by Ben Weaver
Goosavatic f-ed him off under her breath, then lit a generous smile. “Gentlemen, we’ve heard a lot about you. Jabchatter, of course, but some of it has to be true, right? Especially the part about how amorous you are.”
Halitov gazed quizzically at me. I guess he didn’t know the word, and I was not about to explain it to him. “Any idea what the op is?” I asked Goosavatic.
She shrugged. “Demo job, probably. We’ve been runnin’a lot of them. Alliances have remote sensors all over the place. We take ’em out; they drop new ones back in. With those sensors in place, we can’t make a move without them knowing about it. Still, I got a feeling this one’s a lot hotter than that.”
“For once, she’s right,” said Andropolus.
The door opened, and in stepped seven more guardsmen. It took nearly ten minutes to complete introductions. I met Second Lieutenant Richard Ramsey, a graduate of South Point two years prior; Second Lieutenant Linda Paris, a South Point alumna—class of 2098; Sergeants Pitar Zhai, Mana Ochoa, and Casey Stark, three young, raven-haired women who boasted of being the only noncommissioned officers ever conditioned; Corporal Regina Hooker, an angel-faced blonde who had absolutely no idea why she was present; and Second Lieutenant Joseph Lee, a nervous-looking giant of a man and a graduate of ROTC at the University of Kennedy-Centauri. As we dispersed and took seats, the door opened once more. Paul Beauregard paraded into the room, in mid-conversation with Dina, who suddenly shifted her gaze away and scanned the group until she found me. Beauregard gritted his teeth as she hurried over, hunkered next to my chair, and rubbed my hair, which had been coming in nicely since the shaving at South Point. “First Lieutenant?” she asked, spying my star.
“It’s just a pin.”
“Now you and Paul outrank me.”
“And so do I,” Halitov said, leaning over and tapping his own first lieutenant’s star.
“I heard about Callista,” she said. “Then I heard you were coming here. I couldn’t believe it was so fast. I mean, are you all right?”
“Ten-hut!” Beauregard shouted.
Quasar Company commander Captain David Doyle hustled into the room, ordered us as we were, and began distributing cerebros. Another five minutes passed, and two more corporals joined us, the dour-looking Jenta Heloise and the bored Toma Ric, both temporarily transferred from the Third Platoon. In all, sixteen of us had crowded into the small room. Dina wound up in a seat next to Beauregard, but twice I caught her stealing looks at me.
Halitov raised his hand, just as Doyle was about to begin.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this fact, but Forrest, Beauregard, St. Andrew, and myself still haven’t completed our Accelerated Assimilation Training. And I know that at least St. Andrew and I have been thrown into combat without that training. We heard we might get it. Any idea when? I’m hoping before this next op.”
Halitov impressed me. He sounded somewhat rational and less like the psychotic I had carried out of that hotel room.
“Sorry, Lieutenant, but I haven’t received any information regarding your AAT. I was told we could borrow you, and I assumed you were fully trained. That’s not the case?”
Beauregard stood. “Sir, while we haven’t received extensive AAT, there’s no reason to believe that we’re not fit for duty, sir. I think Mr. Halitov is just being a little modest, sir. We’re all well aware of the numbers he and Mr. St. Andrew racked up on Gatewood-Callista.”
“Very well, then. Mr. Halitov? Your request is duly noted and will be forwarded to Regimental Command. In the meantime, you all have a briefing to download. When everyone’s finished, we’ll discuss your concerns. Begin.”
I slid the cerebro behind my head, then rolled my wrist to read my tac. The filename Doyle wanted us to download scrolled up on my small screen. I tapped to accept.
A warm feeling spread through me, as though I were very cold and had just downed eight ounces of brandy. I could not explain the sensation; perhaps it was in realization that I miraculously knew every detail of the upcoming mission: Classified Black Op 2111X, Mars Campaign, Thaumasia Region. Or maybe the mnemosyne in my head were up to something.
Halitov ripped off his cerebro. “Fuckin’ suicide,” he mumbled.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant?” asked Captain Doyle.
“Nothing, sir,” Halitov replied, shifting in his seat. “I’ve finished the download, sir.”
I raised my hand.
“Lieutenant St. Andrew?”
“Sir, I’m a little confused. We’re supposed drop in on the west side of Argyre Planitia and take out some comm dishes and a subterranean intelligence headquarters that coordinates data from their remote sensors.”
“That’s right, Lieutenant. We’ve tried taking out the sensors, but they keep replacing them. Now it’s time to go to the source. We knock out that headquarters, we blind them for ten or as many as fifteen hours. Then we move in with our offensive in Valles Marineris. Where’s the confusion?”
“Well, sir, I understand that SAM sites or EMP prohibit getting atmoattacks in close enough for an air strike, and I also understand that artillery fire from our end might take out the dishes but won’t penetrate to the depths we need it to. I also realize that the alliances can use personnel via their tacs to temporarily power the facility, so EMPs are no good. I guess I’m wondering why we’re blowing it up at all. Seems to me that they can set up another intelligence headquarters as fast as we set up this command post, sir.”
“Lieutenant, you’re absolutely right. I wish I had an answer for you. But our orders come down from Battalion Command. We must assume that they’ve considered your reservations. In any event, we’re not here to debate the orders. Our job is to carry them out. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” I tried my best to hide my disgust. Halitov’s whispered epithets hardly helped.
“Sir, as op commander, I’d like to, with your permission, make a few adjustments to our assignments,” said Beauregard.
Doyle frowned. “Such as?”
“Well, first I’d like to switch Halitov and St. Andrew. I want Halitov to lead the reconnaissance team, and I want St. Andrew with me as op executive officer.”
“I’ll approve that.”
I knew exactly what Beauregard was doing. I had originally been assigned to lead the recon team—with Dina and Lee. Beauregard wanted to keep me away from Dina, and what better way than to promote me to Op XO?
What Beauregard had not counted on was Halitov’s protest. “Sir, if the op commander intends to replace me with Lieutenant St. Andrew, then I’d appreciate hearing some justification for my removal, considering that Mr. Beauregard just went on about the numbers I generated on Callista.”
Doyle hoisted his brows at Beauregard.
“Sir, it’s a matter of temperament. Halitov’s more visceral, St. Andrew more cerebral. I want a thinker as XO. I’d rather spearhead us with a killer.”
“That’s biased and subjective,” Halitov argued. “Where’s your evidence?”
Beauregard drew in a long breath, closed his eyes a moment, then nodded. “I got a hospital report that says you tried to kill yourself. I got an obituary of your parents. I got an Alliance Navy assignment sheet with the name Victoria Halitov on it. Do you want me to go on? I got stuff from when you were a kid. Stuff that almost ruled you out of getting into South Point. Psychological reports from a primary school in Vosk. Major aggression problems after a particular incident wherein you were—”
“That’s enough,” hollered Doyle. “Mr. Halitov, you will accept your position as recon commander. Are we clear?”
Halitov’s sneer would not falter. “Yes, sir.”
I guess Beauregard had counted on Halitov’s protests and had thoroughly researched his life, if not all of our lives, which I realized was within his right as an officer. We had signed away our right to privacy when we had signed up with the Corps.
Regina Hooker spoke up. “I have a question, sir. I gue
ss I’m on the DX team because of that last job we did. I’m happy to be here, and I know if we can get in there, we’ll set up a nice bang. But intell indicates that there’s a garrison of about sixty, and they’re dug in really well. No doubt, there’s at least a squad or two within the headquarters itself, plus techs and administrative, who are probably armed.” She gestured flagrantly to the group around her. “What’s wrong with this equation?”
“Corporal, I understand you haven’t had much experience with conditioned personnel,” Doyle replied. “If all goes well, those numbers won’t present a problem.”
“Sir, has anyone mentioned to you that our conditioning tends to randomly shut down?” asked Halitov.
“I’m well aware of that, Lieutenant. Not all of you have that problem, and it doesn’t happen to all of you at the same time. It’s a risk we have to take.”
“So we can blow up an intelligence headquarters that they’ll replace in a week,” someone muttered behind me.
I tossed a look over my shoulder. Sergeant Casey Stark shook her head.
“Now, in deference to Lieutenants Halitov and St. Andrew, who’ve just come down from a rough tawt, we won’t launch for another two hours. Until then, I suggest you gear up, eat, pray, do whatever it is you do. Any other questions? Negative? Then you’re dismissed.”
Dina cut me off before I reached the door. “There’s a little mess hall. Want to go?”
I lifted my chin toward Beauregard, who conversed heatedly with Doyle. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”
She smiled her perfect smile. “You won’t.”
“You figure it out?”
“What?”
“If you love him.”
She grabbed my arm and pulled me outside. “Hey, you know we were up near Alba Patera. I’ll tell you one thing, you won’t believe what you can do with the quitunutul arts here. Variations in point-three-nine G. Wild stuff. You don’t even have to try for it. It’s just there.”
“Wait a minute. I want Halitov to come.”
She recoiled. “Really? Wasn’t it yesterday that he paid someone to cut your rope?”
“I don’t want him to be alone.”
Back in the briefing room, I found Halitov glued to his chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“We’re going to eat,” I said, cocking a thumb over my shoulder.
“You want a fuckin’ captain’s star?”
“No. Just wondering if you want to come.”
He huffed, slapped palms on his hips, and stood. “Tell you one thing, if they’re going to send me out to risk my life, they’d better be servin’ up some fuckin’ gourmet food.”
Dina sat opposite Halitov and me, stabbing her tofu burger and talking so fast we could barely keep up. She told us about a battle her platoon had fought about a kilometer east of Olympus Mons. Western Alliance crab carriers had dropped in just before the EMP bombs had gone off. About three thousand troops on each side had clashed in a scene cut and pasted from a medieval warfare file. She and Beauregard had been assigned to platoons in the rear guard, and only when the battle had begun to look bleak did Doyle cut them loose. I don’t know what happened next. She refused to go on, narrowing her eyes against tears. She did add that they had pushed the line forward several kilometers but that the next day a score of carriers had dropped in. Alliance troops had easily won back ground that nearly two thousand guardsmen had given their lives to claim.
“Remember that day in the billet when we chose sides?” Halitov asked out of nowhere.
Dina and I nodded.
“Boy, did we fuck up.”
I looked at Dina, pursing my lips and asking her with my eyes to excuse his behavior.
Halitov rose and kicked away his chair. “I heard somebody say we can shower.” His gaze favored Dina. “Where’s it at?”
“End of the hall. Make a right, then a left. There’s a sign.”
Sans thank-you or good-bye, he left. I thought of going after him, but he was just going to take a shower. He’d be all right.
“I have to take orders from that?” asked Dina.
“Just watch him for me.”
“He tried to kill you.”
“And he saved my life.” I leaned toward her, wanting to discuss more important matters. “So, you figure it out yet?”
She leaned back, folded her arms over her chest. “Nothing to figure out.”
“Your mind’s set?”
“Yeah. I’m just so worried about telling him. I feel like I led him on. I just feel terrible.”
Admittedly, when it comes to relationship matters, I am dense. I had no idea what she was talking about for the first few seconds, and my face bannered that fact.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Don’t you understand? I want to be with you, Scott.”
“With me?” I made a silly grin. “Are you sure? Paul has connections to keep you together. And he really loves you.”
Her face grew flush. She squirmed. “I just wish there was an easy way to tell him. I don’t know what he’s going to do…. But I don’t want to think about that now. We havesome time. This place is small. We can hide.”
I was three seconds away from darting out with her and ripping off my clothes when Halitov pounded back into the room. “I can’t find the fuckin’ shower. I can’t find it! I can’t find it!” He smote a fist on the wall and began to cry.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I’ll help you find it. Come on.” I looked to Dina. She understood.
The G21 Endosector Armored Troop Carrier waited on the landing pad like a quad-winged predator aching to thunder off on a hunt. I spotted Andropolus and Goosavatic atop the ATC’s beaklike bow and behind the seamless, seed-shaped canopy. As we drew closer, the wind whipped up Mars’s powdery sand, and a pair of dust devils tangoed in the distance.
“How’re you feeling?” I asked Halitov.
“You referring to my connection to the bond or my fucked-up mental state?”
“Got my answer.”
“Don’t worry about me. Just watch your step out there. There’s gonna be bodies all over the place. I wouldn’t want you to trip.”
“You know what they say about revenge,” I began.
“Yeah. Get some.”
“It won’t make you feel better.”
“We’ll see.”
Captain Doyle saw us off from the foot of the ATC’s gangway, and I saluted him as I entered the hold. Jumpseats equipped with old-fashioned safety bars you pulled down over your shoulders ran along the bulkheads. I scrambled to find a seat away from Dina, so as not to make her feel uncomfortable. I assumed she hadn’t told Beauregard yet, but maybe she had. I had been with Halitov for the rest of our two hours before shipping out and hadn’t been able to speak privately with Dina. I chanced a look down the row, glad that she had chosen to sit away from the colonel’s son.
We clicked the stocks of our QQ90s into their deck mounts between our legs, lowered our bars into place, then waited for Beauregard to acknowledge our vitals and the status of our equipment. The check-in went off smoothly, and he signaled to Andropolus. Turbines wailed, and their vibration eeled up into our seats. I shook off a chill; for a moment I thought I had never been on a ship so small yet so powerful. Then the cerebroed training crashed in and reminded me that I had traveled on ATCs hundreds of times. I felt accustomed to the angles forced on me by the jumpseat.
In an effort to evade the Alliance’s sensors, Andropolus kept us within three meters of the surface. To awe and distract us, he activated a holo readout captured by the ATC’s nose camera. The center of the hold radiated with images of the rock-strewn landscape rolling by at a dizzying pace. He abruptly banked hard west, slipping stealthily into the mountainous terrain encircling Argyre Planitia, an impact basin whose broad, rugged rim extended from three hundred kilometers to eight hundred kilometers from its center.
“Two minutes,” cried Beauregard over the general f
requency.
Second Lieutenant Lee, who sat to my right, closed his eyes and whispered something unintelligible, a prayer perhaps. I liked Lee. His fresh face invited conversation, and I had watched him spar with Sergeant Stark, who sat to my right. She had droned on and on about what a waste the whole mission was, and when she had finally finished, Lee conceded to several of her assertions while making an eloquent and fully supported claim in favor of the Valles Marineris offensive and our small contribution.
Yes, I liked Lee. I liked all of them. But I was glad that we were little more than acquaintances.
“All right! Here it comes,” said Beauregard. “Recon’s out first. There’ll be a pass off to your right. Take it. Remember, we’re about a quarter klick east of the target. Security team follows. DX team? You fall back with me and the XO.”
XO. I had to remember that was me.
“Ten seconds to TD,” reported Andropolus. “Ramp engaged.”
A band of light woke across the top of the stern, then widened as the ramp rumbled down.
“Careful out there,” said Goosavatic. “Gale force winds. Visibility’s down to a hundred meters and falling fast.”
“Okay. Ready on the line,” ordered Beauregard.
Halitov slammed up his safety bar, unclipped his rifle, then charged to the rear of the hold and paused at the red line painted along the ramp’s edge. Dina stomped up behind him, and I spied for her glance; none came. Lee unloosed himself and fell in behind them, as did the security team: Paris, Stark and Ochoa. I waited for Ramsey, Zhai, and Hooker of the DX crew to shoulder their bulky packs and form up, then I stood, freed my own rifle, and joined Beauregard at the end of the line. Corpsmen Heloise and Toma would remain on the ship and establish a prehospital emergency surgical unit while Andropolus hid the ship between mountains. When he came back for us, Heloise and Toma would be more than ready to care for the injured.
“Hey, Rooslin,” I called on his private channel. “You need help, you call.”