Jaym Gates - War Stories

The other hunters reversed now, moving clumsily in the wind, and one hauled a grenade from his back and lobbed. For a moment, Iguo thought it was a dud, but then a whine shivered in his teeth and the hair on his neck stood up on end and he realized it was an EMP. The drone shuddered once, twice. Froze. The hunters converged.

Something clutched onto Iguo’s calf. He looked down, and of course it was Belise, her translucent hands kneading his ankle, and she was crying something but Iguo could not read lips. He shook her off. He steadied himself. He ducked around the side of the vehicle, and fired twice.

The first hunter dropped, swinging on his heel, punched through the skull and nicked in the shoulder. Iguo had not forgotten where to put the bullets.

Arm coming up, scarved head turning. Iguo made his body rigid and snapped off another shot, feeling it into the chest but hitting belly instead. The hunter fired back but the retort was lost in the dust and Iguo had no idea how close he’d come to dying so he did not falter. The hunter’s scarf ripped free, oscillating wildly, as the next bullet splintered through throat and jaw.

Iguo stumbled to the bodies and scrabbled for their guns, but one had already been swallowed by the sand and the other was locked tight in a dead hand. He tried to throw up but only hurt his ribs. He crawled instead to the imfizi . Its red eyes were starting to blink back on. Iguo put a hand on either side of the carapace and leaned close. He stared hard into the cameras.

“Joseph Rufykiri,” he said, mouthing carefully.

The drone shuddered. The top half of the chassis rocked back. Rocked forward. Iguo mirrored the nod without really meaning to. He squinted back to where Belise was crouched, covering her eyes against the dust. Her skin was stark white against the black jeep. Tears were tracking through the grime on her face.

Iguo realized he had the gun pressed up against the rusty husk. “Do your penance,” he mumbled. “I do mine.” Then he stood up, almost bowled over in the wind, and turned to go.

The ghost girl said something to him but he still couldn’t hear. It might have been thanks. Iguo nodded her on, and she dashed towards her father, now getting to his iron feet. Iguo went to the jeep and found the two little boys on their bellies underneath. He put his head down.

“I have a taxi,” he said. “Come with me.” They exchanged looks with their dark eyes and shook dust from their dark heads. Then they wriggled out from under the vehicle and Iguo shielded them as best he could with the rain jacket.

He looked back only once. Belise was clambering into the drone’s arms, sheltered from the roaring wind, and then they were enveloped by the dust.

KAY SCANNED THE LIFELESS, SHREDDED bodies of her unit, the sensors embedded in her hands and torso coolly picking up data as her eyes flicked over each of them in turn.

Jasar, X, Lt. [deceased]

Purte, D, SSgt. [deceased]

Leshandre, S, Pvt. [deceased]

Oudar, V, Pvt. [deceased]

The roadside bomb had spared only her, stranding her in the middle of ten thousand kilometers of the flat, featureless desert that covered most of Ianas. She kept trying to connect to the Sovene Army’s net, but there was nothing. She couldn’t transmit, she couldn’t receive. Her communications hardware had been too badly damaged by the blast.

There was nothing left to do but follow protocol. Once everything was documented, she sat by the road and waited to be retrieved, like the piece of equipment the Army considered her to be.

Time passed: hours, days, even weeks according to her internal clock. She watched as the corpses bloated and began to rot.

She could wait almost indefinitely. She didn’t need food or water, and her power cells were kept from draining by the sunlight and near–constant wind.

It did surprise her that no one came. Their course hadn’t been too different from the routine patrol sweep the base had ordered. Lt. Jasar had had a funny idea about the roads being sabotaged out here, even though things had been quiet lately, and had demanded that Leshandre turn down a random one to check it out. They’d driven for nearly a day before the bomb had proven the lieutenant right.

Still, it was strange. There were tracking satellites in orbit. They’d been in nominal contact with the base right up until the explosion, this stretch of desert wasn’t supposed to be terribly dangerous, and the Army swore it never left anyone behind.

So why was Kay still here?

On the thirty–seventh day, she registered something moving fast across the dusty flatness of the desert. She crouched behind the wreckage, cautiously assessing the situation.

The truck drew near, but it was soon clear that it wasn’t Army. Instead of a reassuring green and yellow, it was painted bright blue, and was old and beat–up.

She readied her weapon but held her fire. She couldn’t positively identify them as enemies, not yet.

The truck slowed to a stop in front of her, and three women and a man got out.

“Bomb work,” said one, a tall, thin woman, examining the remnants of the vehicle.

“Bolus’s,” said the shortest woman, spitting into the sand. “Sloppy.”

“Sovene Army,” said the third, a shrewd–looking middle–aged woman. “Had to have been here a while.” She glanced at Kay. “Their Synthetic’s still alive, though.” Her features suddenly shifted. “Oh… oh, no.” She leaned in close. “No. It can’t be.” She snapped a finger in front of Kay’s face. “Hey. Hey! You reading me in there?”

Kay didn’t respond. She wouldn’t, not to a civilian. That was against protocol.

“Musta been caught out here before the evacuation,” said the man. He was also short; he had a scruffy beard and talked slowly. “Probably still waiting for orders.”

The first woman didn’t respond but kept staring at Kay. She exchanged glances with the tall woman, who shook her head slightly.

“Jassalan, no,” the tall woman said.

“We could use a new radio,” said the short woman. She gestured at Kay. “Get your metal ass into the truck.”

Kay stayed put.

The short woman crossed her arms, annoyed, then reached out to smack Kay on the helmet. Kay reached out, quick as lightning, and grabbed the woman’s wrist.

“Hey!” she squawked.

“Let her go, Synthetic,” said the third woman. But Kay held fast as the short woman pulled and grunted and swore. “That’s an order. Recognize Captain Macrandal Jassalan. Serial number 2789–KK–CN.”

Kay’s internal Army database recognized the number. There was a caution next to it, and her first impulse was to disregard her command. But she hadn’t had orders in thirty–seven days. She released the short woman’s arm.

“Shit!” cursed Shorty. “Tin–can zombie!”

“Back off, Liss,” said Jassalan sternly. “Yago, clear out some space in the truck. We’re taking her with us.”

The man shrugged and went to do as he was told. After a moment, so did Liss.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked the tall woman, whose name Kay still didn’t know.

“Fuck no,” said Liss, still rubbing her wrist. “Leave it to run out of batteries or whatever.”

“They don’t run out,” said Jassalan distantly. “Synthetics last forever.”

“Then blow it up!”

“No,” said Jassalan firmly. “She’s coming. Get back in the truck, Liss. Payl, look around the wreck, see if there’s anything else we can use. Then we’ll get going.” She turned to Kay. “Go to the truck and sit in it,” she said.

Kay began to obey, but hesitated. “You’re wanted for desertion,” she said.