From the Torment of Dreams

by Iain McKinnon

  It drew closer to Jackson.

  “Guys!” Lan shouted as he entered the room, Jackson's eyes shot open in surprise.

  “Ramage wants us over at the Quartermasters in five minutes,” Lan said as he trotted over to his bunk. He started to gather up the few essential pieces of kit he would need.

  “Keep practising that when you have the time,” Nasim said.

  “That was very relaxing. I started to see,” Jackson paused, “it was like a star, but it seemed alive.”

  “With a bit of practice and some tuition I think you could see a lot more than that.”

  Section 34

  “Congratulations,” Ramage said sarcastically, “Your training is officially over and you have the joy of shipping out to join the rest of the Twenty-Third.

  “Do not give those boys a reason to eat you alive. You have mustered out but are not the shit kickin' hard ass paras they are.”

  Ramage looked the three over solemnly, “Captain LaFer and myself have taught you all we can in the time allotted but you are still newbies so don't get cocky.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Ramage,” said Keir, “Camouflage is not just looking like a bush. It means to blend in. In order to facilitate this you are being issued with the standard Parachute Regiment Night Lizard camouflage.”

  Keir pointed to the three neatly folded sets of fatigues on the Quartermaster's counter, “Only the cream of the Neotran armed forces earn this honour. You however are getting these on loan. Remember you are forward observers with the Twenty-Third. So that you do not become a more prominent target to the enemy you may don the Lizzies.”

  Keir stepped back from the Quartermaster’s counter and with a wave of his hand he invited the trio to collect their uniforms.

  Lan had seen these worn by a number of troops around the base, Keir among them.

  Now that he held a set in his hands he could admire the hypnotic quality of the disruptive pattern that seemed to draw the eye away from where he wanted to focus.

  The tiger stripe lines of black, green and grey intertwined with each other in an elegant weave.

  The soldiers who ran past him on the dusty road that first long hike had worn a set. Lan remembered how they and the few other members of the elite units had automatically been afforded respect by the rest of the soldiers.

  “They're very heavy,” commented Jackson.

  “That set of clothing represents the best in personal battlefield protection any soldier can get,” said Keir proudly, “I doubt even the Terrans have anything as advanced.”

  “Don't the Alliance tend towards battle armour?” Lan threw in to show off his first hand knowledge.

  “That they do, you've been reading up,” Keir gave a lopsided smile of approval, “But they're expensive and maintenance intensive and because of that the Terrans at Veruct will have only a limited supply. They'd only use them for specialised missions.”

  “Like the attack on the missile base at Mendus,” Nasim added.

  Keirs smile crumbled from his face, “Of course, Nasim...”

  “Why is it so special?” Nasim asked bailing Keir out of his worried embarrassment.

  Keir proudly ran through the specifications for his newly indoctrinated men, “The cloth is a weave of synthetic dragline silk which is five times stronger than steel. It is waterproof, wind proof, and impervious to chemical attack.

  “The thermal layer is made of a carbon composite honeycomb material that is stab-proof and heat resistant up to five hundred degrees. If it is exposed to fire the fibres char and expand. By billowing out it keeps the heat from burning the wearer's skin.”

  “Handy,” offered Jackson.

  “That's not all. Behind that there is a second layer of viscous gel. The gel is trauma reactive which means that it will solidify instantaneously if it is penetrated by a fast moving object like shrapnel.”

  “You mean this stuff's bullet proof!” Lan exclaimed.

  “It will stop a wide range of projectiles but a bullet at close range will penetrate if it has a high enough velocity,”

  “Do we need to remember all that?” asked Jackson.

  “No, but you did ask,” said Keir, “Now grab the rest of your kit and get ready to move out.”

  Lan, Jackson and Nasim packed away what few personal items they had at the billet and donned the new uniforms.

  “What do you think?” asked Jackson.

  “Very nice. Far better than those olive green jump-suits,” Lan said as he smoothed the angle on his beret.

  “Nice pyjamas,” laughed Jackson as he spotted Nasim.

  Nasim's slight frame meant that the garment drowned him in waves of material. His sleeves where rolled up so that the cuffs didn't drop down below his hands and the trousers were baggy like a clown's britches.

  Nasim looked down at his shoes.

  “The boots fit,” he said with a shrug that was half hidden in cloth.

  Lan looked at himself in the mirror. The fresh uniform brought with it an air of superiority. He snapped to attention and raised his chin proudly. For the first time since Nicola he felt a sense of dignity.

  “I am a member of Neotra's elite now,” he thought, “No longer the wimp you dumped, I'm a soulless killer. You'd love to see me in this. I'm hard and dangerous, not weak and pitiful.”

  Nasim caught a glimpse of Lan's eyes in the mirror. The sight made him shudder as if a cold wind had blown through the room. As he looked at Lan something wrenched inside him and the murder of his family and friends came hurtling back. It slammed into him burying him in a landslide of emotions. The grief, the remorse, the bitterness came surging back as if it had happened yesterday.

  “Well, young Private Agstaff, don't you look dapper,” Jackson joked, “I dare say had you been wearing that at the weekend you wouldn't have got back to the base.”

  “What?” said Lan torn away from his thoughts.

  “Just sayin' you look good, that uniform suits you.”

  “Yeah, it does, thanks,” Lan flicked a mote of fluff from his sleeve, “Better than Nasim's.”

  Jackson and Lan looked over at Nasim.

  Tears were streaming down Nasim's face.

  “Hey, sorry man, I didn't mean anything by it,” apologised Lan.

  “No, it's not tha...” Nasim wiped his eyes and snivelled.

  “I... my family, excuse me,” he stuttered as he left the bunkroom in the direction of the toilets.

  Jackson rapped on the cubical door.

  “You OK, Nasim?” he asked.

  Nasim took a deep breath to restrain his sobs.

  “You want to talk about it?” Jackson said hesitantly.

  The bolt on the door slid open.

  Nasim sat on the toilet his eyes puffy and red.

  Dropping onto his haunches Jackson reached out and pulled free some paper.

  “Here,” Jackson said passing the wad over.

  Nasim took the offering and dried his eyes.

  “Sometimes...” Nasim stumbled over a sob, “Sometimes I don't know who I am,”

  “How do you mean?” Jackson asked.

  “Everyone I know is dead. The people I grew up with, gone,” Nasim took a deep breath, “It's not meant to be like that.”

  Jackson didn't know what Nasim meant but held out against the urge to fill the silence.

  “I know people die. People die all the time, it's natural. I've seen death before. It was up to me to look after them,” Nasim gulped in more air and fresh tears trickled down his cheek.

  “They've all gone,” Nasim's chest heaved as he pushed each word out, “and I have nowhere to be,”

  “Take away the people around you and the place you live and what's left?” Nasim asked.

  “Nasim,” Jackson said gently, “We're all out of place here but I can't begin to imagine what you're going through,”

  Jackson softly bit his lip as he tried hard to think of something consoling, “I don't know if I can do anything to help but if I can I will,”


  Nasim placed a hand on Jackson's shoulder, “Thank you, it helps to have a friend,”

  “One thing though,” Jackson asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Mind if I get up, my arse is falling asleep sitting like this,”

  The four piled their newly acquired kit into their jeep and with Keir driving set off up the long dusty road out of the base. Lan and Jackson looked like they were on their way to a military version of Sunday school, their uniforms crisp, clean and rigid with starch. Nasim managed to bring his naturally dishevelled look to the oversized garment.

  “Where are we going?” Jackson asked.

  “The train station,” replied Keir, “The airport's still not operational after the last raid.”

  “And after the station?” said Jackson.

  Before Keir could answer Lan offered, “Fort Veruct.”

  “We haven't been told yet, but it looks that way,” Keir replied.

  “Where else is there?” Lan asked.

  “Our man could still be working with the terrorists, there's a lot of activity in Waden. They've increased their bombing campaign on our installations. Command thinks they're going to try and annex the state.” Keir said.

  “Why haven't they tried before?” asked Lan

  “Oh, they have, politically at first. The Nationalists started a bombing campaign about seventy years ago. The difference is that now the Terran Alliance is training and funding them.”

  “But I heard they don't have any tanks or aircraft,” said Lan, “without heavy weapons they can't hope to hold out.”

  “Why doesn't the Alliance just give them the weapons?” asked Jackson.

  “Because they can't. They need everything they've got to hold Veruct, what I've heard is that they've had no success in obtaining new supplies. The first ship was blown out of the sky by a handful of ships out of Greda.”

  “She wasn't destroyed her hull is still intact,” said Jackson in a low, mournful voice.

  Keir missed the significance of the remark and carried on with mounting enthusiasm, “Anyway, their new convoy, well they say over fifty percent of it has been knocked out! Can you believe it? Earth's going to lose her foothold here any day now.”

  “So you think we could be going to Waden then?” said Lan.

  “Maybe,” replied Keir.

  “We're going to Veruct,” Nasim butted in.

  “Why are you so sure?” asked Keir.

  “Because I told them that's where we'll find him.”

  “What's that foul smell!” Jackson exclaimed as they walked through the subway.

  “It's the main sewer,” Keir explained, “It was cracked open during an air raid. They've not had a chance to repair it yet.”

  The subway tunnel gave way to a sprawling train station.

  It looked more like a fortress than a station. Gun emplacements and sandbagged bunkers encircled it.

  There were battalions of soldiers boarding waiting trains. Walking among the troops were military police; their distinctive armbands and caps separating them from amongst the drab olive green uniforms of the infantry battalions.

  There were large holes in the roof of the station through which birds fluttered in and out. A few grey wiry creatures stalked the platforms pecking for scraps, their heads bobbing comically as they scavenged.

  Keir pulled his orders from one of his many pockets. He read them over again and looked around at the numbers on the departures and arrivals board.

  “We need to be at platform Six,” Keir announced looking at a display, “That's where we'll meet the rest of the Twenty-Third.”

  It didn't take long to spot them. Unlike the other troops they wore the characteristic Lizard camouflage reserved for Neotra's elite.

  “You guys get boarded; Agstaff, Jackson you're in berths E seven and eight. Nasim you're bunking with me, E nine.” Keir unhitched his backpack, “Nasim can you take this into E ten for me.”

  Nasim helped Keir remove his load.

  “I'll be along in a minute, once I've checked in with the duty officer. It's getting late so get your heads down and I'll see you in the morning,” said Keir.

  “Knowing the army it'll be an early start,” complained Jackson, “Being onboard a space ship you get used to a routine.”

  “Am I here baby sitting you guys?” Keir asked, “Anyway I don't know which staging post we're going to yet but it's obviously some way if they're putting us on a sleeper. Maybe I'll find out for sure from the duty officer, but I doubt it.”

  The passageway on the train was so narrow that they had to take off their packs and side step to their cabins.

  “Well this is cosy,” said Jackson on entering his berth. The room was less than two metres wide with bunk beds taking up most of that. The beds were short, obviously designed to fit the average eight-year-old. Jackson envisaged a night of lying in the foetal position just to keep his feet warm.

  Lan pushed in behind Jackson.

  “Budge up!” Lan moaned.

  “I already am,” replied Jackson.

  The next twenty minutes were spent performing the intricate manoeuvres of storing their kit and getting ready to bunk down. One man would huddle on his bunk with his kit while the other tried to undress in the confined quarters.

  Finally they were both able to get into their berths.

  “What about those missiles?” Mornan screamed.

  Jackson fought with the lifepod's controls. With each second that passed the green dots on the radar drew closer.

  The tiny craft jolted as it skimmed the atmosphere. It shuddered and jerked as it plummeted to the planet below.

  “We're all going to die!” yelled Mornan.

  The ship started to heat up from the friction outside. Hotter and hotter the capsule became as they dived.

  “The heat shield, it's breaking up. We'll burn up!”

  Jackson paid no attention to Mornan's fears. They lurched again and again, all the time becoming hotter and hotter.

  “We're burning up! We're burning up!” Mornan screamed.

  Jackson sat bolt upright in his bunk, smacking his head on the low ceiling.

  “Ahh!” he cried.

  The carriage rocked from side to side with the rhythm of the track. The gentle beat of the wheels skipping over the joints in the rail reminded Jackson where he was.

  “You OK up there?” Lan mumbled from his bunk below.

  “Yeah fine, just a bad dream,” Jackson lay back down rubbing his forehead.

  “Is it just me or is it hot in here?” he asked Lan.

  “I was cold. I put the heating on,” Lan's reply was sluggish.

  “You couldn't switch it off? It's roasting up here.”

  “Sure,” Lan stretched over and adjusted the air conditioning.

  “Lan. You've never really spoken about your time as a Terran soldier,” said Jackson.

  “Nothing to talk about,” confessed Lan.

  “It's just that I'm responsible for killing every one on the Berenices. Surely you have some feelings about that?” Jackson didn't know why he was pushing the subject. Maybe it was because Lan didn't hate him for what he had done and Jackson found that startling. Maybe it was seeing Nasim so upset earlier.

  “Not really,” grumbled Lan.

  “Didn't you have any friends in your unit?” asked Jackson.

  “Na, after basic they split you into your units,” Lan let out a punctuating yawn, “My battalion was being shipped out. They rushed the travel orders so I could ship out with them.”

  “So why did you sign up?”

  “Like I said I needed to get away. I didn't have any money to travel so I joined up.”

  “I joined to get my Captaincy. It seemed like the smart thing at the time but I wish I hadn't been so...” Jackson struggled for the word, “Well, so self-centred. I signed up to get my precious promotion. Now my wife doesn't know if I'm dead or alive and I don't know if she's all right.”

  Jackson let out a sigh, “I forgot how much I love
her, so busy with my career I took her for granted.”

  “Like to get back to sleep,” Lan murmured.

  Jackson heard him roll over in his bunk, ending the conversation.

  “Yeah, sure. Night,” replied Jackson.

  The heat of the cabin and the noise from the tracks kept Jackson awake.

  “Surely Lan would have spent three months in basic training with some of those men on the Berenices,” Jackson thought, “he had to have formed some kind of attachment with them?”

  It worried Jackson that Lan showed so little emotion.

  Loud snores emanated from the bunk below.

  Jackson rolled over onto his side and tried, in vain, to ignore the wild snorts and half muttered words from beneath him.

  Thunderous knocks at the cabin door jolted Jackson awake. An unfamiliar voice called, “Disembarking in twenty minutes, rise and shine!”

  Jackson groggily reached out from his bunk and pushed the curtain open. A shaft of blinding sunlight leapt into the cabin causing Lan to utter a disapproving moan.

  Jackson's eyes adjusted to the light. Framed by the window, verdant countryside flashed past.

  Struggling to keep his balance against the motion of the train Jackson eased himself down from the top berth.

  Safely down he started getting dressed, “Come on Lan, better get a move on.”

  “What time is it anyway?” Lan asked from beneath his pillow.

  Jackson checked his watch, “Um, six forty.”

  Lan just moaned and tucked himself into a tight ball under the covers.

  “You can't still be tired. We've had a good nine hours sleep! That's more than we've had since leaving hospital,” Jackson looked down at the bump under a pile of covers, “What are you doing in there, nesting?”

  Lan just groaned.

  “Morning,” Nasim chirped.

  Lan rubbed his eyes and grunted a response.

  “When's breakfast?” Lan asked as he stepped off the train.

  The train hadn't stopped at a station, instead they were all disembarking into an open field.