Heaven's Devils

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

FORT HOWE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II

One of the planet’s moons was still arcing toward the western horizon, the lights were turned down, and Raynor was lying on his rack listening to some very retro tunes that Kydd had passed along to him when the door to the dormitory-style barracks room slammed open, and a basso voice said, “Hit the floor! It’s time for all of you ladies to dance!”

Raynor dropped his fone and sat up just in time to see Tychus Findlay stroll down the center aisle sporting a brand-new set of sergeant’s chevrons. Oh no, Raynor thought, How the hell did I step in this pile of shit?

“That’s right,” Tychus announced cheerfully, casting a wicked smile directly at Raynor. “Your worst fekkin’ nightmare just arrived! You thought basic sucked? Just wait till I’m done with you. Now get dressed.”

“I don’t believe it,” Harnack said. “Who would be crazy enough to make you a sergeant?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Tychus replied, as he made his way over to where Harnack was standing. Large though he was, Harnack found himself looking up as a huge fist got a grip on the front of his shirt and hoisted him up off the ground.

Tychus was smoking a stogie, and as their faces came level with each other, Harnack could feel the heat from the glowing red ember on the tip of his nose. Tychus exhaled and Harnack coughed. “You’re the asshole with the shotgun,” Tychus observed, as Harnack’s feet dangled uselessly in the air.

“And you’re one crazy sonofabitch,” Harnack responded insolently.

Tychus might have bounced Harnack off the wall at that point, but Raynor was there to intervene. “You made your point, Sergeant. Hank, shut the hell up! Or do you want to wind up in the infirmary?”

Harnack’s answer was forever lost as a Klaxon sounded and the loudspeaker over their heads came to sudden life. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Vanderspool… . The base is under attack! I repeat, the base is under attack! All duty personnel will report to their pre-assigned rally points. All off-duty personnel will report for duty. Again, this is Lieutenant Colonel Vanderspool… .”

Tychus put Harnack down and squinted at Raynor. “Which rally point is Echo Company supposed to report to?”

Raynor shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re in a holding company waiting to be slotted into a line unit. We’ve been reporting to a supply sergeant on a temporary basis and pulling shit details for days. We didn’t have any noncoms until now. I was the acting squad leader.”

Tychus eyed Raynor and frowned. “How long have you been a lance corporal?”

“About a week,” Harnack chimed in. “Ever since we kicked a starload of Kel-Morian ass at Firebase Zulu!”

“Well, at least you bunnies have seen some action,” Tychus allowed grudgingly. “Get your weapons, gear up, and grab all the ammo you can carry. At least some of the Kel-Morians will be wearing armor—but we don’t have time to suit up. Put on your chest protectors, and remember ladies, the zipper goes in front.”

The orders set off a mad scramble as Raynor, Harnack, Kydd, Zander, and a marine named Connor Ward rushed to get ready. The building shook from a series of explosions as Tychus slipped into his body armor. The cigar was still clenched in his teeth and some ash cascaded down over his chest protector as he fastened the straps.

“The noise you heard was a set of demolitions charges going off,” Tychus predicted. “So it’s safe to assume that the bastards are on base by now.”

“Good,” rumbled the husky, dark-skinned Ward as he settled a pack loaded with extra rockets onto his broad back. “I want to kill as many Kel-Morians as possible! It’s payback time.”

“I’m gonna light those bastards up!” Harnack proclaimed enthusiastically, as he came forward to stand next to Ward. He was wearing protective goggles plus a two-tank backpack. He held the flamethrower’s tube-shaped igniter across his torso the way a mother might cradle her baby.

Like Ward’s rocket launcher, the flamethrower was a squad weapon that would normally be assigned to someone with the proper training. But given the circumstances, and with no one to tell him no, Harnack had appropriated the weapon for himself and was clearly eager to try it out.

“So where are we going?” Zander inquired pragmatically, as he pointed the stubby barrel of his grenade launcher at the ceiling. “I say we defend the officers’ club,” he quipped dryly. “That’s where the important stuff is.”

“I think we should head for the armory,” Raynor put in, as the insistent pop, pop, pop of small arms fire was heard in the distance. “That’s what the Kel-Morians will try to destroy first.”

Tychus realized that Raynor was correct, and, not having a plan of his own, was quick to agree. “General Raynor has the right idea. Let’s go, girls, on the double!”

The six-man squad slipped out of the barracks just in time to see one of the fort’s elevated turrets fire a salvo of missiles at an unseen target and then explode as two Kel-Morian Hellhounds roared overhead. The light generated by the explosion strobed the surrounding buildings and left afterimages floating in front of Raynor’s eyes as he followed Tychus down onto the half-lit street.

Someone—it wasn’t clear who—was firing flares up into the darkening sky. They went off with a distinctive pop, and threw a ghastly green glow across everything below, as tiny retros lowered them to the ground.

A firefight was underway up ahead, and as the squad drew closer, Raynor saw that a group of lightly armed marines had taken cover behind a plascrete blast barrier as a trio of Kel-Morian rippers marched toward them. The flat black armor was hard to see, or would have been without the light from the flares, which threw long, hard shadows toward the embattled marines. Projectiles sparkled as they hit the enemy armor, and two grenades exploded harmlessly in front of the enemy grunts. They were rocked back on their heels, but recovered and kept on coming.

“Ward!” Raynor snapped as the group continued to advance on the barrier. “Can you reach them?”

“I can and I will,” the marine rumbled, stepping between a couple of marines and raising the launcher. “Watch out for my back blast.”

There was a loud whoosh, followed by a roar, as the armor-piercing round raced up the street. It scored a direct hit on the Kel-Morian who was at the center of the three-man formation. The result was a loud boom followed by a reedy cheer, as pieces of the ripper flew in every direction.

But as Ward worked to reload his single shot launcher, the enemy grunts were closing with the marines, firing as they came. Raynor saw two men fall as Harnack readied his weapon.

“Eat this!” Harnack proclaimed as he pointed the igniter over the barrier and pulled the trigger. A gout of fire shot up the street, wrapped a ripper in a fiery embrace, and set him to dancing inside a cocoon of orange-red flames.

Zander dropped a series of grenades into the conflagration, and the resulting explosion sent the Kel-Morian’s helmet and head shooting straight up, trailing fire as they went. Then there was a flash of light as the suit came apart—and shrapnel flew in every direction.

That was spectacular stuff, but not as amazing as what occurred next, when Tychus jumped the barrier and charged the remaining grunt with his weapon blazing! As the two of them collided, Tychus bowled the ripper over and landed on the Kel-Morian’s chest. It shouldn’t have been possible, but Tychus was not only bigger than most men, but amped on adrenaline as well. He brought his rifle butt down on the other soldier’s visor, swore when it didn’t shatter, and hit it again and again.

The Kel-Morian was trying to buck Tychus off, but the marine was already in the process of bringing the rifle butt down for a sixth time. As solid metal smashed into the face beyond the visor—a sliver of bone was forced up into Foreman Oleg Benson’s brain.

Raynor, who had been rushing to help, skidded to a halt. “Damn! Remind me not to piss you off!”

“Too late for that,” Tychus responded, as he got up off the corpse. “But at least you and your girlfriends know how to fight… . That’s more than I expected. Come on! Let’s head for the armory!”

Without helmets or comm units, the squad had no way to communicate with the command structure as they ran up the street. Not that it made much difference, because while there were pockets of organized resistance, chaos ruled.

Nowhere was that more evident than in the vicinity of the armory, as the squad crossed a parking lot littered with a dozen dead marines and began to close in on a brightly lit loading bay. One truck was already halfway down the street and another was in the process of pulling away. That left two more in the final stages of loading. A guard hut offered momentary cover for the group. Kydd was the last one in. He broke out a window, placed his weapon on the sill, and began to scan.

“Damn it!” Raynor exclaimed, as two rippers opened fire from the shadows. “What’s going on here?”

“They’re stealing stuff, that’s what’s going on,” Tychus replied knowingly, as spikes buried themselves in the plascrete and the noncom jerked Raynor back out of the line of fire. “Which is real interesting because you’d expect the KMs to blow the place up!”

Raynor’s mind was racing. “That’s right! How long since the first announcement? Fifteen minutes max? They must’ve been loading at least some of those trucks before the attack began!”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tychus replied in mock amazement, “you aren’t as stupid as you look! So General, let’s kill those fekkin’ rippers and find out where those trucks are going.”

It was a good idea, but before the squad could act on it, all of Fort Howe’s surviving turrets began to fire missiles up into the inky black sky as three Kel-Morian transports loaded with troops came in for a landing. As some of the missiles struck their targets, orange-red blossoms appeared and Kel-Morian transports died. There was a prolonged clatter as debris fell all around.

“There’s act two,” Tychus observed, as an explosion lit his upturned face. “An airborne assault intended to take and hold the base.”

“Why steal arms if you plan to capture them?” Raynor demanded.

“For the money,” Tychus growled. “Some rotten bastard knew the KMs were coming—and knew he could blame the loss on them once the battle was over. Come on… . We have work to do.”

The other four members of the squad had engaged the grunts by then, and as the two men rounded the east side of the guard hut, heavy fire was sleeting back and forth. Then Tychus saw one of the enemy soldiers jerk as if slapped in the face. The Kel-Morian fell over backward as a second .50 caliber slug smashed through his protective visor, which was made of cheap, low-grade plasteel. “That’s some nice shooting,” Tychus observed loudly as he fired a short burst. “Who’s the kid with the long gun, anyway?”

“That depends on who you ask,” Raynor replied, as one of Ward’s rockets struck the second grunt and blew the man in half. “But the kid answers to ‘Kydd.’”

“We’re taking fire from the south!” Harnack shouted, as he began to back toward the loading dock. A long tongue of fire swept the area where the dead marines lay—cremating both them and half a dozen Kel-Morian troops.

Then, as Harnack continued to pan the igniter back and forth, he accidentally swept it across the back end of a fuel truck. Ward shouted, “Watch out!” but it was too late, as the tanker exploded. There was a throaty BOOM as a chunk of flying metal cut two enemy soldiers in half, a column of flames shot straight up into the air, and a wave of fiery fuel flowed out to lap around Kel-Morian ankles.

To conserve on weight, the KMs weren’t wearing hardskins, and they began to scream as they ran in circles. Zander put them out of their misery with a series of well-placed grenades as Harnack stared in wonder. “Did I do that? Holy crap, I’m in love.”

Meanwhile, as Kydd and Ward turned to help their buddies defend against the new threat, Tychus was pulling a door open and jerking the driver out of a truck. He was a civilian, and a terrified one at that, which offered support to the theory that somebody was not only stealing weapons but colluding with the enemy to do so!

Raynor had taken possession of the other truck by then even as the firefight grew more intense. So he slid behind the controls and sounded the air horn, in hopes that the rest of the squad would take notice. They did, and Kydd and Zander rushed to board Raynor’s vehicle, while Harnack and Ward piled into the one that Tychus was driving.

Then, as spikes shattered the windscreen and perforated the front hood, Raynor pulled away. He had a sick feeling that they weren’t going to make it. But then, suddenly, all the firing stopped. It seemed choreographed, as if someone wanted the trucks to escape. Someone who didn’t know they had been taken over.

Raynor thought it best to find a safe place to park it before rejoining the battle, but Tychus clearly had other ideas as he passed on the left, and his voice sounded over the truck’s radio. “This is Echo-Six to base command… . The enemy looted the armory and my squad and I are giving chase. Over.”

That was a partial truth at best, but Raynor never got a chance to complain, as a second voice was heard. “This is Hotel-One to Echo-Six… . Break it off… . I repeat, break it off and report to rally point seven. That’s an order. Over.”

Then came Tychus’s reply. “You’re breaking up, Hotel-One. Repeat, breaking up. Will try again in five. Over.”

At that point Raynor realized that he and his fellow squad members had been hijacked by their new sergeant and were being drawn into a dangerous combination of criminal activity and dereliction of duty. That went against everything he had been taught to believe in, and that made him feel guilty, not to mention scared.

On the other hand, there was no question about what he had seen with his own eyes. Confederate marines had been loading the trucks before the attack started. So it appeared as though at least some of the good guys weren’t all that good. And how could they get away with something like that unless somebody higher up was in on it? Truth was, it was hard to tell what was right and wrong anymore.

Suddenly Raynor could hear his father’s voice ringing in his ears. “We keep working and they keep taking… . It just ain’t right.”

And it wasn’t right. So, Raynor decided, if I can take something back, and pass it to my family, at least something good will come of this. The battle faded behind them as the trucks passed through a shattered gate. Fifteen minutes later the two-vehicle convoy entered the already devastated suburbs of Whitford. The night was black, the headlights were white, and the highway was gray.