by MK Clark
“You already have,” he said and waved them toward the door from which they'd entered. “Down the hall and to your left will be your quarters. Please take this time to settle in.”
As soon as Jenks was gone, the room burst into multiple whispered conversations. It did not take long for Falcon to make his way to where Don sat, listening to the speculations around him.
“O’Hara,” he said, holding out a hand.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Don answered genuinely.
Falcon pulled him forward slightly and asked quietly, “Who’d you piss off?”
“I don―”
“Why else would you, of all people, pull this crap mission?”
Don extricated himself from the Falcon’s grasp and stood. “I don’t know what you mean,” he answered, “nor do you.”
Falcon’s head tilted questioningly, but he remained silent.
That was something, at least. Don had his own theories about why he was here, but he was far from willing to share them out loud. Still, Falcon’s words only cemented his own growing suspicions.
The next few weeks aboard what they decided to call the Hive were filled with continuous training. None of the former pilots struggled with the pace or material, which effectively squashed all notions on random selection. It seemed they really had been chosen for this mission, and aptly so.
“But why?” Dash asked in one of their rare, whispered conversations. “Why take some of their best pilots and train them secretly to send them on a mission they won’t survive?”
“No one said we wouldn’t survive,” Texan drawled. He’d been the most optimistic about their mission from the start. “Isn’t that the whole point of the bunker?”
Dash scoffed, “If that was it, they wouldn’t be training us to use SCARs. We all know something else is going on, and really, what are our survival odds on the ground? Not fantastic.”
Normally, Don stayed out of these conversations. He preferred to keep his opinions to himself. But today, he pushed his food away and leaned into the discussion. “What if we have been thinking about this wrong? It’s like Dash said. It doesn’t make sense. Why would they go to all this trouble if we were all going to die? Why not just skip the extra training and focus on the Wasps? That’s got to mean something. Maybe we’re all here because we’re the only ones who can pull this off and survive.”
“You honestly believe that?” Falcon asked.
He and Don exchanged a long look.
“I want to believe that,” Don finally answered, picking up his plate and leaving to dispose of it. He could feel all their eyes following him, wondering at his behavior.
It didn’t matter if they understood. He really did want to believe it. It’s why he pushed his fears to the back of his mind and applied himself completely to the course. When he couldn’t help but think about it, he tried to stay positive. He’d convinced himself that he was here because his talents were what this mission needed.
The Wasps helped him to maintain this fragile perception. They had proven to be far more than advertised. Each time Don entered the round control unit and watched the screens light up all around him, he felt a little less like a condemned man.
He could look in any direction and see what was around his Wasp. He could think orders, and the ship would respond without him moving a muscle, and faster than if he had, despite his well-trained reflexes. This was not a ship created on a whim. It was clear to Don that every detail of the Wasp had been agonized over to produce a fighter unlike anything they had seen, and Don loved them.
He let himself get lost in the training, until one morning Jenks instructed them to turn in the jumpsuits they had received on their first day. Their infantry uniforms had arrived. Without being told, they knew their time on the Hive was over. It had been two months.
Garbed in unfamiliar uniforms, they boarded the transport shuttle that would take them to their new post. It was a long trip, including three different A-Stream jumps. Don was certain these were directional changes, not that this told him much of anything. It would be difficult to figure out the Hive’s location from that information alone.
They weren’t told anything until they had departed the shuttle and entered an unfamiliar briefing room. The hardened woman before them began speaking moments after they had taken their seats.
“You are now in the Cumulo stellar system, aboard the battlecruiser Vengeance. We are currently making our way to the fourth planet. You will soon board Hoppers that will take you to the surface and your station.
“Should the Zarweans see us, they will attack. We have orders to protect you, and we will do so. If you are ejected from the Hopper, you are to head directly to the closest friendly. Any questions?”
There were none.
“Good. Then come with me.” She hardly finished speaking before she was out the door.
They scrambled to grab their bags and follow.
After a few minutes, she waved them into another room. “Suit up.”
Don cast a quick glance around. The room had been prepared. Twenty-four SCARs were laid out for them and tagged with their names. Don set his bag down in front of his suit. It was new. He checked the neck plate. His ident number was stamped along the side. He wasn’t the only one to notice.
“Check it out, boys,” someone called. “A personalized gift just for us.”
“It isn’t a gift,” Don answered, still studying his suit. “This’ll come out of our paychecks.”
“Come off it, O’Hara.”
Don turned to look over his shoulder and was surprised to see a great majority of his comrades wearing the same disbelieving look. “It’s the truth,” he said with a shrug.
Falcon stepped forward before there could be any more discussion. “O’Hara, quit ogling the thing and put it on. As for the rest of you, O’Hara is right. You’re in the infantry now, and this is how they do things. We don’t have much time, so move, soldiers!”
They moved. Soon after, the woman returned and split them into six groups before leading them to the hangar. Don boarded the Hopper that would take him and five others to the planet’s surface. As the Hopper carried them away from the Vengeance, Don couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling growing inside him.
It was not long before the Hopper began to buck, and he knew they were entering the atmosphere. He watched the information displayed before his eyes on his helmet’s HUD: the ident numbers of his comrades, their vital signs, distances, targeting. He’d become adept at reading and absorbing all of this while looking past it at the same time. Yet for all its uses, it annoyed him, like a fly buzzing around his head, refusing to go away.
By the time they landed, Don was agitated. He had never spent so much time in one of the SCARs without doing anything. They had barely unloaded onto the platform, their bags tossed down to them, before the Hopper was leaving. Don watched it disappear over the crater walls and scanned what sky he could see. He targeted anything that moved, searching for numbers.
“I can’t find them,” he finally said.
“Who?”
He dropped his gaze, though why, he wasn’t sure. All he saw were three identical SCARs. He already detested this place. “The other five Hoppers,” he answered grimly.
Immediately, his comrades mimicked his search.
He didn’t let them search for long. He saw another SCAR headed their way. “Come on,” he said and headed toward the approaching figure. “Let’s get out of the open.”
“Halt,” the soldier ordered and leveled his weapon on them. “What is your clearance code?”
Don stopped abruptly in surprise. He heard one of the pilots behind him answer. He took the moment to check their surroundings. He counted three other half-hidden soldiers trained on them. He couldn’t imagine why. Who else did they expect to show up in SCARs?
The weapon lowered without warning. An armored hand shot up, signaling to his hidden comrades. “You may proceed,” he told them.
Don brushed quickly past t
he soldier.
“Warm reception, aye?” one of his comrades asked.
Someone else answered, but Don was no longer listening. He was consumed by a sudden desire to see human faces again.
“O’Hara, slow down, man. It isn’t a race.”
“I know,” he snapped.
“Whoa, man,” came the startled reply. A suit entered his vision, keeping pace with his own. “What’s eating you?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not what your readings say. Your heart-rate is up by―”
“All right,” Don cut him off. “I just want to get out of this damn suit.”
“Well, so do we all, but don’t you think you're overreacting a bit?”
“No.”
Except that he knew he was. However, further conversation was cut off as they entered the base. In a room just inside, they racked their suits and changed back into their uniforms.
Don began to relax as their suits were whisked away to storage. He felt like himself again.
A guide showed up soon after. He pointed at Don’s comrades. “You three, come with me, and you,” he said with a nod at Don, “go down the hall for two sections, then take the second right, and you’re five doors down on the left.”
“What?” Don asked, confused.
The man looked at him in annoyance.“I said―”
“I know,” Don stopped him. “Two sections, second right, five doors. I got that part, but why am I going alone?”
“Would you like me to go get a babysitter to hold your hand?”
“Back off!” one his comrades growled. “That’s not what he meant, and you know it.”
The soldier laughed with a voice full of malice, clearly enjoying the moment. “Why should I? I know who you are just by looking at you, no matter what uniform you wear.” He spat on the floor, “Why should I give a damn about you?” He spun on his heel and left.
The four pilots stood for a moment in numb silence. Then Don moved, shoving his comrades after the man. “Go,” he told them, “quickly. I’ll be fine. We will all be fine.”
They saw the determination on his face and nodded.
When they had gone, Don stepped out into the hall. It did not take long for the whispers to start. He could hear them following him as he walked. He didn’t know how these soldiers knew, but it was unquestionable that they did. It was just as the man had said: simply by looking at him, they could tell he was a pilot.
Ex-pilot, he reminded himself.
He continued to walk, pretending not to hear the conversations around him or notice the snide looks as he passed. As he did, he shifted the weight of his bag so it could be easily discarded or thrown at an attacker. His brain was churning, noting escape routes, danger zones, and anything he could use to his advantage.
It was nerve-wracking to be alone. Why had they been split up? He didn’t understand. He couldn’t rationalize it. Even if the officers in charge would not admit it, surely they knew of the rivalry that existed between the two forces. It was infamous. At least together, the pilots would be able to look after each other.
“What are they sending flyboys down here for?” a voice jeered at him.
“His head’s too big. They brought him to be a decoy.”
Laughter followed the comment.
Don ground his teeth but kept walking. He saw a junction ahead. A group of very mean-looking soldiers stood there, waiting. The way their eyes locked on his approaching figure told Don they were waiting for him.
“Yeah? Well, I heard its ‘cause he’s the best damn pilot they’ve got, and he’s come to whip you pansies into shape.”
Don didn’t stop; he didn’t dare. But his eyes flickered to the left. There, short as ever and pushing his way through, was Tyson.
Chapter 28
October 23, 627 T.A.
Don halted, shocked. He watched as his old friend bullied the others into leaving, hardly daring to believe it was true. He had never expected to see anyone he knew, let alone Tyson.
Tyson turned and looked at Don. His friend wore a look of someone regarding an unexpected problem. Don’s heart sank.
It must have shown, because Tyson immediately clapped him on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly. “Keep walking,” he murmured. “Don’t want to get caught in a mess.”
Don obeyed automatically, letting Tyson lead.
When they reach a deserted hall, Tyson faced him again. He was not pleased; that was obvious. “What in seven hells are you doing here? Trying to buy your bullet?”
Don leaned against the wall. He could feel his face pulled tight with anxiety. “Not particularly, but I think they’re intent on that happening.”
“They? They, who?” Tyson asked, anger quickly fading away.
Don’s spirits lifted a little. He was no longer alone.
“There’s nothing you can do, Ty,” he said. “It’s the big guys. They’ve sent a group of us down here, spread us out. Something to do with needing soldiers who have pilot's training.”
Tyson shook his head. “No way, man. Flyboys don’t fight with infantry. You know that.”
Don stayed quiet as a group of soldiers passed. He watched them till they were farther down the hall before turning his attention back to Tyson. “Aye, I know. All of us know, but there’s nothing to be done. It’s orders.”
Tyson shook his head, and Don wracked his brains for something, anything, to make his friend understand. As limiting and frustrating as it was, he couldn’t tell Tyson the real reason they were here.
“Listen, this isn’t just some whim. They got something up their sleeves.”
Tyson’s frown deepened. “How do you know?”
“Because,” Don answered carefully, “they didn’t just pick some random pilots. They picked us ‘cause we’re good at ground-thumping, and we’re good at what we do. Some of the best at what we do. They got our aces here.”
“You an ace?”
Don swore. “I’m not playing around, Tyson. I was as good at ground-thumping as you in Basic. I just chose to be a pilot.”
“So you’re not an ace?”
Don swallowed a frustrated answer. The taunt carried a familiar tone. He studied his friend’s face and saw laughter in his eyes. Finally, Don shrugged. “I cause too much trouble.”
“Atta boy,” Tyson grinned. “Now, where are you headed?”
“Honestly?”
“You have no idea.”
“Pretty much.” Don nodded. “I think it was to report in and get assigned.”
Tyson’s eyes narrowed at this. Don could see the wheels turning in his head.
“Uh-oh,” he said.
“Uh-oh, what?”
Don laughed. “That face. That is not a good face. That’s your I’m going to cause trouble face.”
“This is not a face!” Tyson replied indignantly. “Well, it is a face. It’s my face, but it has no meaning.”
“I’ll try to remember that when your secret plan starts rolling.”
“It’s just a face!”
Don lifted his hands. “Okay, okay, I surrender.”
“Follow me,” Tyson growled. He started off down the hall, Don walking safely beside him. “So how did they break it to you?” Tyson asked after a few minutes.
Don thought back to his birthday, and a shiver ran through him. “Got my orders the day I was cleared from medical leave,” he finally stated. “Just a report date and time. They told us later what it was about. It wasn’t what I’d hoped.”
“And what was that?”
“To meet back up with my flight, or what was left of it.”
“You gonna explain that, or do I have to guess?”
Don allowed a bittersweet smile to cross his face. No matter what changed, Tyson was the same.
He took a moment to shape his words. “My flight was involved in a sizeable battle right before I was given leave, although you wouldn’t have heard of it. A few days before, we had been on patrol and discovered a covert Zarwean advancem
ent.”
Tyson whistled, impressed.
Don realized he was treading on thin ice and continued a little more cautiously. “We got jumped. I shot down two bandits before they got to me. I was pretty messed up for a while, even missed the big scuffle, but I was lucky enough.”
“You call that lucky?”
“I survived,” Don answered. “Eli didn’t.”
“Eli? You mean Eli Amal?”
“Aye.”
Tyson swore quietly. “I liked him.” When Don didn’t reply, Tyson glanced over and then swiftly change the subject. “What happened then?”
“They sent me to the Agamemnon until I was fit for action. I thought it was a strange place to spend my leave. I thought maybe my dad had pulled strings to get me where he was stationed. I only found out later that’s where all of us pilots were gathered before they spirited us away for training. That’s when they told us we were being transferred to infantry.”
“Wait.” Tyson stopped, grabbing Don’s shoulder and twisting him around. “They transferred you?”
Don nodded.
“As in, you infantry now, transferred?”
“That’s what my uniform says, doesn’t it?”
Tyson looked as if he couldn’t process what he heard.
“We didn’t actually know they were going to spread us out here until we landed. We all assumed they’d be smart enough to keep us together.” Don continued with a shake of his head, “We were already mad, but now?”
“I’d say,” Tyson answered as Don trailed off. They walked in silence a little longer. Finally, he asked, “What happens now?”
“Now? Now we serve under someone here, do what they brought us to do, and if we survive, maybe they send us home.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Tyson laughed bitterly. “They’re going to get you all killed.”
Don scowled at his friend. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“No, seriously. You guys are the only thing keeping us alive up there,” Tyson said, jabbing a finger at the roof. “Who is gonna do your job if you are here? Besides, they can’t honestly expect you to survive! The stats just aren’t on your side…”