Back From the Dead (37 page)

“Just a
little
hill.” Quiritis says quietly. “No problem.”

Lag walks in and steps up beside the command station. “Colliding with things again?”

“If they’re still on the hilltop.” Helton stares hard at Cooper for a moment, his face a tight mask of annoyance. “Quiri, you just got promoted to first pilot. Do it!”

Cooper’s brows rise in surprise while Quiri’s face sets in a bland, focused look. She pushes the yoke forward and speaks calmly, “Aye-aye, sir. You might want to tell people to brace for impact; it may be more than the inertial compensators can handle.”

“What if they have moved down to redeploy?” Lag asks. “Then you’ll be back inside the circle, in range.”

After a moment of tense silence, Helton says, “Cornhole ’em.”

“Excuse me?”

Helton grabs the mic. “All personnel! Clear the cargo bay, secure all middeck windows, close all hatches onto the cargo bay!” He releases the talk button on the mic. “
Tajemnica
, open forward and aft cargo bay airlock doors. Prepare to fast-drop the bow ramp and lower the stern partially now. If they are on the hilltop, we level it with the bow ramp up. If they are down where we can’t turn ‘em into road kill, we drop the ramps, bump the ship, and the wind blowing through will knock the bags off the aft ramp. A few hundred fifty-kilo beanbags at four hundred kph should flatten a pretty good area, and one of those things will take out anyone it lands on.”

“Are you serious?” Lag asks.

“Quiritis, can you do it if Taj can time the ballistics of a bombing run right?”

“Beanbags are not in the ground-assault combat manual, but gravity-bombing is easy enough,” she replies.

Helton grins at Lag. “I never read manuals anyhow.”

Quiritis runs her hands over the controls, calculating speeds and angles. The view outside changes from aiming skyward to ground-hugging. Cooper sits back in his fold-out seat. “Sure, why not? Run into hills on purpose, fight missiles with beanbags. Makes perfect sense. In
someone’s
universe.”

Helton runs his hand along the console edge. “Taj, can you do it?”

“The physics of falling objects is well understood. The details of moving that much mass by wind tunnel effect will be … a bit more complex.”

“Use the loading arms to make it a more controlled ejection?” Lag suggests.

“Hill’s coming up fast!” Cooper says, with a rising note of urgency.

“Three men. One launcher confirmed,” the Ship AI reports. “Three men downhill. Two hundred fifty meters.”

North hill

Three men in camo stand on the north hilltop, heads just above the brush, looking into the distance toward the refugee center. They hear an unexpected swooshing hiss of air movement, and behind them
Tajemnica
surges rapidly into view, hull partially below the horizon. They whirl around and stand motionless in shock at seeing a wall of metal rushing towards them.
Tajemnica
’s hull grazes the ground, and she screams over the hilltop, leveling the spot where the men were standing, dirt splashing away like water in a barge’s bow wave. The front ramp drops when she clears the crest of the hill. The back ramp is down, piles of beanbags ready for “deployment.” The fast-moving ship suddenly jumps up and back down, like a ground vehicle racing over a speed bump at high speed. Her bow turns up sharply.

Cargo bay

The cargo bay has been swept clean and all interior hatches and windows shut tight. Pallets of bags cover most of the stern ramp. The two loading arms with forklift attachments are extended, one holding a stack of pallets down, the other in front of another stack, ready to push it back and over the edge. The bow ramp drops open with a WHUMP, and the wild roar of rushing air makes the atmosphere aboard resonate wickedly. The corners of the bags lift and ruffle in the sudden gale, threatening to move under the wind pressure put on them. At the bump, everything jumps and shifts. The loading arm shoves the beanbags on one side and they fly off the ramp, scattering already.

North hill

Amid the brush, small trees, and grass downslope on the north hill, three men in camo trudge quickly and quietly, all with packs and gear, one carrying a launcher, the others with extra missile tubes. The sound of crashing trees, flying earth and ringing metal makes them spin around to look uphill where they had just left.
Tajemnica
plows through the hill crest, trailing debris, passing directly overhead. As she tips up they reflexively throw themselves flat on the ground even though Taj is too high to hit them.

A waterfall of bags tumbles out from the stern ramp in a disorderly line, initially falling much more sideways than down, like grazing fire nearly parallel to the ground, but picking up downward speed fast, adding to the hundreds of kilometers per hour they already have sideways. The soldiers are near the leading edge of the cascade as the bags fall past and onto them, crashing through the brush and small trees like a blast from a titanic shotgun. One man is hit squarely on the body, another in the head. The third screams in pain as bags crush and twist his legs.
Tajemnica
roars off, turning and arcing up and away toward the other hill with a ManPADS team.

The survivor rolls on the ground, struggling to get the bags off his shattered legs, grimacing in pain. He manages to turn over and sees his motionless comrades, the obviously broken missile launcher, and a ten-meter-wide swath of destruction. He looks up the hill, then reaches for his com unit.

West Hill

On the wooded hillside down from the west hill, a three-man team in camo walks hurriedly though the trees. All of their com units squawk for attention, breaking the forest quiet.

“Team Three down! Team Three down! Come in Team Four!” calls a pained and desperate voice. The men freeze and bring rifles up, casting their eyes about in all directions for unseen enemies. “Team Three down! Team Three Down! No response Team Four! Come in Team Two!”

One of the soldiers carrying spare missile tubes thumbs his throat mic. “Team Two here. Sitrep!”

“They dropped shit on us! They came back over the hill! Broke my legs! They hit the hill, then dropped some sort of bags on us! Delatam and Poya are dead! The launcher’s broken! I can’t walk!”

“We’ll do what we can,” the team leader says in a controlled, professional voice. He releases the mic button and his demeanor and tone turn intensely angry. “SHIT!
Shit-shit-shit
! He’s screwed. Only two, now… SHIT!” The others look at him, then at each other, uncertainty written on their faces.

A different voice comes in over their com units, sounding hesitant. “Uh, now what?”

“I say we–” the team leader begins.

“
Run
,” the Ship AI interrupts in a deep, malevolent voice, coming in loud and clear over their com units. “The bag limit on ManPADS teams is four a day. We still have two tags to punch. If you are within eight kilometers of the refugee center when we return, we will kill you as well. Any use of these com units will be understood as continued hostile intent and you will
all
die. You have two hours.
Tajemnica
out.”

They look at each other in surprise. One reaches for his throat mic, and the leader shakes his head urgently. “I don’t know how but we are
way
outside the plan. Fall back to the rally point, report and get orders. Total electronic silence.
Total
. Clear?” The others nod, change direction, and start trotting though the woods, eyes on the sky as much as the woodland floor before them.

Kat sits at her desk in building 1701. Councilor Darch on is on her screen. He’s cadaverously thin, with intense eyes, perfect hair, and immaculate shirt and jacket. The office behind him is lavish and large.

“How the hell am I supposed to know they’d see your guys and do that so your SAM couldn’t shoot?” Kat protests. “He didn’t call before they lifted.”

“Don’t you advise him?”

“I’m his
legal
adviser. I don’t know what he’s doing most of the time and even then he’s constantly running hypotheticals by me. I’m not a mind reader!”

“I’ve paid you a LOT of good money! I expect
good
information!”

“Everything I’ve passed you is correct. You get what I can afford to give! Now get off this unsecured connection and let me see what I can find out!” The screen goes blank. Kat sighs and leans forward, elbows on the desk, looking tired. She puts her face in her hands.

Dropping In

A temporary camp and training field, with tents and a few container-sized prefab buildings, is set up near a simple firing range at the foot of a high ridge not far from Adelaide. Recruits are sitting in small groups cleaning weapons and gear in the low-angle light of the setting sun. Harbin roars up in a light truck, brakes to a halt in a cloud of dust, and hops out almost before it’s stopped. “BUCK! BRENNEKE! FOSTER! SABOT! PLUMBATA! I need you five volunteers to fall in!”

They scramble up and over, falling into a more or less straight line facing him, rifles at port arms. “You have some recreational skydiving experience, right?”

“Yes, First Sergeant!” Buck answers energetically for the group.

“Good. We got some size four brain cells with a size seven attitude and a mobile SAM battery giving the Colonel and
Tajemnica
a problem. The agreed-to arms level contracts severely limit what we can do, and OpFor is keeping friendlies tied up at the moment, so they offered us a one-target contract to deal with it for them. Think you’re up for a drop-in live-fire field exercise?”

“At NIGHT? Right NOW? FOR REAL?” Foster asks, astonished.

“Yes, at night. In the dark, too. A potentially hot LZ, low-altitude jump into a wooded area, voice-only communication, against an air-defense unit. Very limited allowed electronics, weapons, and transport methods. Lots of ways to have fun, even more ways to get yourself hurt, lost, or killed. No air cover or support, just us and what we drop with.”

The five recruits look at each other, surprised and uncertain.

“I normally wouldn’t ask this, but you’re better than the average ‘cruits and
Tajemnica
is getting shot at. Right now all they’ve got is us. Can’t order you to go because it is not training or a contract you’ve signed. If you go, you’ll get combat contract pay and coverage, even if the bad guys don’t show up to play target. No shame in not wanting to get shot at in a night drop you haven’t trained for.”

“So who goes if we don’t?” Sabot asks cautiously.

“Me. Kaminski, Kaushik.”

After a pregnant pause, Foster pipes up. “Who else?”

“Whatever spirits seem to watch over the Colonel, the Captain, and his scatter-brained ship.”

“Just the three of you?” Plumbata blurts.

Harbin shrugs off their skepticism, his face neutral. “Plenty of targets for everyone.”

Foster grins and slowly grows a lopsided smile. “Didn’t sign up for push-ups. I’m in.” The rest nod agreement and voice affirmatives.

“Grab your packs, weapons, and field kit. We’ll get ammo and the rest back at the pad. You have ninety seconds.” The five scatter at a run to retrieve equipment. “MEPLAT! CANNELURE! OGIVE! Grab your gear! Armor, rifles, and kit! You get to learn how to play badass crowd-control muscle! MOVE! You have EIGHTY seconds!” The rest of the camp explodes in a flurry of action.

The lights on
Tajemnica
’s bridge are dimmed for the night shift, and the glass cockpit screens show a ghostly false-color wide-spectrum synthetic view of the landscape, while captain and crew watch screens at their stations. The Ship AI intrudes upon their concentration, its soft voice almost sounding curious. “I am picking up some very unusual communications between Lieutenant Kat, Councilor Darch, Seymore, and an unidentified fourth party. I believe the information distribution pattern is useful.”

Dusk is falling on Landing Pad D9 as Harbin sits in the cab of a light truck full of bundles with parachute containers on them, the recruits standing next to it nervously.
Tajemnica
glides in, ramp already down, landing right behind them. Harbin guns the engine and backs it rapidly up the ramp, then tromps on the brakes, causing some of the equipment in the back to spill out the back end in a combat unload. The recruits sprint up the ramp to help empty the rest. In a few moments it’s all on the deck. Harbin roars off the ramp, skids to a stop at the bottom, jumps out and runs back up the ramp as
Tajemnica
lifts away into the encroaching darkness.

Tajemnica
’s cargo bay is lit in a hellish dim red light. Three large stacks of gear in cargo netting with cargo chutes on top are piled on the edge of the raised ramp, static lines rising from the bundles to the clip-line above. Harbin, Kaushik, Kaminski, and the recruits are dressed in body armor with jump harnesses and chutes. The red light blinks, the ramp starts to lower, and loose ends flutter in the wind. Allonia hugs Kaminski and kisses him on the cheek. He smiles at her, nods, and grins confidently.

“Back before you know it!
With
my shield.”

“You’d better. Luck!”

“Gear One and Group One,
ready
!” Quiritis announces over the PA, calm and reassuring. Lights flash again. “Group one, GO!”

The men push one pile of gear off the edge, and it drops away into the darkness, and the static lines pull taut, then stream back. A moment later Kaminski and two of the recruits leap after it, one after another in close succession, static lines trailing behind them going taut, then joining the cargo chute line streaming out into the night.

“Group Two, READY!” Quiritis warns, and the lights flash again. “Group Two, GO!” Harbin and a recruit shove their pile over the edge, pause, then jump after it.

“Group Three, READY! … Group Three, GO!” The last pile goes over the edge, then Kaushik and the last two recruits. Allonia looks out into the night, the wind swirling her hair. A chill passes over her, and she hugs herself, worry clouding her face.