The 18th Race: Book 02 - In All Directions Page 8

  Mackie knuckled Horton’s shoulder. “You mean you’ve got problems fitting in, and everybody’s treating you like shit?”

  Horton flushed. “N-No, Mackie. I mean, I mean...”

  Mackie laughed. “I know what you mean, Horton. Relax. I’m I’m easy to get along with, just busting your chops a bit. Cafferata’s the one you have to worry about.”

  “Say what?” yelped Lance Corporal Cafferata, who’d been sitting cross-legged in the other tent’s shade.

  “I didn’t stutter, Hector. New guys have to watch out for you. Every one of them, and all the time.” To Horton in a conspiratorial tone, “You should have seen him when he was in second fire team and Porter joined us. Hector rode him mercilessly. The Skipper had to threaten him with a court martial to make him stop. At that, poor Porter almost got locked up in a psych ward.”

  “You’re so full of it, John,” Cafferata snorted.

  “That’s ‘Corporal John’ to you, Lance Corporal.”

  “That’s enough you two,” Martin finally interjected with a chuckle. “Mackie, let’s go to Sergeant Adams, get your weapons and gear.”

  “Good to see you, Orndoff.” Mackie waved at the other man in his fire team as he started off with the squad leader. “How’s the arm?”

  “Welcome back, Honcho,” Orndoff said, and returned the wave, showing that his wounded arm was fully recovered.

  The company supply room was another roughly dug and covered bunker in the central area of the firebase. Unlike the command bunker, the supply bunker could be locked to prevent theft. Sergeant Adams was in it, shifting containers about to find the ones belonging to the just-returned Marines. He already had their weapons stacked by the entrance.

  “Sergeant Adams, I’ve got Mackie here,” Martin said when they reached the entrance.

  “And I’m getting everything ready,” Adams shouted from the depths of the bunker. “Just a sec.” In a moment he was at the entrance, dusting his hands against each other.

  “Mackie, Mackie, Mackie. Corporal. Right. I think this one is yours. Check the serial number.” Adams snatched an M23 rifle from the rifle rack, glanced quickly at its serial number, then handed it to Mackie. While Mackie verified that it was the right rifle, Adams laid out magazines, a bayonet, a water camelback, and a first aid kit. “Put these on your belt,” Adams said, and turned to make a pile of body armor. “We finally got armor, would have prevented a lot of wounds.” He glanced at Mackie’s midsection. Helmet with integral comm, night vision glasses, foul weather gear, field bedding, and other miscellany. He even tossed in an extra pair of boots. Finally he handed Mackie a pad and said, “Sign these.”

  Mackie looked at the weapons and gear he was given, compared them to the listings, one for the rifle and one for everything else, and signed.

  As Mackie and Martin turned to leave, the supply sergeant called after them, “I don’t want to hear any shit about combat losses. You got that, Mackie?”

  “You hear that, Sergeant Martin?” Mackie said loudly enough for Adams to hear. “Sergeant Adams says I have to stay out of combat.”

  “Sergeant Adams isn’t your squad leader, Mackie,” Martin said. “I am. I say that when the shooting starts, you head into it.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Damn skippy, I am.”

  In front of the India Company CP

  “At ease,” Captain Sitter ordered, and his men relaxed their stance. Most of the Marines of the company were in formation in front of him. Only the few on perimeter duty, watching the surrounding landscape for approaching enemy, weren’t present.

  “We have just returned from a briefing on the current situation,” Sitter said after a moment. “Here is our mission for today.

  “We are going out to check out another anomaly the Navy found. The Navy didn’t see any positive signs of Dusters, just an anomaly that probably indicates the presence of underground spaces. So Force Recon went in. They found entrances to a tunnel or cave system, and indications of Duster activity going in and out. They couldn’t tell if the Dusters are still in there or if they went recently. Our job is to find out if the Dusters are still there and kill any alien bastards that we find.

  “The Force Recon squads that went there yesterday will meet us at our drop off points and guide us to the entrances.

  “Are there any questions?” That was a question not normally asked of an entire company.

  “Yes, sir,” somebody from second platoon called out.

  Sitter looked at him. “Ask.”

  “If the Dusters are at this anomaly, how many can we expect to find?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody knows. For that matter, if the Navy knows how many Dusters might be there, they haven’t told us.”

  Sitter ignored the sotto voce, “Typical squids, not telling the Marines what we need to know.”

  The captain’s gaze swept the company, but nobody else seemed about to ask anything. He said, “If that’s everything, platoon sergeants, take your platoons. Officers, with me. Dismissed!” He about faced and marched into the CP bunker. Only after the company’s officers followed him did the platoon sergeants move their Marines back to their areas.

  “Third platoon, on me!” shouted Second Lieutenant Commiskey as he neared the platoon’s area following the officers’ meeting in the company CP. “Gather around, semi-circle.”

  In moments, forty-six of the platoon’s Marines stood in an arch to the front of their platoon commander; the platoon sergeant and right guide flanked the officer.

  “Listen up!” Commiskey said. “This anomaly is in the same area where we fought them the last time. This time we will thoroughly search what might be a tunnel complex at the anomaly. Yes, I know, the 6th Marines cleaned up after our fight. But they didn’t go underground. Third platoon will go into the tunnels if any are there. Second platoon will set security outside the complex, they’ll be the anvil on which our hammer hits the Dusters. We will kill or capture any Dusters we find, and destroy any equipment or supplies. On leaving, we will collapse the tunnel system. First platoon will be company reserve.

  “Our order of march will be first squad, me, one gun team, second squad, Staff Sergeant Guillen, the other gun team, Sergeant Binder, third squad.

  “We move out in thirty. Squad leaders will issue ammunition and tunnel visions—your regular night vision glasses probably won’t do enough in the tunnels.

  “Questions?”

  There were, but “Why do we have to do this?” wasn’t an acceptable question, so nobody asked anything.

  Chapter 9

  Camp Zion, near Jordan, Eastern Shapland

  “What do you think, Mackie?” Lance Corporal Cafferata asked as the two Marines lounged on top of their bunker, waiting for the orders to move out. First squad’s other two fire team leaders sat leaning against the bunker’s front.

  “I think a lot of things, Hector,” Corporal Mackie replied. “What do you want to know?”

  Cafferata made a face. “You know. The only damn thing we need to know about. Are the Dusters in the cave we’re going to? What are they doing there? Or did they leave, have we beaten them? Have they shot their wad?”

  Mackie mulled over the questions for a moment before answering. During the pause, Corporals Vittori and Button pulled away from the bunker’s front and looked up at the junior fire team leader to hear what he’d say.

  “The last one first,” Mackie finally said. “I don’t think they’ve shot their wad. If we start thinking we beat them, things could go very badly for us the next time we run into them. As for your other questions, how the hell do I know? I don’t have a pipeline into G-2 or N-2. And they sure as shit aren’t telling me what they know.” He shrugged. “What I think beyond that is, we need to stay sharp and be ready to do some serious ass-whomping on the Dusters.” He shuddered. “Especially if we meet them in caves.”

  Cafferata screwed up his eyes and peered hard at the trees. He muttered under his breath.

  “What’s th
at?” Mackie asked. “I couldn’t make it out.”

  “I said something like I don’t understand why some people don’t just give up when they know they’re facing Marines.”

  “The Dusters aren’t people, they’re aliens. That’s why.”

  “You think about these things, Mackie,” said Sergeant Martin from the back of the bunker. “That’s why I keep you around.”

  Mackie and Cafferata spun about, bringing their rifles to bear at the unexpected voice. In front of the bunker, Vittori and Button ducked down and grabbed their rifles, ready to fire around the bunker’s corners.

  “Goddam it, Sergeant Martin!” Mackie shouted when he saw the squad leader. “You’ve got to stop sneaking up on us like that.”

  “I keep telling you, you need to have three-sixty awareness. Remember the house on Sugar Cover Place? You don’t know that the Dusters can’t come up inside the bunkers and hit you from behind when you’re sitting like this.

  “Now get your fire team leaders ready. It’s time for us to go spelunking.”

  For the first time, first squad’s fire team leaders became aware of the other squad leaders, the platoon sergeants, and Gunnery Sergeant Hoffman yelling for the company to assemble.

  Scrubland, near Jordan, Eastern Shapland, Semi-Autonomous World Troy

  A squadron of T-43 Eagles airlifted India Company’s first and third platoons six kilometers from the main entrance of the cave-tunnel complex that First Force Recon’s third squad had confirmed was a Duster location. Second platoon was dropped seven klicks from the rear entrance to serve as a blocking force if any Dusters tried to escape that way. They also had a squad of sappers, who would endeavor to blow the tunnel mouths once the platoons going in through the main enterance made contact with the aliens, thereby preventing the Dusters from using them as bolt holes. Divisions of AV16 C Kestrels rotated in a holding orbit five minutes flight from the cave-tunnel complex, in case India Company found itself in a fight on the surface.

  A nearly invisible Marine stood up from the scrub and walked to the company command unit.

  “Captain Sitter,” Staff Sergeant Bordelon said, greeting the company commander.

  “Staff Sergeant,” Sitter said.

  “We got close enough to the tunnel mouth to pick up strong scents, sir. I went over the top with my sniffer, and didn’t find any ventilation holes. Still, I have no doubt the Dusters are still there.”

  “What about the rear entrance?” Sitter asked.

  “The bolt hole is the same as before. Individual tracks coming and going from one mouth, no scents from another. The third still seems unused.”

  “Outstanding. Let’s go dust some aliens.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Bordelon turned from Sitter and signaled his squad. The other four Force Recon Marines stood from where they’d been effectively invisible, and started heading along the route they’d already planned. Bordelon took his place as the second man in the short column.

  “Third platoon, follow our guides,” Sitter ordered on his comm.

  Third platoon hastened to get close enough for their point to easily make out the hard-to-see trailing Force Recon Marine. Sitter came with the company’s heavy machine gun and mortar section. First platoon brought up the rear. They went slow and easy, and took three hours to cover the six kilometers. They moved as silently as they could, but two hundred men can’t move as quietly as five, so they were much noisier than the earlier recon patrol had been.

  Not that there were any Duster observation posts or patrols out to hear them.

  Outside the cave-tunnel complex

  Captain Sitter went with first platoon and had third platoon station fire teams along the way to relay messages from the depths to the weapons platoon and sappers left on the surface.

  Lieutenant Commiskey listened to the company command circuit on his helmet comm, said an “Aye aye” acknowledgement, then toggled his comm to the platoon freq.

  “Listen up, third platoon.” he said. “The company’s in place. We’re going in. Sergeant Martin, move out.”

  “Aye aye,” Martin answered on his comm. Using naked voice he said, “You heard the man, Vittori, go.”

  “Roger,” Corporal Joseph Vittori said. “Harvey, lead off. I’m right behind you.”

  PFC Harry Harvey didn’t say anything, he just ducked into the opening in front of him, and started into the tunnel. It went down at a steep angle and quickly dropped below the level of the flat ground above, where it turned sharply, cutting off most the light that filtered in from the outside, Then turned again, plunging the tunnel into darkness deep enough that normal night-vision glasses couldn’t penetrate. Harvey slid his “tunnel vision” goggles over his eyes. Vittori followed about two meters behind, and likewise slid his tunnel vision goggles into place. The rest of first fire team trailed him, with each man putting on his goggles as he turned the corner. Then came Martin and third fire team.

  Mackie wanted to be next after Martin, but knew that he had to be in a position to control his men, so he put Horton behind the squad leader and positioned himself in front of Cafferata. Orndoff connected with second fire team.

  The tunnel had a flat floor and smooth sides. Even though it was almost wide enough for two men to walk side by side, the ceiling was so low that the Marines had to walk slightly hunched over. There were no lights, at least none that were on. The tunnel vision goggles didn’t show colors, but the walls shimmered with a slight gloss. The gloss didn’t translate into a slickness to the touch. Mackie wondered, not for the first time, whether the Dusters had some form of echo-location or other sense that allowed them to “see” in reduced or non-existent light.

  About fifty meters in, the smoothness of the wall on the right was broken by a doorway. Martin reported it to Commiskey, who came forward while Martin set security.

  “What do you think, Sergeant?” Commiskey asked after he examined the door.

  A lever-like handle was recessed into one side of the door. Other than that, there was no visible slot or other knob that looked like a locking device. The top of the door was low enough that a man would have to bend almost double to go through it.

  Martin shook his head. “Doesn’t look like there’s anything important in there. But then, we don’t know how they secure things.”

  “So the only thing to do is take a look.”

  “That’s right, sir. So if you’ll step back—”

  “A good commander never asks his men to do something he won’t do himself. You step back, Sergeant.”

  Martin gave Commiskey a penetrating look, then made a curt nod and said, “First fire team, move forward twenty meters. Third, move forward and follow us in.” To Commiskey, “I’m with you, Lieutenant.” He pressed his back against the wall to the side of the door opposite the handle.

  Commiskey faced the wall next to the door and reached for the handle. It didn’t move when he pressed down on it. He lifted, and the door popped open into the space beyond it.

  Martin was ready, and dove through the open doorway. He rolled away from it and came up in a crouch, pointing his rifle into the chamber; his eyes swept the room, the muzzle of his rifle tracked with his eyes. He saw Commiskey follow him the same way on the other side of the door. The officer held his handgun ready.

  “Mackie,” Martin shouted, “get in here!”

  In seconds, Mackie and his men were spreading out inside the room.

  To the Marines, it was a modest-size room, no more than fifteen meters deep, less than that in width, about double the height of the tunnel outside it. Pillars dotted the chamber, holding up cross beams that supported the ceiling. It looked to have been a storeroom, although whatever had been stored in it was now gone, leaving only a few racks and some shelving. It only took a minute to check behind the pillars to make sure nobody was hiding there. They didn’t take the time to check the walls for hidden doors.

  Commiskey reported the room to Captain Sitter, then told Martin, “The Skipper’s going to have the sa
ppers prepare it to blow on our way out,” Commiskey said. “Let’s continue.”

  In a moment, first squad was back in the tunnel, heading deeper into the complex. Every fifty to a hundred meters they found another room on one side of the tunnel or the other. The chambers varied in size from the smallish first one to the size of a small auditorium. Six rooms were as empty as the first one. The sappers prepared each of their entrances to blow once the Marines passed on their way out.

  The seventh, compared to the other six, was mid-sized. And that wasn’t the only difference.

  Forty pairs of bowl-shaped objects—the Marines could only compare them to nests—were spaced through the chamber. One nest in each pair was larger, large enough to act as a bed for a Duster. The other, much smaller, was divided into segments; perhaps the Duster equivalent of a locker.

  There was a long moment of silence before Mackie broke it. “I suddenly have an image of Dusters hunkering down on these things, with their heads tucked under a wing.”

  “Just like nesting birds,” Martin said.

  “Or dinosaurs,” Mackie said softly.

  All of first squad filtered into the. . . “It’s a squadbay!” Cafferata exclaimed.

  “Damn,” somebody muttered, his voice muffled by the material of the nests.

  “Look at the spacing,” Mackie said.

  “What about it?” Vittori asked.

  “They’re far enough apart that a Duster can stand next to one and his tail won’t overlap any of the others.”

  “I do believe you’re right,” Martin said when he looked at the distance between nests.

  “This is just like the Cretaceous nesting colonies paleontologists found back in the twentieth century.”

  “Mackie,” Corporal Button said, wandering among the nests, searching, “sometimes I think you read too much. If you put that effort into being a Marine, you’d make Commandant one day.”

  Mackie snorted. Before he could make any other reply, Commiskey entered the squadbay.

  “How recently was this occupied?” he wanted to know.

  “Are they warm-blooded?” Martin asked.