Free First Casualty by Mike Moscoe Page A

in a while, one would go long.
    “Oh, God, I'm hit!” came the lieutenant's scream. Mary focused a vid where the lieutenant's hole was. A new and bigger one was right next to it. Rocks and debris were still falling.
    “Lieutenant, you okay?” Cassie called.
    No answer.
    Mary took her system out of combat mode and into troop status. The lieutenant's suit was still on net, but it glowed a yellow-red. “He's alive, but we're losing him.”
    “Okay, crew, let's dig him out,” Lek sighed on net. On the vid, first one, then three, finally six people were out of their holes, headed for the lieutenant's.
    “Mary, you call the incoming artillery,” Cassie said. “Try to get a good read on where* it'll fall.”
    “Yeah,” Dumont muttered. “I ain't never done somethin' this stupid before. Hate to get killed the first time I try it.”
    More were out of their holes. Mary doubted they'd do any good. “Six is enough. If we need more, I'll call. Don't need anyone standing around watching others dig.”
    “You bet nobody's gonna watch me dig,” Dumont snarled, but the bite was gone. His usual snap drew a laugh. Mary divided her display, half on those digging, half on the artillery. A gun puffed. Mary used her radar sensors for the first time to plot its fall. “Shell's headed for the crest of the gap. No sweat.”
    The diggers didn't even pause when the shell exploded. Second shot was no worse. “We've found him,” Cassie yelped.
    Across the plain, the gun carriage bucked. Mary did the numbers. “Oh, shit. You got incoming, and it's gonna be close.”
    Most of the diggers flattened themselves in the shell crater. Two didn't, huddling together just outside the crater, covering something—someone. Mary forgot to breathe as she counted seconds. “Hail Mary, full of grace” came from one suit. “Our Father, who art in heaven” from another. “Sweet Jesus, help the fuck us” was balanced by someone's prayer mantra.
    Mary just counted down: “Four, three, two, one.”
    A dust plume sprouted twenty meters from the first crater. Again rocks and shell fragments cut their lazy arcs through the vacuum. Mary could only watch as it showered down.
    Dumont yelped. “Goddamn it, somebody pull that hot hunk of metal out of my ass.” On vid, one of the two figures that had stayed exposed to cover someone else reached over with a gob of goo and started rubbing it on the other's rear.
    “Now, does that feel better?” Cassie cooed.
    “Yes, Mother. You gonna kiss it, make it well?”
    “Only in your dreams, kid. Okay, crew. Give me a hand. Lieutenant's still breathing, but he's out cold. Everybody keep goo handy. I don't know how bad his suit's holed.”
    “Lek,” Mary ordered, “bring the bubble.” Mine disasters could hole a suit in too many places for goo—too many places to even find. The bubble could keep you alive for an hour. Longer if they found more air. The next three shells stayed out of the way while they cared for their officer.
    “How bad is he?” Mary asked on Lek's private line.
    “He don't look none too good. There's a lot broken and we got no way to take a peek at him through all this damn armor.”
    Mary switched to battalion. “Major Henderson. We got a bad hurt lieutenant here. You don't get us help fast, he's dead.”
    “Nearest set of wheels is yours.” The voice wasn't the major's. Commander Umboto was back on the line. “Load the lieutenant on whatever shows up. We'll have an ambulance with a med team meet them ASAP.”
    “Thank you, ma'am,” Mary answered.
    “Thank you, Sergeant. You put up a damn good fight. The Spartans couldn't have done better. No use losing someone who won the battle just before they get it over with. Umboto out.”
    Mary put a vid on long-distance search. “I think I see a dust cloud coming our way.”
    “Looks so,” Lek agreed.
    “Who the Spartans?” Dumont wanted to know. Mary let them talk, but the commander's words had hit her. They had won their battle, but