The Heart of Valour (17 page)

“Slightly crazy,” Annatahwee put in dryly. “We’ve been cutting him all kinds of slack, but…”

But, indeed. Most Marines never lost their trained reaction to a senior DI—even those currently working with him. Command would have made sure that neither Jiir nor Annatahwee had gone through in one of Beyhn’s platoons, but, other than that, they were on their own.

“What about the pheromones?”

“They’re strong. Or they don’t exist at all. We figure they’re tied to his emotional state and, you know, we live through it.”

“The Corps needs more female Krai,” Jiir moaned. Looked up at the other two. His nose ridges snapped shut. “Sorry.”

Torin waved it off. “I’ve heard it before. Has Jonin spoken to either of you?”

They exchanged glances and shrugged.

“He’s a leader among the di’Taykan recruits,” Annatahwee offered.

“Three-letter last name, I’m not surprised. There’s something going on with him and the staff sergeant.”

“Something about their families?”

“Could be.” Taykan hierarchy didn’t usually cause problems, but if Beyhn was being forced to retire by his family and Jonin’s family were their direct superiors… Torin could see how that might be trouble.

“Jonin’s in my squad. I’ll talk to him.”

“Jonin’s not who we need to talk to,” Jiir snorted. “We need to talk to the guy in the sky, and the staff sergeant’s refusing. Stupid fukking system that only gives the codes for the OP to the senior DI. What the hell is up with that?”

“The Corps moves in mysterious ways,” Annatahwee muttered.

“Should we need to, and I’m not saying we do,” Torin added, “can we contact Staff Sergeant Dhupam and get her codes?”

Jiir’s nose ridges flared. “The platoons are deliberately isolated. All necessary contact would be made through the OP. And we can’t contact the OP because we don’t have the codes unless the staff sergeant’s med-alert goes off.”

Right. She knew that. The last part anyway. The odds were good that at the moment both sergeants were considering the placement of nonlethal wounds.

“If you’re finished with my sergeants, Gunny, I need them back.”
Back on his PCU, Beyhn sounded almost jolly.

* * *

Torin figured there were two ways she could approach Major Svensson about his download…

“Sir, may I examine the scenario in your slate?”

…but the direct approach seemed best.

“In case I’ve got a download of what’s actually happening?”

“Yes, sir.” It was a conclusion anyone with more than three functioning brain cells might come to.

Shifting his weapon away from his body, he took his slate from his vest and passed it in front of the doctor.

“Is this what you four were doing back in the gully?”

“Yes, sir.” The footing was secure enough she could split her attention between walking and scrolling through the major’s scenario. Point by point, it was identical to hers. “Dr. Sloan?”

“I don’t have a scenario of any kind on my slate.” The doctor stepped up on a fallen log the other two had been able to step over, shifted the weight of her pack, and stepped down. “And I guarantee no one could have put one there without my knowing.”

“He should call the platform,” the major mused, gaze seeking out Staff Sergeant Beyhn walking up ahead. “See what they have to say.”

No mention of
his
name to attract attention. Torin wondered how long the OP would attempt to contact Staff Sergeant Beyhn before they sent the VTA down to find out what the hell was going on. “And if the OP says things are proceeding as planned, sir?”

“Then at least we know there’s a plan, however fukked, and no one changed things on the fly last night. It’s unusual for di’Taykan to sleep alone,” he added as Torin leaned around the doctor to look at him.

“His pheromones
are
a bit off.”

The major flushed. “Yeah, noticed that, too. I could order him to contact the platform. You think it may come down to me taking command of the platoon, Gunny?”

“It had occurred to me, sir.” Essentially.

* * *

That night, they camped 16.2 kilometers from their first camp in a heavy copse of trees next to the large lake they’d been paralleling all day. Although the ambush had delayed them, the original scenario would have delayed them as well, so they were within the five-kilometer adjustment of where they should be. They drew water from the wide mouth of a small creek and set up shelters in a random pattern within the area covered by the perimeter pins. The di’Taykan set their communal shelter up against a rise in the land; by the time they finished, it had become part of the landscape.

“The di’Taykan know how to work with snow,” Major Svensson acknowledged, accepting his meal with a not entirely hidden grimace. “Let’s hope none of them get lost on their way back from the latrine, or they’ll never find it again,” he added, waving off Torin’s offer to switch meals.

“No maskers inside the shelter, sir, so I doubt it.”

“I’d like to take some readings as it gets colder, Major.” Dr. Sloan stared suspiciously at her peppered noodles, before winding one around her spork. “Do you think you could keep your mitten off for—oh, say—forty minutes?”

“After I eat.”

“Of course. But before you spend another hour behind a bush.”

“An hour?” Torin asked, not liking the sound of that considering how long he’d been out of the shelter less than eighteen hours earlier.

The major sighed. “I wasn’t behind a bush for an hour.”

“Fine, you chatted with a few recruits after you finished. You were behind a bush for fifty-five minutes.” Waving a spork of noodles, the doctor continued before he could protest again. “I’d also like to take a few readings on your bowels. We regrew your lower intestine from scratch, and while it doesn’t involve any new technology, it could be…”

“Dr. Sloan!” All three of them rose as Kichar charged through the trees toward them. “You’re needed ma’am! Staff Sergeant Beyhn is having a seizure!”

T
orin rocked to a stop almost on Dr. Sloan’s heels and stared at the fifteen di’Taykan surrounding Staff Sergeant Beyhn’s shelter. Just under half of Platoon 71 was di’Taykan, standard numbers for infantry, and grouped together they made an imposing—and colorful—barricade. Somewhere in the group, Masayo could be heard praying; Torin hoped she was praying that the whole multicolored lot of them would come to their senses before bad things happened.

Sergeants Jiir and Annatahwee appeared to the left of the shelter, skirted the outer di’Taykan, and hurried around to Torin’s side.

“They won’t let us in,” Jiir snarled, his lips all the way off his teeth. “I don’t want to start anything, but…”

“But we can hear the staff sergeant in there, and he doesn’t sound good,” Annatahwee finished. “His med-alert went off about fifteen minutes ago, but the readings don’t make any sense.”

“Give it to me!” Dr. Sloan threw out an imperious hand.

When the major nodded, the sergeant handed Dr. Sloan her slate.

“Yes,” she muttered a moment later, staring down at the screen. “Saying these don’t make any sense is an understatement.” Her head snapped up at the sound of an extended moan. “That’s it. I’m…”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Sloan.” Jonin stepped away from the others—far enough for separation but close enough to maintain the protection of numbers. “We can’t allow you to come any closer.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She took a step left, then a step to her right, a substitute for forward motion. “If the staff sergeant has had a seizure…”

“It wasn’t a seizure. Staff Sergeant Beyhn’s condition is purely a Taykan matter.”

“Staff Sergeant Beyhn is a Marine, and that makes it a Marine matter.” Major Svensson pushed past Torin to stand at the doctor’s side as another moan rose from the tent in the center of the ring of recruits. “Move.”

“No, sir!” Jonin came to attention but stayed where he was, hair flipping randomly around his head. “I’m sorry, sir! But we can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“Jonin…” Torin drew his attention before he could answer. Everyone involved in this standoff was armed, and the di’Taykan looked spooked enough to do something stupid. Stupider. And their vision was significantly better than either Humans or Krai in low light. “…is this what you were worried was going to happen?”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“You knew about this, Gunny?” the major demanded without taking his eyes off the massed di’Taykan.

“Not exactly, sir.” She wasn’t happy about Jonin not coming to her when this became a Corps matter, as it had the moment Staff Sergeant Beyhn had become unable to do his job, but now wasn’t the time.

A third moan twisted and became a pained wail. “Dr. Sloan, have you had Taykan patients?”

“Of course I have!”

“Jonin, Staff Sergeant Beyhn obviously needs medical attention. You lot aren’t able to provide it, or you wouldn’t all look scared shitless. Let Dr. Sloan through. No one else needs to go in.”

“This isn’t…”

The wail slid sideways and lifted the hair on the back of Torin’s neck. It was hard to tell, given the lack of light, but the di’Taykan closest to her seemed to be breathing heavily.

“Jonin!” The pale pink hair made Sakur easy to spot in the dusk. “We don’t know what to do! Maybe the doctor does!”

“What would a Human know?” Jonin demanded angrily, whirling to face this breach in solidarity.

“How the fuk would I know?” If Jonin sounded angry, Sakur sounded desperate. “I’m not a doctor!”

“Jonin!”

He turned and refocused on Torin.

“What do they say about corpsmen?”

“About…?”

“About corpsmen, Recruit! Or weren’t you listening during training?”

“Sir!” After 122 days of training, he responded involuntarily to the tone. “That corpsmen have no species, sir!”

“Neither do doctors. Now let her in.”

For a moment, Torin thought he was going to refuse.

Then his hair flattened, he nodded, and stepped aside. Behind him, the living barricade split. Every movement she made expressing her very negative opinion of the situation, Dr. Sloan stomped toward Staff Sergeant Beyhn’s shelter. The barricade closed behind her.

“You might want to mention at some point,” Major Svensson growled by Torin’s ear, “that I outrank you.”

“They’re recruits, sir,” Torin reminded him at the same low volume. “Officers are beyond their experience. NCOs, they understand.”

“Your thoughts on what we should do about this?” He jerked his head toward the massed di’Taykan.

“I think we should break it up, sir.” The longer it continued, the worse it looked to the rest of the platoon.

“It’s all yours, Gunny.”

“Thank you, sir.” She meant it, too. The major stepping back made her job easier. “All right; Jonin, Sakur, Lirit—take up perimeter positions around Staff Sergeant Beyhn’s shelter! The rest of you…”

The southwest perimeter pin went off.

“…rejoin your fireteams, now! Defensive positions! Move!”

They moved. Inanimate objects moved when she used that tone.

Southwest was the lake.

“Sergeant Jiir! Light it up!”

She heard the sergeant yell,
“Stone!”
and a moment later a flare exploded over the ice.

“Holy fuk!”

Torin didn’t recognize the voice, but it was a fair response. What was a tank doing out there? Squinting into a freezing wind, she searched her scanner for air support or drones. Nothing. So the more relevant question would be: why was a tank out there all alone?

The first shell went long. One of the sergeants must have activated the screamer in the northeast perimeter pin and messed up the shell’s guidance system, but even half a kilometer on the far side of the camp, the explosion was still nearly deafening.

“Son of a fukking bitch!” Major Svensson rose up onto his elbows to stare over the rock they’d dropped behind. “That was no thundershot!”

Thundershots, a much larger version of the grenades thrown by the drones, were sound and fury and impressive pyrotechnics but essentially harmless if everyone kept their heads.

“Sounded like an HE antitank round, sir.”

“You hiding a tank you’re not telling me about, Gunny?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what the hell is going on here?”

Her scanner picked up no life signs. The tank was essentially a big drone. “Seems like Crucible’s trying to kill us, sir.”

The second shot blew a hole in the woods to the west.

Breathing heavily, Sergeant Jiir dropped to the snow beside her. “
Serley
thing’s firing antitank rounds! There must’ve been a screwup in the load commands.”

“Why does the Crucible even have HE rounds in a training area?” the major asked tightly.

“We use them sometimes to make a point, sir.”

“You might want to rethink that, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir. What do we do?”

“We stop it,” Torin growled.

“With sevens and nines? No way, Gunny! Not at that distance!” Scanner down, Jiir nodded toward the tank. “There’s a 20 mm machine gun top mounted. We get close enough and it’ll read the trainers and pop us off.”

“Then we don’t take out the tank; we take out the ice.”

“With what?” Jiir rose to gesture out at the ice, remembered why that was a bad idea, and ducked back down again. “It’s holding a tank! A grenade won’t crack ice that thick, and we’d be sitting
vertak
getting close enough to set a demo charge.”

“Give me a perimeter pin. Stone!” Prone behind a ridge of frozen beach gravel, the big Human turned his head at the sound of his name. “I need your 9.”

Jiir pulled a pin out of his vest as Stone cleared two meters of open shoreline between one heartbeat and the next and dove behind the rock.

“Activate the pin, Sergeant.” Torin handed Stone her KC-7 and hooked the KC-9’s strap over her shoulder. Plucking the activated pin from the sergeant’s palm, she dropped it down the barrel.

“Never do this,” the major mentioned conversationally as she got to her knees and raised the weapon to her shoulder. “The barrel’s likely to explode.”

“But…”

A third shell exploded in the trees southeast of the camp. Given the tank’s firing pattern and their position outside the southwest pin, they’d just run out of options.