Awakening to Judgment (The Rimes Trilogy Book 3)

by P. R. Adams

  After a moment, a form at the head of the formation held up a hand. The signal was relayed back to the rear, both by each person holding up his hand and via the BAS.

  Rimes took a sip from his suit’s recycler, winced at the almost flavorless fluid, and stepped past the scout. Far overhead, a meteor arced across the sky, flaring brightly. The trail of pale vapor caught Rimes’s eye.

  Memories stirred as he imagined himself once again in a shuttle that raced dangerously across that same sky. The planet had been nameless then. It was no shuttle plunging through the atmosphere now but several tons of ice harvested from nearby objects. He wondered why there was only one. The drones always harvested in pairs. Something about the lone vapor trail touched him, troubled him.

  "You’re going nuts," Rimes muttered.

  He shrugged off the trivial oddity, then he jogged forward to a point where the sand gave way to rock before plunging into a narrow valley. It was nearly twenty meters deep and easily twice as wide, stretching dozens of meters to his right and left before narrowing and twisting out of sight.

  “Have your squads take a rest,” Rimes said into his earpiece. “Fifteen minutes. I want scouts out. Two hundred meters. Status updates, imagery online, five minutes.”

  The orders were relayed through the command structure, and four soldiers sprinted from the formation while their comrades dropped to the ground. Rimes observed the unit’s operations wordlessly. There were many voices, many accents, but one language, one message. The unit’s efficiency and effectiveness were exceptional. He hoped it was never tested. There had been relative peace for a few years, but it couldn’t last.

  It never did.

  One of the soldiers broke from the others and walked up to Rimes, looking past him into the valley. On Rimes’s BAS, the soldier’s ID was Meyers, Lonny, Captain. While Rimes was thick in the chest, the soldier was slender, almost small. The two said nothing for a moment, their posture comfortable, that of old comrades. A minute passed as Rimes wandered the corridors of his memories.

  “Are we doing this?” Meyers asked.

  “Yeah.” Rimes descended the stone wall cautiously, hands reaching for familiar grips, feet finding ready holds. At the bottom, he checked the time. Ten minutes. More than enough. He removed his helmet, ignoring the harsh wind and grit. Beside him the other soldier did the same. His sandy-blond hair was too short for the wind to affect, but his soft brown eyes were squinted. He had a pointed chin and a strong jaw that had a resolved set to it.

  They walked to an area protected by an overhang. A plaque of polished black marble, etched with names, lined a section of the wall. Rimes ran his gloved fingers over the names as he had before. His fingers lingered over the names that held special meaning for him: Staff Sergeant Richard Pasqual, Lieutenant Timothy Durban, Lieutenant Ikumi Watanabe, Special Agent Sheila Fontana. At the end he touched a final name: Andrea Rimes. His fingers pulled back, hovered, and touched the area again.

  Sheila, Ikumi, Rick, Andrea. I’m so sorry.

  Meyers’s voice pulled Rimes back from his thoughts. “You ever have regrets?”

  “Every day.” Rimes turned to look at Meyers. In a few short years they’d both aged visibly, but Meyers had somehow managed to avoid the worst of it. Five years commanding the Elite Response Force, and Rimes felt as if he’d lived a lifetime. The weight of the world never seemed to leave his shoulders.

  “Passing on the cartel offer?”

  “No,” Rimes said with a calm smile. “After the initial excitement, it hit us what it would mean. Living in an orbital…Molly would have hated that.”

  “She hates living on Plymouth.” Meyers chuckled so softly the wind nearly smothered the sound of it.

  “It’s too small for her.”

  “Forty million’s small?”

  “To her. Anyway, this would’ve been worse. A real hate, not just complaining. She’s terrified of space. The idea of a shuttle jump sets her on edge. That’s probably all that’s kept her on Plymouth.” Rimes winced at the truth behind the joke. “You?”

  Meyers shook his head. “The stigma of being in the military when the UN kicked the metacorporations off-planet may have hurt my employment prospects, but all that did was give me better perspective when you offered me the commission.”

  Rimes laughed soundlessly. “Sorry about that. What about Kara?”

  “Nah. We’re happy where we’re at.” The pain on Meyers’s face said otherwise. “So?”

  Rimes stared blankly.

  “What regrets?” There was gentle insistence in Meyers’s voice.

  “Oh.” Rimes stared at the marble sadly. “Sometimes, Lonny, I lie awake at night and wonder what I’ve done to get to where I am. There’s so much blood on my hands.”

  “There’s not a person who died who didn’t know what they signed up for.”

  “Yeah.” Rimes looked at the grave markers and the lonely, sand-blasted canyon. “It’s a shithole of a place to die.”

  “There’s no such thing as a good place to die, Jack. Some poor son of a bitch is blown to pieces in a market in Tunis, another gets his brains blown out in Munich, and someone else freezes to death when their ship’s reactor fails halfway out to Mumbai colony. What’s the difference between that and dying with your loved ones next to you? Not much. You’re still dead.”

  “Comfort,” Rimes said after a moment. “I think there’s something to be said about having your loved ones there with you at the end.”

  “I ever tell you about my friend, Terry Lewis?” Meyers looked skyward.

  Rimes shook his head. He and Meyers had shared a lot of stories over the years, but the name didn’t ring a bell. Their Commando and Ranger classes were separated by a few years; so, along with common acquaintances and experiences there were also the inevitable gaps. The Army was an insatiable beast.

  “Terry was a good guy. I met him in the 75th. He was a sergeant when I left the Rangers for the Commandos. He loved the Ranger life and wasn’t cut out for the Commandos, so he never tried out. He was married, like you. Two kids. Pretty wife.”

  “You making this up?”

  “True story.” Meyers raised his hand in oath. “Terry’s platoon was on patrol in what used to be Yemen. Peacekeeping when another warlord decided to declare he was taking control. You know the drill. So, they’re patrolling the streets of northern Sana’a, about ten klicks south of the airport. You want to talk shithole? Now that’s a shithole. This place they’re patrolling, it’s a nice area, almost upscale. Apartments, nice little houses with yards, schools, electricity, the works. Terry’s riding in a Wolverine. Reinforced, with one of those six mil quad 320 shredder systems? They can cut right through an APC.”

  “Yeah.” Rimes had seen the weapons before. As effective as they were against armor, they were horrifying against personnel.

  “Well, they’re coming down a pretty major thoroughfare when there’s a car accident ahead of them. They swerve off the road and head down a smaller street to avoid it. It could’ve been a trap. The warlord had a bunch of fanatical followers—car bombs, bomb vests, the works. As they’re heading down this side street, they see a suspicious-looking vehicle. A big SUV. You know how people still drive private vehicles over there. Anyway, it’s speeding, advancing on them fast, ignoring the message blasting over the Wolverine’s speakers to stop immediately. They had to act quick. Even a Wolverine can be taken out by a big enough explosion. Terry opened fire. Split that SUV right down the middle.”

  “Was it a bomber?”

  Meyers shook his head. “A mother and her daughters. They were coming home from the hospital. Her oldest daughter just had a baby. Three generations of women killed. Nothing left of the baby but the hands and one of the feet.”

  Rimes closed his eyes as if that could help block out the image. “Why?”

  “Why didn’t they stop? They had the radio cranked up. Even with all the damage done the radio was still playing when they reached the vehicle. Terry said it was some sort of
celebration song. He figured they were probably singing along to it, completely oblivious to the Wolverine.”

  “At least they had each other,” Rimes said half-heartedly. He knelt in front of a grave marker.

  “I’m sure that mattered.” Meyers looked at the grave marker Rimes was examining and caught the name: Andrea Rimes. “How’re things going with Molly?”

  Rimes hesitated for a moment, then pulled his helmet back on. He opened the visor but avoided Meyers’s eyes. “We’ll get by.”

  “No one would’ve said a thing if you’d backed out of this exercise, you know.”

  “I’m not worried about what people say. You know that.”

  Meyers wiped sand from his face. “You’re not worried about leaving her there with Pearson still on post?”

  “No,” Rimes replied. I’m not really sure how I feel. Maybe I am worried at some level. “We’ve hashed it out. What’s done is done. I made my mistake; now she’s made hers. I can’t sit in judgment. I don’t have the ground to stand on.”

  “He’s a fucking predator. I don’t trust him.”

  “You’re letting your situation with Kara cloud your objectivity.”

  Meyers snorted. “Objectivity? What’s there to be objective about? What he did with Kara proves my point. He waited until we had a little friction and I was away on training, and then he went after her. Like I said, he’s a predator.”

  Rimes lowered his head and closed his eyes. No judgment. No one was innocent. “He’s a solid soldier. Molly was vulnerable. I wasn’t there for her; he was. She said he made her feel special. I was too caught up in my career. I missed the signals. She was getting to an age…to a point in her life where she needed to feel young and alive and wanted. I didn’t realize that; he did.”

  “You’re repeating the counseling message,” Meyers said, annoyed. “You’ve invested everything in that marriage. You’ve got two boys who are probably trying to figure out what the hell’s going on. She was selfish, and he’s a scumbag who should be brought up on charges. He’s not fit for command. And now you either suck it up and kiss her ass, or you’re bankrupted and she takes your kids from you. It’s fucked up.”

  “He’s being reassigned.” Rimes struggled to contain the rage smoldering just below the surface. A part of him, an alien part he’d only just started to control, dreamed of bloody revenge. “We’re healing. Part of the healing will only come with his departure. More will come with time. Marriage is a challenge. I think it’s tougher to figure out than any strategy we’ve ever been asked to put together. There’s so much give and take. We’re always fighting and asking forgiveness.”

  “Not for me.” Meyers waved a hand vigorously. “I don’t think it’s for anyone, honestly. Single until the day I die. Listen to you. You’re just living in denial. Forgiveness? Healing? She slept with your XO.”

  “Let it go. I told you, I’m fine. Dwelling on the loss and pain, it’s not healthy. We’re going to work through this. I don’t need you to believe me. I believe me. Molly believes me. That’s what matters.”

  Meyers slipped his helmet back on and popped the visor open. “We’ve known each other, what, five, six years? When Rick told me about you he said you weren’t like most officers. He said you were a Commando, one of the best of the best. And when I met you, I realized what made you exceptional was your integrity. Good and bad, you’ve always been honest with yourself and with everyone you deal with. You take that integrity away, you’re just another soldier. Anyone can be trained to kill people. It takes a special person to do what you do. Are you still that special person if you keep lying to yourself?”

  “Let it go, Lonny.”

  Meyers closed his visor. He stared at Rimes a moment longer, then at the plaque. Rimes watched Meyers for a moment, then turned back to the plaque again. The names summoned faces that glared back at him, victims of an alien creation that had lived off deceit and manipulation. It had been a parasite, a virus, a destroyer. We nearly let it free. We nearly missed its threat. Would I see it today if it were right in front of me?

  Rimes glanced at his timer. They were approaching the deadline he’d set and he hadn’t even reviewed the perimeter video. He pulled it up as he began the ascent.

  The ascent was tougher than Rimes remembered. As he climbed, he talked with his squad leaders. Meyers normally handled such things, but he was silent at the moment. Rimes realized Meyers’s concern wasn't just for a friend, but for the battalion.

  Relative peace or not, there were enemies to deal with. The UN was helmed by deficit hawks desperate to gut spending at an accelerated pace, and even a diminished—some would argue hollow—military made for an easy target. Rimes’s ERF battalion was a glaring expense, built as it was to deal with a threat no one believed existed. All it took was someone pushing the belief that peace was real, inevitable, and sustainable, and the hundreds of millions of dollars spent every quarter keeping an elite unit trained and equipped would be nothing but a memory.

  Rimes cleared the valley and immediately turned to help Meyers up. The wind had intensified, but they were close enough to see each other’s eyes through the haze and the semi-opaque visors. Rimes locked eyes with Meyers for a moment, saw trust and concern rather than doubt and animosity. It was all Rimes needed to see.

  Once out of the canyon, Meyers waved the squad leaders in. “Listen up. We’ve got ten klicks to camp. At this pace, we’ll reach the research station in two day—”

  Rimes lowered his head at the sound of an incoming call. It was the Valdez. “This is Colonel Rimes, Valdez. Go ahead.”

  Captain Jeremy Brigston’s voice sounded clear over the channel. When video filled the display area of Rimes’s helmet, Brigston’s light bronze skin was wrinkled with worry. His pale-brown eyes—normally remarkably calm—squinted, giving his unremarkable face a rare hint of character. “Colonel, we have a situation. We’re detecting multiple signals at the edge of our scanning range. They’re not responding to hailing attempts. I’ve launched shuttles to retrieve you and your soldiers, but if the other force engages we won’t be able to bring you up.”

  “Numbers? Configuration?”

  “Fifteen,” Brigston said with remarkable calm. “One capital ship of unfamiliar make and three frigate-sized vessels. The rest are some sort of gunship.”

  Frigates and a capital ship? Who could even field a task force of that size? “Can you handle a force like that?”

  “My guess is we’re about to find out.” Brigston’s voice suddenly deepened as he spoke to the bridge crew. “Call to general quarters, Commander Steele. I want a status update from the entire task force. Let’s be sharp about it.” Brigston lowered his voice again. “They’ve opened fire, so communications are likely to be spotty going forward. Use those shuttles wisely, Jack. I’ll keep video feeds running as long as we have the bandwidth. Valdez out.”

  Memories flooded back of the first time Rimes had come to Sahara. I’m not losing these people. Not this time, not on this planet.

  5

  20 November, 2173. Sahara.

  * * *

  Rimes knew Sahara’s diverse landscape well. During his first time flying over the planet, maps had revealed mountain ranges, deep valleys, seemingly bottomless trenches, gentle rolling hills, even smooth plains. Sand covered most of the surface, in some places the black of volcanoes, in others nothing but tan. The ERF unit was moving through the heart of an endless sea of that tan sand now. It was hell to jog on. Boots sank ankle-deep and felt like blocks of lead, and the sand could hide holes and cracks. It was a good test for the unit, but it was meant as a training exercise.

  Then again, what better way to measure the unit’s effectiveness than when they’re at their weakest?

  It wasn’t a convincing argument.

  Rimes opened a private channel to Meyers. “You were asking me about regrets?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m thinking this was a bad idea. Next time we break the training down more.” Rimes looked
over his shoulder, thankful that they were at least clear of the dead zone. He didn’t want to think about engaging an enemy without the BAS. The unit had handled operating blind exceptionally well, but the video the task force was providing wasn’t encouraging: a capital ship, frigates, and gunships. It was the gunships that had Rimes most concerned. Their sensor profiles were far too familiar.

  “You think it’s the genies?” Meyers sounded as worried as Rimes felt.

  Five years before, the genies had used fast attack craft that looked an awful lot like the attacking gunships, and they’d been extremely effective. “No. They said the war was over, and I believe them.”

  “So, who?”

  “We’ll see soon enough.” The Intelligence Bureau had never figured out where the genies had gotten fast attack craft from, but Rimes had his suspicions. “I just wish we were closer to the mountains. If those gunships get down here before we can dust off, I’d like to have the high ground.”

  “I’ve got the Hawkeye feeds coming in now. Want a look?”

  Rimes accepted Meyers’s invitation to share his data feed. Multiple angles filtered in from the two UAVs; Rimes focused on the two angles that gave him the best view and shut down the rest. The Hawkeyes were lightweight, carried primitive optics, and faced significant ceiling and maneuverability limits. At the moment, though, the video gave an excellent—albeit monochrome—view for dozens of kilometers out.

  There was no sign of activity; the shuttles could land unmolested.