Earthling's War (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  I just need the wormhole open for a minute or two, Jon thought, and I can send Ward's confession to Earth.

  There were only a handful of IWGs on this planet. There was one at Fort Miguel, the massive base in South Bahay, where Jon had once been stationed. There were two at Little Earth, the luxurious base where the generals lived, another two on Mother's Womb. Those IWGs were big, permanent installations, allowing officers to instantly communicate with Earth.

  But the HDF had brought a handful of portable IWGs too. They were still big, bulky machines, but they could fit into a military truck. Brigades in the south didn't need them. But brigades here in North Bahay brought portable IWGs with them—or PIWGs, pronounced pie-wigs. In case their contact with South Bahay died, they could use PIWGs to receive orders directly from Earth.

  Down south, there would be no way Jon could reach an IWG. But here in the chaos of North Bahay, in a ravaged, bloodied, beaten battalion, most of its soldiers dead…

  Yes, I can do this, he thought. I have to do this.

  He crept around a few more trees, and there he saw it.

  Armored trucks stood in a clearing. The brigade had bulldozed the forest here, creating a temporary parking lot over charred wood, dirt, and dead animals. Pilak Mata, Bahay's large silver moon, hid behind the horizon. Asul Mata, the smaller moon, painted the trucks pale blue.

  Most of the trucks were full of food, water, and ammunitions. Colonel Pascal was paranoid about supply lines being cut, and he carried enough munitions to survive a zombie apocalypse. But one of these trucks was different.

  Jon recognized it. The central truck, large and heavily armored, topped with three satellite dishes. The wormhole generator.

  He waited among the last few trees.

  Suddenly boots thumped. A scent of cinnamon wafted. Mario came patrolling by, humming a Grateful Dead tune.

  "Truckin' up to Buffalo. Been thinkin', you got to mellow slow...."

  With every puff of his cigarette, the private sang louder. They could probably hear him on Earth. Judging by how much he was swaying, Mario was probably on his third or fourth hintan cigarette.

  "Lately, it occurs to me, what a long, strange trip it's been..."

  Jon waited for him to walk by. Eventually Mario vanished behind the mess hall.

  All right, here goes.

  Jon took a deep breath, then emerged from the cover of trees. In the blue moonlight, he scurried toward the nearest truck—a supply truck full of drinking water. He crouched behind it, heart pounding. He waited a moment longer, made certain no guards were nearby, then scuttled toward the next truck. And the next. Moving closer to his destination.

  Soon he was only one truck away. The PIWG was just a few meters away.

  Three soldiers were guarding it.

  Jon sighed. This would have been easier a few months ago. Back then, nobody would guard the PWIG truck. But since then, a few homesick soldiers had sneaked in, called Mom back on Earth, and gobbled up too much energy. Today three soldiers guarded the wormhole generator around the clock.

  Just more of my bad luck, Jon thought.

  He crouched in the shadows. He knew those soldiers. He had fought with them. There were the two Bills—Bill Conway and Bill Edwards. With them stood Rebecca "Bucky" Allenby. Her frizzy hair now hid under a helmet, but there was no mistaking her gangly limbs.

  Jon knew them. Had fought with them. Had shared meals with them, comforted them when friends had died, encouraged them when times were hard. Hell, he had known Bucky since boot camp. They were like family. He did not want to hurt them.

  And he did not want to implicate them.

  Jon was about to steal military equipment and leak a classified video. If he was caught, he would spend his life in prison. He needed to get past the Bills and Bucky—without revealing his identity, hurting them, or recruiting them.

  Suddenly he wanted to turn back. This was ridiculous! What was he doing? Dressed as a Kenny? Ready to break the law, to betray his fellow soldiers, to throw his life away?

  Turn back! screamed a voice inside him. Take off this costume and return to bed!

  But then he thought of Maria. Maria smiling in the video. Blowing him a kiss. Telling him she loved him. He thought of the sacrifices she had made to obtain this recording. Of David, who had died bringing it here. Of the millions who might still die, both Earthlings and Bahayans, if this war continued.

  Jon swallowed a lump in his throat.

  I must betray my planet or the woman I love.

  His soul ripped in two.

  He knew that he could never betray Maria. He was helping her shame Earth—his own planet. And he hated himself.

  But maybe… maybe it's General Ward who shamed Earth. He took a shaky breath. Maybe I'm a whistleblower, not a traitor.

  That comforted him a little. Not a lot. But enough to keep going.

  He raised the two cannisters George had pilfered from the armory. They contained what the troops called sleeping smoke, a chemical that knocked you out cold. It was normally used in South Bahay to disperse riots. The brigade brought a few cannisters north. They were useful in war zones too. With some sleeping smoke, you could capture enemy troops alive for interrogations.

  Here goes.

  Jon burst out from behind the truck, wearing his straw hat.

  He pulled the pins off the cannisters and rolled them forward. Smoke pumped out in foul clouds.

  The guards spun toward Jon, eyes widening. They raised their guns.

  But the smoke got them first.

  Their eyes rolled back. The smoke wafted around them. One of the Bills crashed down. Another took a clumsy step toward Jon, aimed his rifle, and Jon winced… but then this Bill too hit the ground.

  That left Bucky. The young woman stood a little farther back, where the smoke was thinner.

  "Who…" She coughed, her eyes red. "Stop…"

  Her rifle swayed, and her lanky legs wobbled. But she stayed standing.

  She was about to cry out or shoot Jon. Neither option was very good.

  Jon cursed and leaped toward her, trying to avoid the smoke, or at least most of it.

  Fumes hit him like fire. His eyes stung. His head spun. Darkness spread. He could see only smudges.

  But he plowed through the miasma and barreled into Bucky.

  He body-slammed her onto the ground. They rolled out from the smoky cloud.

  Bucky blinked at him, her glasses askew. The shock of falling seemed to resuscitate her. She opened her mouth wide, prepared to scream.

  Jon slapped his palm over her mouth.

  "Don't make a sound!" he warned.

  She drove her knee into his groin.

  Jon nearly howled with pain. He bit down on the agony. He kept his palm on Bucky's mouth, stifling her screams. He struggled to pin her down. She was thrashing beneath him, smoke and all. The wind blew. Fumes flowed over them. Jon felt woozy, and he coughed, struggling not to pass out.

  "Just be quiet and I won't hurt you," he whispered.

  Bucky bit his palm. And with those big buck teeth, it did some serious damage. Jon screamed silently.

  Goddammit! She was not going down without a fight. Somehow, even as her teeth gnawed through his hand, Jon kept his palm on her mouth. It was his wounded hand too. The one savaged during the Red Cardinal's assault. But pain be damned—he would not let her scream! One scream, and the entire camp would wake up, Jon would be killed, and hope would be lost.

  The sleeping smoke was fizzling out. But some smoke still wafted above the empty cans. Jon began dragging Bucky closer to the miasma. She was fierce, but he was stronger, and he pulled her through the dirt toward the noxious gas. The fumes stung Jon's eyes. They were still potent. Bucky just needed one good whiff and…

  Jon's eyes rolled back.

  He crashed onto her.

  He floated in a dark forest, trapped in a labyrinth, chasing beads of light, but he fell, fell, and he was lying on Maria's corpse, and—

  Bucky shoved him off.
Jon rolled onto his back, gasped, and gulped down fresh air. A breeze thinned the smoke, and Jon managed to push himself to his knees.

  Bucky did the same. Her eyes were red and puffy, and foam filled her mouth, but she was still very conscious.

  She aimed her rifle at him, snarled, and—

  Suddenly she frowned. She tilted her head, took off her glasses, cleaned them, put them back on.

  "Jon?" she whispered, then coughed and spat out foamy mucus. "Jon Taylor? Is that you?"

  Jon's straw hat had fallen off during the fight. His makeup was probably smudged too.

  "Um… yes?" He winced. "Please don't scream, Bucky. And don't shoot me."

  Her jaw hung open. "What the hell are you doing, Jon?"

  He grimaced. "Shh, quiet! Whisper."

  She shoved her muzzle toward him. "Talk, dammit, or I'll put a bullet through your gut!"

  "I'm trying to steal the wormhole generator, okay? Well, not even steal it. Just borrow it. I didn't want to hurt you. Or implicate you. Now be careful with your gun!"

  He glanced around him. The two Bills were still sleeping, but they would wake up soon. The breeze had dispersed the last noxious fumes toward the forest. A few animals thumped down from the branches. The rest of Camp Apollo was still silent. Everyone was sleeping—aside perhaps from Mario. But he was patrolling the outer fence, still smoking his hintan, probably so dazed he wouldn't notice the Red Cardinal sauntering in.

  "Why are you dressed up like a Kenny?" Bucky said. "And it's a horrible disguise. You look like a minstrel show."

  "I knew it!" Jon said. "I told that to George, but—"

  "Wait, George is in on this too?" Bucky said.

  Jon cursed himself. "Oh fuck. No! He's not. I mean—" He groaned. "Look, Bucky, can you just please keep this between us?"

  She narrowed her eyes. "That depends. You better tell me what's going on, Buster. Talk while I decide whether I should scream or shoot."

  Jon glanced around again. They didn't have much time. The Bills might wake up soon, or Mario might arrive, possibly with some of his senses still intact.

  He looked back at Bucky. "I have a video of General Ward confessing that this war is unwinnable. He also confesses that Earth has killed millions of Bahayans for no good reason. He recorded it moments before he died. I need to show Earth. They need to know. If I hand the video over to Colonel Pascal, he'll bury it. So I dressed up as a Kenny to steal the truck, and frame the enemy, and send the message to Earth, so that—"

  "Jon?" Bucky said. "Shut up and get into the PIWG truck."

  He blinked. "Wait, what?"

  "I'm coming with you. You'll never figure out wormhole tech yourself, but I know how it works. Hurry!"

  His mouth hung open. "You're not going to shoot me, or—"

  "Jon, shut up and into the truck!"

  He nodded and leaped into the armored truck.

  * * * * *

  Jon stared at the insides of the wormhole truck.

  Wow, he thought. Bucky was right. I would never figure this out.

  The truck was full of control panels, pipes, switches, gauges, and monitors. The machinery filled nearly the entire space. Hundreds of buttons and levers bristled everywhere.

  "I'll drive," Bucky said. "We can't broadcast from here. Once the wormhole generator gets going, the antenna is going to light up the sky, alerting everyone within miles. So we need to be somewhere far and safe."

  Jon nodded. "I know, George and I planned this already."

  "Your plan is shit!" she said. "Hide in the back, Kenny, and make yourself useful. Start reading a manual or something."

  Jon frowned at her. "You are not the same girl from boot camp." He still remembered Bucky following Clay Hagen like a lost pup, desperate to impress him.

  "War makes a girl grow up fast," she said.

  She fired up the engine, and the armored truck rumbled forward.

  She drove past the other trucks, tires crushing charred branches and dead birds, and along a dirt road. A barbed wire fence surrounded the camp. A guard stood at the gateway, rifle in hand. The truck's headlights washed over him. The guard squinted, cursed, and waved for them to stop.

  "Yo, dude, what's up?" The guard approached the truck, palm over his eyes, and peered into the driver's seat. "It's fucking three am. Gate's closed till dawn. You nearly blinded me."

  Sitting at the wheel, Bucky looked at the guard and spoke calmly. "I got a Kenny in the backseat, pointing a rifle at me. He says that if you don't open the gates, he'll blow my brains out."

  The guard squinted at her, then guffawed. "Yeah right. For fuck's sake, you fucking privates with your fucking jokes. I'm a goddamn corporal, and I'm stuck guarding this gate, while you fucking privates get to drive the fucking trucks, with your fancy air conditioning and radios and shit. I swear, one day I'm going to blow my own brains out, and then everyone will be sorry." He kept grumbling as he opened the gate. "Go, go! I hope you run into a Kenny ambush, you fucking private joker."

  As the truck rumbled into the forest, Bucky looked over her shoulder at Jon, who still hid in the back.

  "And how exactly did you plan to get through the gate dressed as a Kenny?" she said.

  "I was going to just charge through it. Make it look realistic, you know. Like an actual Kalayaan raid."

  Bucky rolled her eyes. "And wake up the entire base? See? Your plan is shit. You and George are idiots. You're lucky I'm crazy enough to help."

  "Bucky, you just implicated yourself. The guard saw you!"

  "He saw me say that a Kenny kidnapped me. He thought I was joking. I wasn't." She shrugged. "If I get in trouble, I have an alibi."

  "Bucky, I… I don't know what to say. Thank you."

  Her eyes were solemn, her voice hard. "Jon, I used to be one of Clay's lackeys. He went on to murder five hundred innocent people. That blood is on my hands too. And I'm going to make amends. If I can help end this war, maybe God will forgive me."

  They drove along a dark road, navigating between the trees. The land had been ravaged by war. Millions of trees lay fallen, charred, or poisoned. The armored truck crushed the fallen logs under its wheels. A few trees still grew, but they were withered, tilting over, and strange animals scuttled among their branches. White, furless creatures stared with huge yellow eyes. As the truck approached, the animals flared spiky hoods like cobras. A man hung on one branch, hissing. He had no face, just a hole with a few teeth. A bird cawed and flew at the truck, eyeballs dangling on stalks, and grotesque fingers grew from its wingtips, disturbingly human.

  Jon shuddered and looked away. He didn't know if these were aliens or mutants. Perhaps Mister Weird's poison had twisted animals and men into these bizarre beasts. Jon held his breath for as long as he could. If any poison lingered here, it was far worse than some sleeping smoke.

  "Take us downhill," Jon said. "See that huge black area? I know, it's hard to see in the night. That's the ocean. We'll be hidden between water and mountain."

  Bucky nodded. "All right." She drove in silence for a moment. Then she looked at him. "Is this about the girl? About Maria?"

  Jon winced. "You know about her? I only told a few people."

  "Dude, you might as well have hung up bulletins. The whole brigade knows. News spreads fast. Especially now that we're so small. Most of us were chopped down in the wars. Makes rumors fly faster."

  Jon nodded. "Yes. Maria is part of this."

  Bucky smiled, eyes damp. "This whole war is so fucked up, isn't it? Earthlings fighting Bahayans. We're all just human, you know? We're all Earthlings originally. I hope you get back to her, Jon Taylor. I know she's worth it." She paused for a moment, face pale. "I'm the youngest daughter in a family of four kids. My oldest sister died on Bahay. My two brothers came home crippled. So fuck the colonel, and fuck the generals, and fuck President Hale, and fuck this whole damn war. Let's end this shit and go home."

  "We can make it home by Christmas," Jon said.

  He remembered Christmases with
his family. Opening presents by the fireplace. Playing piano as his mother sang. Paul wouldn't be there this year.

  But you'll be there with me, Maria, Jon thought, a lump in his throat. We'll sit by that fire and open presents, and I'll play the piano and you can sing. It's almost over, Maria.

  "We're almost at the beach," Bucky said. "Jon, start calibrating the wormhole generator. It'll take ten minutes, maybe more, to prime up. And it'll blast a lot of light. I'll find us a good hiding place." She pointed toward the back of the truck. "See that keyboard over there? Hit the—"

  "Bucky!" Jon shouted.

  A twisted white face appeared outside the truck.

  A creature slammed into the windshield. Cracks spiderwebbed across the glass.

  A monster howled, and Jon and Bucky screamed.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Faces in the Dark

  The creature shrieked.

  A bloated white face, full of horns and thrusting teeth, pressed against the cracked windshield. Wings spread wide, engulfing the truck.

  Bucky screamed, floored the gas pedal, and the truck plowed forward. But the creature clung to the windshield.

  "What is that?" Bucky cried.

  "I don't know!" Jon said. "Dammit, look—another one!"

  A white being swooped from the trees, gleaming in the moonlight. It slammed into the passenger side.

  The truck jolted. Jon fell against the dashboard, banging his chin.

  More creatures screeched and howled. Eyes filled the forest.

  "Goddammit, they'll alert the brigade!" Bucky shouted.

  Jon groaned, ignored the pain, and drew his pistol. "Keep driving, I'll take care of them."

  "I can't see!"

  "Just drive!"

  Jon loaded his gun. The creature still covered the windshield. Its lips peeled back to reveal rows of fangs. The tongue slid out like a serpent. Red eyes peered from wrinkly white flesh. The claws pounded the glass, spreading more cracks.

  And then Jon saw something.

  A tattoo on the creature's arm.

  A sunburst between three stars. Symbol of the Kalayaan.

  He's human, Jon realized. Mister Weird mutated him.