Authors: Tanya Huff
“So we’re down to that, are we? Fukking air support in command.”
“Don’t sweat it, Juan.” Eyes closed, she let her head fall back. “Staff won’t let him screw us over. Keeping twoie looies in line is what she does best.”
“Good fukking point. She did a nice job on Jarret.”
“Yeah, he’s been doing okay. Nice buns, too.”
Juan snorted. “Hadn’t noticed. You think it’s over?”
“I’m too tired to think.”
“You see Ressk and Hollice when you went for the water?”
“Hollice looks like death warmed over, but he’s going to make it. Ressk’s got so much sealant holding him together he can’t bend his leg.”
“That’s no fukking reason to leave us out here all alone.”
Binti opened her eyes and stared up at the heavy gunner. “He can’t bend his leg, how’s he supposed to kneel behind these bags?”
“Let him stand,” Juan snickered. “He’s short.”
A sigh followed close on the heels of her answering chuckle. “I must be tired, that wasn’t funny. Anyway, Staff had him shooting from inside, propped up against the wall. And he says the smell of all this cooked meat is making him hungry.”
“Fuk!”
“That’s what he said you’d say.”
* * *
They’d left the station with forty-one Marines plus six—the two pilots and four aircrew, forty-seven Marines altogether. There were fifteen dead—thirteen in cylinders and two aircrew in the VTA’s engine room. Thirty-two live Marines. Of that thirty-two, nine were too badly injured to do anything but wait for rescue—and at least three of those had better not be kept waiting for long.
“We have twenty-three Marines able to stand the perimeter, sir.” Although Ressk wasn’t so much standing as propped. “Including you and me. The heavies have three flares left between them, nothing else. Combining all remaining ammo, we can give each of the twenty-three a little better than half a clip.”
Lieutenant Ghard rubbed so hard at his lower ridge it paled. Torin barely managed to resist grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. “And the good news?” he demanded, clearly expecting there to be none.
“We have plenty of rations still and the Dornagain did fix the well.”
“So we won’t starve while we’re waiting to be slaughtered.”
“Apparently not, sir.” She hooked her slate back onto her belt. “Also, the Silsviss have retreated all the way to the top of the hill. The teams sent out to deal with the wounded report no one alive behind the boulders.”
“How do you send people out to
deal
with the wounded, Staff Sergeant?”
“Without hesitating, sir, when the only other option was to let them die slowly in great pain.”
He shuddered. “Better you than me, Staff.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They’re not done with us. I can feel it. They’re up there regrouping.”
“Lieutenant, I don’t think...”
From the top of the hill, the Silsviss started to thrum.
Torin turned away before she smacked the “I told you so” expression right off Lieutenant Ghard’s face.
“W
hat are they doing?” Torin curled both hands into fists to stop herself from grabbing Cri Sawyes by the shoulders and shaking him until he answered. “Why haven’t they had enough?”
Cri Sawyes turned a dull, defeated gaze toward her. “Why should they? Becaussse you have?” Then he snorted and smacked his tail against the ground. “But you haven’t, have you? You’ll keep fighting until there’sss no one left ssstanding.”
Arriving in time to hear that last bleak observation, Lieutenant Ghard stumbled to a stop and panted, “Would they give us an opportunity to surrender?”
“No.”
“Then this is it. It’s over.” He swung his KC up, stared at it as if he’d never seen it before, and let it swing back against his side on its strap. “They’ll show no mercy; we’ve been killing their wounded.”
“They’ve been killing their own wounded, sir. A mercy death from us changes nothing.” Torin found herself almost reluctantly pushed back into pragmatism by the lieutenant’s reaction. A little hysteria would’ve felt good.
“But we won’t survive another attack!”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but how the hell do you know?”
Looking confused, he opened and closed his mouth but was unable to find an answer.
“We survived the last attack. And all the attacks before that. We survived a crash landing, weeks of diplomatic posturing, and the incredible tedium of marching in straight lines. Why should we quit now?”
He stared up at her and, after a long moment when the only sound in the compound was the thrumming of the Silsviss, he sighed. “Marines don’t quit, Staff Sergeant. We may retreat on occasion, but we don’t quit. Was that the answer you were looking for?”
“It was the only answer, sir.”
“You’re a
serley
pain in the ass, you know that, Staff?”
“Just part of the job, sir.”
The corners of his mouth curled up into a reluctant smile. He flipped down his mike. “Heads up. Marines, they’re coming back for more. If you need me, Staff, I’ll be in position on the perimeter.”
“Sir.”
“Do you really believe that you can sssurvive another attack?” Cri Sawyes asked quietly when Lieutenant Ghard was out of earshot.
“Not for a minute.”
“But you convinced the lieutenant.”
“I doubt it; he’s a pilot, not a fool. Attitude, Cri Sawyes, is all we have left.” She glared out at the surrounding hills, teeth clenched together so tightly her temples ached. Attitude wouldn’t be enough. Then she frowned. But it might be the answer. “What if we decided to play it their way?”
“Their way?” Cri Sawyes repeated.
“I challenge their leader, one on one. Winner takes all.” Her heart began to beat harder, faster.
“Do you think you could beat a young male in hisss prime? One whossse only thought isss to win?”
“Yes.”
“Thessse young malesss are not like that pitiful creature you fought in the bar.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
It was his turn to stare. “Perhapsss you could win, Ssstaff Sssergeant, but you are not the leader here. Lieutenant Ghard isss.”
“Oh, yeah.” It was a stupid idea anyway. She was a Confederation Marine, not some hormonally hopped-up teenager. Stupid, stupid idea. Her nails dug painful half moons into her palms. But it might have worked...
The thrumming changed suddenly, picking up a new rhythm and rising in pitch.
Torin swung her KC up and slid a finger behind the trigger guard. “You know, dying like this really annoys me.”
“Dying like what, Ssstaff Sssergeant?”
“Dying for no good reason.”
“It may not come to that.”
Her first step back to the perimeter became her only step. Cri Sawyes had sounded almost as though he were in shock. “What?”
“That isss not a challenge. Look.”
She looked out along the indicated path and saw three Silsviss coming down the hill, one carrying the bleached skull on the pole, one of the others carrying a wrapped object held out on both hands. “If it’s not a challenge, what is it?”
“I think it’sss a sssurrender.”
* * *
“I can take all three of them,” Binti said softly, squinting through her sight and targeting each in turn.
“No.” Standing behind the north wall, in line with the descending Silsviss, Lieutenant Ghard wiped his palms on his vest. “Let them come.”
Barely turning her head, Binti glanced up at Torin, who nodded.
“They must know we can drop them,” she murmured. “They’ve got balls. I’ll give them that.”
“Their ballsss are what got usss all into thisss messs,” Cri Sawyes observed dryly.
Binti snickered. “Ain’t that usually the case.”
The three Silsviss split up to move through the boulders, then re-formed on the other side. Where they waited.
“Now what?” Ghard demanded.
“I suspect they want us to go out and meet them, sir.”
“I don’t trust them.”
“Cri Sawyes and I will go if you want.”
“Oh, yeah,” he snorted. “Like it would be better to lose you than me. No chance of Lieutenant Jarret regaining consciousness in the next couple of seconds?”
If only. “No, sir.”
“Pity.” He shoved his feet into his boots and straight-armed himself over the grain bags. “Private Mashona.”
“Sir?”
“If we fall, see that they fall right after us.”
“Yes, sir!”
I notice you didn’t check with me on
that
order,
Torin thought, following the lieutenant.
“Keep your mike on, Staff. I want everyone to hear what’s happening.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clouds of carrion flies rose up as they walked, settling almost immediately behind them. They had little enough time to feed before the sun baked all moisture out of the dead.
It took Torin a moment to realize that the faint hissing she could hear was Lieutenant Ghard sucking air through his teeth. The Krai sense of smell wasn’t as acute as a di’Taykan’s, but it beat out a Human’s three to one. And his nose was about half a meter closer to the ground than hers was.
As the two Marines and Cri Sawyes stopped about nine meters from the three Silsviss, the thrumming from the hills softened until Torin could barely hear it.
Now what?
Their backs against one of the boulders, the Silsviss stared, throat pouches inflating and deflating slightly with every breath.
Just kids, Torin realized. Next to Cri Sawyes, their physical immaturity was obvious. They were smaller, their faces were sharper, and they fidgeted constantly, tails jerking through agitated figure eights.
This is the first time they’ve gotten a good look at us. Probably the first time they’ve seen mammals our size.
She remembered the first time she’d seen a Mictok and wondered at the lack of reaction.
Still, we’ve been killing each other for days now, I guess they feel like they know us.
The Silsviss holding the skull stepped forward, shifted his grip, half turned, and smashed the bone against the rock.
Torin’s finger was on the trigger by the time the shards settled. She couldn’t hear the thrumming over the pounding of her heart.
No one moved.
Then the Silsviss holding the wrapped object stepped forward. Moving slowly, submissively, the third Silsviss unwrapped it...
Torin stared down at the bloody head and thought she’d never seen anything quite so pathetic.
“Their leader,” Cri Sawyes murmured. “He dissshonored hisss pack by losssing—asss you hadn’t killed him, they did. You’re to mount hisss ssskull asss a sssymbol of your victory.”
“We are?” Lieutenant Ghard sounded dubious about the honor. “Could you get that, Staff Sergeant Kerr?”
“Yes, sir.”
It was surprisingly heavy.
* * *
The walk back to the perimeter seemed to take longer than the walk out. Carrying the rewrapped head in outstretched hands, Torin listened to Sergeant Chou’s voice describe the Silsviss returning to the top of the hill and tried not to think about what she was stepping in. At the grain bags, she waited until both Lieutenant Ghard and Cri Sawyes were over. Then she set the head down and followed.
She could feel every eye in the compound on her as she picked it up again.
If that was a trick, now would be the time to attack.
“They’re back at the top of the hill,” Sergeant Chou announced over the helmet relay. “Nothing seems to be happening.”
The thrumming grew louder.
“Fuk!”
Torin had no idea which Marine had said it, but it seemed to sum up the situation.
Then the thrumming stopped.
“They’re gone.” Cri Sawyes blew out his throat pouch, then deflated it completely. “All of them.”
Although he could no more see beyond the hills than any of them, there was something in his voice Torin had to believe. When there was no reaction, she remembered that only Sergeant Chou, Lieutenant Ghard, and herself had understood. She waited a moment, scanning the empty horizon, willing it to remain empty; then she translated Cri Sawyes’ observation.
“They’re gone. All of them.”
The cheers and whistles were fifteen voices short, but they sounded good regardless.
“What are you going to do with the head?” Lieutenant Ghard demanded. When the noise in the compound suddenly stopped, he snatched off his helmet and scowled into it, muttering, “Forgot the
serley
thing was on.”
Technically, the question should have been what was
he
going to do with the head, but since he seemed to be leaving it up to her... Torin grinned and, lifting the bloody package high into the air, raised her voice. Staff sergeants did not need microphones to make themselves heard. “I’m going to mount the skull as a symbol of our victory!”
This time, the cheers and whistles were loud enough that she could almost believe she didn’t carry thirteen small metal cylinders in her vest. Conscious of Cri Sawyes’ gaze, she lowered her arms and turned to face him.
“Will your Confederation allow you to hold sssuch a battle honor?” he asked.
“I’d like to see them try and stop me.” The blood that had run down her wrists was beginning to itch as it dried.
Cri Sawyes’ tongue flicked out. “Asss a matter of fact, Ssstaff Sssergeant, ssso would I.”
* * *
Torin slipped the head inside the doctor’s largest specimen bag, sealed it, and activated the charge. In a matter of hours, there’d be nothing left of the soft tissue but a full molecular survey.
Time enough then to go looking for a stick to mount it on,
she reasoned, crossing to Lieutenant Jarret’s stretcher. He was still stable and still unconscious, although Dr. Leor was working on an antidote to the antidote.
She squatted beside him and laid her hand over his. After a moment of watching his chest rise and fall, she sighed and stood. Nothing had occurred to her except half a dozen wellworn clichés.
One good thing about the kind of battle they’d just been through together; it put that unfortunate night into the proper perspective. In comparison, it meant nothing at all. Which was exactly how it had to be.
In the next room, the Dornagain ambassador had somehow convinced the Mictok to emerge from their protective cocoon. Remaining seven limbs held tight to her body, Ambassador Krik’vir lay cradled in a nest of webbing, her companions protectively grouped to either side and above her. As Torin approached, she swiveled an eyestalk around and broke off her conversation with the Dornagain.