In Every Clime and Place (13 page)

I heard the crack of a Marine rifle to my left, followed by a cry of pain across the way. It continued into a stream of cursing in what sounded like Algerian French.

“That’ll teach you to hang that knee out from behind cover,” came Sabatini’s voice over the radio.

I kept sweeping the area for good targets. They were getting fewer. I saw one of Chan’s Marines rise up to fire, then jerk back as a chunk of skull blew out the back of his helmet in a shower of gore.

Son of a bitch! I wondered who just got it. A second Marine leapt up and ran to his comrade. Before I could call for covering fire, he staggered and fell beside his buddy, clutching a bleeding thigh. Having stabilized Sgt McCray, Doc Roy got up and started forward, but I caught hold of her pack straps and hauled her back down.

“Everybody hold your position and listen the fuck up!” I shouted. “This is Corporal Collins and I’m in command of this squad! Keep the fuck down! Nobody moves until we nail that sniper!”

This was not a time for heroics. This was a time for patience and skill. One of the hardest lessons for a young warrior, and I didn’t want any more of my brothers learning it the hard way. If we stormed forward, Marines would die.

I wormed my way back from the container into the shadows so I could get a better view. “Who got hit?”

“Williams is wounded,” said a voice. “Chan’s got half his head.”

Shit.

I scanned the shadows where the sniper had to be. I shoved my feelings aside. I would miss Chan later. I had to focus or he wouldn’t be the only dead Marine. I flipped the scope back into position.

I shut out the sound of firing, the metallic
pang
as incoming rounds struck the steel structure around me, the smell of burnt powder. Nothing existed but me and the enemy sniper. We couldn’t move until he was taken out. If we rushed him, he’d get some of us, for sure. If Hernandez’s squad came barreling in, he’d nail the sergeant. I needed to identify and drill that one enemy.

“Terry,” I whispered, “this guy shot a corporal and a sergeant.”

“Man after my own heart.”

“He wants a leader to shoot. Be bait for a sec.”

Terry O’Rourke was the only man in the world I could ask that of and I was the only one who could get away with it. He swore softly, then exposed himself briefly, waving as though directing his men on. He dropped back down, removed his helmet, and slowly raised it above his cover.

The signals would get the sniper’s attention. He would wait for the suspected leader to show himself. The slow appearance of the top of a helmet would be the come-on.

I strained my eyes into the darkest corners of the staging. There! I saw a shadowy form move slightly, tracking on the helmet. I focused through my scope. The figure was mostly dark, but I could see light glint from a pale forehead and cheekbone, just above a rifle stock. I settled my crosshairs on the dark hollow between them. I shut out the rest of the world, willed it all away.

I held my breath and began to squeeze the trigger.

The report of my rifle and the jolt of recoil brought me out of my trance. I saw the sniper reel back, rifle spinning through the air. As my weapon came down out of recoil, I put two more rounds into him for insurance. An enemy that skilled I didn’t want to shoot just once.

I released the breath I was holding. “OK, Marines! I got him. Regain fire superiority.”

Doc Roy was running toward Williams’ groaning form before I finished my sentence. I looked at Sgt McCray. She had bandaged him up and started a blood canister. His breathing was shallow, but he wasn’t blowing pink bubbles, so the outlook was pretty good.

The firing from the rest of the squad increased. The enemy mostly kept their heads down and shot blind, or popped up for rapid, poorly aimed bursts. One of them made a break for the hatch on the far side, but he was riddled before he covered half the distance.

“Sergeant Hernandez,” I called. “You can move in at your convenience.”

“Thanks, Corporal. Second squad, on three, by teams. One. Two. Three!”

We increased our firing a degree as Hernandez’s squad rushed the far end of the cargo bay. We heard their shouts and firing as they swept through the demoralized pirates. Within a minute they had the remaining enemy mopped up.

“Collins! Bring your squad up.”

“Aye aye, Sarge. On your feet, Marines!”

We moved forward, passing the corpsman as she labored over PFC Williams. Corporal Chan lay nearby, a dark pool spreading beneath his head. A hole was punched through his helmet just above the visor. Blood spattered the inside surface of the plastic. I couldn’t see his expression through the visor and mask. I was grateful.

We reached Hernandez’s squad. They had five pirates huddled in a circle, hands behind their heads. Three more slightly wounded raiders and four seriously hurt sat or sprawled nearby. I heard muttering in the squad when they saw the prisoners. Some of us wanted payback.

PFC Li took a step toward the circle of prisoners, his hand going over his shoulder to the hilt of his machete. Chan’s death had to hit him hard. They were close the same way Terry and I were. They came from the same neighborhood, spoke the same language and shared customs which set them apart from the rest of us. Chan was a few years older. More experienced. He’d been like an older brother to Li. And now, Li wanted payback.

I sympathized with his intention.

That didn’t mean I was going to allow it. I put a hand on his wrist. He spun around angrily. I just shook my head. “It’s not worth it, Marine.”

He glared a moment longer, then turned away. His hand fell away from the weapon, so I let him go. He would have to come to terms with his emotions in his own time.

“Collins.”

“Yo!”

“You got third squad,” Sgt Hernandez said. “Stay here and guard the wounded and the prisoners. The Lieutenant’s detachment has control of the bridge. Alls we gotta clear is one more passage. If I need your Marines, I’ll call.”

“Aye aye, boss,” I replied wearily. “You sure you don’t need half of the squad?”

“I got it covered. Your Marines did enough today.”

I nodded mutely in acknowledgment. He walked away to his squad and began giving orders. I was tired down to my bones. The adrenaline rush ebbed away and left me numb. Only habit and duty kept me moving. I passed the orders on to my squad.

One of Hernandez’s Marines had been wounded in the shoulder during their rush. He joined us, sitting beside Sgt McCray and waiting for the corpsman to finish with Williams. One of his buddies had already tied on a pressure dressing.

“O’Rourke and Johnson,” I ordered. “Go double-check the bodies. Gather up any weapons and look for any survivors.”

“Aye aye, boss.”

“Bauer and Li, go check the rafters.” I gave Chan’s surviving team members an assignment, hoping the work would keep their minds off the loss of their leader. Sabatini and I stood guard over the corpsman and the wounded. We kept a close eye on the prisoners, but they seemed cowed. The loss of so many comrades had them convinced that resistance was a good way to get killed.

I took a good look at them for the first time.

Every race, shade, and size of scum. They were as diverse as my squad, but we pulled it off better, because of the discipline and neat haircuts. They wore a mishmash of military uniforms and civilian clothes, and many had worn big ugly knives tied down to their thighs or stuck in their boots. They did look like a casting call for street thugs, but now they were whipped, scared street thugs.

Sabatini’s voice brought me out of my musings.

“Nice job with that sniper,” she said. “You kept the squad from doing anything stupid and you shoot pretty good.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry I insisted on leading the charge. It was out of line. I just had a gut feeling. I don’t ignore them, they’ve kept me alive through too many messy deployments.”

“Don’t sweat it, chief.” She smiled. “Seeing how they almost took your nose off, I won’t bitch about you taking the lead on this one.”

I shrugged. “I could’ve stood to lose a bit off the end.” I rubbed the bridge of my prominent beak.

“Anyway, that round only missed because you run like the slow old man you are,” she joked. “That sniper probably expected a point Marine to be in decent shape and led you too much.”

Her mask hid the lower half of her face, so I couldn’t see the smirk, but the sparkle in her eyes was unmistakable.

I felt a smile start. I really needed one at that moment. “Watch the insubordination, Marine,” I growled. “That’s what I keep O’Rourke around for.”

She treated me to the sound of her laugh. “And what do you keep me around for?”

“I need you in the team to remind me what women are supposed to look like,” I said. “Otherwise, my dreams get real disturbing. I don’t like waking up in a cold sweat picturing Sergeant McCray in a dress.”

She laughed again. We were speaking over our headsets, so the prisoners grew worried at the laughter. I patted the hilt of my machete and winked at them. A little intimidation goes a long way toward preventing trouble.

I heard a single shot from above.

“Report!” I said into the microphone.

After a slight pause, Bauer replied. “A wounded pirate reached for a weapon, Corp Li nailed him.”

I grunted. I doubted that was the whole truth, but Bauer wasn’t going to rat on a brother for a pirate who’d been shooting at us a few minutes ago.

For that matter, neither was I.

“Carry on.”

“Hey, Corp,” came Bauer’s voice over my headset, “you probably should see this.”

“You got it covered here?” I asked Sabatini.

“No sweat, Mick.” She positioned herself with her back to a supporting column and checked her weapon to see that both magazines were full. “They get brave, I’ll take care of ’em.”

Williams sat against a nearby bulkhead, still holding his rifle on the prisoners despite his wound. I nodded and turned away, trotting to the nearest ladder. I climbed one-handed, holding the pistol grip of my ACR, and joined Bauer and Li. They stood over a crumpled body. Li kicked it over on its back and began searching for information. Bauer had a long-barreled rifle in his left hand.

“I guess this belongs to you, Corp,” he said as I approached. “That sniper was a bitch.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Huh? No, I mean it was a broad,” he clarified. “She might be good-lookin’ too if she had her whole head.”

I looked the way he pointed. No doubt about it, that was the sniper I had nailed. I walked over and looked down at my victim.

She was a woman. Dressed all in black. I could see the impression the rifle sling had made on the left sleeve of her padded shooter’s jacket. Her hair and eyes were dark. My round had entered her temple just behind the right eye and come out above and behind her left ear. The two insurance shots had punched holes in her chest. I suppose Bauer may have been right, she might have been attractive at one time. Now she just looked dead.

It was the first time that I know of that I’d killed a woman. I thought I should feel something about that, but I didn’t. She had been a dangerous enemy, and a threat to my brothers, and now she was dead. End of story. I examined the rifle. I dropped the magazine and ejected the round in the chamber. It was a custom-made, high-price competition rifle made in Belgium by Fabrique Nationale. The scope was German. The weapon cost about four times what the government paid for my ACR. Well, this rifle wouldn’t kill any more Marines.

“You two finish checking up here, then bring down any weapons,” I told the two Marines.

“Want us to bring down the bodies?”

“Don’t bother. Just note the location in case the bosses want a recovery. I don’t see why we should waste our time hauling this meat around if we don’t have to. If you find any survivors, bring ’em down.”

I returned to the prisoners and Sabatini. She looked up as I approached.

“Whatcha got, boss?”

“The rifle that was causing us so much trouble.” I handed it over.

She pulled back the bolt, checked the chamber and then looked the weapon over. She whistled low. “This is one pricey piece of hardware.”

“It cost us plenty,” I muttered.

“Hey chief,” she said after a time, “you notice something strange about these weapons?”

I looked at the pile. No bells and whistles went off. I shook my head.

“It’s one hundred percent FN.”

I looked again. She was right. I was a professional, I was used to uniform weapon issue, so it hadn’t stuck out. Pirates, bandits or rebels usually had a more eclectic mix. There was a bunch of automatic rifles, a few 10mm pistols and the sniper rifle, but everything was Fabrique Nationale.

“This is the gross national product of Belgium for six months,” I observed.

“Do they sell anything else in Belgium?”

“I dunno. Chocolate? Maybe souvenirs to German soldiers on the way to France.” I couldn’t figure what this meant.

“Something’s not right here, Mick.” She sifted through the pile. “The damn serial numbers are all the same lot. You think they maybe robbed a military shipment?”

“Whose? Nobody has troops up here but us, the Germans and the Chinese. The Krauts only use HKs and the Chinese won’t buy European if they can help it, not with the new Asian solidarity. No friggin’ rent-a-cop security force needs this much hardware.”

“So what’s up?”

I shook my head slowly. A clue was taking root in my brain, but Lt Evers had said to watch the scuttlebutt, so I just kept my thoughts to myself.

The rest of the squad joined us shortly. They deposited more weapons on the pile. All were FN.

All told, they’d counted five bodies. The cargo was mostly supplies for the mining colonies. That didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. Raiding ships for the refined ore and selling it to some corporation on Earth made sense, if you were a lowlife scumbag, and it would explain the ability to buy high-end military-grade weapons. But who the hell would risk his ass to steal dehydrated rations and replacement drill bits?

I shrugged. Officially, that was Lt Evers’ problem. Unofficially, I would do some more digging when I got some free time in the library. For now, I had a squad to run.