Free Decisively Engaged (Warp Marine Corps Book 1) by C.J. Carella

here!” the shop owner shouted at her, his head shaking up and down in the Kirosha negative gesture.
    “Sodomizing foreign devils!” the mechanic said, rummaging through his toolbox.
    He was probably looking for something hefty enough to batter someone’s brains out. Heather didn’t give him a chance to try; a warning shot aimed at the ground between the mechanic’s feet sent him scrambling away as dirt flew from the point of impact, some of it hot enough to sting wherever it touched his skin.
    “Now you sodomizing listen to me!” she told them in flawless Kirosha with enough of a high-class accent to command respect. The sight of the Star-Devil-filled bus and limo rolling through the gate added to the intimidation factor. “Stay out of the way, and you won’t be hurt. We need to remain here until the authorities disperse the riot. You will be compensated for any damages, and receive a fitting reward for your hospitality. Do you understand?”
    Both Kirosha squatted down in submission.
    “Yes, Blessed Star Devil,” the owner said. “The Final Blow Society will kill us all, but perhaps my family will be compensated for my sacrifice, yes?”
    Outside, a flurry of blaster and slug-thrower fire seemed to confirm the Kirosha’s pessimism.
     
    * * *
     
    At first, the Ruddies at the barricade just stood there and watched them. Fromm accepted the momentary truce with gratitude. If the ETs charged before they could get behind cover, he and every human and Oval in the convoy were dead.
    The quiet only lasted a few seconds. One of the leaders, a big Ruddy with a fluttering banner strapped to his back, stepped in front of the barricade and started haranguing the troops, who cheered him on.
    Fromm turned to Locquar. “Will shooting him help or hurt?”
    “Can’t hurt,” the friendly said with a shrug.
    “Okay.”
    The plasma discharge set the banner on fire as it burned a hole big enough to fit a grapefruit into the leader’s torso and sent his head flying up like a popped cork. The crowd fell silent at the sudden and gruesome death, and Locquar added a three-round burst into the mix, riddling another banner-man. The driver shouted something at the rioters. Fromm hoped it was something meant to scare them into withdrawing.
    The mob swarmed over the barricade, screeching like a gaggle of angry human schoolgirls.
    Well, that didn’t work , Fromm thought as he fired the remaining nineteen rounds in his Colt, pivoting to the right to spread the joy over a wide front. The rioters were packed so tightly together that each round injured or killed at least two or three extra targets. Locquar followed suit with his submachinegun, and between the two of them they filled the street with limp and writhing bodies. Fromm ducked behind cover and switched the empty magazine with the partially-full one that was all he had left. Fourteen rounds and a target-rich environment added up to a really bad day.
    The Embassy Rat had gotten the compound’s gate open and the bus and limo were already inside. Good. There would be no time to move their car, though. He and Locquar scrambled towards the gate as the Ruddy mob made its way past the bodies they’d dropped. The sliding metal door was already closing; he made it through with a couple seconds to spare.
    Now that he was behind cover he had time to answer the phone.
    One of the problems of modern communications was that people kept trying to talk to you while you were too busy staying alive to talk back. Imps helped by answering some calls themselves. The faux-AI systems learned a number of preset responses by watching their owners over time. Some things required a personal touch, however.
    The imp downloaded several voice messages directly into Fromm’s memory, a highly-uncomfortable process used only for emergencies. Suddenly remembering things you hadn’t known a moment before could induce several forms of mental trauma.
    Suddenly remembering some very bad news was no fun, trauma or