Gray Panthers: Dixie

by David Guenther

  A harsh downward wind started to blow away the debris surrounding the survivors. Looking up, they could see the shuttle coming down almost on top of them. The marines from the shuttle jumped out and immediately provided a perimeter of safety, giving the survivors a chance to clamber into the shuttle as the wobblers continued toward them.

  “We’re all aboard. Let’s get the hell out of here!” the corporal hollered at both the pilot and the marine detail outside. The detail returned and locked down the shuttle as the pilot increased power and the shuttle launched skyward.

  The survivors were visibly apprehensive at the thought of being shot down again. The marine detachment from the shuttle used the ship’s medical supplies to continue providing medical assistance, cleaning and rebandaging wounds. Quiet pervaded the shuttle as the passengers realized they were safe and reflected on their losses.

  The landing in the ship’s bay was anticlimactic. A medical team with marine guard examined all of the survivors, then released the marines and took the medic with the injured leg to the sickbay. The marines were ordered to take twenty-four hours’ downtime and then report back to the infirmary to have their minor injuries checked.

  The shuttle pilot was glad to be back aboard the ship and knew she had to brief intel on the mission. She hadn’t even had a chance to return her sidearm to the armory or drop off her flight equipment when the XO stopped her.

  “We need to go to intel to debrief. I knew you’d go, but I want to be there. The fresh intel is vital. Time’s wasting,” he told her.

  “Yes, sir. I have a feeling things are not going to go the way we wanted,” the pilot replied. She hoped she didn’t smell as bad as she thought she did. After the short walk to intel, she found herself giving the post-mission briefing.

  “Once we got down near the deck, everything was quiet. Threats were clean—nothing was being picked up. We identified no enemy forces in the open. The only civilians we saw were outside of New Mississippi.

  “The laser taking out Medic One was the first instance we became aware of the enemy presence. The laser cut the shuttle in half when it was about fifteen feet high and was coming in to land. I was able to visually track the laser beam to one of our own self-defense batteries.

  “There was no threat warning, which makes me believe they fired the battery manually. Either they didn’t know how to use it very well, or they were damn good. Since I’m here briefing you, I think they didn’t know how to use the targeting system and were having trouble executing a follow-on shot when I cleaned them out.

  “When I did an over fly to access the damage, I counted a half-dozen dead Jacka in red uniforms. Numerous Jacka, as well as a high concentration of civilians, were on the streets around the battery.

  “When we retrieved the survivors of Medic One, a large crowd of civilians was closing on them. I observed that they walked slowly and didn’t seem to be balanced right. Also, their retinas were all white, devoid of any color.” The pilot was trying to remember if there was anything else, when the question came.

  “Did it appear to you that the Jacka were using the civilians as human shields?”

  “The way the civilians were located, that was not my impression, sir.”

  “What was your impression?”

  “That they were lost and just milling around. They didn’t seem to give the Jacka any attention. I saw them walking by them and ignoring them.”

  “Thank you, Captain. If you do not have anything else, you can go get out of your flight gear,” the intel analyst suggested.

  Dixie ship Atlanta, orbiting planet Dixie

  2 November 2128

  Pandemonium was rife on board the ship. The survivors of the shuttle crash had been infected through the scratches and light bites they’d received on the planet. The more severe the wound from an infected individual, the quicker the victim turned. The lightly wounded had remained normal in appearance until they had gone to sleep. That was when the real nightmares began.

  The surviving medic awoke in sickbay. He saw that he was alone except for the female medic, who was asleep at her desk, her head in her arms. He rose from his bed with difficulty. Everything was off balance. The room seemed to sway and he felt like he was a passenger in his own body as he closed in on the sleeping medic. Bending over her, he was shocked when he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. Disgust and fear filled his heart as he tore into the neck of his victim. She stopped struggling as her desktop filled with spilt blood.

  The medic felt himself turning away, and he knew where he was headed next. He wanted to scream, to fight, to pull away, but instead he wobbled toward the sleeping berths.

  Given his conduct after the crash, the corporal didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, and he was right. As he lay there, he began to feel nauseous, and then his body started to feel like it was frozen. He tried willing himself to get up, only to find he was trapped in a body that wouldn’t move. He attempted to shout out and waken his comrades for help, but all he could do was lie there in silence. After what seemed like an eternity, he was able to gradually rise from the bed. What happened next scared him more than anything he’d ever experienced. He felt his body wobble as it took him to the bunk next to his. In front of him slept the closest friend he’d had during his three years in the marines. He tried to close his eyes so he wouldn’t see what was coming as he leaned over his comrade, but his eyes stayed open as he latched onto his friend’s neck and tore out the artery, a stream of blood squirting into his face as he bit down. His friend’s body stopped shaking, and he felt himself rise and head for the next bunk. At the end of the huge cabin he could see other survivors wobbling among the bunks as the marines slept.

  Dixie ship Texas, orbiting planet Dixie

  3 November 2128

  Captain Perkins again asked his communications officer what he was doing to resolve their inability to contact the admiral on the Atlanta.

  “Captain, they’re just not answering our hails. There’s a network technician that transferred over here from the Atlanta. He might be able to bypass the ship’s security protocols. Then we could access the security cameras to see what’s going on, but we’d be breaking a dozen regulations. We might find ourselves making small rocks out of big rocks.”

  “I don’t like what’s going on. If the technician is hesitant, let him know the orders are from me. That way it will be only you and me breaking rocks.”

  Jones sat at his console watching as the secure node automatically connected with the Atlanta. Instead of waiting for authentication, he accessed a drop-down menu, selected “accept connection,” and typed in “administrator,” followed by “Ou812iC,” A new blank screen opened up and he typed in “Console AD006” and then “jonesj03” and the password “PassW0rd123.”

  “Sir, I have access to my old network console. I don’t see any network activity other than the automated systems, but I can remote any console on the Atlanta from here,” he offered.

  “See if you can access the admiral’s console on the bridge.”

  “Yes, sir.” Seconds later, Jones stared at the screen in horror. The camera from the console showed the admiral sitting in the command seat, his face and uniform covered in blood. He now had white irides, which made his eyes look huge. Behind the admiral, crewmen could be seen wobbling around with no apparent destination.

  Dixie ship Georgia, in Dixie space

  3 November 2128

  General Black had actually enjoyed the last five days stuck in a shuttle. There had been only a few reports of fights among the other shuttles and an attempted murder. It was the most peaceful spell he could remember since accepting the nanite therapy literally from his deathbed. It was time to get back on the clock, he reasoned.

  “Dixie Command, this is Gray Panthers One.”

  “Gray Panthers One, this is Dixie ship Texas. Stand by.”

  “Georgia, this is Perkins on the Texas. I have assumed command of the fleet. What do you have to report?”

  �
�Sir, I brought ground troops from Earth in case they were needed.”

  “Damn. I wish you hadn’t. Unfortunately, we do need them. I would almost prefer to leave the planet and not look back than do what we will have to do.”

  “Gray Panthers One, this is Dixie ship Texas. Can you report to my ship for a briefing, please?”

  Arizona Space Ship Grub, departing Earth space

  3 November 2128

  Dan was surprised by how quiet and comfortable the Grub was, though he was nervous about the whole mission he’d set up for himself. Abby had threatened to mutiny when Dan told him he would be in charge during Dan’s absence, but he finally conceded when Dan said he would put the Gray Panthers under the Pentagon until his return. Though Dan’s original intention was to go alone, he subsequently agreed to allow a couple squads of Gray Panthers to accompany him, and Colonel Blade was along to help negotiate with the Jacka.

  “I appreciate you coming with me, Colonel. Can I offer you a drink?”

  “Thank you, Dan Daniels. I will have what you are having.”

  “I was going to have a soda. I know that doesn’t agree with Jacka physiology. How about one of your son’s favorites, from what I hear—milk, straight up?”

  “That would be fine, Dan Daniels,” Blade replied absently as he looked about the cabin.

  “Here you go, Colonel. A toast, to absent friends.” Dan watched as Blade took an initial sip of his drink.

  “My son has good taste in drinks. Just as he made a wise decision to join the Gray Panthers. Your plans for the League of Planets and my people will change the galaxy as we know it.” Blade took a strong swig of his milk and plopped down in his chair.

  “General, what would your people do if I recommended Short Blade as admiral of the fleet? I have found him to be intelligent and courageous. I can see to it that he is trained before the fleet is assembled. I believe the experience he has garnered already makes him a good candidate.”

  “I wish it were so easy. My son is a runt. He is usually tolerated, at best, in our society—even as my son. That is why he was the only Jacka on a Libra ship. In our society, once every year a subordinate may challenge a leader for right of position. My own people under me do the same. Those that want to challenge for leadership come together and draw straws to see who will get to perform the challenge. The only thing the leader can do is choose the weapons or accept forfeit.” Blade reached for the new glass of milk Dan offered him.

  “Would your people be able to assimilate the technology into your culture? Your mercenaries use many advanced weapons but don’t seem to take advantage of their benefits in combat.” Dan sat and sipped his soda.

  “Our people are a good people. We do what we must to support them,” Blade belched loudly and licked the inside of his empty glass.

  “Blade, would your clans accept a unified command, where all the warriors were mixed together under one color instead of strictly by clan?”

  “They would be open to suggestions and offers that benefit their clans directly. Our warriors have had no problem working together in the past, even after being on opposing sides previously in battle.” Blade had begun to slur a little. He smiled, showing his huge fangs.

  “If we made your planet more habitable by decreasing the arid areas and replacing them with forests and agricultural lands, would that be an acceptable offer?”

  “My friend Dan, they would be ec, ec, ecst … happy with yoose for dat.” Blade rested his head on the table and within seconds a loud snore escaped.

  “I guess I should switch to one percent instead of whole milk.” Dan said softly. “Sorry, my friend. Enjoy your nap.”

  Dixie ship Texas, in Dixie space

  3 November 2128

  General Black was warmly welcomed by Captain Perkins as he stepped from the shuttle. A moment later they all gave the shuttle a wide space.

  “I see you spent the whole five days in your shuttle, General. The captain of the Georgia didn’t offer you the hospitality of his ship?” Perkins asked.

  “I could not in good conscious accept that hospitality while my people were cooped up in their shuttles. In years to come it will be one of the stories our people tell when warriors gather. Now, can we be of assistance to your people, Captain?” Black asked as he was escorted into a briefing room.

  “General, I’m going to put my cards on the table. Before the Libra left, they infected the population of the planet. We sent shuttles down a couple days ago from the Atlanta. Today it appears the entire ship is infected. To the best of our knowledge, the plague is spread by body fluids. We do not believe it is airborne.

  “To make the problem worse, the Libra’s mercenary army of Jacka is still on the surface. They seem to be immune to the plague. The Jacka were manning one of our self-defense batteries when they shot down one of our shuttles. That battery was surrounded by our infected people, and the Jacka were being ignored.”

  “So, we need to go in, kill the bad guys, and save the sick good guys?”

  “It’s worse than that, General Black. See for yourself.” Perkins turned to an assistant and said, “Please play our media from the shuttle rescue and then a clip from the Atlanta’s bridge.”

  When the media ended, everyone sat in silence waiting for Black’s remarks, knowing it would be a game changer for their Earth ally.

  “Damned if they ever taught that in Command and General Staff College,” Black said at last. “So, we need to kill the bad guys, rescue the sick good guys, cure the good guys, and not get turned into zombies. We’ll start with New Mississippi. It’s geographically separated from any other cities, so the Jacka will have a hard time reinforcing their troops there.”

  “General, are you sure?” Perkins asked incredulously.

  “My people just spent five days cramped into oversized porta-potties. If I told them, ‘Things look too tough and we’re going home,’ what do you think they would do? They’d do the same thing I’d do—they’d revolt. Besides, this way gets them out of those porta-potties and into fresh air, with room to move around.”

  “General, we’ll provide any support you need. Please do not hesitate to ask.” Perkins sighed in relief.

  “I’ll need you to provide me with a liaison staff, including communications, medical staff, and personnel familiar with the area. I’ll be issuing the initial drop order for my people in an hour. Just give me a spot to start from.” Black rose, shook hands, and let himself be escorted back to his shuttle, where a dozen of the ship’s crew were milling around with his staff. The shuttle’s interior no longer emitted a toxic odor.

  “What are your orders, sir?” Black’s operations officer, Colonel Piper, asked as Black rejoined his staff.

  “You are not gonna believe this ….”

  Outside New Mississippi, planet Dixie

  3 November 2128

  Sam was uncomfortable in the role of ground commander and was getting frustrated. The scouts were sharp, and she feared making any mistakes.

  “Don’t sweat the small things,” Scotty advised. “You have good troops here, and most important, a good NCO. Just keep them safe, fed, and away from anything stupid, and you’ll be good to go. Have you tried to contact the fleet lately?”

  “No. I don’t know if they are ignoring me or if I just can’t get through,” Sam answered as she finished cleaning her revolver.

  “Too bad my wrist computer isn’t compatible with your system. Here,” Scotty said as he held out his arm to Sam. “Just press this button and request directory, and then select who I want to talk with.” The computer began to beep as the screen filled with all two thousand names of the personnel on the shuttles.

  “Wow. We’ve got a little company. Computer, send a message to the air liaison officer. The message is ‘Scholl, Scotty, Lieutenant, call sign Dart Nine, is on the ground with friendlies,’ end message. Notify me when message is received and notify me when I receive any messages.” Pulling his sleeve back down and looking at Sam, he said, “I think life j
ust got interesting.”

  It wasn’t long before Scotty’s wrist computer emitted a ‘ zzzt’sound.

  “Looks like I got my first call. Dart Nine.”

  “Dart Nine, select secure on your communications and confirm.”

  “Communications now secure.”

  “What was the name of your first pet?”

  “Spot.”

  “Where did you go to grade school?”

  “West Salem.”

  “Red five?”

  “Five of hearts.”

  “Stand by, Dart Nine. Welcome to the net.” A minute later a new voice connected.

  “Dart Nine, this GP Actual.”

  “GP Actual, go ahead.”

  “Give me your location and status.”

  “One mile south of New Mississippi, overlooking main thoroughfare into the city. Have attached myself to a unit of Dixie scouts.”

  “Dart Nine, how are the neighbors?”

  “City appears to be under new management. Old owners are walking the streets. Appear to have rabies.”

  “Be ready to have friendly visitors from out of town.”

  Arizona Space Ship Grub, en route to League of Planets space

  4 November 2128

  Dan was surprised that he had gone over a day and not become nauseous from the FTL drive like he’d heard everyone complain about.

  “Grub, is there a reason I’m doing so much better than everyone else as far as not getting FTL sick?”

  “Hello, Dan. You are not sick because I upgraded the FTL drive to the same specifications as the FTL drive from the Georgia. The drive is synchronized. The Flem never had a problem, but other species are more sensitive.”