Indomitable (14 page)

“Access codes,” said Promise.

Atumbi mumbled something under his breath.

“I heard that, Race.” Promise spoke with a confidence she didn't feel. “And, no, we are not in over our heads.”

“Have a little faith,” said Maxi.

Morris's visor cleared, revealing a scrunched-up face.
“You're gaming the games—ma'am?”

“I'm seizing the initiative, Sergeant. Today's exercise simulates desperate circumstances. Today we blew our cover, and most of us died on-the-drop. On average, assaulting units lose forty percent in the air, and another thirty on the beachhead—and those are the lucky ones. No unit has ever successfully pierced Mount Bane's defenses and taken the control room. This exercise is meant to be lost.” Promise grew quiet. “Not today. During my comm with the general, I received a short-burst transmission with a schematic of the island and the stand-down commands for the ANDES and the island's perimeter defenses.”

“Why did the general give you that?”
replied Sergeant Morris.

“We don't know that she did,” Promise said, though she believed the general had. “Scuttlebutt says Great-Grans hates this exercise. Hates the whole idea of a no-win op. Well, I'm with her there. Maybe she's making her point. Or someone else is for her. Right now I don't care. We have sentries to neutralize.” Promise fashioned her right gauntlet into a weapon and pointed toward the ledge, pulled the invisible trigger, and held it for a solid one-count.

Nothing happened. Promise pulled the trigger again, and then a third time.

“Is that thing loaded?”
Prichart asked.

Very funny.
“Bond?”

“I sent the stand-down codes and the ANDES acknowledged receipt. I'm just as mystified as you.”

Without warning, the leftmost ANDES's head snapped up. It spun on its synthetic heels and walked to the second ANDES, and picked it up around the waist. Turned, and walked to the cliff's edge, and threw it over.

“ANDES overboard,” said Prichart.

The members of Alpha toon heard the ANDES skip down the mountain face over their suit's external pickups. The crash was spectacular.

“So much for camaraderie,”
replied Sergeant Morris.
“Look—this is getting interesting.”

The first ANDES was examining its forearm, which housed a small pulse cannon. Then it opened its mouth and …

“You've got to be kidding me,”
replied Kathy.

Looks like the scuttlebutt about Great-Grans is true,
thought Promise.

Because the ANDES's weapon was also on games mode, it inflicted no real damage to its synthetic self. The ANDES still dropped to the ground like a real suicide.

“All right then.” Promise broke concealment. “Crack your suits and shed 'em. Strap on your belts. Bring your rifle, a pistol, and all the cells you can carry. Leave everything else. This won't take long.”

“What else aren't you telling us, Lieutenant?”
asked the sergeant.

“As soon as we hit the ledge I fully expect a proximity alarm to go off. I wasn't sent the codes for that.”

“Wonderful.”

“That's the spirit,”
replied Gunnery Sergeant Ramuel. He, Sergeant Sindri, and Private Atumbi were moving up from the pool, and their mechsuits were slick with water. The gunny pulled off his helmet and racked it to his side about the time he reached their position. He dropped his arms and planted his feet a shoulder width apart. A seam materialized along the length of his battle armor, from crotch to sternum, and then down the length of each leg, stopping just above the ankle. Then the gunny stepped out of his mechsuit. He was wearing his black beegees, or underarmor one-piece, and a high-and-tight. Gold Vs on khaki flash rode each shoulder. Below the left shoulder lay the Pythons' unit patch: the bright green and gold snake was coiled around a warship in the throes of death. The gunny's branch tab covered his heart and his individual name the opposite side of his chest.

“I've never heard of Marines assaulting a fortified installation in beegees, ever.” The gunny looked himself over with disgust. “Might as well be in skivvies, ma'am. These patches are nothing but bull's-eyes.”

“That's why I brought blackouts. Just in case.” Promise stepped out of her mechsuit and stretched her arms over her head. “Ah, that feels better.” Then she pulled a wad of patches from a thigh compartment, and tossed several to the gunny. She had enough to go around. “Heads up.”

I hope I'm right about this.
Promise looked out into the great beyond, mouthed,
Sir, a little help and a lot of cover, please.

“You brought blackouts?” Ramuel couldn't hide his surprise. “That's not fair, ma'am. With respect, you should have warned us.”

Promise quickly applied the blackouts to her underarmor. “The enemy rarely does. There, I'm dark. Problem solved.”

“
Ma'am, I've transferred the stand-down codes to your minicomp, continual squawk.”
With her helmet off, Bond's SITREP came through her mastoid implant.
“It will be short-range inside the mountain. Maybe fifteen meters. Remember to give the codes time to work before you count the ANDES out.”

“Roger that.” Promise didn't bother looking over her shoulder at her mechsuit, at the ghost in her suit. She glanced at her minicomp to confirm receipt of the codes before strapping it to her arm. “Squawking confirmed. Thank you, Mr. Bond. Please hold down Fort Paen while I'm away.”

She sighed as cool ocean air washed over her body. “At least beegees breathe.” Promise tapped several commands into her minicomp and picked up a foot. Her boot reconfigured itself for standard duty, with an aggressive tread and a noise-canceling sole. “Set your belt for a one-meter-per-second rise. Stay on Lance Corporal Prichart. Move out.”

 

Seventeen

APRIL 24
TH
, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 0608 HOURS

REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD

PUGILIST SEA, CORREGIDOR ISLAND WARFARE TRAINING CENTER

Promise hugged Kathy's six
as they entered the mountain fortress, quick-timing it with the rest of her Marines in a single-column formation, the gunny at the rear. The mystery schematic had revealed the entrance they were using, suggesting it ran deep inside Mount Bane. The map's value ended there. From this point forward the map was a fog.

Remember, it's just a game, P.
That brought her little comfort.

Her thoughts drifted from Marine to Marine, until she got to Kathy.
You've grown attached, P, and you know better. It's Lance Corporal Prichart.
Promise knew she should think of her plucky subordinate as a promising noncommissioned officer first, someday maybe even a “Top Three” SNCO. The markers for greatness were there: competence; dedication; unwavering loyalty; and a zeal that encouraged her toonmates to step up their game. Deep down, she worried about losing Kathy. Combat was a master thief, stealing what the heart could not replace. “An officer must maintain a healthy distance from her subordinates.” She knew the regulation, why it was drafted in the first place. Commanders needed their wits about them on the battlefield, thoughts unburdened by personal affections. But Promise couldn't shake it. Kathy had somehow slipped through a chink in her armor, and past the wall she'd erected.
Never let them in.
She glanced down at Kathy's artificial foot, remembering her guardian's near brush with death on Montana.
Focus, P. Keep your thoughts centered and you'll keep her safe. Stop going to a dark place.

The farther in they went the more the cavern walls narrowed, the more her nerves took hold of her thoughts. If they ran into trouble, Kathy would take the brunt of it. What if Mount Bane's defenders misunderstood what was happening and responded with lethal force? She should have thought of that. If they got pinched by the enemy, they could be goners. The entrance had been a tight fit, barely a shoulder's width across. She might have scraped inside in her mechsuit. Maybe. Now she doubted it.

“Safeties off, stay alert,” she subvocalized. The tunnel's sides were low-lit and smooth like volcanic glass. Her feet slipped more than once. Rounding a corner, she saw a recessed floodlight and the base of a flight of rough-hewn steps. The stairs rose quickly, leveled off, and circled to the right, at which point they dropped down four more steps.

Kathy slowed, stepped blindly into the next passageway. She disappeared around the corner for a moment, before reversing direction and coming back into view. The muzzle of her rifle didn't as much as quiver. “Clear.”

This tunnel seemed to go on forever. Promise kept looking over her shoulder, counting her Marines. She tapped a quick set of commands into her minicomp, scanned for embedded weapons pods and electronic security measures. Nothing on visual. Nothing on thermals. No energy output detected.
Not very fortressy.
She longed for her AI, but communicating with Bond was impossible through all of this rock. She kept expecting the enemy to appear, or a siren to wail, or a weapon to drop from the overhead and catch them by surprise. She was storming a secret military installation without challenge? Where was everyone? Mount Bane was a secure installation on a classified island, patrolled by wet-Navy destroyers, on the RAW-MC's capital planet. First Fleet under Admiral Yi Soon Singh was out there. Not to mention the platforms strategically covering the system's jump points, laden with weapons pods, energy beams, and myriad point defenses, and a substantial LAC screen.
Nothing is getting through all of that. So why are we getting through here?

Promise was so distracted she almost missed Prichart's all-stop and ran into her. Her guardian raised her left fist and motioned dead ahead, to the left turn approaching. A large, blind corner. Kathy skirted the wall until she was about a meter from the L. Promise followed behind her and put her hand on Kathy's shoulder, squeezed to let her know she was ready. Then they proceeded to “slice the pie,” with Kathy in a crouch and Promise in the overguard position. They worked quickly, one lateral step at a time along a circular arc. They stepped, aimed, and cleared a piece of the pie. Step-clear. Step-clear. Until they were through. Promise's rifle jerked upward and she nearly stroked the trigger at the woman standing in their way.

Her heart missed two beats.
Warn me next time. I thought we covered that.

Sandra Paen blocked her path, no more than a meter from the business end of Kathy's pulse rifle. She wore RAW-MC standard-issue beegees and the single gold star of a brigadier general pinned to each side of her collar. “How's my girl?”

Busy. When did you make flag rank?
Promise's thoughts dripped sarcasm.

Sandra looked down and smiled. “What a pleasant surprise. Mother's prerogative, I suppose.” Sandra's bluegrass eyes glowed faintly in the low light. “Why so uptight, munchkin? I've seen Lieutenant Promise Paen kick in death's door and storm Hell's inner sanctum. This,” Sandra said dismissively, “is just a test. A little game. Bond was right. You're nervous like an unbroken pup. Why?”

Kathy looked up and over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “You okay, ma'am? You seem, I don't know, off.”

“Fine, just feels tight in here.”
And crowded.

Kathy nodded. “Things open up ahead, ma'am. Suits in motion?”

“Let's make some commotion.”

“Ooh-rah,” Kathy said as she motioned the column forward.

Kathy walked through Sandra Paen first, and as she passed, Sandra turned and fell in step with her daughter.

“She's a good girl. Faithful like an adopted stray.”

We have that in common,
Promise thought.

“True. The Corps became your family, and hers. Though that's not the whole of it.”

Working in tandem, Promise and Kathy cleared two more L-turns before running into another ANDES at the next intersection.

“Things are about to get interesting, wouldn't you say?” Promise gave her mother a do-you-mind-if-we-do-this-later look.
Please.

“Roger that, munchkin. Later it is, plan on it.” Sandra folded her arms and looked down the bridge of her nose. “Just remember to keep your finger off the trigger until it's time to shoot, okay? God help Private Atumbi. That kid's gonna off himself if he's not careful. Or someone else.”

Promise smiled and shook her head.

“Ah—there's my girl. It's about time you showed up to the dance.”

The truth was Promise did feel better.
Thanks, Momma.

“That's why I'm here.” And then she wasn't and Promise was alone with her Marines and her doubts. They were quieter now, pushed to the side, where they couldn't get in her way.

*   *   *

“He looks harmless enough,”
Kathy said.

Two meters of fortified peristeel stood at attention. Officially, the RAW-MC referred to all ANDES as “it,” not “he” or “she” because ANDES were mechs, not flesh and blood. Sometimes Marines slipped. Close quarters and war bred familiarity, even when it came to tech, not to mention the ANDES' humanoid appearance. Regarding AIs and Mules, the Regs were a bit more accommodating. Mechanized Marines were allowed to name their AIs and their Mules as long as the labels were economical, decent, and didn't undermine discipline. AIs and Mules were also tech. But there was tech, and then there was the tech you lived, breathed, and sometimes died with. That changed things.

So, officially
it
—the ANDES—was standing at attention just outside the lift, and it appeared to be powered down. At least, Promise hoped it was. Her minicomp should have bathed the ANDES in stand-down codes.