41
The XM-554 barely kicked as the laser sent the warhead downrange. Several seconds later, the target, an old transport trailer, exploded in a satisfying shower of sparks.
“Righteous,” Rev muttered.
“Hey, you Recon pukes better leave some targets for us!”
Rev didn’t turn around but raised his right hand, middle finger extended. By pure scheduling happenstance, Yancey’s Charlie Company was next, and his old friend had been giving him shit.
Not that Rev cared . . . much. This was just too much fun.
“Some shit, huh?” Tomiko asked from the next firing position.
“I wish we had these at Roher.”
Hus-Man fired his weapon, destroying the last target. All that was left were scattered bits and pieces, many still smoking.
“Cease fire, cease fire on the firing line,” the range NCOIC passed over the loudspeaker. “All shooters, place your launchers on the mat and move back from your firing positions.
Rev didn’t want to give up the experimental weapon, but he regretfully placed it on the mat, then stood up. Nineteen Marines and one Navy corpsman turned away from the range, smiles plastered on every face. Making little tiny pieces with big booms was a favorite pastime of anyone in uniform.
Kyocera-Linstrum techs rushed forward to reclaim the weapons and load them for the next group of Marines. The Marines could fire them, but evidently they weren’t trusted with loading the warheads into the launchers.
“Let’s do it again,” Hus-Man said as he came alongside Rev.
“Got to let the mudeaters get their turn to play,” Rev answered, pointing to the eager infantry Marines waiting their turn.
“It’s gonna be a while,” Tomiko said, looking back over her shoulder and downrange where new hulks were being dragged out as targets.
“How was it,” Yancey asked as the three passed the bleachers, his eyes alight with excitement.
“You saw it,” Tomiko said. “I’d hate to be on the receiving end of one of these babies.”
“You guys going to be at the club?” Yancey asked.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Rev asked, putting his arms around the shoulders of his two fellow lance corporals.
The three of them had become tight after their jail time. Sergeant Nix, too, to an extent, but he was an NCO, and that made a difference. What they knew, and could not tell anyone, created a powerful bond. Rev was glad he had them both. They’d signed more documents than they could count binding them to secrecy, and it was a hell of a lot easier to keep to that with mutual support.
They’d all been grilled, of course, once they returned to Nguyen, but the OD folks had manufactured a detailed reason they were two months late, a somewhat convoluted tale of missed connections, wrong destinations, and awaiting transport. With how logistics could be, it wasn’t probable but within the realm of possibilities.
The others seemed to buy it, giving them crap for an extended vacation, saying it shouldn’t count for the EOE. All except Bundy. He never said anything, but Rev thought he was suspicious.
With this group of twenty, the cattle car was filled, and they started back to mainside. The compartment was full of chatter of happy Marines.
“So, it can sure kill a truck. But is it going to work against a Centaur?” Tomiko asked as they bounced down the dirt track.
“They say it will,” Hussein said.
“And you always believe them?”
“I’m kinda thinking it will work. No real electronics to jam,” Rev said.
“Except for the laser.”
“But we can be remote. What did they say? Forty klicks or more with that sight. And it’s shielded.”
“You are so trusting.” Tomiko sniffed.
Rev wasn’t sure why she was being so cynical. He thought the experimental weapon was brilliant. The mechanical warhead couldn’t be taken out with an EMP or jamming. The propulsion was steam, for God’s sake. Not steam like an old-time locomotive, but steam nonetheless. The laser impacting in the bell boiled away the liquid in the chamber, which exited through vents and gave it both propulsion and a degree of course correction. Crystals detected changes in the laser’s focus and vibrated in some convoluted way beyond Rev’s understanding to shift the direction of the warhead.
These were the same type of crystals that his dad made, the ones in a hundred different military applications. When they received their briefing on the weapons, he wondered if they might have been made in his dad’s factory, the one where he was supposed to be working now, if things had gone differently.
In a way, the new weapon was primitive and convoluted, lacking the high-tech electronics of most modern weapons, but as the master sergeant in charge of the range had said, a spear can kill you just as dead as a beamer.
“What do you think?” he asked his AI.
<The technology is sound. That presupposes, however, that the Centaurs don’t come up with a countermeasure.>
“Well, what are the probabilities that they would?”
<We don’t have enough data on that to make a meaningful calculation.>
Despite the wishy-washy answer, Rev was glad that his AI had been reactivated. He didn’t know if the OD had inserted some little spy program first, and that had kept him somewhat distant, but the thing was too useful to ignore. If they were spying on him, then screw them. He couldn’t do anything about it.
“Trusting? Hell. We can just ask Hus-man here after the next fight if it works. That is if he doesn’t get his ass shot off,” Rev said.
“Eighty-one days and a wake-up,” Tomiko said, high-fiving Rev.
“Convicts,” Hussein said.
“Hey, you didn’t have to re-up,” Rev said.
“The war’s still going on.”
The three had gone over this ad infinitum while guests of the OD. Hussein had tried to convince the other two that they should re-enlist. Sergeant Nix and the lieutenant had, too. Whatever award would be approved for the both of them would pave their way forward, even to getting commissioned.
Rev wasn’t totally against the idea. Being a Marine had some good points . . . if you just forgot about the chances of getting killed. But he’d planned from the beginning on getting out and hoping his spot with the guild was still open. It was just the way it was going to be, and he didn’t see a reason to change that. Tomiko was in the same vein.
Rev gave Hussein max respect, but he’d served his time, and it was going to be on to the next chapter in his life.
* * *
“Your pitcher,” Ten said, pushing the empty across the table to him.
Rev wasn’t so sure about that, but he picked it up and took it to the dispenser, dialing up a Hausner Ale. He was feeling in a generous mood, so he didn’t mind going premium—not that he thought his friends would notice.
Screw them. They’d better notice!
“Hey, all you negats. Drain those cups. I’m not mixing Hausner with that swill Yancey got us.”
“Hausner? What, you just got promoted to Corporal?” Bundy asked to the laughs of the others.
“No, we all know you’re going to be first to make NCO. Now, drain them!”
All of them tilted their cups back and slammed them on the table when empty. Rev made a show of refilling each one with a “I hope you enjoy your ale, ma’am,” or as “It’s my pleasure to serve you, sir.”
“I don’t care what everyone else says,” Fyr said after Rev filled his cup. “You’re OK in my book.”
He only managed to fill his own cup halfway before the pitcher went dry.
“Give me that,” Bundy said, reaching for the pitcher. “And I guess you’re forcing me to go premium, too.”
“Up to you.”
“Yeah, and if I don’t, I’m a cheapskate.”
Rev tilted his head back and drained his cup. “OK. Now I’m ready.” His smile was wide and genuine. He was going to miss this. Not the routine. Not the fighting, for sure. But the camaraderie. He was going to miss them all as they scattered to the wind.
It was amazing that they’d all survived. It had been a miracle that they’d all made it through Preacher Rolls when so many hadn’t, but then add on Roher-14. Rev didn’t know what the odds were, and he was a little tipsy to ask his AI, but he knew they were very fortunate to be going home.
Not everyone. Bundy, to no one’s surprise, had already put in his package. And Rev had a sneaky suspicion that Yancey, despite his protestations to the contrary, was going to re-enlist, too.
But they were in the home stretch now. Sure, they could be called out in the next eighty-one days, but they were still in the rebuilding phase. Roher might have been a victory, but it had cost the regiment dearly.
“Hey, Orpho, you haven’t told us what you thought of the XM-554, yet,” Yancey said.
“Hey, no shop talk,” Fyr yelled, throwing a crumpled-up napkin at him. “We’re here for drinking.”
“Yeah, I know, but—”
Three more napkins and a cup flew across the table at him, shutting him up.
“Yep, he’s re-enlisting,” Tomiko said, tilting her cup to point at Yancey.
“You ever have second thoughts about that, Miko?” Rev asked.
“Nah. I mean, maybe fleetingly. But I’ve got my gig lined up with my uncle, and as they say, we’ve done our time in hell, right? Why? You thinking about it?”
“No. We’re lucky to have made it this far, and I’ve pushed that luck about as far as I can, I think.”
Tomiko raised her cup for Rev to clink.
“Check out Cricket,” Tomiko said, changing the subject. “He wants Udu so bad I can smell his woody from here.”
The two friends were huddled together at the end of the table, their heads almost touching.
“I think Udu wants it just as bad,” Rev said with a laugh. “I wonder when they’re going to just do it. It’s not like we all don’t know what’s happening even if they don’t.”
Since their return from Roher, the two had been getting closer and closer. It wasn’t surprising. Both had had close calls during the final assault, and people tended to react in different ways. Some people withdrew from their companions, while others seemed to want something closer, as if they realized they needed to live life to its fullest. Udu and Cricket, as unlikely a looking pair as there was, were evidently in the latter group.
What kind am I?
Rev gave Tomiko a sideways glance. He loved her, sure, but like that? And she’d never given any indication that she was romantically interested in anyone, much less him. Then again, neither had he. After Krissy, he just thought it better not to get involved with anyone while still in. He’d be out soon enough, and that would be the time to pursue more romantic—OK, carnal—relationships.
The thought of Krissy hit him hard all of a sudden. Maybe it was his beer-soaked brain. He hadn’t even had any real feelings for her. It had been more of wanting a fling at the time. But she was one of their original crew, the only one to get herself killed. He felt guilty for surviving when she hadn’t. Hell, he felt sick thinking about all of the names and faces, gone forever.
Rev stood up, lifted his cup, and yelled out, “For Krissy. Respect to the fallen!”
“Respect!” the others shouted, raising their cups.