Hell Fighters from Earth

by William C. Seigler

  “Okay people fall in. My three assistant instructors will lead you to the field classrooms, and you will begin your training.”

  The field classrooms were separate movable buildings with projectors, sound, and anything else an instructor might need to pound information into a grunt’s head. There were four recruits to a table, and each table had the same part of the suit to begin training. Each table had its own hologram of that part of the suit being studied. They had one week to get the basics out of the way and another to learn to fight in it. Not a lot of time.

  At 1200 hours, the assistant instructors sent everyone out to formation. There were two companies training together. A field mess had been set up, and soon everyone was in line getting hot chow.

  Smith wandered over to the cooler and almost ran into her, the kid with the smart mouth. He must have looked like he did not really want to see her.

  When she saw his expression, she said, “Well I’m glad to see you too hero.”

  He filled his glass and turned to go without a word.

  “Man, what is your problem?”

  He spun around. “Look, there aren’t many chicks here, and most of them are attached. That’s the way I like it. So go attach yourself somewhere.”

  With that, he stomped away. Oh man, why did he let her make him so angry? She has not really done anything. He sat down to eat and did not notice her approach.

  She sat down across from him. Neither was happy. “Was that called for? I had enough trouble back in Canada. I don’t need any crap off you.”

  He exhaled for a long moment. “Look, just leave me alone.”

  “What have I done to you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I didn’t hurt your feelings out on the obstacle course did I?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you being so charming?”

  “Look, Miss, it’s nothing to do with you. It’s just ….”

  “Just what?”

  “Oh boy. I just don’t need any female involvement right now.”

  “I’m not trying to get involved.”

  “What are you trying to do?” Smith asked.

  “I’m not sure. You’re the first person in a long time that did anything for me. Lately, you’ve been the only one not trying to gang rape me or sell me into prostitution.”

  Smith had been so wrapped up in his own pain he had not stopped to think about what this kid had been through.

  “You were gang raped?”

  She related the story how she had been lured into an old house. Then the ladies who had helped her tried to make use of her as well.

  “Oh wow. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be such an ass.”

  “It’s partly my fault too. I just assumed you were like all the others. I hadn’t expected you were really trying to avoid me.”

  “It’s not you. It’s …”

  “It’s what?” She paused for a minute. “Are you gay?”

  “No, no not that.”

  “Okay, who was she?”

  “She?”

  “Yeah, the one who taught you such high regard for women?” Argie asked.

  Willy walked up, but when he saw Denver with a young girl, he said, “Sorry I’ll leave you two alone.” He turned around and found another table.

  “No Willy, it’s okay.”

  “Didn’t mean to run off your friend,” she apologized.

  “It’s okay, Willy’s cool.”

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. “Okay, I’ve done everything I can do not to think about it. Maybe I need to see the shrinks.

  “Who was she?” he began. “She was my wife of ten years and mother of two beautiful children, Derik and Miriam.” He paused and took a couple of bites.

  “I had a good job teaching at a small college out west in Arizona. Nothing major, but I enjoyed it. She never got used to living in the southwest. Too hot, too dry, too many snakes, and not enough east coast lights and glitter. Then Washington started cracking down on dissidents.”

  “You were a terrorist?”

  “No, I was a college professor. My only mistake was that I actually believed in our constitutional republic.”

  “I never got into politics.”

  “I only did what I thought a good citizen should do, you know, voted, paid outrageous taxes, wrote my congressman, and went to the occasional rally.”

  “Protests?”

  “Well, occasionally I guess. They started cracking down like I said. Anyone who did not swallow the government line was a suspected terrorist. They had this ‘crime stoppers’ thing where you could report dissidents and get paid $10,000 dollars for it.

  “They waited until I was teaching class and burst in with a bunch of cops or troops in ninja suits with their faces masked. They tasered me, cuffed me, put a bag over my head, and dragged me out.”

  “Couldn’t they do that quietly or somewhere not so embarrassing?”

  “Oh no, it’s better this way. You see, they send a message to everyone else. Soon people get the message, and everyone just shuts up. Didn’t you notice what was going on?”

  “No, my folks came up from Argentina. They were rich; well my dad was. He got involved with the Canadian government. Besides, I was wrapped up in just being a kid. Go on with your story.”

  “Well, there was a show trial before a military judge.”

  “Military?” she asked.

  “Yeah, Congress and the President felt that all potential terrorists were active enemy combatants and were treated like foreign fighters. At the trial, I didn’t get to say much. My lovely wife pointed me out.

  “After I was sentenced, I saw her in the back of the courtroom with some high ranking federal cop. She took his arm and both gave me the strangest look, as if to say ‘we screwed you sucker’. Now my house is gone, my bank account, don’t know where my kids are, and my loving wife is on some beach screwing the cop who set me up.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, so you see it’s not personal. I just never want to speak to another female the rest of my life. That’s all.”

  “How long did they give you?”

  “Oh this is priceless, ‘… till the end of hostilities’.” Then he added, “Or till hell freezes over, whichever comes first.”

  “Wow!”

  “Yeah, how old are you really?”

  “Will you rat on me?” Argie asked.

  “No.”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Oh. Runaway?”

  “Yeah, my old man thought he could run things for my mom and me like we were still in Argentina. She put up with it, but I grew up Canadian and just couldn’t deal with it. Then one day, my mom went to the hospital with an aneurysm; it was bad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I came home. My dad was in bed with the maid.”

  “Oh.”

  “I made a scene. Mom died a few days later. I split after the funeral. I just couldn’t go back into that house. Nothing was the same anymore. No reason to stay. I took what money I could and got out.”

  “Life on the road no better?” he asked.

  “Not really. There were plenty of guys, older men who were willing to help me out, if they could get in my pants.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “I was staying in a shelter when they tried to rape me. One of the women who worked there took me home. But the guys were working with her. I guess they were supposed to rape me, then she would rescue me, and before I could get my head straight, they would be selling me.”

  “I never heard of that. Did you go to the police?”

  “I couldn’t. They would have sent me back. The last time I saw my old man he was coming at me with his belt. No thanks.”

  “So you heard about the shelter where they would pay you to go, and no
w you’re here.”

  “That’s pretty much it. But how did you get out?”

  Smith began, “They sent me to a prison for really hardened criminals. I guess they were hoping I’d be killed in prison. However, I was one of the few they could get any real work out of so they sent me to work on the warden’s place, slave labor.

  “While I was there, I worked out an escape plan. I was planning to go to South America, but stumbled on the recruiting shelter.”

  “And so you’re here?”

  “Yep.”

  “Regrets?”

  “No, not yet anyway.” He smiled, “Can they get you a combat suit that grows with you? I assume you are still growing.”

  “Funny, ha ha. How old did you say you are?”

  “We were married when I was nineteen, and so was she. I’m twenty-nine now.”

  “Man, that’s old.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Looks like they’re starting to head back in,” she observed.

  “Yeah, never much time for anything. Either they don’t want us to have time to think about what we’re doing or the Reptilian threat is right on top of us.”

  “Maybe it’s a little of both,” she mused. “You want me to put your tray away for you grandpa?”

  “Keep it up and I’m going to beat you with my cane.”

  They both laughed and headed back to the training huts.

  * * * *

  Unknown to them, they were being watched. It is possible no soldiers were ever watched as closely as the ones brought up from Earth.

  “How are they doing?” asked the older officer.

  Lieutenant Commander Fitzpatrick answered, “They had lunch together and seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.”

  “Has either of them been seen with anyone else?”

  “No sir.”

  “Keep me posted.” He turned to go.

  “Sir, if I may?”

  “Yes?”

  “When am I going to be sent back to Earth?”

  “I don’t know. We may have to launch our offensive sooner than planned. We don’t have much time.”

  “There is something else, sir.”

  “More, I don’t remember you being so introspective.”

  “I’m beginning to suspect the Greys want us to breed a human army for them to be kept around for when they may need it in the future.”

  “Yes, Commander, others in the high command have expressed similar concern.”

  “Well sir, to be used against who, us?”

  “I don’t know if the Greys have that much guile in them. I’m more concerned about our own people.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Fitzpatrick.

  “Will the Greys dump us back in our solar system without star jump technology? You know how they keep that a tightly held secret.

  “If so we might find ourselves with an army on our hands and no place to put it. Do we try to integrate them into our society? Do we send them home knowing what they will know? Do we try to segregate them?”

  “Or do we just kill them off fighting Reptilians?” added Commander Fitzpatrick.

  “Yes, I know. We are in morally and ethically uncharted territory.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “But right now, we have a war to fight. Unless there is anything else, I’m having tea with the Grey’s Grand High Exalted something or the other. Keep me posted.”

  “Yes, sir. Have a good tea ceremony sir.”

  “Gives me a headache.”

  Better thee than me, Fitz thought to himself. Get a star and now you have to go politic. Note to self, don’t get a star.

  That was not all that was troubling Fitz. He no longer believed Technology Command could deliver on their “super-suit,” at least not in time to do any good. There were just too many problems, too many committees, too many management reviews, and any real innovation was stifled.

  How the devil did we ever get this far, he asked silently of no one in particular, though he knew the answer. The founders of the order were visionaries who were incredibly wealthy. They made decisions from their gut; as situations changed, they responded in real time. Without committees and oversight, things got done. Now one bureaucracy is embedded within another. It takes forever to get anything done, and then there is no real innovation.

  Without the suit, what good would the integrated high- tech rifle be? That was a joke in and of itself. These people had never seen a real rifle until they were called upon to build one. Rumor was that nobody wanted to be on that design team; not sexy enough, might even be a career killer. Not looking good for our side.

  Chapter 12: Incident

  Training was going well. Dropouts had become rare. It would be hard to recognize many of the people who started out with Denver. He figured he looked different to them too.

  He had been sent to take a detail over to the flight side of the training base. He had not been there before. The guard permitted them on the base and told them, “Just go where you are supposed to and don’t take too long.”

  “Sure,” replied Smith.

  After they pulled away, Willy asked, “What was that all about?”

  “I don’t know, probably some security concern.”

  The vehicle was long and low, with eight sets of puncture proof composite tires with a synthetic covering. It rode fairly well for a military vehicle. The great thing about it was, all their ground vehicles had the same layout and were operated the same way. It did not matter whether it was a scout vehicle, transport, or crew bus.

  Whether it was wheeled or tracked, all had the same layout for operation and operator maintenance. If you could drive one of them you could drive them all, and to make it even sweeter, the driver could do all routine maintenance with only four tools.

  Everything had an extremely low maintenance electric drive that could be powered by fuel cells or a compression engine if there was ample oxygen in the air. This particular one could be used as a troop transport, equipment hauler, missile launch platform, command post, medical aid station, and anything else that had been mounted in a pop in module.

  It could run underwater as long as the crew could breathe. A driver might operate the truck remotely if it was too dangerous for the crew. Several of these could be sent out ahead of the force and set themselves up to keep an eye on your flanks, and send real-time data and video back to command. If the enemy found it, it could blow itself up either on command or automatically.

  It also had adaptive camouflage even better than that of the combat suits with almost no IR signature. The best part was the armor for the crew and anyone riding inside.

  They found the pickup location and wheeled around to the loading dock. Everyone watched as they passed. Corporal Smith just wrote it up to the naval types never having seen a vehicle like this before. The guys got out, stood around, and waited while Smith went inside to find the supply clerk.

  “Hi, we’ve been sent over to pick up this shipment,” he said handing the man the electronic clipboard. However, he would not take it.

  “So they finally sent their monkeys over?”

  “Say what?”

  “Are you stupid too?”

  “Look pal, are you the supply clerk or not?”

  “Yes, but I’m not touching anything you have touched. I don’t need your diseases.”

  “What the heck are you on about?”

  “Your containers are over there; just get them and get out.”

  “With pleasure jackass.”

  He went over to the lift, got on, and started it up.

  “Hey nobody said you could use that equipment. Now someone will have to clean it.”

  “You get in my way and that’s not all that will have to be cleaned up.” He quickly picked up the load and took it outside just in time to see Willy d
eck some guy from space command.

  He brought the loader to a halt and jumped out. “Break it up!”

  It was no use. Three of the enlisted men jumped Willy, but he slung the whole group of them off. Chuy came up beside him and coldcocked another one.

  Smith forced his way into the middle and shouted, “I said break it up!”

  “I’ll be happy to if these clowns back off,” Willy replied.

  “Who are you monkey?” one of the men said as he advanced on Smith. Denver pushed him away.

  “A corporal; now back off.”

  The ones who had been decked were still on the ground, bleeding. The whole crew looked spindly and emaciated next to Smith’s legionnaires.

  “Back off unless you want some of the same,” ordered Smith.

  The group hesitated rethinking the wisdom of jumping even a small detail of soldiers.

  “Chuy, get the freight on the truck.”

  Chuy hesitated.

  “Now!” Chuy obeyed while Denver and Willy kept the pale skinny space cadets at bay until he got it loaded.

  “Leave it there. They can take it back inside themselves.”

  “What are you down-earthers even doing here?”

  “We’re here to save your pansy ass,” retorted Willy.

  They jumped in the truck and left them with a one-finger salute.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Chuy.

  “You okay Willy?” asked Smith.

  “Yeah, I can handle those lightweights.”

  “What was that all about?”

  “He called me a monkey.”

  Chuy added, “Yeah and they didn’t like his smell.”

  “I got the same treatment inside.”

  As they approached the gate, it was closed, and the gate guard barred their path. Smith hit the horn; the guard jumped out of the way, and they drove through the flimsy barrier.

  “Hey, why we stopping at Ops?” inquired Willy.

  “So you guys can write a report on what just happened. Come on.”

  “What about the stuff?” protested Willy.

  “I’ll take care of the stuff. You just write your report.”

  “Man I hate writing,” complained Chuy.