Boots of Oppression

by M. J. Konkel

  When we finished loading the supplies, we hopped back aboard among all the boxes. It wasn’t so spacious now.

  Soon we lumbered along again down some dirt trail away from the base. I sat with the two other Navy transfers while two of the regular GATs sat on the opposite side and played some type of card game.

  “Do any of you know where we’re headed?” I asked. Those playing cards ignored me.

  “I heard one of the others in the kitch say something about Lustrous Hole,” Estevito said softly. “I’m not sure that’s where we’re headed though.”

  “Where’s Lustrous Hole?” Longshore asked.

  “It’s a mining town north of here somewhere,” I said. “I overheard a couple of the brass when we were back on the destroyer talking about it. A couple of klicks out from Lustrous Hole is a mine where they just discovered a vein rich in tantalum-180.”

  “What’s that?” Longshore asked.

  “Don’t you pay attention to anything that goes in those ears of yours? Tantalum-180’s a rare metal. One of the rarest in the universe. From what I’ve overheard, there are high levels of it in the mines up there.”

  “I couldn’t give a shit less about some fancy metal,” Longshore grumbled. “And how the hell do you know all this shit?”

  “How do you not?” I asked. “You just have to listen when you hear things.” And know the passcodes to get into all the Spitnik manuals.

  “I hear all I need to,” Longshore said. “Don’t need to know about tantramummum.”

  “Well, it’s somehow important for the wormhole generators. Without it, travel between stars wouldn’t be so fast,” I said.

  “It took us six whole weeks to get here,” Longshore laughed.

  “Compared to the old fusion drives which would have taken a century to get us here, that is fast,” I replied. “Anyway, I think that’s why the Empire’s especially interested in this world.”

  “I don’t care what the heck’s on this frickin’ sandpit,” Longshore said. “I just want to get off it alive. Don’t need no extra holes in me.”

  The veteran GATs snickered at us. One of them, the bigger of the two, spoke up. “You Navy babies sound like you’re in need of diapers. Cause you’re shitting yourselves.”

  “I’m not scared,” Longshore responded.

  I looked up at my HUD. It had the names of those closest to me. The big GAT’s name was Gravais. The other was Maheed.

  “Well, you sound scared. Personally, I’m here so I can dust as many desert vermin as I can. Preferably gutting ‘em,” Gravais answered. “When we get into a firefight, and we will get into one sooner rather than later, make sure you coots have our backs.” He pointed a finger at Longshore. “If you’re not shooting at them, I’ll be shooting at you. Remember that!”

  “Yeah,” Longshore yelled. “You just make sure you have our backs too.”

  “Don’t worry,” Estevito said. “If someone’s shooting at us, we’ll be shooting back alright.”

  “Just make sure you’re not hiding under some rock,” the man sneered.

  “Hey! I promise we won’t be the ones hiding,” I shouted. “Just make sure you’re not.”

  “You got a loud mouth there, coot. Standing up for your girlfriend no doubt,” Gravais snorted.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I protested. I was pretty sure my face was about as red as the sand outside right about then.

  He stared at me, and I stared back. To tell the truth, I was shitting. I thought we were about to get into a fight, and I knew how that was going to go.

  “Are you playing or what?” the other GAT whined. Gravais grunted and turned back to his card game.

  After the charged exchange, us three newbies kept quiet and stared out of the little ports that gave us small windows into the desert outside, wondering the whole time if we were going to be blown up by the enemy hiding in the sand or shot in the back by so-called friendly fire.

  Hours passed. Boring hours. Suddenly a voice boomed in our earphones, and I almost jumped.

  “Hey, Platoon One,” Sergeant Runner said over our radios. “Ahead is a string of five dwellings. Word I’ve received is they are being used to house resistance rats. Let’s make the place feel a little less like home.”

  “Sounds like fun, Sarge,” Gravais shouted.

  “Are there fighters in there now, Sergeant?” Estevito asked.

  “Unlikely,” the sergeant replied.

  Gravais sneered. “What? Afraid?”

  “It’s just good to know what to expect,” I said.

  “Still defending your girlfriend, huh?” Gravais grinned. “Doesn’t matter. If anyone’s there, they’re good as dead.”

  I seethed but pulled my attention away from the jerk and toward what lay ahead of us. I couldn’t let him distract me. Our truck slowed and then stopped about a hundred meters from the cluster of houses.

  “Zhou, take the newbies and secure the parameter. Make sure there’re no rats in the desert around us. Gravais, Maheed, you’re with me.”

  “You heard the sarge,” Zhou said. “Estevito, circle around to the left of the buildings and check out the desert. Longshore, take the right side. Triton, take the road to the other side of the shacks. Make sure nothing’s within a few hundred meters.”

  I did as I was told. I glanced toward the buildings as I marched past them. They weren’t just shacks in my opinion. Made out of yellow bricks and covered with painted steel-tiled roofs, each appeared to be in good condition and large enough to house a small family. I wondered what happened to the original owners.

  There were big windows, but they had no coverings, making it easy to see through the glass panes to the inside. I peered into each window I passed, worried a face would be staring back at me. Maybe a face sighting down the barrel of a rifle.

  I saw no one though. Only tables, chairs, lamps and that kind of stuff. You know, the stuff in a normal home. I wondered why they were just abandoned.

  I marched up the dirt road, scanning all around, expecting to see resistance fighters jump out from behind rocks or something like out from under the sand. All I saw were the rocks and cacti. And sand – lots of red sand. The most dangerous thing I saw was a scorpion I almost stepped on. As if he was going to get his stinger through my armor.

  A loud explosion erupted from behind me. I ducked instinctively before turning around. Flames leaped from the windows of the dwelling closest to the truck, and smoke rose into the air. The sergeant or one of the other GATs must have tossed an incendiary grenade inside. Then I heard a second explosion and a third. Soon all five dwellings were ablaze, and the clear air above the buildings was replaced by dark cloud of rising black smoke.

  “Alright, everyone. No one will be using this site again,” the sergeant declared. “Fall back to the truck. We’re moving out.”

  I turned around and double timed it back toward the truck. As I passed the houses, something beside the road caught my eye. I stopped, turned toward it, and stared.

  A doll head lay on the side of the road. Its plastic face charred and deformed; the top covered with singed hair. The rest of the doll was missing, perhaps still in one of the burning buildings. I glanced at the nearest blaze.

  “Triton, what the frick you staring at?” the sergeant shouted.

  “Nothing, Sergeant,” I replied.

  “Then get the frick back into the truck unless you want to double time it all the way to the next village.”

  “Coming, Sergeant,” I replied, glancing one last time at the doll head before double timing it to the back of the truck.

  An hour and a half passed by as our truck rumbled down the dirt road. Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t say another word that whole time. I wondered if the doll had belonged to some little girl. Where was she now? And who the hell blows up homes of little girls?

  The truck slowed.

  “Listen up, GATs,” the sergeant yelled through our earphones. “There’s a village coming up. We’re going to stop and say he
llo. Juno relieve Chavez on the gun. Everyone else out. Form a parameter and keep your eyes peeled. Remember newbies, these desert rats would sooner stick a knife in your back than shake your hand. Doesn’t matter if you’re Spitnik or not.”

  As soon as we stopped, Estevito jumped out the back. Holding my rifle with two hands, I jumped out right after her. I noted how my suit absorbed the jolt of the landing – still trying to get used to the suit. I scanned around quickly but didn’t spot any movement.

  The village was small, maybe thirty buildings, all made of the same type of yellow brick. Probably the local building material. Ahead of us the dirt road curved at a small lake. First body of water I’d seen since coming down.

  The big GAT jumped down and scurried into the shadows of an alley. I realized then that I was a sitting duck out in the open if there were any snipers in the village.

  I dashed across the road to where two small vehicles were parked and crouched down between them. Estevito followed me and ducked behind the back of the second vehicle. Longshore still stood by the truck.

  “Find cover,” I yelled at him.

  He scrambled underneath the truck and peeked out from behind one of the tires. Stupid frick! If anyone took our truck with an anti-armor missile, he was going to be the first one to bite it.

  Within seconds the only one of us not under some type of cover was the sergeant. He stood out in the middle of the road and looked to his right and then to his left. Cosmos, what arrogance, I thought. He dared the locals.

  “I am a Spitnik. We are here to bring order to your world. Aren’t any of you going to welcome me?” Sergeant Runner yelled.

  “Go back to where you came from,” a woman shouted from the building next to me.

  “Hush!” I heard a male voice coming from the same location.

  “Well, that’s not very friendly,” the sergeant said.

  “You’re all bastards, you Spits,” a man yelled from across the street from me. Then shots came from the same open window as the last voice.

  The sergeant ducked behind another vehicle parked on the street. Bullets pinged off the vehicle. I think bullets hit the sergeant too, but they failed to penetrate his armored suit.

  I peeked out from my hiding spot. I couldn’t see the target, but I fired three shots anyway into the window where I thought the shooter hid.

  Gravais darted out from the alley and tossed something through the open window I had just shot at. The man then hugged tight against the building just before an explosion threw debris out the window above him.

  “Gravais, Triton, secure that frickin’ building,” the sergeant ordered.

  “You got it, Sarge!” Gravais jumped to his feet and turned toward the door. I hesitated for a second and then followed. The big GAT lifted his boot and kicked the door down. He stepped forward and swept his rifle left and then right.

  “Follow me and make sure nobody frickin’ sneaks up on my ass,” Gravais snarled.

  I did as the big man ordered, glad he was in front of me and not behind. I followed but kept looking back behind us. It was rather dark inside even though Ursa Phinia was high in the sky outside, so I reset my view to a high contrast vision setting. Gravais led through several rooms.

  I heard a movement in a room to our left, and my adrenaline level skyrocketed. Gravais heard it too. He turned and put half a magazine’s worth of flechettes through the wall as he gave a guttural yell.

  Plaster dust filled the room. Then there was the explosive sound of the door to the room imploding from Gravais’s boot.

  A young boy, covered in plaster dust, lay in a pool of blood on the floor. I didn’t see a weapon anywhere in the room.

  “Move out,” Gravais ordered as he replaced his magazine with a full new one. “Next time you hear something, put some rounds through the wall.”

  “He was just a kid,” I muttered.

  “Doesn’t matter. He would have frickin’ shot us had he a rifle. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

  I glanced one last time at the body before following. We continued forward until we reached the room of the shooter. The door half-hung on a single hinge. Gravais knocked it down completely.

  Plaster dust, shattered glass, and other debris covered the floor. Large cracks appeared on the walls and ceiling. All the windows were blown out.

  An arm stuck out from under a pile of the debris. Gravais shoved with his boot a large slab of plaster off the bloody face of the man. The man appeared to be still breathing.

  Gravais placed his rifle up to the side of the man’s head and fired.

  “Dead now,” Gravais uttered. “All clear up here, Sergeant.”

  “Good!” Sergeant Runner said. “Come on down. Carmen, Maheed, go get the unfriendly vermin out of this building. The rest of you stay sharp.”

  A short distance from the body was a handgun. I couldn’t believe the man had used that and expected it to do any damage to us in our suits. For that he had died. It seemed totally ludicrous to me. I guess for me to expect sanity during a war was insane.

  Gravais turned toward the door, and I followed. Down on the street, we took cover once again.

  A man and woman exited the building with their hands on their heads. Then a young man followed. Actually, he seemed to still be a boy, a few years younger than me. They slowly marched until they stood in front of the sergeant. There was fear in their eyes.

  “On your knees,” the sergeant ordered.

  The three villagers dropped to their knees. The woman sobbed, and her body shook.

  “Triton, Longshore, Estevito, keep your rifles trained on these three,” Sergeant Runner ordered.

  Then he took a half dozen steps down the dirt street as us three newbie GATs stood in a line with our rifles pointed at the three villagers on their knees.

  “Listen up, everyone. I know you can hear me,” the sergeant screamed out at the houses. “We came to your village to say hello. And we are shot at. What kind of frickin’ welcome is that? That is like totally screwed up. Haven’t you been taught to treat your guests any better? Shooting at our men and women is grounds for us to burn this whole damn village to the ground. When Spitniks come to you, you will happily welcome us. And when you don’t, this is what happens to you.”

  Sergeant Runner turned toward us and pointed a finger at the three villagers on their knees.

  “Shoot the vermin,” he ordered.

  I stood frozen in shock. I stared at the kid in front of me. His eyes were closed, and tears ran down his cheeks.

  “Shoot them, you coots. That is an order,” Sergeant Runner yelled.

  Phit! Phit! I heard the rifles fire next to me. The man and the woman slumped over. The boy wept louder. I stared at the boy.

  My hand was on the trigger, but I could not pull it. As if an invisible barrier blocked my finger.

  The sergeant growled at me, pulled out his pistol and turned toward the boy.

  Bang!

  The boy’s head explode in front of me. Blood splattered against the wall from the back of the boy’s head, and the boy’s body flew backward onto the ground.

  I think I might have jumped. But I wasn’t sure. None of what had just happened seemed real. It was just a nightmare.

  I was pretty sure the sergeant was going to shoot me next. I had disobeyed him.

  But he just growled and returned his pistol to his holster instead.

  “Triton, you disobeyed a direct order from me,” the sergeant yelled. “I could have you court marshalled for that. Locked up. I don’t think you would survive prison. You’re too soft.” He took two steps toward me. “You’re lucky today though because I’m now in a good mood. You’ll get a second chance. Next time I tell you to fire, you pull that trigger. There won’t be a third chance. Do I make myself understood?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” I replied. But I didn’t see how that was going to happen.

  The sergeant turned toward the scout vehicle.

  “We’re leaving this rat hole. Everyone back a
board. Except for you, Triton. You’ll have to hoof it and try to keep up. We’ll stop and make camp in about thirty klicks. Move it out everyone.”

  I stared dumbstruck as everyone piled into the vehicles, and they started rolling down the street without me. Estevito and Longshore stared at me from the back of the truck. I glanced one last time at the bodies of the three dead villagers.

  “Get those feet moving, Triton,” the sergeant’s voice came in my ear. “I doubt these frickin’ vermin are going to just throw a party for you.” What a frickin’ black hole, I thought. Sucks the life right out of you.

  I started jogging down the road, glancing at the front of each building I passed. Right then I didn’t give a lick if one of the villagers shot me. I was with the Spitnik and their spilled blood was on my hands.

  The vehicles rolled along slowly, jogging pace. I guessed the sergeant had decided that was to be my pace.

  I no longer hated the world; rather, I pitied it.

  My hatred was now directed at Sergeant Runner. And all the Spitniks.

  Jogging wasn’t so bad. The weight of my suit and rifle was balanced by a lower gravitational pull than I was used to. And with the spring-loaded joints of the suit, I was sure I could jog all day.

  The sergeant probably thought this was punishment, but I was actually glad I wasn’t on the truck. I was infuriated at all of them. Even Longshore. Even Estevito. I no longer saw her the same way. Her hands were as dirty as the rest. Sure, the man who fired on us bought his own ticket, even if it was idiotic. But the three unarmed villagers had done nothing to deserve their fate. Nor did the boy Gravais shot.

  As I had pointed my rifle at the boy’s face, I had seen myself in him. I couldn’t shoot him and doubted I would be able to shoot anyone else that wasn’t armed.

  What was I to do? This was going to happen all over again. Sooner or later there was going to be another lining up of civilians and another execution. I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. And that would mean the end of me. What the hell was I doing on this world?

  I fantasized about running off into the desert and joining up with the resistance fighters. But I knew that would never work. Assuming I somehow survived the desert after not getting shot by the GATs on the truck as I ran, the first resistance fighter I came across would no doubt shoot me on sight.