Mozari Arrival

by Jack Colrain

  He has a point there, Chief,” Evans said, grudgingly.

  Daniel nodded enthusiastically. “So, maybe we can’t guarantee our old rules will work with them. Maybe we need to have some new ones for situations like this.”

  Hammond grunted. “Or maybe they do work, and that’s why we have strategists and experts to figure that shit out.” There was a murmur of agreement from the others in the squad.

  “Besides,” Daniel added finally, “the truth is that, for now, on this base, we aren’t going to actually die; we can respawn for another exercise—and isn’t that a reason why we have these exercises? To see what works without getting killed?” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Peters and Evans shake their heads slowly.

  “We have these exercises to drill in repetition, muscle memory, and instinctive responses to mission-specific situations, West.” Daniel felt his heart sink as Hammond paused for a moment. “That said... sometimes, yeah, they’re tactical try-outs.” He looked back towards the designated area of operations. “It’s the last run-through anyway, so... What the hell. We’ll try your idea.”

  This time, Hammond decided to base himself relatively openly behind a barricade at one side of the central square. It would be ironic, he thought, if they had set up this trap only for Captain Ying to not be lured in to go for him. Besides that, it had been a while since he’d been out in the lead in a public square of sorts. How long since he’d last conducted the Army marching band in a performance in DC? A year, or thereabouts, he thought.

  The rest of the Homies were approaching the target building through the interiors of other buildings, but, he hoped, not too quickly. Firing started a moment later, with two fireteams exchanging fire with the building’s defenders. Hammond sighted in with an M204 grenade launcher, and the stock kicked at his shoulder as 40mm chalk rounds sailed through the windows. A few marker rounds started hitting the dirt and walls near him, but he didn’t see any sign of Captain Ying yet, and he knew what to look for.

  Then something hit him in the back, and he recognized the familiar feel of the marker round. Two more stung him as he turned, and he saw a faint blur emerge from an alley and flicker past…

  And then Ying fell to her knees about eight feet away, cursing in Mandarin. Immediately, marker rounds began to hit her from the roofs of buildings on both sides. Both fireteams ran out from their cover, surrounding her as they made sure her threat was eliminated. Hammond grinned at her. “Welcome to the afterlife.”

  “Very funny,” she grouched. As they dusted themselves off and sat to one side, Palmer put several more grenade chalk rounds through the building’s window on one corner. The amount of defensive fire reduced immediately, and then the two fireteams scuttled up to the door under cover and moved inside.

  A couple of minutes later, Jessica Evans’ voice came over the comms: “Target secure.”

  “End-Ex,” Hammond called back. “And congratulations.”

  Thirteen

  Daniel had never had such a welcome shower in his life. Hot water pummeled his shoulders and ribs like the fists of an enthusiastic masseur, drawing groans of relief. It was like being in heaven, and he supposed he had died enough times that day to earn at least one visit. Chow time was also welcome, his stomach tense with the need for protein.

  Evans slapped the table beside her when he came in. “Come on, West, we were all in it together; we all still are.”

  Daniel dropped into the seat next to her. “That was a helluva day.”

  “The hell part is not having somebody to share the third F with,” Peters semi-complained.

  “Third F?”

  “Fighting, feasting...”

  “Two out of three ain’t bad,” Kinsella said. “Be grateful for what you’ve got.”

  “Two out of two works fine... too,” Bailey said. “Michelle is all I need.”

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong with the OTP, I guess,” Peters said, “if you’re that way inclined. But variety is the spice of life, y’know.”

  “Never tempted to settle down and raise a family?”

  “Maybe if I find the right small group of girls,” Peters replied doubtfully.

  “Listen to that,” Kinsella said archly, “the man who doesn’t want to satisfy one woman thinks he can satisfy a bunch of them.”

  “That’s man all over,” Evans agreed.

  Then a shadow fell across the table. The Homies looked up and saw Captain Ying approaching. She walked straight to Daniel’s seat, her expression unreadable. “So, Lieutenant West,” she began, “I hear it was you who suggested that plan?”

  “Which plan?”

  “The stupid one. The one to sacrifice your commander on the field in order to trap the opposing commander.”

  Daniel felt his cheeks burn. “Well, yeah. It was. And it was Chief Hammond’s decision to try it.”

  “I would like to talk about this more. After nineteen-hundred hours.” She turned away and marched briskly back out of the room.

  Palmer hissed through his teeth. “Oh, man. Called to the principal’s office.”

  “Somebody’s gonna get spanked,” Peters suggested, with what Daniel felt was an envious tone.

  “It was a crazy plan,” Evans said. “But... what works, works.”

  Bailey wagged a finger at her. “Crazy, sure; but there’s a difference between stupid crazy and crazy crazy.”

  “What that was,” Palmer said, “was beer-cracking crazy. Right, West?”

  Daniel wasn’t sure what to say, so he just nodded with more confidence than he felt. It was turning out to be a hell of an evening, too, he thought; on the one hand, he actually felt welcomed and part of the group. On the other hand, Captain Ying must have singled him out for a reason, and maybe his plan had been stupid, or maybe it had crossed some kind of acceptable military line.

  He tuned out of the conversation surrounding him, letting himself nod and laugh here and there as others did without being able to free his thoughts from wondering what Ying wanted with him. When he was done eating, he made his excuses about heading for the head and left the Mess.

  Captain Ying’s office was on the first floor of the Farm’s administration building—a simple, book-lined, white-walled square room with an L-shaped desk that looked like any office in any university or college.

  He knocked cautiously and entered when she called out for him to do so. She was in her PLAAF service uniform trousers and shirtsleeves, signing forms, and he was rather awkwardly reminded of how beautiful she was. “I think you wanted to discuss my stupid plan—” he began.

  “I would call it foolhardy. On the battlefield, you would get your squad killed, not come back to base for a hearty dinner.” She put down her pen and deposited the forms in an Outgoing tray. “Please, sit.” She motioned to the chairs before her desk.

  Daniel sat, with a wry smile. “Chief Hammond made that clear, too. But afterwards, he agreed to try it.”

  “As an indulgence, perhaps. For a student who has earned some recreation time, or a child who has earned playtime.”

  Truthfully, that was kind of the impression Daniel had had at the time. “Maybe so.”

  “No maybe. This plan was not the thinking of a leader; it was the thinking of a frustrated boy, trying to game the rules to score points because he doesn’t know any better. Which you did here. But real combat is not a game; there are no points to be gained, and until you learn to recognize that and work within that rule, you will be a liability in battle, not an asset.”

  “I’m not a leader—”

  “You’re an officer, aren’t you? Second Lieutenant? Officers have to be leaders, if they’re to be good officers.”

  “I may be a bad officer—”

  “Because you’re new. That’s why you are in training. So, why that plan?”

  Daniel blanked of any words for a moment. “I wanted to win. In a real fight, I’d want to win.”

  “Of course. Every soldier wants to win. But win what? The fight you happen to b
e in at the time? The battle? The war? The peace? They’re not always the same thing, and winning one doesn’t necessarily mean winning the others. Conditions of victory are fluid, depending on what part you play. Sometimes, you have to lose a battle to win a war. You don’t want to win a battle by losing the war.”

  “No.”

  She regarded him, apparently lost in thought for a moment, and the feel of her eyes on him was both intimidating and thrilling. “Now, think about this… You sacrificed your commander to get the enemy commander, right?” Daniel nodded. “So, what happens if the enemy soldier isn’t their commander, but just someone detailed to attack that target?”

  “Chief Hammond chose to play the bait; it could have been any of us.”

  “And then the rest of you surround your enemy, getting almost within touching distance. Within shrapnel distance of a suicide vest. Your one kill has one of those, and probably half your squad is out of the fight, maybe more.” His blood chilled. She sat back in her chair and sighed. “Luckily for all of us, this is not a formal conversation. I’m not your CO, and we just happen to be working together, from different service branches of different militaries. I just happen to have a little more experience in these areas. And, as an officer in training, you would do well to read your Sun Tzu.”

  “So, if this isn’t a formal, official conversation... Why did you order me to your office?”

  “Order?” She frowned, but then her expression softened a little. “I wanted to talk about your plan, where you would not be further embarrassed in front of your comrades. I didn’t order you here.” Thinking a moment, he realized this was true. “Did you feel coerced into coming here, by a duty? As I said, I am not your CO.”

  “You’re a captain, so I thought... I suppose I could have refused and asked the chief to talk to you, or asked his advice. But I respect your experience and opinion, so... I decided I would come anyway and see what you had to say.”

  She relaxed, stretching out her legs under the desk and rotating her shoulders a little. Daniel could almost feel his own shoulders unclench in sympathy. She smiled, and he liked the change. “Thank you. I just wanted to help you become a better leader. I’m never quite sure about the differences between how things are done in the United States and in China.”

  “I guess there are plenty,” Daniel acknowledged.

  “Yes.”

  “I guess you’ll adjust, like I’m adjusting to the military.”

  “I hope so. I don’t know many people here—just the chief and some of the staff here. I don’t have a... handle on your culture.”

  Daniel remembered how disoriented he’d recently been by military culture. He had wished somebody would help him with that. Captain Ying may have come from the Chinese Air Force, but she was a member of the same unit as himself, and a unit was supposed to be united. The clue was in the name, after all. “If there’s any way I can help with that, I’d be glad to.”

  She hesitated, then something lit up in her eyes. “Actually... maybe you can. Would you like to watch The Bachelor with me? Tonight?”

  Daniel couldn’t parse the sudden change of subject, and his words mostly evaporated. “The reality dating show?” was all he could manage, baffled. She nodded. “The dating show, where a guy has to choose between women, to marry one, and there’s something about roses?”

  “That’s the one.”

  This couldn’t be right. “Isn’t there a regulation—”

  “Army Ordnance 600-20, but as we are both officers from different nations... TV is not against the rule.”

  “That’s not a request I’d expected, but... OK.” If nothing else, it would help unwind him from the day’s rigors. And he was curious about her, too; what did a Chinese Air Force officer think of serving with the US Army? She was a mystery that might well be worth delving into. And she was beautiful. He tried to think of a reason not to, but nothing came to mind. “I think I’d like that,” he said at last.

  Fourteen

  “So, what did you think?” Captain Ying asked. She and Daniel were relaxed in chairs in the back of her office, with snacks and sodas at hand.

  “Of the show?”

  She nodded.

  “It was OK,” Daniel said carefully. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s not my kind of thing, but today... Maybe I’ve never been in the mood for this kind of show, or maybe it’s just because I haven’t seen any TV for a couple of weeks, but yeah. I’ve seen a lot worse.”

  “Well, it is no Joe Millionaire, you’re right.”

  Daniel looked at her askance. “Joe Millionaire? What’s that?”

  “It was like The Bachelor, except that the guy was supposed to be a millionaire and they would share his money. But he was really a construction worker, and the real test was to see whether the woman who he won, or who won him, would stay with him knowing the truth. But then they would share a million-dollar prize anyway. I could never tell if it was meant to be a satire of The Bachelor, or just a copy. I keep re-watching it to see if I can tell.”

  “You grew up on some strange shows, and not the ones I’d have expected.”

  “I grew up on no shows at all.”

  Daniel raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they’ve had TV in China for decades.”

  “Of course. But my father worked in a coalmine, so when he was off-shift, he wanted to be outside where he could see the sun, or at least feel the weather on his face. And so, my mom ran the household, and she thought TV would rot her children’s minds and refused to have one. I didn’t have a TV until I joined the Air Force and was given a one-room apartment and a salary. Then I bought a TV as soon as I moved in. Well, after a bed and a chair, and a fridge and stove—”

  She laughed, and it was an unexpectedly pretty sound.

  “Captain Ying—”

  “You don’t need to salute me when we watch TV,” she said pointedly. “Xi-Huang is my given name. It means Hope, which I knew was a Western name, so that’s why I chose Hope as the English alternative to make it easier for people here.”

  “I guess Captain Hope would sound a bit like an 80s superhero cartoon.”

  “Not an unpleasant impression to give, perhaps, but we already have a Superman on the squad, don’t we?”

  He chuckled. “Hope, then. Was this what you had in mind when you asked me to come and talk?”

  She shook her head. “You just came over as someone who might understand the outsider.”

  He blinked and gathered himself in, concentrating on his poker face. He hadn’t thought he was so easily read. It wasn’t unpleasant to think of her understanding him, however. “You said your given name meant Hope. Does your family name have a meaning, too?”

  “It depends. Chinese words have different meanings depending on tone and ideogram. It’s not always as obvious as yours.”

  “And as a name, the way it is.”

  She hesitated, and at first he felt sure she wasn’t going to answer. “‘Promise,’” she said, not meeting his eyes.

  “Captain Promise?” He forced himself to not laugh.

  “It could be worse. It could mean ‘echo,’ ‘should,’ or ‘answer’. There probably is a Captain Echo manga somewhere.” She glanced at her watch. “Anyway, you should probably be in bed, and I know I still have work to do.”

  He nodded. “It’s been a good evening. Thank you.”

  “And thank you. Now, dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  “Captain.” Daniel saluted with a smile and headed off to the room he shared with the other three male Homies.

  Roanoke, VA.

  Nobody paid any attention to the U-Drive truck that stopped for a red light at an intersection outside the city’s largest Army recruiting office. They did notice when it didn’t move after the lights turned green. Horns started blaring almost instantly, from cars, vans, and a green-painted bus filled with new recruits heading out to basic training at Fort Jackson.

  After two minutes of logjam, a police cruiser showed up and two cops went to
look into the truck’s cab. They found it empty, and that was definitely noteworthy. One cop ran back to their cruiser to call it in while the other stepped around the truck to direct traffic around it.

  Four seconds later, the half a ton of ANFO explosive in the back of the truck detonated, swatting cars off the road and causing the whole façade of the recruitment office to crumble and slough off at the cost of six military personnel and over a dozen applicants. The busload of new recruits blocked in by the truck was torn to shreds entirely, killing forty of them, along with over a dozen other drivers and passengers who were in vehicles at the intersection.

  As smoke swirled around the wreckage, and sirens heralded the arrival of more cops and EMTs, a man ran back from a side street, looked up at the sky, raised his hands, and started shouting. “All Praise the Mozari!”

  Camp Peary, VA.

  Jessica Evans didn’t mind the pre-dawn running so much this morning, as the victory the team had scored over the Webbies had given everyone a bit of a boost. It had been exactly the sort of thing she would have loved to relate to Cliff, her husband back in Portland. Not being able to get stuff like this off her chest was one of the things she missed most about being so far from him, even though she knew that, even if he’d been here, she’d actually have to keep all such classified knowledge to herself anyway.

  But she’d been so used to dialing in artillery fire that she’d feared she’d maybe gotten a little rusty when it came to straight-up infantry fighting, and she had been relieved to find that she hadn’t really lost much familiarity with it after all. That was the sort of thing she could have talked to Cliff about—not so much her squadmates.