by Tripp Ellis
No one said a word.
“Excellent. Get settled into your barracks and take the evening for yourself. Training begins with PT tomorrow at 0500 hours, here on the landing. You’ll be doing a timed 2 mile run in a full SK-7 flight suit, with helmet.”
Chloe’s eyes went wide. The SK-7 was sleek and flexible, as far as pressurized flight suits went. But they weren’t designed for long-distance running. They were complete environmental protection suits that afforded the user up to 48 hours of oxygen in the unlikely event that a pilot became separated from their spacecraft. The suits had a waste management system and provided thermal conditioning. Vital statistics were monitored and relayed back to central command. Communication and navigation were available via heads-up display in the helmet’s visor, along with target tracking.
“Have a good evening, cadets,” Cash said with a devious glint in his eyes.
10
Emma
Emma was still feeling off balance. She staggered down to the Wardroom to get a cup of coffee and something to eat. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but she knew she needed to keep her strength up. And maybe, if she got something in her belly it would settle the queasy sensation and stop the rumbling.
She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich from one of the food processors and got a cup of coffee. She poured in cream and sugar and took a seat at a table. The coffee aboard the Revenant was surprisingly good.
The first bite of the sandwich went down slow. But the more she ate, the more she was able to eat.
“Mind if I join you?”
Emma looked up to see a smiling young Marine. He looked like the average jarhead—dark hair that was cut high and tight, sparkling blue eyes, clean-shaven square jaw, and a perfectly pressed uniform.
“I guess I can make room for a fellow Devil Dog.” There was no one else sitting at the table.
“Unless you’re saving all these seats for someone?”
Emma smiled. “I was, but they haven’t shown up yet. I’ll have to kick you out as soon as my entourage arrives.”
The Marine played along. “Now that is a crying shame that a woman like you would get stood up for lunch.” He set his tray down and took a seat. He extended his hand across the table, “Lieutenant Dylan Isaacs.”
“Special Agent Emma Castle,” she said shaking his hand.
“Ooh, Special Agent. That sounds interesting.”
“I’d tell you about it, but then I’d have to kill you.”
He grinned. “I can think of worse ways to die.”
Emma blushed a little. He was clearly flirting with her.
“I’ve never seen you around here before,” he said, smoothly.
“It’s a big ship.”
“That it is.”
“I also work too much, and don’t have much of a social life.”
“Well, maybe we can change all that?”
Emma arched an eyebrow at him. “So, is this your standard routine? Picking up unsuspecting Special Agents in the Wardroom?”
Dylan grinned. “You’re the only Special Agent I know.”
Emma looked into his piercing eyes and couldn’t help but smile a little. “You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?”
Dylan flashed his irresistible smile. “We’re just having a friendly conversation, aren’t we?”
“So far you seem harmless.” She arched a skeptical eyebrow at him. “But I have the distinct feeling I’m swimming with a shark.”
“Well I do have a killer instinct,” he winked. He was laying it on pretty thick, and Emma was mildly amused.
“What do you do Lieutenant?”
“You mean when I’m not picking up Special Agents in the Wardroom?
“Yes.”
“Mechanized infantry. There’s a lot of hurry up and wait in this job. All or nothing, you know?”
“Believe me, I know.”
“Former Marine?”
Emma nodded. “Two tours in Razurvan. Infantry.”
“Hard-core.”
“Yes it was,” Emma said, visions of the war returning to her.
There was an awkward pause between the two of them.
“You like Sean Finn movies?”
“Yeah. I think his Devastator series was the best.”
“Devastator 2: Lethal Connection is showing in the rec room on Friday. You want to go?”
She couldn’t believe he was showing so much interest—she looked like hell. She scared herself when she looked in the mirror, she thought. “I really can’t.”
“What, is there a boyfriend?”
“No. There is no boyfriend.”
“What can you possibly have to do that is more important than Devastator 2?”
“Persistent, aren’t you?”
“They teach us to be tenacious in the Marines.” Dylan grinned.
She thought he was cute, but she didn’t want to get involved with anyone—not with her current situation. Relationships were always complicated. They always tended to get messy and sticky and emotional. When Emma was healthy, no one ever seemed to understand her work ethic. Now that she was dying, she didn’t want to put anyone else through her suffering.
“Well, an unknown alien ship has attacked the Federation. It’s my job to figure out who and why.”
“Okay. That qualifies as a reasonable excuse. So how about something a little less formal than a night at the movies?”
“Save your energy. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Oh, so you’re into girls?”
“No, I’m not into girls.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Dylan added.
“Trust me. I like men. …When they’re not acting like jackasses.”
“So it’s settled. Lunch on Saturday. No jackasses.”
She gave him a look.
“You have to eat.”
“I’m too much for you to handle.”
“I can handle quite a bit.”
Emma smiled at him and shook her head. She took the last bite of her sandwich, picked up her tray, and set it in the dirty bin as she strolled toward the exit.
Dylan called after her. “All right, then. I’ll see you here at noon on Saturday.”
Emma rolled her eyes and strolled out of the Wardroom.
11
The Marines
“You’re not going out there,” the LT said. “You’re a liability.”
Carson’s face tensed. “Sir, my men are out there.”
“Sergeant Kyle, you can’t make it out of the compound.”
The Lieutenant’s snide remark only served to infuriate Carson. He was always one to rise to a challenge.
“Now go back inside and lay your ass down and wait for the cas-evac. How’s that going to look if you get killed out on patrol before they get here?”
“It’s going to look like I’m a Marine, sir.” Kyle clenched his jaw and stared down the LT. He knew the medics weren’t coming. “Were you able to make contact with FOB Trammell?”
Griggs didn’t like his tone, and he didn’t like being called on his bluff. His eyes narrowed. “Okay. You want to get yourself killed. Fine. Give me two laps around this compound, full speed. If you’re still standing and not puking your guts out, I’ll let you go out on patrol with 2nd squad.”
“Aye, sir.” And with that, Carson was off and running. The rain was pouring down hard now. The ground was a mix of slippery mud and hard shale. His boots sloshed through the mocha colored slop. After the first few steps, he felt like his legs were going to give out. He was lightheaded, and his vision began to fade. He thought he was going to blackout and face plant into the muck. But somehow he managed to keep conscious. He focused his mind and blocked out the discomfort. He kept his thoughts focused on his men. He wasn't going to let them down.
The first lap was tough. He kept fighting the urge to hurl. His quads were burning and his chest heaved for breath. But his lungs never seemed to fill to capacity. By the end of the second lap he was extremely lig
htheaded, and the world was spinning. But he managed to stay upright.
He reported back to the LT.
Judging by his crinkled face, Griggs wasn’t too pleased with Carson’s accomplishment. There was no doubt he was certain Carson wouldn't have made it more than a few steps.
“I feel fine, sir. I'm fit and ready for duty."
“You look like reheated dog shit.”
“Thank you, sir. I'll take that as a compliment.” Carson's eyes were droopy and listless. It was all he could do to keep from spewing in his face-mask.
Griggs grimaced. "Get out of here, Sergeant."
Carson's eyes lit up. “Aye, sir.” He trotted off to catch up with 2nd squad. They were mustering at the edge of the compound.
Sergeant Hawthorne’s eyes widened at the sight of Kyle. “What the hell are you doing?”
“LT said I can go on patrol with you."
“With all due respect, Staff Sergeant, I don't need an outbreak in my squad."
“You've all already been exposed. You don't like it? Take it up with the LT."
Hawthorne's face crinkled up into something that was a mix of frustration, disgust, and acceptance. “Yes, Sergeant.”
Carson grinned and led the squad out of the compound.
The terrain was treacherous and uneven. It would be easy to snap an ankle, even with heavy boots. Visibility still sucked, and the hills seemed to be a never ending ascension into the milky haze.
Carson’s lungs were on fire.
Whatever was disrupting the platoon’s optical visors was also disrupting every electronic device. Location data from 1st squad was unavailable. 2nd squad was going to have to find them the hard way.
It was cold and rainy, and there was an eerie silence that blanketed the hillside. The only sound was the crunch of boots against the mud and shale, and the occasional howl of one of those animals.
The path narrowed to no more than 2 feet wide, with a steep drop off at the edge. The fog made it impossible to see how far the drop-off was. Carson kicked a rock over the ledge—it didn't crash against the bottom until several seconds later.
Heights didn't normally bother Carson, but since he was already feeling a little woozy and unbalanced, it made him grow concerned about traversing the narrow path. The slick rocks only added to the precarious nature of the situation.
“Watch your step, boys,” Carson warned. “It’s a long way down.”
The squad hugged the cliff face as the path narrowed even further. Corporal Koontz was so top heavy that it seemed like there was no way he could make it across the ledge without toppling over. But he turned and sidestepped the ledge without a care in the world. He just knew he wasn't going to fall. He didn't travel halfway across the galaxy to end up at the bottom of a ravine.
“Why do we always get the shit missions?” Stedman asked.
“Because that’s what we signed up for,” Hawthorne said. “Didn't you read the fine print when you enlisted?"
“Nope. The commercial with the Marine in dress blues and the sword got me.”
“The one where he fights the two headed Zelgot from Draconis Majoris?” Talbot asked.
“Yeah, that one.”
Talbot laughed. “That’s the one that got me too.”
“It was the Devastator with Sean Finn,” Koontz said with a grin. “I love that movie. Makes me want to blow shit up every time I watch it.”
“I heard his son Tyler joined the Reapers,” Talbot said.
“No way,” Koontz said.
“Yup. Gave it all up to kick ass.”
“Right on.” Koontz grinned. “He wasn’t bad in Devastator 6.”
“Cut the chatter,” Hawthorne said. “Stay sharp.”
The squad kept edging along the path and it finally widened. After marching another half klick, they came across 1st squad—or what was left of them.
It was the same type of carnage they had seen back at the outpost. The rocky terrain was painted with crimson blood. The squad's weapons were strewn about. There was a boot here, a hand there. Body parts scattered everywhere. Kyle's whole body tensed. He felt rage boiling inside. For an instant, he forgot all about the Proxima flu. Anger, fear, and adrenaline had squelched the effects of the virus, at least temporarily.
“Looks like they were ambushed as they entered this ravine," Kyle said.
“What the hell did this?" Hawthorne asked. "Some kind of animal?"
Kyle shook his head.
“Murphy, Vasquez… Search the area for survivors," Hawthorne barked.
The strange howling filled the air, startling the squad.
They dashed for cover behind a set of large boulders. Kyle crouched down with his back against the rock.
“I’m beginning to think that’s not an animal,” Kyle said.
“I tend to agree,” Hawthorne replied. “We’re sitting ducks in this ravine.”
Kyle nodded. He peered over the top of the boulders scanning the area. But he couldn't see through the milky haze.
Murphy’s voice filtered through the comm system. “Hey, Sarge. I found Dorado.”
“Is he alive?” Kyle asked.
“Yeah, but you need to come have a look.”
Kyle took off, sprinting down the path toward Murphy. He found Murphy and Vasquez hovering over Dorado in a small alcove carved into the cliff face. Dorado was balled up against the wall, trembling with fear. His eyes were empty and bottomless, fixed at a point that seemed a thousand yards away. Like he had seen something no one should ever see.
Kyle knelt down in front of him and waved his hand in front of Dorado’s eyes. He didn’t blink. He just kept staring into space. “Dorado… Dorado… snap out of it.”
Kyle snapped his fingers inches from the Marine’s face.
Nothing.
“Dorado. It’s Sergeant Kyle. What happened here?”
Still no response.
Kyle mustered his best drill sergeant voice. “Marine, I am ordering you to tell me what happened here.”
Dorado finally came out of his daze. “Ambush, Sarge. They took out the entire squad in a matter of minutes. They're all dead.”
“Who did this?”
“I don't know. I never got a look at them. But their weapons… I've never seen anything like it. Some type of energy bolt. Vaporizes flesh. Explodes the body from the inside out. It's like it heats you to the core until you boil over and burst.”
“Check him for injuries,” Hawthorne said.
Murphy looked Dorado over—there were no apparent wounds.
“Let’s get him up and get back to base,” Hawthorne said.
“Can you walk?” Kyle asked.
Dorado nodded.
Murphy and Vasquez grabbed either side of Dorado and hefted him to his feet. He was still shaking and unsteady. But he gave Kyle a nod, letting him know he was able to make it.
As they stepped out of the alcove, the air erupted with energy blasts. Glowing orange bolts streaked from the haze, blasting the cliffs around them. Bits of rock sprayed from the impact craters.
Kyle hit the ground and crawled for cover behind a boulder. The top of the rock exploded inches from his head.
Another bolt caught Hawthorne. A half second after the impact his torso exploded. A mass of blood and organs showered in all directions. Chunks of his body armor clattered to the ground. The air was a crimson cloud.
Kyle was splattered with Hawthorne’s guts. He wiped the goo from his face, which was crinkled up in disgust.
Dorado took cover back in the alcove. It was what he had done before, and he wasn’t coming back out for any reason.
The clatter of gunfire filled the air as the Marines returned fire at an unseen enemy. Short staccato bursts of 5.56 mm rounds blasted into the mist, echoing off the canyon walls. The sharp smell of gunpowder filled the damp air.
Rain pelted down. The biting wind had picked up. It was a cold, wet, sloppy mess. Strange bolts of energy rifled overhead. Whoever was shooting at them was in the high groun
d. The enemy had eviscerated 1st squad. It wasn't going to be long before the same thing happened to 2nd squad.
12
Chloe
Chloe was praying that she wasn’t going to get assigned Kilmer as a roommate. Names were put into a hat, and they were drawn at random.
The barracks were standard prefabricated housing pods that were common on military installations and other off world outposts. They were a series of hexagonal living quarters that shared one bathroom between two pods. The interior was rather spartan, with two windows that looked out over the rugged terrain. There was a 48-inch display mounted on the wall, but there wasn’t going to be much time for watching TV. You could tune into the major news networks that were broadcast over the mil-net, and there were several channels that were dedicated to space combat tactics. Dogfight after dogfight after dogfight, complete with analysis and instruction. What the pilot did right, what the pilot did wrong, and alternate, more effective combat strategies that could have been employed.
Chloe reached in and pulled out a folded slip of paper. She opened it up and breathed a sigh of relief. The name read Lily Sharp.
Lily had a short brown pixie cut and was straight out of the Naval Flight Academy. She had a brilliant smile, like something out of a toothpaste commercial. Her light brown eyes sparkled as she held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Chloe said as the two shook hands.
They navigated the hallway to their newly assigned room, pod number six.
“Do you care which bunk?” Lily asked.
“Doesn’t make a difference to me. Take your pick.”
Lily threw her duffel bag onto the bunk on the starboard side of the room. Chloe set her duffel on the other rack and began to unpack.
“I’ve got to say, it’s kind of a thrill to be rooming with you. You are something of a celebrity in the fleet.”
Chloe arched a surprised eyebrow. “Really?”
“Well, you’re the youngest pilot. And rumor has it, you rescued Captain Walker.”