Paradise (Expeditionary Force Book 3)

by Craig Alanson

  “Shit. Damn it!”

  “It can be done, ma’am,” Irene assured Perkins. “We can lower a crewman to hook them up to a cable.”

  “Lieutenant, I meant ‘damn it’ as in, of course we do have to assist. We are not leaving a human out there to starve.”

  Irene couldn’t keep a smile off her face. “It will be only a forty minute flight, ma’am, going low and slow.”

  “Don’t start the engines yet, Striebich. First, I’m going to contact Emby and see if they can do anything to help them without us.”

  “If not, ma’am?”

  “Then I’m going to ask Emby what the mission security fallout will be, of us bringing a Ruhar aboard. And we’ll need to fly this Ruhar some place where she can get medical care, that will seriously blow our cover.”

  “We could retrieve only Lt. Bonsu,” Irene said with a frown.

  Major Perkins snorted. “Striebich, you’re a pilot. Would leave one of your aircrew behind?”

  “No,” she answered without hesitation.

  “I expect this Lt. Bonsu feels the same way about his pilot.” She sighed and pulled out her zPhone to type a message. “At times like this, I wish Emby would answer a simple damned phone call, instead of me typing everything.”

  “Crap, Skippy,” I said when we got the message from Perkins. “Does Perkins have to pick this guy up? That road isn’t far,” at least it didn’t appear very far on the map. I wasn’t on the ground, walking on an empty stomach. “If can get there, he can follow the road to this village here,” I pointed to a dot on the map.

  “That expression never made any sense to me, Joe. How do you ‘follow’ a road? Roads are static; they never move. If you said ‘follow a car on the road’, then I would understand. Maybe the expression should be ‘remain on the road’. Although, if you say road, it is kind of implied that you stay on it, unless the instructions-”

  “Skippy!”

  “What?”

  “Focus. Please, try to focus. Forget what I said, if this guy thinks he can’t make it to the road, I’m not going to sit here and second guess him.” Especially since I could smell the lasagna that Adams was heating up for dinner, and Bonsu hadn’t eaten for days. “A downed human pilot. I should have thought of this.”

  “There are an infinite number of things you should have thought of and didn’t, Joe,” Skippy replied. “Like, you have bread and peanut butter, but no Fluff. Therefore, no Fluffernutter for you.”

  “This is a little more important, Skippy,” although after he said it, I was craving the sweet and salty deliciousness of a Fluffernutter. “I’ll need to call Chotek about this. Is there anything you can do to help those pilots, instead of Perkins rescuing them?”

  “Not that I can see, Joe. The air assets of both the Ruhar and Kristang are severely depleted, and Lt. Bonsu is in sort a no-man’s land between the two forces.”

  “Oh, boy, this isn’t going to be good. We need to plan for Perkins’ cover to be blown for the remainder of her mission.”

  “Why, Joe? We could just order her to continue the mission and forget Lt. Bonsu.”

  “Skippy,” I said wryly, “I don’t want to become a damned pogue. You forget that before I got this cushy day job, I was a soldier in the field. Perkins asking permission to rescue those two pilots was more of an FYI. She’s going, unless we have a better idea.”

  “Oh. Ok, Joe. I couldn’t imagine you leaving Bonsu out there to starve anyway.”

  “You got that right.” I picked up my zPhone to call the Flying Dutchman. What the hell was I going to say to Chotek? “Hey, Skippy. Perkins blowing her cover doesn’t involve any risk of our cover being blown, does it?”

  The shiny little beer can chuckled. “No way, dude! I’ve got our tracks totally covered. Do what you gotta do, I’ve got your back.”

  “I appreciate that, Skippy. Flying Dutchman? This is Colonel Bishop, I need to speak with Mr. Chotek, please.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Chotek did not entirely agree with my opinion that Perkins rescuing the two pilots posed zero risk of exposing our involvement. It took a lot of convincing, and in the end, Lt. Colonel Chang had the deciding voice. The fact is, Chotek trusted the calm, steady experience of Chang to me. When Chang told our UN mission commander that the operation posed no additional risk, Chotek very reluctantly agreed. I think Chotek appreciated me requesting permission from him, rather than making a snap decision on my own. That helped our relationship later, when I really needed him to cut me some slack and trust me. “Ok, we have the green light from the mission commander. We need to send a message to Perkins, telling her to pick up Lt. Bonsu.”

  “Sir?” Adams interjected. “We can’t send a message about picking up a human. Emby is supposed to be a native Ruhar group. They would care about the injured Ruhar pilot, not about a human.”

  “Oh.” I mentally chided myself for being a dumbass. “That is an excellent point, Sergeant. Do that, Skippy.”

  “Done. Message sent, Colonel,” Skippy announced cheerily. “While we’re waiting for a reply from Major Perkins, I have a question for you, Joe.”

  “If it’s about calculus or poetry, it is unlikely I have an answer.”

  “I will take a risk on that,” Skippy chuckled. “You said that you don’t want to be a ‘pogue’. I am not sure that I understand that reference.”

  “A ‘pogue’ is a soldier who serves in a support unit, not in combat. Supposedly it stands for Persons Other than Grunts, but I think that was made up later.”

  “Ah. I thought that was a ‘fobbit’, Joe.”

  “Fobbit is a newer term, from when the Army started setting up Forward Operating Bases. Before that was ‘REMF’ for Rear Echelon Mother Fucker. Those are the assholes who sleep in a real bed every night, while infantry grunts are lucky to find rock to sleep on.”

  “Ok, ‘REMF’ and ‘pogue’, I will add those to my list of colorful expressions. Joe, I have noticed that your language has become less, I guess the best word would be ‘salty’ since we met.”

  “Yes, Skippy,” I tapped the silver eagles on my uniform. “The Army expects me to be an officer and a gentleman now. I can’t be dropping F-bombs all over the place.” Although I knew some colonels who used very ‘salty’ language.

  “You? A gentleman? So that means you clean up your language? What’s next? Will you be serving afternoon tea? Those little sandwiches with the crusts cut off? Ooooh, and ballroom dancing lessons for you.”

  “Skippy?”

  “Yes?”

  I dropped a whole string of F-bombs, until Adams burst out laughing.

  Skippy chuckled also. “There’s the Joe I know!”

  Derek stumbled on a rock and fell to one knee. He leaned forward as he fell, so he wouldn’t fall backward and injure Saily. The pilot behind him groaned, “Saily?” He asked. “Are you awake?”

  She didn’t respond. He looked at the terrain in front of them, it was a meadow with clusters of trees dotted here and there. In a meadow, he didn’t have to constantly duck to avoid Saily’s head being hit by low-hanging tree branches. But while a forest had some undergrowth, a meadow was all undergrowth. Tall grasses, vines and shrubs could tangle his feet and hide holes he couldn’t see. The worst part of crossing the meadow was that it sloped up, and here was no way around climbing something. He needed to go northwest, and the map showed the meadow had the gentlest slope in the area. That was why he was stumbling across it.

  Saily groaned again. Exhausted and light-headed from deep hunger, Derek let his other knee down, and unbuckled the strap the held the pilot to his back. Saily had fallen the day before and been unable to rise, then she’d become unconscious. The nanoparticles in her blood were conserving her remaining blood supply by making her sleep; while she was asleep she wasn’t moving and causing additional stress on the injuries the nanoparticles had hastily stitched together. When she had been awake, Saily had warned him that she might fall into sort of a coma, if the nanobots in her blood deci
ded that was the only way to extend her life. Ruhar biology had a way to go into a type of hibernation during times of extreme stress and deprivation. In the deep coma-like hibernation, Ruhar bodies used very little oxygen, water and stored fuel. They could also withstand cold temperatures for lengthy periods. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, she explained, but she’d undergone a practice hibernation during boot camp military training. The hibernation ability wasn’t an original feature of Ruhar biology; that had been added long ago using genetic engineering. That same tweaking of Ruhar DNA was the reason she was still alive; she had superior healing abilities.

  Enhanced genetics and nanobots were, Derek thought, very good things to have. Right then, his growling stomach would have settled for a sandwich.

  The previous night, Derek had injected her with the last vial of energy juice, so she was now running out of sugar or whatever Ruhar biochemistry used for fuel. He unbuckled the lower strap, and let the Ruhar pilot slump gently backwards, until she lay on the grass. Touching her neck, he was surprised to find her pulse strong and fast, until he realized that what he was feeling was his own pulse pounding in his fingertip from exertion. “I need to rest,” he said to no one but himself.

  Two hours later by the clock on his zPhone, he woke up when the clouds parted and a shaft of sunlight illuminated the meadow. Panicked, he rolled to his knees and checked on Saily. He was as he had left her; breathing very slowly, her pulse slow and weak, nonresponsive. Shaking his canteen told him it was almost full, so he parted her lips with his fingers and very slowly dribbled half of the water into her mouth, letting her automatically swallow. Then he greedily drank the other half of the water. The map said there was a stream cutting across the meadow near the top, where the meadow ended and the woods resumed. He could refill the canteen there. One advantage of being in an alien biosphere was that none of the microorganisms in the water could harm him or Saily.

  With a start, he woke again, twenty minutes later. Hunger pangs were what caused him to waken. They weren’t going to get any better. “Time to make a decision, Bonsu,” he said to himself. He couldn’t go much further carrying Saily; he could barely stand on his own. Ten meters away was a grove of trees centered on one large tree. That was a good place. He staggered to his knees, then one on one foot, then the other. Holding the Ruhar under her arms, he slowly dragged her backwards until she rested against the large trees, looking toward the east. Then, carefully so he didn’t fall as spots formed in his vision, he sat down beside her. “Nice spot, isn’t it?” He asked Saily. “Great view.” Looking eastward, he imagined he could see where they had come from. There was the hill they had skirted to the north, and was that the lake they had walked around? It was in the marshy area just beyond the lake that Saily had fallen. That time, she had been able to walk again after a short rest, but half an hour later, she had slumped unconscious. And Derek had rigged up straps to carry her on his back. They weren’t going to make it to safety, he’d known that since the message came back that the Ruhar had no assets to spare for an air rescue. And they were too far in the wilderness for anyone to hike in to get them in time. From twisting contrails he’d seen high in the sky since they were shot down, the air battle was still ongoing, although mostly he’d seen only one or two contrails at a time. Both sides must be running low on combat aircraft.

  Since the Ruhar replied that no rescue would be coming any time soon, Derek’s plan had changed from walking to a settlement where Saily could get medical care, to walking toward a settlement. At that point, it was about not giving up, about making progress. It was about showing the Ruhar that humans were reliable partners. And mostly, it was about doing something other than laying down and starving to death. Or, it had been about that, back when he had not been so weak that he no longer had a choice.

  He was awakened by an annoying buzzing sound. Automatically, he slapped at the air, until he remembered there were no flying insects on Paradise; native life on the planet had not evolved that far yet. What was that sound? Now that he noticed, it was bothering him, because it was right at the edge of his hearing. What the hell was it? Paradise had insects that chirped or buzzed, he was familiar with most of those.

  No, it couldn’t be insects buzzing in the meadow, because the sound came from one direction rather than all around him. What was even more odd was the sound was moving north to south, and growing louder.

  With a sudden shock, he recognized the sound. It was aircraft jet engines, in stealth mode. The Kristang! The Ruhar had no aircraft to spare for a rescue, but the Kristang must have sent one of their aircraft. Were they picking up the signal from Saily’s emergency locator beacon? She said she had deactivated it; maybe the Kristang picked up the beacon back then, and were now searching for downed Ruhar aircrew.

  Derek tried to stand up but he couldn’t. He got to his knees, regretting they had discarded Saily’s sidearm along the way. The weapon would not have activated for Derek anyway, it still would have felt better to have it in his hand and point it toward the Kristang. Or to shoot Saily, then himself. He knew he did not want to be captured, and he was sure Saily felt the same way. Now, damn it, he didn’t have a choice.

  The sound grew much louder now, and a faint shadow fell across him; the aircraft was between him and the sun and it must have its stealth field engaged. It sounded very much like a Buzzard, he had never heard the Kristang ship that was their equivalent of a Buzzard. Probably it was similar. The faint shadow moved out over the meadow, then he could see the vague blob that was an aircraft in stealth. The air around the stealth field shimmered. In an atmosphere, stealth fields were only useful at long ranges.

  “Oh my God!” He gasped when the aircraft dropped its stealth field as it approached the meadow for landing. It was a Buzzard! He recognized not only the shape, but the insignia. It was from the 18th air squadron. He knew some of those Ruhar; the 18th had flown into his airbase for joint exercises.

  Derek found the strength to hold onto the tree and rise unsteadily to his feet. He waved to the Buzzard with one arm, holding the tree with the other. The Ruhar were not there for him, they had come for Saily. If they took her, that did not guarantee they would take a human with them. Derek knew many Ruhar still hated humans, especially Ruhar who were native to Gehtanu. If the crew of that Buzzard were going to leave him behind to starve, they were going to have to look him in the eye before they took off.

  Mentally prepared for Ruhar soldiers to shove him aside and take only Saily, he was shocked when the Buzzard’s side door opened, and two humans stepped out. “Lieutenant Bonsu,” the woman said. “I’m Major Perkins, this is Specialist Colter.”

  Derek kept enough of his wits to point toward his feet. “I have an injured Ruhar pilot with me. Please help her.”

  “We will,” Perkins said. “And you need food. We have it.”

  “Success, Joe!” Skippy said excitedly. “Major Perkins picked up Lt. Derek Bonsu and the Ruhar pilot. Bonsu will be fine after he gets some food, he also has a shoulder injury that should be looked at, if he is going to regain full function. The Ruhar pilot is in self-induced hibernation, Specialist Jarret had administered a stabilizing drug that was in the Buzzard’s medical kit. The pilot needs medical care, expert Ruhar medical care, soon.”

  “Maybe when this is over,” I mused, “this Derek guy will get taken care of by the Ruhar.”

  “Derek,” Adams said thoughtfully. “I dated a Derek in high school.”

  I thought she was going to say more about her dating experience, but Skippy interrupted. “That’s a coincidence, Sarge Marge. Joe dated a Margaret in high school.”

  “Everyone called her ‘Meg’,” I started to explain.

  “It didn’t end well,” Skippy said, sounding amused already. “Her father got upset because Joe peed her name in the snow outside her house, if you know what I mean.”

  “Skippy, it didn’t exactly happen like-”

  “What really got her father upset was that he recognized it was written in
his daughter’s handwriting.”

  “Oh, boy,” I groaned. “You know, people used to get a pass on doing things when you’re young and stupid, and after a while everyone forgot about it.”

  “That was before everything lived forever on Facebook, Joe.”

  I sighed, knowing he was right. “Any chance you can erase all that embarrassing stuff when we get back to Earth, Skippy?”

  “Oh,” Skippy snorted. “Easy peasy, Joe.”

  “Great,” I brightened with hope. “Thank y-”

  “But what’s the fun in that?” Skippy asked. “It would be way more fun if someone took all the embarrassing stuff that people have forgotten about, and added it to your profile. Which might have happened shortly before we left Earth.”

  “Might have?”

  “I’m speculating here, Joe. Someone might have done that, plus added really embarrassing stuff about you from your sister’s diary. Like your bedwetting, and the time she caught you playing with yourself? Times, I should say. Was it two or three times? I mean, who gets excited looking at the women on the cover of your mother’s romance novels?”

  Desai exploded with laughter and Adams couldn’t help joining her. “I’m sorry, sir,” Desai managed to say, while avoiding looking at me.

  “Adams,” I groaned with my forehead gently banging against the table. “Do you have a sidearm?”

  “Yes, Colonel,” she managed to say while laughing. “You want me to shoot Skippy?”

  “I don’t think anything short of a planet-cracking nuke would hurt him,” I muttered. “Could you put your sidearm against my head and pull the trigger a couple times, put me out of my misery?”

  “I think that would be against some sort of regulation, sir,” she apologized.

  “It’s a mercy killing,” I pleaded. “There’s no way I can go back to Earth now.”