by Rod Carstens
“Come on, you fucks. Get off that shuttle before I throw you in the brig. Now move! I don’t want to see nothing but assholes and elbows!” he bellowed.
Minga’s squad was first to disembark since they were the last to board. The guard held a heavy bludgeon. He looked like he wanted a reason to use it. Dieter kept an eye on him. The platoon filed off without hesitation in good order. Dieter and the last of the platoon were about to leave, when a squad mate two people in front of Dieter, tripped on the hatch and almost fell.
“You stupid fuck! Move it!” the guard screamed. He raised the bludgeon over his head to strike her. Dieter lunged forward and grabbed the guard’s raised arm with one hand and his throat with the other. He lifted the guard and slammed him against the bulkhead.
“No,” Dieter said. “You hit one of us, you hit us all.”
The guard struggled to get free but stopped when he realized that four other members of the platoon had joined Dieter. They had pinned his arms and legs against the wall so he could not move. Real fear crossed his face.
“Are we clear?” Dieter said quietly.
The guard could only nod his head.
“Okay, release.”
Dieter and the others let the guard go and he fell to the deck in a heap. He tried to say something, but when Dieter and the others turned toward him, he shut his mouth and simply stood up and straightened his uniform. Dieter and the others followed the rest of the platoon as they moved toward a huge open bay. Again their tattoos were scanned as they entered the compartment. Other platoons that had already arrived were milling around. Nobody seemed to be in charge.
The compartment was really just a repurposed Von Fleet shipping container. One of their largest, it must have been twenty feet high and close two hundred feet long. Von Fleet had just thrown a life support system on it and they had a troop carrier. Since this was a penal battalion ship there were guard compartments high up on the bulkhead at the four corners of the container manned by Von Fleet security.
“Keep together. Ardan, Minga, let’s get into a school circle facing out.”
“Got it,” Ardan said.
“Yeah,” Minga said.
Without much discussion the platoon formed a circle facing outward, back-to-back, sitting next to each other. Ardan and Minga walked up to Dieter.
“This looks like a clusterfuck,” Minga said quietly.
Dieter watched the disorder around them. None of the guards seemed interested in stopping it. In fact some had an amused look on their faces, as if they knew something the penal soldiers did not. Dieter watched as a guard just smirked as two members of another platoon got into a fight. He didn’t try to stop it. The only thing he did was shove them with his foot when they got too close. What was going on?
Then Dieter realized what was happening.
“You know what? I think they want to establish discipline with an example. There's no other reason for them to let this kind of stuff go on. The other platoons look anything but disciplined. We need to take care of ourselves. Let’s split up so each of us covers a third of the circle.”
“Sounds good,” Ardan said, moving to his left as Minga moved to the right.
Dieter leaned down to Karina and said, “Look alive. Something's going to happen. Stay together. Pass it on.”
Karina repeated what he had said and soon the whole platoon was sitting closer to one another, watching the other platoons. Suddenly the hatches at the far end of the container flew open and Von Fleet security guards ran into the bay.
“Attention on deck! Attention on deck!” the loudspeaker squawked.
Dieter and the rest of the platoon immediately stood in their three-squad ranks and snapped to attention. The other platoons were slowly organizing themselves. The guards were carrying stun guns, and if anyone was not in formation, they used them. The guns were set to their highest settings. Soldier after soldier went down. Some lay unconscious, others were seizing. A guard rushed toward Dieter and the platoon. He looked at the platoon, trying to find a reason to use his weapon, but the platoon remained motionless at attention. Dieter watched him closely. He could easily use the stun gun for no reason, but he moved on. There were too many easy targets to waste his time on men and women standing at attention.
It took a while, but eventually all of the platoons were organized and standing at attention. The troops who had been stunned were dragged away by the guards through the open hatches. Not a word was said as hundreds of men and women stood waiting for what would happen next. Finally an officer strode into the bay with several other officers following him. He stood in front of the assembled troops. A platform emerged from the deck, and he and the other officers were raised up on it. Hands behind his back, he stood silently, viewing the troops, letting the silence grow. Dieter could see that their platoon was in the best formation and held itself with more military bearing than any of the other platoons. He hoped this officer noticed, because he thought it might help in what was about to happen next.
“Talk about a pile of shit. I never knew they piled it this high,” the officer said.
He paused again. This seemed to be a signal because now senior enlisted Von Fleet military men and women poured out of the hatches on either side of the platform. They arranged themselves into two lines facing the assembled troops. They stood at parade rest with their hands behind their backs. They wore the same black uniforms as Dieter and the other troops, but they had the stripes of various noncommissioned officer ranks on their sleeves in addition to service stripes that signified their length of service.
“I am Colonel Coatl, the commanding officer of the 135th Penal Battalion. You pieces of shit are now part of that battalion. The men and women behind me are the officers in the battalion. The men and women you see standing below me are the noncommissioned officers of the battalion. You just saw how we will deal with slackers or anyone who does not obey orders. That was a gentle reminder compared to what we will do to you if you do not perform in battle. You are here because you are criminals. You are thieves, murderers, sexual criminals, debtors, and every other type of felon you can name. Yet you have been given the opportunity to serve the Confederation and erase your crimes by defending your fellow citizens. You can wash away your sins with your blood and bravery. If you are wounded severely enough, you may be granted a pardon. If you distinguish yourself on the battlefield, you may be granted a pardon. Other than that, you will serve until the war ends or you are killed.”
The huge bay was completely silent as what the Colonel said sank into the men and women in formation.
“I will not tolerate any insubordination, lack of military bearing, or incompetence in my battalion. What you saw earlier was just a warning. The punishments will become more severe with each infraction. If you continue to be unable to meet the standards you will be placed in the brig and serve the rest of your sentences in mining prisons.”
Dieter knew what that meant. A slow and painful death as you were worked to death in the mines of some godforsaken planet.
“We are joining the Confederation fleet. You will be in battle in a matter of weeks. Make good use of that time or you will end up in a hole on some world you’ve never heard of. The men and women you see behind me and to my right and left will try to make you into soldiers before we enter battle. If you are smart, you will listen to them. If you are not, you will end up in the brig or sick bay. It is up to you.”
Colonel Coatl stood on the platform and stared out at the assembled men and women. He shook his head in disgust.
“That is all. Sergeants, take over. See what you can do with this shit.”
The platform slowly slid back into the deck, and the colonel and officers strode out of the hatches. The sergeants at the front of the bay spread out among the platoons. Dieter and his platoon stood at rigid attention, waiting to see who would be their platoon sergeant. The sergeants each carried a small bludgeon like the guards had carried. Some were already using them on members of their assigned platoon
s. Dieter tried to see which sergeant was assigned to them, but it was hard to tell. Several would descend on a platoon that was not in formation or had not stayed at attention. Bludgeons were used to drop those who were deemed not to be complying with orders.
Dieter had no idea what to do if they tried to bludgeon one of the members of his platoon. They had all sworn that if you attacked one, you attacked them all. In this instance it could end badly for all of them. Finally three of the sergeants approached the platoon. The biggest was the oldest. He had a grey crew cut and a long scar on his right cheek. He stood in front of the platoon for several moments as the other two circled their formation looking for a reason to punish someone.
They never touched anyone. They came back and stood next to the big sergeant in front of the platoon.
“Well?” the big sergeant said.
“Nothing,” one of the other sergeants said.
“They actually look fucking good,” the other added. “You got lucky, Striker. You saw the shit they stuck me with.”
The big sergeant said, “Thanks for the help. I got it from here.”
The other two walked away and began to scream at another platoon. The one they called Striker slowly walked around the platoon, inspecting the men and women.
“In your platoon formation with three squads. Any of you considered the squad leaders?”
Dieter hesitated, then stepped forward, followed by Ardan and Minga.
“Sir, we were squad leaders in boot camp and we decided to continue that way until we were told different,” Dieter said.
Striker walked up to the three. He towered over them all. He looked at each of them closely before he said, “Okay, we will leave it that way until I figure out something different. Now back in formation.”
Dieter and the others trotted back to their places. When they were at the heads of their squads, Striker said, “I am Staff Sergeant Striker. I will be your platoon sergeant from now on. I have been in the Von Fleet military for over twenty years. I have fought across the Confederation in every type of battle you can imagine. I have more combat experience than anyone you’ll ever meet. It is my job to teach you how to fight. You’ll learn or you will die very quickly in combat.”
Striker stood there, hands on his hips, he was watching the platoon closely trying to read their faces.
“Now, it looks like you can stand in formation. Let’s see if you can do anything else. Right face.”
The platoon turned as one and drove their boots into the deck. It was one sound.
“Forward march.”
Lyten System
Rift
Naval Officers’ Quarters
Lieutenant Zula Temesgen’s Quarters
Lieutenant Mai Netis crept out of the bunk, careful not to wake Zula Temesgen. He was sound asleep and she did not want to disturb him. They were both reporting to their ships in the morning, and this would be the last time they would have a chance to be together. Since Rift, they had spent as much time with one another as their duties would allow. He would report to his ship, the destroyer Polus. He was the captain, and after his performance on 703 there already was talk of him getting a bigger ship. She would report to the Tarawa as part of General Sand’s staff, the same as on 703. But this time things were very different. It was the reason she could not sleep.
Mai was a Xotoli hybrid embedded in the Confederation. She had been embedded over ten years. Her new orders were to kill General Sand. She was not supposed to get involved with humans, but she had begun to care for Zula.
Mai had found over the years that her human side had completely taken over, in spite of her Xotoli upbringing and training. She no longer considered herself a hybrid. She was just someone who had alien genes. She had never fit in as she grew up under the Xotoli. It had been hard to hide the fact she had never felt the way the other hybrid children had in her classes. Their love of violence and inbred hatred for humans had been obvious. She had always felt more human, but she had suppressed that side of herself through her years in the brutal Xotoli training. Her human mother, who had raised her for the first seven years of her life, had sat her down one day before she was scheduled to be taken from her for training and said, “Child, I know you are not like the others. You are more human than Xotoli. When they take you away from me for your training, you must hide your humanness. If you do not, the Xotoli will kill you. You are a strong and smart hybrid, but you must hide your human side. You must.”
Her human mother had been one of the Originals—one of the first children the Xotoli had kidnapped. She had been used to breed a number of times until the Xotoli began to raise embryos in vitro. Mai had been given to her human mother when she was just an infant. She no longer remembered her mother’s human name, only the number she was given as a child. Mai could not call her anything but her number. Calling her “mother” was punishable.
“But Twenty-Four, how…?”
“Shhh, child,” her human mother had said. “You must listen to me. Do not question. They have a plan to send certain chosen children back to the humans. You can be one of those chosen if you learn to use the two different sides of yourself. You must be Xotoli when needed, and as you will see in training, there will be times when you can use your human side. Do so and you stand a chance of being taken back as an embed. If you do not, you will die in training. You must learn. You must be able to take back my story and the stories of the other original human children. You can be our messenger to the human race. It is up to you.”
It was close to twenty years ago that Twenty-Four had said those words. Up to her. How could she possibly live up to that? She had been assigned to kill Admiral Raurk during the invasion. She had been embedded with another hybrid. The other hybrid had attempted the assignment and gotten killed. Instead of trying after the failure of the first hybrid, she had decided just to do her job in the EEOC and pass on information to the Xotolis. She did and was praised for her thinking. She was told to stay in place and that she would be of more use to them alive and embedded. So Mai had continued to serve two masters for the last year.
But now she had been ordered to assassinate General Sand. How could she not carry out her assignment and live? It was time to check for more messages. They came through regular email. The messages looked innocent and, if traced, would lead to a real person who was also an embed. Mai tapped her desk, and her email accounts were projected. There was one from “home.” She opened it and studied the message.
There was no code in the message. The message was the code. It was hidden in the body of the message, and if you knew the code you could see the outline of a large number. The number was two. It meant that she would have a partner during the assassination attempt. There was a second number two in the second paragraph. The second number meant that she would once again be the backup for the main assassin. She could not sit idly by and let the other hybrid kill General Sand. Not the way she felt now. She had to think of a way to stop them.
“Hey, Mai, what are you doing?” Zula said sleepily.
“Just checking my messages. I couldn’t sleep.”
“You should have woken me up. I can think of a better way to pass the time.”
Mai stood and faced him, nude in the soft lights of the dimmed overheads. “What in the world could we do?” she said, teasing.
“Get over here.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Mai slipped into the bunk with him and held him with all her strength, as if this were the last time she would ever hold him in her arms.
“Hey, babe, what’s wrong? You’re about to crush me.”
“Nothing. I was just thinking how long it will be before we get to do this again.”
“Let’s focus on the next few minutes. Nothing else matters.”
Mai kissed him and gave herself to him in a way she had never done before. It very well might be the last time they had a chance to make love.
Lyten System
Von Fleet Troopship VF 11213
135th Penal Battalion
3rd Company
First Platoon
“Goddamnit, Fenes! You’ve got to get your squad in position quicker than that or we are dead!” Striker screamed. “Once we make contact, you’ve got to get your squad on line with the rest of the platoon. You need to anticipate when to switch from covering fire to direct attack. Watch for my signal but learn to anticipate. I may be too busy trying to stay alive to give you orders. Now let’s do this again!”
Fenes turned and ran back up the hill, or at least his avatar did. The platoon were all sitting in a huge compartment, linked together in a virtual Chika landscape. They were all plugged in to a computer that recreated Chika. It also recreated the physical exertion of training. Despite being in the best shape of his life, Dieter was out of breath, and his legs ached as he climbed back into position on the only “high ground” on the barren landscape in his armor. They had been practicing infantry tactics all morning. The training ground was an exact 3D representation of Chika. It was flat, with escarpments and craters dotting the barren sandy landscape. On the plains where they were now positioned, there wasn’t a rock or crater to hide in as far as Fenes could see. The high ground was a sand berm a few feet above the flat plain.
“Fenes, relax. Let your armor do the work. You're still working too hard. Your vitals are off the charts for someone wearing full armor. All of you, relax and let the armor do the work. It takes time to get used to it, but unless you do, you’ll never make it in combat.”
Fenes did try to relax, but he still felt the weight of the armor. He struggled to reach the top of the berm. When he did, the rest of his squad spread out around him.
“Keep your intervals at seventy-five yards. You’re in armor. You can cover ground faster than without it, so you can spread out more. You bunch up, you become a target, so keep your distance. Okay, everyone return to the phase line and we will try this again.”