The crew chief just shrugged. “Hell, don’t look at me. Tell ’im.”
The movie-star pilot, pearly white smile and thick black hair—the kind you’d expect to see flying space fighter in one of the entertainments—gave Subs a charming, easy grin. “So it’s like this. Some leej major comes to the hangar and sees that we’re not on the duty roster.”
“Off day,” chimes in the co-pilot.
“Off day. So anyway, he orders us to fly him and a team of marines out behind the doro lines. Deep.”
“How deep?” asked Subs.
The pilot’s smile broadened, as though he was particularly proud of the answer he was about to give. “The deepest I’ve heard. All the way back past the Cuchin Valley.”
Subs looked down, processing this information. The Cuchin Valley was well beyond the edge of any mission he’d heard of. Even the Dark Ops raids in search of those infernally evasive artillery batteries hadn’t gone so deep. Or… so Subs had heard from the sidelines. This SLIC had gone a full thirty kilometers beyond the deepest probe the Republic had managed.
“Was this major leading a Dark Ops operation?” Dark Ops was the only answer that made sense to Subs. Only his brothers in the black armor would be crazy and capable enough to try such a thing.
“No,” answered the co-pilot, shaking his head congenially. He was a slight man with a mid-core accent. “The major was regular Legion. Same armor as the rest of the legionnaires. And then… the marines.”
Something was up. A single legionnaire and a SLIC full of marines heading out deep behind enemy lines for who knows what. Highly developed warning bells were ringing.
“Did they say what the mission was?” Subs asked, making clear with his tone that he was being very serious.
The three-man flight crew shifted uncomfortably, clearly not liking the direction this once-pleasant conversation was heading.
“No,” said the co-pilot.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about them? It was just a single legionnaire major and a squad of marines?”
The pilot with the movie-star smile looked nervously at his co-pilot and gunner for a second. “Yeah. I mean… that’s all I saw.”
“Me too,” confirmed the co-pilot.
The door gunner pressed his lips into a tight smile, his pencil-thin mustache almost disappearing inside his mouth. “No, there was one other guy.”
The two pilots looked to their gunner as if this was news to them.
“Yeah,” said the gunner, talking to his pilots more than to Subs. “But he wasn’t dressed for battle. Just Legion fatigues. No armor… or helmet for that matter. He had a blaster rifle and a ruck, but that was about it.” The gunner pointed to the pilots, snapping his fingers as if helping them recall. “He was the reason we touched down again before we went out over the jungle.”
“Oh,” said the pilot. “Yeah, the major said it was part of his final preparations. I didn’t realize he’d brought someone back on board with him.”
The gunner nodded.
“You guys are sure of this?” Subs asked. Sweat rolled down his back, adding to the swamp inside his pants.
A trio of nods answered.
“Nether Ops,” Subs said, to himself mostly. “I’m guessing your last-minute rider was Nether Ops.”
That piece of information didn’t seem to sit well with the flight crew. In fact, Subs had probably just rocked their world by confirming that Nether Ops, which at best was a shadowy dirty whisper that reached them as scuttlebutt among pilots, had now been confirmed by someone who would know.
“Is that bad?” the co-pilot asked.
Subs shrugged. “For the legionnaire and the marines, probably.”
Subs had never actually worked firsthand with Nether Ops. He knew they existed to serve the House of Reason, designed to be the equal of Dark Ops, only under the heel of the politicians. The contention among those who’d retired before he had his papers in the queue was that the House of Reason got a real hard-on for their own deep cover state agency of killers once General Rex refused some mission they’d wanted executed.
The old man got offed for his trouble. Or disappeared. It depended on whom you talked to.
But it wasn’t unheard of for Nether Ops to do joint operations with Dark Ops. And it also wasn’t all that uncommon for marines and legionnaires to be under joint-force missions under the command of the Legion Special Operations Command.
Subs considered all this. He was still a part of the inner circle of Dark Ops, but this wasn’t his business. He was only on Psydon because his commanders wanted to do him a good turn. He needed to trust that they knew what they were doing, and let it go.
He smiled, feeling his sunglasses slide on his cheeks from the constant humidity and perspiration. “You know what, guys? Forget I said anything.”
The pilot with the megawatt smile held up his hands in a defensive manner. “Whoa. Dark Ops, listen: we were all just following—”
The pilot was interrupted by the arrival of a Republic Army maintenance tech and two bots. Subs knew the kid was surly and lazy. He didn’t like him.
Unkempt, with a gut and a stained uniform—and not grease stains, more like some kind of powdery confection—the tech paid no mind to the men standing in conversation. The two bots, both a meter tall and on tracks with manipulative claws, stood by as if waiting for orders.
“Well, there it is!” shouted the maintenance tech, kicking one of the bots in its side and causing a hollow-sounding gong. “Hurry up and get going so we can get back into the shade, you dummies.”
The bots rolled forward and began to remove the SLIC’s fueling covers.
The tech looked at the pilots through one squinting eye, the other shut tight against the sun. “Won’t be long. Maybe five minutes. There’s a flight lounge out of the sun where you can wait if you want.”
He pointed to a shanty-like building with an overhanging roof and three walls that only kept about twenty percent of the interior shaded thanks to the direction of the sun.
“That’s fine, thanks,” said the co-pilot through gritted teeth.
The tech shrugged and left, apparently counting on his bots to finish the job without his supervision.
It was clear to Subs that the crew was concerned with being in hot water. Which wasn’t at all the case. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t maybe use that fear to get a little more information. He knew he should let it go… but it wouldn’t rest well with him during the heated nighttime hours while he lay sweating in his hooch.
“So about this insertion,” Subs began.
“We’re not in trouble, are we, sir?” the pilot asked.
That was rich. Subs was being called “sir,” in spite of being an NCO, all because of his Dark Ops mystique. He didn’t mind it, though. Didn’t correct them either.
“No. You’re not in trouble.”
“Because again, we were following orders. The major said—”
“Yeah, I get it,” Subs said. “What was the major’s name?”
“Uh…” the pilot looked up, trying to remember.
“Berlin!” supplied the crew gunner.
“Major Berlin. How many other SLICs went in with you?”
“Just us.”
“Just you. When’s the exfil?”
“He said to come back to the same spot in forty-eight hours.”
Curiouser and curiouser. Out there, way behind the lines… it didn’t make sense. That’s not how Dark Ops would do it. They wouldn’t double back upon finishing an objective and be picked up at the same place they were dropped off. The only time anyone used the same LZ was when the exfil vehicle was waiting for them to do their business right then and there.
Subs sighed.
This needed to be looked into.
“Okay, guys,” he said, shaking each man’s hand. “You’ve been a big help. Make the pickup as ordered, but I want you to stop in and ask to see me on the way out. I may need to come along.”
He turne
d to see about finding a Republic Army building with some air conditioning. The comm room was usually cool… when the parts were working.
“Wait!” called one of the pilots. “Who do we ask for?”
Subs turned back, not breaking stride. “Me. I’m the only Dark Ops on this base. They’ll know.”
09
Wash held his blaster at the low ready as he took a turn leading the column of marines through the thick wild jungles. A howl that sounded every fifteen to twenty minutes and seemed to consist of a guttural roar and warning hiss pierced the air, causing all other animal life teeming within the jungle to hush into sudden silence.
“There it is again.” Berlin had been more occupied with the source of that predatory howl than with navigating through the jungle itself, often stumbling and steadying himself against tree trunks to stop and listen for it.
One by one, the animals of the jungle added their voices, until the jungle again was filled with a cacophony of sound.
“Probably a dreex,” Wash said, ducking beneath a leafy palm, looking for signs of doros. It wasn’t uncommon for the dog-men to lay traps in the jungle, but that was usually closer to the Republic’s bases, or the trails favored by the marines and basics. Wash, by contrast, was blazing a trail straight through solid jungle, legionnaire-style.
“How could you possibly know that?” asked Berlin.
“I actually read the flora and fauna manuals.” The Legion had provided the electronic booklets to all soldiers, to let them know what was on the planet that could kill them—other than the doros. “Biggest land-based predator on Psydon.”
“That’s cheerful to hear.”
Wash smiled. “Don’t worry. Biggest doesn’t mean that it’s colossal—it’s all relative. The doobers back home could eat these like snacks.”
“A doober could eat us both in one bite. That doesn’t help me, Wash.”
“It’s probably only a threat if it can corner you without your blaster rifle ready.”
Berlin gripped his weapon at the words.
Sergeant Shotton broke through the palm leaves Wash and Berlin had just passed through, catching up. “You talkin’ ’bout the dreex?”
“Yup,” Wash said.
“Ain’t no thing. We ran into one last month. They can’t stand up to a single rifle, let alone a patrol-ful. They’re drawn by blood—probably our friend Tierney. She’s soaked in it.”
“Well,” said Berlin, “I guess that means we’re safe tonight. Might want to have someone guard her, though.”
Wash nodded appreciatively at his friend’s remark. It wasn’t exactly selfless, but he was at least thinking of others. He wondered if Berlin would use this encounter during his political campaign tours. He was poised to tell quite a tale—the battle at the doro outpost where he singlehandedly killed ten doro insurgents… His leading the party through pristine jungle wilderness as a bloodthirsty predator stalked them for kilometers…
Wash chuckled to himself. Hell, that would get my vote.
“Who’s coming up behind you, Sergeant?” Wash asked, realizing it had been too long since they’d had the chance to speak. They needed to figure out how they were going to get out of the jungle.
“Haulman,” answered Shotton.
“I want him on point so we three can have a talk.”
Shotton gave a whistle that blended in well enough with the jungle sounds, and soon Haulman was up. “Take point,” Shotton said. “We’re talking.”
“What do we need to talk about?” asked Berlin.
“How we’re going to get out of this jungle,” said Wash.
Shotton grunted his agreement.
“But you’re the major,” Wash said to his friend. “You can stay with us and have a chat, or you can keep your ears open for the dreex.”
Berlin shrugged and joined Wash and Shotton as they moved back along the column, Shotton giving instructions to each marine they passed on how they could better button up and meet marine standards.
“The way I see it,” Shotton said in between soldiers, “we keep moving, staying ahead of any doros, until we get to friendly lines. That’s a long hike through this jungle, but I think it’s our best move. Maybe as we get closer, we’ll be able to reach ’em on comms and find a place for a SLIC to pick us up.”
Wash nodded. “Trouble is, unless we find an unmapped clearing on the way, it’s all treetops. SLICs won’t be able to get down low enough to pick us up.”
“I could’ve told you that,” Berlin chimed in. “That’s why I picked the clearing we landed in. It’s the only place SLICs can touch down beyond Poro-Poro Peak and the valley—and the doros have that valley locked in for artillery fire.”
The conversation halted, as did the three men, as they reached the corpsman who was keeping close to Tierney.
“How you doing, Private?” Wash asked.
Tierney managed a plucky smile that did little to hide the obvious pain she was in. “I’ve been better.”
“She’ll be okay as long as we don’t set a pace much faster than this,” Corpsman Hellix supplied.
“We’ve got lots of time,” Berlin said casually. He clapped the former POW on the shoulder. “So take it easy and we’ll get you to a field hospital. Soon you’ll be back on your feet and into the fight in no time.”
Tierney didn’t look enthusiastic about that. “Thank you, Major.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“There was something I wanted to speak with you about.”
Berlin removed his helmet and flashed the smile that would win him a seat in the House of Reason someday. “By all means. What is it?”
“Were you all… looking for us?”
Berlin looked sheepishly from Shotton to Wash. Both men only shrugged.
“Well…” Berlin said, “not exactly. But once we found you, there was no way we were going to leave you. Sorry about… about the others.”
Tierney nodded. “You were coming for the artillery?”
Shotton raised an eyebrow.
“I really can’t say…” began Berlin.
“I really can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Tierney said, looking at the jungle floor as she spoke. “But I feel I owe it to the Republic and to the ones who—well, so they didn’t have to die for nothing.” The woman sucked in a deep breath, as though she were about to take a jump off the high dive and was afraid of heights. “Okay, here goes. The artillery is close. Real close. It was right down that road leading out of the camp… maybe ten kilometers.”
“That kind of information would have been useful earlier, soldier,” scolded Shotton.
“I know that, sir. I… I just have been using this time to build up my courage. I don’t want to go back.” Tears welled in her eyes. “But we have to, don’t we?”
Wash wasn’t so sure. If they were all in the vicinity, they could still return to a firebase and call in the location. If the bombs came quick enough, surely the Legion would get ’em.
He was surprised when Berlin gave his opinion. “Absolutely. Take us there.”
***
“They would transfer us here for interrogations and then back to camp,” Tierney said to Wash and Berlin as they looked at the distant platforms through their macros. “Usually they don’t move, but when they do—they make a lot of noise.”
The doros’ mobile artillery platforms weren’t just hidden by the jungle—they were the jungle. The front of the platforms contained something like a beveled plow blade that scooped up the jungle—trees and all—and carried it over the top of the platform, its big guns retracting when something too big got in its way. It was like the artillery platforms were burrowing beneath the surface of the jungle, and as it moved, what it had dug up was planted back behind it. The platforms were slow and noisy—they could be heard from three kilometers out—but they moved through the jungle without a chance of being spotted from watching ships orbiting above.
“That’s an engineering marvel,” said Berlin. “I would never hav
e guessed the doros were capable.”
“I don’t think they are,” said Wash, no less impressed by what he saw.
Sergeant Shotton dropped his head behind a toadstool-infested log. “Whether they are or aren’t, we didn’t pack near enough explosives to stop even one of those things. So if taking them out is still our primary objective… I’m telling you our little recon team can’t get it done.”
“I thought you said your team was capable of operating as sappers,” said a crestfallen Berlin.
Shotton stared blankly at the major, but his tone bore no insubordination, just an NCO telling it like it is and letting the chips fall where they may. “Yeah. For stationary pieces or the kinds of guns towed by trucks. Not for something like this.”
“Okay, so what do we do?” asked Berlin. “We can’t just do nothing.”
“No, we can’t,” Wash agreed. “Our priority now has to be getting the location of these guns to Legion command.”
“That means marching back to base,” said Shotton. “Guns might’ve disappeared by then. Not that they look like fast movers.”
“I agree,” said Wash, taking Berlin’s wrist to bring up his hard-mounted display map. “Figure a two-day march back to our firebase.”
“At least. Remember, we’re bringing along wounded.”
Tierney shut her eyes and looked down.
“I think she’ll hold up fine,” Wash said. “Two days’ march to get to a place where we can pass the info along.”
“Or we can wait two days for the SLIC to come back where I told them to,” Berlin suggested.
Wash ignored his friend’s comment. “But if we move to Poro-Poro, we should be able to do an all-hail comm relay and get heard from somewhere by someone.”
“What’s an all-hail?” asked Berlin.
It was something that Berlin should absolutely have known. It was covered in his Legion training. Covered again during patrol protocols upon arrival on Psydon. In fact, it was common knowledge for anyone holding the rank of private and above. The only ones on Psydon who didn’t know were probably the points.
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