The Reaper Plague (14 page)

On your own
. Her people hadn’t liked
that much, and she had to remind herself they weren’t special
operators like she was, used to the idea of being alone and
unafraid deep in enemy territory. They were security forces, not
commandos, not even infantry.
Well, I’ve gotten them as ready as
I can.

The roar of the engines drowned out her
thoughts as the formation marched into the staging area in front of
the hangars. Ground crew with glowing flashlights and bulky
headphones directed them to their bird. Its tail ramp gaped open,
providing easy access to the enormous interior space. Pallets
squatted on the spine of the plane, fastened down to hardpoints in
the floor, and her people walked along the left and right to take
their places on the red-orange fabric jump seats.

Her heart beat faster despite herself as she
boarded. To her, jet fuel smelled like action. Half an hour later
they roared into the sky, powering upward like an express elevator
to Heaven.

It had been two days since Raphaela reversed
the spacecraft and started it decelerating. Except for the brief
period of weightlessness while the shuttle traded end for end,
nothing really changed. One gravity of deceleration felt the same
as one G of acceleration.

They’d kept their conversations on safer
ground. Skull told her of the days when the whole Eden Plague thing
started, with Zeke and Markis and the Watts Island raid.

She listened, fascinated, but reserved her
judgments; she knew he wasn’t in the mood for critique or
commentary. In return, she told him the story of Raphael’s
“childhood.” She watched Skull’s eyes watch her; they revealed
nothing of his thoughts as she recited. She almost despaired of
finding that spark of humanity in him again, but she resolved not
to give up.

A dirty snowball now filled the viewscreen,
rotating slowly against the black-velvet backdrop, a faint mist
streaming off antisunward. “Where’s your base?” Skull asked as he
studied it. “Is that maximum magnification?”

“
Yes it is, and the base is
only a hundred yards across so you won’t be able to see it until we
get closer. The comet is over a mile in diameter.”

“
And you – they – put the
base on a comet because?”

“
Because water was the most
important resource. When it’s close to the sun, the biomachines use
photosynthesis to make food and solar electricity to crack the
water into hydrogen and oxygen. They store everything they make for
the part of the orbit when it’s far from the sun. That’s when it
uses hydrogen and oxygen in the fuel cells. It recycles everything.
Nothing needed but periodic inputs of solar energy.”

“
Very
efficient.”

“
Yes, the Meme are nothing
if not efficient.” There was an undertone of irony in her words.
“The most efficient way to colonize a planet and spread the race is
to use its own biology against it. But that presupposes the targets
don’t have the technology to fight back.”

Skull sighed, “And we did. Barely. Without
the Eden Plague and the way it drove biotech and nanotech in the
last decade…”

“
We’d have nearly all been
reduced to animals. Maybe a few thousand people living in isolated
places would have escaped…but without the vaccines, we’d have been
meat for the Meme.”

“
So we owe everything to
Markis. That’s irony for you.” He coughed, a harsh
chuckle.

“
Really? That’s what you
think?”

“
What else is there to
think?”

Raphaela shook her head and grimaced, as if
spitting out a bad taste. “Alan, causality is lost in chaos. What
if that IED hadn’t wounded Markis? What if he’d never retired,
never met Elise, never gotten the Eden Plague, never called Zeke
for help? What if you hadn’t gone to help Zeke? What if you hadn’t
rescued Elise from the island, or Markis from that Company prison?
There are a thousand what-ifs.”

“
Almost makes you believe
someone’s watching out for us.” He thought about what the nuns had
taught back in grade school, then pushed the thought away
again.

Raphaela dropped her chin to her chest,
pensive. “The Meme have a religion. They believe their god watches
out for them. That it’s on their side. That it’s their manifest
destiny to take the planets away from useless savages who are too
primitive to develop them properly. That only the Meme are truly
worthy.”

“
Huh. My Apache grandfather
would have recognized that thinking. But this time the injuns got
some surprises for the white-eyes.”

She nodded, solemn. “Let’s hope they do
better than the last bunch.”

The empty Globemasters left a ringing
silence in their wake, and Repeth felt the oppression of isolation
as she stood on the roof of the Humvee, binoculars out and
scanning. She was certain her troops felt it too. Forty-seven
people and two Humvees to cover three hundred yards of frontage
spread them dangerously thin.

“
Keep your eyes on the
treeline!” she yelled as some looked at their rides, now receding
dots in the western sky. Others glanced inward at the Civil Affairs
company rapidly setting up the Tactical Operations Center in the
space between the four airfield buildings. They would barely have
enough time to get concertina wire strung and some patrols out by
dusk.

Tonight would be dangerous. There had been no
time for any recon.

Repeth had protested the arrival time. They
should have landed just after dawn, to have a full day to secure
the area. “The airplanes are fully scheduled. Deal with it,” had
been the response from the Air Liaison Officer. She’d been tempted
to deal with
him
, and had to remind herself that no one was
going to overlook an NCO clocking an officer, no matter how much of
a jerk he was. Sometimes she longed to be back in FC spec-ops,
where expertise counted for more than rank.

Maybe I should have accepted that commission
after all.

She wondered where the Homies were. They
should have been either securing a piece of the perimeter or
helping set up the TOC but she didn’t see their distinctive dark
navy blue uniforms anywhere.

A pair of Super Hornets roared low overhead
just sub-Mach, unseen until they were almost past. The noise barely
preceded their arrival but it lingered with their climbing
departure, showing their hot twin tails. “WHAT’S THAT SOUND?”
Repeth bellowed when she could be heard again.

A couple of her people knew the right answer.
“THAT’S THE SOUND OF FREEDOM, MASTER SERGEANT!”

“
You damn right,” she
responded cheerfully. “Now get your eyes back on the treeline!”
With guilty smiles they returned to their sectors. She nodded in
satisfaction.
Not too bad. Unless we get assaulted by a real
combat unit, we should be able to handle anything.

It took two hours, twice as long as it should
have, to get all the pallets broken down and loaded onto the
vehicles. Once that was done, they began a tense road march. This
was the most worrisome part of the whole operation, the movement
from the airfield to the bivouac site near Fredericksburg.

There’d been debate about the wisdom of
moving closer. AP Hill Army Airfield was about twenty miles from
Fredericksburg, though, and they didn’t have enough wheeled
transport to operate from that distance. Their mission was to
assist the Fredericksburg population – like it or not – to become a
functioning town again, the northernmost outpost of civilization on
the south side of Washington DC. They couldn’t do that with
twenty-mile supply lines.

So they marched. Fast. More like jogged.

It wasn’t quite Ranger standard, she thought,
but it was a damn fine effort. Fifteen miles in a little over three
hours. They used the back roads through the base, as the aerial
photos showed the civilian highways clogged. When they ran out of
back roads they picked up the Fredericksburg Turnpike and
bivouacked on an abandoned golf course just south of town. Two
months of neglect and it already looked like some pretty good
pastureland.
Might be some good deer hunting. At least we got
here before the sun went down.

She spread her platoon out to recon and guard
their sector as the Civil Affairs troops began hastily unloading at
the abandoned clubhouse complex. She’d normally have been happy to
send some MPs to help with the tent setup but she needed every one
of her people to stretch along the perimeter. She ran her eyes over
the terrain, then looked back and touched her push-to-talk.
“Charlie One Alpha this is Papa Four Alpha. How long are we going
to be static?” She meant, how long until she could send out recon
patrols.

Captain LeBrun responded. “Just until the Fox
team shows up and gives us their report. I don’t want any
fratricide.”

“
Yes, sir. Friendly fire –
isn’t. Why haven’t they called?”

“
Not sure, Master Sergeant.
You’re the Marine, you tell me.”

“
I have an idea, but you’re
not going to like it.”

“
Oh?”

“
They’re going to try to
sneak in and show us up.”

LeBrun’s voice was incredulous. “With live
ammo? Cocked and locked like we are? And I assume they’re not even
Edens. Somebody could get killed.”

“
You don’t know Force
Recon, sir. They’ll take the risk, if they’re anything like they
used to be. In fact…stand by, sir. I need to check on something.”
She hopped off the Humvee, seating her PW10 into her shoulder,
trigger finger extended and ready, and walked through the knee-high
grass toward the treeline. Grasshoppers fled her feet, clicking and
buzzing in flight. She stopped near some bushes, calling to the
troops that had recently walked past and beyond them. “Smith,
Martin, turn around. Look my direction. What do you see here inside
our lines?”

The two men in question did as they were
told, scanning. Smith shrugged. “What are we supposed to see?”

Repeth pointed at the bushes, low scrubby
things, six of them in a rough ring.

“
What? Bushes?” asked
Martin.

Repeth said nothing, but took three long
strides forward, turned to her left and kicked the nearest scrubby
plant. Instead of a swish and a rustle her boot connected with
something solid, eliciting a grunt.

Suddenly the bushes rolled onto their knees
and revealed themselves as camo-painted Marines wearing Ghillie
suits, coverings made of cloth strips, twine, burlap and foliage.
Near-perfect camouflage. Their stubby assault rifles pointed out in
a ring, and all except one had his weapon trained on a nearby
MP.

The exception had Repeth’s PW10 at his
throat, her hand locked on the barrel of the man’s assault rifle,
forcing it skyward. She raised her voice. “Very impressive,
gentlemen. But I made you from fifty yards. If I’d wanted to do a
little recon by fire with that .50 cal on the Humvee you’d all be
dead. So let’s stand down. We’re all friendlies here, right?”

Jill’s man made a hand signal and rose to his
feet, as did the rest of his team, lowering their weapons. “Made by
a split-tail,” he said in disgust.

Resisting the urge to punch him, she just
chuckled, loud and for effect. “That’s Master Sergeant split-tail
to you, Gunny. Next time stick to your TTPs and move at night. Less
‘Force’ and more ‘Recon’.”

The troops around laughed, some of the Recon
team joining in. The team leader let his weapon retract on its
sling, then pulled out a can of dip and stuck some behind his lip.
It smelled like Pepto. He held her eyes, challenging. “They’re
making Master Sergeants pretty young these days,” he observed
neutrally.

The question lurking beneath that observation
irked her. “Never ask a woman her age, Gunny. But I earned my
stripes; I’ve got almost fourteen years in service. Welcome to the
new Corps. You’ll just have to get used to us Sickos.” It occurred
to her how right they were about owning your own epithet. She felt
the insult lose power every time she turned it around on
someone.

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch, but he did
grin sourly under his face paint. His voice was resigned, ironic.
“Eden, huh? Oo-rah, Master Sergeant.”

Still watching him, Repeth touched her radio.
“Charlie One Alpha this is Papa Four Alpha, I have your Fox Romeos,
bringing them in.” She gestured to the team. “Follow me, gentlemen,
you can make your report to the battalion commander.” She started
walking toward the buildings. Without looking she called, “Grusky,
get their eyes back on those sectors.”

Turning to the Recon team leader walking
beside her, she stuck out a hand. “Repeth. They call me Reaper
sometimes, though with this new Plague inbound I’m not sure that’s
the best handle I could have.”

“
Gunderson.” He shook her
hand with a leather paw.

“
They call you
‘Swede’?”

“
Inevitably. Though I’m
Danish.”

“
I could have a lot of fun
with that line.
Ich Bin Ein Gunderson!
”

Dryly, “Oh, a comedian.”

She snorted. “I’ll keep my day job.”

“
The world thanks
you.”

“
Do they select Force Recon
for your smart mouths, Gunny?”

“
No, just our
outstanding
good looks.”

“
I thought that was
SEALs.”

“
Ouch, low blow. I’ll shut
up now, Mas-tah Sar-junt.”

She let him get in the last word, since it
was actually a capitulation. Twilight stole over the battalion
encampment, and they heard one of the battalion’s two generators
rattle to life.