Metal Boxes - Trapped Outside (8 page)

Ryte commanded, “No electronic searches.”

Hammermill ignored her until Numos nodded. “Passive scans only, but dig those people out quick. Then, on the bounce, get your platoon north, suited marines only. It’s your job to interdict incoming hostiles. Stop them if you can, but slow them down enough that we can escort the civilians south. Do not allow yourself to be taken prisoner. Sorry, Hammer. It is a shit job, but—”

They finished together “—somebody has to do it.”

Numos said, “Once the compound blows, disengage and work your way to our collection point one mile south. I don’t think the Hyrocanians will give us enough time. We can only hope.”

Hammermill handed Numos a small black bag. “This is Second Lieutenant Heller, sir. What we could identity of him anyway. Take him home, sir.”

Numos said quietly, “Ooo-rah.”

Hammermill sprinted towards Charlie’s barracks to get suited.

Ryte asked, “Fifty minutes?”

Numos said, “Forty-six minutes now, and this whole area will be a smoking pit, deeper and more useless than the missile crater. Anyone left behind, wounded or just trapped will be with whatever gods will have them.”

Stone felt useless. Orders were flying around him, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to appear useless, he was supposed to be in command, yet Numos had everyone jumping. Allie looked at him, concern evident even with only one good eye. Finally, she grabbed a can of liquid bandage and a can of coagulant and began poking and prodding him. Without so much as a by-your-leave-sir, she stripped him to the waist and began spraying various parts of his body he hadn’t known were leaking until she bandaged them.

Allie said, “We need to get a doctor to check on Governor Stone as soon as we can, Major. He has been bleeding from both ears and may have suffered a serious concussion or head injury.” She emphasized the title “governor”.

Stone pointed back across the compound to the smoking remains of the conference room. “Doc Menendez is in there with Master Chief Thomas giving aid to Lieutenant Commander Butcher. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but it must be something his navy nanites can’t fix.”

Stone saw two marines in combat suits wildly digging into a jumbled pile of rubble on what had been the second story across the compound. With a flurry of flying metal and a fury of frantic urgency, they dragged a civilian from the pile. One marine grabbed the scientist, jumped to the ground, dropped her to her feet, and jumped back to begin digging deeper.

THIRTEEN

Stone said, “We need to get the civilians moving south right now. Some of these wounded will take time to move even a short distance.”

Tuttle and another marine bounced up to the small knot of people. Their enhanced combat suits allowed them to jump across the distance in a single bound. The size of their suits dwarfed everyone except Jay and Peebee. The two marines shimmered and disappeared as their suits shut down all external trace. Their faces appeared to hover in the air as their faceplates popped open.

Stone said, “I need to get my suit, but—” He realized it would be a miracle if his suit survived. It was in a charging rack in Alpha Platoon’s suit storage bay, a part of the compound relatively flat, as it had been right on the edge of the missile crater.

He’d survived in the wilds of Allie’s World once only because he had a working shuttle to hide in at night. Going outside anywhere was bad enough to give him the shivers and make him nauseous. Walking around on this untamed world was suicide. He wanted to have some protection, even if all he had was an ill-fitting navy combat suit.

Allie hooked a thumb in the direction of where Baker Platoon’s shuttle bay had been. The building ended in a flattened pile of rubble. The missile had vaporized half of the shuttle bay and the blast force crushed the other half. “My suit is gone. Yours is too.” She grabbed his communication unit, as she slid his uniform top back up, covering his torso again. She tapped a short command and it beeped twice, flashing red once. “See? Your comms say your suit is non-responsive and non-functioning.”

Stone couldn’t control the look of surprise on his face. He hadn’t known he could check on his suit without actually going to look at it. He wondered if he’d slept through the class at the academy or if no one had mentioned it to him before. “Well, if we can locate a suit that is, um—unattached, I want it. I mean, I don’t want to take someone’s suit away.”

Numos shook his head. “Most navy suits were in Alpha and Baker’s hangars. My command review status spreadsheet shows we won’t pull any functional suits out of those hangars. Medical command had their suits in Delta’s hangar, so they are completely gone. The civilians claimed they hadn’t needed to bring any heavy protective gear, so they didn’t have any to lose.”

Stone grimaced, “Well, I guess I’m humping it on foot. Let’s get people moving, shall we? Major Numos, would you take charge of the evacuation, please?” He sounded much calmer than he felt. Being outside without some protection was going to be bad, but with Numos taking charge, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about leaving anyone behind.

Allie pointed at Tuttle and the other marine. She said, “You two are now assigned to Baker Platoon. Carry Ensign Stone to the collection point. Keep him safe and keep an eye on him. Get him out of the blast zone.”

Stone said, “Wait. No. Corporal Tuttle, please go over there.” He wagged a finger in the general direction of where his conference room had been. Please get Lieutenant Commander Butcher and carry him south. One mile. Take Doctor Menendez with you, if you can.”

Numos nodded. “Yes, sir. All suited marines not with Hammer’s Charlie Platoon are to carry wounded to our next gathering point. Corporal, secure a protective detail for any civilians at our collection point. Do it fast and come back for more.” A suited marine could move a mile a minute. It will be a rough ride for seriously wounded people, so they may only be able to make a few trips.

Stone said, “I don’t want to be outside. But, if my options are that or being taken captive by Hyrocanians, then I’m going to take my chances with the wildlife of Allie’s World. But, I don’t even have a knife with me. Allie, can you find us weapons before we move out?”

Nodding, she said, “We can strip out Charlie Platoon’s armory on our way out the back door, sir.”

Stone said, “One thing before we go. Can we get Hammer to slow the Hyrocanians enough for us to get clear, and then let them slip past him in time to capture the deserted compound in say, forty-five minutes from now?”

FOURTEEN

Stone kept looking behind him when he wasn’t looking at the sky overhead, the jungle around them, or the command projection he had locked into place in his two o‘clock position. He had the same aversion to someone micromanaging his daily chores as any human, so he tried hard not to step on anyone’s toes. There were too many things happening at once and he wasn’t where anything was happening.

He tripped—again. Allie, who seemed to be all over the group all at the same time, grabbed him by his collar to keep him upright. He expected her to say something but after glancing at his dataport view, she moved off.

He had his dataport set to show Numos and Hammermill’s images from the compound. He could switch his view to any camera in the compound or to any suited marine, but unlike many navy combat missions, marine officers tended to be at the center of where the action was the thickest, so he continued to ride along on their shoulders.

The security risk was minimal in picking up the video feed. The Hyrocanians might be able to trace the signal if they could find it. However, Allie said the receive only signal was so weak, she doubted the Hyrocanians could even scan it. More than likely, if the aliens did pick up the signal, it would be from the broadcast end in the compound, from Numos or Hammermill. Since the four-armed freaks knew where the compound was and Numos was still in the compound, there wasn’t much of a security risk in tapping into his signal. Lieutenant Hammermill was a mile north of the compound setting up a line of defense against any possible ground invasion. They weren’t planning on setting up an ambush, so their location wasn’t a secret. Unless the Hyrocanians were dumber than humans gave them credit for, they would know a defensive force waited for them. Even the dumbest of enemies would know they hadn’t completely destroyed the compound. A smart enemy would only disable the compound and then swoop in to capture prisoners for interrogation. Stone needed Charlie Platoon to delay the enemy long enough so they arrived at the abandoned compound just about the time the self-destruct went off.

He scanned the compound feeds, rolling from camera to camera. It hadn’t taken long to untag nonfunctioning feeds as more cameras were damaged from the missile attack than were working. He spotted Major Numos near the back door. Stone watched as the man performed a quick scan of the area. Apparently satisfied all of the living were gone and they’d retrieved as much of the dead’s remains as possible, he came to attention, saluted the field and stepped through Charlie’s back door, stopping to seal it shut behind him. Although Numos shouted at the three marines with him to run, they took up defensive positions around him as he ran a quick weld around the door.

Stone nodded at the weld. Anything to delay the Hyrocanians inside the compound was a good idea. What was a bad idea was Numos and his three marines were delaying their departure too long. They would have to run hard to get out of the blast zone.

Stone allowed the compound’s feeds to continue, but shut off the feed from Numos. Since the Major had finished the weld and left the compound—first place the Hyrocanians would look for prisoners—Stone wouldn’t take the slightest chance of tagging onto the Major’s feed that might give his position away.

He nimbly stepped around a downed tree trunk and tripped over a rock. Allie wasn’t there to catch him this time, yet he managed to keep his feet. He tried not to look up, but he did. Covering up his shiver at all of the open sky above him with his stumble, he yanked his eyes back down. The walls of the jungle weren’t much different from the walls of a corridor. Sure, he couldn’t see as far as usual, but he had been in many hydroponic gardens on space stations that gave the impression of forest depth. The ground, while rough and uneven, might be thought of as a lumpy deck floor. He could deal with uneven flooring. What he couldn’t look at without causing each sphincter muscle in his body to alternately tighten and loosen was all that clear sky overhead.

He walked at the front of his group, trying not to move faster than the slowest person. He finally assigned MCPO Thomas to ride herd on the civilian scientists whose tendency was to slow to a stop. Some were in a state of shock at the sudden death and destruction, stopping in stunned silence. Some were wounded, claiming a need to rest for injuries only to their legs, arms, or heads. The Emperor would have ensured each of them received the best civilian medical nanites available for planetary exploration. Those implants wouldn’t be as robust as their military cousins, but should keep a person up and moving until they could receive proper medical attention. Up and moving was as much mental strength as it was physical capability. Other scientists wanted to stop and gawk at each new plant, animal track, or rock outcropping they came to, like they’d already forgotten about the ruined compound and the dead, the minute the base was out of sight.

Stone couldn’t forget the compound. Damaged or not, it was inside. Even the parade ground had provided some comfort with a partial wall to protect him from all of the flora and fauna of Allie’s World. He’d only vomited once since exiting the compound from Charlie’s back door. Allie had expressed concern about him being nauseous because of his head injury. He let her continue thinking that, since it made him sound more heroic than tossing his cookies because he was scared spitless at being outside.

He looked behind him again. Damn! Dr. Triplett had stopped to paw through a pile of animal spoor. She ignored Thomas’s attempts to chivvy her on. Her sneer and snarl at the master chief was already a common occurrence. She made no efforts to hide her animosity toward anyone or anything military. Everyone had heard her opinion that this planetary exploration should be in civilian—educated civilian—hands. Her expressed belief was that even having a military brought war to the empire’s doorsteps. She’d been heard more than once stating how humans had yet to even try negotiating with the Hyrocanians and that the military was anathema to diplomacy. Stone had had to look up the word anathema.

The few medical people in this group were part of the military though their corps wasn’t as strict on military protocol as the navy or marines. They were moving along quite nicely, being unburdened by any great excess of medical supplies. They carried what they could, but there had been little to find and even less time to find it.

He carried a familiar TDO-960A. He had used it against Hyrocanians before, back at the unfortunate incident at Point Alpha-Beta, but then it was a combat suit attachment with an almost unlimited supply of ammunition. This version was handheld and much heavier than he remembered. Each clip had a hundred cartridges and he had a dozen clips in his backpack. Clips weren’t heavy, in spite of that, twelve extra clips added up to more weight than he was used to carrying and seemed to get heavier with each step.

Everyone was burdened, either with supplies or with their own wounds. Despite her head wound, Allie was carrying four times the weight Stone was and she didn’t appear to notice the added weight at all. She didn’t carry a rifle, but did have a handgun holstered at her side. His rifle was useless against the local flora, but Allie’s three-feet-long machete could hack apart any tangles Jay and Peebee missed as they crashed through the brush ahead of them with wild abandonment. Their thick hide pushed back thorns, spikes, hooks, and needles, opening a path for him and his gaggle of followers.

He wanted to spread out so they wouldn’t create an easy path for the Hyrocanians to follow, but the thick underbrush in this part of the forest didn’t cooperate. They were bunched together to avoid being shredded by the reddish-green plants.

A whisper of wind caused him to duck and aim his rifle upward. He was too late to shoot, even if there had been a valid reason. A suited marine vaulted over his group, rushing south away from the compound carrying a wounded marine to their collection point.

Somewhere in front and behind him, he hoped, were other groups of humans, staggering their way south. He knew exactly how many people he was responsible for keeping safe. He was the governor, whether he wanted the job or not. There were forty-seven navy personnel counting himself and MCPO Thomas, subtracting Tammie Ryte, since she had revealed she wasn’t really navy, but an EMIS agent, dropped the navy number down to forty-six. LCDR Butcher pushed the number back up to forty-seven. He shook his head, he didn’t know where or who had shuttled the man down from the Vasco de Gama. They would have to wait for Butcher to regain consciousness to ask him if his shuttle pilot had died with the spaceship or was blown up on the ground.

There were four five-man teams from the medical corps. Each team included a doctor, who was an officer, and the nurses and technicians necessary to staff their small medical center around the clock. LTSG Dr. Menendez headed their number.

The civilians numbered thirty-three, with every specialist the Emperor thought might be necessary to investigate the planet for exploitation. There were geologists, planetologists, biologists, entomologists, cartographers, and even an arborist. Maybe they were still headed by Dr. Mohamed and maybe they weren’t. The man hadn’t been found by the time his group left the compound.

The marines were the largest human force on the planet. Major Numos commanded their company. Each of the four platoons had sixty-four marines for a total company complement of two hundred fifty-six men and women. Before the original Hyrocanian missile attack twelve had been killed on the planet and another dozen wounded, some seriously.

Some of Numos’s marines were hardened combat veterans like Allie, Hammermill, and Corporal Tuttle, but most were young and on their first marine deployment. He didn’t know how many marine veterans or rookies were left. Delta Platoon was gone with the exception of a few suited marines who had been on duty walking the compound parapet.

He didn’t know how many of the original three hundred fifty-seven in his command were alive. Numos had continued digging through the remains until he led his tiny group straggling out the back door. The survival rate from the bombing was dismal. Of those still walking, only a few were undamaged in some manner. Stone rubbed his ears. They hurt. His backpack rubbed against some cuts and bruises he didn’t know he had until Allie dropped the pack over his shoulders. Allie ignored her wounds, so did he. There wasn’t any way he was going to let his girlfriend out macho him.

For the hundredth time, he did a mental count of the humans with him. He had six navy counting himself. He had two medical corpsmen, eight civilian scientists, sixteen unsuited marines, and one lone EMIS agent. Even with half of the marines qualifying as walking wounded, he wanted more. Allie had them watching their perimeter, as the local fauna wasn’t particularly welcoming to human invaders. He needed more marines to herd the civilians, to keep them moving. More marines simply weren’t available.

He glanced at EMIS agent Tammie Ryte for the hundredth time and wished she had taken the time to put something on over her outfit besides a gun holster and a backpack. Those two little things did less than nothing to cover her. Staring at her with Allie around to see him gawking was dangerous. Allie would easily spot his interest even with only one good eye. He wouldn’t follow up on his interest. He liked bigger women, but dammit—

A shriek split the air. Before he could react, Ryte yanked a handgun from her holster. Without appearing to look, she shot a dive-bombing creature out of the sky. Ryte holstered her gun and went back to her personal assistant before the creature fell to the ground in a flutter of hollow feather-like tubes, landing at the feet of a couple of scientists. Rather than jump back in dismay, the scientists pounced on the creature like Jay and Peebee pouncing on lunch after a hard morning workout. Thomas moved in to keep the pair shuffling forward. One of the corpsman moved in just as fast when one of the scientists managed to get his hand hooked by the dead creature’s claw. The group shuffled forward while the scientist wailed about his damaged hand. The corpsman used a pair of pliers to work the claw free.

The scientists were all experts in more than one field, yet specialized in one area for exploring the planet. They were also generally older than the average military man or woman. Older didn’t mean they weren’t in good shape—not as good as any branch of the military—yet healthy and active. The Emperor had chosen the best minds wrapped in strong bodies to withstand the rigors of studying this new world. The newly wounded scientist was Dr. Emiliano Wyznewski, a geologist. Stone hadn’t had any personal contact with him in their short time on the planet. The woman with him was Dr. Kat Emmons, but Stone couldn’t remember her specialty. Then it dawned on him, she was the scientist Peebee had bitten. She was a xeno-psychologist and a behaviorist.

He shook his head in wonder. So many of their comrades had just been vaporized by a missile or crushed by the resulting blast’s shock wave, yet these civilians seemed to have already forgotten the danger they still faced, slipping easily into scientist mode. For most of the wounded scientists, their own blood-soaked bandages brought a certain level of reality to their situation, but these two and Triplett seemed to be completely oblivious to the continuing danger. All three appeared to accept the death and destruction behind them as an interesting twist in some long-term experiment.

Dr. Wyznewski was an odd man, letting his hair grow to shoulder length, it’s dull tan color shot full of grey and left untended. He always seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere or do something, never sitting still. Now he was wailing in pain at his injured hand. Despite his wails, his eyes twinkled with delight as the corpsman dropped the dead bird back into his open hand, claw spike and all.