William Dietz - Heaven's Devils

Ward started to object, started to say that Tychus would be pissed, but the words died in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own children—and the raid that killed them. “Okay, but you hurry … hear me?”

As Ward turned to leave, the toddler bopped Zander on the head with a tiny fist, and giggled.

Some of the Kel-Morians were still on the loose. Raynor knew that. But at least a couple dozen of the bastards had been dealt with—and he figured that was good enough for government work. So, cognizant of the time, he and Tychus led what remained of the shrinking command east toward the train station.

Half were on one side of the street, half on the other, their eyes roaming the storefronts opposite them, looking for any signs of resistance. There were open windows, and the occasional flash of a face, but no signs of opposition as they put the business district behind them and entered the industrial area beyond. The town was strangely quiet, as if holding its breath to see what would happen next. And that was a good question. What would happen next? Would the train arrive on time? Would they be able to get the drop on Vanderspool and his “brain-panned” marines? If not, a whole bunch of people were going to die.

A couple of the resocs were out on the platform in front of the train station, acting as lookouts. Their visors were open, and Raynor saw one of them murmur something into his comm unit before producing a generic resoc smile, which he directed at Tychus. “Good morning, Sergeant.”

As Tychus led the others forward, Raynor wondered how the marine could say something over the comm without it coming in over the company freq. Unless the resocs were communicating with Vanderspool on a private push! And why would they want to do that unless …

Raynor wanted to say something, wanted to warn Tychus of possible trouble, but it was too late by then. The noncom had already pushed the door open and was inside the train station. The ceiling was low, rows of bench-style seats took up most of the waiting room, and the loading platform was visible beyond. “Well done,” Vanderspool said expansively, as he came forward to meet them. “The train is due in ten minutes, and we’re ready to receive it.”

“Lieutenant Fitz,” Vanderspool continued. “Please position Sergeant Findlay and his troops where you think they’ll do the most good.”

Raynor couldn’t help but notice the way in which Fitz placed each member of Heaven’s Devils up front, where they would not only be the first to make contact with the Kel-Morians, but would be caught in a crossfire if the resocs chose to fire on them from behind.

But, as the train appeared to the north and began to slow, there wasn’t anything he could do but check his rifle and sweat into his hardskin. Stealing was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

Overseer Aaron Pax eyed his HUD as the high-speed lev train rounded a gentle curve and began to decelerate. Thanks to the counter located in the lower left-hand corner of his HUD, he knew that the maglev would arrive in one minute and thirty seconds.

Assuming that everything had gone well, Vanderspool and his troops would be in complete control of the town by that point and awaiting his arrival. Once the doors opened, they expected to board the train virtually unopposed, overcome a force of twenty unarmored troops, and steal forty chests of ardeon crystals worth one billion credits. Crystals that would be worth more, much more, when the war ended, as it would soon.

That’s what Vanderspool and his troops were expecting . What would actually take place was quite different. Pax was still furious about the truck that had disappeared during the Fort Howe disaster. Vanderspool swore that someone else had taken it, but Pax never believed that. The Kel-Morian was buzzing with excitement. Revenge would be sweet.

Once the maglev came to a stop, and the Confederates came out to meet it, a platoon of carefully chosen rippers would attack them. Then, having been taken by surprise, the hijackers would be slaughtered.

Later, after the battle was over, Pax would claim that a small group of Confederates had been able to escape with the crystals. Would he be promoted in the wake of such a loss? No, but he wouldn’t be punished either, because who could possibly anticipate such a daring raid?

Once the inevitable investigation was over, Pax would return to Korsy and retrieve the crystals from a hiding place that had already been prepared. Only two of the rippers knew about it, and once the treasure was safely hidden away, both of them were going to die. Later, in return for a larger cut, Errol Bennet had already agreed to spirit the treasure away.

It was a good plan—no, an excellent plan. What had been little more than a blur resolved itself into a security fence as the train continued to slow, with some globe-shaped fuel tanks beyond, and a succession of dreary buildings. The town of Korsy certainly didn’t look like much, but it was a very special place, or soon would be. The thought brought a smile to Pax’s lips.

***

Vanderspool was keyed up as the Kel-Morian train came into sight and began to slow. Everything was going according to plan, and he was about to be very wealthy. “Okay,” Vanderspool said over the scrambled command frequency. “Safeties off and stand by. And remember … take no prisoners. Over.”

There was a series of clicks as both the Heaven’s Devils and the resocialized marines acknowledged the order. The train produced a loud hissing noise as it came to a halt. Then the doors slid open, rippers surged out onto the platform, and the slaughter began.

“Bastards!” Vanderspool knew he’d been double-crossed the moment the first ripper appeared and Ward put a rocket into him. But Vanderspool wasn’t about to give up as the enemy soldier exploded and showered the platform with bloody confetti. Not with one billion credits on the line.

“Fire!” Vanderspool yelled, as he pulled the trigger on his rifle and took a series of hits. Internal alarms sounded as spikes penetrated the outer layers of his armor and sent him stumbling backward.

Two or three rippers staggered as Tychus and a resocialized marine fired a flurry of gauss spikes. The KMs’ patchwork armor held for a moment and then failed as a second volley cut them down. “Kill them!” Vanderspool shouted. “Kill all of them!”

Knowing that they’d be engaging in close quarters combat, about a third of the Kel-Morians had armed themselves with large-bore slugthrowers. The Confederate troops reeled under the impact of the Kel-Morian assault and were forced to give ground.

It could have been a rout. Would have been a rout. Except that was when Harnack stepped forward and, with no friendlies in the way, pulled the trigger on his igniter. There was a loud whump as a wave of fire washed across the oncoming rippers. Two of them began to beat at themselves in an attempt to extinguish the flames, and the rest of the KMs were unable to advance.

That was enough for the train’s engineer, who took over from the computer that normally controlled the maglev. He released the brakes, pushed the throttle forward, and the badly scorched train pulled away from the station.

That left Pax and a group of rippers standing on the platform. But not for long, as Ward fired a cluster of rockets that threw the group back and off the edge. The train was gone by then, so they fell onto the tracks below.

Vanderspool shouted “No!” as the train continued to accelerate. “Stop!” But it was too late. One billion credits’ worth of ardeon crystals were still aboard. His perfect plan had been transformed into a disaster, and odds were, Kel-Morian reinforcements were on their way, and might cut him off from the starport. For the first time in a long while, Vanderspool was truly frightened.