Ragnarok-ARC

by Patrick A. Vanner

  The Old Man had just given them a positive review for the field evolution they had been on for the past two weeks. Even better, he had granted them a seventy-two-hour liberty. Not including the rest of today, they had three full days to do as they wanted, with nothing to worry about until Monday morning.

  Better yet, he had been ordered to accompany the headquarters platoon on their return to the base last night to service and secure the classified equipment he and his fellow Intel specialists had used during the exercise. So he had already squared away his gear and had had the chance to clean up.

  Laughing and joking along with the rest of his friends, he filed into the barracks, heading for his room. Though he had returned last night, it had been late when he had arrived, and the maintenance on the comms and encryption equipment had taken most of the remainder of the night. Feeling the lack of sleep catching up with him now that he had no pressing duties, Alan lay back on his bunk and relaxed.

  Awakened by a pounding on his door, Alan swung his still-booted feet onto the floor and answered it. Opening the door, he was surprised to see the company gunnery sergeant standing there.

  "Gunny Bliss?" Still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, he tried to think of a reason for the company gunny to be standing in front of him.

  "Good evening, Lance Corporal Lewis," Gunny Bliss started off with an overly friendly smile and tone that had Alan instantly wary. "Sorry to wake you, but the captain would like a word with you."

  Captain Bellefontaine, company commander of First Company, was a man you did not want to get on the wrong side of, and lance corporals were normally not summoned into his presence unless they were on the wrong side of something.

  "Me, Gunny?"

  "Yes, you. Now, come on." Gunny Bliss put his hand on Alan's shoulder and practically dragged him out of his room and into the passageway.

  "Am I in trouble?" Not wanting to sound as if he had a guilty conscience, he tried to keep the question in, but he blurted it out as they walked. The passageway was eerily silent. The rest of the barracks' residents, having been released for a long weekend, had apparently vacated the building without delay.

  "Did you do something wrong?"

  "No, Gunny."

  "Then you're not in trouble." The gunny's simple logic did nothing to quell the uneasiness churning Alan's stomach.

  Finally, they reached the company commander's office. Gunny Bliss walked directly in, telling Alan to wait outside. Several minutes later, Lieutenant Marshall, his platoon commander, arrived, pausing in front of him.

  "Lance Corporal Lewis, why am I not surprised to see you here?" Lieutenant Marshall grinned at him. "Wrong place and wrong time yet again, and this time it's going to cost you." Patting him on the shoulder, she stepped past him, knocked once on the door, then walked into the captain's office, closing the door behind her and leaving Alan alone with his thoughts once again.

  Alan Lewis swallowed hard. He wanted to pretend that he didn't know what the lieutenant had been talking about, but that wasn't possible.

  For some reason, whenever something really interesting or spectacularly unlikely was taking place, he could be found in close proximity. Most of these occurrences weren't bad things, and a majority of them weren't his fault; he just seemed to be a magnet for unusual circumstances.

  Gunny Bliss suddenly appeared, beckoning him to enter the captain's office. Stepping forward, he felt the gunny's hand on his shoulder again, guiding him toward a position directly in front of Captain Bellefontaine's desk.

  The captain's office was like any other military office to be found on the base, with awards and commendations decorating the drab-colored walls, a file cabinet in the corner, and several chairs in various locations. The desk was unadorned and functional, the paperwork and data pads stacked neatly on its surface illuminated by the holo display built into the desk top.

  Seeing Captain Bellefontaine seated behind his desk, flanked on one side by Lieutenant Marshall and on the other by Battalion Sergeant Major Tiwari, the uneasiness in his stomach increased tenfold. If it had not been for Gunny Bliss behind him, Alan would have stopped dead in his tracks. As it was, the gunny's presence forced him to keep moving, leaving him standing before the captain.

  "Lance Corporal Lewis, reporting as ordered, sir!" Alan half shouted, nerves getting the better of him.

  "At ease, Lewis. Relax—we're not on the parade field." Smiling, the captain took any possible sting out of his response. "Please, have a seat. I wanted to have a word with you."

  Alan looked around behind him and saw a chair; he didn't remember seeing it on his way into the office, but then again, his eyes had been locked on the two men and woman behind the desk. Keeping his back ramrod straight, feet together, and hands resting on his thighs, Alan sat at attention. The two officers and two senior NCOs seemed to approve of this, as all of them had a small smile on their lips.

  "Lewis, I've just had a short conversation with Lieutenant Marshall about you."

  "Yes, sir?" Alan said, not knowing what else to say but not wanting to just sit there staring at the captain.

  "Yes, and from what she has said, and from what I have read in your file, it is apparent to me that you are one outstanding marine. That being the case, I need your help."

  "My help, sir?"

  "Correct." Still smiling at him, Captain Bellefontaine explained the situation. "As you may or may not be aware, Corporal Veach of Second Platoon was scheduled to rotate out tomorrow for Recon School. His unfortunate accident yesterday will keep him out of action for at least a week as the QuickKnit takes care of his broken leg. That kills his chance of making this evolution, as class starts 0500 sharp, Saturday morning."

  "Saturday?" Alan asked without thinking, then flushed scarlet, realizing that he had just interrupted the captain. Not seeming to mind the interruption, Bellefontaine answered.

  "Yeah, Saturday. Don't ask me why—I haven't been able to figure that one out."

  "If I may, sir?" Sergeant Major Tiwari interjected.

  "Of course, Sergeant Major."

  "It's simple, sir. Classes start first thing Saturday mornings so the instructors can be sure to have students that are not hungover. Everyone reports in on Friday and is confined to barracks for the evening, no exceptions. If we started first thing Monday, you'd have students who were out all weekend celebrating with their friends and in no shape to begin training right away." His explanation finished, the short NCO leaned back against the wall, folding his arms.

  "How disappointingly logical," chuckled Gunny Bliss. "And here I was hoping for some big secret." Everyone laughed at this. Even Alan managed a weak chuckle.

  "As I was saying," Captain Bellefontaine continued after everyone had settled back down, "the colonel wants Veach's slot filled, and he wants it filled tonight. If we don't, Third Battalion may not get one next time. So, after speaking with Lieutenant Marshall, Sergeant Major Tiwari, and Gunny Bliss, I've decided you're the man for the job. Interested?"

  Alan could do nothing but stare at the captain.

  "Time is short, Lewis. I kind of need your answer now," Bellefontaine prompted him.

  "Me, sir?"

  "Yes, you," the captain said patiently, realizing that he may have overwhelmed the marine sitting in front of him. "I can't order you to take this, so it's up to you to decide whether you think you have what it takes to go Recon."

  "But I'm not infantry, sir."

  "You don't have to be. Besides, you've been attached to an infantry unit for the past eight months. You'll do fine."

  "I don't know anyone in Recon. How am I supposed to get a recommendation before Saturday?"

  "That's not true. You know the sergeant major here, and not only is he former Force Recon, he is also a former instructor. He has graciously consented to write you a sterling recommendation should you accept."

  "Ma'am?"

  "Take it, Alan," his platoon commander said, surprising him with how soft her voice was, as he normally only heard it
shouting orders during field exercises or on the PT field. "You'll be fine. Besides, 'the wrong place at the wrong time' seems to be Recon's unofficial motto. You'll fit right in." Smiling at the vote of confidence, he turned back to the captain. "I'll take it, sir."

  "Excellent. We'll have your orders cut by the morning. You go pack." Alan took the sheet of paper the captain extended toward him. "That's a list of what you are required to bring with you. If you are missing anything from that list, let Lieutenant Marshall know in the morning, and we'll get it rectified."

  "Yes, sir." Alan stood up, bracing to attention before heading for the door. Gunny Bliss followed him out.

  "Excited?" the gunny asked as they walked back toward his room.

  "Terrified might be a better term, Gunny." Alan saw no reason not to be honest about it.

  "I don't doubt it. Just remember—you wouldn't be going if the captain and lieutenant didn't think you were qualified. Keep that in mind."

  "I will, Gunny. Thanks." They reached his room, and as he opened his door he turned to face the gunnery sergeant. "Can I ask you something, Gunny?"

  "Sure."

  "What made you decide to pick me?" Puzzled by the guilty expression that flashed across the gunny's face, Alan waited for his answer.

  "Honestly, Lewis, you were the only one I could find."

  * * *

  Friday afternoon was just as hot and humid as it had been the day before, and Alan was equal parts nervous and excited. But regardless of whatever he was feeling moment to moment, one thing remained constant: he was not looking forward to what he knew was going to be some of the most difficult training he had ever gone through, and doing it in this stifling heat.

  Well, it's better than being cold. I HATE being cold.

  Following the directions he received at the admin office, Alan found his way to the barracks. Opening the door and entering, he saw two long rows of beds. He had not been in an open squad bay since boot camp, but he was not surprised by the setup. Open bays let the training instructors keep an eye on everyone at once, and it also let the trainees form camaraderie and unit cohesion. Case in point, there was a friendly discussion taking place at the far end of the bay. Walking in that direction, Alan set his duffels down on the floor and stood quietly behind the group of marines as they gave him nods of greeting but continued their conversation.

  "I'm telling you, that vid was the worst piece of trash I've seen in years." The speaker was a sergeant leaning up against the wall, and Alan could see that he had his supporters as several heads nodded their agreement. "I mean, come on, it was not even remotely believable."

  "That's the point," the corporal that seemed to be leading the opposition said. "It's a vid, and it's only there for entertainment, not education."

  "Yeah, but you and I both know how many people out there take what they see in vids as the truth." The corporal opened his mouth to respond, but the sergeant cut him off. "Wait, let's get a fresh opinion."

  Alan watched as the ring of marines expanded to include him, and everyone turned their attention to him.

  "Uh, I really don't have any idea what you are talking about."

  "The vid they showed last week. It was on all the major networks," the sergeant explained. "I mean, they hyped it for weeks before showing it. How could you have missed it?"

  "Well, I was in the field for the last two weeks and just got back yesterday."

  "Wow, two weeks in the field then right to Recon school. Sucks to be you." The corporal gave him a pitying look. "Anyway, the vid was about the Xan-Sskarns and why we're fighting the war. I don't want to ruin it for you, but the basics were that they were coming to eat us and strip the planet of its natural resources. Not the most original of plot ideas, I'll grant you, but still it was exciting."

  The sergeant pushed away from the wall, beginning to speak, but the corporal stopped him.

  "Now, just wait. You said you wanted to get another opinion, so give the guy a chance to say something first, even if he hasn't seen it."

  Leaning back against the wall again, the sergeant watched Alan expectantly.

  "Okay, as I said, I've not seen it, but from what I know of the plot I can give you my opinion of it," Alan started hesitantly, waiting to see if they still wanted to hear what he had to say. As the group continued to watch him, clearly waiting for him to continue, he began to warm up to the topic. I guess I'll fit in here, after all. "The idea that the Xan-Sskarns are here to eat us and strip the planet is just ludicrous. Everyone knows that the Xan-Sskarns come from a draconian and militaristic, patriarchal society that is formed around a strict caste system. This system of government has led to rampant expansionism, and as a result, they have polluted the three habitable planets of their home system. Polluted them so badly that they've lost a great many of their spawning grounds. Those spawning grounds are found along coastal waterlines, and that's what makes our planet so attractive to them. Our oceans are nowhere near as polluted as theirs, and they want them. Captured records show that they intend to reduce the human race to a manageable level and subjugate us in order to use us as laborers. I've never seen any evidence that they have any intention of exterminating us or using us as a food source. So . . . "

  Alan stopped as he noticed the vacant expressions on the faces around him.

  So much for fitting in.

  Chapter Three

  Deep Waters

  October 5, 2197

  2219 z

  Struve 2398

  Bright actinic energy blossomed in space, immediately followed by an even larger pulse of electromagnetic energy and gravitational distortions as a ship appeared at the edge of the system. Resembling a smooth stone pulled from the bottom of some stygian sea, the ship was oblong, colored in putrid browns and fungal greens of no discernable pattern. The Ssi-Nan sped forward at maximum acceleration as a hatch along its spine opened and the long-range communications array emerged. As the ship cleared the distortion area generated by its space fold, the array came to life and began transmitting.

  * * *

  Summoned by an urgent message from the staff within, Vice Commander Si'Lasa stepped into the Deep Waters' communications center. Si'Lasa, at two point five meters, was large, even for a Xan-Sskarn, but was a perfectly representative specimen of his race in every other respect: amphibianlike, with an iridescent skin of browns and reds, standing on heavily muscled legs ending in webbed feet, with a long, powerful tail extending behind him, its tip twitching. His long and lean torso heaved as he breathed heavily. His long arms remained at his sides as he stalked to the center of the room, the razor-sharp talons at the end of his hands clacking together in rhythm with his steps. A long, sibilant hiss preceded Si'Lasa's angry demand as his powerful neck muscles swung his head toward the issuer of the message.

  "What reason do you have for interrupting my planning session and summoning me here?"

  "Vice Commander, I offer my most abject and humblest apologies for the summons, but a Ssi-Nan that just translated in-system will speak to none other than yourself or the high commander, and I thought not to bother the high commander," the communications tech replied in a servile manner, careful not to look directly at the face of the irate Xan-Sskarn in front of him.

  "You did wise not to disturb the high commander, but should this Ssi-Nan not have a lashana good reason for disturbing me, you will both pay. Him for this nonsense, and you for not insisting that he transmit his information to you as protocol demands."

  The communications tech looked down at his instruments. Si'Lasa, smelling his fear pheromones, smiled, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

  "Yes, Vice Commander."

  "Very well. Put this Ssi-Nan on line, and I will speak with him. Now."

  The tech moved his shaking hands across his controls, and an image appeared in a crystalline display mounted on the bulkhead directly in front of Si'Lasa. A Xan-Sskarn in a mottled gray-and-black uniform displaying the rank tabs of a junior officer coalesced into view.

  "
Vice Commander, I am Tesh Na'Leash. I beg your forgiveness for this breach of protocol, but you must have this information at once," the Ssi-Nan commander began without preamble.

  "I shall be the judge of what I must and must not have, Tesh; you would do well to remember that. Now, tell me, where have you returned from, bearing such important information?" Si'Lasa's mocking tone was not missed by either the tesh or the communications tech. Their worried expressions broadened the smile on his face.

  "Vice Commander, I have just returned from my surveillance of the hhhumannss's"—he dragged out the word in a complicated hiss—"advance fleet."

  "Tesh, you may have just ended your life with that admission, as you are not due to finish that mission for many more tides. You are aware of the penalty for disobedience, are you not?"

  "Yes, Vice Commander, I am, and I will submit to that punishment with a glad heart, for I deem this information worth more than my life or my honor, as it will ensure our victory over the Dry-Skins."