Hoskins must have been working for them, I thought, angrily. The thought seemed unlikely, but even I could see that we’d driven right into a planned ambush. The enemy, whoever they were, had had the time to set up perfectly and they’d killed…they might have killed the Captain! The thought spurred me to action, despite my terror, and I started to crawl around the remains of the truck. If the Captain was alive, it was my duty to go to him; if he were dead, it was my duty to take care of the bodies. I hadn’t understood some of the muttered comments the Marines had made before now, but I saw now that those on the ground were very different to those who served in space. They didn’t understand us and we didn’t understand them.
The firing seemed to intensify, joined by a CRUMP, CRUMP, CRUMP sound that, moments later, was followed by explosions all around us. It seemed as if we were caught in the midst of a civil war, or perhaps half the city was trying to get at us and hitting their own side in all the confusion. I felt sweat trickling down my back as I crawled forward, stopping only when I saw the small group of soldiers in front of me, firing into the buildings. It saved my life. A handful of grenades tumbled down amongst them and shredded them in the explosions. Blood and gore splattered over me.
Dark shapes burst out of the buildings, firing as they came. A handful fell, a dozen, but the remainder kept running, pressing their advantage. I tried to crawl backwards, but it was too late; one of them had seen me. He pointed his weapon at me, leered down the barrel of his gun, and smiled. I froze. I should have gone for the laser pistol on my belt, but somehow I couldn’t move. He held me hypnotized. I felt a warm trickle running down my leg, a moment before his head exploded as one of the Marines picked him off with a single shot. The Marine was past me in a moment, firing single shots into the group, wiping them all out. A moment later, we were in the clear.
“Stay down,” he hissed, as a new sound rent the air. I could hear the sound of mighty blades tearing through the air. “Stay down…”
The first helicopter swooped down, firing missiles into the buildings on both sides of the road. The others followed, bombarding enemy positions with missiles and gunfire, while thousands of soldiers in heavy armoured vehicles appeared at both ends of the street. The enemy forces faded away and vanished into the surrounding streets. It was over.
“Get into the trucks,” I heard the Captain order. I had never been so glad to hear someone’s voice in all my life, even if I had wet myself from fear. I thought of presenting myself to the Governor like that and had to fight to suppress a giggle. Now the fear was wearing off, I was just happy to be alive. “Move, now!”
The armoured truck was, thankfully, cooler than the outside. The Captain followed us in, with the Master Sergeant bringing up the rear. A moment later, the truck moved off. Apart from a handful of bullets pinging off the armour, the remainder of the trip was uneventful. Judging from the smell, I wasn’t the only one who had wet myself either.
“I want them all started on weapons training tomorrow,” the Captain ordered. It was the first time I’d heard him sounding angry. The Master Sergeant seemed equally angry, although his anger seemed directed at the soldiers on the outside. “If this is going to happen again…”
It didn’t on that trip, but the memory stayed with me for the rest of my life.
Chapter Five
The UN’s position on weapons training and private gun ownership is, as always, presented as something its not. Citing safety fears and concerns over criminal use of weapons, the UN bans ownership of weapons, and places severe limits on those who would be expected to use weapons in the performance of their duties. It is not unknown for a person to spend their entire career in the UNPF and never fire a shot in anger, or even in training. Civilians are simply forbidden to use weapons; somehow, this does not affect criminal activity. The murder rate in Earth’s cities is shockingly high.
The real reason, of course, is simple. A disarmed population, one that has been trained to be scared of weapons, is one that is unable to revolt.
“All right, pay attention,” the Master Sergeant bellowed. He had the kind of voice that seemed to echo through space, even if sound itself couldn’t travel through a vacuum. “This is Basic Weapons Handling for Dummies! When you came into this cabin, you knew nothing about weapons! When you leave, you will know enough to use a weapon in self-defence or as you are directed by senior officers! Anyone who fucks about in this course will be taken outside and soundly beaten. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” we said. Master Sergeant Erwin Herzog was not the type of person anyone would easily defy. He was a short grizzly sparkplug, but we’d all seen him exercising and none of those muscles were the result of cosmetic surgery. I’d also seen him practicing with his fellow Marines and knew just how tough he was. If he called me out, I knew I wouldn’t even be able to land a punch.
“I am a Sergeant,” he snapped. “You will address me as Sergeant! I work for a living. I once tried out for officer status, but I was disadvantaged. My parents were married!”
He glared around at us impartially. “First model, the standard-issue UN Model Seven Laser Pistol,” he announced, picking up the pistol and waving it under our noses. “Fires a beam of laser light capable of burning through flesh and light armour. Powered by a single power cell emplaced in the hilt. Designed by a gay sausage sucker and used only by little girls and girly men. What is wrong with this weapon?”
I winced under his tone. The Model Seven looked like something out of a science-fiction movie, one of the endless videos produced about the UNPF and its services to Peace along the frontier. The weapon looked cool, but in the Master Sergeant’s hand, it began to look almost like a toy. It might well have been a toy in a previous incarnation. One of my former friends at school had actually had a set of contraband toy guns.
“I don’t know, Sir…ah, Sergeant,” Roger said, finally. “It kills people, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it kills,” Herzog agreed, slowly. “It kills an opponent who is not smart enough to wear heavy armour, but it kills. Never underestimate just how stupid an enemy soldier can be. At the same time, never underestimate the scale of your own mistakes, or just how ignorant you actually are.” He glared at Roger. “What is wrong with this weapon?”
He carried on without waiting for Roger to answer. “There are two things wrong with this piece of shit,” he thundered. “The first thing is that it’s fragile. Slam it to the ground and it will break! The second thing is that the power pack” — he opened the hilt of the pistol and removed the small cell from the weapon — “cannot hold a charge more than a week, if that. If you charge this weapon on Monday, you will be unable to fire it on Sunday. That could be unpleasant.”
Sally spoke into the silence. “Sergeant,” she said, carefully, “why can’t the weapon hold a charge that long?”
“Because some penny-pinching asshole in the Department of Supply decided that it would be cheaper to purchase these shitty power packs from one manufacturer than spend additional money on power packs that actually work,” Herzog informed her. “That asshole probably got a promotion for his stroke of genius, but we on the front lines have to pay the price. Those of you who went down to the surface of the world below will know now that we’re at war. The assholes back home do not believe it in their bones. They are quite happy to give us shit like this to save a few billion credits.”