Cherry Drop (Abner Fortis, ISMC Book 1)

by P. A. Piatt

  The news caused a few of the assembled Space Marines to shift in their seats, and Reese held up his hands. “Settle down, ladies. There will be plenty of space on the mechs for all of you to sleep as long as you do it in shifts. If Pada-Pada wasn’t such a hellhole, I’d let you sleep under the stars.”

  Most of the Marines guffawed.

  “While First and Third are on vacation, I’ll be with Second and Weapons Platoon on Ha’acka Ro on a bug hunt of our own. In two weeks, we will return and exfiltrate First and Third, at which time we will link back up here on Atlas. Questions?”

  Gunnery Sergeant Hawkins, the Foxtrot Company gunnery sergeant, stood up.

  “Gunny Hawkins, what’s your question?”

  “Sir, who is the mining conglomerate sending to Pada-Pada? Miners? Mercenaries?”

  “Some kind of super soldiers they’ll be testing in the field. It’s a Conglomerate show; you’re there for back-up.”

  “What kind of super soldier, sir?”

  Captain Reese shook his head. “I don’t know, Gunny. Don’t bust my balls, okay? Just go to Pada-Pada, catch up on your sleep in the mechs, and wait for extract.”

  Gunny Hawkins sat down and there was an uncomfortable pause in the briefing. Fortis sat stone-faced, but his mind whirled. This mission briefing was unlike any he’d attended in training and was conducted almost as an afterthought.

  “Warning orders are waiting for you in your platoon spaces.” Reese consulted his watch. “You have fourteen hours and eighteen minutes to get squared away and load the transport. Don’t be late or you’ll be in a world of shit. That is all.”

  Before anyone could call the room to attention, everyone jumped from their seats and stood stiffly as Reese exited the room.

  Fortis relaxed and took a deep breath. The bug hunt didn’t sound like much, but it was his first mission as a Space Marine, and he was filled with a combination of excitement and dread. A million thoughts raced through his head, and the daunting task of preparing the thirty-eight Marines in his platoon for a two-week deployment seemed overwhelming.

  “Don’t go anywhere!” Gunny Hawkins strode to the front of the room. “It’s time for the real operational briefing.”

  Everyone sat up a little straighter. Even the dropship jockeys paid attention.

  “Our mission is simple. The GRC is experimenting with their latest batch of test tube soldiers and the government has ordered us to go along. The test tubes will clear the bugs out of an abandoned mine shaft, and we’ll be backing them up.”

  “So, we’re babysitters?” The speaker, a sergeant with a ragged scar across one cheek that froze his face into a permanent scowl, growled from the back.

  “No.” Hawkins cleared his throat and continued. “Some people are convinced this will be a walk in the park, but I’m here to tell you, it ain’t. The last time the Conglomerate rolled out their creations on Pada-Pada, the ISMC sent Bravo Company, First of the Fourth, as a reserve force. The test tubes picked a fight with about a million bugs and the situation got out of hand. Bravo Company, one hundred and fifty-six Space Marines, died in the fighting, along with a thousand test tubes. The Conglomerate had to nuke two mines to keep the bugs out of the colony.”

  Groans and gasps greeted the gunny’s words, and Fortis gave an involuntary shudder.

  A million bugs?

  “Make no mistake, we are not babysitting. This is a combat mission, no matter what the ten-pound brains in Intel say.”

  Gunny Hawkins paced as he spoke and made eye contact with the assembled Space Marines. He locked Fortis in his uncompromising gaze for a moment before moving on.

  “The enemy situation on Pada-Pada is simple. Pada-Pada is the enemy; the entire planet. The bugs will kill you. The plants will kill you. If you don’t acclimate, the air will kill you. Be glad it’s the dry season because the rain will kill you. In seventeen days, Mineral Lake will burp, and when it does, the lake will kill you.”

  “We will be the only friendlies on Pada-Pada. The Conglomerate and their test tubes are neutrals. They don’t want us there, and I don’t trust them. Is everyone with me so far?”

  Fortis saw heads nodding around the room.

  “Let’s get to the mission. First off, line-of-sight comms aren’t worth a damn in thick jungle, so six hours before we launch Fleet communicators will launch a three-bird comm satellite constellation.” He pointed to a Fleet chief petty officer at the back of the room.

  “One of the birds will have a deep space relay in case you need to call us,” the chief said. “You can also piggyback on the colony uplink, but it’s not secure.”

  “Thanks, Chief.” Hawkins turned his attention to the dropship pilots and the ISMC Mechanized Force crews. “We will combat-load all four dropships tonight, one mech plus logistics in each one. When we get the order to mount up, Fleet drone operators will launch—”

  Hawkins stopped speaking and searched the room.

  “Fleet drone operators, raise your hands.”

  There was no response. Hawkins turned to Ystremski.

  “Where the fuck are the drone operators?”

  Ystremski shrugged. “No idea, Gunny. I’ll go shake some trees.” Hawkins frowned as Corporal Ystremski left the space.

  “Let’s continue. The drone operators will clear the jungle from the drop zone with cutter charges while the dropships maintain a low hover. When the DZ is clear, LT Baker will give the order to commence the drop.” He pointed at the dropship pilots. “Gentlemen, I know you’ll be anxious to get back to your ice cream and movies—” everyone in the room laughed, “—but this is not a bump and dump. Proceed with one ship at a time, and don’t approach or take off until you’re cleared by the DZ coordinator.”

  Hawkins turned his attention back to the Space Marines. “When the ramp goes down, move your asses. Infantry will set the perimeter, backed up by the mechs. Once we’ve got the perimeter set, the dropships will be released to return to the Fleet. Any questions?”

  Corporal Ystremski returned and threw up his hands.

  “The drone operator said he didn’t need to be here, Gunny. ‘No time for Space Marine bullshit.’ His words, not mine.”

  Hawkins’ face darkened. He turned to the chief he’d talked to about the satellite constellation. “Hey, Chief, would you mind stepping down to the Chief’s Mess and invite the drone detachment chief to join us here, please?” Fortis sensed a definite threat under Hawkins’ pleasant tone and polite language.

  The communications chief chuckled. “Sure thing, Gunny. Won’t be a minute.”

  Gunny Hawkins gestured to LT Baker. “XO, do you have anything to add?”

  LT Baker shook his head and waved a hand. “No, Gunny. We’re good to go.” His voice was weak, and he looked paler than when Fortis had last seen him just a few hours earlier. “Good to go.”

  “That’s it then. Platoon sergeants, make sure your Marines are packed and ready to go before lights out. Sergeant Coughlin assured me that our LBA will be staged in the dropships tonight. Isn’t that right, Coughlin?”

  Fortis hadn’t seen the battalion armorer seated on the other side of the room.

  “That’s right, Gunny.”

  Hawkins looked around the room. “Does anybody have any questions?”

  Nobody spoke up.

  “Then let’s go do the deed.”

  As the group broke up, Fortis felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find his platoon sergeant, Corporal Ystremski, smiling behind him.

  “You look like you just saw a ghost, LT.” Ystremski pronounced it ‘Ell-Tee,’ the standard abbreviation for every officer below the rank of captain. “Don’t sweat it, sir. This is my twelfth bug hunt. It sucks, but we’ll be ready. You need anything?”

  Fortis stared for a second, then shook his head.

  “Okay then, give me some time to read through the warning orders, and I’ll let you know if there’s any hard spots. What say I come up and see you in two hours?”

  “Sounds good.” />
  * * * * *

  Chapter Four

  Fortis stared at the mountain of gear on his bunk and sighed. He had hauled this load of junk around for fourteen weeks of basic and advanced training, and it looked like he would carry it forever or until he got out of the Corps, whichever came first. Three sharp raps on the stateroom hatch snapped him out of his reverie, and Corporal Ystremski stuck his head in.

  “Hey, LT, how’s it going?”

  The corporal wore the same slightly amused expression he always had, as if he knew the punch line to a private joke.

  “Come on in, Corporal.” Fortis motioned to an empty chair. “Have a seat.”

  Instead, Ystremski walked over and stood next to Fortis’ rack. “That’s quite a collection of gear you have there, sir. Having a yard sale?”

  Fortis smiled despite himself. “No, just packing for the drop tomorrow. How are the men making out?”

  Ystremski nodded. “They’re all set, sir. All we need to do now is to fill canteens and issue weapons.”

  “That was fast. Good job, Corporal.”

  Ystremski nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He picked up a bulky set of multi-vision goggles from the pile and turned them over. He wrinkled his nose and dropped them back on the pile. “We only packed the stuff we’ll need. Not this heavy junk.”

  Fortis looked at the goggles the corporal had discarded. They were heavy, but they allowed the wearer to see in both low light and thermal conditions, and they interfaced with a standard ISMC mech helmet.

  “You don’t think we’ll need goggles?”

  “Yes, sir, we will. The problem is, Pada-Pada is so damn humid that those things will white out and become expensive paperweights.” Ystremski tapped the top of his head as though he was wearing a helmet. “The goggles in your helmet will work just fine, day or night. You ought to leave those behind.”

  Fortis paused for a second and then set the goggles aside. He wasn’t sure if Ystremski was pulling some elaborate new-guy prank, but his instincts told him the corporal was professional enough to leave that stuff in the squad bay. The mission to Pada-Pada might be routine, but there were still hazards involved.

  “Thanks for the tip. Anything else you’d leave behind?”

  Ystremski examined all the gear. “Most of this crap.” He pulled out a heavy canvas shelter half. “You won’t need this. We’ll be sleeping in the mechs or not at all. If you try to sleep outside, either the bugs or the plants will kill you.”

  The corporal continued to sort through Fortis’ gear, and the leave behind pile grew. “You’ll need this,” he said as he handed the young officer a K-Bar knife. He picked up Fortis’ collapsible entrenching tool. “And this.”

  Fortis examined the folded shovel Ystremski had handed him. “If we’re not sleeping outside, why do I need it?”

  “You can do a lot with an entrenching tool, LT. Besides, at some point you’ll want to take a shit, right?” Fortis nodded. “You can dig a hole with your hands if you want, but it’s easier with that.”

  The corporal surveyed the pile. “You have a kukri, sir?”

  Fortis shook his head. “Not yet. The training cadre at Advanced Infantry told us we had to make five drops before we could carry one.”

  “Fuck that parade ground bullshit. I’ll get you one before we drop. Every Marine in my platoon carries one.” He winked. “Even the cherries.”

  Ystremski grabbed the entire pile of uniforms Fortis had folded on the bunk and dumped them on the leave behind pile.

  “Hey, I just folded those.”

  “And they’ll be nice and neat when you get back, sir.” The corporal pulled one uniform blouse and one pair of trousers from the stack. “Take those in case you ruin the set you’re wearing.”

  “Two weeks is a long time in the same uniform.”

  “There’s no laundry where we’re going, sir, and there’s no room in the mechs for extra clothes.” Ystremski saw the look of protest on Fortis’ face. “We don’t call this the Suck for nothing. You don’t like it? Tough shit. DINLI.”

  “DINLI,” Fortis echoed.

  Ystremski and Fortis surveyed the remaining gear.

  “You need six more pairs of socks and twenty pig squares and that ought to do it.”

  Pig squares were dehydrated ham steaks, a standard ISMC field ration. Rehydration rendered them mushy and inedible, so the Marines settled for munching them dry.

  “Pig squares? What for? We’ve got a logistics drop.”

  “On my cherry drop, my entire company dropped in on a desert planet called Chuk-4. One hundred and forty of us, give or take. Some idiot lit a flare and burned the supply depot on the first night. We survived ten days on thirty-six pig squares between us. Now, I carry twenty with me every time I drop. You should, too.”

  The duo packed the take pile into Fortis’ assault pack, and Fortis secured the rest in his locker. He hefted his pack and marveled at how light it was.

  “Corporal, I appreciate your help. Thank you.”

  Ystremski nodded. “Just doing my job, sir.” He smiled. “I don’t like to watch my cherries struggle, even officers. All you have to do now is show up at the dropship on time.”

  There was a momentary silence between the men, then Fortis spoke.

  “Any other advice you can give me?”

  Ystremski considered him for a long second and rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he nodded.

  “Yeah. Actually, there is. Don’t try too hard, sir.”

  “Try too hard?”

  “Yes, sir. I see it all the time in new officers. You work your ass off to get through training, then you get out here and want to prove something by digging trenches and doing other grunt work.”

  “We’ve got to work together as a team.”

  “That’s right, LT, we do, but everyone has a role to play. Grunts dig trenches while the officers figure out how to get them hot chow and fresh water. Unless the enemy is bearing down on us, and we need a trench dug ASAP, the guys will appreciate you more if their bellies are full. Understand?”

  Fortis nodded, and Ystremski continued.

  “I’m your platoon sergeant. You want something done, I get it done. If it’s something dumb that will get someone killed or waste a lot of time, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, just tell me what you want and keep the company CO off our necks.”

  “How will the men learn to trust me if I don’t demonstrate that I know what I’m doing?”

  “Sir, believe me, the guys know you made it through training. They respect that because they went through the same training. They know what you know, and they know what you don’t know. You’ll get your balls busted, but that’s just part of being a cherry.”

  Fortis let the corporal’s words sink in for a second before he stuck out his hand.

  “Corporal, I appreciate the help with my pack and your advice.” He extended his hand, and the two men locked eyes as they shook. Something about Ystremski’s frank stare and plain talk made Fortis trust him, and he felt a surge of confidence about the upcoming drop onto Pada-Pada.

  “My pleasure, sir.” He stepped to the hatch, stopped, and turned back. “Hey, LT, before I forget.” He dug something out of his pocket and tossed it to Fortis. The young officer caught it and saw it was a mouth guard like those worn by sportsball players back on Terra Earth.

  “What’s this for?”

  Ystremski smiled. “The dropship jockeys will be in a big hurry to off-load us and get back into orbit. There won’t be any slow approaches or fancy flare maneuvers. They’re not supposed to bump and dump, but if we hit too hard that will keep you from biting off your tongue.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Fortis discovered a series of lectures about the Precision Crafted Soldier Project on Atlas’ VR, or virtual reality, system. The lectures were conducted by Doctor Strachan, a leading opponent of the project. Strachan laid out his case in clear and convincing terms. Not only was the development of artificial humans immoral, he argued, but thei
r use would lead to more conflict. It was all “above the shoulders stuff,” as the Space Marines liked to call intellectual pursuits.

  When the series ended, Fortis turned off the VR player and laid down to get some rest. His first real combat drop was only a few hours away, and his sleep was fitful and filled with strange dreams.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Five

  The dropship pilot’s voice crackled in Fortis’ headset.

  “Stand by for launch.”

  The dropship gave a slight jerk as the pilot guided it down the launch rails and out the hangar doors. Fortis heard a thunk as the mooring locks released and his body strained against his harness as the induced gravity of Atlas dropped away.

  “All systems are green; three minutes to atmosphere.”

  Fortis held up three fingers in response to the pilot’s report, and the Marines seated throughout the troop compartment repeated his signal. He yanked on his harness straps to ensure they were as tight as he could get them and clamped his jaw down on his mouthpiece. He looked up and locked eyes with PFC Lemm who flashed him a thumbs up. Fortis suddenly remembered that all eyes would be on him, and he was responsible for the safety of the Space Marines on this dropship. Fortis nodded and returned the gesture, then looked around and saw everyone flashing a thumbs up.

  “Atmosphere.”

  As the dropship punched into the atmosphere of Pada-Pada, the craft rattled and rocked, which made the pilot’s warning unnecessary. Fortis squeezed his eyes shut and suffered a brief twinge of panic as Pada-Pada’s gravity began to weigh on his chest. He stared at a spot on the opposite bulkhead and struggled to control his breathing as the dropship pilot fired the retro rockets to slow their descent.

  Status indicator lights above the aft hatch flashed red and then amber. Fortis tensed as he waited for the green light and the release of his seat harness. Suddenly, the dropship slammed down. The lights flickered and then went out in the troop compartment. The craft made a sickening lurch, tipping them backward, and in his mind’s eye he saw the mech, secured in the same compartment, break free of its moorings and smash him and his platoon against the bulkhead.