42
Sorry, Mommy. Sorry, Mommy,
So the little bear said.
That’s OK, my little one.
And she kissed him on his head!
Geez, why can I get that out of my mind? Thanks a lot, girls.
“Give me some music. Anything!”
A moment later, “Descent Into Madness” took over. Rev grimaced. Given what he was about to do, that seemed too much like an omen. But Punch probably didn’t mean anything with it. If Rev remembered right, that was the first song Punch had played for him what seemed like decades ago. Before that, Rev didn’t even know his battle buddy could do that.
They’d come a long way together since then. Rev hadn’t trusted Punch in the beginning, refusing to even name him. He was still convinced that Punch was a tool of the psychs who monitored all the Marines and sailors, and since he was issued Pashu, he was even more sure that his thoughts and actions were under increased scrutiny, but he’d come to an easy acceptance of the AI. He was a tool, Rev knew, but a useful tool.
Especially now as Rev waited alone in his pisser. Rev didn’t like them in the least. He wasn’t in control, and in a few minutes, he would be shot onto the Mother and into a combat situation. He didn’t trust the briefers who kept reassuring everyone that the Centaurs wouldn’t shoot down pissers. If they really thought that, then why were they going to flood the sky with thousands of dummy pissers and Mad Dog capsules?
Hussein had said they probably had a twenty-five percent chance to reach the ground. He admitted that he had nothing on which to base that other than the SEALs and the rest getting shot down, and the others had yelled at him for being a pessimist and for tempting fate. Military people were a superstitious lot, and chances of survival was something never mentioned. But with Hussein bringing it out into the open, the seed had been sown.
Thinking in that vein was taking him down the rabbit hole. Once he had his feet on the ground, his warrior would take over, but for now, he was stressing, and “Descent Into Madness” just wasn’t quite thing to be listening to before an insertion.
“Hey, Punch, how come you haven’t told me a joke lately?”
<You haven’t needed one.>
“What? What the hell does that mean?”
<It means what I said. But I can also say you haven’t asked for one.>
Rev tried to think back. His battle buddy used to always ask to tell a joke. When had that dynamic shifted? Was it also after Bluebonnet Meadow?
“OK, then. If I have to ask, then please tell me a joke.”
<Why can’t you hear a Pterodactyl go to the bathroom?>
“I thought you got beyond these kinds of jokes.”
<Do you want something different?>
“No, that’s OK. Why can’t you hear a Pterodactyl go to the bathroom?”
<Because the pee is silent.>
Rev shook his head. “You haven’t gotten any better, you know.”
<I know.>
Rev was going to ask for another, something longer, when a voice came through the pisser’s speakers.
“One minute until launch.”
“Thank you.”
There was a pause, then the nameless voice added, “Our prayers are with you, Sergeant. May the Mother watch over you.”
“Thanks,” Rev said, but the sailor on the other side of the comms had already moved on.
It had been a little thing, but he appreciated it. And it helped him realize that this mission was much bigger than just the team and him. Humanity was watching, and that humbled him. He hoped he’d prove himself worthy.
Rev settled in to wait out the remaining seconds until launch.
Sorry, Mommy. Sorry, Mommy,
So the little bear said.
That’s OK, my little one.
And she kissed him on his head!
* * *
Rev’s feet hit terra firma, and relief warred with pure, unadulterated joy—relief because Hussein had been wrong, and joy because he was on the Mother, the cradle of humanity. He dropped to his knees and kissed the rocky ground as if he was in a poorly written holodrama. He didn’t care. He wasn’t a Gaian, those who worshipped the Mother, but it was impossible for him to be human and not be moved.
He popped free of his foil and stripped out of his flight suit, then folded both up. He was tempted to bring them with him, unwilling to sully the landscape, but their orders had been to stash them. Anything they carried that didn’t advance the mission was to be left behind. Others would clean up if they succeeded in defeating the Centaurs.
When we defeat the tin-asses.
He shook his head to clear it and stood. He couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him. He had to ignore where he was and treat this like any other combat mission.
“Run a system check.”
<Weapons systems green. Power at ninety-eight-point-three percent. Communications to both the command and your team members are down.>
Which was expected. The Centaurs were far more advanced at shutting down comms than humans were, so it would have been a shock if they’d been able to use them. That didn’t mean they were cut off from the rest of humanity. Rev looked up to the sky and resisted waving. While they couldn’t reach out to anyone, he knew that eyes were on them. Everything they did would be observed and recorded.
Rev turned to Montaña Picchu, the peak a klick south of the historic site easily visible with their night vision capabilities. It had been the team’s landmark as they descended. Their DZ was another two klicks beyond that, near the ancient terraces of Intipata, which was their rally point.
Before he could step off, Radić flew to a landing ten meters away from him.
“Imagine meeting you here, Sergeant,” the PFC said with a grin as he stripped off his flight suit.
“Yeah, what a coincidence.”
Rev waited until Radić was ready, and then the two started for the RP. Within a hundred meters, Porter and Tomiko joined them, and four moved into a diamond formation for better security.
There was no evidence that the Centaurs had ever left the immediate confines of the historic site, but if Rev were in their shoes—if they even used shoes, that is—he’d have at least early-warning sensors if not booby traps and other unwelcome devices blanketing the surrounding area. And he wasn’t the only one to think that. Initially, the terraces were supposed to be their DZ, but that had been changed at the last minute with the possibility that they’d be defended.
But the four faced no opposition and reached Intipata first, with the rest of the team arriving within four minutes.
“Glad you made this one, Hus-man,” Tomiko said as they gathered around the master guns.
Hussein gave her the finger. He’d failed to reach the DZ on Preacher Rolls and had subsequently missed the mission, and Tomiko loved to remind him of that at every opportunity.
“Quit your jaw-jacking,” the master guns said. “We’ve got a climb ahead of us, and we need to be in position in three hours. Any last questions?”
There were none. They’d gone over this too many times now, and the Marines were anxious to get it done. In two hours, the fate of the Mother could be determined. Not just here at Machu Picchu, but at the other Centaur positions across the planet.
The team moved out in a very fluid V with Rev in the middle. He still didn’t like the position. He felt he should be on point, but that had been nixed by higher headquarters. They wanted to make sure that Rev and Pashu’s cannon were there for the assault. He was the key in drawing the Centaurs out.
Some of the teams at the other objectives had a new, man-packed version of the braided beam cannon, but given the rough terrain, that hadn’t been feasible for this mission. Here, it was Rev and the rest with the improved Morays and Yellowjackets. Even Ting-a-ling was given Morays.
Of course, despite the weapons techs saying they knew why the Morays on New Hope hadn’t proven effective and that had been fixed, Rev didn’t place much confidence in that. In his mind, he felt he would have to be the executioner, at least for as many as he could before he fell.
Rev glanced back at Ting-a-Ling, who was bringing up the rear right of the formation. He was slightly puffing in the high altitude. The Frisians said they hadn’t augmented their soldiers, even their commandos, which Ting-a-ling was, but not many of the Marines believed that. It was obvious he was having more problems with the low oxygen levels than the Marines were. And this was nothing compared with their mission on Roher-104, where the Frisian had used supplemental O2. But it was because of the team’s success on that mission that they were given this one.
Movement was slow as they skirted Montaña Picchu to the west, making their way just under the ridgeline. The terrain was as tough as Rev had seen. It was pretty obvious why the Incas from so long ago felt safe in their cities. This was a hard country in which to launch an assault.
After 110 minutes, they were southwest of the ruins, just on the backside of the ridge. They spread out in a line, five or ten meters between them. The Centaurs were only three hundred meters away. And if everything was going according to the plan, Second Team would have reached Huayna Picchu, the peak six hundred meters to the north of the ruins, ready to provide supporting fires. Their DZ had been the sandy banks of the Urubamba River, and they should have had an easier hump to their objective.
The master guns slid along the ridge and sat down beside Rev. “Are you ready for this?”
“As ready as I’m ever going to be.”
“Just be sure you take out what you can before . . .”
“Before they nail me?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did, Master Guns. But that’s OK. I know what my job is. But even if I’m supposed to draw them out into the kill zone for all of you, I’ve got a feeling I’m going to do OK. They haven’t met Pashu before,” he said, patting his IBHU.
“Of course, son. If anyone can, it’ll be you. And we’ve got your back.” He started to move away when Rev reached out with Pashu and stopped him.
“But on the small chance that I buy it, I want you to retrieve the sergeant’s chevron you gave me. And give it to Strap when he finally makes sergeant. He’s a good Marine.”
The master guns didn’t try to bullshit Rev about his chances. He just nodded his head and said, “He’s a good choice. I’ll make sure it happens.”
Rev leaned back against the rocks. He felt . . . good. That only slightly surprised him. He’d been stressed out waiting in the pisser, wondering if he was going to make it to the ground. But now that he was here, facing what was probably going to be his last mission, he was at peace with himself. If he was going to die, then he couldn’t have asked for a better location than in the Mother’s embrace.
“How much time?”
<Sixty-three minutes.>
“Good.”
The sky to the east was beginning to show signs of dawn. Rev would have rather done the mission while it was still night. No one knew how well the Centaurs could see in low-light conditions—at least no one had bothered to tell that to the Marines in the field—but he felt more dangerous in the dark. With all the attacks kicking off simultaneously, though, that meant he couldn’t choose the conditions.
The horizon was pink when Tomiko made her way over to sit down next to him.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Probably more so from the ruins. We could see Papa Sun himself.”
“Soon enough.”
From their side of the ridge, all they could see of the sunrise were the mountains to the south. They’d have to climb another ten meters or so to be able to look directly east. But Tomiko was right. In less than an hour, Rev would be going over the ridge and down into the ruins.
And suddenly, he was glad the attack wouldn’t kick off until he could see Papa Sun with his own eyes, as humans had done since the dawn of time.
They sat in silence for ten long minutes. There really wasn’t much to say. They knew each other too well. But finally, Tomiko said, “Listen, Rev. You do what you have to do. Be fierce. Be deadly. Be a Raider. Get them out in the open, and then we’ll take it from there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She suddenly turned into him and pulled him in for a hug, her augmented muscles squeezing hard. Rev gave as much as he got with his right arm but more gently folded Pashu around her. He could feel her hot tears reach his chest.
“So help me, if you try to be a fucking hero, I’ll come on down and kick your ass.”
“I know you will, Miko.”
He gave her one last squeeze before he released her. She held on a few more moments before she let go and moved back to her position.
<Fifty-one minutes,> Punch said before Rev asked.
“Why don’t you pull up that overhead view again?”
An instant later, he was looking down on Machu Picchu from the day before. He zoomed in on the entrance to whatever the Centaurs had made under the ground. It didn’t look like much, but he couldn’t see what was underneath. None of the Navy or civilian scanners could get past the first meter, either. All they knew was that inside were three combat Centaurs and whatever else the others were. It was Rev’s job to make them come out where they would be picked off by the two teams.
If everything went to plan and the Centaurs cooperated.
But what if they didn’t come out? Well, according to Punch, back in the Twentieth Century, in one of the Asian wars, the Viet Cong had massive systems of underground tunnels, and the US Marines—and soldiers, he had to remind himself—went down into the tunnels to smoke out their enemy. They were called tunnel rats. Rev rather liked that. And if he became one of those tunnel rats, he thought his chance of getting out of this alive were much better. If Pashu’s braided energy cannon could disable or even diminish the strength of their self-destructing, Rev might just be able to take them one by one.
Rev studied the entrance to the tunnel and his route coming off the mountainside. He ran scenarios past Punch, letting his battle buddy tear them apart. Where he’d been peacefully watching the sky get light before, now he was getting into full warrior mode. He could feel the moment the adrenaline kicked in, something he was now positive was initiated by Punch. But as always, he didn’t care. He felt alive, ready to close with the enemy.
He was so involved that he was surprised when Punch said, <Five minutes.>
Rev looked past Porter to the master guns and gave him a thumbs-up. The master guns nodded and gave the signal. Slowly, the team started creeping up, stopping just short of the top of the ridge.
Rev could feel his heart pounding through his chest.
“Hey, I know it’s only been a few hours, but how about one last joke, buddy?”
<Why doesn’t a Marine Raider need a parachute to go skydiving?>
“Really? After we just came in by pisser?”
First “Descent Into Madness” and now this? This isn’t a coincidence.
<I repeat, why doesn’t a Marine Raider need a parachute to go skydiving?>
Rev thought about it for a moment, trying to figure out the joke. “Because we’re tough?”
<No.>
“OK, why?”
<Because they only need a parachute to go skydiving twice.>
Rev frowned, then it hit him. He chuckled. Then he had to bury his face into the crook of his arm to muffle the laughter that bubbled out of him. He opened his eyes, tears coming down, to see Corporal Porter ten meters away, looking at him with her eyes wide in concern. He got control of himself and gave her a weak thumbs-up.
“After all this time, Punch, you choose now, when the Mother herself hangs in the balance, to tell a good joke?”
<So, you liked it. Noted.>
“Yes, my friend. I liked it.”
And then it was time to go.
* * *
Rev slipped over the top of the ridge, keeping low. He didn’t want the Centaurs to open up with something longer range. He had to get down on the ground and challenge them like some gunfighter in the days of the old American West. Across the planet, other teams of Marines and Mad Dog soldiers would be kicking off their own assaults.
It was almost too much to hope that all forty-nine attacks would be successful, and Rev chose not to think of the consequences should even one fail. He couldn’t impact any of the other assaults. All he could do was make sure that this mission succeeded.
Below him, Papa Sun lit up the ancient site. It took his breath away, but he wasn’t a tourist. He had to focus. Rev shifted slightly to the right, half-running, half-stumbling down a small depression. There was no sign of Centaurs, which could be good or bad. It was good because Rev could reach the site, but bad because he needed them to react to him.
Rev reached the bottom of the slope and slowed down, Pashu at the ready, and took the green flare from his thigh holster with his right hand. The Centaur’s entrance was 135 meters ahead of him.
“Here we go, buddy,” he muttered aloud. “Get ready.”
He took two steps forward when Punch said, <Right!>
But Rev was already moving, dodging the instant the top of the paladin appeared at the entrance. Like a whale breaching, the Centaur shot up from the tunnel and landed with a thud on the ground. Its pedestal was raised, but the cannon wasn’t yet deployed, and Rev was going to use the few seconds that would take to his advantage. He could cover a lot of ground even in that short amount of time.
Rev pushed forward at an oblique to the paladin, waiting for Punch’s next command, but the Centaur seemed to be having problems with its cannon.
Tough luck for it, good luck for me.
He closed the distance, and Punch never had to tell him to dodge back.
<Seventy meters . . . sixty meters . . . fifty meters,> Punch said in rapid succession.
Rev fired Pashu. This time, there was no glow of the Centaur’s shields as they fought his cannon. The paladin collapsed, its twenty-two legs crumbling. There was no self-destruction detonation, but Rev knew the thing was dead.
One down, two more combat Centaurs to go. That was Rev’s easiest kill to date, but while he was surprised, he sure wasn’t complaining. He stepped to the side so he could see around the paladin hulk to the entrance as he kept one eye on his charge indicator for his cannon.
He risked a glance to the top of Huayna Picchu. He could see Second Team up there, covering him. He fingered the green flare in his right hand. If he popped it—or was taken down—the two teams would open up. And if Rev killed a second, the kill zone would become a free-fire area for the third combat Centaur. After that, the situation was more open as things progressed.
<Here comes another.>
But Rev had seen the next paladin rise like a huge drone. Its cannon was also stowed alongside its pedestal. Rev knew he had a few seconds, and he was already within range . . . but he was also in range of its self-defense belt. Rev was already crabbing, waiting for the green full-charge light.
The second paladin cleared the tunnel and settled beside the first. The thing’s cannon didn’t move, and finally, Rev’s cannon was charged. He fired. The paladin held up for a moment before it collapsed, just like the first. Also, like the first, there was no self-destruction. Two dead paladins were sitting there, like broken tanks from the Battle of Kursk.
Rev didn’t understand what was happening, and he didn’t like that. He should be overjoyed that two of the enemy were down, but it shouldn’t have been that easy.
One case where a cannon malfunctioning was something he could accept. The Centaurs were not perfect, after all. But two? Rev didn’t trust coincidences. He was sure the two paladins hadn’t tried to kill him. But why?
“Are those decoys? Are they even manned?”
<There isn’t any way to tell aside from physically looking aside.>
“What do you think? Am I being set up?” Rev asked as he wheeled about, looking for other signs of the enemy. “It’s too damned convenient that they have only one entrance, right?”
<Horatius Cocles.>
Rev had discussed Horatio at the Bridge often enough with Punch that he didn’t need to be reminded of the Roman hero. But the two paladins hadn’t tried to keep him out, so he thought the reference was misplaced. But if they were supposed to capture Rev’s attention while something else was going on . . .
Rev looked back to Third Team. Master Gunnery Sergeant Tuala was standing at the top of the ridge, loosely holding a Moray. Rev lifted his right hand in a question. The master guns gestured back at the Centaur entrance.
“This isn’t right, Punch.”
Why aren’t they fighting? Are they surrendering? If that’s the case, then why fight their way to Earth just to give up? There has to be something else going on here.
But if there was, Rev couldn’t figure it out. Something told him he needed to know, and if he made a mistake, the consequences could be dire.
But my job is killing tin-asses. How can that be a mistake?
He looked at the two dead paladins. They hadn’t tried to fight. He was sure of that now. But why?
<Here comes another.>
Thank the Mother for Punch. Rev had been worrying so much that he’d lost concentration, and even a tiny lapse would give a Centaur that advantage, beating Rev to the punch . . . except they weren’t even trying. And now, with the area a free-fire zone, both teams could engage.
Without thinking it through, Rev dropped the green flare to the ground and pulled out the red. He smacked the base on his knee and fired it into the air, indicating a cease-fire. He ran forward as the riever floated out of the entrance.
Rev still didn’t know what was happening, but his gut told him he had to find out. If he was wrong? Well, he hadn’t really expected to live out the morning anyway. If he was right, then there could be huge ramifications. Just what kind, he sure didn’t know.
“Pelletier, what the hell are you doing?” the master guns shouted from the ridge.
Rev covered the forty-five meters just as the riever touched down on the dirt, not even the slightest bit of dust rising as the legs flexed to take its weight. An arm’s length away, Rev trembled as he stood there, berating himself for making a huge mistake.
But the riever didn’t move. No pedestal rotating, no self-defense belt detonating. Nothing. Rev was aware of the master guns and others shouting, but he put his full attention on the beast in front of him. It was three-quarters the size of a paladin, but it was still huge, its light-sucking black hull unnatural and disconcerting.
Rev stood there, until as if acting on its own, his right hand reached out and touched it. The hull was surprisingly warm, with a very slight vibration, more of a hum than anything else.
“Please power down your weapon.”
Rev jumped back in surprise, Pashu raised and pointing at the thing. He couldn’t fathom what had just happened or where the voice was coming from.
“Please power down your weapon.”
“Why?” Rev asked, then mentally kicked himself for such an inane question.
“The Three wish to communicate with you. Please power down your weapon.”
Rev lowered Pashu, but he didn’t power her down. He looked back up to the ridge. The master guns was coming down, screaming at him to stop. Tomiko and Hussein were following.
“What are the Three?” Rev asked, not believing he was standing there talking to a Centaur as if it were a normal occurrence.
“The Three wish to communicate with you. Please power down your weapon. They will not communicate while your weapon is powered.”
“What do I do?”
<This is something beyond my programming. The decision is yours.>
Well, I wanted to find out what was happening. I might as go all the way.
He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. It made no sense at all, and it could be the biggest mistake of his life.
“Power Pashu down.”
Pashu became a dead weight hanging from his shoulder.
“Now what?”
Another voice reached up from the tunnel. “Step into the opening.”
Rev couldn’t see down into it, and he had no idea how deep it was. He was just supposed to hop into it? He took three steps forward, leaned over, and looked inside.
“Stop, Pelletier. I’m ordering you to stop!” the master gunnery sergeant shouted, breaking through to him. Rev looked back. The team leader had reached the bottom and was running forward his Moray on his shoulder and ready to use.
“Oh, man. I’m sorry, Master Guns.”
Rev turned just as the master gunnery sergeant fired, and he stepped into the hole.