Implacable: Vicky Peterwald, #5 Page 11

  Vicky imagined that the Marines drew straws to see who got to cross the street first. Or maybe the sergeants sent forward someone who had pissed them off. However it was, several Marines scurried across the street to the last set of buildings before they hit the inner ten.

  At the sound of men running, the gunners popped up and fired through the balustrade that lined the roofs of these buildings. As expected, they sprayed the street below as if they had a water hose. The sharp staccato of machine pistols filled the air.

  The Marine snipers across the way from these punks kept their heads down. Only the tip of their long rifles projected through the balustrade that hid them.

  Vicky could hear the sharp bark of the snipers as they fired single shots. The chatter of the machine pistols slowed, then died with the last of their gunmen.

  The Marines collected on both sides of the main entrance while small fire teams stood ready at the side doors. A combat engineer used a long extender to hold a satchel charge against the middle of the glass door. Fire from inside did nothing but make holes in the glass.

  A moment later, the explosion sent all that glass into the building's vestibule. They were followed up with grenades. After a short three count, a sergeant ordered his Marines inside.

  They were met with no resistance.

  Vicky joined a full platoon as they trotted into the building that was part shops, part offices, and part apartments. A dozen bodies in red pants and stolen finery lay in pieces around the foyer. Even the two who had tried hiding behind the security desk had been hit by flying glass and grenade fragments.

  They were still alive. Head shots changed that.

  Now the Marines went from room to room. Because of the high likelihood that there would be hostages, they could not toss a grenade in first. Each door had to be carefully opened.

  If they caught a burst of fire from inside, Marines offered the gunner a chance to surrender. If there were screams or whimpers from women, the grenades went back onto the web gear.

  The next move was the Marines. Scopes to look around corners had been liberally distributed. Once the fire team leader knew the situation, they'd chose their option: a roll along the floor and a shot up, or a quick roll and shoot from a door jam.

  Whichever was chosen, a gunman died a moment later. Most of the time that left a naked women who was more than likely in a severe state of shock. Still, not a few of them turned upon their rapist, kicking and pounding on the dead or dying body.

  Unequipped for psychiatric care, the battle-hardened Marines moved on to the next door, leaving the women to follow on care.

  Occasionally the gunman would change up the situation. Some went berserk and dashed out into the hall to spray bullets at the Marines. They died quickly as the sharpshooters assigned to cover the front shot them down with one or two well-aimed rounds.

  Others tried playing the hostage card, demanding a car or safe conduct off the planet. Many were already rattled and had no idea how they could escape their situation. Again, two or three sharpshooters would have them in their sights. As soon as one got a shot, the gunman would get a round between the eyes.

  That was usually all it took to free that hostage.

  A few redcoats tried that in pairs or trios. That took more coordination, but the comm units each Marine had in his helmet allowed the sergeant to make a call. The shots sounded in unison as the two or three redcoats fell as one.

  Help began to get in gear. Now, as soon as the redcoats were dead, a corpsmen, a civilian medic and a local woman who'd volunteered to stay with the hostage through the night, moved in. The hand-off from Marines to caregivers took place faster and faster.

  The medics and the women with them didn't have to see the condition of too many of the hostages before they pushed forward at their own risk to be there as soon as heavenly possible to check the former hostage.

  While the medical professionals gave each woman a quick physical, the local women provided warm blankets and hot tea for their freed neighbors, as well as soft words as they helped them from the buildings and onto buses.

  The buses began a regular route, driving women out, then returning empty for another load of beaten and brutalized women. Some paused to thank their liberators. A few asked if they could have a rifle and join them.

  It pained Vicky, but she had to refuse the help. These women had been pushed, shoved, and raped well past the breaking point. While they deserved to be avenged, there was no telling what might happen if they had a weapon in their hands.

  * * *

  It was strange, Vicky reflected. None of the redcoats offered to come out with their hands up. They seemed to all know that they'd burned too many bridges to be allowed back into civilization.

  One by one, the outer ring of eighteen buildings, five or six stories high, reported in as cleared. Vicky's battle board kept tally, or maybe it was Maggie. The toll of dead redcoats settled at just over eleven hundred.

  The number of hostages killed in the crossfire was twenty-two. The number of wounded held steady at below one hundred. Sadly, there was no way to tally the mental wounds these women would carry for the rest of their lives.

  Once the outer row of buildings were cleared, the Marines paused for fifteen minutes to take a breather and to reorganize themselves. Each of the eighteen combined-use buildings had been taken by a platoon, with one company in reserve.

  General Pemberton found Vicky and advised her of his plan for the next phase of the clearing action.

  "We've got four buildings on each side of the park block streets. Two of the special use buildings with two combined-use and luxury apartment buildings on either end. Drones identify them as more occupied than the government buildings. Once we clear these, we go for Government House and the hotel. My guess is the hotel will be the hardest nut to crack."

  Vicky nodded agreement.

  "I'm going to pull the Marine and Navy blocking force in closer. They've been taking out the odd runner, say fifty of them. Just like us, they're getting no one surrendering. I'm going to hit the buildings along the park street and hold off on the last two buildings until we can concentrate on them alone."

  "I agree," Vicky said. "With any luck, we'll squeeze some of the less hard cases out of those two and send them running into our blocking forces."

  "That was what I was thinking," General Pemberton said.

  "What about explosives?" Vicky asked.

  "Most of the mining on this planet uses nanos. However, I'm told that these redcoats never felt any urge to go up in the hills. The miners let them know that if they tried, they'd bring the mountains down on them. So, no mining explosives. The farmers are out of the ammonia and hydrocarbon business. There are no stocks to make explosives. The poor planet folk couldn't defend themselves at all. Anyway, the redcoats can't do mass slaughter on this planet.

  "So, we take them down, one shot at a time."

  "It looks that way."

  "Do we know where their command center is?" Vicky asked.

  "They don't exactly have a command center, per se. The Imperial suite and penthouse take up most of the top floor of the Imperial Bismarck. That's where the head honchos hang out. That's where they keep their harems. We'll have to fight our way up the hotel to them."

  "I sure wish we had helicopters to drop teams on the roofs and work their way down."

  "I'll put that on my list of things to include for the assault on Lublin. It's bigger. I doubt they'll give up without a fight. They have to know after what they've done, there's no future for them."

  Vicky scowled. "Which makes them fight like cornered rats. I thought we always tried to keep an exit open to encourage the guys shooting at us to bug out."

  "Yeah," General Pemberton said, "but I doubt if the leaders of these goons expect they can run. There's no place for them to hide. After what they've done here, all of human space is too hot for them."

  "Yeah," was all Vicky could say.

  "Is there any chance I can get you to stay with
my command group?" the general asked.

  "I'd rather stay with the platoon I've been with," Vicky said.

  "You know the hoods in this next building will be even more desperate."

  "I expect so."

  "God, woman, I wish I could haul you off and lock you up."

  Vicky chuckled. "No doubt you do, but I know you won't. I'm the boss," she said, then thought over what she'd said. "And several billion people boss me."

  "Well, I’m people too, and I would sure like to boss you a bit."

  "Sorry, General, but I've got to go where I send people to die."

  "We sure could use a handbook on how to handle a Grand Duchess, as well as how one is supposed to behave," the General grumped.

  "No doubt you'll write one for me in your spare time."

  The General made a face. "As if I ever have any spare time."

  "And I’m sure you wouldn't waste it on such a handbook. I'd only ignore it, anyway."

  That got a sardonic chuckle from the general. "You'll excuse me if I wonder out loud how our new Empire will look with a woman setting it up."

  "Yes, I imagine you and a lot of the old guard are wondering."

  "The old guard is who we're killing, Your Grace. Anyone who follows you has to be a charter member of the new guard."

  Now it was Vicky's turn to chuckle. "I stand corrected, my general of the new guard."

  "Okay. If you'll excuse me, I have an assault to arrange and order," he said and strode away from her, already talking on his commlink. Vicky located the company commander who just happened to be accompanying her platoon.

  "You ready to go, Your Grace?" the skipper said.

  "When you are."

  "Just stay behind me, please," he said. "I really don't want to have to tell your husband you died on my watch."

  Vicky had an obscene recollection of what men had done to her while behind her. She stashed that away and remembered Mannie. She owed him a lot for all that she was putting him through. Leaving him in the rear to bite his nails while she danced around the sharp tip of the spear.

  He was where women usually were, doing what they usually did. Worrying. No doubt in her future Empire, women would follow her out to the pointy end and more men would get stuck worrying.

  Vicky shook her head. So many changes she'd never thought of when she started down this path. Then, she'd just been trying to stay alive from minute to minute. She never would have thought she'd end up here.

  "Move out in five," the platoon LT announced to his troops. "Check your gear. Replace your magazines. The next batch of bastards are likely to be worse than the ones we just popped, so let's be careful and kill the bastards."

  "Ooorah!" came back at him, confident and with full intent.

  22

  Vicky chose to join the attack on one of the luxury apartment buildings, the one across the street from the Imperial Hotel. She suspected it had more people in it than, say, the bank.

  She was right.

  However, having more people in a building without power or water created problems. Like what to do with raw sewage. The entire first floor stank. Apparently, it was being used as a latrine.

  Sickeningly, a young woman was found splayed out in chains in all the filth. Vicky was with the team that found the woman.

  The naked woman stared at them blankly even as the combat engineer used huge clippers to cut through the chains that held her down.

  Vicky helped the girl stand up; she was covered with excrement. A corpsman provided a thermal blanket, and Vicky wrapped her in it.

  "What were they doing to you?" the Grand Duchess asked.

  "Breaking me," the woman muttered, then drank greedily from a canteen offered her. "One of them claimed I teethed his root when it was halfway down my throat and I was choking to death. I wish I'd bit it off. Killing me would have been better than this. They were using me to piss on. Or worse. Where can I get a bath?"

  "Water's not running," Vicky said. "I'll have some Navy take you to the nearest beach."

  "Just take me to a pier. Let me dive off and drown myself."

  Both Vicky and the corpsman blanched.

  "Ma'am," the medic said, "we have some nurses at an aid station we're setting up. Maybe one of them could drive her to that beach."

  "Be sure they have a guard detail," Vicky said. "As much as we're aiming to collect all these bastards, there are bound to be a few that slip through our net."

  The corpsman helped the woman to the rear.

  Vicky eyed the overhead where those bastards were. She could hear gunfire. She drew her side arm. Keeping it aimed high, she strode purposefully for the second floor.

  In the stairwell, she encountered a redcoat who was missing his pants. He held a machine pistol at the head of a woman who was missing all her clothes. She was crying softly as he dragged her down the stairs, trying to sneak out while all the strike force was concentrated on the second floor.

  He came to a halt when he spotted Vicky.

  "Get out of my way or I'll kill her,” he demanded.

  "Okay, okay," Vicky said. She slipped through the door out to the second floor. There, she listened as the terrified fool dragged his shield with him as he hastened down the stairs.

  Vicky gave a short two count, then opened the door and stepped into the stairwell. The SOB’s head was just where she wanted it. A bullet in the back of it put an end to one man's lawless rampage.

  "Corpsmen!" Vicky shouted.

  Quickly, one was at her elbow, a blanket in hand.

  The woman had collapsed into herself. She squatted on a stair, curled into a shivering ball. Vicky knelt beside her, then gently wrapped the woman in the blanket. She was sobbing, but softly, as if afraid to make too much noise.

  The corpsman handed the woman off to two Sailors.

  "Come with us," one young Sailor said. "We've got some women waiting for you."

  The other Sailor offered her a cup of steaming tea from a thermos he carried.

  Holding the cup of tea in both hands, and occasionally taking a sip, the woman shuffled off slowly with them.

  With her weapon at the ready, Vicky made her way along the hallway. Here and there a dead gunman's blood drained out onto the carpet. Behind Vicky came more unarmed Sailors with blankets and hot tea to help the women huddled on the floor beside the bodies.

  Vicky found the captain directing the operations.

  "You need to put a man on the stairwell," she told him, then added what she'd done.

  "We had a man there. Sergeant," he shouted, "who was supposed to stand guard on the stairwell?"

  "Caspoz, Skipper, but he got dragged into a hostage situation."

  "Well, get him back in the stairwell. We’ve got shitheads trying to slip out behind us."

  "Aye, aye, Sir. Caspoz!" the sergeant shouted.

  "Yes, Sergeant."

  "Get back on guard duty. The damn Grand Duchess had to cover for you."

  A Marine private hurried past Vicky, his rifle at the ready.

  Vicky chuckled to herself. So, she'd been promoted to "damn Grand Duchess." Well, with Marines, damn was likely more honorable than gracious.

  Cautiously, she moved from door to door. Some rooms were empty. More of them than a dead gunman sprawled behind a couch or overturned table. In several rooms, the women hostages were huddled in front of the tables or couches, broken and weeping. Some sobbed as if their hearts would never recover.

  Vicky's anger flashed white hot. Her gaze grew more grim. This could not be happening in her Empire.

  Of course, this was her father's half of the Empire. "God, he should be here to see the mess he made and what it’s cost these people," she growled.

  "You say something, Your Grace?" the company skipper said. He was following behind her.

  "Just making a mental note to myself," Vicky answered.

  She caught up with the action just as a dozen shots rang out from a room. Cautiously, Vicky ducked her head around the door.

  Here
, three gunmen lay dead, sprawled behind a makeshift barricade. Four women had collapsed on the floor. Didn't these bastards let any of their hostages keep a scrap of clothing?

  Then Vicky spotted blood on one hostage.

  "Corpsman!" a Marine shouted. In the hall, others took up the shout.

  Vicky entered the room to discover that the call wasn't just for the woman. One of the Marines was down.

  Through gritted teeth, he growled, "Who skipped that bastard? We go right to left. Right?"

  "There were five of us, and only four of them," the guy holding a compress to the sergeant's shoulder said. "I think that confused us."

  "Skipper, we got to make sure everyone knows who to shoot."

  "You bad hurt, Sarge?"

  "Not as bad as those bastards," the sergeant said, nodding to the bleeding bodies. "They never learn."

  "Hard for them to learn anything, them being too dead to pass along their mistakes to their buddies," the captain said.

  At that moment, a body hurtled by the window, headed for the ground. Vicky thought it looked naked and male. Were there male hostages?

  "Maggie, is there anything on the net about naked men?"

  "A guy was raving on the roof waving a gun and threatening to kill everyone. A Marine sniper took him down."

  "It takes all kinds, don't it, ma'am?" the wounded sergeant said.

  A corpsman and other Navy personnel arrived. This detail had two civilian women with it. They went straight to the naked former hostages while the corpsman joined the Marines around their sergeant.

  A shout of, "Skipper, you need to see what's on the next floor!" came from the hall.

  23

  Vicky followed the company commander back into the central hallway. They quickly strode toward the stairwell. Beside Vicky, broken doors showed empty rooms or rooms with the dead or dying inside. It sometimes took a while for a man to die even when he was already dead.