by MK Clark
As the general reached to end the transmission, Don struggled with himself. Finally, what was left of the loving son in him won over. “Da!” he said suddenly, voice strained.
His father paused, arm reaching off the screen as Don bit his lip and fought the urge to say, “Never mind.”
“Yes?”
Don took a deep breath and summoned his courage. “Thanks.”
General O’Hara smiled and nodded slightly. Then the screen went black. Don turned and fell back against the wall, letting his head rest softly on the cool metal as he leaned against it. For a few moments, he stood in sweet, emotionless silence while the peace of the small room calmed him. When his ears became so accustomed to the quiet that he began to hear mumbled voices from outside, Don decided it was time to go. He grabbed the key card and walked the few steps to the door. Glancing back once, he flicked the light off and opened the door.
The noise was overwhelming. Somehow, he managed to return the key card to Grandfather, gather the boxes for his company, and shove his way through the crowd to where the bright sunlight was waiting to welcome him into the open. Don exited the building, his heart lighter than it had been when he’d entered.
The class bell rang as Don set the boxes on the shelf of his locker, where he would keep them till he found their owners. His eyes flew to the small, round clock that hung on the far end of Gabriel Company’s room. 1400 hours. Don grabbed the edge of his locker and flicked it shut as he headed for the door. He had less than a minute to make it to his weapons training ground.
Don took the stairs three at a time and crossed the parade grounds at a flat out sprint. He slid under the pavilion beside the weapons field with five seconds to spare. Some of the boys caught him by the arms to help him stop, while others grabbed the bottom of his jacket and pulled, straightening out the wrinkles with comments of, “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we?” Don just grinned as the order to come to attention sounded through the company.
When the boys could look around again without earning the attention of their weapons master, Don did. The first thing he noticed was the surplus of bodies, bodies that were not wearing dark blue.
Don’s eyebrows came together as he inspected their audience. He thought they had a sort of mean look about them. He could see it in the way their mouths curved as they spoke, standing just beyond the pavilion’s edge.
“Who are they?” Don whispered. The kid beside him shrugged in answer.
Don’s scrutiny was cut short as Sergeant Otorru, the weapons master, began explaining the assignment. It was the same one they’d had all week. Take apart and put back together an SA-13 assault rifle. They were not allowed to actually shoot the weapon, or any other weapon, until they knew its mechanical anatomy inside and out. The entire Gabriel Company had to finish in under a minute before the weapons master would let them near the practice field.
The SA-13 was one of the easiest weapons to cannibalize and then rebuild. Less complicated than its newer upgrade, the rapid-fire SA-14, it still had the advantage of being lighter and somewhat more accurate, which was why it was still in use.
Don went to stand at one of the tables where the numerous SA-13s lay. The order to start was given, and Don’s hands reached for the gun. His fingers flew along it of their own accord. He removed the magazine, flicked the safety switch, and removed the rounds from the chamber. Don was among the fastest, along with Tyson, Black, Amal, and Sanders. Twenty-five seconds, and Don had the gun disassembled. He immediately started to re-assemble it, going through the steps once more, but in reverse. Putting it back together was a bit harder. Don reached for the bolt and spring, trying not to think about the time. He could feel the gaze of the landlubbers on his back and desperately wanted to show them up.
Don flicked the safety catch and attached the magazine. Standing the completed gun on its butt, Don called, “Sir!” as the sergeant called, “Time!” Chin high, mouth twisted into a small smirk as he looked at the boys watching. Don was one of the few finished, but it was enough. His eyes challenged the landlubbers, daring them to mock him now.
The sergeant opened his mouth, no doubt to explain just how pitiful their attempt had been, when his permanent scowl deepened. His eyes looked over their heads toward the back of the pavilion. “May I ask, corporal, what it is you are interrupting my class for?”
“Yes, sir!” came the clipped reply, and Don turned with most of his company to look at the intruder. “Trainees O’Hara, Johnson, and Amal have been dismissed to perform other duties.”
Don sighed as the young corporal spoke. Behind the corporal, Don could see several buses entering the compound. Don waited as Sergeant Otorru digested this information. He dismissed them in disgust. Don, Luke Johnson, and Eli Amal left. None were happy about the new arrivals’ timing. Weapons training was one of the few classes they enjoyed.
This time, as they neared the three buses, they heard no snickers or crude jokes. It occurred to Don that these landlubbers didn’t realize they were space kids. There were so many other boys around that these new trainees didn’t know that the three boys dressed in blue were not like them. He felt relief fill his gut. He hadn’t been looking forward to another confrontation. The ones he’d encountered all afternoon had been grating on his nerves. It would be nice to simply be able to speak and be listened to.
Don took the second bus, and this time the instructor was in plain sight. The small conversation between them went smoothly, and as the instructor walked away, Don turned toward Templar Company. There were no hateful looks or rebellious faces, and he was thankful.
As he waited once more in a hall of the barracks while a new company settled themselves in, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Don glanced up from his post to see Tyson walking toward him, hands in pockets.
“Thought you might need some help,” Tyson said, not looking directly at him. Don blinked. His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“Sure,” he finally croaked. Tyson nodded and leaned against the wall beside Don. Nothing else was said, but nothing else needed to be. An apology had been given and accepted. Life went on.
Chapter 7
November 2, 625 T.A.
Don skid on the leafy ground, throwing himself against the trunk of a fir tree for protection. The sound of bullets ripping through leaves and thudding into bark pattered around him like rain. Come on, kid, he thought. Pull yourself together. This isn’t that hard. What are you so afraid of? Don took a deep breath to calm the pounding in his chest. He couldn’t quite manage to unglue his back from the wooden barrier behind him, but he knew he had to try.
He squeezed the grip on his MAG-R4 with sweaty hands. Every inch of him was covered in dirt, leaves, sweat, and mud. The rapid-fire gun in his hands had fared a little better. Don had, after all, tried to keep it in good shape. Otorru had made sure all the trainees understood the corrosive power of one grain of sand. “No matter how good the technology,” he said, “dirt will always win. If you value your life, keep your weapons clean!”
A spray of bullets flew past him, piercing his tree and missing him by inches. Don threw himself toward the next tree. He huddled behind it as he tried to figure out how the enemy had gotten behind him so quickly. He hadn’t seen anyone moving amongst the bushes, and enemy fire was still coming from the original position, as well.
Fine, Don thought as he sprinted toward another refuge. That’s fine. I can handle this. He crouched behind some bushes, using them to hide him from his enemy’s sight, before crawling away. We’re obviously surrounded, so we just have to make it out of their circle, and then we can keep pushing forward. It sounded so easy in his mind. He didn’t have to look far to find complications. For starters, there was no we. He had absolutely no idea where his companions were. Secondly, Don had no idea what his squad leader’s plan was. Don was supposed to be taking orders from Amal, but ever since they were ambushed, all hell had broken loose.
Amal's, Sanders', and Johnson’s squads were supposed to be th
e diversion for Inez and his nine men. Inez’s squad was supposed to circle around the valley that Don was now located in, and complete the mission objective while the first three squads engaged the enemy. Theoretically, they would overcome the other company and meet Inez at the appointed mission objective. Of course, no one could have known what kind of resistance they were going to receive. The three squad leaders, Amal, Sanders, and Johnson, had agreed ahead of time not to send the entire diversion out at first. Amal’s squad had been picked to lead the way. There would be a hundred meters between them and their back-up, but it would also give the other two squads an idea of what they were up against and how to fight it. Inez’s squad would begin making their way across the mountainous terrain after giving the diversion a ten-minute start.
Don wasn’t sure where the other two squads were now, but he hoped they’d show up soon. He knew Sanders and Johnson wouldn’t charge into this firefight without a plan, but to Don it seemed like they were taking too long. Amal’s squad was being cut to pieces. Don still had no targets as no one had been able to confirm where the enemy was. They seemed to be everywhere at once. As far as Don knew, he was the last person fit for action in his squad.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s fine. I just have to make it out.” Don used a protruding root to pull himself forward on the ground. He could hear scattered gunfire, but none of it was directed at him. All the same, Don was sure the enemy knew where he was, even if they didn’t know his exact position in the clump of shrubbery he was hiding in.
Don reached the edge of his bushes. It was a thirty-meter dash from where he was to the next available cover. He considered turning around and finding a different route, but he knew that would be impossible. He’d just come from the most congested area. If he could make it across the clearing, he might just be far enough from the enemy to figure out where he was and what to do.
He pulled his hands and knees under him, tensing his muscles to move. He needed to convince himself to go. No part of him wanted to run out there and give the enemy a clear shot, but he had to, and soon. “What are you so afraid of?” he asked himself. “It’s not like the bullets are real.” Yeah, his mind countered, but they hurt like hell.
“I can do this,” he said. “I’ve got to. I’ll be fine. I can do this.” Don took a deep breath as sweat trickled down his face, leaving a track along the dirt and mud. The longer he crouched, looking at his destination, the farther away it seemed. “Fine,” he said and shoved himself up off the ground, only to fall flat on his face as something caught his ankle. Don scurried backward, thankful no shots came his direction, and turned on his back, gun pointed toward his feet.
“Star!” a voice whispered to him.
Relief filled his gut as he heard the call sign, and Don lowered the MAG-R4. “Dust,” he croaked as he looked up through the green leaves to the blue sky. “You scared the crap out of me,” he said to his unknown comrade.
“Sorry, but you were leaving, and I had to get your attention.”
“Which squad?” Don asked as he lay there, heart pounding in his chest.
“Amal’s”
Don laughed and lifted his head to look at his ally. It was Pyotr, one of the boys from his company. “Damn.”
The boy grinned at him. “You thought you were all that was left, too, huh?” Don raised his eyebrows in answer. “I don’t blame you,” Pyotr said. “This is some hellhole we’ve walked into.”
Don interrupted. “I was getting out. If you care to join me, I’ll tell you my plan.” Don rolled back on his stomach to face the clearing. He felt Pyotr join him.
His voice was in Don’s ear when he spoke. “You don’t need to tell me. I know it already. You were heading for that clump of rocks beyond the open spot there.” A dirty finger pointed toward Don’s destination. “That’s insane.”
“You got anything better?” Don asked.
“I never said it was a bad plan,” Pyotr countered. “Lesser of two evils, and all that.”
Don couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his lips. “Right. I’ll go first, then, ‘cause the enemy knows I’m here. Wait till I make it, and then I’ll cover you. They won’t be looking for you, so you’ll have a good chance of getting across if they’re paying attention to me.”
Pyotr nodded. “Okay.”
Don closed his eyes for a moment, steeling his nerves. “Go!” he whispered, and his muscles followed the order. He shot forward. One, he counted to himself. Two. If he got past five seconds without being targeted, he’d know they weren’t looking for him. Three. The bulk of his vest, ammo, flask, first aid kit, grenades, and other items seemed to scream out his position as if they had been painted a neon color. Four. Ratta-tat-tat. The dirt around his feet kicked up, causing Don to run faster than ever. Five. The enemy had been waiting for him. Six. Only a few meters left. Bullets sprayed around him. Seven. His equipment was so heavy. Eight. Don leapt over a small boulder. He reached out a hand and grabbed the side of a big rock. Nine. Don pulled himself around the side and flattened against it. His breath came in painful gasps. He’d done it.
After a few seconds, Don peered around the edge of the boulder. Pyotr was already out of the bushes. By the distance he’d run, it looked like he’d been out of cover for three seconds. Don heard the tell-tale sound of gun fire and pointed the barrel of his MAG-R4 in that direction. He squeezed the trigger, aiming for the small flash he’d seen in the rocks above.
Seconds later, Pyotr joined him behind the thick, hard, comforting stone, and Don abandoned firing to take refuge. The two boys crouched in silence as Pyotr caught his breath and then started to make his way through the rocks they had chosen to protect them. Don followed silently. He didn’t know where Pyotr was headed, but he knew they had to get away from here as quickly as possible if their plan was to work. He also trusted the boy. Pyotr, too, had managed to make it this far by himself.
They crawled quickly and quietly, managing never to draw enemy fire toward them. When the rocks began to thin, the two stopped to scout out their next position. At this point, they could continue around the base of the mountain to which the rocks belonged, or they could make their way up the side. Neither option appealed to Don, since the enemy had the upper ground.
“What do you think?” Pyotr asked in a hoarse whisper. For some reason, Don noticed his ally’s lips were dry and starting to peel. His eyes dropped to Pyotr’s duty belt. His water flask was missing.
Don unhooked his own flask and put it in his comrade’s hand. “Here,” he said and then continued. “I think we circle the base and get some distance between us and them. Then we can start up the side. It would be too dangerous to just charge up now.” Pyotr nodded and gave the flask back. Don took a gulp of water, and then another. It soothed the back of his throat.
Pyotr watched while Don clipped the flask back on his belt. “You ready?” he asked.
“Are you?” Don replied.
They exchanged uneasy looks and prepared to leave. “I’ll go first,” Pyotr said. Don nodded, adjusting his grip on his weapon. In this battle, it was his best friend.
“Freeze!”
Don jumped. “Go!” he shouted, and Pyotr went. Don sent a spray of bullets toward the foreign voice.
Suddenly, Pyotr froze. Don saw three boys step out of the forest, and then a sharp burning sensation in his leg sent him sprawling to the ground. His back arched as all the nerves in his calf were set on fire.
“O’Hara, you okay?” Pyotr’s voice entered his pain-filled thoughts.
“Yeah,” he gasped, turning his head to see Pyotr standing with his gun held above his head. “I’m fine.”
A shadow fell across Don. He turned to see a black muzzle almost completely blocking out the grim face behind it. “No one is going anywhere.”
Don raised his hands up by his head. He left his MAG-R4 lying on his abdomen. “We surrender.”
His captor looked over Don to where the others were. “We got them,” he said and then directed h
is attention elsewhere, although his gun remained fixed on Don. “Travis, take their weapons. Dean, keep a lookout for more. Let’s take these boys home. They miss their family.” The corner of his mouth turned up as he looked down at Don.
His gun was taken from him and slung over a foreign shoulder, in compliance to the boy’s order. Don winced as the dart left in his leg from the bullet sent an electric shock through all the nerves around it. “You,” the first boy said, looking at Pyotr. “Get him up.” He nodded at Don and took a few steps back.
Don felt hands grip his forearms. “Come on,” Pyotr said as he pulled. Don scrambled to get his good leg under him. Pyotr grabbed Don’s right hand with his own, pulled Don onto his shoulders, and wrapped his left arm around Don’s back.
“Move out,” their captor ordered.
They started forward, Travis in front, Dean and the leader behind Don and Pyotr. “Guess running wasn’t so smart,” Don said quietly, grimacing as his muscles protested the weight on his right leg.
“We would’ve been caught either way. At least we tried,” Pyotr whispered back.
“But I wouldn’t have been shot!” Don countered, keeping his voice as level as possible.
“Shut it, or I’ll make you,” a voice threatened from behind them.
Don stumbled as a shock went through his leg. “Damn,” he mumbled while Pyotr pulled him back up.
It took Don a few moments to realize they were headed up the side of the mountain. As he looked up the steep incline, he saw that it was filled with trees, boulders, and no apparent path. Don’s heart dropped. “You can’t be serious,” he said before realizing he was speaking out loud.