Master Sergeant

by Mel Odom

  ELEVEN

  West-southwest of Makaum City

  0448 Zulu Time

  Sage stood at the edge of the depression and gazed down at the mass of bodies, partially covered more by debris than by honest effort. Hands, feet, arms, legs, and faces showed in different places across a twelve-meter spread. Charred flesh clung to splintered bones in many cases. Fire hadn’t gotten them all. The ages ranged too, from young adults to the elderly. He also saw at least two children and he had to steel himself for more of that. War took victims everywhere and left no one untouched. Especially the soldiers who witnessed the atrocities.

  This was the real cost of war: the people who got caught in between and died, and those who survived and carried scars that most people never saw. It took a survivor to recognize a survivor, and even they tended not to talk.

  Soldiers fought and killed each other, but both sides expected that. The civilians just wanted to live their lives. Unfortunately, in hot spots they didn’t have anywhere to go. They couldn’t run far enough, fast enough.

  The Makaum jungle wasn’t going to let the dead go anywhere either. Not without a fight. Roots already threaded through the loose earth, and in some instances, through the bodies of the dead as well, already making moves to cover the disturbed area with new growth. Makaum treated the dead like mulch, taking from them what it needed and shifting what was left into soil. The odor of rot and decay that Sage had expected was sweeter and less noxious than he had experienced in the past. Maybe the oxygen-rich atmosphere was partly responsible for that, but he suspected it was something else, some process that was unique to the planet.

  “You wanted me?”

  Sage turned around to face Captain Karl Gilbride, the recon team’s most senior medical person. Like the other soldiers, Gilbride wore an AKTIVsuit, but his was emblazoned on both shoulders with a bright red caduceus to indicate his role. He was tall and brown haired with gray eyes and an attitude. He was forty-three, slightly older than Sage.

  “I did,” Sage said. He remained respectful. The captain’s rank Gilbride wore meant more back at the fort than it did in the field. Here Gilbride was chief medical officer. Sage was ranking command of ops. “I need you to take DNA samples of the people here.”

  Gilbride shot a disgusted glance at the corpses. “Those people are dead. I can’t help them.”

  “No, you can’t. But maybe we can help their families.”

  “They’re not military issue, and they’re not my problem.”

  Sage kept his voice calm despite the anger he felt stirring in him. “I’m making them your problem, Captain.” He put the rank out there so Gilbride would know he was aware of it, and he put the fire in his voice to let the doctor know who was in charge.

  Gilbride’s jaw clenched. “I’m not crawling in there like some kind of ghoul. I don’t know where you come from, but disturbing the dead isn’t something you should be doing.”

  “They’re dead,” someone said. “You can’t disturb them any more than they’ve already been disturbed.”

  Sage ignored that and concentrated on Gilbride. The man was a captain, an officer used to command, and he bridled at the assignment he’d been given. And he’d probably come closer to losing his life in the past hour than he had in a long time.

  “We need to know who these people were,” Sage said. “Their families need to know what happened to them, and we need to know where they came from. They’re intel that we may need.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re dead. I’ve got living people that need me. I don’t need some johnny-come-lately-to-command to tell me how to do my job.” Gilbride turned to go.

  “No.” Sage’s voice sounded loud and sudden as a whipcrack, and the authority it carried brought Gilbride up short. The soldiers nearest the captain backed away unconsciously, leaving him naked before Sage’s wrath. “You don’t have patients that need you. They’ve been taken care of and you’ve done an excellent job getting that done. I know because I’ve been tracking your work.”

  The med reports had come in on time and had been well-articulated. Gilbride had considerable combat experience and it showed in the way he conducted his work. He was fast, thorough, and compassionate to the wounded. Sage wasn’t sure what the man was doing on Makaum, but it wasn’t because he didn’t know what he was doing.

  Gilbride stopped short, then turned around and walked back to Sage. “I don’t know who you think you are—”

  “The soldier in charge of this operation,” Sage cut in.

  “—but the only man I take orders from died when you blasted him off that kifrik web about an hour ago.” Gilbride turned and walked away again.

  “Private Petrov.” Sage stared at the departing man’s back.

  “Yes, Top?” Farther up the hill, Petrov shifted uncomfortably.

  “If Captain Gilbride reaches you, take him into custody.”

  “Top?” Petrov gripped his assault rifle uncertainly.

  Gilbride kept walking.

  Sergeant Kiwanuka stepped in beside Petrov and her meaning was clear. “Understood, Top. If the captain reaches this point, we will take him into custody.”

  Gilbride stopped and stared at Sage. “Are you serious?”

  Sage dropped his faceshield so the man could look at his face. He didn’t say a word.

  Cursing, Gilbride walked back down the hill and approached the bodies. He unslung his medical kit. “You can bet this will be in my report.”

  Sage ignored the threat. “As long as you get me the information I want, Captain, you can put anything in that report that you want to.”

  “Do you know what kind of disease can be in these corpses?” Gilbride demanded.

  “I do,” Sage replied. “As well as any biological agents whoever killed them might have used. That’s why I want you on this detail. I don’t want some greenie handling this and getting himself killed. Or worse yet, letting us track something back to the fort. Get the identification done. We don’t have much time before the inbound jetcopters arrive.”

  “I’ll need help sorting through this many people.” Gilbride shoved his hands into the sanitary sealant extruder affixed to the front of his uniform and a thin, bright blue layer of steri-cling climbed over his hands and up to his elbows.

  “You know your team best. Call in whomever you like.” Sage tapped into the doctor’s comm and watched his HUD as the medical people were reassigned. He walked away to continue his inspection of the camp.

  FINDING THE SOLDIERS who had died during the ambush took time, even with the HUD marking their locations. Security was paramount. Sage didn’t want to leave anyone unprotected.

  He also didn’t want to leave the dead behind. They deserved better than that. That was something the newly arrived exfil team didn’t want to deal with.

  “Sergeant, our orders are to evac you and your people as soon as possible.” On the comm relay through Sage’s HUD, the jumpcopter pilot was a young second lieutenant, maybe twenty years old. He glanced nervously at the surrounding jungle in the darkness and Sage had to wonder how many times the pilot had been out in the wilderness.

  “As soon as possible will be when we finish recovering our dead, Lieutenant. We’re not leaving one minute before. Neither are you.” Sage carried the body of a slain private over his shoulder through the brush. Kiwanuka carried another as she followed him.

  Four jetcopters hung in the air over the battlefield. Blue beacons marked off the area and staging zones had been set up in a clearing near the main building. Baskets lifted wounded up to the jumpcopters. Drones from the new arrivals buzzed through the air and cycled at a farther perimeter in a loose security web swarm. So far there had been no sign of the ambushers. They had disappeared as quickly as they had struck.

  The pilot contacted the fort. “Charlie Base, this is Raptor Nine on the evac op. I need authorization to leave the area without Charlie Recon. My team and I are exposed to hostile forces and the sergeant in charge is refusing to comply.”


  The response was immediate and brimming with crisp authority. “Negative on the return, Raptor Nine. You are to hold your position until you are cleared by the sergeant. Is that clear?”

  Sage’s HUD identified the speaker’s voiceprints as Colonel Nathan Halladay, the officer in charge of the fort in General Whitcomb’s absence. From what Sage had learned of the colonel, Halladay was a straight shooter, a career Army man. He’d ended up on Makaum as a special attaché to Whitcomb, who had pushed for his recent promotion to colonel.

  “Sir, that’s crystal.” The lieutenant sounded put out and possibly a little frightened. He cleared the frequency.

  Sage deposited the dead man he’d carried in a large cargo basket. Kiwanuka passed the man she’d carried off to the two soldiers handling the dead. Three other teams arrived shortly afterward, finishing off the casualty list.

  The last of the wounded had already been reeled up.

  Another pile of dead ambushers lay nearby. Most of them appeared to be mercs, offworlders with histories of violence that had been carved into their flesh by bullets, lasers, knives, and other weapons. But a few of them were cybered up too expensively to simply be street talent. They represented the corp, or corps, that had staged the ambush.

  The reports Sage had reviewed while in his quarters showed that Terracina and his teams had been aggressively pursuing the drug ops out in the jungle. Their efforts had gotten costly, taking a cut out of the black-market profits the corps had been making.

  Maybe it wasn’t one corp. It was possible that more than one corp had joined together to push back and bloody the Terran military. Terracina’s people had gotten a tip about the lab. It was apparent now that the tip had been bait for the trap, but the actual architects who had masterminded the ambush hadn’t yet been revealed.

  “You know we were set up, and it had to be one of Terracina’s local assets. One of the people he’d made deals with to watch the jungle for him.” Kiwanuka walked at Sage’s side as he returned to where Gilbride was still cataloguing the dead there.

  “Yeah. Do you know anyone who might know the identity of tonight’s tipster?”

  “No.” Kiwanuka hesitated.

  “Talk to me, Sergeant. If you don’t say it, I don’t know it. And I can’t investigate a possible lead.”

  “Like I said, Terracina had a few assets he used for intel, but a lot of what we acted on came from Major Finkley. He liaises with the corps any time we have friction. Have you met him?”

  “Haven’t had the pleasure. Sergeant Terracina picked me up at the drop point and gave me the cheap tour. We were supposed to meet the brass this morning.” Sage pulled up the major’s service record. Anthony Finkley came from Boston, Massachusetts, and was the son of a congressman. He was in his mid-forties and had made major a year ago after twenty-three years in service, so he was a slow promoter, moving up outside the zone. Sage had the feeling that if he dug into the major’s jacket for a deeper look, he’d discover that the promotions came through “supplemental recognition” rather than through effort.

  “Meeting him won’t be a pleasure.”

  “Like to clear that up?”

  “No. Just giving warning. Take your time making an opinion.”

  “Fair enough.” Sage scanned his troops, watching as they continued their grid searches. “Did you recognize anybody back there?”

  “No, but some of those guys are bashhounds. Sec muscle for the corps. The others are just meat. Cheap enforcers you can pick up anywhere. We get a lot of traffic in those for various corps. Warehouse sec. Personal protection. Sec for exploration teams out in the jungle. They cycle in and cycle out regularly.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that too. Only the guys that attacked us didn’t get picked up anywhere on this planet. Someone brought them in and paid their freight.”

  “You think they were just a layer of deniability?”

  Sage shook his head. “I think whatever corp is behind this wanted to go cheap. Figured they could take down our op easy enough since they lured us out here.”

  “They were wrong about that.”

  “Yeah, but not by much.”

  Kiwanuka cursed softly. “Whoever they were, they brought in those people they buried and treated them like animals before killing them. Then they brought us in to kill us and send a message. Now they’re going to get away with it.”

  “No, they’re not going to get away with it.” Sage ignored the sergeant’s apprising look and the question that she hesitated asking while he stopped along the ridgeline and focused on the dead there.

  Gilbride and three medtechs gingerly pulled bodies from the makeshift pit. All of the med personnel wore orange hazard suits.

  “You better stand back,” Gilbride warned as he tugged a dead man from the loose soil. “All of these people are testing positive for Chehgar influenza.”

  Sage turned a little dry-mouthed at that. Chehgar influenza was a Phrenorian bioweapon that had first seen use nine years earlier. Although Terran military had quickly come up with a vaccine, the sickness had spread throughout several combat zones across solar systems. Getting enough vaccine made to support troops had been difficult.

  For five months, Terran forces had had to sit back, unable to engage along perimeter systems for fear of contracting and spreading the disease throughout the troops as well as having the Phrenorians use it on civilian populations. Three star carriers had gone dark with the disease before they could be salvaged or before proper decontamination units could be upgraded. DECON was imperative while coming into contact with so many worlds.

  Making enough vaccine to give to civilians was impossible. None of the pharm corps would put up that much free product. Nor would they part with their reverse-engineered cures. The med corps of the Terran military had created a somewhat universal vaccine a couple months after the civilian pharmaceutical corps had, but the mil-developed vaccines didn’t work on everyone, and the expense was again an issue when trying to tailor it for other planets.

  Posting instructions on how to make the vaccines hadn’t worked either. Too many physiognomies were in play. Nervous systems, endocrine systems, respiratory systems, and blood were all too different to make a general cure-all. Sending in military med teams to help other worlds behind Phrenorian lines had only resulted in hostage situations and execution videos that had ripped through the allied worlds. The Phrenorians had never signed the Hawking Convention to establish rules of engagement.

  Several outbreaks of the flu continued to present in pockets of civilizations that hadn’t yet received the vaccines. Or, in the case of the Rothangu, those that chose not to accept them due to religious practices. Those planets didn’t allow anything “alien” to be introduced into their bodies. That didn’t stop them from buying goods, though. Business had boomed for the merchants, until they’d contracted the flu and populations had died off.

  Other planets had succumbed to the flu because their bodies hadn’t been able to utilize the vaccine. There were still worlds that had been declared off-limits until the disease ran its course, which generally left those planets vulnerable to Phrenorian invasion.

  Although Sage had never seen the disease up close, there had been plenty of vids of the victims on various planets in the news and cycling through MilNet. The images tended to stay with anyone who saw them. Sage had a few memories of the flu he wished he could get rid of.

  In the years before and the years since, the Phrenorians had continued their efforts to create bioweapons. Most were less successful, and none of them had stricken as quickly, deeply, or lethally as the Chehgar strains.

  Gilbride laid the corpse on the ground and played a light over the body. The dead male was humanoid but had pronounced occipital ridges that covered nictitating membranes, elongated ears that reached to his jawline, and an orange tint to his skin that wasn’t the result of death or sickness. His clothing was simple, probably Makaum made, but now hung in rags.

  “Torgarian?” Sage asked.

  Torgari
had been one of the perimeter worlds hit by the flu. Sixty-three percent of the world population had died within a month and others were continuing to die, unable to stop the cascading illness. Some planets had created quarantines to separate the sick from the healthy. On more than a few worlds, anyone who had caught the disease was put to death.

  The Torgarians concentrated on trade, moving goods from one planet system to another. When they couldn’t trade, they smuggled. Business went on. Once they’d been exposed to Chehgar, though, free trade with the world was suspended. Many of the Torgarian ships caught out in space had been orphaned and had turned into freebooters, more or less. They hauled honest cargoes and dealt with everyone but the Phrenorians, but they also carried black-market freight. In the ensuing years, they had learned to kill or be killed, vicious vagabonds with no home.

  Every now and again, a Torgarian vessel became a plague ship after picking up family survivors from the homeworld. Second- and third-wave Chehgar offered permutations, often turning survivors into carriers.

  Unable to catch the flu themselves, the Phrenorians had closed in, set up shop on Torgaria and her four moons, and started producing munitions factories and low-orbit manufacturing stations to churn out warships, stripping the planet of mineral resources. That process hadn’t taken overly long. By that time they were good at what they did.

  That was how the Sting-Tails operated, converting each planet they took into a stronghold or raw materials. After a few years, the Phrenorians had moved on, but the planet had been so deeply behind enemy lines that the Terran military hadn’t been able to ship in vaccine. Sage suspected the only reasons there were Torgarian plague ships these days was because some of the merchants brokered deals with the Phrenorians in an attempt to rescue family.

  Kneeling, Gilbride waved a small flying drone over to the dead man’s body. The med-drone wasn’t much larger than Sage’s thumb. Moving nimbly, the med-drone alighted on one of the dead man’s open eyes. A needle lanced out, stabbed into the unblinking eye, and pumped out readings.