by Dan Cragg
“Men, you’ve done a good job and I’m proud to have the Seventh Independent Military Police Battalion as a part of my task force.” To the men assembled in the hall that was the finest compliment anyone had ever paid them. All the embarrassment and disgrace that had followed them from Ravenette, the years of neglect and lack of discipline that had marked them as the
“renegade battalion” at home, all that vanished at Aguinaldo’s words and every man present knew that when the task force finally went up against the enemy, he would have the chance to squash some Skink ass.
“Tennnnns-hut!” Sergeant Major Steiner roared. The men jumped to attention. General Aguinaldo and Colonel Raggel left the hall. “Awrrrright, ladies,” Steiner said, “at ease. This here is Corporal Wade and he is in charge here until he’s finished with you. I catch anybody goofing off or dozing during these lectures—you officers excepted, of course—I am gonna kick his ass for him.
“Now here’s how this is gonna work: First and Second Companies remain seated. Today’s your day, you lucky bastards. I guarantee ya, when Corporal Wade gets through today you’ll never go near swampy ground again.” He grinned evilly at Corporal Wade who nodded grimly. “Third and Fourth Companies will report here at zero-eight hours tomorrow. Staff and support, you get it the third day. Awrrright, move, move, move!”
After the excused personnel had left the hall, Steiner turned to the Marine. “Corporal Wade?”
The Marine stepped to the podium. “My name is Corporal Manning Wade of the Twenty-sixth Fleet Initial Strike Team. I was on Kingdom.” With that he removed his tunic and exposed his left side to the audience. This drew a collective gasp.
“These scars are mementos of a Skink acid gun I ran into on Kingdom.” He grinned as he put his tunic back on. “Another graft and I’ll be as good as new. Before we deploy, you will all be issued acid-resistant field uniforms. But, gentlemen, I show you this so you will have some idea of what we were up against. Rest assured, however, the enemy knows our weapons too. They learned about them the hard way. Those Skinks don’t fool around and they don’t worry about getting themselves wasted. They are experts at sneaking up on you and pulling a kamikaze attack. Next time we meet up with them you can expect they’ve compensated for our superior firepower. Meanwhile, I’m going to teach you everything we know about them, so settle back, smoke ’em if you got ’em, and enjoy the show.”
Nobody in the Seventh MP Battalion talked about anything for the next three days but the Skinks. Corporal Manning Wade, Confederation Marine Corps, was the most popular man in the battalion during that time.
Puella Queege and Sergeant Oakley sat together during the lecture on the third day. By then it was clear to her and everyone else in the battalion how deadly serious the threat from the aliens was and how important their mission was in support of Task Force Aguinaldo. Each man in the battalion knew perfectly well that he’d been sent to Arsenault by his army command to get rid of him, how much work had gone into shaping up the battalion, and how abysmally shortsighted army command back on Lannoy really was about the threat the Skinks posed to all of humanity. Each man in the battalion was very proud that he had qualified to remain part of the task force. Those Colonel Raggel had sent home had bragged before they left that they were getting the better part of the deal, but the men remaining behind came to understand that they’d been given a great honor.
“Goddamn,” someone was heard saying after the first day’s lecture, “glad we got them Marines on our side!”
Headquarters, Task Force Aguinaldo, Camp Swampy General Aguinaldo’s field training exercise, or FTX, involving two hundred thousand men operating over ten thousand square kilometers of jungle, was not entirely successful, at least not by his standards. The major problem he encountered was the lack of communication between maneuver elements, which led to poor coordination of battle operations. That was complicated by the rugged terrain over which the troops had to operate. Units moving through triple-canopy jungle on foot, subject to ambushes at any time, found it very difficult to link with other units moving against the enemy, which upset the ambitious time schedules devised by staff officers operating just behind the battle front. But by the end of the first week, everyone in the task force was beginning to get a clear idea of what it would be like to encounter the Skinks in terrain favorable to the enemy’s weapons and tactics. If time was on his side, General Aguinaldo planned to move his training activities into the temperate zone of Arsenault and even to one of its moons so that if the Skinks were encountered in those environments his troops would be able to deal with them properly. Considering the apparent cold-blooded nature of the Skinks that had been encountered thus far, he did not think it worth his time and effort to train the task force under polar conditions.
General Aguinaldo’s mandate gave him control over every aspect of operations on Arsenault. All normal training operations ceased during the FTX because all military personnel, cadre and trainees, and every civilian employee working in support of Training Command were detailed to support the exercise. Marine and army reconnaissance personnel, together with infantrymen in their final weeks of advanced training, were designated as aggressor forces and given instruction in the use of Skink tactics; basic training and boot camp personnel, along with designated civilians, made up the “indigenous population” encountered in the maneuver areas that had to be protected and evacuated. That is where the Seventh MPs came into their own.
“Rene,” Aguinaldo told Colonel Raggel after a staff conference critiquing the recently concluded FTX, “your battalion outdid itself. I am amazed at what you’ve done with those men—oh, and that one woman.” He smiled because, during the course of the exercise, he’d several times met Sergeant Queege in Raggel’s retinue.
“Thank you, sir, and I’ll pass that on to my men.”
“You do. Give them a training holiday; they deserve a break.”
“Sir, one question?” Aguinaldo nodded. “Do you think we’ll ever get a chance to capture one of those Skinks?”
Aguinaldo hesitated briefly. “No, Rene, I doubt it. If any are captured, the scientific boys will grab them and haul them off to a lab somewhere. And you know how careful the Skinks are about letting their dead fall into our hands.” He shook his head.
“Even so, Rene, your men will have their hands full when the time comes, no doubt about that. They performed magnificently
during this FTX. The umpire reports just glowed with praise for your people. Every man and woman in this task force is dedicated to beating these things, and together that is just what we are going to do. We are going to win.”
But far, far behind General Aguinaldo’s back, forces were hard at work to ensure that did not happen.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Rooftop Landing Pad, Ministry of Justice, Fargo, Earth Dr. Hans Jeroboam’s face turned white as he looked at the huge storm coming in from the northwest. “Maybe we should take the underground, AG?” he asked Huygens Long nervously, casting a fearful sidelong glance at the approaching blackness. A sudden, powerful gust of wind tore at the pair as they got into the hopper.
“Nonsense, J.B.! We’ve got a meeting with the president in ten minutes and we’re not going to be late.” He patted the pocket where he was carrying all the evidence he thought they’d need to get Chang-Sturdevant to agree to Jasper’s arrest. He was secretly amused at the scientist’s nervous reaction to flying in a storm.
“Sir?” The crew chief leaned over and yelled at the two officials as they boarded the flier. “That storm is moving slowly but there’s a lot of turbulence, so please strap in during the flight. The pilot says you may have to take ground transport coming back. We’ll let you know, sir.”
“Oh, hell,” Jeroboam muttered, but his words were snatched away on the wind.
“Hell of a night to be up high!” Long chortled as he strapped himself in. Jeroboam groaned.
Office of the President, Confederation of Human Worlds
“I
don’t know, I don’t know,” President Cynthia ChangSturdevant said as she shook her head.
“Ma’am, the evidence is all there. It’s quite clear. We have to act and we have to do it right now.” Huygens Long’s face was red with frustration. He’d never seen Chang-Sturdevant so indecisive. He wondered if Jasper had somehow cast a spell over the president when he met with her. He shook his head. Ridiculous. But why was she dithering?
“Madam President, the AG is right. These tests, these analyses, everything points to the fact that Mr. Jasper is an agent of the Skinks. If not a conscious agent, he’s working under their influence. If he is not stopped he could destroy this Confederation.” Dr. Jeroboam was also frustrated, although he did not show it as plainly as the attorney general. “Everything fits,” he added.
Chang-Sturdevant sighed. “Marcus?” She turned to Marcus Berentus, who had had his doubts about the relationship between Jasper and the president, especially after the way she had talked to him in the hallway after his visit.
“Ma’am, Hugh is right. The man must be arrested.”
“You gentlemen know that if we go forward with Hugh’s recommendation, we’re liable to have serious riots on our hands? Jasper has created an enormous following in only the short time he’s been preaching. We’ll have to deal with that. We are going to become very unpopular over this.”
“Madam, we are going to become very dead if this man succeeds in weakening our preparations against the Skinks. The fate of all humanity hangs on the decision you are about to make,” Long said.
“Senator Maxim has already introduced a rider on the upcoming appropriations bill that would reduce funding for Task Force Aguinaldo,” Marcus added grimly.
“I know, I know. And he’s gathered forty cosigners to the measure.” Chang-Sturdevant pursed her lips pensively and scratched the side of her face, considering. She looked at the three men. She was not that familiar with Dr. Jeroboam, but she knew Long and Berentus intimately and had always relied on their advice—she trusted them. She sighed. “During my administration we’ve done some mighty extralegal things out of expediency. But this time we’re doing it right. We’re going to have to lay all this out to the public, and we’d damned well better have all our ducks lined up. Dan,” she spoke into her intercom, “get Chief Justice Borden on the screen.”
Chief Justice G. F. Borden of the Confederation Supreme Court was still in his chambers when Chang-Sturdevant appeared on his vid screen. He was not happy to be disturbed at that late hour and said so. The president had interrupted the weekly poker game with his colleagues and he was losing. The call came through just as he looked at his cards. Aces over on the jacks or better deal. The best hand he’d had all evening.
“We’re coming over, G.F.,” Chang-Sturdevant said. “On a matter of the utmost importance. I’ll explain when we get there.”
“Well, it damned well better be, Madam President,” Borden growled. “I got a matter of importance myself. How long till you get here?”
“Five minutes.” The screen went dead.
“Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn,” Borden muttered. “I open for five hundred.” He lost the hand to another justice who had three deuces. So he was not in the best of humor when he excused himself to talk to the president. Office of the Chief Justice, Supreme Court of the Confederation of Human Worlds
“G.F., you know Marcus and Hugh. This is Dr. Jeroboam, chief forensic scientist at the Ministry of Justice,” President Chang-Sturdevant began without preamble.
“Who do you want to arrest now?” Justice Borden said.
“You know,” Chang-Sturdevant said in a conversational
tone, “I never would have appointed you chief justice, never in a million years.”
Borden snorted. “I’m aware of that, Madam President, but you have to deal with me, and I plan to head this court for at least another million years, long after you are no longer the president of this Confederation. Now who in the hell do you want arrested?
“I want you to issue a warrant to the AG for the arrest of Jimmy Jasper.”
Chief Justice Borden started violently and looked askance at his visitors. “What’s the matter, you don’t like his preaching?”
Borden growled. “You’d better have a mighty damned good reason.”
“We do,” she replied, and laid it all out for him. Eight Hundred Meters, Descending, over Senator Maxim’s Villa, on the Outskirts of Fargo The two officers from the Presidential Security Detachment, their faces white with fear, sat across from Huygens Long and Dr. Jeroboam as the hopper lurched and plummeted up and down in the turbulence; large hailstones pelted the machine.
“Hold on!” the crew chief said over the headsets. “Only a couple of minutes and we’ll set ’er down!” The floor in the passenger compartment was slick with vomit, but the four men strapped into their seats hardly even noticed. The flight out of the city in the storm had been terrifying, each of the four men certain the next moment would be his last as the machine flew between and around the high government buildings of the inner city. No one on board was more upset than the pilot, who had argued with Long that they shouldn’t try flying out to Senator Maxim’s villa until the storm abated. They’d had a shouting match on the presidential hopper pad.
“I’m the pilot and I say if we can fly or not. It is not safe to fly in this weather! This is a supercell storm and we’ve been warned that a tornado has been spotted to our west. It’s crazy to fly in this weather!” the young woman had shouted into Long’s ear.
“Goddammit, we’re on business of the utmost importance to this Confederation! If you don’t get us out there in this thing you’ll be lucky to fly a kite after today. I mean it. Now get this thing airborne and let’s get on out there!” Long had screamed at her above the wind. She had given in but she was regretting it.
Miraculously, just as the villa came into sight, the storm abated. The hopper landed smoothly in the senator’s garden.
“You’ll all get medals for this!” Long shouted into the cockpit as he unsnapped his harness. “Let’s get in there and nab this guy!” he told the security officers. He jumped out into a flower bed. It was eerily quiet all around them. “Wait for us here!” he told the pilot as he slogged ankle deep through the senator’s pansies. “If the storm starts up again, we’ll hold out here until it’s over. Come on!” he yelled at the two officers, and, trailed by them and Dr. Jeroboam, he headed for the villa.
“I don’t like these weather conditions,” the young aviator said to her copilot. “Keep an eye out. This is too weird.”
“It’s a hell of a relief, after that storm,” the crew chief said. The three sat silently for a few minutes and then the pilot suddenly said, “Holy shit! Shut ’er down, guys. We’re going inside. Now!”
The four men stormed into the house and began searching the rooms. It was empty. “Jesus H. Christ!” Long swore. He stood in the living room. “Nobody?” he asked the two officers, who recovered their professional faces and were all business as soon as the chopper landed. They shook their heads.
“Now what?” Jeroboam asked. “Don’t tell me we’re flying back into the city in that thing, AG! No thanks, I’ll walk!” He laughed. He had just learned what it was to cheat death and he enjoyed the rush it had given him, and his lunch.
“You can’t get out of this, J.B. I’ve deputized you.” Long scratched his head.
At that moment the hopper pilot, her copilot, and the crew chief came crashing screaming into the living room. “Take cover!” she shrieked. A tremendous roar quickly grew louder outside the house. Long looked at her in disbelief and was about to say something when she yelled, “Tornado!”
“Where’s the basement?” the crew chief asked.
“Doesn’t have one!” a security officer shouted. “Find the johns! Take cover in the bathrooms!” He ran to the back of the house and everyone else followed him. They all piled into a rather small bathroom. The next few seconds were pure terror as the twister roared over the hous
e, ripping it to pieces and passing on as quickly as it had struck. Huygens Long couldn’t believe he was still alive. “Is everybody all right?” he asked, brushing plaster fragments out of his hair. He could see someone’s legs under the sink; someone beneath what looked like a door groaned. Jeroboam was sitting up in the bathtub, looking around in amazement at the wreckage. The hopper pilot, about thirty with pretty blond hair that hung in bedraggled strands about her face, sat up painfully. She looked back the way they had come and groaned. The entire house was gone. She could look straight into the garden. She gasped. “My hopper! It’s gone!” She turned to Long. “You owe me a new hopper!” Something had hit her just above her right eye and a long stream of blood dripped down her face and jaw. Her right eye was closed. She glared at Long fiercely with a big, bright, blue left eye.
“Madam,” Long sighed, “I’ll get you a new hopper. You can have all the bells and whistles on it you want. But after what you’ve been through for us today, anytime you like you call Huygens Long, give him five minutes to gather a crowd, and he’ll gladly kiss your beautiful little derriere.”
She seemed to consider that proposal for a moment and then said, “That’s okay, sir; after what you’ve put me through today, I’ll settle for that fucking kite instead.”