by J. N. Chaney
No shit. This isn’t Swansea, Reverent.
Swansea was a well-established city, over eight-hundred years old. The city didn’t need the memory foam buildings that were programmed for the final format. They were used for construction when buildings were needed quickly—as in an influx of Angel shits.
But what bothered him was that they weren’t on his map. He was getting so dependent on his tech that anything out of expectations made him nervous.
Badem signaled for the team leader, which Rev passed back. He was tempted to move forward himself to see what was up, but if that move wasn’t supported by the facts, then Staff Sergeant Delacrie would have his ass.
A moment later the team leader passed Rev to see what Badem wanted. Rev still didn’t know what to make of him. The staff sergeant had replaced Staff Sergeant Montez, who’d been killed on Roher-104, and in Rev’s most humble opinion, he couldn’t hold Montez’s panties. Not many people could, but what added to Rev’s unease was that Delacrie was not the image of a Marine SNCO. Quiet and introverted for most of the time, he could explode at the slightest thing. He wasn’t even Direct Combat, not until recently. The scuttlebutt was that he’d been in General Support, an admin POG until requesting a lateral move to DC.
Without experience, and as only a staff sergeant, he wasn’t even supposed to be the team leader. They’d had a second lieutenant inbound before Tenerife, but she hadn’t made it in time to embark, and then she’d been reassigned instead of having her sit on her ass waiting for the regiment to return. Which sucked for the team. Rev didn’t know the lieutenant, but she’d made it to gunny before accepting a commission, so she’d have had street cred.
“Can my M-49 punch through foam buildings?”
“What are you . . .” Rev rolled his eyes. Was Punch just not understanding, or was this another lame attempt of humor? If it was the latter, he was going to have to lecture him on time and place.
“Will my darts pierce the walls of the foam buildings?”
Which meant very little to Rev. He didn’t know what constituted F-whatever or what the buildings ahead were.
Rev looked behind him where Hussein gave him the interrogative. He signaled he didn’t know, then turned back to Badem and Delacrie. The two were kneeling now.
There was really only one thing for them to do. They couldn’t bypass the buildings and possibly leave enemy forces to their rear. The staff sergeant had to know that.
And evidently, he did. He and Badem retreated five meters, and he signaled, “Squad V. Two buildings. Clear. Contact probable.”
Rev felt that familiar jolt of adrenaline that he always did when faced with imminent contact. He had stopped wondering if that was natural or part of his augments’ programming. All he knew was that it was almost like a drug, one he loved.
Rev, Tomiko, the staff sergeant, and PFC Nicte “T2” Yazzie shifted to the right of the V with Hussein, Badem, and Sergeant Nix to the left. A “V” was used to maximize firepower to the front while maintaining flank security. It would have been the formation Rev would have picked as well, given the situation.
The staff sergeant gave the signal to advance. Rev was on the far right of the formation, responsible for flank security. That left him with a bit of difficult terrain, but he had to manage it if he was to keep the formation integrity.
He edged down into a small creek bed, the water gurgling along. He lost sight of the team leader, so he had to guide on Yazzie. If she shifted out of position, he’d be out as well.
He stepped over the water, ignoring what was in front of him and trying to send his senses to his right. If there was someone out there, it was up to him to detect them. Which wasn’t going to be easy in the dense underbrush.
Rev started to climb back up the other side of the creek, to the level of the rest of the team. He was still in position, but the going was getting tougher. While the staff sergeant and everyone else were advancing easily through the trees, Rev had to fight for every step. The staff sergeant should have noticed that and shifted the formation over to the left.
But it was what it was, so he plunged forward and pushed himself through the thick undergrowth, cursing under his breath. The bushes couldn’t hold him back, but he was making a hell of a lot of noise, and if the Angel shits had boobytrapped the laurel, he’d be in big trouble.
As Rev finally broke through, he looked back to catch Staff Sergeant Delacrie’s glare.
Not my fault.
But at least now, he could see the objective through the trees. Two wooden shacks, not memory foam, stood side-by-side, one a single story, one a two-story. The wood was bright and clean. There was no way they’d been exposed to the weather for very long.
The team moved forward, keeping the V’s integrity as they closed the distance. Rev had to remind himself that his focus was the area to the right of the team, but it was difficult not to keep looking forward to the buildings.
The staff sergeant halted them at forty meters out so he could glass the objective. Rev took a knee and faced outboard. The team leader must not have seen anything because he started them forward again.
Rev thought it might be time to adjust the formation, sending an element forward to provide covering fire, then sending the other element to investigate and clear the two buildings. But the staff sergeant kept them in formation as they approached, closing to within twenty meters.
A single shot rang out. Eight battle comps traced the trajectory of the round, backtracking it to the single second-story window. Within two seconds, a stream of darts returned fire, turning the wood around the window into swiss cheese.
“Cease fire, cease fire!” the staff sergeant shouted out after five seconds. Rev checked his readout. He’d just fired 148 darts.
A little more fire discipline, there.
“Anyone hit?” the staff sergeant asked.
Rev pulled up the round trace again. The shot had come close to Tomiko, but she was unhurt. Lucky, but as the saying went, “It is smarter to be lucky than it’s lucky to be smart.”
“Second Element, clear that building. First, security.”
“Far side?” Rev asked.
The staff sergeant hesitated, then said, “Yes. You and Yazzie take the far side.”
Rev gave the PFC a wave and started to move around to the back of the two buildings. If whoever had fired at them was still alive, they might decide that discretion was the better part of valor and try to retreat. If they did, then it would be up to Yazzie and him to stop them. They reached the far side of the two-story building. Rev pointed to a spot on the ground by the bole of what had been a large tree and signaled for Yazzie to take her position there.
Going just outside the cleared area and into the treeline, he carefully made his way to behind the one-story building as he heard Hussein shout, “Going in right!”
With the building being cleared, Rev needed to be in position. Stealth ignored, he jogged ahead until he was just past the far wall. To his left he could see the staff sergeant kneeling at the opposite side of the clearing. Delacrie acknowledged his position, which was a relief. Rev didn’t want to be lit up by his own team.
The buildings weren’t very big, and Rev could follow Second Element as they cleared the first floor then moved up to the second. Just as Nix yelled “Clear,” someone rolled out of the window of the one-story shack and onto the ground, right in front of Rev.
Rev had his sights on the person before he realized it was a child, a boy of no more than seven or eight, dressed in red shorts and a t-shirt with a cartoon fox on the chest. The boy caught Rev’s eyes before he scrambled to his feet, mouthing the word “Help.”
“Engage him!” the staff sergeant shouted as he started to run forward.
The boy was directly between Rev and the staff sergeant, putting Rev in the line of fire should the team leader
open up. But Rev was only ten meters away. He could drop him with one shot.
But this was a child, not an Angel shit. This was who Rev was supposed to protect.
Rev lowered his M-49 and said, “It’s all right, son. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“Good,” the boy said as he ran at Rev. “But I’m going to hurt you!”
“Wha—” Rev started, realizing something was wrong as the boy showed him the detonator a split second before he exploded in a ball of fire.
A moment later, Rev’s world went black.
Rev sat on the metal bench that had been folded down from the ship’s bulkhead. Three other Marines were in the space, but like Rev, none seemed to be in a talkative mood. A single Marine monitored a control panel, while eight screens showed the scenarios being run by different squads and teams.
Rev had watched his team’s progress for a few minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore. He sat hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, face supported by his hands.
“No! Read the damned room.”
Rev was embarrassed at having been killed, but he’d channeled some of that to anger. What was he supposed to do? Kill a child?
“It wasn’t fair,” he muttered softly, but not softly enough for one of the other Marines.
“You’ve got that right,” she said, turning to Rev. “This wasn’t even Alafia. It was a terraformed world.”
Evidently, the ship, even with its state-of-the-art combat simulators, didn’t have Alafia’s environment on file, which explained the laurel and pines in the simulation. That had surprised Rev when the training session came online, but that wasn’t why he was angry.
But he had an ally of sorts, and he wasn’t going to waste that by arguing. “As much as they paid for this ship, you’d figure they could’ve gotten the right sim.”
The Marine scooted over a few centimeters. “What got you?”
Rev hesitated. He’d been happy just stewing in his own feeling of injustice, but as they say, misery loves company.
“Kid blew me up.”
“You, too?” she asked, her voice rising in excitement. “That little bastard got me, too.”
Rev turned to face the Marine. “No one that young would act with such . . .”
“Purpose?”
“Yeah, purpose. The programmers screwed up.”
“And what about the ROE? We’re not supposed to target non-combatants. I mean, sure, the kid was one, I guess. So, they want us to zero every damned kid we see?”
“Exactly!” Rev said, glad that at least someone understood his point.
“Malaika Kinfe Lemon,” the lance corporal said, extending her hand. “Alpha Company.”
Like all augmented DC Marines, Malaika had the larger, hardened body that eliminated many of the curves associated with gender, and her hair was close-cropped as most of those of Afro-descent chose, but her face was that of a schoolgirl’s, the smile beaming.
Rev held out his hand. “Rev Pelletier. Raiders.”
“Ooh, Raiders. Tough guy, huh?” she said with a laugh as they shook hands. “I’d better be careful.”
Rev had no idea how to respond to that, so he deflected. “Alpha? Do you know Orpheus Talamage?”
“Orphy? Sure. Everyone knows him. Good Marine.”
Orphy? I’m going to have to ask him about that.
“So, Malaika Kinfe Lemon, that’s quite a mouthful. What do people call you?”
“Malaika means angel, and Kinfe means wings. So, I guess you can call me Angel Wings,” she said with an almost little-girl giggle.
“As long as it’s not Angel shits,” Rev said with a laugh, only to see her face darken, her eyebrows draw together.
OK, stupid comment. Smooth move, Rev.
“I mean . . . that I . . . what do other people call you? Angel Wings?”
Her eyebrows relaxed, and she said, “I was just kidding. Old family joke. No, people call me Mala.”
“Well, Mala, nice to meet you, even in death. Appropriate for an angel.”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, Rev thought he’d messed up again, but then she opened her mouth wide and laughed. The other two dead Marines gave them dirty looks.
“You’re so funny, Corporal!”
“Take that, Punch. I’m the funny one.”
“Rev. We Raiders aren’t so formal.”
“OK, then, Rev. So, what school did you go to?”
They spent the next ten minutes talking about schools, who they might mutually know, where they hung out. Malaika was from the other side of the city, and they really didn’t have many points of mutual contact, but it was nice to chat about something other than the Marines and getting killed in a stupid simulation.
Rev was surprised when the exercise ended, the screens going dark.
“OK, all of you are released. You can marry up with squads,” the Marine on the controls said.
“It was nice to meet you, Angel Wings,” Rev said as they stood.
Malaika smiled, her face turning back into a young girl’s.
OK, this time, I got it right.
“Nice to chat with you, too. It’s a big ship, but maybe I’ll see you around.”
Rev doubted it. They’d already determined that they were assigned to different galleys, and with different training schedules, chowtime would seem to have been the best chance of running into each other. But it was possible.
“Tell Orphy I said hello.”
“Got it.”
“NO! What the hell gave you that idea?”
“Your programming is crap, then.”
His mood was rapidly deteriorating as they stepped into the briefing room where the other Marines were entering from their training pods. His battle buddy’s question just added to that. Malaika gave Rev one last wave as she joined her squad, already getting shit for having been killed.
Rev steeled himself for his reception.
“What happened?” Tomiko mouthed at Rev as she saw him.
Rev just shrugged his shoulders. Everything was recorded, and each move would be dissected over the next couple of hours. He wasn’t going to enjoy that.
“Let’s meet up in twenty in berthing,” Staff Sergeant Delacrie told the team. We’ve got a lot to unpack and discuss.”
Rev nodded and started to leave when the staff sergeant grabbed his arm and said, “Not you yet. Come with me.”
Oh, shit. Are you for real?
Rev followed his team leader down the passage and down into the berthing spaces.
OK, I was killed. In a training simulation. A simulation that wasn’t even accurate. Get over it.
He was not looking forward to an ass-chewing by the staff sergeant, and as he followed his team leader, he resolved to just take it and not argue. Part of him, a part he tried to suppress, realized he’d screwed up, and it would just be easier to “Yes, Staff Sergeant, no Staff Sergeant” and get it over with.
The Big Hob lived up to its nickname, and it took just over ten minutes to walk to berthing. The staff sergeant didn’t lead him to their actual berthing space, however, but to the small platoon office.
“Sir, can I have the space for a few minutes?” the staff sergeant said while sticking his head in from the passage.
“Sure thing. Here, let me get out of your way.”
Lieutenant Omestori appeared. His eyes opened wide in surprise to see the sullen Rev waiting behind the staff sergeant, but he didn’t say anything and walked off. Staff Sergeant Delacrie motioned for Rev to enter.
The space was small. A single rack was high on the bulkhead, a fold-down desk, and a single chair under it. The staff sergeant took that chair and pointed at another fold-out chair still stowed in the bulkhead. Rev pulled it out and sat.
He’d intended to wait for the staff sergeant, but in his usual bull
-ahead style, Rev said, “I know I got killed. Sorry about that. But the ROI says we’re not supposed to kill civilians, and I thought the kid was one. I mean, really. A six-year-old that driven?”
The staff sergeant stared at Rev for a long moment, so long that Rev’s resolve wilted, and he started fidgeting, cleaning his nails.
“Corporal Pelletier. Rev. I know you, among others, don’t hold me in high regard coming over as I did from admin.”
Which was true, but when brought into the open like that, it suddenly made Rev feel guilty.
“It may be true that my first combat experience was Tenerife, which for me didn’t amount to much, but my previous experience gave me something that you don’t realize.”
He paused as if waiting, so Rev asked, “You were in admin, right?”
“Yeah, admin. An Oh-one-ninety-five.”
Rev didn’t say a word.
“And once I picked up my rocker, I was given the task of preparing letters for the colonel’s signature. Condolence letters. Over two thousand in three years. Almost an entire regiment, if you put them all together.”
Damn, that’s rough.
“So, if there’s one thing I know, it’s the cost of this war. No, I never saw someone killed like you have. I never fired my weapon in anger. But I saw the tally, and I read the letters from family back to the colonel. Some sad, some angry, but all feeling the pain.
“And one of those letters I wrote was for a Corporal Hanson Delacrie.”
Rev snapped his head up to look right into the staff sergeant’s eyes.
“Yeah. My little brother. Killed when the Gharial was hit.”
The Gharial? That’s what Krissy was on.
“So, I know the cost, and I knew I couldn’t just sit back home, writing letters. I had to get involved to where I could help keep Marines alive. That’s why I did my lat move into DC.
Rev grunted. Along with everyone else, he’d wondered why the lateral move into Direct Combat. He figured the staff sergeant wanted a shorter enlistment, to be able to get out sooner once the indefinite tours of duty were eliminated. He had no idea that there was something deeper to it.