Tombstone (3 page)

“OK, everybody keep grabbing some dirt.  We’re going to
maneuver to the right flank by fire teams, so nobody move a centimeter until
your team leaders order it.”  The lieutenant sounded rock solid, like he was
sitting in base calmly assigning us a duty roster.  I was amazed, and that
voice, so firm, so assured, reached out to me and drew me back from the fear
and despair.  It was like a beacon in the darkness, and I clung to it, forcing
myself to focus, to remember my training, and the responsibility I had to my
fellow Marines.  That was my first lesson in command, the way the lieutenant
held us together that day with nothing more than his voice.  I don’t think I
completely understood it until years later, when I was in his shoes, and there
were troops on the line waiting for my steady voice, needing it as much as I
had that day on Tombstone.

The gully behind the ridge was slightly deeper to the
right.  We’d have enough cover there to deploy and return the fire.  We didn’t
have a lot of time; it was pretty certain the enemy would hit us as soon as
they’d picked off everyone they could with their auto-cannons.  They’d planned
these fields of fire, so knew exactly where they covered.  They’d be able to
advance in the dead zones, forcing us to keep our heads down until they were
almost on us.

The lieutenant’s voice had been a lifeline.  Now that I was
focused again, the training started flowing back.  While I was waiting I
doubled-checked my weapons, just like they told us to do.  It wasn’t more than
a few minutes before Corporal Clark was on the line.

“Alright, fire team A, we’re going to turn 90 degrees and
work our way east behind this outcropping.”  He was definitive and in command,
not quite like the lieutenant, but still solid.  He spoke slowly and clearly so
there was no chance any of us would misunderstand him.  “We’re going to go
slow, and I want you all to pay attention and stay low.  No one gets picked off
on this move.”  He paused for a few seconds.  “That’s an order.”

My first thought was, you don’t have to remind me to stay
low!  But then I considered how easy it is to lose focus for a second…and that
was enough to get you killed.  They pound that into your head in training, over
and over again.  You can be meticulous for hours, days, weeks…but it only takes
one careless second to get yourself scragged.

I made damned sure I stayed low, though it was difficult to
move that way in armor.  It felt like forever, but it was really less than ten
minutes before we reached our new position, which was only about 200 meters
from the original one.  But the rocky spur was higher and thicker here…much
better cover, and big enough that we could go prone behind it and start
returning some of this fire.

Harden and James were already setting up the SAW,
positioning it on a small ledge just below the outcropping.  They’d found a
spot with a small notch in the stone they could shoot through.  Their field of
fire would be somewhat restricted, but anything coming up at us would be right
in their sights for at least part of the time.  The enemy could have come up
through our old position to try and flank us – but they’d also have to go right
through their own field of fire to get there.  So we’d know they were heading
that way if the auto-cannon fire stopped.

I slid over a meter or so to a spot where I had my own break
in the rock wall.  I’d be able to shoot pretty well from there, so I ground my
knee into the loose gravel and braced myself.  I peered through the crack and
looked out.  In front of the rock spur the chopped up, broken ground dropped
off gradually, reaching a low point almost a klick from our position.  The
valley was pockmarked with small craters, about half of them filled with
bubbling acid and other nasty-looking liquids.  The entire landscape was
obscured by slowly moving clouds of greenish gas, which an advancing enemy could
try use to cover an advance.  The gas interfered with our scanners, making it
difficult to either detect or see anything hidden within one of the patchy
clouds.  Of course anyone moving through would have a hard time keeping their
own bearings too.

“Good position, Jax.”  Corporal Clark was double checking
the deployment of the team.  He was a worrier, very dedicated to the wellbeing
of the four troopers he commanded.  He was very relaxed and informal when we
weren’t on duty, and he’d made me feel at home right away.  Oliver Clark wasn’t
a convict or other problem case, like most of the rest of us were; his father
had been a career sergeant, and he was a second generation Marine.  He’d been
raised to love and respect the Corps, unlike the rest of us, who generally
joined opportunistically, usually to avoid prosecution or worse, and developed
loyalty later.  “Stay alert.  You’re backup on the SAW, so if either Harden or
James gets hit I want you to reposition immediately without further orders. 
Understood?”

“Acknowledged.”  We would need that SAW running full out if
the enemy attacked.  The Model 5 auto-cannon is one of the most successful
infantry weapon designs ever put into the field.  It accepts two gauges of ammo
and can fire up 3,600 rounds per minute using the smaller projectiles.  I’d
rated well on the thing during training, but combat conditions were another
thing entirely.  The SAW put out a huge chunk of the team’s firepower; I wasn’t
one to shrink from a challenge, but I was just as happy with it in more
experienced hands.

We actually had a pretty good position to handle whatever
was coming at us.  The enemy had laid a trap for sure, but if I had to make a
guess, someone over there opened up before he was supposed to.  If they’d have
waited for us to clear the rocky spur we’d have been caught in the open and
torn to shreds.  As it was, we were probably outnumbered, but we had decent
cover and a good chance to hold out until reserves got here. 

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before the attack began. 
They hit us with grenades – the Caliphate had a first rate grenade launcher
that considerably outranged ours.  They started hitting all around us.  They
were taking potshots, hoping to make up for inaccuracy with volume.  Still,
they scored some hits, and we had about three or four more down from the
platoon.  Most of the wounds were minor, but on Tombstone, anything that
breached your suit was deadly serious.  Even if the repair system patched the
damage before the planet killed you, the adhesive polymer wasn’t up to handling
combat conditions.  You might keep fighting with a wounded arm, but if you
ripped open the patch on your suit you’d go from WIA to KIA damned quickly.

“Here they come!”  It was Sergeant Lassa, my squad leader. 
It was a few seconds before anything started to show on my scanner, and another
few before I caught sight of enemy troops advancing through the spotty cloud
cover.  I took a breath and leveled my mag rifle.  I had a pretty good shot on
a small cluster of advancing troops, and I started firing short bursts on full
auto.  My first shots fired in combat were way off – I was a good marksman in
training, but you just don’t realize what it’s like shooting at targets that
are firing back at you until you experience it.  It took me a few seconds to
settle down, but once I did my fire got a lot more accurate. 

It was hard to tell what we hit until they started coming
out of the clouds but, when they did, the SAWs ripped into them.  They were
trying to advance along the lowest spots, crouching to maximize their cover,
but they had to cross some open areas, and they suffered heavily.  They’d
expected us to be hit harder by the heavy auto-cannons, but they’d fired too
soon and ruined their ambush.  We had the better cover now, and they had to
come at us the hard way.

I was terrified, so scared I could hardly think.  I wanted
to run, to get away and go somewhere, anywhere that people weren’t shooting at
me.  I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, feel it in my chest.  My hands
were sweaty, my legs weak.  But I stayed focused and kept squeezing off shots,
targeting the enemy troopers as they advanced.  It was hard to tell if I hit
anyone, but it looked like overall we’d taken out at least a dozen.

Our fire blunted their advance, and they stopped and took
cover.  There were cracks and fissures in the rocky ground, and the enemy
troops scattered, occupying any crack that offered some protection.  Our cover
was heavier, but theirs was enough to offer significant protection, and they
outgunned us, which compensated for our stronger position.  The combat had
turned into a protracted firefight, and both sides expended a lot of ordnance
for very little return.

These were the kinds of fights where carelessness gets you
killed.  When the shooting goes on this long with no break you can lose focus. 
A Marine raises his head just a touch too far, trying to get a better shot. 
That’s all it takes to get killed, an instant’s lapse in judgment.

I was getting exhausted, mentally more than physically, and
running low on ammunition.  I was taking single shots now, saving the rounds I
had left in case the enemy tried to assault our position.  The corporal came on
the com and told us to cut our ammo expenditures, but I had beaten him to it.

As a private, I wasn’t on the higher levels of the com line,
so I had no idea what was happening outside my squad.  I knew we were stuck
here – we didn’t have enough strength to assault the enemy, and if we tried to
retire we’d give up the cover of the ridgeline, and the enemy would just move
up and shoot us to pieces.  I figured there were reinforcements heading to
support us, but all I could do was guess.

It’s hard to separate what you thought years ago from your
perceptions after the fact, but looking back, the enemy had the initiative. 
Their trap had failed, at least partially, but they still had numbers for a
while.  It was up to them to force the issue or to withdraw.  We didn’t have
the strength to attack, but we could put up a considerable defense.  They could
probably beat us, wipe us out…but they’d pay heavily. The enemy commander had
to decide if he wanted a major fight here. 

It wasn’t long before I got my answer.  The enemy troops
started withdrawing, pulling back slowly from one piece of cover to the next. 
The auto-cannons kept up their fire, keeping our heads down so we couldn’t
harass the retreating infantry.  But that was unnecessary, because the
lieutenant was on the line a few seconds after they started pulling back. 
“Cease fire.”  His voice was as steady as ever, but I’d swear I could detect
the slightest bit of relief.  Maybe he was human too.  “All units, cease fire. 
Hold positions.”  We didn’t have ammo to waste shooting at retreating enemies,
and if it turned out to be a ruse, the lieutenant wanted us to be armed and
ready to deal with it.

But it wasn’t a ruse.  The enemy didn’t want a big battle
here.  That would come later, and when it did we would know it.

“Welcome back.  Did you have a nice sleep?” 

The voice was deep but friendly, and it was the first thing
that came to me in the darkness.  The light was next, hazy at first then
brighter, clearer.  My head felt like a mag train had run through it.

“Here, drink this.”  I started to get an image of the room,
small, with bare metal walls and a table with two chairs.  I was sprawled out
on a cot, and as I pulled myself up I got the first look at my companion.  He
was tall, dressed in a neatly-pressed gray uniform, and he was holding out a
small metal cup.  “Those stun guns give you quite a headache.”  He smiled
sympathetically.  “This will help.”

I straightened myself out.  I was still sitting, but at
least I was halfway up.  I took the cup and downed it in one gulp.  If these
guys wanted to harm me they’d had plenty of chances.  I felt better almost
immediately; it was like the fog in my head just cleared away.

“Welcome to Camp Puller.”  I was about to say something, but
he beat me to it.  “I’m Captain Sam Jackson.”  He paused and smiled.  “And you
are a very resourceful young man who, among other things, has nothing but a
scar where his implant was.”

I leaned back nervously.  My first thought was, they will
figure out who I am and send me back to the farm.  For that matter, just
removing the implant was highly illegal.  He must have read my mind, because he
laughed softly.  “Don’t worry; we’re really not interested in whatever you’ve
done.  You were stealing from us, and we don’t care.  We’re certainly not
concerned with what you did to anyone else. Or the fact that you removed your
implant.”  After a brief pause:  “We’re not cops.”

I looked up at him, feeling better but still groggy. 
“You’re a Marine?”  I took a good look at him.  I guessed he was about 35,
though I wasn’t sure.  He could have been younger or, with a rejuv treatment or
two, quite a bit older.  His hair was light brown, neatly trimmed, and his face
was pleasant, relaxed.  He certainly didn’t match my expectation of a Marine. 
The Corps had a reputation for producing savage fighters, but this guy looked
like someone who spent his day in front of a workstation.  I laugh when I look
back – now I realize that Captain Jackson could have dropped me in half a
second, despite the fact that he was ten centimeters shorter and at least 20
kilos lighter.

“Yes, I'm a Marine.”  He could tell what I was thinking, and
he smiled again.  “Surprised I’m not three meters tall with weapons growing out
of my arms?”  He reached out and dragged one of the chairs closer to the cot. 
“We have a few things to discuss.  Why don’t we start with your name?”  He sat
with the chair turned around, leaning against the back.

“Jax.  Darius Jax.”  I’d been thinking, I’m not going to
tell this guy anything, but my mouth opened and my name came out.  It’s not
like they couldn’t find out anyway.  I got my implant out, but I couldn’t
change my DNA.  I was in the main database just like anybody else.  Besides, I
had the strangest feeling he was trying to help me.