15Km West of Denver, Colorado
Earth
Local Time: February 1st
– 1148 hrs
National Year: 2031 AD
Clouds hung heavy over-head, but the snow had stopped. Alert, but moving
quickly, the six-man squad advanced through the uneven terrain of the snowy
forest floor. Their objective was an abandoned town a few miles east of their
position. Rumor had it that there was food to be found in that town; food the Resistance
desperately needed.
The squad had been sent on this mission with no back-up,
and a minimum combat load: one magazine per man. It was a much-dreaded ‘mule
mission’, where the soldiers were expected to stuff their pockets with as much
food or otherwise useful materials they could carry, and pray that their foray went
unnoticed by the Empire.
The forest was dead silent as the squad made their way. Sergeant Altman
had assumed his favored position towards the center of the formation. To his
front were Private Nuss, and Corporal Sutherland, behind him were Privates Brooker,
O’Keefe, and PFC Connor. Altman had hoped that the heavy tree cover and the
dreary conditions would shelter the squad from attack. It wasn’t until Private
Nuss took a shot through his gut when the Sergeant realized how wrong he was.
“Sniper!” he shouted. The remains of the squad dove for cover, Altman
taking his behind a fallen log. His heart raced as he struggled to recall
Imperial sniper tactics. The quiet reports of Hilean mag weapons meant he would
more likely see the shooter long before he heard the shot. The Sergeant would
have to use visual indicators as to where the shots were coming from. He glanced
at his fallen comrade and determined that Nuss’ blood spatter would do. The
spray had bloomed outward, toward the north, which meant the shooter was in the
south.
“Watch your flanks!” Connor shouted. “They work in threes!”
Hilean sniper strategy did indeed call for a three-man team. One was the
shooter, another was the spotter and radioman, and the last was the
‘displacer’; the man sent to harass the flanks of pinned enemies, and expose
them to the shooter.
“Everybody stay clam.” Altman responded. “We’re in deep forest, so they
have to be close. We can get through this!”
The question, of course, was how. Moments before taking their first
target, the Imperials would have reported engagement, which meant their backup
would be standing by. Whatever the squad would do to survive, they would need
to do it fast. “Sutherland, do you have any road flares?”
“Two.” The radioman responded.
“Toss me one.”
The Corporal did as instructed, taking care not to expose himself to the
sniper in waiting. He was sadly over-cautious, however, as his toss landed well
short of Altman’s position. Altman gave Sutherland an admonishing look for his
poor toss, and steeled himself for the quick burst of speed he’d require to
retrieve the object.
Despite the danger, the risk might have a reward Altman decided. What the
shooter did when Altman went to grab the flare would reveal whether he was a
marksman or an ATSman. A marksman would have zeroed in on the flare,
anticipating an attempt at retrieval; which meant Altman would get shot and
probably killed. If the shooter was relying on an Assisted Targeting System,
Altman would be out and back before the computer could determine a targeting
solution. The Sergeant took a breath, banishing the ‘what-ifs’ from his mind.
He burst from cover, grabbed the flare and turned back; diving back behind
the fallen tree, with nothing worse a face full of snow for his trouble. He
checked himself over. It didn’t feel like he’d been shot, but it was best to
make sure. Satisfied he was intact; his attention turned back to the mission at
hand.
“Sutherland, on the count of three; we’re going to pop these flares and
throw ‘em forward. When we do that, we’re all going to break cover and advance
–don’t wait for the flares to land, just go. Sutherland, Brooker, you’re going
to break left with me. O’Keefe, Connor, you’re going to break right. He can’t
track all of us if he has to sweep the field. He’s gotta be damn close, so keep
hopping cover south until you see him. Watch your flanks though; the
displacer’s out there somewhere. We ready?”
Altman’s squad nodded. “Keep moving, remember to zig-zag. Don’t give him a
chance to lock on. One…two…three!”
Altman and Sutherland popped their flares and threw them downrange. ATS
calculated targets based on heat and motion. While the targeting computer was
smart enough to know that the flares were too hot to be valid targets, Altman
hoped the heat source paired with motion would confuse the computer for perhaps
a half-second.
Whether it did or not became a moot
point for Sutherland as he took a round through the head. Knowing there was
nothing he could do for the Corporal, Altman kept moving forward. He knew he
had only moments before the targeting computer would lock on, so he made for a
standing tree. Brooker took position against another tree to Altman’s right.
The Sergeant tried to spot O’Keefe and Connor, but they had moved too far into
the forest.
The mountain air was taking its toll on Altman’s lungs. He began breathing
deep, slow breaths; trying to get enough oxygen to his brain to decide what to
do next. Impatient, Brooker risked a peek from behind his cover and was
answered by a slug impacting the tree he was hiding behind. The Private jerked
back startled but unharmed.
Altman tried to find some comfort in the knowledge that even a perfect
targeting computer couldn’t compensate for user error. Brooker seemed to enjoy
no such solace as he began blind firing in the general direction of the shot.
Altman was about to admonish him when Brooker’s rifle make a pucker inducing ‘ching’
sound and stopped firing. The Private brought his weapon to his chest and began
yanking on the bolt, attempting to free the jammed round. Grunting with the
effort, Brooker finally brought the bolt back but was horrified to see that it
had lost all of its spring tension.
The weapon now useless, Altman remained the only one in the fire team who
was combat effective. That would not count for much, now that the sniper was
zeroed in on them. What they would need was a distraction.
The universe decided to be merciful as Altman soon heard the crackle of automatic
fire mixed with the faint trademark zip-click
of an Imperial mag rifle. O’Keefe and Connor had evidently engaged the
displacer, which meant the sniper would probably scan in that direction. Altman
readied himself for another sprint southward.
Like the shot of a starting gun, the low boom of a grenade detonation began the Sergeant’s run. He worried
for his men. No one in his squad had been issued grenades for this mission.
Spotting a rise in terrain ahead, Altman slipped behind a nearby boulder
to check it out. Many shrubs were growing on it, the perfect hide for a sniper,
but he couldn’t be certain that was the spot. His eyes strained hard for any
indication of something amiss, but could not see a silhouette, nor the barrel
of a rifle. The Sergeant was almost ready to move on when he spotted something
strange without realizing what it was.
Some of the shrubs had odd, brown leaves; leaves that could not have
possibly come from Earth. Altman fired into the ‘shrubs’ and something within
them flinched. A figure then popped above the concealment, returning fire with
a carbine rifle. Altman returned to cover before the rounds hit. The snow on
the ground where he had once stood was kicked into tiny white jets as the slugs
impacted.
Altman switched his rifle to his left arm and fired around the other side
of the boulder. His shots went wide, but the Imperial carbineer clearly felt
too exposed as he sought cover in the rocks. With a third of his magazine left,
Altman knew he didn’t have time to get into a shootout. He hopped over the
boulder and scrambled the rise. As he reached the peak, he fired automatically
before he had a target. As luck would have it, the carbineer found himself in
Altman’s cone of fire before his weapon clicked empty. But as the first Hilean
fell to the ground, another began to rise from the hide.
The Imperial was wielding a rifle almost as big as he was. This must be the sniper. Altman thought.
Refusing to let the soldier bring his weapon to bear, Altman rushed forward and
grabbed the rifle, forcing the barrel in a safer direction. Rather than fight
over the cumbersome weapon –which would have been useless in this close of
quarters anyway- the Hilean let go of it and reached for his sidearm.
Unbalanced by the sudden transfer of weight, Altman slipped and fell.
Fortunately, the Imperial didn’t seem to be expecting this either as he shot
the air which Altman once stood. From the ground, the Sergeant kicked the
Imperial in the stomach. Though the composite body armor the Hilean wore
rendered the act harmless, the impact alone was still enough to knock him off
his feet. Altman rolled away, hoping to regain his footing, but the Hilean
recovered faster; centering his pistol on the Sergeant.
“Kasi Voy!” a voice said. It took Altman a moment, but he recognized the
phrase from what little Universais he understood. Drop it. He looked up and saw Brooker pointing his AK at the
Imperial. The Hilean just stared back at Brooker with a look of utter contempt.
His pistol was still firmly pointed at the Sergeant, however. It was a
dangerous gambit. Brooker’s AK was busted; he knew that, Altman knew that, but
did the Hilean know that? Altman regarded the rank on the Imperial’s helmet. Two Purple Blades: Squad Leader. The
Sergeant cursed his luck. Not only were they dealing with an Imperial Regular,
but a veteran; he might actually prefer death to surrender. “Kasi Voy!” Brooker repeated, conveying as
much malice as he could. At length, the Imperial dropped his weapon, spreading
his arms wide in their signal of surrender. Altman collected the pistol, fired
a test shot at the ground, then pointed it at the Hilean.
“Brooker, there’s a dead spotter a few feet in back, to your right.”
Taking Altman’s meaning, Brooker exchanged the useless AK for the carbine and
resumed his threat to the prisoner. “You got him?” The Sergeant asked.
“Yeah, I got this fool.” Brooker responded. Altman picked up the sniper
rifle and examined it. He had never gotten to see an ATS up close before. It
was a small monitor to the left of the weapon’s frame. A thumb-stick on the top
of the monitor’s housing controlled the zoom level, the exact magnification was
displayed in Imperial numerals on the bottom-right of the screen. The image on
the monitor was overlaid by a gold crosshair, but rather than the cross pattern
humans might be used to, it was a triangular frame with the point of the
triangle terminating in the dead center of the screen. Altman scanned the
forest with the rifle. As he did so, a distance counter appeared; and the point
of the triangle raised and lowered to compensate for projectile drop. The
Sergeant smiled despite himself, ATS was every bit as decadent as he had heard.
As he continued his search, a red diamond suddenly appeared on the screen.
Altman dropped to a knee, preparing to fire, but caught himself; if something
was appearing red on an enemy weapon, it was probably friendly to him.
“O’Keefe! Connor! You still out there?” Altman called.
“Is that you, Sarge?” O’Keefe replied.
“Yeah, I’ve got Brooker and a prisoner with me. Is Connor alright?”
O’Keefe was silent for a few moments.
“Connor’s been hit! Son of a bitch got him in the leg.”
“Did you kill the displacer?”
“Yeah.”
“How bad is he? Can he walk?”
“Hang on, I’ll check.” Again, O’Keefe was inaudible as he conferred with
Connor.
“He says he can make it.”
“Sweet.” Brooker said. “Let’s air the Roo out and get on, then.” He
brought the Imperial carbine to his eye, preparing to do just that.
“Hang on a second.” Altman replied. “O’Keefe, I need your help up here,
bring Connor with you if you can.”
“Okay, Sarge.”
A few moments later Connor, with his arm draped over O’Keefe’s shoulder,
limped out of the forest. O’Keefe gently sat Connor down at the base of the
rise, then climbed the rocks to the Sergeant’s position. “What’s up Sarge?”
O’Keefe said when he had reached the top. Altman held up a finger, indicating
O’Keefe should wait. He then turned to the Hilean, and patted his chest.
“Koso vo.” Altman said. The Imperial cocked his head, confused. Altman
patted his chest again. “Koso vo.”
Brooker suddenly realized what his Sergeant was trying to say. “Kasi voy!”
he corrected. The Hilean took his meaning, and removed the body armor
protecting his chest.
“O’Keefe, grab that.” While Imperial body armor in its manufactured form
was too small for humans, with care and patience it could be cut into plates
enough to afford marginal core protection for three men. Altman grabbed his
belt. “Kasi voy.” The Hilean began to unbuckle his utility belt.
“Kasi va’in.” the Hilean corrected.
“Shut up!” Brooker replied. The Imperial dropped the belt and O’Keefe
grabbed it automatically.
“Lenko.” Altman said. The Imperial stared at him confused, uncertain why
he was being asked to lie down. “Lenko!” Altman repeated. Reluctantly, the
Hilean did as told, lying face down in the cold ground. The Sergeant used his
foot to roll the Imperial on his back.
“O’Keefe, grab his arms.” After a moment’s hesitation, O’Keefe did as
ordered. “You got him? Good. Brooker, get his legs.” The Imperial’s breathing
became rapid as the militiamen restrained him. Clearly he understood that
something was amiss. He looked at the Sergeant, hoping for some clue as to his
intentions. Altman drew a blade, held the Hilean’s head firm, then plunged the
knife into the Imperial’s eye.
“Jesus!” O’Keefe exclaimed as the Imperial howled in pain. Ignoring him,
Altman turned the Hilean’s head and pierced the other eye. He wiped the blood
and vitreous on the Imperial’s own sleeve then stood.
“Okay, let’s go.” Altman said calmly. “O’Keefe, you carry Connor for a
bit. Let’s police the dead and RTB.”
* * *
“I’m really
going to have to be the one who asks?” O’Keefe inquired, looking at his
squadmates. Brooker shrugged as he stripped Sutherland’s corpse of his equipment.
“Okay, then. What the hell was that about?”
“Economics, O’Keefe.” Altman replied.
“Eco…what?”
“The Roos have to break out two body bags today already; it costs them
nothing for a third. But if they have to deal with wounded, it means they have
to tie up medical resources. They have to ship him to a hospital, use
painkillers to conduct surgery. Then there’s rehab, then they have to ship the
guy home. All of that costs money; way more than stuffing him in a body bag and
burning him when they get around to it. Like I said: economics.”
Brooker chuckled as he finished with Sutherland.
“What keeps K-Jack from just putting their boy out of his misery?” O’Keefe
asked.
“Because he is their boy.” Altman replied, confidently. “The
Hileans have subjugated who-know-how-many worlds. They may be the dominators of
every planet they come across, but they are always the minority. The soldiers
need to know that Empire has got their back even on out of the way worlds like
this one; else the Emperor might have a revolt on his hands.”
“So you’re saying we’d be better off shooting to wound than to kill?” O’Keefe
pressed.
“I’m saying we’re better off hitting the Empire where it hurts the most.”
Altman said.
“That’s cold.” O’Keefe concluded.
“That’s why he’s Sergeant Iceman.” Connor replied.
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