War Stories

by Andrew Liptak

  The second figure looked over at them casually and, although he couldn’t hear anything, Morland got the impression the two of them were communicating somehow. Internal comms maybe. Probably. But even with that likely explanation, the silent conversation was uncanny. A few seconds later the second figure gave a nod and moved to the door, shouldering its weapon and taking up a defensive position.

  “Can you walk, sir?” the first rescuer asked.

  “Yeah,” Morland answered. “I think so.”

  “All right, let’s get you up,” the figure said. It slung its weapon, then leaned closer and wrapped its arm around Morland’s back to help him up. The captain hissed at the searing pain in his left side, and the figure in the suit froze immediately. “You okay?”

  “My ribs,” Morland said through clenched teeth. “Might’ve broken something.”

  The figure moved to Morland’s right. “Here, this’ll help.” It tapped the captain’s belt near his right hip. “Grab your belt here with your left hand, keep that elbow tucked in and locked close to your side. Should make things a little more stable.”

  Morland did as he was directed, then draped his right arm over the figure’s shoulders.

  “Set?” the figure in the suit said. Morland nodded. “All right, easy up.” The figure stood slowly and effortlessly lifted the captain to his feet. “Lean on me, I’ve got you. We’ll take it slow.”

  Morland just nodded again. He was surprised at how weak he felt, and he was grateful for the support. The first rescuer looked over at the second one. A brief pause, and then the second figure flowed out into the corridor, weapon up.

  “Here we go,” his rescuer said, and they started forward. They held at the door briefly, then slipped out into the corridor. Morland’s gaze slipped over the fallen man as they passed him still slumped against the wall. There weren’t any immediately obvious wounds, but the man’s eyes were open and dully glassed. Further down the corridor, the other figure kept watch at an intersection. It held position until Morland and his escort had passed the danger zone, then smoothly rolled around and scouted ahead again. There was something graceful in the figure’s movements, a casual precision born of countless years of experience.

  “Sorry about the hole,” the figure carrying him said quietly.

  “What?”

  “In the ceiling back there. Didn’t want to give ’em a chance to seal themselves in with you. Still, I never like cutting up someone’s ship.”

  “Oh… that’s all right.” Morland didn’t really know what else to say. “Who are you guys?”

  “No one of consequence, sir.” The tone was polite and professional, but the implication was clear: questions weren’t getting answered. “Almost there.”

  Looking up, Morland saw they were nearing the ship’s galley. The other figure paused outside the door, a little further down the corridor, slowly sweeping the way ahead with its weapon.

  “Here we are,” the first figure said. They halted at the door, and a few moments later it opened; another suited figure greeted them, a woman. Two small plates rested on either side of her head where the other suits were smooth. He guessed it was her face–plate, retracted.

  “Captain Morland,” she greeted him. “You’ve got a lot of folks here who are gonna be real glad to see you.”

  The first figure must’ve said something, because the woman’s eyes flicked over to it. She shook her head.

  “Array went down, I had to pop it to see.” She shook her head again. “Nah, have to get the shop to look at it.”

  She stepped back out of the way. Four bodies dressed similarly to the ringleader were sprawled in various places around the room. So there’d been seven total, then. And two other people in those suits; one was crouched over one of the boarders, and the other was standing guard over a group of people who were huddled together in the far corner. Kady and Zeke, Cloud and Hunter. His crew. All there. All except Griff.

  “Captain!” Kady said, and the others turned Morland’s way. The wash of emotion was almost overwhelming as the soldier escorted him over to reunite them. Kady had a pressure pack running from her collarbone over her right shoulder and was a little pale, but otherwise she looked like she was all right. Zeke had a grim but steady look. Which was pretty much normal.

  “We’re working out pickup right now,” the first figure said. “Shouldn’t be much longer.” He gave the captain a little nod, then quietly withdrew.

  §

  Murph left to give the crew some sense of privacy as they welcomed their captain back into the fold. It was always better to keep some separation from the precious cargo. It never hurt to be polite, of course, but if you let them get too comfortable they tended to start asking questions, or worse, thinking they were free to do what they wanted. And that most certainly wasn’t the case, not until Murph’s team had delivered them safely home, which they had not yet done.

  Lane was keeping an eye on them. His big, silent presence was imposing enough that it’d keep them in line.

  “Kit, what do you have for me?” Murph asked. Kit was hunched over one of the pirates, running an ID sweep.

  “Two things,” Kit said, sitting back on his haunches. “Jack. And squat.”

  “The others?”

  “Same.”

  “Crypted?”

  “Nope.”

  “Erased?”

  “Not even. These fellas are cleaner than a baby’s bottom.”

  Murph didn’t like the sound of that, and not just because Kit had botched the saying, which might’ve been funny in other circumstances.

  “You getting a good line?” Switch said as she came over and crouched next to Kit.

  “Gee, Mas’sarnt, I dunno,” Kit said, “why don’t you remind me how to do this thing I’ve only done a billion times.”

  Part of the mission had been to identify the unknown boarders and what they were after, but Murph hadn’t expected this level of sophistication. Probably nobody at Higher had.

  And it really bothered him seeing Switch there with her faceplate open. They had the suits for a reason. He preferred everybody stay buttoned up, start to finish.

  He suddenly got a funny feeling—one that he never wanted to have in the field.

  “Switch, let Kit—” he started to say, but a loud pop cut him off. Kit flinched and Switch toppled over backwards.

  “Lane, Vance, hostages!” Murph called, even though his people were already taking care of it, shepherding the civilians back into the corner. “Kit, you okay?”

  “I’m cool,” Kit said, but Murph could hear strain in his voice. The front of his armor had a few fresh divots and pock marks and was spattered sticky red. “Switch is hit.”

  Murph was already in motion towards her, but he knew what was waiting for him. He still had that sick, hollow feeling, and his mouth had gone completely dry. He crouched next to her. Her eyes were open, unfocused, staring in slightly opposite directions. Just under her right eye, through the cheekbone, a single, perfectly round hole welled red.

  Kit knelt on the other side of her.

  “She’s gone,” Murph said. They both just stared down at her for a span.

  “Some kind of subdermal charge,” Kit said finally, glancing back at the now–mangled corpse of the man he’d just been trying to ID. “Didn’t show on the scan.”

  “You set it off?”

  “No way to know.”

  “Better keep everybody away from the others, then,” Murph said. “Vance, roll it up. We’re moving to the bay.”

  “Roger,” Vance answered, her voice cool, professional. She and Lane gathered the crew up and directed them sharply out of the galley. Murph started to arrange Switch’s arms, preparing to lift the body.

  He kept reminding himself that she wasn’t really gone. Not forever. They’d get her back. They’d put her through the Process, and soon enough she’d be back. But no matter how many times he’d seen it, Murph had never been able to overcome the shock of seeing one of his team members
killed in action. A dead friend wasn’t something anyone could used to.

  “I got her, L.T.,” Kit said.

  “I’ll carry her.”

  “I said I got her.”

  Murph hesitated; Kit was a better shooter than he was. Still, he heard the edge in Kit’s voice. If his head wasn’t in the right place, maybe it was better for Murph to be on the trigger after all.

  “Sure, Kit. You got her.” Murph said. He got to his feet as Kit gently lifted Switch and laid her across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. She dangled limply, and the blood that had pooled inside her helmet poured out onto the grated metal floor of the galley. Murph shouldered his weapon and led the way aft, towards the bay. As they walked, he called it in. “Kingpin, Growler.”

  “Go ahead, Growler,” came the response.

  “We are partial mission complete, requesting immediate extract; team plus six VIPs, with four casualties.”

  “Copy that, Growler. Viking Three One is on station, full med staff on board. What’s the damage?”

  “One VIP killed, two VIPs wounded, all prior to our arrival. All stable. We have one team member KIA… we lost Switch.”

  There was a half–second pause, the barest hint of a hitch before the response came back.

  “Understood. Viking Three One is routing to you now. Mission objectives?”

  “Seven enemy KIA; team was unable to positively identify the hostile element. Be advised, environment is unsafe. Enemy KIA may be rigged with anti–personnel charges.”

  “Rigged?”

  “Yeah, one of the bodies detonated. We didn’t stick around for the others.”

  “Roger that, Growler. We’ll get a tech crew together to follow up. Good work.”

  “Not really.”

  “Patching Viking Three One through. Stand by.”

  There was a click as the new channel opened, and then a background hiss as different hardware and encryption schemes negotiated in real time.

  “Growler, this is Viking Three One. How do you read?”

  “Crystal, Viking Three One. Send your traffic.”

  “Viking Three One is approaching along one–seven–one at full burn. Seven mikes out.”

  “Roger that, Viking Three One. You’ve got specs on the vessel?”

  “That’s an ay–firm, Growler.”

  “We’ll be holding in the primary bay. Lamprey’s attached to the belly.” The Lamprey was the delivery vehicle they’d used to board the ship.

  “Copy that. See you shortly, Growler. Viking Three One out.”

  Murph updated the rest of the team and then completed the remaining walk in silence, reaching the loading bay a couple of minutes after he’d signed off with Viking. Vance and Lane already had the crew members gathered; they were in a quiet knot near the airlock, with Lane keeping careful watch. The body of the fallen crewmember had already been recovered and lay hidden under a heavy tarp.

  The VIPs turned and glanced in Murph’s direction, but most of them looked away quickly. Only the captain continued to watch Murph’s approach. Captain Morland was a good twenty–five years older than Murph at least, but the look on his face was one Murph could easily imagine seeing in the mirror. The others couldn’t cope with having to look at the price of their freedom, draped over Kit’s shoulders. The captain, on the other hand, must’ve been in Murph’s situation at one time or another; there was understanding and muted acceptance. And more than a little survivor’s guilt, most likely.

  Viking Three One was right on time, which was a nice change from other missions, and the transfer became a routine affair. It wasn’t until the VIPs had been handed off to the medical staff and Viking Three One had completed the recovery of the Lamprey that Murph let himself flip the emotional switch.

  He grabbed a seat against the smooth curving wall of the transport, took his helmet off, and felt the sweat on his brow go cold. The wave rolled over him, and he closed his eyes as the adrenaline burned off and was replaced by ten tons of fatigue. Every muscle ached in a dull, distant sort of way. It was a two–hour ride back home, and Murph spent that time caught between a body that wanted to crash out and a mind that insisted on replaying the worst few moments over and over again.

  §

  They’d been back barely four hours before they were on deck again. Op tempo had been stepping up of late, but none of them had been expecting to go back out again so soon. When Murph got to the briefing room, Lane was already there in the back row, his big boots up on the table and his head down on his chest. Hard to tell if he was sleeping or thinking.

  It was one of the smaller rooms, with two sets of gently curving tables arranged in three rows and a narrow center aisle, like an amphitheater in miniature. Murph slid into a seat in the second row, nearest the door. Lieutenant Commander Vega showed up a couple of minutes later and started talking before she’d even crossed the threshold.

  “Sorry for the short turnaround, but Higher’s running around like the ship’s on fire for this one,” Vega said, looking up from the display in her hand and cutting herself off. She frowned at the mostly empty room.

  “Probably working out,” Murph said. Vega tapped the display on the table in front a few times, considering. “Time–sensitive, huh?”

  “Very,” she answered. “I’ll give ’em ninety seconds before I call them out over the ship’s comms.”

  “Mighty kind of you, Boss,” Lane said from the back.

  Vega was the team’s acting commanding officer while they were attached to their current task force; their ranks didn’t line up quite right on account of the different branches, but after the first couple of ops she’d been gracious enough to let them mostly call her “Boss.” She was about to reply, but just then a figure walked through the door, and she smiled instead.

  “Hey, look who’s up and about,” she said.

  Murph had been expecting Vance, because Kit was, as a rule, always last in, but his heart jumped a little when he saw who it was.

  Switch.

  She was moving a little more slowly than usual, but considering she’d been dead just a few hours earlier, she was looking pretty good. And with her came the momentary dissonance of seeing the dead raised; just as Murph couldn’t accustom himself to losing a teammate, nor could he get used to that first sight of them alive again.

  “What’d I miss?” Switch asked as she slid in behind Murph and took a seat two chairs down.

  “Not much,” Murph said. “You’re back online awful quick.”

  Switch gave a curt nod. “Still had two backups on ice, so it was just a transfer for me.”

  “How far back?”

  She thought for a moment. “They had me right up until you called in that you’d secured the captain.”

  Murph ran through the mission in his mind, replayed the critical moments. “That’s not bad. Lost five, seven minutes maybe,” he said.

  “How’d it happen?” Switch asked.

  There wasn’t any doubt what she meant by it. “Still not exactly sure. Kit was getting zero on a scan, but there was some kind of implanted charge on one of the bad guys. You had your faceplate popped. Bad things.”

  “Yeah, I remember the part about the faceplate… sensor array glitched out just before we breached.”

  “I already gave the techs about eighteen levels of hell over that, but by all means give ’em your own when you get a chance.”

  She nodded, and they just looked at each other for a moment. No matter how many times he’d been through it, there was always something uncanny about a dead friend sitting right there, asking how they’d died.

  “You go see the old you?” Lane asked from behind.

  “That’s a big negatory,” Switch answered over her shoulder. “Too creepy.” And then, a moment later, she turned to look at him. “You ever do that?”

  Lane grunted. “Just the first time.”

  The technology wasn’t all that new. Cloning, storing and transferring consciousness—a sort of hacked immortality that Mu
rph and his teammates just referred to as the Process. Their unit was one of a precious few that enjoyed the “privilege” of having a couple of extra lives, but they’d had to earn it the hard way. The joke was that the only way you got into the unit was by proving the military couldn’t kill you anyway.

  A bark of laughter came from the hall, and then Kit and Vance came in together, sweaty and in their PT gear. They both stopped short when they saw Vega already standing up front, and then quickly forgot about her when they saw Switch sitting there.

  “Mas’sarnt!” Kit said, crossing the distance to her in about two steps and giving her an awkward combination handshake/one–arm hug across the table. “What’re you doin’ here?”

  Switch half–stood out of her seat. “Waiting on you, Kit. Can’t believe you let the dead girl beat you to a brief,” she said, and then, as she sat back down, added, “No, wait. Yes I can.”

  Kit chuckled, but a moment later Murph saw the flicker of pain on his face.

  “Hey, uh…” he started, his tone suddenly somber, apologetic. Switch waved him off.

  “Don’t waste the words, brother,” she said. “We’re good.” Kit’s expression was somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

  Vega cleared her throat. “Sorry to break up the reunion, folks, but we need to get moving on this.”

  Kit nodded and sat on top of the table. Vance moved around to the third row and traded a fist bump with Switch before sitting down next to Lane.

  “The tech crew did a thorough sweep of the Sunseeker but still couldn’t turn up any ID on the hostiles. That narrows our field down to about three possible sponsors.”

  “Money on Lunar,” Vance said.

  “Could be,” Vega answered. “But this isn’t the sort of thing to jump to conclusions on. When our people who don’t exist are bumping into their people who don’t exist, it’s a different kind of game.”