by C. R. Turner
Beat, I take Max’s saddle and reins off and lean the gear up against my backpack. Sam still looks mad at herself.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Sam only makes brief eye contact. “Yeah.”
“I’m sure losing half our rations is the least of Bradley’s concerns right now.”
Sam fakes a smile, but her eyes tell me the truth: she won’t forgive herself so easily. We rummage around for kindling and firewood, and it’s not long till we have a decent campfire going. Everyone is quiet as they go about making camp, not their usual rowdy selves. I suppose losing mates they would’ve spent years with is heavy on their minds.
It’s strange being around so many people. Although I’ve known a lifetime of distrust for anyone in uniform, paradoxically I feel a kindred spirit with this down-to-earth team, especially Bradley and Hawkins. There’s a quality about them that makes me feel safe.
Chapter 8
Stage two. I wake to a dark-grey overcast sky after six hours of solid sleep. Everyone else is still asleep except Hawkins. Being an Engineering Specialist, I’m guessing he’s pretty smart, so although I find his appearance intimidating, I plonk myself down near him.
“Hey.”
“How’s it going?” he replies, his voice somewhat deeper than usual.
“Good.”
Silence …
Not a good start.
A few seconds pass then Hawkins’ mouth turns up in a cheeky smile. “So, how did you find such a beautiful woman?”
I glance over at Sam, still sound asleep, and smile. “I don’t know.”
We both chuckle.
Another silence while I try to think of something else to say. “Does Bradley have a family?”
Hawkins shakes his head. “No. He lost his son and daughter in the pandemic. He and his wife separated after their deaths. Like me, he’s married to the job now.” He pauses. “Don’t let his cold and dispassionate facade fool you though. His problem is he cares too much. It eats him up inside when he can’t help someone.”
I’ve seen the caring passion in Bradley’s eyes, behind his plain face, like he’s trying to hide it.
“Do any of you have families?” I ask.
Hawkins nods. “Yeah … Emerson is married and has kids. Taylor lives on her ranch with her partner and elderly parents.”
“Is that why they call Taylor, Stocky?”
“Yeah.” Hawkins says. “We all have nicknames. Pisano’s is Sharpshooter.”
I smile, not picturing Pisano as a great shot.
“Not because he’s a sharpshooter, but because he couldn’t hit the broadside of a Timberwolf.”
My smile turns to a frown. “How big are these wolves?”
Hawkins chuckles. “They’re the largest class starships, battleships with fighter bays, capable of carrying thousands of infantry.”
I laugh. “Oh … I get it. I was way off.”
Hawkins smiles. “Emerson’s is Foghorn, for obvious reasons. Dropa is just short for Dropathaly, but it’s fitting because he’s kind of clum …” Hawkins’ smile fades, “He was clumsy.”
“What’s your nickname?” I ask.
“I just get Hawk.”
“What’s Bradley’s?”
“Smiley.”
We both chuckle and sit for a while, quietly grinning. I think about my past run-ins with the Union police and the striker scout. Hawkins is the polar opposite of what I’ve come to associate with the uniform.
“How did the Union get into such a state?” I ask.
Hawkins shakes his head, our eyes briefly meeting. “I don’t know … when I joined, it wasn’t that bad. I think the Union had several key people leave, corruption crept in, then more people left. It created a negative feedback loop. The more corrupt it became, the more people left, some joining the TPRA. It was eviscerated from multiple fronts: the pandemic, corruption, the TPRA at home. Then the war spread our diminishing resources. It wasn’t until the Makri stepped in that we were able to start turning it around.”
“Were the Talon and Makri at war with each other?” I ask.
Hawkins answers. “No … not directly. The Union was at war with the Galactic Federation of which the Makri are technically members. The Talon and Makri weren't in direct conflict, but the Makri were contributors to the proxy war on Antarum.”
“Sounds complicated.”
Hawkins nods. “I think of all the planets in the Galactic Federation, Lithion shares much the same goals as us. If it weren’t for the Makri, I don’t think the peace treaty with the Galactic Federation would have ever been signed.”
Listening to Hawkins talk about the Union from his experience and perspective makes me realise how little I know about the Union or the war. Most of us on Terra Primus were probably ignorant to what was actually going on.
An ammunition box lies on the ground next Hawkins’ backpack. “Are they the rounds for your TA-60?”
Hawkins hands me the box. “Yeah.”
It has some serious weight to it. I pop the plastic top to reveal just ten rounds. I pull one out and gawk at the size of it. It’s as long as my hand. I’ve never handled an old projectile weapon before, but I’ve seen shells left lying on the ground after the TPRA and the Union have had a skirmish. The TPRA rounds are nowhere near this big. I return the round and hand Hawkins the box.
“You know you can camp with the rest of us?” Hawkins says.
Sam’s still sound asleep in her swag, mine left open alongside. I didn’t even notice when I set them up last night; they are kind of far from the rest of the group.
“Oh …” I lock eyes with Hawkins, thinking I’ve probably insulted him. “Sorry.”
Hawkins mashes his bottom lip into his top lip and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. You know you’re part of the team while on this mission, though?”
I nod, then look down at the ground.
“With the Equilibria carrying the men who murdered your parents, this mission must be pretty important to you?” Hawkins asks.
I nod again. “Yeah.”
I’ve been trying not to think about the prisoners, and just focus on the search and rescue of the striker scout and SF Mustang instead. I think about what it would be like, if I play a small part in delivering the prisoners to Infernum, the closure I would get, knowing those scumbags were to spend the rest of their lives behind bars.
“What were your parents like?” Hawkins asks.
I widen my eyes, expecting flashbacks of my parents being shot. I used to hate people asking me about my family, but now the pain’s not so raw. I think having Sam and Max in my life has made it a little easier. As I tell Hawkins about my father, he smiles with his eyes.
I add, “My mother was a teacher in a village on the outskirts of Bessomi.”
Hawkins’ face lights up. “No kidding. I grew up in Bessomi.” His beaming face reflects my surprise. “Both my parents joined the Union and were sent off-world when I was little, and I was sent to live with my aunt.” Hawkins’ smile doesn’t last though, and he falls back to his usual reserved demeanour. “When I was seventeen, my parents returned to Terra Primus. When they were on their way back to Bessomi, the TPRA killed both of them. I left Bessomi the next day and joined the Union.”
I’m lost for words. I don’t think there’s really anything to say. I think about my own parents being murdered by the Union, and his by the TPRA. I could have easily run to the TPRA seeking revenge – if it wasn’t for my father’s legacy of Arcadia. If I had joined the TPRA, Hawkins and I could have been at war with each other. It then occurs to me that the TPRA and the Union are two sides of the same coin. Two superficial sides of one peoples.
“What did you do after your parents died?” Hawkins asks.
“I left Bessomi the day they were killed and headed north … with the goal of one day making it to Arcadia. Well before I met Max, I got my first job off the coast of Kingsland on a fishing trawler.”
Hawkins chuckles and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask.
“You’ve got around for a young guy. How old were you?” Hawkins asks.
I smile. “Fourteen. I did that for a few months. That was such a hard job. After that, I picked up work here and there. I worked on a farm for a while.”
As we chat, Hawkins gazes off into the jungle. On his neck, right in the centre of his compass tattoo, there appears to be a serious scar – a gun shot by the looks of it. I guess we all have something we’re either trying to hide or forget. Under that tough, intimidating exterior, I think Hawkins is actually a lot like me.
Stage two – five miles down. Daisuke is still blocked by the overcast sky, which is now black. With no source of light and surrounded by dark green foliage, I’m tempted to pull out my Ashra to use its light, but I guess that’s not the most tactically smart thing to do. The jungle is deathly silent. I’m covering my mouth as I yawn, struggling to focus, when I’m jolted out of my lethargy by a river of white lightning. It streaks across the sky, then turns downward to explode on the ground with so much force I nearly leap out of the saddle in fright. Max jumps off the trail with his ears pinned back. The rest of the team drop to the ground. Ow … even with my Core-link earpieces in, that hurt. That was crazy. I’ve never seen lightning like that.
I press the button on my Core-link earpiece. “Bradley, are we safe out in the open like this?”
Bradley trudges up to my position. “Little choice, mate.” He then transmits over the Core-link, “We’ll keep going for now.”
We push on, the terrain getting steadily steeper. The team are puffing, but Max takes it in his stride. Is there anything that would slow him down? Another river of lightning streams across the sky. I wince, waiting for the explosion when it hits the ground. Instead, a monstrous rumble rolls across the black sky. Just when I thought the conditions couldn’t get any tougher, the silence that follows is broken by the hefty pitter-patter of rain on broad dark leaves, which bounce up and down as they’re sporadically hammered. A smattering of huge raindrops land on my hands and face, and I jump off to pull my green poncho out and throw it on.
I walk back to Bradley. “Are you happy with the pace?”
“Yeah,” he replies as he pulls his own poncho out.
“Can the Core-links get wet?” I ask.
Bradley chuckles, “Yeah, mate. Dust, mud, rain … it doesn’t matter.”
His fleeting smile is the first show of emotion since losing Dropa and Teenan. It must be hard being a striker force prime; all that responsibility must be heavy. I want to say something to lighten his load but know from experience, some wounds can only be healed with time.
No sooner do I remount, than rain buckets down. In seconds, my legs and Max are saturated. An animal hidden deep in the jungle starts up a loud whooping sound that, after a while, begins to irritate me. Any boot prints that we could’ve tracked are now surely erased. Max has his ears pinned back and every now and then he violently shivers – though after spending the last year on Arcadia, I’d say he’s being overly dramatic.
For some time, the game trail traverses the side of an extremely steep hill, which drops away to what was a dry gully, now flash flooded with a raging river. I worry the trail might wash out from under us. When we come across another game trail that seems to lead in a safer direction, I take it.
A mile further on, we come to a steeper hill and I stop. Crap. I’ve led us straight into a dead end surrounded by thirty- to forty-foot-high steep muddy hills. Bradley and Taylor join me as I dismount.
I raise my voice over the torrential rain. “Is there any way around?” I ask Taylor.
She wipes her saturated Core-link. “No. You did the right thing. The trail we were on was too dangerous to continue. This is it. We have to get up that.”
I sigh with relief that I didn’t mess up.
Bradley shouts. “Alright, looks like we’re all going to get muddy. Stinson, why don’t you see if you can get Max up there first?”
Dread rises from the pit of my stomach. Max could get seriously hurt here. “Yeah … okay.”
Bradley pulls a large bundle of thick black rope from his backpack and hands it to me. I command Max over to the face of the hill for a closer inspection, then shake my head. This is madness. A torrent of water and thick mud flows down the centre. The only possible path I can see is to the side, where tree roots and rocks might provide footholds. I pull on Max’s reins to lead him away. My stare locks onto Sam’s through the thick curtain of rain and we share a moment of concern.
Right, we’ve probably only got one shot at this. I survey the wall of mud one last time, rib Max hard and scream, “Yah! Yah!”
Max runs toward the hill with no hesitation in his stride and launches up the first section with ease. His massive muscles work to overcome the crippling gravity as his claws grip the slush for dear life. Our momentum is crushed by the halfway point. I don’t know if we’re going to make it. Hanging on for dear life, I give Max a quick jab to the ribs with my right heel, directing him toward a decent foothold he can push off from. A few more leaps and Max’s front paws latch onto the flat ground at the top of the hill, his claws dig into the mud for all he’s worth. He comes to a stop. “Come on, Max. You’ve got this.” I give him another rib and he pushes off. Once he gets a rear paw onto flat ground, we’re up to safety. I pat his neck. “Good boy, Max. Good boy.” Max takes a wide circle strutting as though he knows he did good. I laugh and pat him again.
I dismount and drop my gear on the ground. “Stay here, Max.” Easing over to the edge, I give Bradley the thumbs up. Crap, that’s high. Once I secure one end of the rope to a tree, I hurl the bundle down. Hawkins comes up first, his pack, Ashra and rifle all on his back. Even he struggles. When he reaches the top a few minutes later, he’s completely covered in mud.
I grin. “Look on the bright side – you only have to stand in the rain for a minute to get all the mud off you.”
Hawkins chuckles and jovially ribs me with his elbow.
My grin sets.
Half an hour later, everyone’s made it to the top of the hill, and I’m dragging the heavy rope back up, my arms burn as I wind the last of it and tie it in a bundle. Everyone is trying to clean themselves off as the rain continues to get heavier, when a loud cracking, like a tree branch breaking, cuts through the thick noise of the rain. I look around, puzzled.
Bradley’s face is stern as he yells, “Stinson, get out of there.”
I haul myself toward the rest of the team, unsure of where the sound’s coming from. I only get a few feet when the ground beneath me falls away. My leg strides forward on nothing but air. I’m falling back down the hill in a mudslide, tree roots and rocks violently scouring my body. I come sliding to a halt at the bottom with mud and water mushrooming out around me. Through the rain there’s muffled screaming from above. I wave my arm to signal I’m ok, then take a deep breath and roll over onto my side, getting a mouthful of mud and water that’s still running past me. Spitting the last of the dirt out, I kneel in the mud, shivering. Hell, I’m cold!
Bradley’s voice comes over the Core-link. “Stinson, are you okay?”
I press the button on my Core-link earpiece. “Yeah … just winded.”
I pull myself up out of the mud, grimacing from sharp pains all over my body where I’ve been pummelled by rocks on the way down. I walk toward the hill and pick up the half-buried bundle of rope. The hill is too high to throw it back up. Damn.
“I don’t suppose … you have another rope up there?” I ask over the Core-link.
“Sorry, mate. You’re going to have to free climb.”
I wrap my hand around a root, wedge my foot into a crevice and exhale. The adrenaline rush is starting to wear off and exhaustion is creeping back in. With no rope to cling to and half the footholds now washed away, it’s slow going. When I reach the halfway point, I’m gasping for air. I use every last ounce of energy to drag myself up, gripping exposed tree roots as hard as I can, making sure I
don’t have to do this again.
I’m just ten feet from the top when Bradley lies over the edge and reaches out. “Grab my hand.”
I climb a couple more steps, then throw my hand up, feeling for Bradley’s in the deluge. Our arms slap together as he grabs my wrist and I his.
“Come on, mate. I’ve got you. You’re nearly there.”
I ram my boot into a small foothold above a root and push up as Bradley pulls from above. When I make it to the top, I collapse on the ground with my arms propping me up, mud mushing up between my fingers. Bloody hell … damn gravity. I just sit there winded as the team swarms around me.
“Are you alright, mate? Are you hurt anywhere?” Bradley asks.
“I’m okay … I just need … a second.” I close my eyes and let the rain hose me down.
I receive a few pats on the shoulder as the team disperses. This is a whole new level of exhaustion I’ve found.
Sam kneels by my side. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just a little bruised, nothing broken.”
A couple hours later, the rain stops and the jungle fills with mist. I can’t wait for this stage to be over. I spot a small broken branch, stop Max and survey the area. The rest of the team follow suit, Ashras shouldered.
Bradley joins me. “What’s up?”
I point at the broken branch. Bradley walks over and touches the branch. I nudge Max to follow.
“Head down here?” I ask.
Bradley nods. A short distance on, we come to a clearing. I catch a glimpse of something up ahead. Obscured behind tree trunks and foliage are four massive muscly legs. The animal stumbles out of the jungle, roughly sixty feet away, and just stands there staring at us. Another Canine Maximus, saddled, its reins dangling. Max lifts his head high and pricks his ears. The team catch up, but I’m too shocked by this sight to take my eyes off it. Sam takes a couple of steps forward. The canine is completely black, apart from one white sock on its left front paw. The team fan out, scanning the surrounding jungle. Sam slowly approaches the animal.
Its head is drooping, eyes half closed. Sam makes it to within just a few feet. It lifts its head and sniffs at her. I scan the area trying to see any sign of SF Mustang or the MOSAR rider. Nothing. Sam reaches out. The canine steps forward and places its chin in her hand as though it were a pillow. Maybe I’ve been around Max too long, but the poor thing seems relieved. Sam walks to its side, runs her hand down its neck, then holds her blood-soaked hand up for us to see. After running her hand over its back and down its legs, she wipes her hand on the ground.