This Is How You Die

by Matthew Bennardo

  “Just you?” I asked, reading between his lines. “What does the rest of our NIC detachment believe?”

  Dallas shrugged. “The admiral is letting me pursue my hunch.”

  “Your hunch?” exclaimed PFC Winders [FLAMING CHAIR 04-May-2178 19:38.hrs ^.54]. “We’re risking our lives—”

  Dallas raised his hand to interrupt. “That was the wrong word. I can’t explain much of what I do or how I do it, but…” He looked up in thought for a moment. “I look at the big picture of the war, the small skirmishes, the percentages and TODs for sure, but also the causes. I grab as much info as possible that’s even remotely connected with this platoon, and then pore through it, rearrange it, and study it all until something makes sense. It’s like putting together a huge jigsaw puzzle that has no corners, straight edges, or box art. And it’s a picture of a polar bear in a blizzard.” He leaned forward. Unconsciously, the entire table leaned in and waited. “I’ll admit the final hours before a mission are a bit hectic, but at some point the fog burns off and I see a clear path. The plan solidifies, and you guys make it happen. We’ve done pretty good so far, right?”

  “Yeah, so far,” said Sergeant Higgins [SHARD OF GLASS 04-May-2178 19:38.hrs ^.54] from two seats down.

  “My favorite is still what was arranged for Moeller,” said Sergeant Zhang [CONCRETE 04-May-2178 19:38.hrs ^.54], sitting next to me. “I hope my death has that much honor.”

  “Ah, you liked that, did you?” Dallas asked. “That was one of mine. It was a good plan to get past the large kill zone around the anti-spacecraft guns.”

  Specialist Collins [STYLUS THROUGH EYE 04-May-2178 19:38.hrs ^.54] snorted derisively. “It was just luck, not planning.”

  Lieutenant Dallas cocked his head. “Not by a long shot, but I guess you’ll just have to trust I know what I’m doing.” He stood, threw us a casual salute, and left the mess hall. “Take care, men.”

  We stared at each other, motionless and silent. Collins spoke up first. “What a crock. We’re just toys for the regiment to play with,” he said, getting mad. “We’re expendable. Our TODs just give them an excuse to do what they want.”

  “It’s not like that,” I replied. “You heard the lieutenant. There’s a lot of planning—”

  “Yeah, right,” Collins interrupted. “That’s just what they say. Remember Zweig? It’s all a coincidence. It’s all crap!” He slammed his palm on the table. “If they’d told me before I applied that they’d tell me how long I had left—”

  “What, you would have said no?” I countered. “And of course it has to be a secret. You want to tell the galaxy that the navy can get a TOD off the Death Machine? That wouldn’t cause mass panic and destruction, oh no.” His idiocy was getting me upset, and I tried to calm down. “Remember your history classes? Remember all the chaos and wars when we first discovered the Death Machine?”

  “That’s… that’s different!” Collins blustered. “That was over a hundred years ago! People wouldn’t be like that now.”

  I sat back in my chair and sighed. “Really? And why are we at war right now? Why did the colonists break away? Mandatory DM tests. Yeah, humans are completely different now.”

  “Maybe the lieutenant should join us on one of his perfectly planned missions, then. See if that changes his tune. Or just send all Invincibles, all the time!”

  One of the new PFCs, Specialist Rocher [COMPRESSION 04-May-2178 19:38.hrs ^.54], raised a hesitant hand. “Platoon Sergeant? Um, why don’t we just send Invincibles on all the missions? Why use Ephemerals at all?”

  “Good question, Private.” Holding up a hand, I counted off a finger. “Missions using only Invincibles have a thirty-five percent success rate. Sometimes the only way to complete an objective is to trade lives for it. Ephemerals succeed ninety-five percent of the time.

  “Two, it never worked in the past to mix Invincible and Ephemerals below company strength, and it wouldn’t work now.

  “Three, the lieutenant won’t have a glorious, honorable death like we will. He, I hate to say, is a Lucky Bastard.”

  Collins crossed his arms in disgruntled silence.

  “Why is the lieutenant lucky?” asked Corporal Tildon [4TH DEGREE BURNS 04-May-2178 19:38.hrs ^.54].

  A grin spread across my face. “Because Lieutenant Dallas’s lucky Death Machine prediction is sex.”

  “Bastard,” said Corporal Smythe [BROKEN ARMOR 04-May-2178 19:38.hrs ^.54].

  “If you don’t mind, Sergeant,” continued Corporal Tildon, “what’s your Death Machine prediction?”

  I snorted. “The slip of paper said ‘ZEPHYR.’ Apparently, a gentle breeze is gonna take me out.” I waved a hand at the sniggering. “Sure, laugh. Just wait till I break that wind.”

  The table erupted in laughter. I let it go for a bit, then stood up to address the table. “All right, listen up. We’ve got, at most, six months left in this universe. If we keep our heads clear and focused, we all might make it to our May Day. A TOD cluster is exceptionally rare, and I truly believe our NIC pals are going to seize the opportunity with both hands. Whatever is coming, it’s going to be big.” Determination began to replace their grim looks. “Or would you rather be like the rest of mankind, clueless and doomed to die with no purpose, no meaning?”

  “No!” they cried in unison.

  “We don’t know how it’ll end,” I continued, “but our mission now is to make sure we get to the party.”

  I left the table and the mess hall, but I didn’t go to my bunk. Instead, I headed aft to officer country. Just outside of a wardroom I found Lieutenant Dallas talking with Captain Aerols [ZIPSEAL 11-Sep-2227 14:03.hrs ^.09]. I caught his attention, then stood at parade rest until the lieutenant excused himself.

  “What’s up, Sergeant?” Dallas asked.

  “Sir, the May Day mission—is there really no plan?”

  “Sergeant, of course I would tell you if I knew anything concrete, but—”

  “Stow it, John,” I whispered. “What’s going on?”

  His eyes darted around to make sure we were alone. “I’m telling you, we don’t know. But”—he leaned close—“trends really are pointing to an early end to the war. We have the initiative and momentum now, and I personally believe that a few key victories will carry the day.”

  “And you think May Day will be one of those?”

  “I’m certain of it.”

  I gave him a disgruntled look. “You said ‘hunch’ at a table full of Ephemerals.”

  “I know, I know,” he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I had just come from a briefing with Command.”

  “John, these guys are—”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Dallas said loudly as a group of officers rounded a corner of the corridor.

  “Sir!” I saluted and marched away.

  Through heroic efforts, the navy pushed the breakaway colonies back to their home planets. Once contained, each colony in turn dropped its arms through force or surrender, until only the Torvoros colony on Solstice stood alone. It was the colony farthest from Earth, but it was also the largest, with the biggest army the breakaways had yet amassed. And they weren’t going to quit unless they were stopped.

  Hundreds of ships, most of the fleet, circled Solstice. Across the planet, Naval Command had gained beachheads for the bulk of our forces and was pouring troops in. The Vanguard Regiment, for the first time ever, put all five of its battalion carriers in orbit around the same planet and was dropping us in all over the place, wherever we were most needed.

  Lieutenant Dallas had continued to transfer men in and out of the May Day platoon until all our percentage curves were identical and our TODs were within minutes of each other. All through April we dropped, extracted, and dropped again into the most intense fighting I’d ever seen. We kept our cool and took precautions, but we lost one May Day Ephemeral anyway: Sergeant Bolivar [HEMORRHAGE 04-May-2178 19:36.hrs ^.54].

  Finally, the fourth of May arrived, and I’ll admit I was glad for it: the worry w
as exhausting. Under cover of night, we were to drop from orbit deep behind enemy lines, far from any support, with no chance of being extracted. Our target was their central defense headquarters, where the bulk of their intelligence officers and upper leadership ran the war, a giant complex in the basement of a nuclear-hardened fortress that the navy couldn’t destroy from orbit.

  The evening of the fourth found me and the rest of the May Day platoon strapped into seats and jostling around in a Rhino as it broke through the stratosphere above Solstice. We were dropping onto the planet’s night side, engines off, gliding ballistic. Decoy debris fired from cruisers in deep orbit screamed by all around us, making it difficult for anyone to target and shoot us down.

  At eight hundred meters altitude, the Rhino flared into level flight, banking to dodge the decoy debris still plummeting down, lighting engines to skim us over the terrain below.

  Exactly at 1929 hours, a red light came on near the hatch. “Squads to the door,” I called out over the PlatCom. The men unstrapped and shuffled to the hatch, bracing themselves against the Rhino’s bucking. As the transport roared into a hover mere meters off the ground, I hit the release pad.

  We jumped out, hit the ground rolling, and popped up firing. We’d landed inside a large courtyard next to the main computer building. The Rhino had dropped us perfectly, right in the middle of the Defense Network compound, with all of the enemy’s big guns pointed outside.

  But we didn’t have long. A few potshots were already coming from nearby buildings. We returned fire. An alarm dinged in my helmet as a platoon member’s blue blip went black. We had already lost PFC Travers [STANDING 04-May-2178 19:36.hrs ^.54]. We had to move.

  “Make me a hole!” I shouted, and Second Squad sent a rocket, blowing an entrance in the wall of the main building. “Get inside!” I yelled. “Fifth Squad, covering fire!”

  The platoon swarmed the hole. Bringing up the rear, I heard a loud metallic pok. My feet were suddenly swimming in empty air, and I slammed into the ground. Lifting my head, I saw a jagged hole in my right leg armor. Then came a wave of excruciating pain.

  Two soldiers darted back to pick me up and carry me toward the hole. “Put me down and get in there!” I ordered. They propped me up next to the entrance, shielding me behind a large pile of rubble. I waved them off as shots ricocheted off plasteel and concrete all around, chasing them into the building.

  I now had four squads through the hole. Fifth Squad was fighting their way into the surrounding structures. I was immobile and alone.

  Gritting my teeth against the pain, I sat up, scooted my back against the wall, and propped my rifle on a chunk of debris. After a few deep breaths, I expanded the map screen in my helmet to see what was happening.

  The first thing I saw was a dozen black blips all around my position, where platoon members had died either securing the courtyard or assaulting the hole. An explosion and heavy gunfire corresponded with seven blips turning black, three inside and four in the outer defenses. Most of the remaining blips were blinking yellow.

  The clock turned 1937. All my remaining blue blips turned yellow. Fifth Squad, still on the surface, dwindled down to one as the enemy got over their surprise and organized themselves.

  Inside, the rest of the platoon had made it to the basement, but according to the floor plan now unfolding on my map, it was a convoluted nightmare of intersecting corridors. A mass of red blips appeared, and the five leading blues went black instantly. After a few seconds, the red blips disappeared, killed where they stood, and the blue blips continued forward. Over and over, they were picked off at intersections, but the main body surged on. The PlatCom was an overlapping torrent of curses and commands.

  An explosion rumbled deep underground. Half my blinking lights went dark. Still the rest pushed through.

  The clock turned 1938 as the remaining blips finally reached the deepest bunker. Gunfire and static filled the PlatCom. I couldn’t tell what was happening.

  I jerked my head up as a squad of enemy soldiers scrambled across the courtyard. I could have easily shot three or four, but they hadn’t yet noticed me propped up behind the rubble. So I kept still and waited. A torrent of gunfire from their direction turned the last blip of Fifth Squad black.

  Then all was silent. Through the hiss of static, a faint voice from the PlatCom whispered in my ear. It was Collins.

  “Charges set. It’s been an honor.”

  This was it.

  The last eight blinking yellow blips had found the bottom of the basement maze. Up top, the enemy squad were massing around the hole, their backs to me.

  I minimized the map and picked up my rifle. As I took aim, my mind flashed to the memory of sitting in the mess hall with the May Day platoon and a grinning Lieutenant Dallas.

  I held down the trigger as the enemy headquarters erupted in fire. What had been darkness became brilliant yellow light as I was engulfed in heat and pain, flying through the air, everybody gone in that instant of glory.

  My last thought before I sank into the black was about my zephyr. Gentle breeze, my ass!

  It was quiet when I awoke in the predawn light, covered in rubble, in agony, and with my armor’s power cell burst. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Twisting my arm, I reached the emergency eject switch to pop the armor’s joints. I drew my arms into the chest cavity and heaved against the breastplate until it unseated itself and dropped off to the side. Gasping from the exertion, I was able to sit up out of the torso, but I couldn’t slide my legs out. The pain was too intense.

  A few moments passed while I considered my options, and then a beautiful sound swelled my heart. It was the thin, slicing whine of a Rhino troopship shooting overhead to touch down nearby. I lay back and waited.

  Crunching footsteps brought Lieutenant Dallas wearing light armor into view. He stopped and gazed down at me.

  “Hey, John,” I said as casually as I could.

  “Sergeant Barrows,” he said in an odd tone, “you’re supposed to be dead.” He searched the skies. “What, no zephyrs around?”

  Before I could think of a witty reply, he crouched, drew a small pistol, put it against my chest, and pulled the trigger.

  When I woke, I wasn’t dirtside but in the familiar surroundings of a navy vessel. I tried to move, but there were tubes in me. A life-support machine made a comfortingly steady beep. I looked over to see Lieutenant John Dallas sitting next to my bed.

  “Look at that,” he said with a relieved smile. “My big brother is awake.”

  “You shot me,” I said. I tried to glare, but my grin ruined it.

  John rolled his eyes. “With a sedative, you baby. Made it easier to smuggle you out in a body bag.”

  “And you smuggled me to where?”

  “This is the NSS Hopkins. Hospital ship. The records show Platoon Sergeant Barrows as KIA, and your Ephemerals rotation is officially over.” He threw his arms wide. “Congratulations, you are once again Captain William Dallas, Invincibles Battalion of the Vanguard Regiment.”

  I exhaled deeply. It felt good knowing I could stop acting, but then I thought about my former audience. “And my platoon?”

  “Took out nearly the entire high command and the planetary defense system. With our ships in total control over their airspace, the remaining leadership capitulated almost immediately. The war is over, Will. The May Day platoon saved a lot of lives.”

  “All of them?”

  “All of them had their Turn in the noblest tradition.”

  I nodded, trying to be happy that their deaths had meant something, but all I could think about was my map screen filled with flashing yellow blips turning black one by one.

  John eyed me carefully. “How are you doing?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

  “I’ll be all right,” I answered. “These undercover stints in the Ephemerals get harder each time.”

  John would never fully understand, but we had talked enough about my three previous tours that he could empathiz
e. “It’s the only way to have the effectiveness of a mixed unit,” he said softly. “So many troubles in the beginning, when Ephemerals knew there was an Invincible in their midst; the jealousy, the rock-bottom morale, the—”

  “Yeah, I know,” I interrupted. “And it caused a lot of early Ephemeral deaths. It’s just… I became close with them. I’ve lost four or five men on a mission before, but never all my men at once.” I took a deep breath. “It’s just hard, all right?”

  John nodded. “It’s brutal. But it’s worth it. Ephemeral platoons have an overwhelmingly high success rate only because of the secret Invincible soldier to guide them, push them, and keep them alive. And”—he held out a hand to stop me from interrupting—“this gives us the best chance to make each Ephemeral death mean something. A sacred use of their precious lives.” John relaxed into his chair. “Like I’ve always said, Will, everyone at the Vanguard NIC takes this very, very seriously.”

  I nodded, too weary to do anything else. The loss of my friends was tough, but my eyes welled up thinking how wrong Collins was about the regiment. It truly cared for its own, all of them, and considered each of their lives valuable. Not, as he thought, trash to be thrown away.

  “What’s my next posting?” I asked when I had blinked away the tears.

  “The NSS Parker,” John said with a grin. “The largest and most comfortable battalion carrier in the regiment.” He sat back and propped his feet on my bed. “And your two-bedroom officer suite—did I mention it has a huge common room? With a galley, even! And a little brother for a roommate!”

  His smile was infectious, and I shook my head. “Johnny, just how long are you going to follow me around the fleet?”

  “Thirty-four years, four months, eighteen days, and change,” John said with determination. “Then when a zephyr finally blows you gently away, I’ll muster out of the navy, get a condo on Mars, and be sad. But don’t you worry about me. I’ll be celebrating your life for up to three years after that.”