The Forever War Series

by Joe Haldeman

  Marygay and I were reading up at the recreation center one evening when we heard faint gunfire down by the road. We decided it’d be smart to get back to the house. We were less than halfway there when firing broke out all along our left, on a line that seemed to extend from the road to far past the recreation center: a coordinated attack. We had to abandon the bikes and crawl on hands and knees in the drainage ditch by the side of the road, bullets hissing over our heads. A heavy vehicle rumbled by, shooting left and right. It took a good twenty minutes to crawl home. We passed two farmhouses that were burning brightly. I was glad ours didn’t have any wood.

  I noticed there was no return fire coming from our tower, but didn’t say anything. There were two dead strangers in front of the house as we rushed inside.

  April was lying on the floor, still alive but bleeding from a hundred tiny fragment wounds. The living room was rubble and dust; someone must have thrown a bomb through a door or window. I left Marygay with her mother and ran out back to the tower. The ladder was pulled up, so I had to shinny up one of the stilts.

  Richard was sitting slumped over the rifle. In the pale green glow from the scope I could see a perfectly round hole above his left eye. A little blood had trickled down the bridge of his nose and dried.

  I laid his body on the floor and covered his head with my shirt. I filled my pockets with clips and took the rifle back to the house.

  Marygay had tried to make her mother comfortable. They were talking quietly. She was holding my shotgun-pistol and had another gun on the floor beside her. When I came in she looked up and nodded soberly, not crying.

  April whispered something and Marygay asked, ‘Mother wants to know whether … Daddy had a hard time of it. She knows he’s dead.’

  ‘No. I’m sure he didn’t feel anything.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘It’s something.’ I should keep my mouth shut. ‘It is good, yes.’

  I checked the doors and windows for an effective vantage point. I couldn’t find anyplace that wouldn’t allow a whole platoon to sneak up behind me.

  ‘I’m going to go outside and get on top of the house.’ Couldn’t go back to the tower. ‘Don’t you shoot unless somebody gets inside … maybe they’ll think the place is deserted.’

  By the time I had clambered up to the sod roof, the heavy truck was coming back down the road. Through the scope I could see that there were five men on it, four in the cab and one who was on the open bed, cradling a machine gun, surrounded by loot. He was crouched between two refrigerators, but I had a clear shot at him. Held my fire, not wanting to draw attention. The truck stopped in front of the house, sat for a minute, and turned in. The window was probably bulletproof, but I sighted on the driver’s face and squeezed off a round. He jumped as it ricocheted, whining, leaving an opaque star on the plastic, and the man in back opened up. A steady stream of bullets hummed over my head; I could see them thumping into the sandbags of the tower. He didn’t see me.

  The truck wasn’t ten meters away when the shooting stopped. He was evidently reloading, hidden behind the refrigerator. I took careful aim and when he popped up to fire I shot him in the throat. The bullet being a tumbler, it exited through the top of his skull.

  The driver pulled the truck around in a long arc so that, when it stopped, the door to the cab was flush with the door of the house. This protected them from the tower and also from me, though I doubted they yet knew where I was; a T-16 makes no flash and very little noise. I kicked off my shoes and stepped cautiously onto the top of the cab, hoping the driver would get out on his side. Once the door opened I could fill the cab with ricocheting bullets.

  No good. The far door, hidden from me by the roof’s overhang, opened first. I waited for the driver and hoped that Marygay was well hidden. I shouldn’t have worried.

  There was a deafening roar, then another and another. The heavy truck rocked with the impact of thousands of tiny flechettes. One short scream that the second shot ended.

  I jumped from the truck and ran around to the back door. Marygay had her mother’s head on her lap, and someone was crying softly. I went to them and Marygay’s cheeks were dry under my palms.

  ‘Good work, dear.’

  She didn’t say anything. There was a steady heavy dripping sound from the door and the air was acrid with smoke and the smell of fresh meat. We huddled together until dawn.

  I had thought April was sleeping, but in the dim light her eyes were wide open and filmed. Her breath came in shallow rasps. Her skin was gray parchment and dried blood. She didn’t answer when we talked to her.

  A vehicle was coming up the road, so I took the rifle and went outside. It was a dump truck with a white sheet draped over one side and a man standing in the back with a megaphone repeating, ‘Wounded … wounded.’ I waved and the truck came in. They took April out on a makeshift litter and told us which hospital they were going to. We wanted to go along but there was simply no room; the bed of the truck was covered with people in various stages of disrepair.

  Marygay didn’t want to go back inside because it was getting light enough to see the men she had killed so completely. I went back in to get some cigarettes and forced myself to look. It was messy enough, but just didn’t disturb me that much. That bothered me, to be confronted with a pile of human hamburger and mainly notice the flies and ants and smell. Death is so much neater in space.

  We buried her father behind the house, and when the truck came back with April’s small body wrapped in a shroud, we buried her beside him. The commune’s sanitation truck came by a little later, and gas-masked men took care of the jumpers’ bodies.

  We sat in the baking sun, and finally Marygay wept, for a long time, silently.

  11

  We got off the plane at Dulles and found a monorail to Columbia.

  It was a pleasingly diverse jumble of various kinds of buildings, arranged around a lake, surrounded by trees. All of the buildings were connected by slidewalk to the largest place, a fullerdome with stores and schools and offices.

  We could have taken the enclosed slidewalk to Mom’s place, but instead walked alongside it in the good cold air that smelled of fallen leaves. People slid by on the other side of the plastic, carefully not staring.

  Mom didn’t answer her door, but she’d given me an entry card. Mom was asleep in the bedroom, so Marygay and I settled in the living room and read for a while.

  We were startled suddenly by a loud fit of coughing from the bedroom. I raced over and knocked on the door.

  ‘William? I didn’t—’ coughing ‘—come in, I didn’t know you were …’

  She was propped up in bed, the light on, surrounded by various nostrums. She looked ghastly, pale and lined.

  She lit a joint and it seemed to quell the coughing. ‘When did you get in? I didn’t know …’

  ‘Just a few minutes ago … How long has this … have you been …’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a bug I picked up after Rhonda went to see her kids. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.’ She started coughing again, drank some thick red liquid from a bottle. All of her medicines seemed to be the commercial, patent variety.

  ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

  ‘Doctor? Heavens no, Willy. They don’t have … it’s not serious … don’t—’

  ‘Not serious?’ At eighty-four. ‘For Chrissake, mother.’ I went to the phone in the kitchen and with some difficulty managed to get the hospital.

  A plain girl in her twenties formed in the cube. ‘Nurse Donalson, general services.’ She had a fixed smile, professional sincerity. But then everybody smiled.

  ‘My mother needs to be looked at by a doctor. She has a—’

  ‘Name and number, please.’

  ‘Beth Mandella.’ I spelled it. ‘What number?’

  ‘Medical services number, of course,’ she smiled.

  I called into Mom and asked her what her number was. ‘She says she can’t remember.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir,
I’m sure I can find her records.’ She turned her smile to a keyboard beside her and punched out a code.

  ‘Beth Mandella?’ she said, her smile turning quizzical. ‘You’re her son? She must be in her eighties.’

  ‘Please. It’s a long story. She really has to see a doctor.’

  ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Strangled coughing from the other room, the worst yet. ‘Really — this might be very serious, you’ve got to—’

  ‘But sir, Mrs Mandella got a zero priority rating way back in 2010.’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘S-i-r …’ The smile was hardening in place.

  ‘Look. Pretend that I came from another planet. What is a “zero priority rating”?’

  ‘Another — oh! I know you!’ She looked off to the left. ‘Sonya — come over here a second. You’d never guess who …’ Another face crowded the cube, a vapid blonde girl whose smile was twin to the other nurse’s. ‘Remember? On the stat this morning?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ she said. ‘One of the soldiers — hey, that’s really max, really max.’ The head withdrew.

  ‘Oh, Mr Mandella,’ she said, effusive. ‘No wonder you’re confused. It’s really very simple.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s part of the Universal Medical Security System. Everybody gets a rating on their seventieth birthday. It comes in automatically from Geneva.’

  ‘What does it rate? What does it mean?’ But the ugly truth was obvious.

  ‘Well, it tells how important a person is and what level of treatment he’s allowed. Class three is the same as anybody else’s; class two is the same except for certain life-extending—’

  ‘And class zero is no treatment at all.’

  ‘That’s correct, Mr Mandella.’ And in her smile was not a glimmer of pity or understanding.

  ‘Thank you.’ I disconnected. Marygay was standing behind me, crying soundlessly with her mouth wide open.

  I found mountaineer’s oxygen at a sporting goods store and even managed to get some black-market antibiotics through a character in a bar downtown in Washington. But Mom was beyond being able to respond to amateur treatment. She lived four days. The people from the crematorium had the same fixed smile.

  I tried to get through to my brother, Mike, on the Moon, but the phone company wouldn’t let me place the call until I had signed a contract and posted a $25,000 bond. I had to get a credit transfer from Geneva. The paperwork took half a day.

  I finally got through to him. Without preamble:

  ‘Mother’s dead.’

  For a fraction of a second, the radio waves wandered up to the Moon, and in another fraction, came back. He started and then nodded his head slowly. ‘No surprise. Every time I’ve come down to Earth the past ten years, I’ve wondered whether she’d still be there. Neither of us had enough money to keep in very close touch.’ He had told us in Geneva that a letter from Luna to Earth cost $100 postage — plus $5,000 tax. It discouraged communication with what the UN considered to be a bunch of regrettably necessary anarchists.

  We commiserated for a while and then Mike said, ‘Willy, Earth is no place for you and Marygay; you know that by now. Come to Luna. Where you can still be an individual. Where we don’t throw people out the airlock on their seventieth birthday.’

  ‘We’d have to rejoin UNEF.’

  ‘True, but you wouldn’t have to fight. They say they need you more for training. You could study in your spare time, bring your physics up to date — maybe wind up eventually in research.’

  We talked some more, a total of three minutes. I got $1000 back.

  Marygay and I talked about it through the night. Maybe our decision would have been different if we hadn’t been staying there, surrounded by Mother’s life and death, but when the dawn came the proud, ambitious, careful beauty of Columbia had turned sinister and foreboding.

  We packed our bags and had our money transferred to the Tycho Credit Union and took a monorail to the Cape.

  ‘In case you’re interested, you aren’t the first combat veterans to come back.’ The recruiting officer was a muscular lieutenant of indeterminate sex. I flipped a coin mentally and it came up tails.

  ‘Last I heard, there had been nine others,’ she said in her husky tenor. ‘All of them opted for the Moon … maybe you’ll find some of your friends there.’ She slid two simple forms across the desk. ‘Sign these and you’re in again. Second lieutenants.’

  The form was a simple request to be assigned to active duty; we had never really gotten out of the Force, since they extended the draft law, but had just been on inactive status. I scrutinized the paper.

  ‘There’s nothing on this about the guarantees we were given at Stargate.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant.’ I handed back the form. So did Marygay.

  ‘Let me check.’ She left the desk and disappeared into an office. After a while we heard a printer rattle.

  She brought back the same two sheets, with an addition typed under our names: GUARANTEED LOCATION OF CHOICE [LUNA] AND ASSIGNMENT OF CHOICE [COMBAT TRAINING SPECIALIST].

  We got a thorough physical checkup and were fitted for new fighting suits, made our financial arrangements, and caught the next morning’s shuttle. We laid over at Earth-port, enjoying zero gravity for a few hours, and then caught a ride to Luna, setting down at the Grimaldi base.

  On the door to the Transient Officers’ Billet, some wag had scraped ‘abandon hope all ye who enter.’ We found our two-man cubicle and began changing for chow.

  Two raps on the door. ‘Mail call, sirs.’

  I opened the door and the sergeant standing there saluted. I just looked at him for a second and then remembered I was an officer and returned the salute. He handed me two identical faxes. I gave one to Marygay and we both gasped at the same time:

  * *ORDERS * * ORDERS * * ORDERS

  THE FOLLOWING NAMED PERSONNEL:

  Mandella, William 2LT [11 575 278] COCOMM D Co

  GRITRABN

  AND

  Potter, Marygay 2LT [17 386 907] COCOMM B Co

  GRITRABN ARE HEREBY REASSIGNED TO:

  LT Mandella: PLCOMM 2 PL STFTHET STARGATE

  LT Potter: PLCOMM 3 PL STFTHET STARGATE.

  DESCRIPTION OF DUTIES:

  Command infantry platoon in Tet-2 Campaign.

  THE ABOVE NAMED PERSONNEL WILL REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO GRIMALDI TRANSPORTATION BATTALION TO BE MANIFESTED TO STARGATE.

  ISSUED STARGATE TACBD/1298-8684-1450/20 AUG 2019 SG:

  BY AUTHO STFCOM Commander.

  * *ORDERS * * ORDERS * * ORDERS

  ‘They didn’t waste any time, did they?’ Marygay said bitterly.

  ‘Must be a standing order. Strike Force Command’s light weeks away; they can’t even know we’ve re-upped yet.’

  ‘What about our …’ She let it trail off.

  ‘The guarantee. Well, we were given our assignment of choice. Nobody guaranteed we’d have the assignment for more than an hour.’

  ‘It’s so dirty.’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s so army.’

  But I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were going home.

  Lieutenant

  Mandella

  2024—2389 AD

  ‘Quick and dirty.’ I was looking at my platoon sergeant, Santesteban, but talking to myself. And anybody else who was listening.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Gotta do it in the first coupla minutes or we’re screwed tight.’ He was matter-of-fact, laconic. Drugged.

  Private Collins came up with Halliday. They were holding hands unself-consciously. ‘Lieutenant Mandella?’ Her voice broke a little. ‘Can we have just a minute?’

  ‘One minute,’ I said, too abruptly. ‘We have to leave in five. I’m sorry.’

  Hard to watch those two together now. Neither one had any combat experience. But they knew what everybody did; how slim their chances were of ever being together again. They slumped in a
corner and mumbled words and traded mechanical caresses, no passion or even comfort. Collins’s eyes shone but she wasn’t weeping. Halliday just looked grim, numb. She was normally by far the prettier of the two, but the sparkle had gone out of her and left a well-formed dull shell.

  I’d gotten used to open female homosex in the months since we’d left Earth. Even stopped resenting the loss of potential partners. The men together still gave me a chill, though.

  I stripped and backed into the clamshelled suit. The new ones were a hell of a lot more complicated, with all the new biometrics and trauma maintenance. But well worth the trouble of hooking up, in case you got blown apart just a little bit. Go home to a comfortable pension with heroic prosthesis. They were even talking about the possibility of regeneration, at least for missing arms and legs. Better get it soon, before Heaven filled up with fractional people. Heaven was the new hospital/rest-and-recreation planet.

  I finished the set-up sequence and the suit closed by itself. Gritted my teeth against the pain that never came, when the internal sensors and fluid tubes poked into your body. Conditioned neural bypass, so you felt only a slight puzzling dislocation. Rather than the death of a thousand cuts.

  Collins and Halliday were getting into their suits now and the other dozen were almost set, so I stepped over to the third platoon’s staging area. Say goodbye again to Marygay.

  She was suited and heading my way. We touched helmets instead of using the radio. Privacy.

  ‘Feeling OK, honey?’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Took my pill.’

  ‘Yeah, happy times.’ I’d taken mine too, supposed to make you feel optimistic without interfering with your sense of judgment. I knew most of us would probably die, but I didn’t feel too bad about it. ‘Sack with me tonight?’

  ‘If we’re both here,’ she said neutrally. ‘Have to take a pill for that, too.’ She tried to laugh. ‘Sleep, I mean. How’re the new people taking it? You have ten?’