We met up with the first of the mechanized units as it did about thirty miles an hour right out of the trees. We had to stop the first vehicles from getting out into an open field of fire. They came in a column, of course. They really didn’t have any choice, as they weren’t heavy enough to knock down trees and the forest was too thick for them to drive between the trunks.
The vehicle leading the charge was an APC—an armored personnel carrier. I recognized the design immediately, it was a Bradley M2. It had a 25mm autocannon on top, which instantly began ripping fire at us. My men scattered and threw themselves down into the grass. One marine was hit right off, I could tell from the way he flopped and didn’t get back up.
It was the twin TOW missiles mounted on the side of Bradley’s turret that I feared the most. The missiles were designed to take out tanks. Given a shot at close range, they should be able to make quick work of my big laser.
“Everyone, aim high! Take out the cannon and the missiles!”
It was a close thing, but four beams stabbed out, then three more. The missiles never launched. When the crippled, flaming vehicle rolled to a stop, the back ramp fell open and two men squirmed into the grass. I felt a little sick. These APCs were loaded with infantry. I couldn’t do anything about that now, however. We beamed more M2s as they appeared, each time aiming high. Unfortunately, secondary explosions often caused the vehicles to explode. A few survivors managed to get out and crawl away. I ordered my men to let them retreat.
After we’d knocked out six M2s, they couldn’t get through into the open anymore past their own burning hulks. The crews must have figured out they were screwed and stopped coming.
Shortly after that, the missile barrage from the sea stopped, too. I’d lost several good men, but we’d won—for now.
-11-
In the morning, I was awakened by Sandra’s touch. I startled, and grabbed her wrist with automatic, heartless speed.
“Ow!” she complained.
“I’m sorry,” I said, releasing her. “I guess you surprised me.”
She rubbed her wrist and her features smoothed out. “That was a bad idea. At least it’s not broken.”
I gently touched her fingers, and she pouted at first, but let me kiss them lightly. She offered me a can of something. It was stew meat, or something like it. I took it and ate the stuff cold.
“We have fake orange juice or fake coffee to go with that,” she said.
“Give me both,” I said.
I ate and looked out the window of Shed Thirty-Six. This unit had been giving us problems. Something had jammed in the factory’s craw when it tried to digest its previous project for raw materials. I must have fallen asleep trying to fix it.
“We made it to morning, at least,” said Sandra.
“How are the turrets?” I asked.
“We’ve got two operational. The third will come up soon. Major Robinson has been asking for you, but I told him you needed a few hours sleep.”
I looked at her, uncertain if she were a danger to military discipline or a godsend. She was a little of both, I supposed. It certainly wasn’t standard operating procedure to have the commander’s girlfriend chasing off his second-in-command. However, we were anything but a standard military, and she had a point. I had needed rest.
“I’ll go get him while you wake up,” she said.
“I don’t want you wandering around the base. There could still be snipers around.”
“I don’t think they would be gunning for me.”
“Probably not, but stay on station inside Fourteen, okay?”
She put her hands on her hips. “After I opened that can of cat food for you to eat and everything? This is the thanks I get?”
“You don’t make the most obedient of soldiers, Sandra.”
“I hope to hell I never do,” she said and left, swinging her hips.
I smirked after her. I hoped she would never change. The door creaked open a few minutes later. I didn’t look around. I was busy tapping on the same tablet I’d lifted from the operator of Unit Fourteen yesterday. I had to work out the maximum number of ships I could produce from the supplies I had left. I figured three turrets were enough for now to defend the base. We needed mobile forces to push them off the island. An exhibition of force was required to get them to take us seriously again.
“Robinson?” I said, “tell me about the turrets.”
Major Robinson cleared his throat. When he spoke, I heard a little slur to his speech, as if he had had a stroke or something. I supposed his cheek hadn’t completely healed over yet. “We’ve got another problem, sir,” he said.
I turned around and got my biggest surprise of the day. Leaning in over Robinson’s shoulder was a smiling face. I knew that face. It was Admiral Jack Crow.
My mouth sagged open. “Crow?”
“The same, mate!” he said, grinning. His teeth were big, white and square. His blue eyes glowed beside his hawk-nose.
I stared at him for a second, blinking.
“Thought I was out of the picture, did you?” he said, clearly enjoying my shock. “Well, anyone will tell you an old Crow doesn’t die easily. I may be even harder to kill than the famous Kyle Riggs.”
“Colonel,” interrupted Robinson, eyeing us both uneasily. I’m sure he wasn’t quite sure who he was supposed to take orders from at this point. “There’s something I need to show you out here.”
I stepped out into the sunlight, and got a second shock. Men were streaming into camp. Unlike Crow, most of them were armed. They were my marines. Nearly two full companies of them.
“Are these the men Barrera told me he sent?” I asked.
“The same, mate,” said Crow from close behind me. He’d followed us out to gloat. Somehow, having Crow at my back made my skin crawl. I didn’t turn around, though. I didn’t want to look worried.
“Thanks for bringing them in, Crow. You’ve done better than I could have hoped.”
The men all stared at one another and Crow and I. It had to be hard for them. I was the hero, but Crow had always been the superior officer. I’m sure they felt divided loyalties. With such a small, half-broken organization, it was dangerous to have anyone feeling uncertain. I felt, suddenly, like a member of some rebel camp hiding in the jungles of a banana republic. All I needed was a beret and a cigar.
“Perhaps we should talk privately?” suggested Crow, still standing behind me.
I nodded. I tossed my head in the direction of Unit Fourteen. What had once been a shed had transformed into a metallic anthill. The turret on top swiveled in twitches and jerks as the brainbox reacted to stimuli.
I walked to Unit Fourteen. Crow followed me. I never looked at him. I knew that every eye in the camp watched us. I knew that I couldn’t show any fear, or dismay. But I was feeling dismayed all right. Somehow, I’d figured I was in charge of this outfit, or what was left of it, and I had been left with no real rivals for power. It wasn’t that I was power-mad, mind you. It wasn’t even that I disliked Crow all that much. But somehow, other people in any power structure tended to get in my way.
As we reached the base of the shining conical tower, Crow whistled with admiration. “This is your work, isn’t it, Riggs? I’m constantly amazed by the things you manage to come up with. Scared the shit out of the dirtsiders, I bet.”
“It did indeed.”
“Why does this thing keep shivering and moving around?” he asked, pointing up at the projector, which was tracking something. I didn’t know what.
“It might be sensing distant aircraft,” I suggested.
“Or, it might be tracking a flock of storks, right?” asked Crow.