Armored Tears (12 page)

"Anyway,
I've got to get back to my job, get my squad squared away. But the captain says
you can ride with him."

***

Bernie
watched the heat shimmer above the stony flatlands spread out before her. She
tapped her helmet controls to engage magnification mode to focus her visor
display on the walls of the refugee camp, two kilometers away. Details jumped
out at her; walls made of stacked plastic food crates filled with sand. Behind
the walls, she knew, would be huts made of the same crates, and old tents, and
other shelters that were no more than holes dug into the ground and covered
with plastic sheeting for a roof.

Her
frame made the weight of her armor and weapons feel effortless, but it did
nothing for the heat or dust. And crawling in a frame was... not impossible,
but not easy either.

Next
to her, Lieutenant Maynard, her platoon leader, scanned the surroundings with a
set of thermal sensors. Fifty meters behind them, in a shallow cut, the rest of
the platoon was waiting.

"Remind
me again why we're out here, LT?" she said, switching her display focus
from point to point along the camp wall. There were no guards that she could
see —they were all probably sheltering in the shade— but it didn't
pay to get careless.

"Some
Auxiliary Corps truck drivers found a rifle," replied Lieutenant Maynard.

"Oh,
goody," Bernie said. "So now the Auxiliaries finally have a rifle. At
last. What's that got to do with us?"

The
lieutenant snickered. "Weren't you listening? It was a UEN pisser service
rifle," he said. "And the gun-boy carrying it shot at the
Auxiliaries. So now we get to bust open this camp, round up the gun-boys, and
find out where they got that rifle.

"Unless,"
the lieutenant added, "your spies brought it to them?"

"They're
not spies," Bernie said with a groan. "They're just Earther
reporters. And the Australian guy is cute."
           

"I'd
say the German chick is cute," said the lieutenant. "But not
available, unless I miss my guess. Unless you're up for a three-way?" he
added.

"Only
in your fevered dreams, LT," Bernie said, shaking her head. "You want
to know what else my two Earther guests aren't?"

"What?"

"They
aren't out here wearing a frame, creeping up on a hostile refugee camp full of
drugged up gun-boys," Bernie said.

"True,
that," the LT replied. "They're in the Captain's frame carrier,
riding in full air-conditioned glory with the Captain."

"OK,
point. I'd rather be out here," Bernie agreed.

"Right.
OK, I think we've observed long enough. I'll tell the captain that it's OK to
bring the carriers up. Plan is, he takes 1st and 2nd Platoons and swings wide
to set up the cordon. As soon as our guys and gals are up, we'll move in on the
camp. Captain will be sending out drones, so we should have a clue of what's
inside before we get there.

"C-squad
provides overwatch for the first dash, then A, then B, in that order. Make sure
you plan out your waypoints and pick ones with cover. The gun-boys aren't
likely to have heavy firepower, but there's no need to get sloppy."

"Teach
your grandmother to suck eggs, sir," Bernie said "I've already picked
out my waypoints, and you can bet your boy-parts they'll be good cover."

"Don't
get cocky, Sergeant. If those gun-boys have one UEN rifle, they might have
more."

"Right,
sir."

"Right.
When we hit the wall, we leave whichever squad's on overwatch to secure it, and
the rest of us move in. We handle the refugees like the captain said, right
Sergeant?" said the lieutenant.

"Right,
sir," Bernie agreed. "Shoot the gun-boys and don't shoot the
refugees. Stun gas grenades when the gun-boys take hostages. Save 'em if you
can, but don't let the gun-boys start making demands."

"You've
got it. Make sure your men have it too. Right? OK, then. Let's get back to our
squads and get moving," the lieutenant said.

***

"I
think this is terrible," Ulla said. "I had no idea they were going to
take us with them when they attack the refugees."
       

"Not
what I expected either," Aran agreed. "But I am getting some...
interesting social context. Have you noticed the way the troops talk to each
other? Even enlisted men and officers?"

"Not
really."

"They're
very informal. Very. But there's never any actual argument or
disobedience."

"Does
that mean they're not professional?" Ulla asked.

"No...
no, I'd say the other way 'round. Actually, they remind me of things I've seen
in old vids about the Australian Army."

"I
think you have too much of a fondness for these people, Ulla said. "You're
associating them with your Australians, who are totally civilized." Ulla's
voice dropped to a whisper. "These people, these Arcadians, aren't
civilized. They're about to attack a camp of defenseless refugees, and they
think we'll approve of it. I... I feel sick. I wish I hadn't come."

"The
refugees shot at their soldiers, you know."

"Well,
you have to expect a certain level of violence from the disadvantaged,"
Ulla replied. "Civilized nations don't use that as an excuse for draconian
brutality, though."

"I..."
Aran started to say, but a sudden crackle of gunfire cut him off.

***

Bernie
watched as Lieutenant Maynard led A-squad, seven framers strong, in a fast,
loping run across the ground towards the refugee camp walls. His men moved
well, their weapons held steady, tracking their targets. A sprinting dash of a
few hundred meters to a cluster of broken ground, and the framers melted into
the desert, taking cover.

Off
to her left, C-squad, led by Sergeant Grant, ran up level with her position and
also took cover.
  

Bernie
gripped her M39 and counted, one, two, three, in her head.

Then,
"go!" she shouted, and her B-squad rose up and began to sprint
forward to the waypoint she'd marked for them.
         

The
sound of her boots and the mechanical hum of the frame's servos filled her ears
as she ran. The trick was to scan for targets as you moved. Not easy, but
crucial. Maybe that was why she saw the figure appear over the wall, almost a
kilometer away.

"Shit!"
she shouted, slapping at a button on the side of her helmet with her free hand
to engage the display visor's autofocus feature.

The
figure on the wall leapt into focus; a man in speckle-gray camouflage with a
modern-looking combat sensors-helmet... and a modern-looking man-portable
anti-armor missile launcher!

"Target
on the wall! Rocket-launcher!" she shouted into her helmet comm. But even
as she shouted, her right arm brought the M39 up to acquire the target. This
was the real skill of a framer; to acquire a target, fast, on the move.

The
rocket-launcher man was scanning, probably with helmet sensors no worse than
hers, but he hadn't acquired a target.

His
head snapped up in surprise as her M39 locked on with a laser-ranging pulse;
Bernie had a fraction-of-a-second realization that his helmet must have a
laser-detector; thoroughly modern gear. But her finger was already pressing the
trigger, releasing the M39 to shoot in the first possible instant that the
weapon bore on the selected target.

The
crack and recoil of the high velocity 8.5mm round was barely a nudge against
the servos of her frame. Her bullet hit the rocket-launcher man's face plate
less than a second later, and the man fell with a puff of dust and a spray of
armor-plastic and bloody fragments of skull behind him.

The
rest of her squad saw her snap acquisition and shot. One other man fired at the
same target, but his shot was too late, the bullet cracking through the space
the dead man's head had just been.

"Engaging
hostiles!" she shouted, as she reached her pre-planned cover and dove for
the ground with the rest of her squad.

"Rocket-launcher
on the wall!" she added into the comm as she rolled behind a substantial
rock and got ready to pop up and re-engage.

"B
squad lead, confirm your last," came Lieutenant Maynard's voice.

"Confirm,"
Bernie barked. "Engaged and dropped a man-port missile-gunner on the wall.
Heads up for hostile heavy weapons!"

"Roger,"
returned the lieutenant, as his squad rose from cover and started their next
dash.

A
burst of automatic fire sounded from the refugee camp wall, and an arcing line
of bright yellow tracers slanted out towards the charging framers. Bullets hit
the ground and kicked up little splashes of dirt.

Men
scattered, some going prone, others weaving as they made for their designated
waypoint, running all out.

At
least it wasn't an auto-smartgun, Bernie thought; if it had been, the burst
probably wouldn't have missed.

"B-squad,
engage all hostile targets!" she shouted, tracking her M39 to the point on
the wall where the machinegun had fired from. She saw nothing there, but her
thermals picked up a warm spot and she put an 8.5mm round through it. Her squad
added to the volley, four or five M39s cracking out precise single shots. The
hostile gun didn't fire again.

"Third
Platoon, what are you shooting at?" came the captain's voice.

"Sir,"
replied Lieutenant Maynard, "we've been engaged by machineguns and
man-portable missiles."
        

As
a squad leader, Bernie's comm suite let her hear the Company command push.

"Confirm
your last, Third Platoon Leader," Captain Wilson said, in a tone of
disbelief.

Why
the fuck did he have to be so slow, Bernie cursed silently at the captain. The
LT had twigged fast enough. Fucking officers.

Two
missiles shot out over the wall of the camp, arcing high and plunging down, far
over the framers on the ground. Bernie looked back to see them streaking across
the desert towards the distant frame carriers.

In
theory, the frame carriers had decent anti-missile defenses. The heavy
auto-smartgun could be slaved to anti-missile work... though it wasn't a
perfect fit for the job. More to the point, each carrier had several dozen
anti-rocket panels built into the edge of its armored roof; upon detecting a
hostile launch, the point defense system would trigger the nearest panel to
explode, showering the inbound rocket with a spray of steel fragments. The
problem was, the systems had a reputation for going off at the wrong time, and
sometimes showering nearby frame infantry with a spray of fragments; being well
armored, the framers usually survived. Usually. The actual number of accidents
was pretty low, but the reputation persisted.

The
first frame carrier's point defense system was turned off. The inbound missile
streaked in, punched through armor that was only rated to stop anti-frame rifle
fire, and detonated. The explosion slammed open and shot fire out of every door
and panel on the carrier. The driver and the systems-operator inside died
instantly.

The
second carrier had its point defense system on and the inbound missile was torn
apart by the blast of one of the point-defense panels. The explosion was still
enough to dent the carrier's armor plate and obscure the vehicle in a cloud of
billowing dust.

Those
must have been anti-tank missiles, Bernie realized with a sense of dull dread.

 
"All framers, move!" screamed
Captain Wilson, over the company push. "Evade and return fire!"

"Move
it, B-squad!" shouted Bernie, shaking off her sense of shock and bounding
to her feet and taking off at a sprint across the rocky ground.
 

Against
missiles like the ones they'd just seen, staying in once place, even with good
cover, was a death sentence for a framer; they had no point defenses against
guided missiles. Surprisingly, though, running was a good defense; a frame's
power pack usually didn't generate enough of a signature for a missile's tiny
onboard guidance systems to track them on the move. If they stayed put, though,
it would be easy for the hostiles to lock a missile onto a stationary target
using the less compact, more capable targeting systems built into the launcher.

Desperately,
Bernie scanned for targets, but nothing was visible over the distant refugee
camp wall. If she'd been carrying her anti-armor missile launcher, she'd have
been tempted to order a volley into the camp, just to suppress whoever was controlling
those missiles. But her company hadn't bothered to carry the heavy weapons. The
idea had been to minimize collateral damage among the unarmed refugees.
Besides, who needed heavy weapons against a bunch of refugee gun-boys?

Far
behind her, the frame carriers were scattering, revving up their motors and
kicking up plumes of reddish dust.

Some
of the carriers were firing their auto-smartguns into the camp wall. They had
no specific targets, but Bernie thought that maybe they'd at least give the enemy,
whoever it was, something to worry about.