First Strike

by Richard Turner

Sheridan lay on his stomach watching a group of Chosen soldiers move about outside of a cluster of white camouflaged tents and vehicles trying to keep warm. Snow had been falling for the past few hours. With the sky covered by leaden clouds, it didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon.

  “What do you think?” Cole asked.

  “From the number of antennas and dishes spread out down there, it looks like it could be the jamming station,” replied Sheridan. “We’re in the right spot according to the map. However, from the way it’s set-up, it could just as easily be a headquarters or an administrative hub. There’s really only one way to be sure. I’ve got to get down there and take a look around.”

  Cole glanced at his watch. “We’ve got less than fourteen hours left.”

  “I know. There’s nothing more you can do, so why don’t you go and rendezvous with the remainder of the team. Get them ready while I poke my nose around. I’ll link up with you in two to three hours’ time. If I don’t show, hope that we got it right and burn this place to the ground.”

  Cole held out his hand. “Good luck and don’t do anything stupid. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  Sheridan shook Cole’s hand. From his pack, he pulled out a set of Chosen winter white coveralls. He had sewn up the bullet holes and cleaned off the blood from the outfit as best he could. The smell coming off the coveralls, however, was repellent. Sheridan doubted that they had ever been cleaned. He quickly checked the outfit for small grub-like lice that infested many of the sets of clothing they had been given to wear. Garcia had told him that the lice were attracted to body heat and were harmless. Still, the thought of the bugs next to his skin made him shudder. Once he was happy that there were no lice on his coveralls, he quickly pulled them over the top of his civilian clothes. Next, he reassembled his Chosen rifle and slung it over his shoulder.

  Carefully, he moved to the edge of the forest and waited until he was sure no one was looking in his direction. Sheridan decided there was no time like the present and sauntered out of the woods as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was thankful for the snow coming down as it allowed him walk with his head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone he might pass. His pulse raced as he walked closer to the Chosen encampment. He strained to listen to what was being said, hoping to discover the nearby installation’s true identity. As he got closer, he noticed that many of the Chosen soldiers looked like they had been injured. Some had bandages over one eye while many more had their hands swathed in bandages. It became clear that these men had replaced the ones that had originally been here. Like the Marines dug in at the capital, the Chosen were becoming desperate for fresh soldiers and had resorted to using rear echelon troops on the front lines.

  “You there, where do you think you’re going?” bellowed a voice.

  Sheridan stopped and looked over at a tall, broad-shouldered Chosen sergeant who was eyeing him suspiciously. “I was told to report for guard duty,” answered Sheridan.

  “I don’t know you. What’s your name?”

  “Kimdar,” stammered Sheridan.

  “I wasn’t told you would be coming here. You look fit enough, though. Why aren’t you with your unit?”

  Sheridan’s heart pounded away like a jackhammer in his chest. He had to come up with a convincing lie and fast. The first thing that flashed through his mind was frostbite, but he didn’t know the Kurgan word for it. The sergeant stared at Sheridan. In desperation, he blurted out, “I froze some of my toes, Sergeant.”

  The big soldier shook his head. “Another one! Why the Lord didn’t give you people the brains to look after your feet is beyond me. Come with me, Kimdar.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” replied Sheridan, hoping that this would be the end of the sergeant’s questions. He followed the soldier inside a large, heated tent. The smell of something being cooked on a gas stove filled the tent. Sheridan’s stomach grumbled.

  “Hungry, eh? Well get something to eat and then report to that man over there,” said the sergeant, pointing to a corporal sitting behind a desk on the far side of the shelter. “Where are you from, Kimdar? I can’t place your accent.”

  Sheridan broke out in a cold sweat. Desperately he tried to recall the name of the Chosen planet he was told was just on the enemy side of the Disputed Zone. “Kollos,” replied Sheridan, eyeing the nearest exit.

  “Never been there,” said the sergeant with a shrug of his shoulders. “Not that it matters. Get yourself some soup and then report in.”

  Sheridan let out his breath, nodded, and did as he was told. With a hot bowl of odd-smelling soup in his hands, he walked over and gave his name to the corporal sitting at his desk. He was told to take a seat and wait until he was called for. Sheridan looked around the tent, spotted a tired-looking Chosen soldier resting on a bench, and decided to sit with him. Perhaps he knew what they were guarding.

  “Afternoon,” said Sheridan to the man as he took a seat.

  “Hello,” replied the man. He had blonde hair and a scraggly beard. His dark blue eyes looked tired and war-weary.

  “My name is Kimdar,” Sheridan said.

  “Kesmon,” replied the soldier.

  Sheridan tried the soup. It was a little bland but tasted good enough. “Kesmon, have you been here long?” Sheridan asked the man.

  “I got here last week after I burnt my hands trying to put out a fire,” the blonde-haired soldier replied, showing Sheridan his bandaged hands.

  “That looks painful.”

  “It is a small price to serve the Lord,” the man answered.

  “Yes, indeed. I got careless and froze my feet.”

  “We have a lot of cold casualties coming through here. Some stay, some are sent back to one of the hospital ships in orbit while others volunteer to go back to the front. It all depends on the extent of their injuries.”

  “They won’t keep me here for too long. I expect to rejoin my unit in a day or two,” Sheridan said, trying to sound keen to get back into the fight.

  “I tried to volunteer, but I was told that my wounds haven’t healed enough for me to leave yet. So I waste my time along with everyone else guarding this place.”

  “We all serve the Lord in whatever we do.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  Sheridan decided to push his luck. “By the way, what is this place we are guarding? I wasn’t told what I was going to be doing, other than guard duty, when I was dropped off here.”

  The blonde-haired soldier looked around to make sure no one was listening to their conversation. Quietly, he said, “We don’t talk about it. The officers lose their minds when you do.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “They don’t say why, but we figure it has to do with the top-secret gear they have here to jam the humans’ communications. I heard that it also stops all of their electronics from working as well. Trust me, my friend, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll never ask another question about this place ever again. They whipped a soldier in front of us yesterday, for falling asleep on duty. They found him in a restricted part of the camp. He was only trying to keep warm, but they decided to make an example of him and whipped him anyway. So just keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told. Lord willing, you’ll be back with your unit in a couple of days’ time.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” said Sheridan. He quickly finished off his meal, placed the bowl down and then as stealthily as he could, he snuck out of the tent. He glanced around and saw that the sergeant was nowhere to be seen. Sheridan, however, could hear the NCO berating some men behind a long vehicle with five antennas sticking out of the top of it. He took it as his cue to leave and began to walk toward the woods and safety. Suddenly, he heard his bogus Chosen name being yelled out. His swore under his breath and slowly turned around. It was Kesmon.

  “Kimdar, where are you going? They might call your name. The corporal is not very forgiving. You wouldn’t want to get into trouble with him on your first day here. I wasn’t joking when I said they whip
people here,” said Kesmon as he walked toward Sheridan.

  “I’ll be there in a minute. When I got off my ride, I dropped my pack by the woods. Do me a favor and tell the corporal that I’m just going to grab my gear and will return right away. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes.”

  “Let me give you a hand.”

  Sheridan tried to get the man to leave. “I’ll be alright. Besides with the injuries to your hands, you really shouldn’t try lifting anything heavy.”

  Kesmon persisted. “It’s okay, besides I could use the fresh air.”

  Sheridan shrugged his shoulders and began to walk toward the trees. When they were a few meters away, Sheridan turned to face Kesmon. “Say, I really appreciate your offer of help; however, I can take it from here.”

  Kesmon hesitated for a second. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say that you’re trying to get rid of me.” He chuckled to himself. “Hurry up; I’ll wait here for you.”

  Sheridan took a deep breath, knowing that things had already gone too far. He looked at the soldier and said, “I’ve got a couple of really light things, I guess you could carry them for me.”

  Kesmon smiled and followed Sheridan into the forest. After walking for nearly a minute, Kesmon stopped in his tracks. “Kimdar, where did you say you left your gear?”

  Sheridan’s stomach tied in a knot the second he decided to end the charade. He reached into a jacket pocket, pulled out one of his razor sharp ceramic knives and turned about. Kesmon saw the hard look in Sheridan’s eyes a second too late to save his life. Like a tiger, Sheridan pounced on the hapless soldier and plunged his knife into the man’s chest. With a look of utter disbelief in his eyes, Kesmon’s feet buckled. Sheridan grabbed the Chosen warrior by the collar of his uniform and forced the dying soldier down onto the snow-covered ground. He looked over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed before placing a hand over his victim’s mouth so he couldn’t make a sound as he lay dying in the snow.

  After a few seconds, the Chosen warrior’s eyes glazed over. Sheridan reached down with a blood-covered hand and checked for a pulse. There was none. He had expected to feel guilty about killing the man in cold blood; however, after all he had seen and been through, he was numb. Grabbing the body, Sheridan dragged the remains deeper into the woods. He was thankful that the snow falling from the sky would soon erase his tracks. When he was done covering the corpse with snow, Sheridan dug out his compass, took a bearing and began to walk through the thick woods.

  He had a rendezvous to keep.

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