The Terran Mandate (3 page)

Dekker felt the hair on the back of his
neck bristle and he gritted his teeth. "Come on old man."

Finally, he heard General Lane's voice.
"Two Bravo Delta, take your heavies and set up a firing line to cover our
withdrawal."

"Marine Six, Two Bravo Delta, 
please confirm. Did you say withdrawal?"

"That's Right, Major. I figure we
have about five minutes before they get around us. So how about less chatter
and more clatter."

"On our way."

The ground shook beneath Dekker's feet
as Major Walker's Cataphracts started to move towards the line. Even at this
distance, he could hear the electric sheen of their gyros, the dull whine of
electric motors and servos and the the steady groan of hydraulics lifting tons
of steel, all punctuated by the snap of compressed air valves as the machines
walked forward. They all combined to create what was known as 'the growl', and
it was an effective weapon against the morale of any enemy. There was nothing
subtle about the Paladin's Cataphracts - the enemy had fair warning.

The air reverberated with a heavy steel
thump as their plasma cannons latched into place, followed by the crackling
hiss of their plasma injectors heating their massive canisters. Dekker pulled
his head further into his shoulders in anticipation. The barrels of the plasma
guns flashed with a metallic screech as thermite plasma canisters leapt from
each barrel and streaked across the sky. Travelling faster than the speed of
sound, they created a sonic boom loud enough that it sounded like thunder as
they flew over the heads of Dekker's men.

A canister hit the ground, ejecting its
outer casings to spray the surrounding ground with a mixture of thermite and
ignition fluid which came together to create a super heated plasma that lit off
in a brilliant blue haze. Every Terran Guard soldier within 50 meters of a
canister was incinerated. Six more canisters thundered over their heads,
slamming into the ground and bursting open to create a 700 meter plasma barrier
putting up a wall in front of Dekker's battalion. His squad leaders immediately
took advantage of the cover and ran their man back across the flats to the MEF
perimeter bunkers. A few of them fell to sporadic arms fire from Terran Guard
troops recovering behind the line of plasma fire as it dissipated. Marines
stopped to pick them up and help them the rest of the way.

"Two Bravo Delta, Enforcer Six
Actual. That's some pretty good shooting for a bunch of ass drivers. Fire for
effect."

"You bet, Enforcer Six. They're
falling back Colonel. I think they just needed a touch more of
encouragement."

Dekker started to smile, but stopped
short when he heard the next transmission from one of the pilots. "One
Charlie Four, eight enemy tangos moving fast on the line." The tanks that
were escorting the flanks of the Terran Guard infantry barreled through the
line of plasma fire, which was now nothing more than a thin veil of white
smoke.

The ground stopped shaking as the Cats
halted their advance. Another chorus of steel thumps rang out as they swung
down their rotary cannons. For a full minute, all Dekker could hear was the
clatter of mechanisms preparing the guns to fire on the advancing tanks as they
tracked down the slope of the Highlands. Nothing stood between them and
Dekker's men except thin air. He had to force himself to breathe as he counted
off the seconds while the Cats reset their systems to engage the tanks.

One of the tanks wheeled its gun to
point straight at Major Walker's Cat. Dekker gritted his teeth when the barrel
recoiled. The tank round slammed into the Cat's left leg. The Cat started to
step forward and Dekker heard the screeching wail of grinding metal.

The tanks raced towards them. A second
volley from their gun rails pounded the ground around Dekker's Marines running
across the flats. Marines who weren't cut down by steel shrapnel from the tank
rounds flopped to the ground and started crawling the rest of the way to the
bunkers. Without slowing down, the tanks let off another volley, peppering the
ground with shrapnel that sent up plumes of dirt around Dekker's men. Through
gritted teeth, Dekker said, "Come on, come on."

Behind him, rotary guns stuttered and
jerked as their tracking computers zeroed in on their targets. The Cats creaked
and swayed back as their rotary guns thumped out three rounds from each side.
The steel bolts cut through the sky, cracking the air with a snap of thunder
above Dekker and his men. The tanks chasing down his men stopped as the bolts
ripped into their hulls and turned them into shimmering smears of molten metal.

Dekker let out a sigh when he heard Lt.
Simmons say,  "All stations, Second Brigade is falling back to their
compound. First Brigade is setting up defensive positions just behind the
crest."

General Lane cut in next. "Marine
Six, all stations, consolidate your lines and report."

Dekker closed his eyes and let his face
pull into a long grimace, stoking an aching ember of anger that welled up
inside him. Marines stopped running and surveyed the ground, looking for
wounded comrades and picking up men who were still crawling across the ground.
Dekker watched as one of them crouched down next to a body that wasn't moving.
The Marine laid his hand on a dead man's chest, shook his head and stood back
up.

As Marines dragged their comrades to the
bunkers, corpsmen scurried among the bodies, checking wounds and slapping
recovery kits on those that could be saved.

Dekker stepped out of the bunker and
crouched down next to a Marine with a wound in his belly oozing dark red. The
man's face was pale and encased in a glean of sweat. The Marine looked in
Dekker's eyes.

Looking over his shoulder, Dekker asked,
"What's the story here, Doc?"

The corpsman attending to an injured
Marine laying next to him glanced at Dekker's Marine and said, "He'll have
to wait." He slapped a pain kit on the man's arm and peered into Dekker's
eyes, not wanting to say anything more than that, not wanting to tell him that
his Marine was a low priority casualty because he probably couldn't be saved
and would have to wait until they recovered those that could.

"Send him now," Dekker said.
"My authority."

"Aye aye sir," the corpsman
said. He fished a recovery kit from his pack and slapped it on the man's chest.
He smacked the top of it and stepped back as an orange haze flowed out over the
Marine and transported him to the medical recovery chambers deep below the MEF
compound.

Price to Pay

Sentinels of his nightmares, the
chambers stared back at him. Steel encasements choking the air inside them,
with convex plastic windows so he could see the dead space trapped within, they
whispered to him even as they sunk a dagger of futility into his heart. Stand
there. Witness what the soul of no man can endure. And I will show you who you
truly are.

Dr. Sall had long given up trying to
determine which came from his nightmares and which were real - the difference
between them wasn't enough to make either a solace from the other. What
strength he had to endure came from knowing that the nightmare for the Marines
who would soon writhe within the clutches of the chambers was far worse. They
would need his help. If he didn't run, he could save them from their agony. If
he stayed, he could bring the comfort of unawareness and pull them from the
claws of suffering that was torture just to watch, but impossible for the man
inside the chamber to endure. Thirty seconds was all he needed. If he could
stay for that long, ease the victim to the gurney standing next to him so his
technicians could flood the victim's body with sedatives, he could save them
from what the chamber had done to them. After that, it would be a simple matter
of life or death.

He clenched his fist, counting his own
pulse by habit as his heart rose up to his throat. One of the technicians
stared at the floor. Another quietly checked the portable monitoring equipment
fastened to the side of the gurney. The yellow housing was faded and scraped
from years of use. The small screen still worked, but many of the red LED
readouts flickered or displayed only partial segments as some had burned out
and there were no replacements. A faded white sheet, frayed along every edge,
was draped over the gurney's thin pad. A needle dangled at the end of the tube
from an I.V. bag hanging on a flimsy infusion pole. The rails, made from the
green resin common in so much of the equipment brought by the MEF, were sturdy
but scratches and deep grooves had been dug into it from the countless trips
where technicians had scraped the gurney against walls and doorways running it
frantically from the chambers to the recovery bays.

A deep hum filled the room as the
chamber in front of them activated. Deep inside the concrete walls behind it,
coils surged with current and the hum rose until it became a steady vibration
he could feel crawl from his feet and through every bone in his body. Behind
the thick plastic windows covering the thick steel chamber door, cold steam
started to seep into the interior with a hiss. The green LED counter above the
chamber door flickered to life : 153. One of the technicians whispered,
"Oh my God." Sall clenched his teeth as an unseen mechanism squealed
and then filled the room with a loud clunk. A grating buzzer started to sound
at one second intervals.

"Alright people," Sall said.
"Incoming casualty." A loud purge of steam jetted into the chamber,
filling it entirely with a thick white cloud. The hum rose in pitch as another
mechanism beneath the floor slammed into place with a clang. The chamber now
glowed with a pale green light as a form began to emerge inside the steam. Sall
closed his eyes when he heard the gurgling of something that wasn't yet a man
struggling to breathe. The hum leveled off and the form coalesced into
something that looked vaguely human. The form wretched and coughed and then a
hand slammed against the the chamber door window. A man screamed from both
somewhere far away and just inside the chamber. A pair of eyes appeared from
behind the steam.

The steel latches on the chamber door
thumped open and it swung out on screeching hinges. The technicians reached in
to grab the man, dragged his limp body out of the chamber and lay him on the
gurney. Disoriented and swimming in panic, his eyes darted around the room. His
feet flailed and his legs began to spasm as his mind remembered how to work the
muscles of his body. A technician grabbed the I.V. needle and slipped it into
the man's arm while another pushed in the plunger of a syringe fastened to the
I.V. tube. The man stopped flailing almost immediately, but his eyes still
fluttered with panic.

Dr. Sall inspected the body. A wide
swath of bandage stretched across his torso was soaked in blood. A technician
grabbed another bandage from the resin shelves slung underneath the gurney and
unrolled it over the old one, pulling it tight and tying it underneath his
back.

"Let's go," Dr. Sall said.

The withering squeak of the the gurney's
wheels echoed off the concrete walls as one of the technicians pushed the
gurney as fast as she could without losing control. While clear liquid dripped
from the I.V. bag, the man's head lolled as consciousness started to elude him.

"Hit him," Sall said.

One of the technicians clutching at the
rails of the gurney reached out with his hand to give the casualty a hard smack
on his cheek. The man grimaced and then wailed in pain as he became aware of
his surroundings again.

"Stay on point, Marine," Sall
instructed.

The man gasped, held his breath and then
blurted out, "Sir." He writhed on the gurney and started methodically
punching his leg, lurching in pain each time. Suddenly aware of his
surroundings, he asked, "You can fix this, right?" Dr. Sall didn't
respond as they swung around a corner and down the passageway towards the
recovery bays.

As they approached the metal door to the
medical bay, Sall eyed the camera above the frame and the door slid open. As
they crossed the threshold, Sall's team yanked the gurney to a halt and backed
it into a recovery bay. One of the technicians pulled a stretched headband from
a metal peg above the casualty's head. Wires snaked from the headband to a
yellow console filled with monitors, dials and switches. The technician lifted
the man's head and carefully slid the band over his forehead. The man's head
had gone limp and he did not react to the movement.

"Dammit," Sall muttered. He
gave a quick look to the technician, who then turned and hit the casualty
again. The man coughed and gagged, then sucked in a gurgling breath.

"You still with us Marine?"
the technician asked.

"four oh" the man grunted
back.

Colonel Dekker walked deliberately down
the passageway that Sall and his team had been running down just moments
before. His field utility blouse was smeared with smoke and blood and the sheen
on his boots, made from a black resin fabric resembling leather, was covered in
scrapes and scratches between patches of gloss from where he had shined them
before the battle. He marched stiffly and carried his cover in his left hand. A
short brush of hair sprung from his scalp, almost as if called to attention. As
he approached the door, he stuck his right arm straight out in front of him. As
the door slid open he slapped his palm against the cool metal frame and the
door receded into the wall behind him. He stopped in the bay, looking right
then left until he found the casualty recovery team that was already checking
the telemetry from their scans of his wounded Marine.

"Dr. Sall," he said. The
doctor looked up with a flat stare.

"Colonel."

Dekker moved next to the gurney and
looked over the Marine stretched out in front of him. His eyes stopped at the
bandage. Blood had soaked through both layers almost to the point of dripping.
He shifted his gaze back to Sall, but the doctor ignored him, instead focusing
on the monitors as the head band extracted information from the casualty so
they would know every condition that needed attention.

"Doctor?"

"Wait," Sall hissed. He poked
at a button on the telemetry console and shook his head. "He was 153,
Colonel. He shouldn't have been brought back."

"It was on my orders, Doctor."
Dekker said.

"Meanwhile, Marines we can save are
waiting on a man who is already dead."

"Doctor," one of the
technicians said softly.

The Marine's eyes shot to Dekker.
"Sir?"

Dekker moved around to stand next to him
while Sall continued to jab at the monitor, switching between displays, all of
which told him the same story. Finally, the main display lit up with a final
message: INOPERABLE.

"Doctor," Dekker said. When
Sall turned to look at him and shook his head, Dekker's shoulders slumped.
"Is there anything you can do for him?" he asked.

Sall's jaw tightened. "General,
it's not a guideline. It's policy. There's nothing I can do."

Dekker closed his eyes and let a thin
frown tug at the corners of his mouth.

Everyone watched the I.V. in silence as
the diagnostic system automatically mixed a cocktail of drugs and sedatives to
ease the Marine's pain and induce rest. A virtual rainbow of liquids flowed
through the tube and Dekker felt his heart sink.

All eyes shot to the patient's face when
he grunted, "No."

"Dammit, why is he still up?"
Sall asked. Nobody responded. There was nothing any of them could do about it
now.

The Marine looked at Dekker and said,
"Sir. You don't have to do this. I can still fight. I'll get through
this."

Dekker looked into the man's eyes. They
glistened with despair and a plea. Dekker's face sagged and he suddenly felt
the weight of his own aching body.

The Marine started muttering, "No
no no no no." Dekker eased his expression and looked at the man as if he
were his own son.

"That's fine, Marine. You've
fulfilled your duty and have earned the right to retire from battle."

"No sir, no. I can fight. You'll
see." A technician reached into the cabinet beneath the diagnostic unit
and pulled out a long black tube. She discretely inserted it into the I.V.
valve and then pulled out a black grip with a squeeze trigger that regulated
the tube's flow. She held it out to Dekker, waiting for him to take it.

Dekker reached down to touch the
Marine's forehead and said, "You have fought valiantly, in keeping with
the highest traditions of honor, duty and service to your people. You reflect
great credit on yourself and the Colonial Marines."

Dekker reached out for the trigger grip
as if it were a coiled snake.

"No sir. please."

Dekker squeezed the valve trigger to
start the flow of fluid through the black tubing. "Remember, Marine. So
that they shall not perish." The man blinked at him as he started to fade.
"Say it, Marine. Tell me your oath."

The Marine's eyes fluttered and his
breathing grew shallow. He took in a last breath and whispered, "So that
they shall not perish."

Dekker dropped the grip on the gurney
and closed his eyes.

In a sterile voice, Dr. Sall said,
"Time of death: 29.17 colonial zone time."

Dekker swung around and pounded towards
the door without looking back. Once on the other side, he leaned against the
wall and stared at a flickering light fixture anchored in the concrete ceiling.
Around the corner, the hum of a chamber's coils reverberated through the floor
and the clang of steel filled the air as it assembled another casualty. Dekker
felt a shudder when he heard a man scream. He slumped down against the wall and
buried his face in his arms. He wanted to stand up and run. He wanted to keep
running until his legs gave out or the acrid air of Shoan'tu seared his lungs
to the point that all they had left was his own scream of agony.

Instead, he forced himself to listen as
another chamber rumbled to life while his Marines screamed out against the
darkness.