Masoul (Harmony War Series Book 2)

by Michael Chatfield

Their hair was still wet from the shower they’d been ordered out of.

  Thankfully someone had had the insight to get real food delivered to them in the conference room.

  The situation on Masoul Actual was stable; the EMF controlled their levels. The resistance was still running around harassing them, but for the most part they were staying with the troopers and helping out.

  Troopers relaxed, watching their sensor feeds; if Chosen got too close to the blown-up access points, they threw grenades down.

  It was a callous way to win, and there was little honor in it, but the troopers cared little for honor and all about getting away from Masoul with all its Chosen and Harmony sympathizers.

  Most of the other towers outside of central had already blown their levels and were holding them easily.

  The Triple-Twos had been tasked with helping the troopers in contested towers disengage from the fight and blow their access points.

  Domo, Ma, and Obe’s bodies were still at Central Tower. After helping the other towers, there were only seven of the platoon not being seen to for injuries.

  Iliev, Ali, Dashtund, Dominguez, Jerome, Kojo, Young, and Haas had only suffered small scrapes and bruises.

  Zukic, Holm, Bairamov, Tal, Tyler, Ko, Yu, Niemi, Mark, Bobbie, Dooks, and Sasaki were in medical getting patched up.

  Ko looked stable, but it was too early to tell. His organs—ribs, lungs, most of it had to be replaced.

  He was alive through machines and sealant.

  If anyone could save him, it was Reclaimer’s medics.

  No one was as bad as Ko, but Bairamov and Sasaki had the worst.

  Missing limbs, severe concussions, and broken bones weren’t a big issue when a printer could pump a new one out in minutes and a few painful injections would send you right on your way to healing.

  The biggest injury was concussion; those helmets could stop rounds, but the force of impact fucking hurt.

  Mark could barely see straight, that much was evident as he threw up on the shuttle back. The big man had kept himself in the fight three hours after getting his bell rung.

  Jerome looked up as Moretti came through the door wearing blue smart-clothes without any nametape or insignia.

  A few smiled and waved; Moretti did so as well, relaxing as the room filled with white noise.

  He waved people to their seats and grabbed a sandwich from the food delivery.

  “First, I’m going to ask that none of you use my name, and pass the word on to the others. Call me M or DM in the presence of others; some have started calling me Eye,” he said, shooting a glance to Dashtund, who’d painted the eye on Moretti’s powered armor.

  “Can do,” Haas said, looking to the others. They nodded. Moretti had watched their backs, so if he didn’t want others knowing something, that was fine by them.

  “Thank you,” Moretti said, giving them a rare genuine smile.

  His hand went into his pocket and the white noise disappeared.

  “All of you will be asked to give a recollection of the events; this will be recorded and sent to the ministry. It might take a while, so I would expect you to return to Masoul Actual until the fighting is over,” Moretti said.

  “Will we be able to keep the powered armor?” Haas asked.

  “Yes. I have been talking to the higher-ups and they want you to get better acquainted with them. We might need them for our next engagement,” Moretti said.

  “M, where will this next engagement happen?” Iliev asked.

  “We have confirmed Chosen and Harmony personnel within Osdal. I would think that would be our next objective,” Moretti confirmed, nodding.

  He bit into his sandwich, whilst the others looked thoughtful.

  “Are they as bad as Masoul?” Kojo asked.

  “It doesn’t look like it, but a lot can change in twenty-four years,” Moretti said.

  “When you going back to Earth?” Jerome asked.

  Moretti finished his sandwich.

  “For the foreseeable future, I am attached to the EMFC Reclaimer as a Subject Matter Expert, or Schmee, as you people keep reminding me.” He looked at them severely, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.

  It was still too early for people to give him a full-on smile.

  Ministry of Intelligence, but if needs must, I will be attached to your unit on excursions.” He looked to Haas, who nodded. “It looks like there will be some carriers meeting us along the way; instead of having Reclaimer’s units dissolve, they will be reinforced by the carriers. I’ve heard noise of promotions in the air,” Moretti warned, his eyes looking around the room.

  “Fuck me, right?” Dashtund sighed, sitting back in his chair. “I like being a corporal!” he complained.

  “There will be more than enough occasions for you to get your ass busted down to corporal,” Haas promised.

  “There better be!” Dashtund said.

  Jerome shook his head at Dashtund’s antics, the mood feeling lighter already.

  Chapter 50

  EMFC Reclaimer

  Masoul Actual, Masoul System

  9/3242

  Mark headed through his section’s barracks before flopping down on his bed.

  “That good?” Ko said from his own bed.

  It had been two months since they’d been recalled to Reclaimer. The oxygen levels on the troopers’ controlled levels were too low for humans to survive for five days.

  Troopers were moving down again, looking to make sure the towers were clear.

  Gas Planet and Shipping Station needed workers, and the resistance were only too happy to leave Masoul Actual. No one wanted to live on the planet. Maybe someone would in the future, but until then it would be left in its current state.

  Ko had made it through surgery; his side was a mass of fresh pink skin, but he’d escaped medical and spent most of his time reading or walking to the cafeteria. He was still too weak to use weights and try to recover his strength.

  “Just amended my recording for the fifth time. M didn’t even try to tell me it should be the last one now. Those Ministry of Intelligence types have so many damned questions,” Mark said into his pillow.

  “Did you get the message about combat operations?” Ko asked, looking over from his bunk.

  “Nope,” Mark said. He opened up his implants and saw his messages and reports cascade; it was almost enough to make him turn it back off.

  “They’ve secured Central Tower and the powered armor we left behind, all intact and just like we left it. The other towers are looking clear as well. Shouldn’t be long until we’re headed for Osdal,” Ko said.

  “Yeah,” Mark said, that one word encompassing just how tired he felt. His life had been nothing but fighting for survival, and it didn’t look like it would change anytime soon. Only now he had lost people he saw as brothers and sisters; it took a toll that couldn’t ever be put into numbers or words.

  “I’m gonna grab a beer,” Mark said, pushing away the images his brain dredged up from Sacremon and Masoul.

  “Give me a hand, I’ll come too. Got to test out this new liver and kidney,” Ko said.

  Mark picked himself up and helped Ko to his feet. He was good once standing; it was the bending at the waist that did him in.

  “Thought the liver was regrowing itself?” Mark asked.

  “Yeah, but the kidney is new,” Ko said. They made for the door in companionable silence.

  The walk to the mess was a quick one. Troopers in the halls were just coming back from Masoul Actual. They needed a shower, but they’d been able to get sleep and food while they were on Masoul.

  They nodded to Mark and Ko as they walked, most talking to one another in hushed tones and taking second glances at them.

  “I even remembered to do my flies up,” he said, getting a weak laugh from Mark and grinning at his own joke.

  They got to the mess to find troopers there already, and before they could get to the bar, someone passed them each a beer.

  “Than
ks,” Mark said to the regimental sergeant major.

  “Yousaved a lot of people’s asses. Never seen anything like that drop. The Chosen would have crushed us if it wasn’t for your platoon’s preparations. I don’t know how you pulled off the grenade thing in the Chosen’s frontlines, but I have a good number of buddies that are around because of that.” The warrant held up her beer; Ko and Mark tapped it, accepting the praise and getting a good mouthful of their beers.

  “I doubt you lot will be paying for beers for some time. You ever need anything, find me. Regimental Sergeant Major Kumar,” she said by way of introduction.

  “Will do, RSM,” Mark said. Ko nodded.

  With that, she gave them a nod and headed off, beer in hand and wearing grimy smart clothes.

  Mark and Ko found a couch and sat down on it. They talked about their recordings, about what might await them on Osdal, and after another couple of free beers, they started talking about those they’d lost.

  ***

  It had been a few weeks since the interviews had ended, and a week since the memorial services had been held.

  Fearless and Reclaimer were heading out from Masoul at their fastest speed. Freighters and shuttles were shipping the last resistance fighters out across the system.

  Tyler remembered the hope he’d seen in the eyes of Jolie and the other resistance fighters. They just wanted to have something steady.

  Tyler saw all too much of himself in their eyes.

  That was what he had hoped for when joining the EMF. Things were more regular: he woke up in a system, donned his gear, and went to war; his friends died, cleaner bots stripped them of gear, and he was shipped back to his carrier.

  He sighed, finding a finger in his ribs.

  “Stop thinking,” Alexis whispered, throwing popcorn into her mouth and giving him a look that she would not have been happy with if he’d done it in return.

  “Sorry, babe,” he said, smiling at her and giving her a kiss. She melted and nestled under his arm.

  He let out a small laugh. He was a killer, there was no getting around it. His wife, brothers and sisters, they were all killers.

  They had come from gangs to the stability of the EMF.

  Tyler had sleepless nights over Sacremon. General Orlav had fought with honor; he wanted to make a system that bettered his people. The problem was he’d used a system that looked to control the companies and had failed dozens of times before.

  The rebels on Sacremon had had a great life, and they had given it up to fight for their beliefs for the better of all. Harmony only looked to empower the few, using colorful language and fear.

  He remembered Madam Song’s story and clenched his fist.

  “Babe?” Alexis asked, patting his knee and looking at him, her voice low.

  “Sorry, I was thinking again,” Tyler admitted, the anger sitting heavily in his chest.

  “What about?” she asked in almost a whisper.

  “About killing all of those Harmony fucks,” Tyler said.

  Tyler saw anger tighten her features, and she nodded in understanding.

  “I suddenly understand why Mark spends so much time in the gym,” she said, raising her brow in question.

  “Shall we?” Tyler asked, knowing their date night was ruined.

  “Yeah.” They got out of their seats and walked out of the entertainment center.

  They held one another’s hands and headed for the gym.

  “Sorry,” Tyler said.

  “Don’t worry about it, babe, I know the feeling. These Harmony fuckers stepped over a line, and I’m happy to bury them for it.” She glanced at him then, some of the anger dimming a bit. “You owe me a date night, though, and it better be damned good!”

  “I will endeavor to do my best,” he said, giving her an extravagant bow.

  Chapter 51

  EMFC Reclaimer

  Masoul System heading for Osdal System

  11/3242

  Nerva ignored the messages from Legate Aurelius and instead looked to the reports of his troopers. They had gone through three bad battles since entering Masoul.

  All too many had died. Not even the legion ships could get through Masoul Actual’s atmosphere with Reclaimer and Fearless orbiting. The potential for being spotted was too high.

  He looked over the information that interim General Domashev had passed on to him. It reported the transport of ten thousand powered armor units to Reclaimer. Now Domashev wanted Nerva to get a division ready to fight in powered armor without having it on hand.

  He had looked over the powered armor currently hanging out in a cleared-out ammunition dump in Reclaimer. It was rudimentary compared to the armor he had used with the legion, but it worked.

  It amplified the user’s power, had decent armor, and it wasn’t all that hard to use. It was more prone to breaking down than legion powered armor, but it would hopefully work.

  NIDenise had told him that all information the legion was getting from Osdal was off limits. The reasoning was that Nivad was watching closely and Nerva needed to react to the information naturally.

  Knowing information before it was given to him might make people suspicious.

  Nerva understood it, and he hated it.

  He sighed and stood, grabbing a box of cigars and throwing them in his leg pocket. He took a moment to send a message as he threw his beret on his head.

  He walked out of the office. People saluted him as he passed and he saluted them back. Those that knew him gave him a nod in greeting; he hated saluting.

  It didn’t take long for him to get a lift out of officer country and to his division’s area. No one saluted him down here, and he pulled his beret off, stuffing it in a leg pocket.

  He greeted people by name, ignoring ranks as he breezed through, finally arriving at an out-of-the-way observation port that many might have taken for a maintenance closet for the tight squeeze into it and the electronic panels one was greeted with.

  Once past that, it opened up into a large observation deck with couches spread out in a broken U-shape facing the massive glass sheet that looked out into space.

  Masoul lay out there, a ball of angry mother nature. A small stream of ships’ lights could be traced to Landing City—resistance people leaving the horrors of the planet behind.

  Nerva stepped out, seeing the Triple-Twos and Combat Shuttle One-Four-Nine’s crew partaking in the drinks produced by a still working in the corner.

  Lieutenant Yu spat out his drink and his eyes bulged as Nerva walked in.

  “Something the matter?” Nerva asked the lieutenant. Dashtund, the proud owner of the still, gave Nerva a drink, grinning the entire time.

  Nerva’s face didn’t even twitch as he drank the drink, and Jerome shifted his ass on a crate so the Major could sit down.

  “Uhh, nothing, sir,” Yu said, clearly expecting to get yelled at for drinking from an illegal still.

  “Dashtund, get me a damn pouch, will you? I swear I got fatter since the last time I was in here,” Ortiz growled, shifting his short but wide bulk into the space.

  Dashtund filled up another pouch and handed it to the man. Captain Sholtz, Division Sergeant Major Dalton, and most of the officers, their warrants and sergeant majors all grabbed a drink and took a seat.

  Nerva pulled out the box of cigars he’d stuffed in his pocket.

  He showed them to Jerome, opening the box with Cohelans branded into its lid.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Jerome said, pulling a cigar from the box. Nerva took one as well, as it made its rounds. Some grabbed a cigar, while others pulled out cigarettes or didn’t partake in tobacco products at all.

  Nerva looked to Mark and Tyler, who each had cigars.

  His eyes moved to Jerome beside him. They were no longer jumpy recruits; they were troopers hardened through war. The years had aged them. He saw that age and the fatigue not born from a lack of sleep, but from being at war for so long, in their faces and the faces in the observation deck.

&nbs
p; Jerome had already chewed his cigar open and lit the tip, and was contentedly puffing on it. Nerva put his in his mouth, and Jerome held the light out. Nerva made sure it was lit tasting the smoke before letting it out in a sigh.

  “Thanks,” Nerva said, sitting back into the chair and puffing on the cigar.

  People had quiet conversations as they looked through the wide-open glass that showed Masoul slowly falling away.

  Nerva slowly rose, exhaling cigar smoke and raising his drinking pouch. The others in the room took note and rose as well, conversation falling away.

  “To the fallen, to our brothers and sisters. May we fight in honor of them.” Nerva held his pouch higher before taking a deep drink.

  He looked to the others in the room. They took their seats, strong men and women letting out emotions that they didn’t let out around the lower ranks.

  Nerva sat.

  “So what will happen in Osdal?” Jerome asked, before holding his own cigar to his lips.

  “We’ll wipe Harmony out there and anywhere else they show up,” Nerva said, his voice cold and hard.

  “Yes, sir,” Jerome said, looking from Masoul to Nerva, trust and agreement in his eyes, which had been hardened already by too much war and loss.

  Nerva drank from his pouch to hide his face and to buy himself a moment to collect his thoughts. Many more people would die in Osdal; too many had died already. He would not rest until Harmony was but a footnote in the EMF’s history books. He didn’t care about the losses; he didn’t care about the wins. He didn’t feel the anxiety or excitement that others felt. He was interested by the power he wielded as the head of the Ministry of Intelligence, with a bank account that rivaled a corporation’s.

  He liked playing with companies and corporations. War was wasteful to his system. It was necessary to have the EMF, but to have war? For that, he would remove Harmony from existence.

  Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!

  You can check out my other books, what I’m working on and upcoming releases through the following means:

  Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00WCAOQME

  Website: http://michaelchatfield.com/