marines were dead.
He realized how lucky he had been. Unlike the crew, he had been strapped in tightly when the APC was blasted skyward by what must have been a very close miss, his hands and feet restrained, his head and body cradled by the crash seat. Michael reckoned a glancing blow from a wayward rifle was a small price to pay for surviving the mayhem.
But surviving had left him with a small problem. The crash seat and restraints might have saved him, but he had to get out before help arrived. But how? He twisted his head around to look at Hartspring’s body. Was the man alive? If he was, Michael wanted to be long gone before he woke up. Michael could see no way to get free. He swore long and hard under his breath, his frantic attempts to wrench his arms free only making bruised muscles protest in pain.
He swore some more when the side hatch opened. The sound of cannon fire and explosions flooded in. A head sporting a bloodstained field dressing appeared. “Anyone alive in here?” it shouted over the racket.
It was Corporal Haditha. “Just me, I think,” Michael called up. “Rest are either dead or unconscious.”
“Hold on.” Haditha’s feet replaced his head. The marine lowered himself. He looked around. “Kraa!” he hissed. “What a fucking mess.”
“Can you get me out before this thing goes up?”
“It won’t,” Haditha said. He was already checking for survivors. “I’ve shut everything down.” He paused, turning to Michael. “Besides, why would I help you? What I should do is blow your fucking head off, you piece of Fed crap.”
Hope vanished, replaced not by fear but by anger. “You think this is what I want?” Michael shouted. “It’s not. I just want you fucking Hammers to stop killing each other and to leave the rest of us alone.” His head slumped back. “I don’t care what you do,” he muttered, closing his eyes. And he didn’t. He had given all he could; he had nothing left.
Haditha worked his way over to Michael. “You think I’m just another stupid Hammer, don’t you?”
“Piss off,” Michael muttered. “If you don’t kill me now, that son of a bitch Hartspring will, so what do I care?”
“Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to kill you.”
“So do it.”
Haditha sighed. “No,” he said. “I won’t. You can give me a hand to see who’s alive, and then I don’t give a shit what you do. This fucking war’s over-” They both flinched as a second explosion punched the wrecked APC bodily to one side. “-and there’s the proof. I never thought I’d see the day the NRA would be bombing the shit out of McNair. But today’s the day, and it is. Now shut up and let me get you out of there.”
It was the work of only seconds for Haditha to cut away the restraints. “That’s it,” the marine said. He threw off the safety harness that had kept Michael alive. “Now help me see who’s still breathing. You can start with your friend, the colonel. I’ll take the humans.”
Michael wanted to kiss the man. Instead he grabbed a medical kit off the bulkhead. He pushed past Haditha to where Hartspring lay, moaning softly. For an instant, Michael’s hands were around the man’s throat, but sense prevailed, and he let his hands fall away.
Hartspring’s eyes opened. He peered up at Michael. “Couldn’t do it, then?” he croaked. “You Feds always were piss weak.”
Michael put his mouth to Hartspring’s ear. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “it’s only a postponement. I need you.”
He was wasting his time. The man had slipped back into unconsciousness, so Michael turned his attention to the rest of the survivors, though not before relieving Hartspring of his pistol.
Fifteen minutes later, he and Haditha had done what they could. It wasn’t much. Only one of the marines was conscious; the rest were either dead or so severely wounded that they would be if they did not get medical attention soon. Michael did not fancy their chances. By the sound of it, the NRA had launched a full-scale assault on McNair. The noise was incredible, the hull of the APC shaken repeatedly by near misses, its hull battered by a relentless shower of shrapnel and wayward gun and cannon fire.
“I think we’ve done all we can,” he said to Haditha, “but these guys need help and fast.”
“I know,” the marine said, rubbing his face with a bloody hand. “I’ve radioed for the medics, but Kraa knows when they’ll get here.”
“What now?”
“Up to you.” Haditha waved a hand at the hatch. “It’s not too good out there, so I’m not going anywhere. This is the safest place to be right now.”
“I can go?” Michael asked.
“If you want to. I don’t give a shit.”
“But I do,” a voice said from the front of the APC.
Michael and Haditha swung around to find themselves looking down the barrel of an assault rifle held in the wavering hands of Colonel Hartspring. Michael cursed his own stupidity; he’d assumed that Hartspring was too badly wounded to pose a threat.
“Now, Corporal Haditha,” Hartspring went on, his voice weak, “I will give you an order, and if you do not obey me, I will shoot you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Haditha replied.
“Find some flexicuffs and make sure that little shit can’t go anywhere.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to do this, Corporal,” Michael hissed.
“Shut up,” Haditha snapped, rummaging through the DocSec troopers’ jumpsuits. “Bear with me, Colonel,” he said, moving away from Michael. “I need to get cable ties from the spares-”
Haditha moved so fast that it was all over before Michael even realized what was happening. As if by magic, a stun pistol appeared in his hand, and he shot Hartspring right in the chest. The shock dropped the colonel into a trembling, shaking heap, his face a rictus of pain before his head went back and he passed out. “Fucking piece of DocSec garbage,” Haditha said. He scrambled forward to take the gun from Hartspring’s hand. “I think you’d best go,” he said to Michael.
“I will, but I’m taking Hartspring with me. I need him to get me a meeting with Chief Councillor Polk.”
“Polk?” Haditha’s eyes flared in surprise. “You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not. Now, help me get the dirtbag out of here.”
“I hope he breaks his fucking neck,” Haditha muttered as they manhandled Hartspring’s limp and unresponsive body up to the hatch and pushed him out.
“He’ll live,” Michael said, grabbing a rifle and a pistol before scavenging everything else he might need and jamming it all into a pack. “People like that always do. Right, I’m off. I’ll see you.”
“I hope not. You’re too dangerous to be around.”
Michael grinned. “True. Look after yourself, Corporal Haditha.”
Ignoring the inevitable complaints from his badly abused body, he climbed out of the hatch and dropped down to land beside Hartspring’s unconscious form. He looked around. “Holy shit!” he whispered. He was in a scene from hell. The road was littered with the shattered remnants of Hartspring’s convoy. The vehicles had been ripped apart; now their carcasses burned fiercely, sending thick clouds of acrid black smoke boiling skyward. Only one was still recognizable as an ATV. Its snout was buried under the rubble of a collapsed building. Its occupants, shocked and dazed, had taken what cover they could beside the wreck. A marine bent over one of the survivors, lurid green woundfoam on his hands as he struggled to deal with an ugly gore-spattered chest wound. Intent on his work, he ignored Michael.
Spurred on by a wayward bomb that ripped the street apart only a hundred meters away, Michael slung the rifle across his back. Stripping Hartspring of his personal comm, he took the man by the collar. With every last grain of energy he possessed, he dragged the colonel’s dead weight away, then down a side street and into the dubious safety of a half-collapsed office block. The effort was almost too much. Dropping Hartspring, he collapsed. His lungs heaved, and his heart pounded; he could only lie there, oblivious to the battle raging outside.
“This won’t do,” Michael said out loud, forcing himself to sit up. “This won’t do at all.”
Ferreting around inside his pack, he found the medical kit. Inside was what he was looking for: a blister pack of autoject syringes marked in red with the words “CAUTION: EMERGENCY USE ONLY. MORE THAN 1 DOSE PER
