The Feeding of Sorrows

by Rob Howell

  “How long was it on, Williams?”

  The sensor tech highlighted the bogey chronometer. “Why such an odd time, sir?”

  “Say instead it’s interesting and that it means something. Run it through the database and see if it matches some sort of time unit belonging to another species.”

  William blinked. “That would make sense, sir.”

  “I suspect it’ll be something like that. If it’s not, that means something too. We’ll just have to dig harder.”

  “I can do that, sir.”

  “I have no doubt, Spacer Williams.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 24 – Capt. Mark Pedersen

  EMS Algonquin

  Maquon System

  “That’s the way of it, gentlemen.” Captain Pedersen turned back from the display to look at the three lieutenants in front of him. Two of them, Jaime Aguilar and Len Martin, had just come from officer training. The third had decades of experience, but all of it had been as a grunt and NCO. Tristram Huddleson clearly felt uneasy to be in officer country.

  “Questions?” asked the captain.

  Aguilar hadn’t said a single word during the briefing. He remained silent, but was clearly thinking through the problem.

  Martin filled the vacuum. “How are we going to do this, sir? We can try to train these lads on drop techniques, but they’re green as hell.” He looked at Aguilar. “So are we, for that matter.”

  “So am I, Lieutenant.” Pedersen shrugged. “I’ve been pushing a lot of paper, and it’s been eight years since I last had a command.”

  Martin blinked. “But—”

  “I’m telling you because we’re all likely to miss things. I don’t want you to hesitate to say something when you catch my mistakes. However, let’s not remind the troopers that I’m a REMF who can barely find my ass with both hands. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Martin.

  Aguilar nodded.

  Huddleson spoke up. “It’s worse than that, sir. Not only are the vast majority of our troopers fresh out of West Rocks, they’ve never really worked as part of a line platoon, much less a company. We’re going to have to train them to work as a unit.”

  “Yeah, Dozier kicked these two platoons out quickly with the expectation they’d get a bunch of their advanced training with Alfa and Bravo Companies,” replied Martin.

  “Agreed on both points.” Pedersen turned back to the older man. “That’s why I’m so glad Lieutenant Huddleson is here.”

  Huddleson blinked. “Still not used to that.”

  “You’re going to have to get used to it, while sharing all the experience you have. You’d be the highest-ranking NCO on board if Edmonds hadn’t promoted you. We’re going to need that.”

  “I expected him—”

  “Bedamned with what you expected him to do,” snapped Pedersen. “I was there when the report from Peninnah came in. There isn’t a person in the regiment who doesn’t know what you did, and why you’re the newest mustang. Time for you to get over it.” With a sly smile, he asked, “Or do you want to resign your commission?”

  Huddleson blinked. “Ah, no, I suppose not.”

  “Good. We don’t have much time, if Captain Gonzalez is right. Here’s what I’m going to do. We’ve got 83 troopers on the Algonquin plus the four of us.” He tapped his pad. “I’ve divided the 83 into three platoons. I kept the two recruit platoons together, figuring they’d shake down quicker. The rest I lumped into Third Platoon. Take a look at the list and let me know if you see any issues. I realize you don’t know these troopers well, and it’s likely we’ll have to reassign a few of them, so keep your eyes open.”

  The lieutenants read through the list. Martin shrugged. Aguilar raised an eyebrow.

  “Problem, Aguilar?”

  “Maybe, sir. I’ve noticed problems between Gonçalo and Horacio.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, sir. Both are from the same neighborhood in Toronto and apparently have some sort of grudge.”

  Pedersen called up their records. “Good catch. We’ll move Gonçalo from Third to Second.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The lieutenant paused. “I see how working these troopers in a platoon will help some, but they’ll also need time to work at a company level.”

  “Agreed.” Pedersen smiled. “We’ve got three platoons. That’s an understrength company. I’m going to call us Delta Company.”

  “What?! Can you do that?”

  “I can’t be accused of empire building since I’ve not had a line command in years. Edmonds can fire me if he wants. However, it’s my bet this is the best way to make these troopers as combat effective as possible. If Gonzalez is right, we’ll be dropping on Maquon almost immediately.”

  Martin and Aguilar shared dubious looks.

  “As you command, sir.”

  Pedersen smiled and touched his pad. “Here’s Delta’s table of organization. I’ll be company CO. Huddleson you’ve got First Platoon. Martin, you’ve got seniority, so you’re XO and in charge of Second Platoon. Aguilar, you’ve got Third. However, you need another hat, so I’m making you company S-2. We’re the only officers here, so we’re going to be working hard to make this a company.”

  “We don’t have enough NCOs, sir.”

  “You’re right, Lieutenant Martin. You’re going to be a fine XO. When I said we’re going to be working hard, I meant it. Any problems with that?”

  “No, sir. Tenacious and versatile, sir!”

  He turned to Huddleson. “You’ve got three hats. First, I want you to help Lieutenant Wainwright program the sims. You’ve got more experience with hot drops than anyone else on board.”

  “Can do.”

  “Second, Martin is right. We need more NCOs. You’ll be in charge of filling those roles.”

  “At least I know how to do that.”

  “No doubt. If you need a stripe to give someone seniority to fill a billet, let me know. Gonzalez can’t promote past sergeant, but he can do that.”

  “That’ll help.”

  “And third, in your copious spare time, you’ve got to learn how to run a platoon.” He waved a hand. “You know more than all of us put together about most things, but there’ll be some things you’ll need to learn to run a platoon. Don’t slack off, or you’ll hang that platoon out to dry.”

  “Understood, sir. Tenacious and versatile.”

  “Tenacious and versatile, indeed. Those are the qualities we’re going to need. To sum up, we’re going to have to get these troops drop pod-trained, while shaking them down into a usable company. While doing so, we’re going to learn how to do our jobs. Finally, we’re going to have to figure out how to deal with whatever we find on Maquon.”

  “How much time do we have?” asked Aguilar.

  “No clue. Maybe all the time in the world. Maybe a week. We can’t control that, so we’re not going to worry about it. We’re just going to do what we can as fast as we can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Martin, I want you to work up a draft training profile. I’ve dumped a couple of old ones from West Rocks onto your pad. I don’t expect perfection. Tonight, the four of us will discuss it and come up with a better plan. We’ll also tweak things during our time on the Algonquin.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Aguilar, I want you to get plugged in with Lieutenant Wainwright. Get his feedback on the best way to pass intel back and forth.”

  Aguilar nodded.

  “Huddleson, I need a tentative list of NCOs matched up to the available billets and a report suggesting how to fill the empty billets in three hours. It’s not much time, I know, but we can’t dawdle. We’ll cover that tonight, as well. It’s going to be a late night.”

  “Got it, sir.”

  “Questions?”

  “What are you going to be doing, sir?” asked Aguilar.

  “I’m going to speak to all the NCOs and get their input. Even the corporals are likely to have more experience than we do. I want them in
volved, because we’re going to need them. They’ll be doing the work of two people. I want you to work with them, too.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Gentlemen. We’ve got two choices. One way likely kills us. The second way, the hard way, may still kill us, but will give us a chance to hurt those that are fucking with our family. Who knows? We might live.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 25 – Pvt. Rhan’Kiial’Tala

  EMS Algonquin

  Maquon System

  “Up and at ‘em, ladies and gentlemen!” Lieutenant Huddleson’s voice sounded more like a sergeant’s than a lieutenant’s as he rounded up the former members of Recruit Platoon Alfa-29. “Into the boat bay on the double. Bring your pads.”

  “Think we’ll get some answers?” whispered Ericson. Scuttlebutt had been wild since the ship’s change in accel after coming out of hyperspace.

  Kiial waved his tail as he trotted down the passage. He hopped through a hatch. “No clue, but Huddleson seems pissed.”

  “Another day in the Foresters.”

  “No shit.”

  They fell into platoon formation when they reached the bay. Huddleson stood in front of them. Next to him were two sergeants, one with a horrific scar running down her face, and two corporals. One of the corporals was Bag O’Dicks.

  “Captain Pedersen, the highest ranking groundpounder on the Algonquin has stated that we’re not trained well enough. He’s decided we’re going to work on some things before we get to Maquon.” Huddleson glanced around. “Anyone have a problem with that?”

  Sucker question. Kiial hid a smile.

  “Excellent. He’s right about one thing, we don’t have enough high-altitude drop training, and since we’ve got this lovely spaceship and some old drop pods, he thinks now is the time to rectify that.”

  That’s odd. The Cochkala didn’t need to look at the rest of the platoon to know they thought the same thing.

  “Before we do that, however, we’re going to shake you down into an actual platoon. We’ve forwarded section and fire team assignments to each of you, along with our anticipated training schedule. Please check your pads and let me know if you have any questions.”

  Kiial saw he was assigned to Second Section, Fire Team Alfa. He also saw they had given him a busier training schedule than the one at West Rocks.

  He sighed. Tenacious and versatile.

  Huddleson waited a few moments as everyone looked through their information. He motioned toward the NCOs next to him. They fanned out. “Corporal Cox will command section 11.”

  Kiial breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Line up in front of him if you’re assigned to that section,” continued Huddleson.

  After they complied, Cox led them out of the bay. “Sergeant Schmidt will take 21.” The scarred sergeant raised her hand. Kiial moved over. Ericson and Johnson joined him, as did two others, Michaels and Kazinski.

  “Come with me,” she said and took them to a small cabin that had been hastily arranged to serve as a training room.

  “Gentlemen. And Cochkala.”

  “Sergeant!” they shouted back.

  She shook her head. “You’re not recruits any more. I’m not going to mess with that bullshit. We don’t have enough time.”

  “Sergeant, what are we going to be doing?” asked Johnson.

  “You heard Huddleson. We’ll be pushing you through fire team exercises in the sims to get you working together and teaching you how to do a hot drop.” She glanced at Kiial. “The Cochkala will be working extra to get up to speed in his CASPer. The rest of you will be helping pull drop pods and prep them for use.”

  “Hot drops, Sergeant? I thought we were going to Maquon.”

  “Plans change, Private Kiial.” She grinned. “Best you learn that.”

  “I believe Sergeant McWhorter felt the same, Sergeant. He emphasized the importance of intel, even to the lowest grunt.”

  “You paid attention.” She shook her head. “However, I don’t know much.”

  “This isn’t normal, though. Right?”

  “I’ve been from Earth to Maquon a half-dozen times, and we’ve never done this before.”

  Kiial wrapped his tail around him. “Fuck.”

  Johnson spat, “I knew you were a curse.”

  “Private Johnson!” snapped Schmidt. “There are two bad motherfuckers in this room. Two of us, and only two. What’s a bad motherfucker? I’m glad you fucking asked. It’s someone who’s killed someone. That’s me and the Cochkala. Got it?”

  Johnson snapped to attention, startled.

  Schmidt’s eyes bored into him. “He ain’t the problem. He wasn’t on Six-Alfa. He wasn’t on Peninnah. He wasn’t in Houston. I don’t want any shit about this. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Schmidt took a breath and looked at the whole section. “I’ve been a part of the Foresters for eleven years. We’ve kicked some ass along the way, but mostly we’ve done our jobs. Usually, it’s a boring job making sure no one fucks with Hilden miners.” She shook her head. “Shit’s been crazy lately, and it’s not just because of the occasional megaboar.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” Johnson glanced at Kiial and shrugged. “Sorry, I guess.”

  Kiial nodded back.

  “Here’s the deal. There are six of us. We’re going to serve as a section of eight, and we already know things are fucked up.” She traced her scar. “I may not be the prettiest girl at the ball, but I damn well want to keep dancing. The only way we stay alive is if we work together and work damn hard. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant!” they replied.

  “If you ain’t sleeping, eating, or doing whatever Cochkalas do to jerk off, Kiial, I want you in a sim or in your CASPer. It ain’t fair, but you’ve had the least training of anyone here.”

  “Got it.”

  She looked at the rest of the section. “The more the Cochkala works his long, snappy little tail off, the better chance we have of surviving. His only focus is getting ready to fight. That helps us all survive. The rest of us will be working on that, too, but there’s a bunch of other things that have to get done. We’ll do that for him.”

  Johnson glanced quickly at Kiial.

  “You can get mad at him once you’re a bad motherfucker, Johnson. Not before.” She sighed. “Look, it ain’t fair. We all know that. It ain’t fair that we’re trying to make a bunch of recruits combat ready in the middle of space. Someone’s been fucking with the Foresters, though, and it may damn well be up to us to stick a K-bomb up that motherfucker’s ass.”

  She stared at Johnson. “You understand?”

  “Johnson never liked the Cochkala, Sergeant, but they both did their jobs at West Rocks,” interjected Ericson. “I’m good with both of them.”

  Johnson blinked at Ericson.

  Schmidt looked at the others. “Michaels? Kazinski?”

  “Tenacious and versatile,” said Michaels with a grin.

  Kazinski chuckled and glanced slyly at Johnson. “Hell, I like tailboy better than Johnson, anyway.”

  “You fuckhead!” snapped Johnson.

  The sergeant chuckled. “Okay. Johnson’s a dick. We have to carry the Cochkala’s weight. Ericson’s a goddamn Martian. I’m an ugly bitch. We’ll learn why we’re going to despise you two later. But we’re going to keep each other alive, so we can keep giving everyone the shit they deserve.”

  Even Johnson laughed.

  The next weeks passed in a blur for 21. Tempers frayed more than once, but Schmidt managed to keep Kiial from wrapping his tail around Johnson’s neck. Johnson, despite being an asshole, proved to be best suited to lead the second fire team. He had Michaels and Kazinski. Ericson and Kiial worked with Schmidt.

  Initially, 21 lagged behind the rest of the platoon because of Kiial’s CASPer scores, but by the end of the second week they had beaten Cox’s section three skirmishes in a row, and that was no longer the cas
e. Schmidt did not, quite, laugh in Cox’s face after the last one.

  In their training room, however, she howled when the others told her his nickname.

  A week later, after another sim, they exited their CASPers to find Lieutenant Huddleson waiting for them. “Private Kiial, I gotta say you’re not the worst CASPer driver I’ve ever seen.” He glanced at the results on his pad.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You figure out how to use that M-93 McWhorter let you keep?”

  “Not really, not while I’m buttoned up. I’m keeping it in the cockpit, so if I punch out, I have something.”

  “Agreed. Might as well have something other than a long tail, no matter how cute it is.”

  Section 21 chuckled.

  Huddleson pushed a few buttons and continued, “You might want to check your personnel record, Private Kiial.” He glanced at all of 21. “Have a nice day, Foresters.”

  The others glanced at Kiial, who picked up his pad. According to a message alert, his record had just been updated.

  By Mizar!!!

  “Well?” demanded Johnson.

  Kiial’s tail waved about, and he made no attempt to keep it under control. “I’m fully qualified on the CASPer Mk 8.”

  “Not bad, Tailboy.”

  “Thanks, Johnson.” Paw and hand smacked.

  “You know what this means, right?” asked Schmidt.

  “What, Sergeant?”

  “You can start helping with the drop pods.” She laughed and held out her hand. “Nice work, you bad motherfucker.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 26 – Capt. Eric Gonzalez

  EMS Algonquin

  Maquon System

  “Look there, sir.” Spacer Williams pointed at a series of data points.

  Captain Gonzalez leaned over the screen. “That’s a repeated series of pixels, and they fill in the gaps around the primary source.”

  “Exactly, sir. I didn’t originally see them on the sensors because the pattern was too subtle, but once I analyzed the input, I saw the pattern as part of the noise.”