The strikers were out in force. Strafing runs by the Loot and a buddy softened the bastards up but antipersonnel missiles, laser beams, and bullets stuttered up to meet us nonetheless.
The major lit a sector and ordered us to converge on it. Daw’s team would arrive first and have the dubious honor of securing the landing zone (LZ).
We were closer now, close enough for an honest-to-god visual, and I didn’t like what I saw. Roughly half my team, about fifteen effectives, had made it through. One of them, a trooper named Raskin, took a hit and spun out of control. A vapor plume outgassed and disappeared as the suit sealed itself. A buddy called him.
“Hey, Raskin! Can you hear me? Pull out, pull out or you’re going to…”
Raskin hit the ground, bounced, and came apart as the strikers hit him with everything they had.
I swore, added my fire to that generated by the rest of the team, and cut power. We drifted in like those puffy things that dandelions produce in the spring. Fountains of dust spurted upwards as our boots hit, paused for a moment, and drifted sideways.
Fire lanced in from three sides, and what was left of Daw’s team did their best to cover us. I slo-moed my way to a crater and resisted the temptation to pull the edges in around me. I had elbowed my way to the rim and was peeking over the edge when something nudged the side of my helmet. A voice filled my ears. “Maxon?”
I damned near jumped out of my skin before I realized Wamba had arrived and placed his helmet next to mine. The sun reflected off his visor and his eyes. “Sorry, sir. You scared the shit out of me.”
I felt Wamba grin. “Serves your ass right for sleeping on duty. Gather your team. We came to take T-12, and we’re going to do it. Capish?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You lost about fifty per cent of your team, ditto for Daw, but about seventy-five per cent of my people made it through. We’ll attack the dome. You hold the LZ and have the coffee ready when we get back.”
I looked, saw he was serious, and shook my head. “Sorry, Major. No damned way. We’re coming with you.”
Wamba looked me in the eye. “Captain, am I to understand that you’re refusing a direct order?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. You sure as hell are, sir.”
Wamba grinned. “That’s what I thought. You’re a dumb shit, Maxon, but a brave dumb shit, and what more can the share owners ask? Come on. The dome awaits.”
There was a reason why the major was a major and not a captain like me. He had smarts, lots of smarts, and knew how to use them. He had analyzed the defensive fire, identified three sectors where it was relatively light, and picked the one that was inside the tool-head perimeter.
Yeah, that meant we had enemy troops on three sides, and T-12’s main dome on the other, but it also meant that about a third of the strikers couldn’t fire without hitting the dome-a dome built to withstand normal wear and tear, but not the rigors of combat.
So, while they spent time trying to readjust their lines of fire, we leapfrogged towards the dome. It was a standard tactic drilled into us from our first days in the crotch. The evolution begins with the formation of dispersed square-dispersed to lessen the casualties caused by modern weapons, and square because squared-off corners place attackers in a crossfire. During large unit actions, such a square might be spread out over five or ten square miles and would have been impossible were it not for the battle sims that allowed each trooper to monitor his or her position relative to everyone else’s.
Then, while the even-numbered troopers provided covering fire, the odd-numbered troopers executed a two-mile jump. Once on the ground, it was their turn to provide covering fire, and so forth, until the entire unit had reached its objective. So that’s how we leapfrogged our way to the dome. Yeah, we lost four troopers, all caught at or near the apex of their jumps, but most of them made it.
The domies did what they could, and sent volunteers out to stop us, but they were like sheep to the slaughter. We went through them like a knife through warm butter, forced the lock, and made our way inside. And that’s when things went black, when the memories disappeared, when the door slammed shut. The nothingness was so sudden, so complete, that it seemed as if I had died in the dome, except that Wamba continued to talk. But what about the darkness? Then I realized that my eyes were closed. I opened them. Light flooded in. I blinked. Wamba smiled and nodded sympathetically.
“You remembered, didn’t you? But the memory ended at the lock. And that makes sense, because that’s where the tool heads cleaned our clocks.”
Machinery whirred, and Wamba shook his head. “It was my fault. I assumed we had neutralized the majority of their forces. That the worst we’d encounter were some poorly trained nerds. What I didn’t know was that a team of commandos had been sent to stiffen T- 12” security and help the tech types evacuate. The only reason they were inside rather than outside was the shortage of battle suits. So they waited until all of us were inside, secured the lock, and let us have it. You charged them, and killed some too, before a man in an exoskeleton pulled you down.”
Wamba shrugged philosophically. “I got mine about thirty seconds later. You can see what it did to me.”
Thoughts burbled through my mind like coffee in an old-fashioned percolator. I felt my hand touch the top of my head and couldn’t remember telling it to do so. The metal felt cold. “So, I was hit in the head?”
Wamba frowned. “No, that’s the weird part. The guy in the exoskeleton peeled you like an orange. I was kinda busy at the time, but it seems to me that you eeled your way out of the battle suit, stood up, and took a slug in the chest. The skull plate doesn’t make sense.”
I opened my shirt and looked down at the patch of scar tissue on the right side of my chest. It was the size of an antique quarter, slightly puckered, and rougher than the surrounding skin. I had spent hours staring at it. wondering what had happened to me, but blocked by the darkness that still obliterated my memories.
I looked at Sasha and had one of those sudden flashes of intuition that come from time to time. None of this was new to her. She had known from the start. I didn’t know how I knew it, or why I knew it, but I did. I could see it in her carefully neutral expression, feel it in the way she looked at me, and hear it in her voice. It was as if she already knew what had happened but wondered about the details. Her voice was filled with wonder. “But how? How could he survive?”
A robot scampered into Wamba’s lap. He stroked it like the cat it resembled. “He survived the same way I did. The tool heads were assholes, but there were compassionate assholes, and had some damned good doctors. I spent the next three years in their hospitals and always assumed Maxon had as well.”
Three years? Had I been in their hands that long? The information had been available to me all along, buried in the records I couldn’t read, and obscured by the darkness that shrouded my thoughts. And what about the metal plate? Where had it come from? And who was responsible? My thoughts whirled and emptiness filled my stomach. All my assumptions, all my beliefs about who and what I was had been torn apart. I wanted answers, and Sasha was the logical place to start. But I had questioned her to no avail. No, it would take time and patience, but it was a long way to Europa Station, and my opportunity would come. I broke the growing silence. “Thanks, Major. You opened some important doors for me.”
Wamba smiled and I realized what a handsome man he had been. “You’re welcome, and it’s ‘Colonel.’ A silly distinction unless you earned it the way I did.” He gestured to his surroundings. “That and my kingdom are all I have left.”
I nodded and glanced at Sasha. She used her one remaining eye to gesture towards the entryway. I took the hint. “Well, thanks again. We’ve got a long way to go, so…”