Hell Fighters from Earth

by William C. Seigler

  It was so comfortable here and felt so safe. Then she remembered the girl who had come to the door last evening. She went down and checked the kitchen drawer. There was an envelope. It had several hundred dollars in it.

  “At least, I know how they can afford this place.” Then it hit her. That’s why Monica works at the shelter. That’s where she recruits the girls.

  A car pulled up out front. Three young males got out. One had a bandage on his neck. She got down out of sight and made her way to the front door. She used a chair to make sure the door would not open.

  What if those guys are in on it too? After raping the girl, these two rescue her and bring her into this. If that’s the case, then that’s how these losers know where I am.

  “I’ve got to get out of here!” I don’t even know where here is! She raised her nightgown and was up the stairs in a flash. Someone was trying the front door. She heard voices, angry male voices.

  She stripped the nightgown off and let it fall to the floor. She dressed quickly and packed in record time. I wonder if they are so careless with the money…

  Argie went into the master bedroom and rummaged through the vanity drawers. Then she checked the nightstand. “Wow!” There were several envelopes full of colorful Canadian notes. She felt something hard below the envelopes. It was a pistol! A 9mm automatic to be precise.

  “Thank you, dear old dad, for taking me to the range.” Her childhood had not been a total waste.

  “Hope you ladies don’t mind, but I need something to help me maintain that safe and warm feeling.” She tucked the automatic in the back of her jeans, helped herself to some of those pretty Canadian notes, and slipped to a window in the back.

  Someone was throwing his weight against the front door. The window opened easily. She tossed out her knapsack and carefully let herself down as low as she could. Kicking off the wall, she dropped and rolled when she landed. Thanks for the gymnastics classes too.

  The front door flew open, and they saw the open window. She raced around to the car. The keys were missing.

  “There she is! We got something for you.” The one calling himself Junior pulled an automatic.

  She got behind the car. They were out in the open, and she fired at their feet. They scattered. She could duck behind these houses. Wait, first make sure they can’t follow you.

  She blew out two tires and squeezed off one more round in the general direction of her pursuers to keep their heads down. With this, she took off as fast as she could run, quickly tucking the pistol in her jeans. Can’t let the cops in Canada catch me with this.

  “I think I’ve lost them. Now where am I?” Sirens, the cops were coming. Stop running. I’m just an innocent schoolgirl walking down the street.

  Here comes a bus. I hope they don’t want exact change.

  She rode the bus until she saw a taxi stand. A good place to get off, she thought. She got into the first cab she came to. “Can you take me to the bus station?”

  “Sure Miss de la Fuentes.”

  “What! How do you know my name?”

  “Oh, it’s easy. Your RFID chip in your driver’s license, credit card, or student ID gives it to me. I’ve a machine that scans it when you get in the car. You want to put this on your credit card?”

  “No, I have cash.”

  “Okay, but nobody carries cash anymore. It’ll be about fifty dollars.”

  “That’s okay.”

  He pulled out into traffic. “You know, some conspiracy kooks think the government can track you with these things. Some people have tried to destroy them, but that’s illegal.”

  “Really? Tell you what, is there a beauty salon near the bus station?”

  “Sure, you want to get your hair done?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know just the place, about two blocks away from the bus station. Actually, there is a barbershop in the station.”

  “The beauty salon will do.”

  She paid the driver and tipped him well. After he was out of sight, she made for the bus station. There’s the barbershop. It only had two chairs in use.

  So you ladies like my pretty long brown hair.

  She sat in the empty chair. “Cut it short.”

  “How short?”

  “Short, real short.”

  Afterward she found that chip then went to find the first bus out of town. She could recognize others in her situation, gravitated toward them, and tried to remain invisible.

  They were talking excitedly about handbills somebody had paid one of them to pass out. It seems someone would pay you to go to another shelter and just talk to somebody. She needed the money. Already other girls were falling into prostitution. Just too many young males were more than willing to set you up.

  It was not for her, but she was running out of options. A chance to get out of Vancouver and make some money in the process seemed too good to pass up. She slipped her credit card, with the RFID chip, into the bag of another passenger waiting in line to board a different bus.

  She had toughened up pretty quick. She had to. Surrounded by poverty, hounded by pimps and punks, she had nowhere to go and no future.

  Then she stumbled upon the promise of a job and adventure. Young, strong, athletic, and female, she had been a prime recruit.

  She had jogged all the way to the top of the mountain passing male and female recruits alike. The crisp mountain air invigorated her after the squalor of the city. Here was something she could do. Whatever these people were up to, she was game. She wanted to stay out on that mountain forever.

  Whether it was the money, the adventure, or the freedom was hard to say. Maybe she just needed a family to replace the one she had lost. It did not matter. The legion would be her family.

  When the recruiter offered her a trip to the Moon, she thought it was metaphorical, so she agreed. She still had the automatic tucked away if he tried anything. It was hard to hide the shock when they finally left the Earth. These people, whoever they are, had to be for real. You can’t simulate the one-sixth gravity of the Moon.

  What they offered was better than the dilapidated streets of the city, so she signed up. She knew she was cute in the uniform. It was mottled gray and black camouflage with matching patrol cap. The high boots with the side zipper topped off the look. Apparently, the male recruits agreed with her, but she was not interested.

  They were dropping like flies during PT. It was easy and fun for her. The barracks were clean and smelled fresh, unlike the shelters. Once through basic, they assured her that she would have her own dorm room. They promised the sky was the limit. No one to hold you back, all the training and education you wanted, and it paid well too. Push that limit she thought. From what she had seen of the other recruits, it would not be too hard.

  Most were chronically homeless with little education. They had done well in the good times but were the first let go when the economies of the world began to collapse. At first, nations put in stimulus after stimulus, but she had come to believe these were just ways for people, like her father, to loot what was left of each nation’s wealth.

  The crony capitalists and bankers were the looters, but the socialists had nothing better to offer. In South America, country after country had gone socialist in an effort to save itself, with the same predictable results. Out here, it did not matter. In the structure of the legion, she found freedom.

  She practiced salutes in front of the mirror. Right face, left face, forward march, it was like a game to her. While the others complained and moaned, she was only interested in excelling. They were not going to be treated like this she heard many of them say. The planet was too hot, or the training was going too fast. It was always something. She quickly learned to keep her mouth shut and ignore it.

  It was all just a big adventure up until the moment when that thing, that dinosaur looking thing, came out of the bu
shes. She stepped back and stumbled; it was on her. She threw a rock or two, kicked at it, and poked it with a stick.

  Then as suddenly as it started the thing was dead. A huge rock had crushed its head. She looked up into the eyes of some old guy. All she wanted to do was run, but her training as a gymnast had taught her to “never let them see you sweat”. Besides, he was too old for her. She was in control until she reached the lake.

  He had gotten her out of her pants, but had not managed to get in her pants. Probably a pedophile, he was old and soft around the middle. She had used him to get across the lake, and now she would leave him in her dust.

  Chapter 11: The T2M1 Training Suit

  FM 1-1

  General Plan for Operations

  NOTE: This manual is only for members of our society and is not to be shared with people brought up from Earth under penalty of court martial.

  Organization

  The flight wing is the basic unit of the combined force. Grey crews fly the interstellar transports. No humans are allowed on the bridge, in engineering, or in any place not specifically posted for humans.

  The human pilots will be used in combat units. These humans are from the secret society. The actual name is being withheld for security reasons and is of no importance to the legion.

  The legion is made up of people recruited by the secret society from the home planet. At full strength, it will be made up of nine support personnel to one combat soldier. Most of the support troops are females in headquarters companies, mess operations, and medical units. They are near their mates or potential mates but not in the fight. Females are needed for breeding.

  We are making use of the dysfunctional Earth. The legion provides a home for the homeless, a father for the fatherless, a mother for the motherless, and a sanctuary for the hunted.

  It is a chance to start a new life on a new world. We do not want the best and brightest. Give us the excess. We are recruiting, at least at the time of this writing, primarily from countries where English is the first or second language or is at least somewhat widespread. This is because of its wide dispersal. However, on our naval spacecraft, we will continue to use French.

  Though this last might present some problems, it also has certain advantages. The less the members of the legion know about us, the better. A language barrier should assist in this.

  Training

  Phase One training is meant to weed out those unsuited for combat. These individuals are to be used elsewhere. It will build physical stamina and mental toughness as well as indoctrinate the recruit in basic military discipline and build the esprit de corps of the legion.

  The survivors of phase one will be ready for Phase Two.

  Weapons: This will consist of weapons training using the modified AR-15 rifle. This is only because it is widely available in the United States where we hope to get many recruits, and we do not actually have individual weapons technology in our society. With this weapon, we will develop tactics and training appropriate to the people we bring up from the Earth’s surface. These will be replaced with a weapon Technology Command is preparing to be used with the combat suit.

  Fighting Vehicles: We are testing a variety of fighting vehicles, including both tracked and wheeled vehicles. Because of the different planets the legion can expect to be deployed to, these will be electrically powered using the same fuel cell technology we developed for your spacecraft.

  The legionnaires combat armored suit: It is based on designs Earth-side people are already working on. It is made of Kevlar over insulation with external layers of carbon fiber. It is light but incredibly strong.

  Everything is electronically controlled using our microelectronics. The suit can be used underwater where it is believed the enemy is helpless. The suit can be used in the vacuum of space for short durations. This suit is under development at this time by appropriate units of Technology Command.

  The training suits are bulkier than the actual combat suits. The operational combat suits are more light and flexible. Both multiply the strength of the wearer. Fuel cell technology is not yet available for the training suit, but they have been fitted with batteries that will have about thirty minutes use before the suit will have to be recharged. The recruits will first practice getting in and out of the suits and simply moving around. Then we will move onto more advanced concepts. Remember, constantly remind the recruit: take care of your suit and your suit will take care of you.

  Confidence: Once proficiency in the the use of the combat suit has been attained, the recruits will march to the bottom of a body of water, and then take a short walk on an airless moon. Note: DO NOT ATTEMPT EITHER OF THESE EXERCISES IN THE TRAINING SUIT.

  The suit has night vision and IR, which enables the wearer to see through water, fog, smoke, sleet, snow, etc. The suit can arrest bleeding, restart the heart, and call a medic.

  * * * *

  The men and women of Denver’s training company milled around the open air training site. It was covered with what might have been a huge cargo parachute, and there were bleachers underneath.

  They had been awakened early, did PT, and marched over to the mess hall. The food proved to be just as greasy and good as he remembered, but the instructors had assured them that it was all very healthy. Everything here was supposed to be for the health and benefit of the recruits. Smokers, druggies, and drunks were cured of their addiction. Cancers removed, eyes and teeth fixed, the bipolar depolarized, circulation improved, you name it, they fixed it.

  Smith still was not great looking, but so what. He looked and felt younger; the pounds were coming off, and he slept like a baby.

  What the men had taken to calling an ET Jeep pulled up and the TAC officer got out. The sergeant shouted, “Ten-hut!” Everyone snapped to attention.

  “Take your seats,” the officer instructed in an even measured tone.

  Suddenly, from behind the bleachers sailed three figures that landed on their feet and spun around to face the astonished recruits, rifles with bayonets extended.

  “Recover,” ordered the officer. The soldiers in the strange suits went to port arms.

  “Okay people, congratulations on surviving the first two months of training. You have made it through some of the most rigorous physical, mental, and emotional testing any recruit has ever been through. You should be proud of your accomplishment.

  “You might have noticed that your training company has gotten smaller due to the recruits who just couldn’t hack it. We will combine your company with another training company for advanced training.

  “The officers and NCOs you finish with will be your leadership when your unit goes active. Okay, now to what you all came here for.

  “Before you, you see the T2M1 combat training suit. It is somewhat more bulky than and lacks certain capabilities of the actual combat suit in which you will train later. Before you are finished with this training module, you will be able to operate the suit, know how to acquire information, clean, repair, field strip and perform limited maintenance on the suit.

  “Sergeant Brown will begin your instruction in the combat training suit. Good luck.”

  The sergeant marched up in front of the TAC officer and called, “Ten-hut!” Then he turned and saluted the officer who returned the salute and marched off the stage.

  “Be seated,” commanded Sergeant Brown. He was tall, lean, and raw-boned with a dark complexion and high, almost pointed cheekbones. He sounded American and gave the appearance of having been in uniform before.

  “Good morning recruits, I am Master Sergeant William S. Brown, formerly with the 82nd Airborne Division, U-S-A. But, the downtown ladies in Fait-stan, North Carolina used to call me Sergeant Sweet Willy.

  “Now the captain seems to think that you’ve been through the worst of it. No, you ain’t. No, you ain’t. You gotta’ get past me before you can get your hands on the fancy suits. So let’
s begin.

  “First open the packets you were given on the bus. Turn to page one, and I will begin with the main parts of the suit.” Everyone did as he was told.

  The suit was a masterpiece of engineering. Willy, who sat next to Denver, whistled out loud. “This thing will do everything except mix drinks.”

  “Maybe you can order that as an add-on kit from a catalog,” whispered Denver.

  “But you’re right,” he added. Willy was right. The helmet would stop a bullet. There was a face shield connected to a breathing hose that doubled as a gas mask and had its own air supply. It also had a heads-up display. Using voice or typed messages via the pad on the left inside arm, one could change the display – IR, motion detector, signal intercept, night vision, synthetic aperture, location of friendlies and enemies, the works.

  The torso was bulletproof as well. It could restart your heart, diagnose and treat minor battlefield injuries, monitor your vitals, and report your situational status to your commanders.

  “Note the arms and legs, people.” The men squatted a bit and jumped about ten feet high landing lightly on their feet. A collective gasp went up from the crowd.

  “In addition to making you pansies hard to kill, this suit even makes you stronger. It is not a spacesuit, but it can maintain its own pressure. The actual combat suit is not a diving suit, but can equalize pressure and change gas mixtures when the appropriate unit is added on, down to 100 meters.

  “That is a major advantage over the lizards. They are from a relatively dry world, and Intel believes they fear the water.

  “It is highly bulletproof up to; oh say about .45 caliber. The legion has put too much money into you to get you killed. It is equipped with a special camouflage that adjusts to your surroundings. It has internal communications equipment and heads-up display of combat information. This suit will do everything except provide you with a honey on Saturday night.”

  The recruits laughed. He smiled at his own joke showing a mouth full of perfect white teeth. No matter, all the recruits had perfect white teeth now.