In Her Name: The Last War (44 page)

Even if there was a back way out, Sparks would not have taken it. This had gone beyond something that could be dealt with through application of the appropriate tactics and sufficient firepower. For him, it had become a question of honor. “Major,” he said, loud enough that everyone could hear him, “when you first came to my regiment and I asked you what you thought your primary job was, you told me it was to help me manage the deployment of my regiment. Do you remember what I told you?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” the major replied as everyone’s head turned to watch them.

“What was it I said, major?”

“You said, sir,” the operations officer managed, automatically bringing himself to attention, “that the first job of every member of the regiment was to kill the enemy.”

“That would be correct, major,” Sparks growled, turning to him with smoldering eyes. “
To kill the enemy
. That is what we do.
There
, major,” he shouted, pointing to the rapidly approaching Kreelans, “is the enemy! If you think for one damned minute,” he went on, lowering his voice slightly, “that I am going to simply stand here while those
things
butcher more civilians, you are badly mistaken. If we die, so be it. Nobody joins the 7th Cavalry because they want to live forever. Do you understand me, major?”

“
Garry Owen
, sir,” the major said, saluting. The 7th Cav had been known as the
Garry Owen
regiment, the name taken from the Irish drinking song
Garryowen
. The tune had been a favorite of the regiment’s most famous commander, General George Armstrong Custer, and
Garryowen
was made the regiment’s official song. Since then, the term “Garry Owen” had come to mean a combination of
yes
and
can-do
underscored with the sort of determination that only those who are willing to risk their lives every day in the line of duty can truly understand. It was at once a very small thing, and at the same time a very important thing to those who served in the regiment.

“Good,” Sparks said, dismissing the man with his eyes. “Listen up,” he said to the rest of them. “This isn’t going to be fancy or pretty. As soon as the enemy line reaches us and we have a clear shot down their flank, open fire with everything you’ve got. Hadley, you’ve got the best throwing arm: take whatever grenades we have and let fly. Everyone keep shooting until we run out of targets or ammo. Miss Guillaume,” he said, turning to her, “this isn’t something I can order or force you to do. But in the interests of what is no doubt a very slim chance of your own survival, it would behoove you to use your weapon to good effect.”

Gulping, Steph nodded. “Yes, colonel,” she said, her voice shaking. Her insides felt like everything had turned to jelly, and she felt like her stomach, bladder, and bowels were all ready to let go at the same time.

“Fix bayonets,” Sparks growled as he pulled his own from his combat webbing and attached it to the muzzle of his rifle. The others immediately did the same, although Hadley had to help Steph attach hers, taking the bayonet from the standard combat webbing he’d given her when they abandoned the command vehicle. 

She stared at the black blade, the silvery edge of the weapon reflecting the many colors of the people who were still streaming by. But they were getting to the end now, and the screams of fear were being replaced by cries of agony from those who were being cut down by the Kreelans. She thought she might be able to shoot one of the aliens, but to stab one with a bayonet? “Jesus,” she breathed.

“Stick next to me,” Hadley told her as he moved her behind a counter made of thick wood. After placing a handful of grenades on the floor by his feet, he put his rifle on top of the counter, pointing toward the window. “Remember, the rifle’s going to kick some, so don’t let it surprise you.” He double-checked that her weapon was set for single-shot fire and not automatic: he didn’t want her to accidentally spray bullets around the shop and hit the others. “Take your time and remember to breathe.”

“Okay,” she said in a small voice, trying desperately to rally her confidence. “God, I have to pee,” she muttered to herself, then suddenly giggled as she realized that she was still recording everything.
I’d better win the Pulitzer for this one
, she thought giddily.

Sparks and the others had also taken cover where they could find it, some behind the counter, Sparks and the major kneeling on either side of the window. Luckily, the shop was big enough that they could all shoot through the front window without getting in each other’s line of fire.

“Stand by,” Sparks warned as he peered around the edge of the window, holding his rifle to his chest. The Kreelan line wasn’t perfectly straight, of course, but it was close enough. “Steady...” he brought his own rifle up, making sure the muzzle would not protrude into the street. “
Open fire!
”

Half a dozen assault rifles chattered in unison, slamming hundreds of rounds into the flank of the Kreelan line, completely surprising the enemy warriors. Their chest armor saved some of them, but unlike the shotguns that the Alliance sailors had used against the Kreelan boarders, the Terran assault rifles, especially at point-blank range, had a lot more penetrating power.

“Down!” Sparks screamed as he saw a number of the Kreelans throwing something. Everyone ducked but a soldier who hadn’t heard over the deafening rifle fire: she suddenly staggered back, a miniature flying buzz-saw having cut right through her combat helmet to embed itself in her brain. With a twitch, she pitched backward, dead. 

Sparks and the major resumed firing, and the others joined in, popping up to fire a few rounds, then ducking down as more of the flying weapons sailed through the front window. 

Hadley grabbed a grenade and hurled it through the window like a hail Mary pass, then dropped back down to snatch up another one. There was no need to look for a good target: the Kreelans were bunching up out in front of the shop. It didn’t matter where he threw the grenades, because he just couldn’t miss. The explosions rocked the shop and shook dust and plaster loose from the ceiling to rain down on them.

Steph was holding her rifle in front of her, pointed out the window, but still hadn’t fired a single shot. She was staring wide-eyed at the frenzied action, watching it as if she were doing a slow-motion review of her own recording. The Kreelans, throwing any sort of tactics or caution to the wind, trying to rush the window. The cavalrymen, faces locked in expressions of grim determination, pouring rifle fire into the enemy. Two more of the soldiers being killed by the flying weapons, one of them decapitated, the other falling to the floor with one embedded in his chest. Hadley next to her, screaming epithets at the enemy as he bobbed up and down like a lethal jack-in-the-box, hurling grenades into the enemy’s midst. The smoke from the rifles, acrid and foul-smelling, mixed with the coppery tang of blood and the dryness of plaster dust, that wreathed the soldiers. Colonel Sparks, his rifle’s magazine having run dry, thrusting his bayonet into the neck of an alien warrior who had managed to leap through the window, falling on top of her, driving the bayonet’s tip into the wood floor as the alien thrashed and clawed at him. And the terrible, terrible snarling of the enemy warriors, their fangs gleaming as they howled in some terrible ecstasy while they crashed in wave upon wave against the humans’ defensive position.

All this she saw in what could only have been a few seconds before another warrior flung herself through the window to land right in front of Steph, the Kreelan’s sword raised high and fangs bared in a killing rage. Time was suspended for a moment as Steph realized that there was no one else to help her: Hadley was down behind the counter, reloading his own rifle. Sparks, spattered with blood, was shouting something at her, even as he was trying to pull his bayonet from the Kreelan he had just killed. The others seemed not to have noticed that there was an enemy warrior in their midst as they frantically fired at the endless stream of warriors trying to climb through the window.

Steph tried to scream, but nothing came out: her body was completely paralyzed. She saw the gleaming blade of the sword - so beautiful! - swinging toward her neck, and in that moment she knew that she was going to die.

But before the blade could touch her flesh, the Kreelan warrior unexpectedly flew backward, still in slow motion, and Steph imagined a look of surprise and perhaps even disappointment on her alien features. There was a single round hole in her chest armor, right between her well-proportioned breasts, the black of the armor around the hole now a star of shiny metal. 

With no small surprise, Steph saw the swirl of smoke streaming from the muzzle of her own rifle; she had not seen the muzzle flash as the round fired. Perhaps she had her eyes closed, an infinitely long time as she blinked. She felt her right index finger, curled around the trigger and holding it tight. With a conscious effort, she managed to let go: Hadley had told her that the rifle wouldn’t fire again until she let up on the trigger. 

For the first time in her life, she had killed another creature larger than a fly. A sentient being. An enemy of the human race. A being intent on killing her. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to celebrate or puke. But as her perception of time again sped up as the Kreelan warrior’s body fell lifeless to the floor, she realized she didn’t have time for either. With newfound determination, she raised the rifle to her shoulder and fired again. And again.

* * *

“What the fuck?” Coyle yelped as a huge stream of people came tearing around a street corner halfway up the block, heading straight toward them. Unlike the first group they had encountered, which had been a few hundred, this was a gigantic mob that filled the entire street. She heard screaming above the low whine of the tank’s motors, accompanied by a frenzied volley of weapons fire. She could tell that the firing was from Terran assault rifles from their distinct staccato sound. 

Standing up in the cupola so she could see better, she didn’t have to tell Mannie to stop the tank. But he hit the brakes so hard that her chest slammed into the metal hatch coaming. Her body armor kept her from being bruised, but it was hard enough to almost knock the wind out of her. Mannie was still shaken by running over the people when they broke free of the building they’d used for cover, and she’d heard him vomit three times. But she didn’t have anyone to relieve him.

They had passed by the First Battalion commander’s position, and found his command track burned to a crisp with two gigantic holes punched through the armor. Of their own company commander there was no trace, nor had any of the other company commanders survived. Or if they were still alive, they hadn’t been able to dig themselves out of the rubble. So Coyle had kept searching.

One tank from another company had joined them, but so far that was it for their entire battalion. It was clear that they had gotten the full treatment from the Kreelan ships as they passed overhead. Coyle couldn’t be sure, but she suspected that they must have homed in on anything using a combat data-link, because the command tracks had received special attention. But you didn’t have to be a genius to find a tank, she thought, disgusted. 

Some tanks had survived the barrage, only to be killed by something else. She had found nearly half a dozen in the street that looked like they’d been incinerated. The sight made her very uneasy: while the streets here were quite wide, this being a newer upscale district, the tanks were still extremely vulnerable to attack by any Kreelans holed up in the buildings they passed.

The only good news was that she’d run into a platoon of infantry that had somehow survived. They were part of the mechanized infantry company that was task-organized to her battalion. Their infantry combat vehicle had been hit by the enemy ships, but had only been disabled. So they went looking for other survivors, and the enemy, on foot. 

They soon found that the rest of their company hadn’t been so lucky: every other vehicle in the company had been destroyed. 

While the platoon was commanded by a second lieutenant, she knew that he was straight out of school and had zero leadership experience. She’d called him and his platoon sergeant, who also outranked her, up on top of her tank and told them quietly but bluntly that she wasn’t going to obey any orders that she thought were stupid and would endanger her tanks needlessly, and if the boy had any sense he would listen to what she told him and do it.

Much to her surprise, the lieutenant had agreed. With a wry smile and no small amount of sarcastic wit, he turned to his platoon sergeant and said, “So, is this one of those leadership training opportunities you were telling me about?” 

The three of them had a good chuckle at that, and after a brief discussion the lieutenant set about putting Coyle’s “suggestions” into action, deploying his squads ahead, behind, and to either side of the tanks to help protect them from bomb-throwing alien wenches that the tankers might not see or be able to react to in time. Coyle was incredibly relieved.

Now, with the screaming horde of civilians flooding toward them, the infantry hurried to get out of the way, flattening themselves against the walls on either side of the street. A few of them -
Idiots!
Coyle cursed - tried to get in front of the mob and wave them to a stop. But at the last moment they all managed to dodge out of the way of the speeding human freight train. 

The people surged around her tank, which was at the front of the modified three-tank wedge they had been moving in, and then suddenly started climbing on top of it, clearly with the intention of trying to get into its protective armored shell.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Coyle cried as a man did an amazing set of acrobatics up the front glacis plate, over the gun, and onto the top of the turret, reaching for her hatch. She hit the panic bar, dropping her seat down inside the turret and slamming the hatch closed, barely missing the man’s fingers. She hoped Gomez and the other tank crew had buttoned up or they were going to have an interesting time.