Scouts Out: Books One and Two

by Danny Loomis

  ON BOARD CORVETTE ARGYLE (Day +3):

  Ian watched the wolf-like creature pad toward him and felt a jolt of fear when it stopped, looked directly at him and snarled. Virtual reality simulators were still the best way to learn. Hooked into a helmet to cut out external noise and stimulus made it downright awesome. The predator he was studying happened to be top of the food chain for indigenous life on the northern continent of Star’s End. At one hundred plus kilos and fangs that were five centimeters long, there was no argument as to who was boss.

  He switched back to the main menu and keyed in planetary geography. The northern continent Hibernia appeared. It really did look like an upside down pear. He zoomed in on the western portion, and located the Stobol mining complex. From a world’s eye view he could see evidence of several extinct volcanoes. In fact, the mines were inside the caldera of one.

  This particular caldera was ten kilometers in diameter, which would have made an impressive volcano indeed when it was active. He flipped to information on the colonization of the planet.

  The history of how Star’s End was colonized gave a clue as to the recent unrest. Two waves of colonization from earth occurred, the first four hundred years before. At that time its main reason for existence was to supply drugs, both legal and otherwise. A large pharmaceutical conglomerate had funded the colony’s start, and brought emigrants from several eastern European nations.

  175 years after the first colony was established, the second wave arrived. This group was from North America, a region once called Quebec. A rich industrialist, Giscard St. Clair, was head of a political party which espoused independence from the American Union. After years of frustrated effort, he and a handful of others jumped at the chance to emigrate to a new planet where they could establish their own brand of freedom.

  Unfortunately, the planet they had chosen needed major terraforming before it would be even marginally inhabitable. Giscard beggared himself in the attempt, and soon died. This took the heart out of the fledgling colony, and they appealed for help.

  The Confederation evacuated all survivors and talked Star’s End into allowing them to settle on the western seaboard of Hibernia. Although technically under the wing of the planetary government, the Quebecers were left alone until diamonds were discovered. Nationalization of the diamond mines by the government was met with a short rebellion by the Quebecers, which was put down harshly. Since then, the Westerners (as they now called themselves) had lived in an uneasy peace with the Easterners.

  One hundred years after the aborted rebellion, the eastern seaboard had grown in population to the point they began making special laws to meet the growing problems arising from overpopulation. This led to additional strains on relations between east and west, since the socialistic leaning of the Easterners was resisted on an almost instinctive level by the Westerners. Another revolt occurred, this time more peacefully.

  The planetary government responded by removing existing elected officials in the city of St. Clair, and installed their own appointed authority “for the duration of the emergency.” They also re-named the city Richland. To this day, the Westerners had a simmering resentment towards the Easterners, who in turn felt superior to the country hicks.

  Ian was deep in concentration when a poke in the ribs brought him back.

  “Hey, Irish. You gonna live in that thing, or what?” Pointy asked. “It’s close to dinnertime. You can get back to that later.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said. “I’d rather be lying here than moving around in this higher gravity.” He waved away Pointy’s rejoinder. “I know, we need to do it since we’ll be landing on a planet that’s 1.1 earth normal gravity. But it gets pretty tiresome trying to operate in 1.5 gravs.” “That’s only during our workouts,” Pointy said. “Be glad Franny is in a good mood, or we’d be sleeping in it.”

  Ian sighed. “Yeah, there’s always the bright side.”

  Brita walked up as Ian finished his meal. “Irish, you’re next to be interviewed by the L.T. He said to meet him in his quarters when you’re done with chow.”

  “Wilco, Sarge. Anything I should take with me?”

  “No. He just wants to touch base with the newbies. Our squad’s lucky only having you, Pointy and J.C. as virgins. Second squad had to replace 50% after their last mission.”

  “I don’t remember hearing about that many KIAs or serious injuries. What gives?” A touch of concern crept into Ian’s voice.

  Brita smiled. “The main enemy of our platoon isn’t killed-in-action heroes. It takes so long to train you guys to an acceptable level to join LRS that there’re no privates. Everyone is Corporal or above. When you know you’re an outstanding non-commissioned officer and don’t see any leadership positions opening where you are, pretty soon you move on to greener pastures.” She looked thoughtful. “In fact, I’ll bet we’ve supplied an entire company’s worth of squad and platoon leaders over the past five years because of that.”

  “You planning to move on anytime soon?” Ian asked.

  “There’s only two ways you’ll get my job, Irish. Stuff me in a body bag, or watch me take over Franny’s position when he buys the farm. Now move it. Kwan’s expecting you.”

  Lieutenant Kwan was billeted in Officer’s Country, in front of the mess hall. All enlisted were rearwards. It was a short hop from chow to his door. Ian knocked. “Come.”

  He entered, and braced to attention. “Sir, Corporal Shannon reporting.”

  Kwan was seated at his postage stamp sized desk. “At ease, Irish. Take a load off.” Ian seated himself across from the Lieutenant, and tried to put a look of polite expectancy on his face, hoping to mask his nervousness.

  “I read your file when you first came to the LRS. It’s excellent. Especially your leadership potential. You’ve been with us, let’s see, three months isn’t it? Your record’s been pretty good. Tactical training scores are outstanding, and you broke the old shooting record for sniper school.”

  “Thank you, sir. I do enjoy this kind of military. Lets you use your initiative more than in the regular Army.”

  “That’s another point I want to talk to you about,” Kwan said. “The Colonel was so pissed at how you and Pointy were able to destroy his tactical operations center during the last regimental training exercise, that he revamped his intel and security staff.” Kwan shifted around until he was facing Ian. “Understand me, what you did was extremely foolish. You should have at least let Sergeant Weiss and Staff Sergeant Smith in on what you were doing. I almost relieved them because of what you and Pointy did.”

  Ian was shocked. “Sir! It wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t even Pointy’s. He thought I’d gotten permission. I just saw an opportunity and took it. If anyone should be punished, it’s me.”

  “You and I know that. The Colonel knows that. But you overlooked one very important thing, which you’re going to have to learn before you get someone killed. Your supervisors are ultimately responsible for your actions, whether they know what you did or not. By cutting them out of the loop, you left room for a potentially fatal incident to occur. That’s why you and Pointy got three weeks extra duty at the time.” He turned off his computer and folded it shut.

  “Years ago, I tried to do something similar to what you did. Not so spectacularly successful, though. My buddy was killed, due to no one else knowing what we were doing, or where we were. We got into a live fire exercise. Walked through an area that began receiving artillery rounds. You can guess the rest.” Ian was silent, mesmerized by Kwan’s coal black eyes. “The bad part of what you did is you’ve potentially damaged your relationship with Sergeant Weiss and Staff Sergeant Smith. Without the support of those two, your chances of survival are slim to none. We need to have complete trust in each other because of the types of missions we get, like the present one. Without our specialized training and skills we’d be dead meat within the first forty-eight hours of landfall.”

  The Lieutenant’s stern demeanor eased into a smile. “The good part is y
ou’ve demonstrated a rare ability to see what needs to be done, and do it. A bonus is that you seem to have survival skills to go along with that. If you live through the next few years, you have a potential for leadership that the Army needs. Seeing as how you’re only twenty-one, that could mean a long and successful career if you decided to stick with it.”

  He crossed his arms, leaning back. “Tell me more about yourself. Where you went to school, how you ended up here, all the things they normally don’t put in your file.”

  Forty minutes later Ian headed back for his own cubicle and resumed studying the terrain they would soon be scouting. Kwan came into the mess hall, drew a cup of coffee and sat with Staff Sergeant Smith and Sergeant Weiss, who’d been waiting for him.

  “What do you think, sir?” Franny asked.

  “You’re right about Pointy. He’s a good troop and will do what needs to be done when needed. He’ll make a first-rate squad leader someday. His file indicated he just celebrated his twenty-second birthday, so he’s another of those boy wonders we seem to get with regularity.”

  “What about Ian? Think he can handle the chaff we’ve thrown at him about what he did?” Brita asked.

  “Not only can he handle it, but I think he has the ability to accept what he’s done wrong and correct it. Then he’ll probably come up with an entirely new way to do it,” Kwan said. “He’s whip-smart, and can think on his feet.”

  Franny smiled sourly. “High praise coming from you, sir.”

  “I don’t mean to overstate the case here, but I think if you give Ian responsibility, he’ll do a bang-up job. Might even make you look like you knew what you’re doing, Franny.”

  “Ha! That’d be the day,” Brita snorted in amusement. “Seriously sir, it’s good to hear you agree with our assessment. It doesn’t hurt that Ian seems to have the devil’s own luck riding with him.”

  Kwan sipped his coffee. “Personnel matters aside, how’s training coming?”

  “Good, sir,” Franny said. “I’m going to cut the training weight back to 1.25 gravities about four days prior to landing. That’ll make ’em feel as if they’re floating. One other thing. Could you begin giving hand-to-hand training? You’re one of the best instructors in the art of silent killing, and I think we’re going to need all the expertise we can get in that arena.”

  “Glad to. By the way, we should break out the gear and begin an inventory of what’s going to the surface with you. Both what you’ll carry and what’s going to be emplaced in caches for you. We need to select several locations. Do you think three caches will be enough?”

  The rest of the meeting passed into technical details about logistical supplies and communications needs.

  ON BOARD ARGYLE: (Day +8):

  The morning’s P.T. began differently. Instead of constant, muscle-wrenching exercises, the limbering up period had been extended to allow everyone to fully stretch abused muscles. Lieutenant Kwan, for the first time, led the exercises. Ian was content. Anything beat the gut burners they’d been doing.

  “Everyone loosened up? Good.” He motioned the squad to form a circle around him. “You’ve probably been told I’ll be instructing you in some hand-to-hand tactics. Since all of you are expert in unarmed combat, there’s not much I can teach you about one-on-one defense. Instead, I’m going to show you some skills dealing with silent combat.” He turned slowly about, and looked each of them in the eye.

  “There are many ways of silently killing your enemy.” A six-inch sliver of steel appeared in his hand. “My personal choice involves an ice pick. All of you have your favorite close-in weapon.” Ian nodded. His was a highly illegal vibra blade which, when activated, had a one molecule thick edge to it.

  Kwan gestured toward a covered rack against the wall. “Today we’ll use training knives.” These were hollow plastic knives, filled with red dye which would leave a mark when used to stab or slash. “You haven’t had me as an instructor before, so you may be wondering what makes me qualified. I am about to show you. First, though, everyone will please get themselves a knife, and form a circle around me.”

  As the circle re-formed, they felt a lightening of weight. “I’ve asked Staff Sergeant Smith to forego the 1.5 gravity for this particular drill. What I want you to do is attack me when the signal is given. Whoever manages to mark me with paint gets one free night out on the town when we get back to Alamo.”

  “What’s the signal, sir?” Ian asked.

  Kwan smiled. “You’ll know when it happens.” The lights went out.

  Other than a few inadvertent exclamations, the only sound was the quiet slithering of feet. Ian crept slowly toward the wall. If he remembered right, the knife rack was right about—there. He slipped behind it, taking an extra knife as he did so.

  SSG Smith’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “If you feel someone stab or slash you, immediately lie down and make no more movement of any kind.”

  “Aw, fuck me,” a disembodied voice said. Pointy had just become a casualty. Ian smiled broadly. More slitherings were heard, usually followed by a grunt or an exclamation. After five minutes, it seemed to Ian that he had heard eight casualties. That left him and the lieutenant. Ian crossed his arms and extended both knives, crouching even lower next to the rack.

  Several minutes passed. Ian’s arms started to burn from holding the knife blades extended outwards. He kept breathing through his mouth in quiet, smooth sips. Sweat was streaming down him as if he’d run a marathon. Just when he thought he couldn’t keep his arms up any longer, he felt a light brush of something. He violently scissored the knives, and flayed his arms wide. Nothing! He could’ve sworn—a slick, wet line was drawn across his throat. He spasmed backwards, and cracked his head into the wall.

  The first thing Ian saw when the stars faded was Brita’s concerned face. He couldn’t resist. “Mom?” Instant pandemonium.

  When he struggled painfully to his feet, Ian was greeted with hoots of laughter from everyone except Brita, who was slumped to the deck, apparently in pain. “You alright, Sarge?” he asked.

  She rolled over on her side, wheezing and choking from laughter, as tears leaked out of her eyes. “M-mom? You think I’m your mama?” Gales of laughter swept the cargo bay. Ian rubbed the back of his head, and looked ruefully around. Everyone seemed to be liberally painted with “blood” from the Lieutenant’s knife.

  Still chuckling, Kwan walked to the center of the bay. “Not bad, Irish. Not bad at all. You not only were the last one killed, but you managed to do it in the most spectacular fashion.”

  SSG Smith entered the bay, a satisfied smile on his face. “You may have won the war, sir, but the battle seems to’ve gone to Ian. Look at your left leg.” Kwan stared at the thin red line just below his right knee.

  “Well, I’ll be dipped. No one’s ever… Ian, you must truly have the luck of the Irish.”

  “Just wanted that free night out, sir,” Ian said.

  “No luck to this, Sir,” Franny said. “Two knives instead of one. He held ’em out, with the blades facing opposite directions, and waited for you to make the circuit looking for him.” He turned to Ian. “I got the action on infra red film. Haven’t seen that scissor move before. If you’d waited a split second, you’d have caught the L.T. on both sides of the neck as he leaned in. Where’d you learn that?”

  Ian turned red. “I had an uncle who was a Royalist Ranger back on Eire. He worked with us kids a lot when we were old enough to hold a knife. Fighting at night was my favorite.”

  “Something tells me that vibra blade of yours isn’t a virgin,” Franny said.

  “Why weren’t you in on this action, Sergeant Weiss—I mean mom?” Pointy asked.

  “Franny and I’ve had Lieutenant Kwan’s class before. Didn’t want to spoil his fun with the newbys,” Brita said. “And before you get too carried away with this ‘Mom’ shit, you’d better think about your future on my fire team. It could get very unpleasant.” The glare that accompanied her pronouncement would have me
lted steel. Pointy unsuccessfully tried to hide his smirk. “Yes, Sarge. Whatever you say, Sarge.”

  “Lieutenant,” Ian said, “One thing I noticed when we were in the dark. I never heard you move.”

  “I don’t think anyone heard you either, Irish,” the Lieutenant said. “Maybe we can both show these leadfooted types how we did that.”

  Ian grinned. “Can do, sir.”

  That evening while Ian worked on his vibra blade, Brita came over to his bunk and sat down.

  “How’s the head, Irish?”

  “Not bad, Sarge. Just a little bump and a bruised ego.” He slipped the four inch blade out of the socket that fastened it to the handle. When not on, the vibra blade was like any other knife.

  Brita nodded. “Good to hear. As you know, when we land the squad is being split into fire teams. Because of the large area we have to cover, I’ll divide our team into two elements after we meet up with the security forces at the mine. I want you and Pointy as a team. That way, I’ll have a sniper rifle with you, and one with J.C. and Blade.”

  “How about you?” Ian asked. He carefully pried apart the grips of the knife, exposing a small battery.

  “I’ll be with the other team. You’ll be in charge of yours.” Startled, Ian dropped the battery.

  “Phil and I are just Corporals. I’d think Sergeant Chavez would be the logical choice,” Ian said.

  “Normally I’d agree with you,” Brita said, leaning down to pick up the battery. “But once we separate at the mine, I want to have both teams capable of not only doing the rest of the scout, but moving directly into the hunt as sniper teams when the time comes. You and Pointy have proven you can work together. J.C. and Blade have done this as a team often enough, so it’s logical to have the fire team divided this way.” She handed the battery back to him.

  “The team I’m with will have the lion’s share of the territory, so I want the most experienced group with me. You have a problem with that? Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”