Women of War (37 page)

As they settled down to wait, she monitored the traffic on the other battle channels.

After ten minutes, sporadic chat broke out among her team.

“Tell me why we're doing this, Tyler. It's a civilian police job,” muttered Lydecker.

“You know why.”

“Yeah, but I didn't sign up to do groundside crap like this ... Why do we keep getting the back-up missions?”

“This time the long straw, next time the short one,” Tyler replied.

“Well, it stinks.”

“They didn't shoot at you enough? C'mon round here and I'll give you some dodging practice!” said Brolin.

She ignored them, concentrating on the conversation between Raines and Amber Team. They needed to let off steam—no one liked getting hyped up on a mission then left waiting on the sidelines. When push came to shove, they'd drop the bickering and be professionals again.

“There's no one here, Raines,” Rice was saying. “Damned rebels lit half a dozen thermal stoves, left them on to register as heat sources!”

“Say again, Amber One.”

“I said they're gone, dammit!”

“Looks like we could have visitors, guys,” she said on Blue's channel. “Stay alert.”

“Copy that, Captain,” said Tyler.

“Remember we want them alive.”

“I'm picking up something in the direction of the elevator now, Captain,” interrupted Jones.

“Blue One, the rebels and hostage are not showing on
Opportunity
's scanners. You may have incoming to your area.”

“Their arrival is imminent, Base. Blue One out. Let them clear the elevator if you can,” she ordered her team. “Give them a chance to surrender. Use gas grenades, Brolin, if they don't. Try to avoid shooting if at all possible.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The elevator door slid open, revealing five partially armored men surrounding the familiar figure of Kirsten Channing, daughter of Mars Colony's president. Looking cautiously around them, the first two emerged, pulse rifles ready.

Slade's uneasy gut feeling returned. She hesitated just long enough to see Kirsten begin to push the two men aside.

“Halt!” Tyler called out. “Lay down your weapons. You are surrounded by marines from the USS
Opportunity
.”

Turning in the direction of the voice, the leading two men began spraying the area ahead with bursts of energy.

She spared a glance at Tyler as he dove for the ground. A bolt clipped the back of his armor, the impact sending him skidding into the open. He grunted, but his light still showed green on her HUD.

She raised her rifle as one of the men grabbed the girl and, using her as a shield, ran for the open.

“Stop!” she yelled, letting off a warning shot.

They skidded, changed direction, but kept running for the single vehicle.

Hutton and Lydecker exchanged fire with the rebels in the elevator while Brolin laid down cover for Tyler as he tried to roll to safety. The girl's posture hadn't been that of a hostage. Had she really seen her elbow the men aside? It made no difference right now; it was down to her and Jones.

“Right behind you, ma'am,” said Jones as she began to run toward the next pillar. “I'll cover you.”

The rebels had armor, but it wasn't powered. Like all the Mars domes, gravity was Earth normal. They had the advantage.

She cleared the forty feet to the next pillar in seconds, skirted round it, dodging shots that landed within inches of her. As she leaped onto the trunk of the limo, she felt the shock of an impact hitting Jones. On her HUD, his tell-tale began to blink.

“Amber Team on its way, Blue One,” said Raines' voice in her helmet. “Contain the situation for a few more minutes.”

“Still got your rear, Captain.” Jones' voice was shaky, but strong. “Brolin's let the gas loose. Should be over in a few.”

“Slade! You got no backup!” roared a voice that nearly had her losing her footing as, without pause, she jumped off the limo. The shock over, at least she could breathe more easily knowing he and Jones were okay.

She couldn't wait for him. If she was right, then Kirsten Channing was in this right up to her ears. If she were wrong, then she was saving the hostage.

Rounding the last pillar, she stopped dead at the corner. “Halt! Drop your weapons! You're under arrest,” she yelled, rifle trained on them.

 

“Help!” Kirsten yelled, trying to wrench herself away from the man holding her. “Help me!”

Slade froze, confused, letting the end of her gun drop down. This wasn't the way she remembered it happening.

“Help me,” repeated the girl, a look of surprise briefly crossing her pleasant features as she continued to struggle with the man trying to drag her into the vehicle.

“Captain!” Jones' voice was harsh in her ears. “Remember what you have to do!”

Yes, she knew what she had to do, as she saw Kirsten and the rebel leader running for the vehicle.

“Halt, or I will shoot!” she yelled, leaving her cover.

Kirsten and he put on a burst of speed. She fired at the limo, disintegrating a tire. “I said halt!”

They slid to a stop by the hood, turning to face her.

“Shoot her, Chris,” said Kirsten Channing, her face contorted in anger.

Without thinking, she fired first.

“Nice job, Captain Slade,” said their narrator through the main battle channel. “You had me worried for a moment at the end, though.”

She stood up, sick to the depths of her soul with this charade, and followed Jones listlessly toward where the glass partition between them and the school children was being lowered.

“Thank you, Captain Slade and Sergeant Jones, for such an informative display,” the teacher said. “Children, thank the marines.”

“Thank you,” forty young voices chorused.

Behind them, the infoscreen chattered away relentlessly. She glanced at it as she unlocked and removed her helmet. A young male reporter was on the lawn outside Columbia's Oval House. Underneath him, the tickertape banner scrolled past, summarizing breaking news. The words Virtual Reality Academy caught her eye but it scrolled past before she could read it.

“A pleasure, ma'am,” murmured Jones, taking the lead today. “Any questions?”

“Did you really get shot?” asked a girl.

“Course he didn't,” said her neighbor. “Don't be stupid. War isn't real now, it's only make-believe.”

“Yes, both Captain Slade and I really were injured,” said Jones. “Wars were real then, people had to go out and actually fight.”

“Where were you hurt?” asked a boy.

“Did it hurt?” another called out.

“I was lucky. I only got shot in the arm. And yes, it hurt at first, till the meds in my suit treated me.”

“Can we see it?”

Jones held his helmet out to her. She took it, watching as he went through the daily ritual of removing his glove to show his artificial hand. She began to come out of her daze as the children exclaimed over it, wanting to know if it was as good as a real one.

“I want to be a soldier but we were told only women could do that,” called out one young lad.

Jones looked at the teacher, unsure what to say.

“Yes, men can become soldiers, no matter what they tell you,” Slade said. “We'll always need good men, and women, to defend our planet and Earth.”

“Captain,” interrupted the teacher, a warning note in her voice. “You know that they only accept women into the military since the United Worlds declared it illegal to fight in real time.”

Slade pointed to the infoscreen where the scene had changed to the new Virtual Reality Military Center.

“That's not real, no matter what they tell you. War can't be fought in VR. All those women are is game jackers, wired up to an elaborate game. They call it war. But war isn't glamorous or fashionable, it isn't clean and nice like they show you! What do you do when someone comes along who refuses to play by U.W. rules? Freedom can't always be negotiated, sometimes you have to fight, and then people get hurt, and die!”

Her voice broke as the sound was turned up, drowning out anything else she might say.

As one, the children and the teacher turned to watch the screen.

“Here, outside the VR Military Academy, we're waiting for the latest Mars combatant to emerge after her bloodless victory on Phobos!”
the enthusiastic young female reporter said.
“Our new-style virtual soldiers are mainly women, chosen because of their ability to process mental data more quickly and efficiently than men. Thanks to the U.W. ruling, the days of male-dominated warfare are gone forever, as are the inhumane consequences of it. This latest battle secured mining rights on the moon for Columbian corporations for the next twenty years against stiff virtual opposition from Earth's leading mining company, Harrison and Dewart.”

The scene shifted suddenly to the front door opening.

The children rushed over to the screen, leaving Jones and Slade facing the teacher.

“What were you thinking, Captain Slade?” she said stiffly. “I shall be complaining to the museum. You know the United Worlds have agreed there will be no more fighting. Your battle brought about that ruling! I would think after the injuries and loss your team suffered, you would agree.”

Slade stared past her at the screen where a young woman, fair hair flowing over the shoulders of her form-fitted blue one piece, stood at the top of the steps of the VR Academy, waving to the crowd.

“Complain all you like. They're only playing games, they just don't realize it. Out there are people like the rebels, and aliens, who won't think twice about attacking us physically, no matter what insane edicts the U.W. passes! Human rights will count for nothing when you're being slaughtered by an enemy that doesn't recognize their existence.”

“You would choose to die for your beliefs?” demanded the teacher.

“I have died for them,” she said flatly, walking away.

The handler's call sounded through her comm-set, but she was too busy fighting for her next breath.

She knew she ought to let them know she was all right, but the pain was so intense. Overhead, the ceiling began to darken and blur. Two sharp pricks in her neck brought her back from the edge of unconsciousness.

Like cold fire, the stimulant and the analgesic coursed through her system, heightening her remaining senses while dulling the throbbing pain in her chest and leg. She tried to orient herself, feeling the all-too-familiar sensation of the suit's interior expanding protectively around her injuries.

I've been hit.
Simultaneously she registered that she'd only wounded the rebel leader, lost her rifle, and now lay only feet from him and Kirsten Channing.

Twisting her head, she looked around, seeing a pair of elegantly booted feet below the limo some thirty yards distant.

A blast of energy hit the ground beside her. Instincts cut in and she tried to fling herself over onto her front—but nothing happened. Fear made a tight fist in the pit of her stomach as she scrabbled for the external controls on her right forearm, trying to find the flap to release her energy pistol.

“You bitch!” Kirsten ran toward her, rifle raised. “You shot Chris!”

The floor a foot from her face vaporized, surrounding her with a blast of noxious gasses. She could hear the suit's filters working overtime, then her internal air supply cut in.

“Get back here, Kirsten!” her companion yelled. “We can still make it if you help me!”

Frantically Slade pushed herself again, this time to the other side, managing at last to roll over onto her front. Arms shaking with effort, she lifted her torso off the ground, looking to the limo.

Kirsten turned back to Chris as he pulled himself into a standing position and aimed his weapon at her.

Slade's blood ran cold. It was one of the heavy rotation rifles that Brolin and Tyler used.

She heard Tyler round the corner. Kirsten fired at him as his missile hit the rebel leader.

Tyler grunted in pain as he fell. He landed beside her, his rifle falling from his hands. She grabbed it, forced herself up onto her good knee, and relying only on her tac grid, pulled the trigger, holding it down for several heartbeats. An arc of energy leaped toward the girl, felling her instantly. Beyond her, the limo, detonated by Tyler's missile, exploded, surrounding both her and Tyler in a blast of heat and poisonous fumes.

She turned to him. His tell-tale still showed green on her HUD. Fear lent her the strength to pull his unconscious form closer.

“Tyler!” she yelled, pushing him onto his back and shaking him. “Tyler, wake up!”

A secondary explosion shook the ground as the ammunition from the rebels' rifles exploded.

His eyes flickered open. “John,” he said, enunciating the word carefully as he tried to focus on her face. “It's John, Emma.”

“John, stay with me,” she shook him again as his eyes closed and he began to cough. “Medic! Hutton! He's choking to death!” she screamed. Slowly, painfully, she began to inch them away from the inferno.

“Let me have him, Captain,” said Hutton, dropping onto one knee beside her. “Lydecker, give me a hand! Brolin, help the captain.”

“He's choking on the fumes,” she said, barely noticing that Tyler was now lying limp and still as she surrendered him.