Heaven's Devils

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE TOWN OF KORSY, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II

Vanderspool’s mind was racing. It was difficult to part with the crystals, and the imaginary lifestyle he had created for himself, but Vanderspool was a realist. As such he knew how important it was to switch gears and recover as smoothly as he could.

He needed to get to the starport before KM reinforcements could arrive—but first there were the Heaven’s Devils to deal with. Having lost a significant number of marines, he was no longer confident of his ability to take the misfits prisoner, so resocialization was out. The obvious solution was to kill them. And thanks to his foresight that would be easy.

So as Vanderspool turned away from the track and toward the troops on the platform, he brought out the special remote and pointed it at Tychus. There was only one button, and it was large enough to accommodate a massive thumb. Vanderspool pressed it and saw the indicator light glow green as all of the pre-equipped suits froze up.

That’s how it was supposed to work at any rate, except that Tychus grinned evilly and shook his head in mock sympathy. His visor was open. “What’s the problem, Colonel? Did something go wrong with your new toy?”

Vanderspool swore. Tychus knew about the kill switches! But that didn’t matter, because the colonel had a backup plan. He made eye contact with Fitz, who threw an arm around Cassidy’s chest as a corporal aimed a handgun at her face. She was wearing armor, but the pistol was only inches away, and would do the job.

Tychus, who was in the process of bringing his gauss rifle up, paused. Vanderspool smiled thinly. “So,” he said harshly. “There is honor among thieves. But, just in case you have second thoughts about how valuable Doc Cassidy is to you, take a look around.”

The Heaven’s Devils and several members of the second squad had their backs to the door and were half-ringed by marines. That meant the resocs could fire without hitting one another—and that implied that the whole thing had been planned in advance. But why? Unless Vanderspool knew about the plan …

Vanderspool saw the look on Tychus’s face and laughed. “Oh, my! If only you could see your expression right now! That’s right, Sergeant Findlay… . Petty Officer Cassidy loves crab more than she loves you!”

Tychus stood stock-still for two agonizing seconds. Then, with a roar, he brought his rifle up and fired at Cassidy. But the spike went wide as Raynor jerked his friend back toward the door and shouted, “Light ’em up, Hank!”

Harnack pulled the trigger on his igniter and swept the flamethrower from left to right. That created a wall of flames that not only prevented the marines from advancing but made it difficult to see. They fired, but not very effectively, as the Devils backed out through the door. Harnack was the last one out, but even after he was clear Tychus continued to shoot through the opening, until Raynor shouted his name. Then, firing short, controlled bursts, he backed his way out to where the vehicles were waiting.

Harnack, Kydd, and members of the second squad were in possession of the first saber. The vehicle sat on big, knobby tires, and was large enough to haul four armored soldiers, but not much more. They had a gauss cannon trained on the door to the train station and were using it to keep Vanderspool and his resocialized marines penned up inside.

Raynor was at the wheel of the second saber waiting for Tychus and several other men who were clambering in. Zander arrived and shed his badly damaged hardskin before making for the third saber. He took the wheel as Ward sat down beside him.

There was a screech of tires as Harnack took off.

Raynor was right behind him, with Tychus riding shotgun, and a ranger on the saber’s gauss cannon.

As Harnack prepared to turn right onto the street that led to the starport, a shriek sounded as a shell passed over their heads and landed to the north of them. The resulting explosion sent a column of debris surging into the air and shattered windows all around. It was Kydd who identified the nature of the threat and let the rest of them know where the shell had come from. “Kel-Morian sloths! Two of them! To the south!”

Raynor swore as he braked, skidded into the intersection, and turned his head to the left. That was when he saw two slab-sided sloths, as well as a mob of unarmored Kel-Morians sent to support them. Had the sloths been dispatched to cut them off from the starport? Yes, given where the shells were landing, that appeared to be the case.

“Go for them,” Tychus ordered grimly. “Those cannons will be useless once we get in close.”

Raynor wasn’t so sure about that, since the rippers had been sent to prevent such a move, but gunned the engine anyway and sent the saber racing forward. One of the men in back was firing the gauss cannon by that time. The weapon was useless against the sloths but extremely effective where the KM ground forces were concerned. Half a dozen of them were cut to bloody ribbons as the heavy spikes tore them apart.

“Watch your field of fire!” Tychus warned, as Harnack’s vehicle swerved in front of them and came dangerously close to being hit by the stream of deadly tracers.

Then the Devils were in close, firing every weapon they could bring to bear as knobby tires bounced over dead bodies, and Kel-Morians fell in a welter of blood.

Both sloths were equipped with secondary weapons, all of which were firing by then, but it was hard to hit the speedy sabers as they circled the slow-moving behemoths, looking for some sort of opening. But there wasn’t any to be had, and the sabers were forced to retreat as the sloths continued their inexorable advance.

Meanwhile, Ward spoke over the squad freq as Zander braked to avoid a smoking shell crater. “Stop the car and let me out… . Maybe I can stop those things.”

“Okay,” Zander agreed. “But don’t hang around to count your hits. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Or maybe I’ll be waiting for you,” Ward countered as the saber skidded to a stop. Then, before Zander could reply, Ward was on the pavement and headed for the middle of the street.

Raynor put his saber into a tight turn, braked, and saw what Ward was preparing to do. He shouted, “No!” as the sloth fired and a shell passed within a few feet of the other man’s head.

But it was too late as Ward planted both feet, poured all of his concentration into the image on his HUD, and realized that the first sloth was shielding the second. That meant he couldn’t fire on both. But he sure as hell could put a full load of rockets into the first machine and send the crew straight to hell!

Ward’s tubes had been reloaded by that time. He braced himself and triggered all eight rockets at once, and was firing his gauss cannon when six of his projectiles hit. The leading edge of the first sloth was momentarily obscured as a series of explosions rippled across its bow. But that was where the sloth’s armor was thickest. So there was a high probability that the machine would have survived all of the impacts had it not been for a stroke of luck.

Because as Ward fired at the sloth, it fired at him. And when the projectiles collided only inches in front of the machine’s cannon, the force of the combined explosion was sufficient to blow the machine apart. A column of orange flame sent the turret straight up, a section of track flew off, and a secondary explosion sterilized the crew compartment.

Without the first sloth’s bulk to shield him from the second machine, Ward was terribly exposed. Raynor saw the second sloth’s cannon start to swing. “Run!” Raynor shouted. “Run, goddamn it!”

But Ward wasn’t about to run as he opened fire with the gauss cannon. Time seemed to slow, and he could hear his children laughing, as he saw the muzzle flash. Then Ward was gone as a cannon shell struck the middle of his chest and his world exploded.

Unfortunately there was no time to mourn Ward’s death as Kydd’s voice was heard over the comm unit. “Tychus! Jim! We’re taking fire from the east! Over.”

Raynor took his foot off the brake, brought the saber around, and saw that the sniper was correct. Vanderspool and his marines were advancing up the street, seeking cover wherever they could find it, and firing at targets of opportunity. “We have to reach the starport before they do,” Tychus said over the comm. “Follow us!”

Raynor took off, and as Harnack pulled in behind the lead saber, he was careful to jink back and forth as cannon shells sent columns of debris soaring into the air. His windscreen shattered, there was a metallic clang as something landed in the cargo compartment, and Harnack swore.

Zander was in the last vehicle and still trying to process Ward’s sudden death as he spotted one of the two young women he’d encountered earlier. She was alone, her dress was smeared with blood, and she was terrified—not to mention the fact that she was standing in the line of fire. Zander swore, stood on the brake, and turned to one of the men in back. “Take the wheel!” he shouted. “I’ll catch up!”

The ranger was a member of the second squad. He nodded, jumped out, and was just about to get behind the wheel when a shell scored a direct hit on the saber and sent the shattered wreck tumbling end-for-end. Armored bodies flew through the air and fell like broken dolls.

Zander was twenty yards away by then, having dragged the woman off the street. He wanted to lead her to safety, but as the sloth rolled past and Vanderspool’s troops rounded a corner, he knew his friends needed him. “Go to the west gate. Get out into the countryside and hide. It’s your only chance. Now go!”

She mumbled something incoherent and took off erratically in the direction he’d indicated.

Zander turned back toward the street. Unfortunately it was too late. Vanderspool was there with his needle-gun already leveled. Zander was completely vulnerable—without his hardskin, the private was down to sweat-stained cammies.

Cassidy was present as well. Like Vanderspool she’d been forced to shuck her armor and stood with her medic bag slung over one shoulder. She tried to meet Zander’s eyes but couldn’t. She felt hollow inside, as if whatever remained of her inner being had been left at the lev station, where the final betrayal had taken place. Now, fully aware of what was about to happen, Cassidy began to shake. It was like going through withdrawal, only worse, because she knew that no amount of crab was going to make her feel better.

“Well, well,” Vanderspool said, as he eyed the man in front of him. “Look what we have here.”

Zander began to swing his weapon left, but knew there wasn’t enough time, as Vanderspool fired. The first needle knocked Zander off his feet, the second smashed through his forehead, and the third was completely unnecessary.

There was a resounding BOOM as a stray shell hit one of the globular fuel tanks a city block east of the street the Devils were on. But rather than explode the way it was supposed to, the shell punched a hole in the 500,000-gallon container, which released a column of pinkish fuel. The high-octane portrenol shot straight out, splashed into the containment area that surrounded the tanks, and a lake began to form.

Meanwhile, as the sloth’s foreman corrected his aim and sent a projectile screaming toward the starport beyond, Tychus was on the comm. “We have to stop that thing before it can destroy the dropships. How ’bout it, Hank? Can you light that bastard up? Over.”

“Roger that,” Harnack replied as he brought his saber to a shuddering halt.

In an attempt to distract the sloth’s foreman and buy time for Harnack, Raynor sent his saber roaring forward, as one of his passengers fired the gauss cannon. The weapon clattered methodically, and sparks of light signaled a series of hits as the spikes punched a line of divots into the sloth’s hull. But to no avail.

The saber passed within ten feet of the sloth’s squared-off bow before entering a skidding turn. But the pass wasn’t enough to prevent the sloth from firing another shell at the starport. And this one scored a direct hit.

There was an eye-searing flash of light as dropship number three exploded and chunks of the ship’s fuselage soared high into the air, where they seemed to pause momentarily before cartwheeling down. “The sonofabitch has the range now,” Tychus said grimly. “This ain’t good.”

And it wasn’t good. A fact not lost on Harnack, who was lumbering forward. Would the sloth crew notice him as he came in from the side? Maybe … but Harnack figured they were focused on the starport as he approached the mountain of metal.

That was when Kydd saw that fuel was pouring out of the containment area and onto the street. Either the ditch was too shallow or someone had left one of the flood control gates open. Not that it made much difference since the result was the same. “Harnack!” Kydd shouted. “Don’t fire!”

But Harnack was within range by then and completely unaware of the fuel that was flowing his way. There was the familiar click as he pulled the trigger and the igniter produced a spark. That was followed by a loud whump as a gout of flame shot forward to blister the sloth’s paint job.

That got the crew’s attention, and one of the treads stopped as the other continued to clank forward. So Harnack sent a tongue of fire in under the monster, because that’s where it was most vulnerable. As the machine began to turn, he was forced to do likewise or be cut down by the sloth’s forward-firing slugthrowers.

Kydd opened his mouth to yell again, but the river of fuel was lapping around Harnack’s boots by then, and the result was inevitable. There was a thump as the high-octane liquid caught fire, wrapping both Harnack and the sloth in an inferno of red-orange flames.

Harnack tried to run but didn’t get far. The scream was a long, lung-emptying sound that Kydd knew he would never forget as the rifle came up, and time slowed. Even though it seemed like an eternity, less than two seconds elapsed as the crosshairs settled over their target and the firing pin dropped. The butt kicked Kydd’s shoulder, the slug hit Harnack in the head, and most of his brains flew sideways.

Then like a wax figure exposed to heat, Harnack began to melt, the sloth rolled over him, and the tanks on his back exploded. The result was a stupendous boom as the sixty-ton monster was transformed into a thousand pieces of metal confetti. It hissed as it fell into a lake of fire.

Kydd felt a lump form in the back of his throat as images of Harnack flickered through his mind. There were lots of them. Harnack laughing manically as he rolled around on the grass in front of the police station. Harnack attacking the rippers at Fort Howe. And most of all, Harnack standing next to the fallen goliath, just below the repository in Polk’s Pride. He’d been like a brother. A crazy, “I don’t give a shit” brother who had been brave to a fault. And he’d gone out the way he would want to go out. With a loud bang.

Suddenly Kydd knew what to say. Knew what would mean the most to his brother. “That was awesome, Hank… . That was fekking awesome.”

“Sarge!” a voice said over the squad freq. “This is Haster… . Transport three took a direct hit… . What the hell is going on? A civilian truck pulled up outside and I caught a glimpse of Colonel Vanderspool.”

“They must have captured it and circled around the east side of the fuel tanks,” Raynor observed grimly.

“Raise the ramp,” Tychus ordered tersely. “And don’t allow anyone to enter. Not Vanderspool and not Cassidy… . Do you scan me? Over.”

“Five by five, Sarge. Over.”

“Good. We’re on the way. Over.”

There were only two sabers by that time. The one Raynor was driving, and a second vehicle, with Kydd at the wheel. The third transport was still burning, and a thick finger of black smoke rose to point at the sky as the sabers passed through an open gate. “Be ready, Jim,” Tychus said, as he shoved a fresh magazine into his gauss rifle. “We could be outgunned.”

Raynor could see the flatbed truck by then, as well as the people who were spilling out the back, and knew the situation was serious. He knew Vanderspool would almost certainly destroy the first transport if he had the means to do so and escape in the second. Then, with no one left alive to contradict him, he’d be free to concoct whatever story he chose.

As Raynor brought the saber to a screeching halt, the scene that greeted him was considerably different from what he expected to see. Vanderspool was present all right, as was Doc—but both were prisoners.

Pax’s helmet was missing, a blood-stained bandage was wrapped around his head, and the two rippers standing behind him were in equally bad shape. But the Kel-Morians were vertical, heavily armed, and definitely in control. At some point they had captured Vanderspool and Cassidy, loaded them onto a civilian truck, and circled around behind the storage tanks.

“Hold it right there,” Pax said as Tychus swung his enormous feet out of the saber and stood up. “Drop your weapon or I’ll shoot Colonel Vanderspool in the head.”

Raynor had circled to the front of the saber by that time. Both Raynor and Tychus began to laugh as Vanderspool scowled. The sound was amplified, and boomed over the external speakers. “Be my guest,” Tychus said coldly. “Do us all a favor and blow his fekkin’ head off.”

Pax looked at Tychus, saw the cold determination on his face, and knew the noncom was serious. “Your troops aren’t very loyal, are they?” the Kel-Morian officer said disgustedly. “I should have known.”

Having stopped the saber about five hundred yards away, Kydd was standing next to it, using the hood as a rest for his rifle. From that angle most of Pax’s body was obscured by Vanderspool’s. There was another option, however. Kydd adjusted his aim slightly, his finger took up the last bit of slack, and the rifle fired. Vanderspool’s body jerked spasmodically as the heavy slug smashed through his shoulder and hit the man immediately behind him.

Blood sprayed the area as the bullet tore Pax’s throat out and the other Kel-Morians opened fire. The result was nearly instantaneous as both Tychus and Raynor hosed them down with a hail of gauss spikes.

The enemy soldiers attempted to stand their ground, but one of them fell as Kydd fired on him, and the other staggered drunkenly as the incoming gauss spikes tore through his suit. Then he toppled over backward and skidded for a short distance before coming to a halt.

That was when Tychus realized that Cassidy had taken a spike through the chest at some point in the exchange of fire and was lying on her back looking up at the sky. He hurried to kneel next to her and placed a hand under her head. The liquid in her throat made a gargling sound as she spoke. “It wasn’t personal… . It was never personal. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Tychus replied soberly. “I know.”

Doc forced a smile, and was about to say something else, when her eyes went out of focus. She was gone.

Tychus swore, forced himself to rise, and took a look around. That was when his eyes came to rest on Vanderspool. The officer was on his knees, clutching the bloody mess that was his shoulder and sobbing loudly. “Please!” Vanderspool pleaded as he looked up. “I need a medic! I’ll pay you!”

“Doc is dead,” Tychus said flatly. “You killed her.”

That wasn’t true. Not that it mattered. Raynor stepped beside Tychus, looked down at Vanderspool, and felt the anger start to build inside him. Because there, kneeling in front of him, was the personification of everything he had come to hate. How many people had given their lives so that Vanderspool could line his pockets? Hundreds? Thousands? It was impossible to say. But one thing was for sure… . It was never going to happen again.

Kydd joined his brothers, rifle at his side, and the three men watched the colonel writhe in agony, his façade of power and strength shattered by his own greed.

“Your father wants to see you,” Vanderspool pleaded to Kydd. “I know where he is. I’ll take you there. Please, I’m in pain.”

Kydd snorted and shook his head.

Pax’s pistol was lying on the tarmac. Vanderspool made a grab for it and Raynor stepped on his hand. Flesh gave way, bones broke, and Vanderspool screamed.

“I can ease your pain, you piece of trash,” Raynor growled as the skull on his visor whirred and his real face appeared. His voice was unnaturally cold, guttural. Seething with rage, Raynor brought the gauss rifle to bear. “Good-bye, asshole.”

Vanderspool’s eyes grew larger, he opened his mouth to say “No,” and a single spike slammed into his chest. As the officer toppled over onto his side, Raynor felt his anger melt away, to be replaced by something else. Somehow, without intending to, he had become part of the very thing he despised. A universe in which the Old Families could take whatever they wanted, send brain-panned citizens out to fight interstellar wars, and kill with impunity. The realization was followed by a profound sense of shame—and a determination to be who he wanted to be. Or, in his father’s words, the man he chose to be.

The three men stood there for a moment. The area was completely silent except for the crackle of flames as they continued to devour the city—and the sudden whine of engines as Vanderspool’s dropship prepared to lift without him. Tychus was the first to speak. “The Hellhounds will be here soon. We’d better get a move on.”

The men turned toward the remaining dropship. Haster had dropped the ramp by then, and was waiting inside, as they began to make their way up. Tychus led the way, with Kydd right behind him. Raynor paused to take one last look at the city where so many of his friends had given their lives. We weren’t angels, Raynor thought, we were the Heaven’s Devils. The best of the worst.

The thought brought a nostalgic smile to Raynor’s lips and it was still in place as the dropship took off and left the carnage behind. He was going AWOL, so his war was over, but he would never forget the friends who had fallen in the town of Korsy. Not ever.