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  VALKYRIE

  Book One

  By Lucas Marcum

  This book is dedicated to the officers and enlisted of the United States Army Medical Department, who risk their own lives so that others may live. To my wife, Natalia, who has tolerated my hobby and supported it as it grew to reality. I cannot thank her enough for her love, support, and patience. Natalia, thank you. Also, many thanks to the Hivemind at Cannon Publishing, who gleefully chopped, tore apart, dissected, and gave feedback on details, from large to small. Thanks, gang.

  All work © 2019 Lucas Marcum and Cannon Publishing LLC

  Part One: Desolation

  -PROLOGUE-

  13 ORIONIS SYSTEM, PLANET V335

  1845 hours, March 15, 2245

  Colonel Magnar stood, shivering slightly against the biting wind, despite his thermal parka. Absently, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, a habit he’d picked up long ago and worked hard to break. The gathering dusk made the ruins around him hard to see until he got close, then they loomed out of the darkness. Nothing moved in the small valley, aside from debris blown by the wind. He slowly started to walk, trailed by his aide and his security detail, comprised of two burly power-armor-clad troopers with rifles.

  Captain Lew cleared his throat and spoke hesitantly, ”Sir, General Tolleson’s press conference.”

  Magnar didn’t respond, just looked down at a shallow depression scratched into the dirt in front of them. There were dozens of spent energy rifle shell casings around it, and a large dark stain in the dusty earth. After a moment, he spoke without turning. “How many?”

  His aide, looking at the stained earth, replied somberly, “Forty-six, Sir, and twenty-one patients.”

  Nodding, Magnar turned and continued his slow, methodical pace, stepping around the hole carefully to avoid treading on the dark patch of earth. He held his silence for a bit, then he spoke again. “Where was their security? There was supposed to be a company of military police here.”

  Shrugging slightly, Captain Lew answered simply, “We don’t know, Sir. We think they were hit in the initial counterattack.” The young officer paused, then continued, “One of the platoon leaders from the MP company made it back to the starting area with about fifteen guys. The rest are dead or missing, including their company commander.”

  Pausing, Colonel Magnar poked with his boot at a piece of white canvas, crumpled and dirty on the ground in front of them, revealing the corner of the red cross that had marked the hospital. In a flat tone, he said, “So they didn’t have any security except what they brought with them.”

  “No, Sir.”

  “So how did they get here?” Colonel Magnar stopped and half turned.

  Cocking his head slightly, Lew asked, “I’m sorry, Sir?”

  In a hard voice, the colonel repeated. “How, out of all the units that never made it off of the line before the counterattack, did THEY get here?”

  “I don’t know, Sir. Of the units hit in the attack, only they were where they were supposed to be. They had apparently set up operations and were treating patients from the 165th Infantry when they were hit.”

  Magnar whirled, suddenly furious, pointing at the wreckage. “Why didn’t they fall back, Captain? Or, failing that, why didn’t the goddamn line companies cover their retreat? Why am I not looking at the ruins of an infantry battalion who tried to protect them? Why didn’t they run? Why am I looking at the wreck of a field hospital and the remains of the staff? Why did the doctors and nurses have to die defending their patients?”

  Captain Lew wilted under the sudden fury of the colonel’s glare. “Sir, I...”

  Seeing his aide flinch, the senior officer blew out a breath. “Skip it. I’m sorry, Mike. I know this isn’t your area, and I ought not take it out on you.” He turned around and put his hands back in his pockets. He paused for a moment, looking quietly at a burned out shelter next to them, then spoke again. “Who were they? “

  Captain Lew replied in a low, almost inaudible voice, “This was the 378th Forward Resuscitation Team. Their call sign was ‘Valkyries’.” He paused, then continued, ”They pulled me out last year. I was attached to a Forward Observer team, and we took fire. I took a round in the chest armor. They sent a Valkyrie for me. I remember the artillery guys talking about them. They kept saying, ‘Lie still, LT. The Valkyries are coming; the Valkyries are coming’.”

  Captain Lew shook his head. “Here I was thinking I was dying, and these guys are joking about the battlefield spirits. Then I heard the birds coming, and I knew it was a call sign; the medevac were inbound, blotting out the sky. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  The young captain stared out at the wrecked search and rescue ships still sitting on the helipad. One of the big aircraft had crashed about a hundred yards from the camp, and looked like it had been attempting to take off when it went down. The cabin was horribly burned, and the tail was sticking out of the wreckage the stylized emblem of a winged woman with a sword on it visible through the soot.

  The colonel and his aide continued their walk in silence, followed by the security detail. The crunch of their boots in the grainy soil was the only sound. Pausing at another mobile building, Colonel Magnar ran his fingertips over a series of bullet holes. The shelter was riddled with them, both going in and coming out; tossed to the side of the door was a stretcher, also torn to shreds by energy bolts.

  In a distant voice, Captain Lew said, “The Cav scouts who were first through here reported evidence of a fighting withdrawal towards the main casualty collection area, and that it ended at the tactical operations center and the intensive care unit.” He paused. “I guess this was the ICU, Sir.”

  Magnar nodded silently, feeling the cold metal of the wall under his fingers. The siding was so thin, he could have pushed a screwdriver through it without much effort. Moving to the entryway, he stopped and stared inside. The interior of the shelter was a wreck. Stretchers lay on their sides, riddled with bullet holes. Shell casings, unwound bandages, and destroyed medical equipment littered the floor. More dark stains were visible, many behind the overturned stretchers. In the middle of the room was a large burn mark and a circle on the floor blown clear of debris.

  Lew spoke again. “The personnel recovery teams have documented where each soldier was recovered, sir. This was where they found most of the nurses and medics. I guess they were trying to defend their patients.”

  Magnar took a deep breath and blew it out, slowly. He turned from the door and continued his slow walk.

  Captain Lew paused to look inside the ruined building as they moved by, and said in a distant voice, “They even said that the wounded were fighting, and that they just killed them in their beds.” After a moment, he slowly spoke again. “They only had sidearms, ‘cause of General Tolleson’s order last week.”

  The colonel scowled darkly at this. General Tolleson had ordered the non-combat units to leave their rifles on the ships, as he didn’t want any ‘misunderstandings’. In a flat, carefully controlled tone, he asked, “Has he been here?”

  “No, Sir. He’s been busy.”

  “I bet he has. Talking to the press about his ‘great victory’, no doubt.”

  In a carefully neutral tone, Captain Lew answered, “I couldn’t say, Sir.”

  Shaking his head, Magnar growled, “You don’t need to. Tolleson’s a self-serving, egocentric son of a bitch; he always has been. I didn’t like him when he was a brigade commander, and he’s still the same ladder-climbing ass-kisser he was then.”

  After a pause, the colonel continued in a biting voice, “These are his troops. His hospital. Why isn’t he here?” Pausing again, he added, “Don’t answer that, Captain.”

  Lew nodded silently as they continued walking. One of the soldiers on their security de
tail pointed ahead of them in the gloom and said in a steady voice, “This was the Operations Center, Sir.” A dozen feet away was another partially collapsed tent, with hastily stacked equipment crates nearly blocking the door.

  Shoving his hands back in his pockets, Magnar looked at the bullet-pocked crates, the shredded canvas, and destroyed radio equipment strewn in front of him.

  In a somber tone, Lew said, “This was where they found the hospital commander and his staff, Sir. They ran out of ammunition and were overrun.”

  Magnar nodded and sniffed. The biting cold was making his nose run. After a moment regarding the wrecked tentage, he asked without turning, “How many Elai did the teams find?”

  Lew flipped a page on his clipboard, and replied, “Sir, the recovery teams removed sixty-seven Elai dead from this area, with another seventeen found outside the perimeter. Initial MP findings indicate they removed at least that number of wounded.”

  Thoughtfully, Magnar noted, “So, they hit them with a company-sized element.”

  Lew responded, “Brigade Intel thinks it was company sized, with a heavy weapons platoon attached. That’s how they got the medevacs down. Their armor is thick enough to survive the standard Elai infantry rounds.”

  Lost in thought, Magnar spoke absently, “So. A hospital unit gets surprised and overrun, and still managed to deal crippling damage to an Elai line company with heavy weapons?” Lew nodded silently.

  One of the soldiers on their security detail spoke in a low tone, “They fought like hell, didn’t they, Sir?”

  Magnar half-smiled and nodded grimly, turned, and continued his slow walk. The wind whipped the dust around his boots as they picked their way towards the edge of the ruined field hospital. Reaching the edge, he turned again and regarded the fast disappearing wreckage as the dusk turned to night. He paused, still taking in the scene, then asked suddenly, “How is the counter attack going?”

  “Better than expected, Sir. The First Battalion of the Second Armored Cav and the First Brigade Combat Team of the Seventeenth Spaceborne Division dropped in behind their lines and surprised and overran their Corps level HQ. Their defensive lines disintegrated, letting the First, Second, and Fifteenth Armored Divisions through, and they’re tearing the unholy living shit out of their rear areas.” Captain Lew paused, then continued, “Word on the street is this whole sector is on the verge of collapse. There’s pockets of resistance here and there, but they aren’t lasting long now that the Navy’s secured orbit. Every time we hit resistance, the troops fall back, and the Navy drops rocks.”

  Magnar nodded, his eyes never leaving the remains of the hospital. An orbital strike with a kinetic round could devastate most defensive works. After a moment, he asked, “Casualties?”

  Lew shrugged. “Hard to say. Hitting their HQ early on blunted their defensive coordinating capability, but you know these guys. They fight hard, even if they aren’t coordinated. This spoiling attack here was one of the worst areas. We ought to have definite numbers when we get back to Division.”

  The colonel considered this for a moment, then asked again, “Prisoners?”

  The younger officer hesitated. Magnar turned slightly and waited for him to speak. After a moment, he did. “Planetwide, couple of hundred, mostly wounded. From the Fifth Army area of operations, the reports from the line units are that the Elai are fighting to the death. There have been no surrenders.”

  Surprised, Magnar turned and looked directly at Lew for a moment. “The whole Fifth Army?”

  Lew shrugged slightly. “Yes, Sir. I was out at the 1/17 Spaceborne field headquarters yesterday, and ran into an academy buddy of mine who’s a company commander over in the 17th Special Forces Group. I didn’t even know they were here. Anyway, we were shooting the shit and catching up, and we got around to talking about this.” Lew paused for a moment. “That’s when the conversation got weird. He told me his enlisted were saying that ‘Valkyries never die’.”

  Captain Lew frowned momentarily, then continued slowly, “I asked him what they meant, and he just shrugged and pointed at two of his troopers. They’d painted a stylized Valkyrie on the shoulder of their armor. Like that one.” He indicated one of the soldiers standing nearby, then continued, “They were all quiet. Not jawing like soldiers usually are. They seemed…I don’t know the right word. Intense, maybe?” The captain lapsed into silence.

  Colonel Magnar stepped close to the hulking shape of the power-armored soldier and regarded the stylized painting on his armor for a moment. Tapping the image, he spoke to the soldier, “Trooper, what is the meaning of that?”

  The soldier looked the colonel directly in the eyes, and replied steadily, “Vengeance, Sir.”

  The other soldier spoke up in a hard tone, “It’s to remind these toothy fucks out there that humans have rules, Sir, and that violating them will have repercussions.”

  Regarding the two stone-faced soldiers for a moment, Magnar then nodded slowly, and replied, “That they do, Soldier. These alien fucks bit off more than they can chew this time, didn’t they?”

  The two soldiers traded a glance with each other, then both smiled cold, hard smiles. “Yes, Sir.”

  The four men stood in silence for a moment, the only sound coming from a tattered flag with a red cross on it, snapping and popping in the wind. Lew continued somberly, “I don’t know if it’s just the Ghost Brigades or regular line units, but this has become a no quarters battle. Those Spec Ops guys seemed mad, but the quiet kind of mad. Scary mad.” He paused and regarded the camp for a moment. “I guess the Valkyries saw to that.”

  Magnar’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. They did. And guess what? The Valkyries are going to haunt the Elai until they either cry uncle and give up, or we wipe ‘em out. I think the time for negotiating is over.”

  “General Tolleson’s not going to like that,” Captain Lew observed.

  Magnar scowled again. “I don’t give a shit what he wants. I don’t answer to him. He’s not a line commander, and I don’t have to explain why, on HIS orders, medics, doctors, and nurses desperately tried to defend themselves with pistols as the Elai overran their field hospital. HE will, and General Abbasi doesn’t suffer fools lightly.” He fixed Lew with an icy stare. “You know this is going to get suppressed by Big Army, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir. The Corps level legal team has already demanded all our personal notes and documentation, and stated that they’re taking over our investigation.”

  Magnar nodded. “As expected. It is too bad about your notes.”

  Lew looked at him quizzically. “Sir? My notes?”

  Magnar nodded. “Yeah. It’s too bad your notes were lost when we came under fire and were recovered by a GNBC reporter.” Lew looked at him, perplexed. Magnar continued, “The notes that documented how heroically the hospital defended itself. How bravely these soldiers died. How many Elai they took with them.” Magnar paused, staring at the young captain.

  Lew nodded slowly, understanding. “Yes. Yes, Sir. I’ve always been jumpy under fire, Sir. Always dropping things.”

  Magnar nodded and turned, his eyes fixed on the ruins of the hospital. “Be more careful next time, Captain. Consider yourself chastised.” He turned and looked at their lifter, waiting some hundred yards behind them, then one last time at the remains of the hospital. “Let’s get going, Captain. We have a lot to do, but on top of that list is making sure their families get the awards these soldiers earned here.” He took a step towards the lifter, then stopped. “One more thing, Captain Lew.”

  Lew paused. “Sir?”

  “Tell your friend from the 17th Group that Colonel Magnar sends his regards, and to let the Valkyries fly.”

  Lew nodded and responded simply, “I will, Sir.”

  -1-

  “Flight of the Valkyries”

  TWENTY FOURS EARLIER. SKYHAWK MEDEVAC FLIGHT, CALL SIGN ‘ANGEL FLIGHT’

  1845 hours, March 14, 2245

  The console radio crackled, then came to life. “Angel Flight,
Valhalla Station.”

  The big aircraft hit an air pocket and sank, then lurched back up. Captain Stephen “Chips” Wilkes ran his eyes rapidly over the instruments before keying the mic. Altitude good, airspeed good, all going well, despite moving nearly three hundred kilometers an hour a mere two hundred feet from the ground.

  The captain keyed his mic and responded, “Valhalla Station, Angel Flight.”

  The aircraft lurched again. There was a slight noise from the crew chief’s seat, located behind the pilot and co-pilot’s seat. He glanced back at their passenger, who was currently trying not to puke. He was a reporter named Jim something or other from some network, doing a piece on the ‘Fighting men and women at the front’. Whoever he was, he had some serious pull. It took a lot to get a crew chief bumped, even for a ride-along. He glanced at his co-pilot, First Lieutenant Michael “Mick” Connor. The younger man grinned at him and nodded his head at the stick, silently asking if he ought to make the ride bumpier. Wilkes frowned at the younger man and slightly shook his head no.

  The radio spoke again, “Angel Flight, standby for Valhalla Actual.”

  Keying the radio, Wilkes responded, “Roger. Standing by.” He looked at Mick, who shrugged. Valhalla Actual was Lieutenant Colonel Matthews, back in the tactical operations center. There was another slight noise from the jump seat. Wilkes shook his head slightly and keyed the crew mic to speak to the reporter.

  “You ok back there?” The reporter managed to give a thumbs up, then keyed the mic.

  “I hated this when I was in the Marines. Thought it’d pass with time. Turns out it didn’t. Thought it’d be better up front than jammed in the back, but that wasn’t true either. It actually makes it worse.”

  Mick grinned and keyed up. “This is nothing. You ought to try it in weather. Now THAT’S a rollercoaster.”