by Jay Allan
I couldn’t have gotten more than a couple klicks at most. I don’t know how they didn’t find me, but they didn’t. I woke up – it must have been hours later because the sun was high in the sky. My back hurt like fire, but I managed to drag myself to my feet and start heading south. I had no idea where I was going; south was an arbitrary decision. I just kept stumbling on my way, putting more kilometers between me and that damned megafarm.
I knew most water that didn’t come from one of the filtration plants was polluted, sometimes dangerously so, but I didn’t have much choice, so I drank from the streams I passed. Most of them seemed OK, except for one that smelled so badly of chemicals I passed it by. I did my best to wash the wound every time I reached a body of water, but it got infected anyway. I had a few feverish days when I was too weak to do anything, but finally it broke, and I started to feel better. The wound itself abscessed, and I felt the warm puss oozing down my back. It was an upsetting feeling at first, but almost immediately the pain subsided, and I felt much better.
I’d been eating what I could scavenge, but that wasn’t much. The lack of food was making me weaker, but I hadn’t had much desire to eat anyway. The fear first, and then the fever had blunted my appetite. But now my fever was past and I was ravenous.
I started looking around, paying attention to my surroundings and trying, for the first time since I ran, to figure out where I was. I found a mag-rail line, and I decided to follow it, figuring it had to lead somewhere. The mag lines were huge plasti-crete structures, suspended about five meters above the ground. As it turned out, I had stumbled onto the freight line serving the megafarms all over the area. It wasn’t long before the rail line led into the next agri-complex. I managed to sneak in after dark, and for the first time in my life I stole something. That first theft wasn’t anything of great value, just three loaves of bread. But to me, alone, terrified, and hungry, they were priceless.
I made my way south from there, following the rail line, sometimes even sneaking onto a train and riding it to the next stop. The line terminated in New Houston, and by the time I got to southern Texas I was getting pretty good at stealing. I had found a way to survive.
Over time I got better at it, and I moved past just surviving. I put together a small team so we could hit bigger targets. We did pretty well for a long time by limiting our ambitions. We stole enough to get by comfortably, but not enough to make it worthwhile for the authorities to get too interested. Once in a while a few of the other guys wanted to get more aggressive and go for more lucrative jobs, but I always managed to keep control.
The Marine Corps’ main training facility was just a few klicks west of our basecamp, and it was a huge complex. There were transports moving in and out of there constantly carrying all sorts of supplies. For a long time we avoided targets that made us a problem for powerful people, but that wisdom finally failed me. I think I just gave in to the desire of the crew to ramp up our efforts. Caution gave way to greed, and we started intercepting the Marine supply convoys, lying in wait for them a few kilometers outside the camp gates. We’d hit three of them and gotten away with it – it was almost too easy. But the night we hit the fourth they were waiting for us. That was the first time I’d ever seen a Marine in powered armor. They came out of the brush and surrounded us. Despite the fact that they were fully armored, they came streaming out of the forest quickly and quietly. I was amazed that soldiers in such heavy gear could move so gracefully. They worked flawlessly as a unit, each seeming to almost predict the actions of the others. I turned and tried to run, hoping to make it into the heavy brush and somehow sneak away. But the first step I took was the last. All I remember was the blinding flash and then the darkness.
Chapter 3
2252 AD
Kelven Ridge
Delta Trianguli I
“OK, everybody keep grabbing some dirt. We’re going to maneuver to the right flank by fire teams, so nobody move a centimeter until your team leaders order it.” The lieutenant sounded rock solid, like he was sitting in base calmly assigning us a duty roster. I was amazed, and that voice, so firm, so assured, reached out to me and drew me back from the fear and despair. It was like a beacon in the darkness, and I clung to it, forcing myself to focus, to remember my training, and the responsibility I had to my fellow Marines. That was my first lesson in command, the way the lieutenant held us together that day with nothing more than his voice. I don’t think I completely understood it until years later, when I was in his shoes, and there were troops on the line waiting for my steady voice, needing it as much as I had that day on Tombstone.
The gully behind the ridge was slightly deeper to the right. We’d have enough cover there to deploy and return the fire. We didn’t have a lot of time; it was pretty certain the enemy would hit us as soon as they’d picked off everyone they could with their auto-cannons. They’d planned these fields of fire, so knew exactly where they covered. They’d be able to advance in the dead zones, forcing us to keep our heads down until they were almost on us.
The lieutenant’s voice had been a lifeline. Now that I was focused again, the training started flowing back. While I was waiting I doubled-checked my weapons, just like they told us to do. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before Corporal Clark was on the line.
“Alright, fire team A, we’re going to turn 90 degrees and work our way east behind this outcropping.” He was definitive and in command, not quite like the lieutenant, but still solid. He spoke slowly and clearly so there was no chance any of us would misunderstand him. “We’re going to go slow, and I want you all to pay attention and stay low. No one gets picked off on this move.” He paused for a few seconds. “That’s an order.”
My first thought was, you don’t have to remind me to stay low! But then I considered how easy it is to lose focus for a second…and that was enough to get you killed. They pound that into your head in training, over and over again. You can be meticulous for hours, days, weeks…but it only takes one careless second to get yourself scragged.
I made damned sure I stayed low, though it was difficult to move that way in armor. It felt like forever, but it was really less than ten minutes before we reached our new position, which was only about 200 meters from the original one. But the rocky spur was higher and thicker here…much better cover, and big enough that we could go prone behind it and start returning some of this fire.
Harden and James were already setting up the SAW, positioning it on a small ledge just below the outcropping. They’d found a spot with a small notch in the stone they could shoot through. Their field of fire would be somewhat restricted, but anything coming up at us would be right in their sights for at least part of the time. The enemy could have come up through our old position to try and flank us – but they’d also have to go right through their own field of fire to get there. So we’d know they were heading that way if the auto-cannon fire stopped.
I slid over a meter or so to a spot where I had my own break in the rock wall. I’d be able to shoot pretty well from there, so I ground my knee into the loose gravel and braced myself. I peered through the crack and looked out. In front of the rock spur the chopped up, broken ground dropped off gradually, reaching a low point almost a klick from our position. The valley was pockmarked with small craters, about half of them filled with bubbling acid and other nasty-looking liquids. The entire landscape was obscured by slowly moving clouds of greenish gas, which an advancing enemy could try use to cover an advance. The gas interfered with our scanners, making it difficult to either detect or see anything hidden within one of the patchy clouds. Of course anyone moving through would have a hard time keeping their own bearings too.
“Good position, Jax.” Corporal Clark was double checking the deployment of the team. He was a worrier, very dedicated to the wellbeing of the four troopers he commanded. He was very relaxed and informal when we weren’t on duty, and he’d made me feel at home right away. Oliver Clark wasn’t a convict or other problem case, like most of the
rest of us were; his father had been a career sergeant, and he was a second generation Marine. He’d been raised to love and respect the Corps, unlike the rest of us, who generally joined opportunistically, usually to avoid prosecution or worse, and developed loyalty later. “Stay alert. You’re backup on the SAW, so if either Harden or James gets hit I want you to reposition immediately without further orders. Understood?”
“Acknowledged.” We would need that SAW running full out if the enemy attacked. The Model 5 auto-cannon is one of the most successful infantry weapon designs ever put into the field. It accepts two gauges of ammo and can fire up 3,600 rounds per minute using the smaller projectiles. I’d rated well on the thing during training, but combat conditions were another thing entirely. The SAW put out a huge chunk of the team’s firepower; I wasn’t one to shrink from a challenge, but I was just as happy with it in more experienced hands.
We actually had a pretty good position to handle whatever was coming at us. The enemy had laid a trap for sure, but if I had to make a guess, someone over there opened up before he was supposed to. If they’d have waited for us to clear the rocky spur we’d have been caught in the open and torn to shreds. As it was, we were probably outnumbered, but we had decent cover and a good chance to hold out until reserves got here.
It wasn’t more than a few minutes before the attack began. They hit us with grenades – the Caliphate had a first rate grenade launcher that considerably outranged ours. They started hitting all around us. They were taking potshots, hoping to make up for inaccuracy with volume. Still, they scored some hits, and we had about three or four more down from the platoon. Most of the wounds were minor, but on Tombstone, anything that breached your suit was deadly serious. Even if the repair system patched the damage before the planet killed you, the adhesive polymer wasn’t up to handling combat conditions. You might keep fighting with a wounded arm, but if you ripped open the patch on your suit you’d go from WIA to KIA damned quickly.
“Here they come!” It was Sergeant Lassa, my squad leader. It was a few seconds before anything started to show on my scanner, and another few before I caught sight of enemy troops advancing through the spotty cloud cover. I took a breath and leveled my mag rifle. I had a pretty good shot on a small cluster of advancing troops, and I started firing short bursts on full auto. My first shots fired in combat were way off – I was a good marksman in training, but you just don’t realize what it’s like shooting at targets that are firing back at you until you experience it. It took me a few seconds to settle down, but once I did my fire got a lot more accurate.
It was hard to tell what we hit until they started coming out of the clouds but, when they did, the SAWs ripped into them. They were trying to advance along the lowest spots, crouching to maximize their cover, but they had to cross some open areas, and they suffered heavily. They’d expected us to be hit harder by the heavy auto-cannons, but they’d fired too soon and ruined their ambush. We had the better cover now, and they had to come at us the hard way.
I was terrified, so scared I could hardly think. I wanted to run, to get away and go somewhere, anywhere that people weren’t shooting at me. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, feel it in my chest. My hands were sweaty, my legs weak. But I stayed focused and kept squeezing off shots, targeting the enemy troopers as they advanced. It was hard to tell if I hit anyone, but it looked like overall we’d taken out at least a dozen.
Our fire blunted their advance, and they stopped and took cover. There were cracks and fissures in the rocky ground, and the enemy troops scattered, occupying any crack that offered some protection. Our cover was heavier, but theirs was enough to offer significant protection, and they outgunned us, which compensated for our stronger position. The combat had turned into a protracted firefight, and both sides expended a lot of ordnance for very little return.
These were the kinds of fights where carelessness gets you killed. When the shooting goes on this long with no break you can lose focus. A Marine raises his head just a touch too far, trying to get a better shot. That’s all it takes to get killed, an instant’s lapse in judgment.
I was getting exhausted, mentally more than physically, and running low on ammunition. I was taking single shots now, saving the rounds I had left in case the enemy tried to assault our position. The corporal came on the com and told us to cut our ammo expenditures, but I had beaten him to it.
As a private, I wasn’t on the higher levels of the com line, so I had no idea what was happening outside my squad. I knew we were stuck here – we didn’t have enough strength to assault the enemy, and if we tried to retire we’d give up the cover of the ridgeline, and the enemy would just move up and shoot us to pieces. I figured there were reinforcements heading to support us, but all I could do was guess.
It’s hard to separate what you thought years ago from your perceptions after the fact, but looking back, the enemy had the initiative. Their trap had failed, at least partially, but they still had numbers for a while. It was up to them to force the issue or to withdraw. We didn’t have the strength to attack, but we could put up a considerable defense. They could probably beat us, wipe us out…but they’d pay heavily. The enemy commander had to decide if he wanted a major fight here.
It wasn’t long before I got my answer. The enemy troops started withdrawing, pulling back slowly from one piece of cover to the next. The auto-cannons kept up their fire, keeping our heads down so we couldn’t harass the retreating infantry. But that was unnecessary, because the lieutenant was on the line a few seconds after they started pulling back. “Cease fire.” His voice was as steady as ever, but I’d swear I could detect the slightest bit of relief. Maybe he was human too. “All units, cease fire. Hold positions.” We didn’t have ammo to waste shooting at retreating enemies, and if it turned out to be a ruse, the lieutenant wanted us to be armed and ready to deal with it.
But it wasn’t a ruse. The enemy didn’t want a big battle here. That would come later, and when it did we would know it.
Chapter 4
2243 AD
Camp Puller
North of New Houston
Texas, USA, Western Alliance
“Welcome back. Did you have a nice sleep?”
The voice was deep but friendly, and it was the first thing that came to me in the darkness. The light was next, hazy at first then brighter, clearer. My head felt like a mag train had run through it.
“Here, drink this.” I started to get an image of the room, small, with bare metal walls and a table with two chairs. I was sprawled out on a cot, and as I pulled myself up I got the first look at my companion. He was tall, dressed in a neatly-pressed gray uniform, and he was holding out a small metal cup. “Those stun guns give you quite a headache.” He smiled sympathetically. “This will help.”
I straightened myself out. I was still sitting, but at least I was halfway up. I took the cup and downed it in one gulp. If these guys wanted to harm me they’d had plenty of chances. I felt better almost immediately; it was like the fog in my head just cleared away.
“Welcome to Camp Puller.” I was about to say something, but he beat me to it. “I’m Captain Sam Jackson.” He paused and smiled. “And you are a very resourceful young man who, among other things, has nothing but a scar where his implant was.”
I leaned back nervously. My first thought was, they will figure out who I am and send me back to the farm. For that matter, just removing the implant was highly illegal. He must have read my mind, because he laughed softly. “Don’t worry; we’re really not interested in whatever you’ve done. You were stealing from us, and we don’t care. We’re certainly not concerned with what you did to anyone else. Or the fact that you removed your implant.” After a brief pause: “We’re not cops.”
I looked up at him, feeling better but still groggy. “You’re a Marine?” I took a good look at him. I guessed he was about 35, though I wasn’t sure. He could have been younger or, with a rejuv treatment or two, quite a bit older. His hair was light bro
wn, neatly trimmed, and his face was pleasant, relaxed. He certainly didn’t match my expectation of a Marine. The Corps had a reputation for producing savage fighters, but this guy looked like someone who spent his day in front of a workstation. I laugh when I look back – now I realize that Captain Jackson could have dropped me in half a second, despite the fact that he was ten centimeters shorter and at least 20 kilos lighter.
“Yes, I’m a Marine.” He could tell what I was thinking, and he smiled again. “Surprised I’m not three meters tall with weapons growing out of my arms?” He reached out and dragged one of the chairs closer to the cot. “We have a few things to discuss. Why don’t we start with your name?” He sat with the chair turned around, leaning against the back.
“Jax. Darius Jax.” I’d been thinking, I’m not going to tell this guy anything, but my mouth opened and my name came out. It’s not like they couldn’t find out anyway. I got my implant out, but I couldn’t change my DNA. I was in the main database just like anybody else. Besides, I had the strangest feeling he was trying to help me.
“Interesting name. I’ve seen a lot of guys come through here, but you’re the first Darius. Persian king, right?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. My education at the time was almost non-existent. The government didn’t waste resources educating Cogs and Croppers. I’d had an hour a day of online classes at the farm, but it was nothing but basics. I wasn’t entirely illiterate, but ancient history was well beyond my knowledge base. I didn’t even know what a Persian was. Years later, at the Academy, I was finally able to answer his question. Two famous Persian kings, actually, the second enjoying the dubious privilege of facing off against Alexander the Great.
When I didn’t answer he just continued. “Doesn’t matter. Let me get right to the point.” He straightened up slightly in the chair. “I’m here to offer you a chance to join the Corps.”