Gears of War

by Jason M. Hough

  But Cipi had said the incident occurred months ago. Well before the Ghosts had arrived at Vectes. Moreover, the COG’s version of the goggles had a reddish hue, not green. Something else was going on here. “I assure you we had nothing to do with that. Our policy is to keep to the waters, save for our base at Vectes.”

  “Yet you are here,” Cipi observed.

  “That wasn’t by choice.”

  Gabe said the words though he knew they weren’t exactly true. Hiding on Adena had been the only option left to him, but it was still an option he’d chosen—and besides, none of this would have happened if Wyatt and his team had stayed off Knifespire.

  Speaking of Wyatt, is he still with us, or did he decide to slip away? In the heat and the monotony of the hike, Gabe had almost forgotten about him. Almost. With a glance over his shoulder, Gabe quickly scanned the faces of the rest of the group. Wyatt was there, at the rear, just as he’d said he’d be. Behaving, for once. Gabe studied him for a moment.

  He wondered if Wyatt, or any member of the group, had looted a pair of UIR goggles. Gabe hoped to hell the answer was no. Now wasn’t the time to ask.

  Suddenly the woman emerged again from her small hut. Despite the heat, she’d put on a shawl. Pausing only to give a long, hard glance at Cipi, she turned and marched off down a trail leading east.

  “We should keep moving,” their guide said, once she’d gone. “You will have to find your own food.”

  “Where’s she going?” Gabe asked, not liking the tone in the man’s voice.

  “She wishes you to leave,” he repeated, “and I fear she has gone to gather enough of our people to make sure that happens.”

  “Good luck with that,” Blair said, hefting her rifle. Gabe put a hand on her arm and forced the weapon down.

  “Everyone stay calm. They don’t want our war on their shores, and that’s their right. We’ll head to Shallow Bay and…”

  He trailed off, a feeling growing in him that his plan wasn’t going to work. How long would it take for Phillips to send more boats after them? She’d already be fuming over the three Wyatt took, against her orders, and when those didn’t come back, a very serious situation would be crashing down on her shoulders. Exactly the kind of scenario she dreaded, and worked so hard to avoid.

  “Listen,” he said to the group. “One step at a time, okay? The cove, then food, and a way to signal base. That’s what we’ve got to do right now.”

  Blair studied him for a long second, then lifted her chin. “You heard the LC. Saddle up, Gears, we’ve got a bit farther to go.”

  Cipi turned, then, and walked due south. The trail here was narrow and disused, much of it already reclaimed by the relentless jungle growth. He avoided the village now, Gabe realized, and wondered if he would be in trouble for bringing outsiders there in the first place.

  Gabe motioned for his Gears to follow the man, and waited until all but Wyatt had passed.

  His brother eyed him. “Something wrong?”

  “Yeah,” Gabe said. “I’m just not sure what. Keep an eye on our guide, will you?”

  “What, you think he’s going to gather some fishermen and ambush us or something? We can handle—”

  “I don’t know, Wyatt. Maybe it’s nothing. I just want you to keep an eye on him.”

  The man nodded. “Sure. No problem.”

  The march dragged on, a monotonous trudge under foliage, over vines, and through muddy patches where the air itself seemed alive with all the insects. Just when it seemed like the journey would never end, Cipi pushed a branch aside and walked out onto one of the finest beaches Gabe had ever seen. The sand here was nearly white, unmarred by seaweed or even a single pebble. Two-foot-high waves crashed along the shore, save for the semicircular inlet at the center.

  “Shallow Bay,” Gabe said.

  Cipi nodded. He seemed, in fact, unimpressed. Gabe wondered how long he’d have to be near a paradise like this to think it mundane. The waters were jade green, alive with schools of small colorful fish that darted and swarmed.

  “Before you ask,” Cipi said, gesturing toward the water, “the fish are poisonous. You must go out a mile or more to find bass or mothfish.”

  “Any chance you have a boat we can borrow?” Blair asked him. “Some poles and bait?” The man shook his head, wrapping his fingers around his cane. He seemed at once both anxious to leave, and hesitant to.

  “Doesn’t matter anyway,” Gabe said to the sergeant. “We’re still being hunted, remember?”

  To prove his point he remained at the edge of the jungle, scanning the horizon for any sign of the UIR frigates. Or better yet, a COG fleet roaring to their rescue. But the line between sea and sky was unbroken, save for another island off to the east.

  “I will rest now,” Cipi said, clearly uncomfortable now that they’d reached their destination. He gestured toward a tree back the way they’d come, with a rock beneath it. “If you need anything else, find me there. It’s best if you do not return to the village.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Gabe said to him, though he doubted the sincerity of the man’s words. This was less about helping and more about keeping an eye on the island’s unwanted guests.

  The man nodded and wandered off, sidestepping past the line of Gears and sailors trailing behind Blair. He kept his head down as he passed them, and seemed in no particular hurry.

  “Well,” Blair said, “now what?”

  Gabe glanced at her. Then the rest of the group.

  “Gather ’round,” he said. When they did, he took a knee. “At ease,” he said. Some joined him, others sat or even lay down. A few stood, or leaned against trees. “We wait here as long as we can,” Gabe said. “We’ve got no long-range comms, so no way to signal base. If we start a fire or something to get their attention, we’ll have the UIR on us well before any COG ships can get here. So we wait. We have water. We’ll find some food if we can, but if not… a day or two without eating isn’t the end of the world.”

  A whole lot of glum faces stared back at him. He’d expected as much, but took it as his own failing. His job was to keep his troops in line, and to keep them inspired. No easy task in the sideshow of a long-running war. Vectes had become lax, the island too peaceful to instill a sense of grit and determination. Allowing things like “NO80” to go unchecked only allowed them to fester. A cancer, Phillips would call it. The odds that he could suddenly wring out some latent sense of patriotism seemed slim.

  Without that, there was only fear.

  “Squad leaders,” he said, “organize your Gears into watches. No ship goes by this shore that we don’t spot, understand? Pair up with members of the patrol boat crews, they’re better at identifying ships from a distance.” He took a long sweeping look at everyone. “The rest of you stay in the trees, just in case. But don’t stray too far from the beach. And whatever you do, no going back to the village. Understood?”

  “What about shelter?” someone asked. “If we’re going to be here overnight.”

  Gabe nodded. “I’m just getting to that. If you’re not on perimeter watch, make yourself useful. We won’t be building any fires, so find some vines and start lashing them together. Hammocks will keep us off the ground and away from these damned ants.” To hammer the point home he slapped one that was crawling up his forearm. The little monster was a smear of red juice and kicking legs when he pulled his hand away.

  “Blair?” he said.

  She stepped forward from the group.

  “I need to know our supplies on hand. Beans, bullets, bandages, you know the drill. We’ll need to stretch what’s left.”

  “You got it.” She turned back to her squad.

  “Let’s have a proper response, Sergeant,” Gabe said to her back.

  She turned back to him, a flare of disobedience behind her eyes. It passed quickly, though.

  “Yes, Lieutenant Colonel. I’ll handle it.”

  “Good. Dismissed.”

  She snapped a salute and went back to her
squad.

  Gabe knew his second-in-command well enough to have confidence that she’d get over the exchange quickly, and recognize it for what it was: a reminder that discipline was needed to get them out of this mess. Still, he’d talk to her later, make sure the point was clear.

  Glancing around, he spotted Wyatt. His brother was helping pull some vines to use for a shelter. The work happened to be within easy sight of where Ciprian was seated. The native had his eyes closed, and seemed to be asleep.

  Satisfied, Gabe left the group to their tasks and walked a short distance away. Sitting at the base of a palm tree that seemed relatively free of fire-ants, he took out a notepad and began to make a list of his own.

  Chief Mendez MIA

  Sergeant Akino KIA

  Private Howe KIA

  Corporal Davis KIA

  He stopped there, thinking about the sniper. Her modified Longshot. Her quiet competence. She’d stayed in that perch knowing full well the enemy guns were turning toward her, all because she had a shot and taking it might sway the battle. An act of bravery and commitment that she would never know the result of.

  “I’ll make it matter,” he said to the sand, and sighed. The burden of a Gear’s death while following his orders was exactly the reason the COG had posted him here. A place to heal, and to forget. The irony that trouble had followed him was not lost on Gabe Diaz. The question was whether or not such a turn of events was a coincidence, or if he had been placed here for some other reason.

  Such thoughts were banished when a shadow fell across his pad of paper.

  11: NEW INFORMATION

  The shadow belonged to Gian.

  “I’m interrupting,” she said immediately, seeing Gabe’s reaction to her arrival.

  Gabe put the notepad away and stood. “It’s alright. How’s the arm?”

  She glanced down at the bandaging and burn patches, and then the singed portion of her uniform around it. “I’ll live,” she said.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, matter-of-fact as ever. “I was thinking about what you said earlier. That we had no way to signal Vectes?”

  “From the look on your face, I’m guessing you’ve got an idea.”

  “It was actually your idea, sir,” she said. “Sort of, anyway.”

  Gabe raised an eyebrow.

  Speaking quickly, the engineer outlined her thought. Gabe listened carefully. The gist was as simple as it was brilliant, and inspired by the trick they’d pulled in the Cathedral Cave on Knifespire. Much like using the antenna there to their advantage, Gian suggested taking apart several suits of Gear armor, and bridging their comms units together to boost the power.

  In response to her proposal, Gabe reached for the buckle on his chest armor.

  “Hold on,” Gian said. “To be clear, this is a massive hack. Have to take your armor apart. Pull some bits out, run some wires. Without the proper tools and a workshop, this might break your comms entirely, or leave them only semi-functional.”

  Gabe almost suggested she use someone else’s, but then he realized what he’d be saying. That his life was more important than a lower-ranking Gear. It wasn’t, but even if it was, that would not be the best topic to bring up when morale was low.

  Gian was way ahead of him. “Only a transmission from your rank will register with the listening post at Vectes. They don’t monitor enlisted frequencies.”

  “Do it, then,” he said, and started to unbuckle the heavy chest armor.

  “I’ll need another comm to link with yours,” Gian noted. “

  Use mine.”

  It was Wyatt, who’d strolled over from the work crew while Gabe and Gian had been talking.

  “What?” Gabe asked.

  “I caught the gist of her plan. Use my armor. I’m pretty good at not getting shot, and who knows, with any luck we’ll be back in Vectes without any more action to worry about.”

  Gabe frowned.

  “Besides,” his brother added, “a signal from my suit goes out on the spec-ops frequency. Believe me, we’ll get a response.”

  Before Gabe could argue, Wyatt had his armor halfway off. He dumped it at Gian’s feet, then knelt and started helping her to remove the maintenance panels that protected the radio. Unable to think of a valid argument against this, Gabe left his armor with them and went to see how his Gears were doing with the shelters.

  The sun was halfway between its zenith and the horizon when Wyatt and Gian came to find him. His brother looked thin and wiry without his armor on. Gabe barely recognized him.

  “Well?”

  It was Wyatt who answered. “Got a response from Hoffman himself.”

  “How long until they send rescue?”

  Wyatt scratched behind his ear. Gian was staring at her feet.

  “This is not filling me with hope,” Gabe muttered.

  “About that… uh… Hoffman has sort of a different idea.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “He said,” Wyatt replied, “he wants to talk to you.”

  * * *

  It was, in fact, both Hoffman and Phillips on the comm.

  Gabe stood beside a palm tree and watched the waves come in as they explained what was going on.

  But Gabe couldn’t get his mind off the only word Hoffman had uttered that really mattered.

  Imulsion.

  The rare, highly coveted fluid that fueled this war in both senses of the word.

  “Imulsion, sir? Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely sure, Diaz,” the man said. “A Recon flight detected a vapor cloud rolling out of that cave on Knifespire shortly after your team left. Whatever you did there, it seems to have uncovered an Imulsion source no one knew about.”

  “Unbelievable,” Gabe muttered.

  “Believe it, son,” Hoffman said. “What’s more, Recon also reports that the enemy are already moving more ships to the area. Clearly they know about it, too, and will do anything to get to it before we do.”

  Gabe said nothing. What could he say?

  “We’ve been on the line with Deputy Chairman Prescott already,” Phillips added, sounding a bit self-important. “This comes straight from him, Diaz. We need that island. Tell us you still have the resources to secure it.”

  Retake the island.

  Knifespire.

  Gabe shook his head. “It’s… it’s impossible. We’re practically out of ammo. Half my people are carrying secondhand Gorasni weapons. Several wounded with us. There’s no way—”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Finally, Hoffman broke the quiet.

  “Okay, okay. Just hang tight. We’re putting a fleet together.”

  “Everything we’ve got that can float,” Phillips added. “All our remaining patrol boats, and three Corvas. The choppers are dressed for sub-hunting duties but it’s what we have available.”

  “As you know, the battlegroup is currently assisting in the blockade of Reinvar,” Hoffman said. “But I can assure you a large portion will be diverted here, given this find. It’s that important. In fact, one of the fast-attack boats, the CNV Defiant, is already on the way at maximum speed.”

  Gabe rubbed his chin, trying to think. “This fleet from Vectes—” he started.

  “They’ll pick you up on the way to Knifespire. Twenty hours from now, roughly.”

  “My question was: why not have them go straight there?”

  “Like it or not, you’re our expert on the place now, Diaz. You have the latest intel and know the current lay of the land. We’re counting on you to lead this effort and keep the enemy from securing the island. If we can keep them from digging in, we just might have a chance when the larger fleet arrives.”

  “They’ll have a twenty-hour head start, sir. You and I both know that’s too long. It’ll be a massacre.”

  “We have to try,” the response came. Simple, powerful, and terrible. “You know that as well as we do.”

  Gabe could hear the dejection in his voice, though. Hoffma
n wasn’t happy about this, either. The fact was the UIR were in a better position, and would take this precious new Imulsion source easily. There was, it seemed, no way to prevent it. The COG had already lost.

  But Gabe couldn’t help himself. He did see a way. Maybe. “I’ll report back in an hour,” he said. “There’s something I need to do.”

  He signed off before they could argue.

  Walking back to his Gears, Gabe envisioned the plan as he often did: like a tree, each branch a possible outcome that demanded a solution, all serving the trunk which began with the mission goal and ended with victory.

  This tree had a lot of branches, and few he could see solutions for. Not when he started walking, at least. Yet by the time he reached his people, the plan was more or less fully formed.

  And it started with a lie.

  He looked to his Gears, and the Navy sailors, who had seen him approach and begun to gather around. Sensing news, expecting rescue. Not a fresh order to battle.

  “I’m afraid I have to ask even more of you,” he said to them once they’d all gathered. Gabe Diaz looked his soldiers in their hard eyes. He owed them that much, and more.

  Because that was the other thing about handing down orders. At some point you reach the last link in the chain. And from there only two things remained: action, and consequences.

  He raised his voice.

  “It seems a source of Imulsion has been spotted on Knifespire,” he said.

  This sent a ripple through those gathered. Everyone, no matter their rank, understood the importance of such a thing.

  “Every last ship Vectes has and more are on the way, but even that won’t be enough. It’s not rescue we’re waiting for,” Gabe said. “It’s our ride. We’re going back. In twenty hours a fleet will pick us up and take us to that island once again. This time, we’re going to stay.”

  12: HOSTAGE SITUATION

  Before Gabe’s rallying speech had even ended, the sleeping Ciprian had woken, stretched, and wandered off back toward his village.