by John Bowers
His biological stirring accelerated.
He broke the kiss, feeling breathless for the first time since…
Well, for the first time in a long time.
“How long do we have?” he asked her, pressing his lips against her temple.
“For mos’ men, one hour. For joo, I weel make exception. Toda la noche.”
He closed his eyes as her lips found his throat and worked their way across it. His heart was pounding harder than it had since Three Rivers. He hesitated a few more seconds, debating, trying to fight the inevitable. His dad’s face flashed into his mind—the Rev. Walker would not approve—but he pushed it out. His dad had lived his life, Nick had to live his own.
He pushed the beer mug away and sat forward, sliding an arm around Victoria Briseño.
“¿Toda la noche?” he asked her.
“Sí. All night long.”
He dropped a few terros on the table for the waitress, then slid his chair back.
“Let’s go.”
Dinner and a holo-vid were completely forgotten.
Chapter 26
Monday, 3 September, 0435 (CC)
Firebase Sierra – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Firebase Sierra, home to 31st Star Marines and several Infantry units, was twice the size of Firebase Oscar in Camarrel. Echo Company of the 33rd had been assigned two comfortable barrack bunkers and had free access to almost the entire facility. Sierra was a microcosm of Camp Pendleton, with most of the same, but more compact, services.
Two days after they arrived, Pvt. Wayne Juhl walked into 1st Squad’s sleeping area and, with a big grin, announced himself. He’d been badly hurt at Cutler Crossing and wasn’t expected to survive. His return cheered everyone, but especially CC Clark, who had been his teammate on the SAW.
Everyone shook hands with him, and a couple of men hugged him.
“About time you got back!” DuBose told him. “We’ve been trying to win the war while you were jerking off in a rear area.”
“Hey, don’t knock it!” Juhl said, laughing. “They wouldn’t release me until you guys figured out just how important I am.”
“Welcome back, man.”
***
Shortly after noon chow, Nick Walker returned to his barrack and settled down on his bunk. He pulled a borrowed chip recorder from his gear and leaned back against the wall. He slipped a new chip into the device, initialized it, and filled in the address information.
He cleared his throat and began recording.
“Hey, Gloria, this is Nick.
“I haven’t contacted you in a while, but I’ve got all your videos and this is the first time I’ve had the opportunity to respond.
“We’re off the line now for a few weeks, and I’m okay. I haven’t been wounded or anything, and I’m enjoying my down time. I can’t tell you any more than that, and you know the reason why.
“Before I answer all your questions, I have a favor to ask. I’m guessing that you still attend Dad’s church once in a while, don’t you? If not, that’s okay, but maybe you can do something for me.
“I got a letter from Ruth Jonas a while back, a paper letter, the hand-written kind. You remember Ruth, right? Self-righteous old lady? Busybody? Gossip?
“Well, she sent me this letter, and you won’t believe it when you read it. I’m sending it to you in the same packet as this video, and I want you to make a copy and leave it in my room. Then, if you don’t mind, I want you to take the original over to the church on a Sunday. Wait until the service is in progress so nobody interrupts you, and pin that letter on the bulletin board. Put it in the DO NOT REMOVE section so nobody will take it down. I want everyone in the congregation to see what that old bitch wrote to me.
“Can you do that? If you do, I’ll buy you an ice cream when I get home.”
He winked at the recording camera.
“Thanks, Sis, I will be eternally grateful.
“Now…to answer your questions…”
***
Later that afternoon, Capt. Seals called Echo to assemble on the parade ground. Dressed in clean fatigues and a garrison cap, he stood in front of them with his usual good humor crinkled across his face. To his right, and two steps behind him, stood 1st Lt. Oehlschlaeger.
The company stood in rows, at parade rest.
“Good afternoon, Echo!”
“GOOD AFTERNOON, CAPTAIN!”
“Glad to see you all looking chipper and well fed. I hope you’ve all had a chance to get into town. If not, come and see Lieutenant Oehlschlaeger for a pass.
“You’ve probably noticed that a few of our wounded guys are back. I see Private Juhl over there, trying to hide behind Private Clark…”
The men chuckled.
“Welcome back, Private.”
“Thank you, Captain!”
“I have some good news. And some…not-so-good news. The good news is that we’re going to be here for a few weeks. The Star Marines, in their insolent wisdom—”
He stopped and turned to Oehlschlaeger.
“Did I say that? I didn’t say that.”
The men chuckled again.
He turned to face the company.
“The Star Marines, in their…infinite wisdom…have decided to send us replacements. I know you’ve all been a little irritated that we haven’t received replacements or reinforcements, and I can tell you that you’re not alone. It has annoyed everyone, but the great minds back on Terra have evidently been reading the after-action reports and now they apparently realize how a war really works.”
He coughed into a fist.
“I didn’t say that, either.”
More chuckles.
“But seriously, we received confirmation this morning that a transport is on the way with a full regiment from the Second Division, the Twenty-first Star Marines. When they arrive, they will be divvied up among the units that need them, including ours.
“Hell, especially ours.”
Seals gave them a moment to absorb that good news. He swept them with his gaze again.
“Before I say anything else, let me take this opportunity to tell you that I am goddamn proud of every single one of you! When we got here four months ago, nobody in this expedition, from the highest rank to the lowest, had ever been in battle before. We just haven’t had enough wars over the past century to keep sharp. But you had excellent training, the best in the galaxy, and you remembered what you’d been taught. You put it into practice, made a few mistakes, suffered through the mistakes of others—including, I’m sorry to say, your commanding officer—and you fought like heroes. It’s enough to bring tears to my eyes, if I had any tears left.
“They’ll be making holo-vids about this war for years to come.”
He cleared his throat.
“The bad news is that this fight isn’t over. From all indications, it’s going to get a lot harder before it’s over, and what you’ve learned these past four months is going to be more important than ever.
“Sad to say, we’re still going to lose people, and it may not seem worth it when you’re face-down in the dirt with shit flying all around you—but when that happens, try to remember that the people of Alpha 2 love you. You’ve already liberated tens of thousands of them, and they will be forever grateful. Tens of thousands more are still waiting to be liberated, and they are looking to you—the Federation Star Marines—for their salvation. They’re counting on you, counting on us, and we are not going to let them down.
“Lieutenant?”
Seals held out his hand to Oehlschlaeger, who stepped smartly forward and handed him a silver plaque, then stepped back. Seals held the plaque up for the company to see.
“This was issued by the Governor of Alpha 2 on Saturday. This one is a facsimile; the original is much larger, and will be placed in front of the Federation Building in Lucaston. By order of the Colonial Congress, copies will be erected in every city square and town square on the planet. It reads as follows:”
By Order of the
Governor of Alpha Centauri 2
Approved by the Colonial Congress in closed session
A Proclamation.
Be it hereinafter proclaimed that September 1st of each calendar year shall be set aside as a Colonial Holiday, to wit:
A Day of Gratitude for the bravery and sacrifice of the FEDERATION STAR MARINES in their efforts to restore liberty to the citizens of Alpha Centauri 2.
Said Colonial Holiday shall be known as STAR MARINE DAY, a sacred memorial to those who fought and died in the cause of freedom. STAR MARINE DAY shall be a day of celebration. All schools and Colonial offices shall be closed. All Colonial flags shall be flown at half-mast in memory of those who died. Parades and fireworks are authorized.
By order of the Governor and the Colonial Congress, this proclamation shall not be revoked, rescinded, nor amended. Nor shall it be revoked, rescinded, nor amended in the event of colonial independence.
It shall stand as a permanent memorial, in perpetuity, for as long as men and women occupy this planet. The sacrifice of the Federation Star Marines is a permanent sacrifice, and so shall be this memorial.
“Greater love hath no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends.”
By order of Myamoto Grant, Governor of Alpha Centauri 2
September 1, 0435 (Colonial Calendar)
In spite of himself, Nick Walker felt his eyes misting. The assembly stood absolutely silent, every man absorbing the words Seals had read.
Seals handed the plaque back to Oehlschlaeger and faced them again. He took a deep breath, perhaps to push back his own emotion.
“With that kind of gratitude, men, we can’t afford to lose this war. I won’t say any more than that.
“Questions?”
A corporal from 2nd Platoon raised his hand. Seals pointed at him.
“Captain, you said we are getting replacements. What about air support? Can’t we get some planes?”
Seals’ good humor faded for a moment. He shook his head.
“I’m afraid not, Corporal. Apparently they have important work back on Terra. You know—airshows and stadium fly-overs.”
He pointed to another man.
“Sir, what about the Second Division? You said they’re sending us one regiment—why not send the whole division?”
“Good question. The answer is that the Star Marines only have three divisions, and two of them are already here. The Polygon doesn’t want to send all their chickens into the same coop. I can tell you, however, that the 102nd Artillery is also on the way, so our fire support will be increased…and they’re sending a couple hundred more gunsleds with full crews.
“And, I’m told, the boot camps are filling up again at Pendleton and Parris. I guess this little scrap is getting some publicity back home and adventurous young men like yourselves are impressed by all the glory.
“I can also tell you that when we go back into the line, Fourth Battalion is going to take the lead. They’ve been in reserve ever since we got here, so it’s time they got their feet wet.”
“Thank God!” someone muttered to Nick’s left.
“What was that?” Seals cupped a hand to his ear. “I didn’t catch that.” He grinned. “Probably a good thing I didn’t catch it. Any more questions?”
“Sir!” Another man from 2nd Platoon raised his hand.
“Go ahead, Private.”
“Captain, can you tell us anything about those guys in the red berets? We’ve seen two or three of them, and they don’t look like Freaks.”
Seals grimaced and nodded.
“We don’t know too much about them yet, but S2 thinks they’re mercenaries from Alpha Centauri B. Or Beta Centauri, whatever you want to call it. They speak Rukranian, which is a form of Russian, and they don’t appear to be affiliated with any government that we know of. We’ve learned from prisoner interrogations that they served as training officers for the Coalition, which, being a religious collective, has no military tradition of its own. How they fit into the big picture, or their motivation for doing so, is unknown at this time.
“First Division ran into a group of them down around Lancalpha and we’ve seen them a couple of times ourselves, but so far we haven’t been able to capture any. They don’t surrender, and when cornered, they fight to the death. If anybody gets the opportunity to take one of those bastards alive, then do it. We really need to know more about them, and the rebel prisoners we’ve taken can’t seem to tell us much.”
Nick raised his hand. Seals grinned.
“All right, Walker, what is it?”
“Captain, who is Sierra?”
“What?”
“This firebase is named Sierra. I just wondered if it was named after a girl. She sounds hot.”
The entire company broke up into laughter.
“I don’t know, Private, but I’ll ask around.
“That’s it, men. Enjoy your afternoon.
“Lieutenant?”
Oehlschlaeger stepped forward as Seals turned away.
“ECHO COMPANY…dis—missed!”
Monroe Falls
Chapter 27
Tuesday, 18 September, 0435 (CC)
Monroe Falls, Alpha Centauri 2
Capt. Seals had said the reinforcements were already on the way, but in reality they hadn’t left Terra yet. With typical military efficiency, they did not depart Federation space until 9 September and arrived in the orbit around Alpha Centauri 2 six days later. They offloaded by battalion and landed at Lucaston, Camarrel, and Lancalpha, where they were disbanded from their official units and parceled out to fill holes in the rosters of 1st and 3rd Divisions. Nick Walker and his comrades didn’t see a single replacement until 18 September.
By then, they were already in Monroe Falls.
***
They had arrived three days earlier, on the 15th. Monroe Falls, population eighteen thousand, was the agricultural hub for the region, a county seat, and a major stop on the maglev line for the Alpha Centauri Express. Second and 4th Battalions arrived by HVI and landed just east of town, formed up by company, and marched down the main street. Sergeants yelled at them to dress the line. Second Battalion was at less than half strength, but were expected to show pride of service; their helmets and fatigues were clean, their boots gleamed, and their shoulders were erect. Rifles were slung, belts and bandoleers bulged with ammunition, bayonets clinked against canteens, and grenades dangled from every available belt and loop.
Nearly thirteen hundred men, grim and determined, primed for battle.
It was all for show, of course. The citizens of Monroe Falls—those who hadn’t fled—needed to be reassured that the Star Marines had come to stay, that the rebels could not recapture the town; they marched down the center of the street six abreast, their faces etched with the look of serious fighting men. Dozens came out to watch, then scores, then hundreds. All traffic was halted or diverted. The tramp of combat boots echoed off the storefronts.
Some citizens waved, children cheered, and a few young girls threw flowers. Nick Walker, marching with Echo Company, was faintly amused. He remembered the ancient vids of Allies marching into Paris in 1944, pre-Colonial Calendar, and this felt very much like that. But he kept his eyes straight ahead, his expression grim.
Along with civilians in the crowd, he was also aware of a number of Fed Infantry who stood watching them with less than cheerful expressions. He felt a little sorry for them—the poor bastards had been in residence for weeks, keeping the rebels at bay, but apparently nobody had come out to cheer them.
The town was in bad shape. Some of the side streets displayed destruction similar to what Nick had seen at Three Rivers, much of it caused by artillery. Most of Main Street was still standing, but nearly every building was disfigured by bullet holes, laser scorches, and grenade damage. Nick saw two or three buildings that had been gutted by fire and several roofs were missing; dozens of windows were boarded up. One block to his left, as they crossed a side street, he saw what was left of the maglev s
tation; the stone walls were still standing, but the roof had caved in and charred wooden beams pointed haphazardly at the sky. The monorail in front of the station was bent, broken, and twisted.
Nobody would be riding the Alpha Centauri Express any time soon.
Fourth Battalion, who had been “in reserve” since they landed in May, marched through town and took possession of defenses set up two miles to the west. The companies of 2nd Battalion were scattered around the town in separate encampments. Echo Company was directed to the local high school campus where they set up prefab shelters that were the modern equivalent of the ancient army tent. They would not be committed to battle until replacements arrived, and no one was complaining. The shelters were so compact that the four men assigned to each one slept almost on top of one another, but it sure beat digging foxholes.
For three days they cooled their heels, enjoyed hot food from 2nd Battalion’s mess kitchen, and repeatedly cleaned their weapons like men suffering from OCD. Nick sat outside the shelter he shared with his fire team and honed his bayonet until he could have shaved with it. Sgt. Dubose wandered over at one point and took the weapon from him, held it up to the sunlight, turned it this way and that, and studied the blade with a critical eye.
“You can do better,” he announced, and handed it back. “That blade needs to be so sharp that when you breathe on it, you can hear the microbes screaming in pain.”
Nick smiled grimly and went to work on the blade again.
It was grunt work and totally unnecessary—the edge of a bayonet didn’t need to be sharp to stab someone—but he didn’t mind. In the back of his mind lurked the certainty that many weeks of hot fighting lay ahead, and his own morbid certainty that he wasn’t going to be alive when it was over. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way—he had never entertained such ideas in boot camp—but after his return from Advanced Infantry on Luna, the feeling had settled over him.