On Point Page 4

  He pushed off the boxes, wobbled a little then turned around slowly.

  “It’s nothing, Lieutenant,” he assured me.

  There was a deep furrow along the side of his helmet. I couldn’t see any blood. But to do that kind of damage to the helmet’s material, the round must have punched Tsubasa to the deck.

  A concussion at the least, and possibly brain damage, I thought as he squeezed his eyes shut. The movement caused him to rest a hand on the boxes to steady himself. When he opened his eyes, he shook his head to clear his vision before refocusing on me.

  “It’s nothing. Knocked me down and out for a second,” Tsubasa offered.

  I realized it wasn’t me who was being escorted to the command post. Rather it was me escorting the two injured Marines.

  ***

  Corporal Nahia waved us to follow her. At the end of the rows of boxes, she stopped at the bodies of two dead Marines. They would be the first out when reinforcements arrived. While the supplies were needed, the Marines maintained a strict code. No Marine was left behind. Not the dead like these two, or those wounded, or any separated from their squad. No Marine was left behind, period.

  Gently, the Corporal reach down and unsnapped a battle-harness from one. Standing upright, she held out a rifle and the harness to me.

  “This has extra ammo, energy bars and field dressings,” she explained while handing me the battle-harness. “And this is…”

  “I fired expert on the range with the over and under,” I said interrupting her lecture. “I know how to load it, where the safety is located, and to point the muzzle at the enemy.”

  I couldn’t tell her about my past as a Sergeant of Marines. The information was sealed. As well as the circumstances surrounding my discharge from the Galactic Council Marine Corps and my subsequent commission in the GC Navy.

  “Combat firing is different than shooting at targets,” she stated.

  “I appreciate your concern,” I said. “But there can’t be much danger between here and the command post.”

  “Unfortunately, this supply drop is conveniently located for our posts in three sectors of the station,” Nahia said. “Two of the sectors are controlled by the Constabulary. You’ll traverse enemy country before passing back into our territory. So far, they haven’t had enough units to control all the passageways. Our patrols usually make the circuit without contact. Most of the time.”

  ***

  I could have made it to the command post in a shorter interval by myself. But at heart, I was still a Marine and the code of no man left behind was ingrained. With me walking point, I place the unstable Private First Class Tsubasa in the center. Lance Corporal Meinard brought up the rear. But, he stayed tucked in tightly to assist if Tsubasa required help.

  Before we had gone too far, my PID vibrated. Looking down, I read the location of the command post. I guess Corporal Nahia decided to give it to me after all. Trust was an odd thing. Taking out a machine-gun position, volunteering to move a cargo crate, and then helping with the unloading only earned me so much from the Corporal. Helping evacuate her wounded tipped the scales and now, she trusted me.

  The corridors were brightly lit exposing unadorned bulkheads. We passed a few hatches and, according to Meinard, they led to workshops. At this level in Construction station, everything was industrial, utilitarian, and empty. What had been the Galactic Council Realm’s busiest shipbuilding facility was now a disputed combat zone.

  Chapter 4

  An hour and half later, Meinard slipped up behind me and whispered, “This is a good place to take a break.”

  “You hurting or does Tsubasa need to rest?” I asked figuring the injuries might be draining the Marines.

  “No, Sir,” Meinard said. “Constabulary country is two corridors down.”

  I griped Tsubasa’s arm and helped him sit down after watching him almost fall over. He didn’t remove his helmet. Maybe out of fear of having to slip it back on over the swelling or because he didn’t realize he wore a helmet.

  Meinard’s helmet came off easily. I set it on the deck and ripped open an energy bar and handed it to him. He squatted against the bulkhead and chewed. Although he put on a brave face, I could see him favoring the injured hand.

  “How far do we travel to get to our lines?” I asked hoping to keep his mind off the injury.

  “If you envision a wedge with the broad end being the exterior deck of the station,” the Lance Corporal said. “We’re crossing about a third of the way from the tip.”

  I glanced at my PID and back at Meinard before suggesting, “It looks like we can cut down on the distance by taking the stairs up three levels on this side before crossing.”

  “The stairs are blocked at the first landing and the higher in the wedge you go, the more patrols we could encounter,” he explained. “We’ve been alternating between four routes to keep the enemy guessing.”

  “A third and up, a third and up,” Tsubasa repeated.

  I assumed he was delirious and confused.

  “That’s right,” Meinard said clarifying the PFC’s remarks. “Two sets of stairs at about a third of the way across.”

  “Keeps them guessing,” Tsubasa added. “They don’t know where we’ll pop up.”

  “How you been patrolling the divided sectors long?” I asked.

  “Ever since we joined Corporal Nahia’s unit,” Meinard said. “We lost two Sergeants and our Lieutenant before she took over.”

  “Nahia’s got the gift,” Tsubasa explained. “It’s like she can smell the Constabulary coming.”

  The statement wasn’t far from the truth. Many combatants developed sharpened senses during prolonged conflicts. Some find their vision far more focused and even see better in lowlight. Others were able to hear the slightest scrap or clang of equipment no matter how slight. And some acquired super olfactory senses. They smelled trace aromas left by a passing enemy. Or, the stink of ketone when a Constabulary Troop stood upwind. Not everyone in combat developed heightened powers. But enough did and those with animal senses were a gift to their units.

  “Break time is over,” I stated as I moved to help Tsubasa stand.

  “I’m feeling better,” he pleaded. “I can make it back to my squad.”

  I looked at his eyes and they were clear. Then I thought of the route we were taking and how an extra rifle might come in handy.

  “Sorry, Private First Class. We’ve got a mission and I need you with us,” I explained while stepping over to snag Meinard’s helmet from the deck. As I settled it on his head I continued, “Corporal Nahia is depending on us. She needs reinforcements to collect the supplies more than she needs another rifleman.”

  “I understand, Lieutenant,” Tsubasa mumbled in disappointment.

  We moved out in the same order of march.

  ***

  The hatch inched opened and I peered into a gloomy and smelly corridor. I knew we crossed into the sector controlled by the Constabulary because the deck was littered with trash. Marines never leave a trail of wrappers, litter or discarded equipment for an enemy to follow. Troops apparently didn’t adhere to the discipline.

  Beyond the leftover refuse, the air turned from sea salt fresh to throat burning smog. Glancing back, I noticed the Marines hadn’t strapped on their rebreather masks. I lifted an eyebrow in question.

  “Corporal Nahia says the air is breathable,” whispered Tsubasa. “And the mask cuts down on your perception. I’m not sure what she means but, she’s usually right.”

  Facing forward, I carefully picked my way between piles of rubbish. Oddly mixed in with the wrappers and plastic were rotting pieces of unrecognizable food. At the end of the garbage heaps, I turned to look back past Tsubasa and Meinard and at the deck.

  There were five piles and from this angle, they had depressions on the top. A sixth area of the deck was immaculate. Someone had not only shoved the trash away, it appeared as if the space had been polished. About the size of a small blanket, the deck in that rectan
gle shined.

  The litter lightened a couple of intersections later. Each connecting hallway was barricaded with welded bars. I felt as if we were being herded.

  “Tsubasa. Are your sure about the directions?” I asked. “There’s no way out of this corridor.”

  “One way, Sir, up,” he replied by pointing down the hallway.

  I didn’t like it but my PID didn’t reflect the bars, blockages, or Constabulary patrols. So, I continued to lead the Marines. Then, the buzzing of a large electronic arc echoed off the bulkheads.

  Quickly, I looked around for a workshop. A hatch ten steps in front of me seemed right.

  “Run,” I said as I sprinted to the hatch.

  Tsubasa and Meinard followed me through and I eased the door closed.

  “What’s up, Lieutenant?” Meinard asked.

  “Troops,” I whispered. “Move to the back of the shop and find cover.”

  “Troops? Ours or theirs?” Tsubasa asked as he rested the rifle on a workbench with the muzzle aimed at the hatch.

  “Constabulary Troops. You know the big guys,” I explained. “We call them Troops because of their heritage.”

  “They have a heritage?” pondered Meinard.

  “Everyone has a mother,” offered Tsubasa.

  “Oh, yeah, heritage,” Meinard said. Then to me he said, as he fumbled a kinetic magazine out of a pocket in his combat-vest, “How did you know one of those Troops was coming?”

  “One of them triggered a Prod,” I said. “It’s a distinctive sound.”

  “You have a gift, Sir?” Tsubasa asked.

  “More like experience,” I replied. “Stay sharp. If they come in here, it’ll be a tight fit.”

  “And a warm welcome,” Meinard said as he patted his rifle.

  ***

  We remained unmolested in the workshop until I grew bored. Making stay-there motions to keep the Marines in place, I crept to the hatch and eased it open. The corridor was empty. Still, I knew we had avoided a Constabulary patrol. The scattered trash on the deck was rearranged and I noticed a few more pieces had been added.

  “Moving,” I called over my shoulder.

  Once Tsubasa and Meinard had stacked up behind me, I stepped into the hallway. We moved fast as whomever came down this hallway, was bound to come back. And, we didn’t want to be here when they did.

  ***

  Several intersections beyond the workshop, I peered around the corner and up a wide staircase. It wasn’t an access for maintenance workers or a ladder for out of the way hatches. These were primary steps for traveling between levels.

  I pulled my head back and looked around at the Marines.

  “Couldn’t we find a less exposed egress?” I asked. “If we get caught on that grand staircase, it could get messy.”

  “We usually patrol with two squads,” Meinard said. “Messy is what we do.”

  “Ooh-Rah,” Tsubasa announced.

  These Marines, even injured and outnumbered, had more confidence than the situation warranted. As far as I could fathom, there were two ways to advance when crossing through enemy territory.

  Sneak up the stairs one at a time and regroup at the next level. This works because if one goes down, the other two can escape and evade the enemy.

  Then, there was the come online, take the steps together, and use overwhelming force to kill anything trying to stop us. Of course, if the enemy had a large enough force, the three of us would die on the stairs.

  Their attitude helped me decide.

  “Nothing fancy. We’ll form a battle line and assault the stairs,” I explained. “But understand this, if anyone goes down, we cannot stop for you. Our primary mission is to get Nahia and the Marines reinforcements. Do you understand?”

  “And mules,” Tsubasa added. “You know for the supplies.”

  ***

  I grabbed Meinard’s over and under rifle and jacked a sonic grenade into the chamber. Next, I knotted the sling so it was tight around his shoulder. With the weapon tucked into his armpit, he could fire, drop an expended magazine, and slam home a fully charged one with his good hand. After that, he’d be carrying an uncomfortably slung empty rifle.

  “Save the grenade,” I advised. “Gentlemen, are we ready?”

  “Pardon Lieutenant,” Meinard said. “But you are the only gentleman here. We’re Marines.”

  I smiled, stepped into the center of the corridor, and pointed towards the stairs.

  “Forward march,” I ordered.

  We reached the corner and pivoted around. Our left feet uniformly hit the first riser.

  ***

  There was one landing. The stairs doubled back and continued to climb. We were just below eye level with the top of the staircase when the heads, shoulders, and chests of three black uniforms with red and tan stripes appeared.

  I snapped off the safety and heard two more clicks from beside me. My rifle jerked as I double tapped the center of one’s face. As my target collapsed, I shifted to another target.

  Both Tsubasa and I worried about Meinard’s left handed aim. We shouldn’t have. His rounds clawed diagonally across the Constabulary soldier’s chest.

  The three of us raced the final distance to the top and hammered another two kinetic rounds into each target. Then we ran to the first intersection, made a sliding turn and sprinted down the corridor.

  ***

  Stealth forgotten, the three of us pounded the deck as we passed hatch after hatch. So far, there had been no pursuit by the Constabulary. I felt good about our chances of making the next staircase intact. Then, Tsubasa stumbled and folded up like a dropped silk sheet.

  All limp and loose, he crashed to the deck head first. I glanced around to see if he’d been targeted by a Troop. The corridor in both directions were empty. I backtracked and began checking hatches for a hidden assailant.

  “Lieutenant. He’s not shot,” Meinard called out when I emerged from a workshop.

  Meinard knelt beside the downed Marine. He finished running his good hand over Tsubasa’s body seeking an injury and waved me to him. Then, he lifted the PFC’s face shield. The right eye, on the side where the helmet took the hit, was blood red.

  “Head injury,” pronounced the Lance Corporal. “The run must have shaken something loose.”

  “Do we carry him or, stash him and pick him up later?” I asked.

  Meinard and I looked at each other as we waited for one of us to make a choice. Then, our evaluation became a moot point.

  “Stash who?” Tsubasa asked as he placed his hands under his shoulders. He shoved and raised his torso off the deck. “What happened?”

  He managed to roll over and slid into a sitting position.

  “You face planted on the deck,” Meinard explained. “Out cold and sleeping like you were home on leave.”

  “I don’t remember tripping,” Tsubasa said. “I’m just a little dizzy but I’m fine.”

  “Decision time. You hide or you march. But, we can’t stay here,” I advised the Marine. As I spoke, I glanced up and down the hallway.

  “Help me up,” Tsubasa demanded while raising an arm.

  I pull him to his feet and he wobbled for a second before straightening up. After checking his weapon for damage, the PFC slammed down the face shield, and marched off.

  “Your opinion?” I asked Meinard.

  “He’s mobile so I guess we march,” the Lance Corporal replied as he quick-walked away to catch up with Tsubasa.

  Marines, I thought as I jogged after them, no matter how badly beaten, abused or outnumbered, they stayed on the job until the mission was completed.

  ***

  “How far to the next staircase?” I asked.

  “It should be a couple of intersections from here,” Meinard replied.

  We were huddled off the main corridor beside the bars of a blocked hallway. Tsubasa had made the last hour without another episode of kissing the deck. But he was showing signs of dizziness. I must have been staring at him.


  “Really Lieutenant, I’m good to go,” he assured me.

  “It’s your call,” I replied. “Now, onto another item. Why haven’t we seen any patrols? It seems to me the corridor should be crawling with Troops.”

  “When we ducked into that workshop, one of their units passed us,” Meinard suggested. “That puts the Constabulary behind us. They know we can’t go back.”

  “So ahead of us is a reception committee waiting on the stairs,” volunteered Tsubasa. “There’s going to be a lot more than three this time.”

  “Can we call the command post for help?” I asked.

  “No, Sir. For the same reason Nahia didn’t call or radio,” Meinard explained. “The Constabulary controls the hardwired communications nodes. And any radio signal outside a sector will be picked up. Sorry Lieutenant, we’re on our own.”

  Tsubasa hefted his rifle and ran a hand over it. After his inspection, he looked at me and said, “Only one way out, Sir. And that’s up.”

  I looked at the Marines. Both were ready to assault the stairs by charging into the muzzles of enemy weapons. Depending on the number of Troops, possibly none of us would survive to deliver Nahia’s message. The mission would fail.

  “Five minutes,” I said.

  “We’re ready now, Lieutenant,” Meinard stated and Tsubasa shook his head in agreement.

  “No, I meant give me five minutes,” I said. “I’ve got an idea. If I’m right, I’ll support you from behind the Constabulary’s ambush. Don’t start up the stairs until the firing starts. When it does, come quick.”

  “So, you do have a gift, Sir?” Tsubasa asked.

  “In a way,” I replied and repeated. “Five minutes then come up those stairs fast.”

  ***

  Two intersections from the Marines, I ducked into a workshop’s hatch. I did have a gift but it was far from a natural ability.

  Although I’ve never tried before, I slid the rifle under the back of the Knight’s doublet and down into the trousers. The Druid Elders neglected to supply me with a user’s handbook when I received the Knight Protector of the Clan gear. Never having been given instructions, I didn’t know if the bulge of the weapon would affect the camouflage. I figured if it were in the back the rifle would stay invisible. Of course, I couldn’t bend my right leg. But, I had a rifle for when I reached the top of the stairs. If I reached the top of the stairs!