by P. A. Piatt
There were four more dead bugs with jet-black shells and large pincers, like overgrown beetles. It surprised Fortis to see each had a mouth full of jagged teeth and every leg ended in a wickedly curved claw.
Gunny Hawkins poked one beetle. “The big bastards are easy to fight, LT. You just have to watch out for the stinger. These little fuckers are another story. They grab you with that pincher and slice you to death with those damned claws.”
More rifle shots from further up the perimeter drew their attention. Fortis watched as the Space Marines responsible for that section of the perimeter deployed along their half-finished fighting positions while one of the mechs pumped a ten-round volley of 40-millimeter grenades into the jungle just beyond the clearing. The grenades exploded with a distinctive crack followed by the whirr of shrapnel as it sliced through the underbrush.
Gunny Hawkins tapped Fortis on the shoulder. “These guys don’t need our help, sir. Let’s head up to the command post, and I’ll show you what we’re doing there.”
Fortis followed Hawkins to the command post, or CP, which was the nerve center of the Space Marines’ position. The Marines had stacked sandbags halfway up the sides of Mech 3 at ground level and a sandbagged fighting position covered by camouflage netting squatted on top. They went up the ramp and into the cool, dark interior. Hawkins pointed to an empty seat labeled “CO.”
“Have a seat, LT.”
On the bulkhead in front of them were four large display screens. The largest screen showed an overhead view of the camp; all the planned fighting positions were highlighted in blue.
“Sergeant Kilfoy, why don’t you brief the LT on what he’s looking at?”
Kilfoy, who occupied a workstation off to the right, spun in her seat to face Fortis and Hawkins.
“Roger that, Gunny. Sir, I’m Sergeant Kilfoy, Mech 3 commander and lead CP technician. In front of you is the standard tactical display used for command and control. The first screen on the left displays the vitals from every Space Marine in camp, including heart rate, respiration, internal body temp, and blood pressure. It’s important to monitor these guys as their strength enhancement number increases, because they can literally work themselves to death before they become accustomed to their new level.”
She typed a command into her keyboard and the second screen lit up. It was an overhead outline of the camp but otherwise blank. “This is our surveillance system status. All remote sensors feed into this screen, along with any active helmet cameras and drones. The guys were installing the first set of sensors when the bugs showed up. Here’s a helmet cam view.” The screen flickered and showed a jerky view of the jungle clearing. One of the Space Marines was holding a dead beetle over his head. He rotated his hips, slammed it down to the ground, and thumped his chest. Several Marines gathered around him and cheered.
“Assholes,” muttered Hawkins. He punched up a comm channel and growled into his mic. “Winaki, this is Hawkins. Get your monkeys under control and look sharp. There might be more bugs inbound.”
Kilfoy chuckled as the celebration on the screen ended, and the Marines resumed their positions facing the jungle.
“Anyway, sir, the third screen is the master display. The computer combines all of our tactical and sensor data and presents it there. Every Marine is displayed as a green dot. Our fighting positions appear as blue structures and our logistic infrastructure in yellow. Once we get all the remote sensors up and operating it will mark hostiles in red.”
She pointed to the fourth screen. “This is the general purpose display. We keep the comm plan up there for quick reference. If there’s something else you’d like displayed, I can change it, sir.”
Fortis glanced at Hawkins and then shook his head. “Sergeant Kilfoy, however you’ve been doing business is fine with me. I can’t think of any reason to change things right now. Can you, Gunny?”
“No, sir. Kilfoy’s been doing this a while; she knows what works.”
“Then carry on, Kilfoy. What’s next, Gunny?”
“I’m sending Ystremski and a squad from Third Platoon to patrol the jungle out to fifty meters around the northeast quadrant. Those bugs came from somewhere and we might have uncovered a nest when we dropped in.”
“Excellent idea, Gunny. Where should we jump off from?”
“There’s no ‘we,’ sir. You’re not going.”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
Hawkins shook his head. “LT, you’re not the commander of Third Platoon anymore, at least not until we get back to Atlas. This is your show now, and your job is to stay right here while the lads have all the fun.” The gunny smiled at Fortis’ disappointment. “Don’t worry, LT, you’ll get your chance to kill plenty of bugs before we go home.”
As they watched the monitors, a line of green dots formed up and moved toward the perimeter. Hawkins pointed to the second screen. “Put Ystremski’s helmet cam up there.” Kilfoy entered a command and the corporal’s view appeared. He was seventh in line, behind the first two fire teams, and Fortis watched as the Marines ahead of him disappeared into the thick foliage, one after another.
“That auto-flage is impressive,” Fortis remarked. The automatic camouflage feature of the ISMC LBA detected surrounding colors and shapes and automatically projected it onto the armored plates, rendering the wearer virtually invisible.
“Uses a hell of a lot of battery and plays hell with the helmet optics, but yeah, it’s good,” Hawkins replied.
The tactical circuit crackled through a speaker. “Command, this is Ystremski.” The corporal was panting, evidence of the difficulty maneuvering through the dense jungle. “We’re at the ten-meter mark, you want me to plant the first sensor?”
Hawkins turned to Fortis. “Besides patrolling for bug holes, I tasked the patrol to plant a row of remote sensors on an arc parallel to the perimeter. You can see their positions on the tactical display.” He keyed the mic.
“Ystremski, this is Command. Place the first motion sensor. Next one will be a noise monitor.”
Seconds later, a blue dot appeared on the master display just inside the edge of the jungle northeast of the clearing. It flashed red.
“Ystremski, this is Command. First sensor is operational. Continue your patrol.”
“Roger.”
“Gunny, why isn’t Ystremski planting the sensors deeper? We want over ten meters warning, don’t we?”
“Couple reasons, sir. The main one is that the jungle is too thick for the sensors to see, so we can’t maintain reliable comms with the sensors through all that shit anyway. Sensors that can’t see or talk to us are useless.”
Fortis nodded, understanding.
“The second reason is we can’t defend this much real estate with a half-strength company, even with the added firepower from the mechs. If you look at the master display, you’ll notice all our fighting positions are well back from the edge of the jungle. We’ve got a ten-meter kill zone cleared around the entire perimeter and I’m planning on a five-meter belt of mines inside that by this time tomorrow. With the sensor field in place, we’ll have plenty of notice if any bugs approach.”
Just then, another blue dot appeared on the master display near Ystremski’s patrol with a red arrow pointing due east.
“Ystremski, Command. Second sensor is operational. Any sign of bugs?” Hawkins asked.
“Command, Ystremski. Negative on the bugs, but this goddamn jungle is so thick we won’t see them unless we step on them.”
“Roger that, watch your step. Continue your patrol, next sensor is a motion sensor.”
Sergeant Kilfoy pointed to the master display. “LT, see that arrow on the noise monitor? It points toward sound detected above ambient noise levels. When the last member of the patrol passes outside of audible range, it will reset until it detects another noise.”
Additional blue dots appeared around the clearing on the master display as other squads deployed sensors in their assigned sectors. Ystremski’s patrol inched along the sc
reen, placing sensors and looking for the source of the bugs. They discovered two trails that led further into the jungle, but Hawkins held the patrol from exploring them.
“Place a buzzer where the trails intersect in case that’s where they’re coming from and continue your patrol. We don’t have enough men to rescue your asses if you jump into a world of shit.”
“Roger that.”
Buzzers were anti-personnel mines modeled after claymore mines used by some Terra Earth militaries in the early 21st century. The Space Marines could load them with up to six explosive charges and flechette payloads which would fire at random intervals when triggered; the flechettes made a distinctive buzzing sound as they cut down everything in range. Impossible to defuse, buzzers were proof that humans were at their most creative and diabolical when devising ways to kill each other.
There was another ragged volley of rifle fire from the west that ended as abruptly as it started. Fortis watched the screen, but none of the sensors placed on that side of the clearing detected anything.
“Command, this is Lake. We thought we heard something moving around but it stopped.”
Gunny Hawkins shook his head. “Settle down, ladies. You can’t shoot at every scary noise out there.” He stopped transmitting and turned to Fortis. “Now that they’ve seen some bugs, everyone has bug fever. I’m going to head over there and calm those guys down.”
Fortis started to rise, but Hawkins placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, this is gunnery sergeant work. Stay here and keep an eye on Ystremski, would you?”
The patrol continued their sweep until there was a chain of sensors on the main display. To Fortis’ inexperienced eye, the camp looked secure. After two more hours of staring at the display in abject boredom, he went to the mess tent and ate his rations.
A wave of fatigue broke over him as he ate, and he stifled several large yawns.
Gunny Hawkins sat down next to Fortis. “Why don’t you turn in after you’re finished, LT? It’s been a long day and this gravity is murder if you’re not strength enhanced.”
Fortis nodded. “Yeah, I’m dragging ass right now.” He groaned as he stood up. “I think I’ll do that; thanks.”
* * * * *
Chapter Seven
Fortis could barely make out Third Platoon in the pre-dawn darkness that hung over the camp. He switched his helmet optics to low light, and the Marines suddenly jumped out in stark relief.
“LT, over here.” Ystremski’s voice crackled in his ear, and one of the dark figures waved at him.
“What’s the status, Corporal?”
“All present and accounted for, sir. We’re ready to move out on your order.”
“Does the point man know where we’re going?”
“Yes, sir, I programmed the coordinates into his navigation computer myself.”
“Let’s move out.”
One by one, the shadowy figures slipped into the jungle and disappeared into the darkness. Fortis and Ystremski agreed that none of the Space Marines would activate their auto-flage for the duration of the fourteen-klick roundtrip to the GRC compound because the LBA batteries wouldn’t last for the entire trip and cooling system requirements would be at a premium.
There were thirty-nine Marines in the patrol. It seemed excessive to Fortis to take the entire platoon until Gunny Hawkins reminded him that if they ran into serious trouble support would be unable to respond quickly enough. The lieutenant positioned himself in the middle of the column. Doc Kramer was in front of him and PFC Modell was behind. Ystremski spaced the Marines at half the standard tactical distance due to the density of the undergrowth, but the patrol naturally expanded and contracted as the point man encountered obstacles. Fortis was glad for their slow progress. The added gravity of Pada-Pada was a heavy load, and he was struggling to adjust.
The in-camp banter of the Space Marines was replaced by terse transmissions on the patrol tactical circuit. As the patrol weaved their way through and around patches of thick undergrowth and dense stands of trees, the tension was palpable. They knew little about the bugs that threatened them, and Fortis suspected that some Space Marines allowed their imaginations to create a bigger threat than the bugs posed.
An hour into the patrol Ystremski called for a halt and the corporal sought out Fortis. He located the officer sitting on a fallen tree trunk and sat down next to him. The pair switched to a private comm channel.
“How’s it going, sir? You holding up okay?”
Fortis nodded and gave Ystremski a thumbs up. “I’m okay. The gravity’s a bitch, but it’s manageable. How are the men?”
“Nobody’s complaining yet, so we must not be pushing them hard enough.” He consulted his wrist-mounted navigation computer. “We’ve gone about two klicks so far, so we’re making decent time. At this pace, we’ll get to the Conglomerate camp right on time.”
Fortis checked his own computer and nodded. “I agree, but we need to move faster. I’d like to get there early so we can scout the place before we go in. Can we push the pace?”
“Yes, sir, we can. It looks like the jungle thins out ahead of us, so I’ll tell the point man to step it up. Can you keep up, sir? I’m not being disrespectful, but getting there early is pointless if we have to carry you.”
“I’ll keep up. If I have trouble, I’ll let you know.”
The point man picked up the pace as the jungle thinned. Fortis huffed and puffed, but was able to keep up with the patrol.
Ystremski called a halt a klick from the Galactic Resource Conglomerate base camp. He joined Fortis for a quick discussion on how to proceed.
“There’s no doubt they’ll know we’re coming, sir. They’d be crazy not to have a sensor field and they shouldn’t have any problems identifying us without our auto-flage on.”
Fortis agreed. “I expect their security force will meet us, so remind the men to stay cool. No threatening gestures and stay ready.”
Fortis found a small clearing and established a satellite link with their base.
“Command, this is Fortis with Third Platoon, do you read me?”
“LT, this is Gunny Hawkins, I read you loud and clear. I have Warrant Pell and Staff Sergeant Winaki here. What’s your status?”
“We’re a klick from the Conglomerate headquarters. We’re a few minutes early, but we’re about to proceed. What’s your status?”
“All clear here, sir. We’ve seen a few bugs, but no swarms. The sensor field is complete and we’re setting the minefields now. When you get back, don’t approach without calling ahead so we can guide you in.”
“Roger that. We’ll contact you when we’re on our way back.”
Fortis followed Ystremski to the front of the patrol and they moved out. A short while later, Ystremski pointed up into the trees.
“Look there, LT.”
Fortis peered up into the foliage and saw a camera pointed down at the patrol.
“They definitely know we’re coming, sir.”
Gaps appeared in the jungle and soon Fortis saw a broad clearing in the jungle. They stopped at the tree line and considered their options.
“We need to wait for the camp to acknowledge us, sir. If they’ve got their own minefield this could get messy.”
A motorized vehicle with fat balloon tires crossed the clearing toward the patrol. Fortis raised a hand in greeting as the vehicle skidded to a halt. Two uniformed personnel climbed out. They wore fatigue uniforms similar to what the ISMC issued, but without name tapes or rank insignia. Neither wore helmets and both had close-cropped hair and similar facial features. Each carried a sidearm on a webbed utility belt.
“First Lieutenant Baker?”
Fortis lifted his visor. “No, Lieutenant Baker didn’t make the trip. I’m Second Lieutenant Fortis. I’m here to see Dexter Beck.”
That information seemed to confuse the two. “Please wait here while we report to headquarters.” One returned to the vehicle and made a call on a handset mounted on the dash while the other stood s
toically in front of Fortis and Ystremski.
After a moment, the first guard returned. “Second Lieutenant Fortis? If you will join us, we will transport you to the headquarters building. This area is free of anti-personnel devices, and it is safe to proceed. Your men are welcome to proceed to the headquarters building. There they can get refreshments and have an opportunity to relax.”
Fortis and Ystremski traded glances. “Your call, sir. I can ride herd on the platoon while you go have your powwow.”
“Okay.” Fortis turned to the guards. “I appreciate the ride, thank you.”
Neither guard appeared to understand what Fortis said so he shrugged at Ystremski and climbed into the vehicle. “I won’t be long, Corporal. It’s just a meet-and-greet.”
The GRC headquarters was a cluster of temporary inflatable structures positioned in the middle of a large clearing. Fortis counted at least ten sentries patrolling the area, but there were no foxholes or prepared fighting positions.
The four-wheeler skidded to a stop in front of a tent bearing the corporate logo of the Galactic Resource Conglomerate. The two guards led Fortis through a zippered doorway.
Inside, there was a reception area indistinguishable from any anonymous office building on Terra Earth except for the uniformed personnel manning the desk. Fortis couldn’t help staring at the man behind the desk, who could have been the brother of his escorts.
“This is Lieutenant Fortis to see Mr. Beck.”
“Mr. Beck is expecting him,” the receptionist replied and gestured to a door behind him. “Go ahead.”
Fortis waited a long second for his escorts to lead the way, but they stepped aside and stood still. He pushed his way through the door and a sudden thought hit him: Those three are test tubes.
Before he could process that insight, Fortis entered a spacious office. The lighting was bright, almost harsh, and the sparse furniture was utilitarian. Two men were looking at a large display screen along one wall and they turned to greet him: a short man with dark, narrow features and a much taller man with broad shoulders and no neck. The darker man spoke.