The Earthling (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  "Goddammit!" he blurted out.

  "Where did Sergeant Lizzy learn to train a platoon?" Etty said, panting beside him. "The Gestapo?"

  George ran with them, barely able to breathe, let alone speak.

  Jon found himself envious of Clay. Lizzy had broken the brute's arm. The lucky bastard was probably resting in an infirmary now, as comfortable as could be, while the others suffered.

  "I hate this," Jon panted. "I really ha—"

  "Run, worm!" rose Lizzy's voice from behind.

  He spun around. The sergeant was charging on her hoverform. She seemed a goddess of fury in a chariot of fire. Her golden braid flailed like her whip. Her lips peeled back in a snarl, and her blue eyes shone like pitiless jewels. She raised her rifle, looked right into Jon's eyes, and gave a crooked smile.

  Crap.

  Jon spun away, ran, and—

  Pain.

  Pain bloomed on his back.

  He pitched forward, stumbled through dangling plastic strands, and hit the ground.

  She shot me, he realized. She fucking shot me.

  "You're not dead yet, worm!" rose Lizzy's voice. "You can still suffer for me!"

  Jon rose and ran. He winced in pain. The armored battlesuit helped a little. But just a little. It hurt. The rubber bullet had thankfully missed his spine, hitting him below the left shoulder blade. Jon had played paintball before, had taken some hits that left ugly green and yellow bruises. They seemed as gentle as caresses now. He missed that old pain.

  * * * * *

  Finally, after what seemed like ages, epochs, eternities—the first day of training ended.

  Jon wanted nothing more than to collapse, sleep, and ideally die. But with more shouts, snarls, and shocks, Sergeant Lizzy herded them toward a mess hall.

  "Yum, yum!" Etty licked her lips. "Chow time."

  George's belly rumbled. "Finally! We've had nothing but stinkin' battle paste to eat all day. I ate ten of those tubes, and I'm still starving."

  Etty frowned at the giant. "Dude, you do realize a single tube of battle paste contains enough concentrated calories to last a man a full day. You ate ten?"

  "I was hungry!" The giant belched. "Still am."

  Jon groaned and rubbed his aching shoulder. He couldn't see the bruises across his body, but he could feel every one. "Guys. Please. Don't even talk. Everything hurts. I need silence and sleep."

  George slung an arm around him. "Ah, a good meal will raise your spirits. Always works for me."

  "Yes," Jon said, "but I'm not a ravenous monster who eats battle pastes like they're potato chips, and besides—ah!"

  He shouted as an electric bolt hit him. Lizzy zoomed by, balancing on her hoverform like a surfer, electric whip in hand.

  "Silence!" the sergeant barked. "Line up! Stand straight. Act like soldiers! You have ten minutes for chow, then I want you back here crawling at my feet. Go!"

  The troops lined up outside the mess hall. Ahead, behind, and above them, spread a ring of concrete structures: barracks, armories, and garages full of armored vehicles. Even after a full day here in Roma Station, Jon couldn't get used to seeing buildings growing from the ceiling. He still felt like an ant stuck inside a pipe. His eyes were so weary the buildings blurred into gray smudges.

  We're just ants in a pipe, surrounded by grout, he thought.

  "What the hell crawled up her ass?" George muttered, glancing back toward Lizzy. The blond sergeant was now shouting at another group of recruits, shocking them into formation.

  "She's just doing her job," Jon said.

  George rubbed his arm. His battlesuit plates were dented, and the fabric beneath was torn at spots, revealing bruises and scrapes. "If her job is to turn us into beaten slabs of meat, give her the employee of the month award."

  Etty rolled her eyes. "Come on, boys, it's not that bad."

  Jon snorted. "Easy for you to say. You're the best runner and climber in the platoon. How the hell did you learn to—"

  He fell silent as Lizzy floated back toward them, inspecting the lines. Under her watchful eye, they stepped forward one by one, entering the mess hall.

  Lizzy's Lions lined up, forty-odd soldiers. Jon was starting to recognize some faces. The lanky kid with bad acne. The petite Chinese girl he thought was kind of cute. The twin boys with big ears. But mostly the other recruits were a blur. And he didn't know their names. Jon had spent the day with his fireteam: George the Ginger Giant and speedy little Etty. He was simply too exhausted and hurting to speak to the others.

  A dour cook scooped slop onto their trays. The trays were dirty. The gruel looked like gray mud. George voiced a few objections, Etty grumbled, but Jon merely accepted his lot.

  Many tables filled the mess hall, all crowded with chowing recruits. Several platoons were here. Everyone was stuffing their faces, scrambling to fill their bellies within their allotted ten minutes. Jon looked over the crowd, was surprised to see several familiar faces. Kids from his high school.

  I'm in space, he thought, trapped inside a giant metal cylinder, and I'm seeing kids from my little home town. It made his head spin.

  "Aww yeah!" George said, sliding down into a seat. It creaked dangerously beneath his weight. "I've been on my feet all day."

  Jon sat beside the giant. "Dude, you can play drums for hours on end. This should be easy for you."

  "I play drums sitting down." George tucked into his slop and spoke with his mouth full. "Besides, drums are fun. This is hell."

  Etty squeezed in between them. She took a bite of gruel, winced, then forced it down. "Ah, come on, boys, it's not that bad. Sure, the food stinks, and Lizzy is a sadist, but that's the army for you. Hey, it's even kinda fun, amirite?"

  "Fun?" Jon blinked. "Fun? Are you kidding me? It's torture! We've only been here for a day, and we've run loops around the station, climbed walls that spit fire, crawled through barbed wire, slogged through mud pits full of eels, got shot with rubber bullets, and—"

  "I know, I know!" Etty said. "I was there, remember? And hey, I'm not complaining, right?"

  Jon looked at the girl. She stared back. She narrowed her eyes, but they still seemed so large, unusually large, and brilliantly green, especially in contrast to her dark skin.

  "Well, that's because you're a loony," Jon said.

  He was just joking, of course. Busting her balls a bit, like he did with George.

  But Etty stood up so suddenly her chair fell back. She glared at Jon.

  "I'm not a loony!"

  Jon winced. "I know. Geez, Etty. I'm only kidding." He reached out to her. "I—"

  She shoved his hand back. "Don't touch me. Fuck. You soft American boys. What do you know of hardship?"

  Jon stood up too. He wasn't a giant like George, but he was much taller than Etty, and he loomed above her.

  He thought about losing his brother. About George in the hospital, getting his skull drilled into.

  "I know plenty," Jon said.

  Etty snorted. "Please. I'm from the Middle East, bitch. I grew up in a war zone. I was fighting as soon as I could walk. You think this is tough? Basic training? Wait until you see a real war. You need to toughen up, Americans, or the enemy will cut you down."

  Jon couldn't help it now. Anger filled him. "Oh, so sorry for being American. I forgot that in America, it's all cupcakes, rainbows, and baby unicorns."

  Etty glowered. "I didn't say that!"

  "You just said that we're soft, that—"

  "Guys, guys!" George said. "Please shut up. Your bickering is bad for my digestion. Etty, Jon is an idiot. Ignore him. I ignore him most of the time, and it's done wonders to my stress levels. Sit down and eat with us, and save your fighting for Bahay."

  Jon sat down.

  But Etty spun away. She seemed to be wiping her eyes.

  "I'm full," she said, voice choked, then ran out the mess hall.

  "Hey, I'm finishing your gruel!" George shouted after her.

  Jon wanted to run after her. What had he done? Why had
he upset her? He must have touched a nerve. Maybe he had summoned a painful memory from her past. Maybe she had lost loved ones too. He liked Etty, even after this outburst. If he had hurt her, he wanted to fix it.

  He took a step, meaning to follow, but Sergeant Lizzy burst into the mess hall.

  "All right, worms! Chow time is over." She cracked her electric whip. "Out, now, go!"

  The recruits rushed outside, swallowing last bites of food, and found Roma Station completely dark.

  Only moments ago, bright lights had flooded the station. Now Jon could barely see a damn thing. A few lights shone along the curving walls, forming a ghostly tunnel. A memory flashed through Jon: sitting in the back seat of his parents' dented Toyota, taking a family trip, driving through a tunnel between New Jersey to New York. Paul was in the back seat, taller and stronger and smarter than Jon, playing video games and showing Jon all the tricks. It was still hard to believe he was gone.

  Jon pulled himself back to the present. That old life was gone now. Paul wasn't coming back, and maybe Jon wasn't either. But least it was dark. At least after a day in hell, he could sleep.

  The platoon took formation. Etty joined the fireteam, but she avoided eye contact with Jon, and her mouth was a hard line.

  "Etty," he whispered.

  She ignored him. Sergeant Lizzy walked by, whip in hand, and they stood still and silent.

  "I considered letting you sleep tonight," Lizzy said. "I almost gave you a full six hours as a reward." Her voice rose to a shout. "But today you were a disgrace! Slow! Weak! Insolent! So you will spend the next hour on the obstacle course, and you will not sleep until you complete it! Is that understood!"

  Nobody even groaned. They had learned quickly. A groan meant a lash. Rude words could mean a broken arm.

  Jon was tempted, to be honest. A broken arm almost sounded better than another obstacle course. But Clay was in the infirmary, and Jon didn't feel like joining that asshole.

  "Yes, Commander!" he shouted with his platoon.

  For an hour, they suffered. They climbed over the spines of dead aliens, each the length of a city block, while monsters snapped their teeth in the pit below. They crawled through tunnels inside the station hull, and spiderlike robots chased them, shocking anyone they caught. They slid through a net of lasers, contorting, screaming whenever a beam touched their skin.

  They suffered for an hour more, repeating the same obstacle course, then a third time until Lizzy decided they had suffered enough.

  Bruised, bleeding, and burnt, the recruits finally stumbled toward their barracks.

  Finally, after eras of torture, they could sleep.

  Each squad of fifteen recruits got its own room. Jon limped into his squad's room—a concrete cell lined with cots. He barely spared the place a glance. He collapsed onto the first cot he found, closed his eyes, and—

  "Up, you worm, guard duty! Go, go!"

  Jon leaped up. He opened his eyes to see Sergeant Lizzy leaning over him, howling. Everyone else was asleep around him.

  How long did I sleep for?

  "Go, worm!" Lizzy cracked her whip, and an electric bolt drove Jon from his bed.

  Guard duty. Perfect.

  Jon exited the barracks. He marched around the concrete building several times, yawning, wincing with every step. The blisters howled on his feet, miniature goblins burrowing into his flesh.

  Why the hell do I have to guard a barracks inside a space station? he wondered. I don't even have a gun yet!

  Probably just to torture him a little bit more.

  They said hell was underground. They were wrong. Hell was in space. Hell was Roma Station.

  Finally Jon stumbled back into the barracks. His head swam, and his eyes were blurry, but he noticed something. He had missed it at first.

  Etty had chosen the cot next to his.

  He collapsed onto his bed and looked at her. The young Israeli was curled up, her back toward him. She seemed to be sleeping, even as Lizzy was shouting and shocking another soldier just a few cots down.

  "Up, worm, up!" the sergeant screamed.

  "Ow, ow!" cried a recruit. "Yes, Commander!"

  Jon could barely form a coherent thought. Sleep was tugging him. But he forced himself to lean toward Etty.

  "I'm sorry if I hurt you, Etty," he said softly. "I'm sorry if anyone hurt you. I…"

  His eyes rolled back. He fell into a deep, black pit, and—

  "Up, recruits, up! Enough beauty sleep. Time for another glorious day in the Human Defense Force!"

  Jon opened his eyes. Fluorescent light streamed through the windows. How long had he slept? It couldn't have been more than a few moments.

  "Up, damn it, faster!" Lizzy screamed. "Or do you want more obstacle courses tonight too?"

  That got everyone on their feet. They stumbled outside, took formation, and shouted "Yes Commander!" over and over.

  Another day in hell began.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Freedom Trail

  Maria walked all morning, following Crisanto, until she found the Freedom Trail.

  At first glance, she just saw more rainforest.

  There was no paved road. Not even a dirt path. Not even any footprints. Just more jungle.

  And yet—there were hints.

  The branches did not thrust out too low to impede travelers. A few had been broken off, the stubs coated with moss like bandages. Boulders had been rolled aside. Maria could tell because their sides were covered in soil instead of moss. A fallen log spanned a stream, forming a natural bridge. Or perhaps not so natural.

  An Earthling would have just seen more jungle. But Maria knew: somebody had carved this trail. And carefully hidden it.

  The Earthling planes would never see it. A dense canopy hid the sky. Even Earthling soldiers, walking through the jungle, would miss this trail.

  Maria would have missed it too. She only noticed because Crisanto had led her here.

  "This is it, Crisanto, isn't it?" she said. "The Freedom Trail."

  A shudder ran through her. Everyone knew about the Trail. Every harvest time, San Luna donated bags of rice to young women of the Kalayaan. The girls were slender, soft-spoken, their neat black braids hanging from under straw hats, their eyes shy. Most were maidens under twenty, pure little angels. Yet guns hung from their belts, for they were angels of war. The girls loaded the rice into wheelbarrows, sometimes just into backpacks, and carried the precious grains down the Freedom Trail to the battlefields.

  Maria had heard that the Freedom Trail delivered more than just rice. But also fighters. Also guns.

  "Victory flows down the Freedom Trail!"

  She had heard that phrase many times. When the older guerrillas came to her village for tribute, demanding men of fighting age along with the bags of rice, they spoke that phrase. But Maria was skeptical.

  Victory? She did not know about that. Certainly, the wealth of Bahay flowed south along the trail. The corpses flowed north.

  Maria still remembered the day the Kalayaan had brought home dear Roberto, her betrothed. They had not even closed his eyes.

  "Ernesto walked south along this trail," Maria said. "He can't be too far ahead. I know he's cruel, Crisanto. But he—and those who left with him—are the only other survivors of San Luna. He must learn what happened. And maybe he can help us. He loves me, you know."

  Her cheek was still bruised. Yes, her betrothed could be cruel. But the Earthlings were worse. The Earthlings had burned her village to the ground. What was a man's fist next to the all-consuming fire of Earth's machines?

  She walked south along the trail, seeking him.

  As she traveled south, she marveled at the trail. It passed through water but not mud. Over stones but not moss. Over a ledge of dry earth in a beam of sunlight, avoiding moist soil below. Over hard wooden roots but not ferns that could be crushed. It was designed to minimize footprints. And where Maria did leave a mark, she covered it with dry leaves. She was careful not even to disturb t
he moss on trunks or boulders.

  She did not travel here alone. Animal prints, tufts of fur, and feathers marked the trail. Once she saw a family of ungoys—native animals with many tails—trudge along the trail. The cubs clung to their mothers' underbellies, suckling on milk. Beetles scurried underfoot, feeding on the droppings. Spinning tailbugs buzzed above the ungoys, seeking the furriest tails, then descended to nest in these warm wagging homes. Yellow eyes peered from holes in trunks. Tongues shot out, grasped tailbugs, and pulled them into the shadows.

  An ecosystem. Perhaps this was how the Freedom Trail began. Migratory routes for large animals and their smaller coteries. And perhaps Maria herself was now part of this ecosystem.

  We cannot defeat the Earthlings with technology, Maria thought. They have planes and starships and tanks, and we only have simple guns. They have suits of mechanical armor, and we only have homespun tunics. But we have the rainforest. We understand it. We are one with our world. They do not understand Bahay. They can only burn.

  The hatred rose in her.

  Pure. Consuming. Blazing hatred for Earth.

  Why did they do this?

  "They're a race of cruel giants," Maria hissed. "They say we work with aliens, Crisanto. They hate your kind, so they hate us too. They say we're traitors to humanity. But they are barely human. I was sorry when the pilot died. But now I wish I could kill them all."

  Crisanto fluttered around her, nuzzling her, and her fury abated. Shame filled her at these wicked thoughts.

  "They killed my family," she said. "They also killed something inside me. I can no longer be that girl. Maria with the big head full of too many questions. There is a fire inside me now. A fire they kindled. And it scares me like the fire that burned San Luna."

  At night, she curled up inside a cage of roots, and she slept with Crisanto in her palm.

  The next day, she traveled onward down the trail. She spied on glimmerbirds and found their trees of berries, and she ate. She plucked mossballs from vines and popped them into her mouth, shuddering as she swallowed the fuzzy little animals. Serpents coiled through a citrus tree, guarding their prize, but Maria banished them with rocks, and she ate the tangy oranges.