“Max, I’m ready anytime. Those Kel-Morian bastards killed my entire family—and I’ve been waitin’ to get up there with my wife and kids. Only thing is, I was plannin’ on taking a lot more of those sons of bitches with me. A lot more.” He paused. “It’s bad enough to see a soldier cut down by flying shrapnel. But when it’s your daughter, and she bleeds out in your arms, you can’t forget. That’s what I see when I close my eyes, Max… . I see Dara looking up at me with those big brown eyes. ‘Am I going to be okay, Daddy?’ That’s what she asked me, and I said, ‘yes.’ So that’s why I want to live for a while longer. So I can kill as many of those murderers as I can.”
“It ain’t over till it’s over,” Zander replied, in an attempt to cheer the other man up. “So it’s the Kel-Morians who oughtta be worried!”
The two men were silent for several minutes as they struggled with their bonds, trying to loosen them without success. Because of the thick cloud cover, evening had faded into complete darkness, and from under the bright lights of the living room, nothing could be seen outside. Which only added to the feeling of being on display.
“You know,” Ward said, finally interrupting the sustained silence. “It was my fault… .”
“How so?”
“It was about six months ago, back on Tyrador VIII,” Ward replied. “My wife said we should head out into the country, get away from the refinery. But I said, ‘No, the KMs’ll never come here.’ That’s what I said. And then they came! I’m the one who should have died. You understand, Max? I’m the one.”
“Connor, I’m so sorry. It was bad luck, that’s all. But hey, we all make mistakes. I know I have. All you can do is—”
Suddenly, a loud crash was heard, and Hiram Feek fell through the roof.
Moments before Feek fell through the roof, Raynor was lying next to a freshly deceased sentry about a hundred yards away, calculating his next move. Though not as powerful as the .50 caliber weapon Kydd normally carried, the lighter weapon Feek had provided from a surprisingly large stash of so-called test weapons was just as effective, and equipped with a silencer.
Within seconds, Kydd neutralized enough sentries to allow Raynor to close in on the farmhouse and catch a glimpse of the way his friends had been positioned in the brightly lit living room. Once he figured out what the bandits expected him and his friends to do, he called Feek in for his jump.
And it was a thing of beauty! From liftoff to landing the textbook-perfect arc brought Feek and his armor crashing down through the farmhouse’s roof and an upstairs bedroom to land only a few feet from the hostages.
The problem was, his right boot went through a couple of floorboards, leaving Feek in an awkward position. Wood splintered as Feek jerked his foot out, and the rifle made a clattering noise as he shot the lights out. The hostages were safe.
Then, just before the real battle began, there was a brief opportunity for Ward to speak. “Nice of you to drop in, Feek—what the hell took you so long?”
Tychus liked a good fight, especially when there was the prospect of profit and he knew the battle would go his way. As he and Harnack readied their weapons, there was a sudden crash, and the bandits, who had lost control of the hostages, came rushing out of various buildings, firing their weapons wildly.
The two marines weren’t wearing armor, and didn’t need to, as the green blobs appeared on their HUDs and both men opened fire with carefully controlled bursts. Their assault weapons chattered, and blobs stumbled and fell, as Doc slipped into the barn. An M-1 bag was slung over her shoulder, and the pistol she always carried into battle was in her hand.
Cassidy paused in a shadow. That was when Trask turned away from the slaughter taking place out front and cut diagonally across the floor toward the side door. He was holding a needle-gun, and gold jewelry winked as he passed under a dangling glow strip.
Doc brought the pistol up in the approved two-handed grip, took careful aim, and shot Trask in the head. He staggered, tripped, and fell headfirst into the pit.
She heard girlish screams, followed by a sudden commotion down in the hole, and spotted a ladder. Then, having lowered it into place, she was there to help the hollow-eyed prisoners escape from the tank.
“You’re an angel,” the older woman said gratefully, as Doc gave her a hand.
Cassidy smiled. “I’m a lot of things, ma’am,” she said grimly, “but an angel isn’t one of them.”
***
Once all the shooting was over, and the squad had complete control of the farm, they came together in the open space in front of the barn. “Damn,” Harnack said as he looked around. “Are we good, or what?”
“Good for nothing,” Zander said, straight-faced. “It would have been nice if you had arrived a bit earlier.”
“And it would be nice if you would spend your money on booze and hookers,” Tychus put in as he emerged from the barn. “And not necessarily in that order.” Having stripped Trask of his jewelry, he was trying to force a garish-looking ring onto the little finger of his left hand.
“Which raises an important topic,” Kydd interjected. “It seems to me that the people who got rescued should buy the beer.”
“Count on it,” Ward said with a smile. “The first round is on Zander.”
“Good,” Tychus said, “because I happen to know of a bar that would benefit from our business.”
Raynor groaned. “Not Hurley’s …”
Tychus grinned wolfishly. “Of course Hurley’s! We need a refund on those overpriced sandwiches.”
“Gimme some!” Harnack said, as he raised his hand.
The high-fives generated a series of slapping sounds.
Doc was the last person to join in the celebration.
FORT HOWE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II
Four days had passed since the raid on the farmhouse, the squad was back at Fort Howe, and Doc was pissed. She and the rest of the squad had been training hard, and were in the middle of a hard-earned break when a message arrived ordering her to report to the command center. That was definitely not in keeping with the reporting process that she and Vanderspool had agreed on.
So having been told to report to Vanderspool’s office, Cassidy blew through the waiting room and entered in a huff. The door slammed behind her as she stomped across the room. Vanderspool, who had been busy stuffing printouts into a briefcase, looked up in surprise as a very angry medic came forward to lean on his desk. “What the hell are you trying to do?” she demanded. “Get me killed? If Tychus figures out I’ve been ratting him out he’ll squash me like a bug—”
Vanderspool was a desk jockey, but hadn’t always been one, and Doc was surprised by the speed with which his right hand shot out to grab a fistful of shirt. A fancy clock, two vidsnaps, and a brass shell casing filled with writing implements went flying as he dragged her across the surface of the desk until her nose was only inches from his. “You will address me as ‘sir’ … and as for having you killed, that could happen today! Do you scan me, bitch?”
Doc saw the anger in his dark eyes and knew she’d gone too far. That was one of the problems associated with using crab. Any time she had too much or too little of the drug, it affected her judgment. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Vanderspool pushed her away. “That’s better… . I don’t have time to play meet-the-drug-whore in the HTD today… . General Thane wants me to fly to Boro Airbase for a strategy session. But before I go I want a report on Sergeant Findlay and his group of misfits.
“Civilian authorities claim that a man matching his description entered a pub called Hurley’s the day before yesterday, challenged the owner to a fistfight, and nearly killed him. Plus, if what they say is true, other soldiers were present as well … one of whom was described as being a female with short hair and a pretty face. Sound familiar?”