented that for the record. You can even check the suit logs for the damage. You can't prove anything else," Slezak whined.

"Oh, but I can. Slezak, you are stupid on three counts. Point one, I would accept the excuse of an equipment malfunction on one H.E. round, but you fired three. Your suit would have warbled a friendly fire alarm
after the first round and shut down. You had to manually toggle the firing switch for each round. Point two, the computer timeline shows your suit took damage after you released the rounds. Point three, you tried to frag me in a sim? Are you that much of an idiot?" Misha said.

"It isn't real anyway. It wouldn't have really killed you. It's just a game
," Slezak said.

"I believe we must amend your count of stupidity to four. People die in sims,
trooper. They have for years. Ask Steinman how it feels to have your legs crushed. It is true very few APES die because of our physical conditioning. Our hearts are strong enough to take the stress. It is also true that there is abundant statistical data to bring you up on charges of attempted murder."

"Third McPherson?" a voice called from across the training bay.

Misha held up a finger to ask the voice for one minute.

"You just don't get it do you, Slezak? You're
red-lined as of now. Confine yourself to solitary in the squad bay. Post the order in writing on your bunk. Anytime, and I mean anytime, another APE is in the squad bay, you are to remain sealed in your bunk with the blast shutters down. Do it now." She stood watching as Slezak headed out the side hatch toward the squad bay. Misha thought she saw Slezak and Singletary share a passing glance, but it was furtive enough she couldn't be certain.

She turned to see who had called her. Standing by the
hatch were the two spacer security escorts from before yesterday's dinner. Certain it was more bad news, Misha shook her head as she went to the hatch to greet them.

"Have my hall monitors come to visit?" Misha said.

"Not quite," said the short male. "Colonel Britaine requests that you meet him at 13:00 hours for a late lunch. He sent us to make sure you attended and didn't get lost. Get the meaning?"

"Yes, I think I do
," Misha replied. She turned to Sergeant Forrester. "I am sorry Gan, but it seems I have been summoned again. I have to beg off our lunch date. Whatever his reasons, I do have to talk to Colonel Britaine. Besides, I hear you really should check out Deuce Taks cooking."

After a silent and tense walk, h
er two escorts delivered her to Britaine's office instead of the officer's mess. They bracketed the hatch and stood at ease.

Misha shook her head in wonder and pushed the comm button on the office
hatch. A small chime sounded and the hatch opened silently. She stepped across the threshold and into the office.

The room had been reset as a dining area for two, complete with a table cloth, lit candles and what looked like real china table service. Any desk or office cabinets that might have been there were
missing, probably shoved into a connecting room behind one of the other hatches. A bottle of wine was chilled to a perfect one degree Celsius in a crystal bucket; the neo-ice sparkling a deep electric blue.

Growing up on DropSix, Misha's family
ate on banged up metal plates with common stainless steel forks and spoons. Hunting and work knives were used at family meals instead of table knives. Meals were raucous times with everyone talking at once. Food was not passed; it was grabbed. Rolls were tossed, whether they were buttered or not. Laughter and wrestling matches broke out with equal commonality. It was a fun, family time.

However, Misha's mother taught
all of her children a variety of customs and manners for many different types of societies. She knew that in polite society, you didn't talk with food in your mouth and you chewed with your mouth closed. She knew which fork was for shellfish and which spoon was for the sorbet. She knew that on Camden Prime you ate snails with your fingers and on New China you ate snails with tiny trident-like forks. She knew a spitlaise was a fine wine from the fourth harvest of grapes in the western European region of Earth One and a frostaire was a really crappy wine from any harvest on Gastalt. Britaine was in for a surprise if he meant this lunch to be intimidating.

The only person in room was the same
master sergeant Misha had seen on her first day aboard. He apparently served as Britaine's steward. She nodded to him and gave him a quick smile.

"If it pleases the Third
," he said, pulling her chair out and gesturing her to her seat.

"Thank you, Master Sergeant
," she said. "I presume my host is delayed?"

"Yes, Third
, he should be along in about…" The man consulted his glass-pack's time piece, "ninety seconds."

True enough, in ninety seconds Britaine stepped into the room. He smiled broadly at Misha as she stood to greet him. He waved her back into her seat.
"Good afternoon, Third McPherson." He sat opposite her and dismissed the steward with a wave of his hand. "I thought it might be best for us to meet alone and put some air under our wings to give our relationship a bit more lift.

"I agree, Colonel. We do not have much time together, but I believe we can spend that time for our mutual benefit."

"I am glad you said that, Third. I know we just had an unfortunate clash since we are both powerful people. Who knows, we may both be on the Kiirkegaard for a long time," Britaine said. "Wine? It is a strong, heady vintage from the Australian Compact Sector. From the New Queensland region, I believe." He tapped his glass-pack signaling for the steward.

Misha smiled. “
I have heard produce from the Australian Compact was considered contraband, so I am eager to see what they have to offer."

Britaine smiled, "Well
, rank doth have its privileges."

Behind Britaine's back the Master Sergeant's eyes rolled upward and he quickly turned his head away from Misha's glance.

Britaine filled her glass and said. "I offer a toast to the Allied Systems and to new friendships."

"To the Allied Systems and to new friendships
," she replied. Silently, she added, "Whoever they may be."

The
master sergeant quickly served their meal and silently disappeared. Misha enjoyed the food despite having to listen to Britaine's monologue about his career. She only needed to add a "hum" or "ah" occasionally to hold up her end of the conversation.

While the meal began to wind down it was obvious Britaine was not. He continued to ramble from one
self-aggrandized heroic tale to the next. Misha dabbed her mouth with her napkin, placed it on her plate and waited patiently for an opening. Finally, Britaine took a break for air.

Misha
quickly interrupted, "You know, Colonel. I could sit and share war stories for hours on end. I have enjoyed myself immensely. But, I was wondering if I could seek your advice?"

"Certainly
, that is what I am here for," he smiled.

Misha thought to herself, "I am sure that is what you think.
I wonder why he really asked me to lunch." She had a brief visual image of Britaine's hands sliding softly over her naked skin. With a quick shake of her head, she cleared the picture from her mind. Yes, he was gorgeous and he might be fun in the rack, but he was an arrogant prick. The sex wouldn't be worth the problems. She thought, "I doubt if he is looking at me as more than another notch on his flight stick."

Misha smiled at Britaine, "I am planning on working my
APES as hard as I possibly can."

"Good for you
," he applauded. "They need a bit of shaping up."

"Yes, Colonel, t
hey are a good bunch of people, but we do have a long way to go. I can only push them in APES training so far. I am not worried about their physical conditioning. For the most part, that seems to be from very good to excellent. I don't want them to go into mental overload before we get to our destination."

"Yes, I can see how that might be a problem with your people
," Britaine nodded. "I can make our library and game rooms available to you as a diversion, if that would help?"

"Well, Colonel. I am not sure I am worried about recreation at this point. We don't have that much time left. I do not want to leave my
APES with much free time, but I don’t want to keep pushing training sessions and inspections on them all day every day. I would like to request permission to integrate my APES with your spacers on a time permitting basis. This would allow my people to use some of their secondary and tertiary skills. Many of them transferred from the AMSF to the APES. This should keep them mentally active, but off of their normal duties. Keep them from going stale, as it were."

Britaine looked thoughtful, "Well, I can see how that might benefit your people, but I don't think so. I don't want to be blunt, but my crew doesn't need any ham-handed grunts mucking about. Present company accepted."

Misha smiled sweetly and nodded.

He continued. "I hope you understand. My officers and I have built a highly trained war machine.
I am sure your people may have been, shall we say, adequate when they were with the AMSF. But really, that may have been ten or fifteen years ago, or even more. And I am sure you know if they were any good with the AMSF, then they would not have left to become a grunt, right?"

Misha continued smiling sweetly, "Thank you for lunch, Colonel. It has been very enlightening. If you will excuse me, I do have to go
baby sit my children."

Britaine
, oblivious to the sarcasm in her voice, stood to show her out. Misha felt his hand slide along the small of her back as he guided her to the hatch. She adjusted her uniform slightly, giving it a small tug to dislodge his hand. She smiled at how nice it felt in a creepy sort of way.