Recruit (16 page)

“Cpl Pallas, can you cut this guy off?  He’s trying to get out the front,” Wan passed on the team circuit.

“Negative, Wan.
  We’ve got our hands full here.  You two take him,” Sparta responded.

Wan glanced over at Ryck across the bottom rack that separated the two
of them and said, “You heard the man.  I don’t know what the hump that bastard’s got with him for sure, but I think it’s like our bunker buster.  Whatever it is, we can’t let him get away.  I want you to flank him.  On three, you scoot through these racks, keeping your ass low.  I’m gonna get up, hit the bulkhead up ahead, and rush the arsehole.  Iffen you get a shot, take him out while he’s glommed onto me.”

“Oh, man! 
You sure?  Maybe we both need to rush him, so he has to choose a target, you know, confuse him until we light him up,” Ryck said.

“Nah, this is the way it’s gonna be.  Iffen what he has is a bunker
buster, you know the range is limited, and it’s about as accurate as throwing rotten apples.  And you know the Wan man.  I can move it.  I’ll be juking and jiving, so no way he hits me.  You just be sure to nail him.”

He slowly reached up and hit the helmet release.  There was a hiss as the slight overpressure inside the suit puffed out into the ship.  He lifted the helmet up and placed it on the deck, detaching the comms buds and sliding them into his ears.  This was against policy.  If the ship suffered a catastrophic breach, Wan would have only seconds to find a pressurized space.

He shrugged at Ryck’s questioning look and whispered, “Gotta be loose and light, you know.”

He held up his hand,
then counted down three, two, one with his fingers.  On one, he stood up and rushed forward to the compartment bulkhead, five more bunk-lengths ahead.  At the same time, Ryck turned to dive over the bottom rack next to him.  After clearing it, he gathered his feet to dive over the next one.  He barely noticed another body as he passed it.  At least the guy hadn’t died like a sheep at the slaughter.  He’d tried to get away. 

Just as he cleared the third rack, a huge boom sounded, and flames shot down the passage along the bulkhead.  That pinpointed the pirate for him.  He was just on the other side of the next line of bunks.
  Ryck slid over the next bunk and looked up. 

The pirate standing in front of him was not in some hodgepodge body armor.  He was fully protected with black, interlaced, external plates that looked like ceramosteel.  Ryck didn’t recognize the actual make, but it was doubtful that is was Federated or Brotherhood-made. 

There were two main trains of thought on body armor.  The Federation went with flexible inserts that reacted within a split instant upon impact, hardening to stop a projectile before reverting back to its original state.  The armor was far more comfortable than plate armor and was better at stopping solid projectiles.  Plate armor, on the other hand, relied on sandwiched materials that were strong enough to withstand modern projectiles.  The PICSs relied on plate armor, but they were big enough and powerful enough to carry pretty heavy plates.  It was easier to make plate armor, and it didn’t have to be custom made for each soldier.  It was actually better for protection against some energy weapons.  However, it was bulky and heavy, and even with exoskeletal assists, it limited mobility.

The armor was the fi
rst thing Ryck noticed.  The second thing was the stubby tube-like weapon the pirate was holding.  Wan was probably correct in that it was the pirate version of the Marine’s M-77 Bunker Buster.  The bunker buster was designed to break or penetrate hardened targets.  It sent a focused energy “shell-less shell” that would shoot forward and either re-focus that energy into a shape charge or simply explode in a blast ring.  Due to the physics of energy dissipation, it had a very limited range of about 5 meters with a huge drop off in effectiveness beyond that.  Within 5 meters, not much could withstand its power.  It could even take out a Davis from point-blank range.  Due to its power, it was almost never used aboard a ship.  It could easily rupture the ship’s skin, opening it up to vacuum.

Evidently the pirate was not too concerned about that. 
They were only a deck away from the skin of the ship, but that was far enough, along with whatever was between the weapon and the ship’s skin, to keep the pirate from creating the rupture.

Bunker busters were not made for man-to-man fighting.  The weapon was not very accurate, and there was a
considerable re-charge time.  The Marine Corps M-77, for example, carried six charges in a load, and each one took approximately 12 seconds to cycle and recharge.  That was fine when taking on a hardened target, but not so fine when the shooter’s target was men who were attacking him.

The pirate was looking down the passage alongside the bulkhead.  Even in with the pirate in his armor, Ryck could see that he was focused on something, yet he was not scrambling to
either move nr fire again.  The only conclusion Ryck had was that Wan had been hit.

Ryck didn’t know how much time he had before the pirate’s weapon would be re-charged.  Just because the Marine Corps weapon needed 12 seconds didn’t mean that
the pirate’s was the same.  Instinct took over.  He knew time would be tight, so he got to his feet and started charging the pirate, M-99 on full auto.  He could see the impacts of the darts on the pirate’s armor as they ricocheted off without effect. Ryck needed something heavier, but as the assault element with speed of an essence, they had gone in light.  T-Rex had an M-72 on his back, and that might be able to knock out the pirate, but T-Rex was otherwise engaged.

Ryck kept charging as the pirate swung ponderously around to see who was attacking him.  Ryck couldn’t see the man in back of the dark helmet visor, but he kept pumping out rounds in hopes that one would find a crease or weak spot in the man’s armor.

The pirate brought up his weapon, aiming from the hip, the 20-centimeter barrel looking huge as it pointed at him.  For a moment, Ryck thought he’d be able to reach him before he fired, physically tackling the man.  Just a step away, the weapon went off, a flash of light blinding Ryck as something struck him hard along his right side.  He wasn’t even aware of being thrown back, of his right arm and two fingers of his left hand being turned to hamburger.  He wasn’t aware of when his EVA, acting on the breach, closed the torn sleeve and gauntlet, slicing away the mangled flesh that used to be his right arm and left finger tips.  The EVA didn’t care if it was in a vacuum or on a pressurized ship. If the suit was breached, it acted to seal the breach and keep integrity.

A sense of lassitude crept over him as drugs were injected into his body, drugs meant to calm him and slow down his respirations.  In space, this made sense, lowering
a Marine’s oxygen intake until someone could rescue him. 

He looked up to see the black armored creature approach him.  The huge dragon stood over him, ready to
breath fire again.  He settled back to watch the show, but something wouldn’t let him relax.

NO!

He fought the pull into the cottony dreamland. That was not a dragon.  That was a pirate, a man just waiting until his weapon cycled before he would end Ryck’s life.  Ryck had to do something.  He tried to push back, to get away, but he barely moved a few centimeters before the pirate stepped forward, foot on Ryck’s leg, holding him in place.

The pirate held up his weapon, looking at something, probably a gauge that would indicate when the thing was charged.  Ryck reached out to grab his M-99, but there was nothing with which to reach.  It was only then that he realized his right arm was gone.  Surprisingly, that didn’t bother him.  He knew it should, but he just brushed it off.  Those had to be some pretty good drugs.

Ryck was at a loss.  Would T-Rex come charging in, M-77 ablazing to save the day?  Or would the fire from the pirate snuff out Ryck’s life. 

Fire.
  T-Rex.  What was the connection?

Then it hit him.  As the pirate stared at his weapon
’s display, waiting, Ryck reached with his left hand to his hip magazine.  He flipped it open and reached inside.  Something was off with his touch, how his hand was working, but he wasn’t sure just what.  When he felt something give, though, he knew he had it.

Pulling out his toad, he thumbed the fu
se just as the pirate nodded and started to lower his weapon.  Ryck casually flipped the toad up into the air.  Even drugged, though, he realized he’d thrown it up behind the pirate, where it would fall in back of him, not to where it would hit him.  He had lost.  But the pirate was not going to shoot Ryck from point-blank range.  He took a step back.  Ryck was looking up as the toad started its descent.  It passed just behind the pirate’s head and out of sight.  Ryck knew the entire sequence was only three seconds from when he had thumbed the toad, but with the drugs, time was extended.  Everything was in slow motion.

The pirate finished his step back and raised his bunker buster.  Ryck watched dis
passionately for the fire to erupt from the weapon, and when he saw a flare of light, his muggy brain thought it was from the pirate’s bunker buster, that Ryck had lost.  But the light was from behind the pirate’s back, up around the shoulder level.  The pirate hesitated and tried to turn, one hand reaching up and in back of him.  The next flash was when the toad ate through the armor plate.  For an instant, Ryck thought he saw the pirate’s face through the man’s armor visor, lit from within as a small, intensely hot star burned through his body.

Then Ryck went to sleep.

Alexander

Camp
Kolesnikov

Chapter 20

Ryck opened his eyes.  His stomach was growling, crying out for food.  He had to get some breakfast to quiet it down.  He tried to stretch, but his hands would not move.  Confused, he turned his head to his left
.  His hand stretched out from him, but imprisoned in some sort of restraint.  Thoughts of pirates, of fighting, of death suddenly flashed through his head. He had to get out of there! 

“Easy there, cowboy,” a familiar voice called out as Ryck struggled to get up. 

It wasn’t until the person who spoke moved forward that he realized who it was. T-Rex, put a hand on Ryck’s chest, calming him.

“What . . . ?” Ryck stammered as it all came back to him—the mission, the fight, him being hit.

He quickly looked over to his right arm, or at least to where his right arm should have been.  Instead of an arm, the stubby chamber of the regen seeder was attached to his shoulder.  A steady green light was the only sign that it was doing its job. 

He looked back to his left arm.  Most of the arm was intact, but the hand itself was
covered by a small regen chamber.  To his surprise, he wasn’t horrified.  He knew he was drugged—the chance for a successful regen was significantly increased when the immunosuppressants were employed.  Still, he felt he should be more shocked instead of just mildly curious.

“You OK, there?” T-Rex asked.

“I . . . I guess so.  Where are we?  We on the
Adelaide
?”

“Not hardly
!  We’re back on the Dirtball.  Home sweet home.  You’ve been out of it for two weeks, and they just let you wake up now,” T-Rex said, nodding towards the foot of the hospital bed where a nurse stood, watching Ryck closely.

Ryck tried to organize his thoughts.  Of course he would have been put into an induced coma.  They’d been well-informed on what would happen if they had to go through regen.  A coma during the initial stages of regen
helped the process catch better and helped ensure a more complete outcome.

“A couple of the guys came to see you wake up, but you took your own sweet time with it.  They went to the
geedunk
and the head while you were napping,” he told them.

“So what happened?”

“With you?”
T-Rex asked.  “You took on that pirate, zeroed him, but he kind of got you, too.  Doc Silvestrie came in, got you stabilized, and you were zip-locked back to the
Adelaide
even before the ship was secured.”

“What about Wan?  Is he OK
?”

Some of the spark left T-Rex’s eyes as he said, “Wan
Man didn’t make it.  Doc got him out before you, and he was put into stasis.  He made it back here to the Dirtball, but he just couldn’t hang on.”

Ryck looked up at T-Rex uncomprehendingly.  People just didn’t die if they made it to stasis.  “Stasis” wasn’t really
an actual suspension of the body, but it came pretty close.  Fluids were pumped into the circulatory system, and the body was cooled, taking it down to a bare minimum of metabolic activity.  If a wounded person made it that far, then he could almost always be saved once he reached a full-service medical facility.  The Dirtball, as home to both a Navy fleet and a Marine division, had one of the best.

“The Wan Man fought, but the docs, they just couldn’t save him,” T-Rex said.

Ryck needed to change the subject until he was able to digest that, so he asked about the mission itself.  T-Rex gave the nurse a pointed stare.  The nurse checked Ryck’s vitals, then took the hint and left.  Technically, the nurse was Navy, but he almost assuredly did not have a clearance for tactical operations.

“We took back the ship,” T-Rex started once the nurse was out of the room.  “Two Marines KIA, Wan and SSgt Piers over in Second Platoon.  Another 12 WIA, three others like you going through regen.”

“The passengers?”

“312 passengers and crew out of 375 rescued. 
Most OK.  The dead, well . . . ” he began, stopping to look around to see if there was anyone within earshot before continuing. “Sgt Marc’s squad from Second, they might have taken out five or six passengers, from what I’ve heard.  The pirates had them dressed in that shitty armor, and they got zeroed when Marc took that compartment.  The pirates, they got dressed like the tourists, trying to blend in.  There’s an investigation going on, and Marc’s ass is on the line.”

“They tried to blend in, to get away?  That doesn’t sound like SOG.”

“No, it doesn’t.  And that’s not all.  Some of their combat armor, it was Alliance gear, new stuff.  The scuttlebutt is that they weren’t SOG at all, even if that’s what’s on the news feeds.”

“He’s awake!  About fucking time,” Sams said as he came in with
Hu, Sparta, Smitty, and another Marine Ryck didn’t recognize.

“Eat me,” Ryck said automatically.  “And who’s that?” he asked, pointing with his chin at the new Marine.

“That’s our new boot.  Private Hamburger.  Came in to take your place while you fuck off,” Sams replied.

“I keep telling you, it’s Helme
sburgen, not Hamburger,” the private objected.

“Shut up, boot!” the other Marines said in unison.

“You OK?” Cpl Pallas asked.

“Hungry as shit.
  You got anything there?” Ryck asked, looking at the burger Hu was munching.

“Yeah, don’t I know
it.  I thought I would die of starvation when I regened my foot, but you got to eat their puke-slop to make your arm grown nice and strong.  Just be glad you’re not Lieutenant Badalato.  He lost all his guts, everything from the belly button down  Cut in frigging half.  When they let him wake up, it’s IVs in the arm for at least a year before his new stomach can take real food.”

“You’re quite the talk of the town, you know,” Sams said. 
“Burning pirate ass with a toad.  That’s some freakin’ shit.  Most copacetic!”

“Well,
he burned out his neck, at least,” Hu corrected.

“No, I was there, and I saw the body.  Sams has it right. 
Burned his
ass
.  The armor that bad boy was wearing kept his stinking corpse upright enough for the toad to burn all the way down to his ass, then out the armor again.  Unbelievable!” the fire team leader said.

“How did you decide to use the toad?” Hamburger asked.

“Shut up, boot!” the others chorused again.

“That was pretty bitchin’. No fucking
arm, and you decide to play catch with him,” Sams said.

“You didn’t do too bad yourself, PFC Samuelson,” Sparta said.

“PFC?  You just got busted down to private.” Ryck said.

“Ah, no big deal
,” he said before Hu cut in.

“Our esteemed
dickwad here led the charge into the galley just at the pirates started to execute the captives.  He took out two of them with his M77, then tackled the third, I mean bam!” Hu said, getting excited.  “He’s going all psycho on the guy.  And this guy, he’s got some of that new Alliance combat armor, but he can’t do nothing, ‘cause this beserker’s all over him.  Sams here, he saved a bunch of the passengers, and the captain, when he comes in and we show him the vid, he promotes him on the spot.  Takes away his brig time, too.”

“No shit?” asked Ryck in wonderment.

“It wasn’t quite like that,” Sams protested.

“I’ll show you the vid next time I come,” Hu said.

“OK, OK.  We’ve got to get going.  Someone will come back to check on you after evening chow, but you need anything now?” Sparta asked Ryck.

“Uh, yeah, but this is sorta weird.  I can’t move my arms now, and my nose is really getting to me.  It’s itching up pretty good.  Could one of you, you know, give it a scratch?”

The other Marines broke out laughing, but the corporal moved forward, reaching up to gently scratch Ryck’s nose.

“None of you’ve been through regen, so you don’t know what
it’s like,” he said.

“Just make sure that’s all you do, there, corporal. 
Ryck never got to get that ho in Vegas, and it’s been a
long
time, so don’t you go getting any ideas on getting him off, what with his hands out of action like that,” Sams shouted.

“Oh, man, he can’t even jack off!” Hu joined in.  “I bet that nurse out there, he’ll do it for you, Ryck, so don’t you worry.  I’ll go ask him now, to make sure he takes
good care of you!”

That brought out howls of laughter, even Ryck joining in.  He hadn’t
yet really thought about life without his arms for a good amount of time, but leave it to Marines to bring it up, and bring it down in the gutter.

“Something funny in here?” a voice broke through the din.

“Attention on deck” Hu shouted as the battalion commanding officer and sergeant major stepped into the room.

Despite himself, Ryck struggled to get up.

“At ease,” the colonel said as he walked up to Ryck before turning around to face the others.  “Sergeant Major, I think these men want that nurse out there to come in.  Did we hear that right?” he asked the Marines.

There was a heavy silence as the men seemed afraid to catch anyone else’s eyes.

The sergeant major glowered at them for a moment before breaking out in a laugh.

“Sorry, sir, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.  You h
ad them shitting in their pants,” he said to the CO.

“Just Marines looking out for each other, as it should be, Sergeant Major, as it should be.  PFC Samuelson, though, seems to have a thing with the ladies, so maybe he could do better than that fat nurse out there.”

There was more dead silence, and Sams snuck a look at Sparta.

“The colonel told a joke, men.  Laugh!” the sergeant major said.

There was a ragged volley of forced laughter.

That elicited a hearty laugh from the colonel himself.

“OK, sergeant major, you’ve had your fun, so enough yanking on their chains.  We’re here to check on Lysander, after all,” he said, turning back towards Ryck.  “You’ve just been brought out of your coma, right?  Still a bit murky, I bet, and you’re probably starving.”

“Yes, sir,” Ryck answered. 

“I’ve been through it myself, three times, so I know what it’s like.”

Everyone knew the colonel’s history.  He was a mustang, up from the ranks, from private to first sergeant, then to lieutenant
and on up to lieutenant colonel.  He wore the Navy Cross, the second highest award for valor.  Earning that medal had cost him both arms and legs as well as a good portion of his torso.  That the Navy docs had saved his life was something of a miracle, and he had spent a full two years in regen and therapy, so yes, Ryck was well aware that the colonel “knew what it was like.”

“You’ll get fed after we leave, but it won’t be good.  These Navy docs must think that decent taste ruins the process.  Before that starts, though, the sergeant major has something for you.

“Sergeant Major, if you will, and let’s bring in these reprobates here, too.”

The sergeant major pulled a stack of paper cups from his cargo pocket and passed them around to the Marines.  He took a tube from under his sleeve and poured something out of it into each cup.  He gave another to the colonel and took one for himself before moving to Ryck and offering him the end of the tube.  Just before Ryck put it in his mouth, he pulled it back a fraction of a centimeter and waited.

“Gentlemen, needless to say, this does not go beyond this room.

“Lift your glasses for a toast.  To Private First Class Ryck Lysander,
Audaces Fortuna Iuvat
.”

“Here, here!” they all chorused as the sergeant major slid the tube into Ryck’s mouth. 

Ryck took a long swallow, the cold beer feeling wonderful as it slid past his tongue and down his throat.  Alcohol was explicitly prohibited throughout the regen process, but if the colonel, with all his regen, thought it was OK, Ryck was not going to argue.

The colonel leaned forward and
quietly said, “You’re going to be OK, Ryck.  Semper fi.”

And Ryck knew it was true.  He
was
going to be OK.