"This is where we separate Marines from non-Marines. If you can't cut it, we will transfer your enlistment to the Army. And from what my brothers and sisters in the Army have told me, Marine washouts are typically made into latrine mechanics or promoted to floor sweepers. I think each of you knows what that means. So, you will want to be giving it your all on Mycene."
The sergeant drew in a breath as he looked us over. "I see weak. I see slow. I see dumb. I see ugly. Looks like a good group."
The chuckling helped to break the tension.
"You are assigned to bunkroom twenty-six. It will be crowded, it will be noisy, and it may very well stink. We are hot-bunking on this flight. There will be three shifts. You get eight hours in the sack before the next group hits.
When you wake you will be sent through a sonic shower and given a clean uniform. You will be fed. You will have one hour of calisthenics, you will rest, I will guide you through online lessons, and you will repeat. We will follow this process three times per day until we arrive.
The sergeant took a step back. "I know it may be mid-morning for some of you, but this is your turn in the bunkroom. Your eight is already... two hours over, so you'll want to hustle back there and get settled in."
He pointed with an extended arm and open hand. "Bunkroom twenty-six. Move out."
The sergeant was right about the noise. Nearly half the recruits were snorers. Several were crying. I laid awake during our time in the dark room. Again, the day's events had done well to occupy my mind. But when at rest, I always came back to the same thing... reliving the final minutes of Denise's standoff.
Two hours after arriving at Mycene, we were herded into a room where another sergeant barked out orders. After donning heavy packs, we were marched outside. The air temperature was cold, but not intolerable, at least by Echelon standards.
The sergeant marching beside us made a remark. "I can see by your happy faces that you are in love with this environment. You were probably told how hot and miserable MBC can be. And for nine months out of the fourteen-month year, it is. You lucky folks happen to have come in during our few months of winter.
"Now. Before you begin to celebrate, just know that temperatures will be falling below freezing at night. During your stay here you will be spending a lot of your time in water. So instead of sweating your asses off... you'll be freezing them off. I tend to prefer the sweating myself. The water can then be a pleasant relief."
We followed a trail around the training facility. Two kilometers turned into five and then ten. Hayden was big, and muscular, but his body was not built for endurance. He clomped along like an Earth-horse while Max was in his element. Juan, Sheila, and I kept pace with each other, but were worn to a frazzle by the end of the fifteen-kilometer jaunt. We were allowed a short rest, fed a lunch, given an hour of classroom instruction, and then sent out for another fifteen kilometers.
By the third day, I felt as though my legs were going to fall off. But the young human body has a way of adjusting to adversity. By the end of the week, the soreness and fatigue I had previously been feeling was replaced by energy. I wondered if it was the training or if they were slipping something into the food.
On day eight, we were each issued our de-tuned boot-camp blaster. We spent an hour listening to a corporal as he gave us detailed instruction on its care and handling. It really was a nearly indestructible weapon. It would function in high or low temperatures and above or below water. We soon found out how effective it was in the mud.
We put on helmets and chest protectors, gathered our boot rifles, and were marched to a range. Next, we fired the rifles at targets until the small charge in each had been completely exhausted. We were then hustled to a field that was little more than a giant mud-pit.
One by one we were sent into the waist-deep mud. We had to make our way across to a post, two hundred meters on the other side, and then back. Meanwhile, several dozen recruits from the previous class, those who had scored highest in marksmanship, stood on scaffolding on either side of the pit.
As we slogged through the mud, the marksmen on the scaffolds took shots at us. While mostly protected from serious injury, we were told there had been an occasional snapped neck. I endured several jolts that tested my body's limits. Hayden was up front. Max was beside me. Max and I struggled.
Ten meters behind were Juan and Sheila. It was Juan's day, as ordered by our sergeant, to pair up with her. Hayden was never happy with that rotation. He constantly glanced back, making him a favorite target of the marksmen. But Hayden was all muscle. The jolts from the plasma strikes that hit him only made him mad.
At one point the barrages striking him were so common I thought he might snap and rush the near scaffold. But his determination pushed him ahead. I decided at that moment that if I were ever in combat with the Togmal, I would want Hayden there beside me... soaking up the charges and shrugging them off.
Hayden turned my way. "I can't say this is much fun."
"All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy."
"What?"
"Just something my wife used to say."
Hayden charged forward with a yell, punching the turn post before heading back toward the other end. I was relieved when the day finally came to an end.
Our training regimen over the next five weeks was extremely physical. By the end, fatigue was an almost foreign concept to me. I did as I was ordered and then did it again. My mind never lingered on the fact I was tired, sore, or hungry. I locked my mental state on accomplishing the goals that were set out for me. The others in my group were feeling the same.
Boot camp graduation came and went in a flash. We were given our ranks, privates, and sent out on our first deployment. It was not to any of the areas where there had been a conflict. Instead, our new posting was on Epsilon III; close to Earth and about as secure a planet as there was. Within weeks we were all going stir-crazy with inactivity. The fighting we had prepared for was non-existent.
The first few months were difficult. My mind always wandered back to Denise and Pea. I was thrilled our little team had been allowed to stay together but dismayed at the lack of purpose. There were no goals. Other than thirty minutes of daily calisthenics, we had virtually nothing to do. For whatever reason, the Togmal had not been heard from since I lost my wife and daughter.
It was a Friday. Hayden was sitting on his bunk next to mine. He used his combat knife to practice thrusting and slicing maneuvers. The look in his eye told me he daydreamed about encountering a Togmal.
I did much the same. But in my dreams, I was always asking them why. Why had they taken so much from me? Why did they refuse to talk to us? Why were they attacking for no sensible reason?
My thoughts were interrupted when our lieutenant walked into our barracks. "Listen up, Marines! Pack your gear! We're being transferred! You have five minutes to be in formation outside. Let's move it!"
Out of boredom I had kept my pack stuffed and at the ready. I put on my chest plate, pulled my pack over my shoulders, and strapped my helmet to my head.
The lieutenant was standing by the door going out. "Now that's a prepared Marine!"
I stopped beside him. "Where are they sending us, lieutenant?"
"Haven. The force there is moving. There's been an attack on the Dunedin Colony. I can't tell you any more because I don't know any more. Go. Get in formation, Private."
— Chapter 17 —
* * *
We were hustled onto a transport and were soon on our way. No news other than the orders had come in before our departure. Haven IV was farther out than Demos, but still six days from Echelon. There had been no prior reports of activity near Haven. The ride out was long and boring.
That all changed when we were within comm range of the colony. Word came in, including images, of the attack on Dunedin, an agricultural colony on the edge of Union space. It had a single spaceport and twenty thousand colonists. It was a quiet, uneventful place... until this attack.
The Togma
l raid on Dunedin was devastating. The spaceport, Collin's Find, was left as little more than a smoldering field of ash. The colonists, every last one, had been rounded up and executed, dumped in a rotting pile for our people to find. The Marines at Haven were the nearest battalion at only four days away. We were now their backup. But we were still not in any fight.
I was sitting in the common area of our barracks, watching the others play cards. Max was cleaning house. Hayden ensured everyone in the barracks was paying attention—with the occasional pounding of his giant fist. He was losing. The startled reactions of the others at least gave him a bit of satisfaction.
Juan was also on the losing end. His level of attention was fleeting. Sheila whispered into his ear as she caressed the side of his shaven head. A small part of me was curious about what she was saying, but the rest of me didn't want to know.
The barracks on Haven were old, built only a few decades after the planet was settled more than two centuries before. Their construction resembled a concrete box. Given the fact they were also buried under two meters of dirt, we had come to call them bunkers.
Hayden threw in his cards. "Forget this. I'm rolling over to bunker four. At least I can keep pace with that crowd. Max here is killing me."
Max gathered the cards. "Oh, come on. One more hand."
Hayden leaned in. "I've given you that one more hand three times now. I'm out."
As he stood to leave, an alert came in over our comms. The small fleet in the heavens above us was under attack. It was not a warning we were prepared for. As we jumped to our feet, we knocked over chairs and tables. Cards flew into the air. Everyone rushed to the lockers under their bunks. Before the first man left the bunker to assemble outside, an order came in. We were to prepare but were to remain inside.
I pulled on my pack and checked the power cell on my rifle. Others only grabbed their rifles and knives.
Hayden looked over with a chuckle. "Your pack? You going on a hike?"
"Am I my brother's keeper?"
"What?"
"Do I have to explain everything to you? If we have to leave this bunker, the pack will keep me alive out there for at least a week."
Hayden nodded as he reached down for his own. "Okay. I guess I can buy that."
Our lieutenant came into the barracks less than a minute later. "I've been told they are moving us to the spaceport. We'll be providing ground defense should the Togmal send in troops."
Hayden asked, "They haven't landed troops before, have they?"
"Dunedin was a first, Private. Now get that gear on. A transport is heading this way."
A dust cloud was kicked up and then settled. We hustled out and up a ramp. The transport lifted and headed toward the spaceport. I looked around at the nervous faces. Hayden had his knife out and was practicing his thrusts. Sheila was checking and rechecking her rifle. Juan tapped his fingers on the bench we sat on as Max stared straight ahead with his arms crossed.
Hayden asked our lieutenant. "Sir? You think we might see action?"
"Let's hope not, Private. Only fools rush into a fight."
"Unless you plan on winning... sir."
The ride was short, less than ten minutes. We hurried down the ramp and fast-marched to our assigned location. We would be protecting a terminal facility and the cargo haulers that sat parked on the tarmac outside it. I was uneasy about our position. We were inside a building, lined up in front of a giant glass wall, staring at the tarmac.
I moved over next to the lieutenant. "Sir. If a raid comes down, is it advisable for us to be standing under this wall?"
"Not our call, Private. Those were the orders we were given."
He held up a tablet confirming our exact location.
"Does command not give us a little leeway when it comes to something like this, sir?"
"We don't take leeway, Private. We take orders."
I understood the importance of following orders. We did not have a view of the bigger picture of the fight. But common sense dictated you did not hide behind glass if a fight was coming your way. It was about as far from a strategic position as you could take.
"Sir. Wouldn't we be better situated just outside? Maybe along that wall or maybe that ditch over there?"
"What did I just say, Private?"
The stare I received told me there was no convincing the lieutenant. It had been several centuries since the last war between governments was fought. Strategic defense positions must have gone out of style since then. The consolidated government we called the Union took over after humans finally realized they needed to stop killing each other. The short-sighted orders made me worry about our ability to defend ourselves.
There were probably Lieutenant Dupecks in every outfit, in every division, in every branch of our military. I signaled the others in my tight group to move to the end of our unit's position, near a set of exit doors. The lieutenant, his two sergeants, and a mess of corporals all stood under the center of the glass as they talked and stared upward.
Hayden said, "I don't think some of these people are all too bright. We're supposed to be Marines, not idiots."
Max nodded. "We're sitting ducks."
Juan asked. "Sitting ducks? What does that mean?"
Sheila pulled herself in close to him. "It means we are making ourselves vulnerable. I like to make myself vulnerable."
Juan turned with an expression of annoyance. "Where were you a week ago? Doesn't seem like the time nor the place."
Hayden said, "Come over here, Sugar. The Hammer likes vulnerable."
Sheila smiled and turned away.
Hayden asked, "What gives?"
I said, "She doesn't like to be chased. She likes to chase. Ignore her for a bit and she'll probably be all over you."
"Juan hasn't ignored her."
"Juan's an easy mark. Just watch the fascination on his face when she whispers to him."
"I could use some whispering."
"I don't think she follows through with what she suggests. She's just looking for a reaction."
"Sounds like you have women all figured out."
"You only have to figure out one, Hayden. But expect surprises."
Our fun little conversation came to a sudden end. A Togmal warship dropped through the lazy clouds overhead.
I scrambled toward the exit door with all the strength I had in my legs. "Move!"
The glass wall shattered into thousands of pieces in reaction to bright-blue flashes of light. The lieutenant and his sergeants were incinerated. I instinctually took command.
I directed half the remaining force who followed us out to dive into the ditch and signaled the other half to follow me to the wall. The Togmal warship circled, laying waste to most of the structure we were sent to guard. Having only our rifles, we had nothing to fight back with.
I opened a comm to command. "This is Marine Company TX512. We are taking heavy fire!"
The voice on the other side countered. "Who? Who is this?"
"TX512. Private Jackson. Our lieutenant and sergeants are dead." I held up my comm camera, slowly panning the area around us. "We need orders. Who am I talking to?"
"Lieutenant Briggs. Let's see. G104. You are stationed at the storehouse, right?"
"TX512," I repeated again. "The terminal is down. Repeat. The terminal is down. We've moved outside. Half our remaining force is hunkered in a ditch with the other half behind a wall."
A different voice came over the comm. "This is Captain Mindek. Hold your position, Jackson. We have what looks like troop transports heading your way."
"Ours or theirs, sir?"
"What?"
"The troop transports. Ours or theirs?"
"Theirs, Private. I am instructing you to hold that terminal."
"The terminal is gone, Captain. Nothing but a burning pile of rubble."
"Then hold wherever you are. We have gunships coming in, but they are at least fifteen minutes out."
"We'll hold the tarmac, sir."
Blue flashes streaked across the sky. All were coming from Togmal ships. I wondered where our own fleet was. Had they been defeated? Were we on our own? I wasn't certain I could trust the captain's word about the fifteen minutes we were told to wait. That time frame no longer mattered as three Togmal troop transports dropped through the clouds, one heading directly toward us.
I turned. "Max. Give me your best estimate at how many hostiles we might be facing."
"Ship of ours that size usually holds about one-fifty. A company."
I tapped on the tiny display on my comm. "We're down to sixty-six."
Hayden held his knife in one hand and his rifle in the other. "I say we bum-rush the little scalers when they hit the ground."
I shook my head. "I've seen them up close. They aren't little. They are our size."
Hayden grinned. "They aren't my size."
I glanced his way. "No. No they aren't. I think your idea has merit though."
I opened a channel to our company. "This is Jackson. I'm taking charge. You in the ditch, you are Team Alpha. Team Bravo is behind the wall. If a ramp drops on Team Alpha's side, I want you to do your best to pin them inside until we can reach you. You come to us if they come out our side. If we can bottle them up in that ship, we might just have a chance."
Hayden nodded. "Decisive. I like it."
I let out a sigh. "It was your idea. And I don't think we have a choice. If we try to run, those Togmal gunships will mow us down. When that transport lands we at least have the advantage of being close to it."
Max said, "Here she comes. Right to us."
A stiff wind blew across the tarmac as the ship settled. The ramp for the Togmal warriors began to lower on the opposite side.
I gave the command. "Go! Go! Go!"
The team of thirty-eight Marines on the other side rushed from their trench as we exited from behind the wall. The whumps of blaster fire echoed across the tarmac as Team Alpha took out the first three Togmal down the ramp. Team Bravo and I rounded the back of the ship, our fire helping to push our enemy back inside.
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