Steel Walls and Dirt Drops

by Black, Alan

  She found the hatch into APES country exactly where she knew it would be. The entry was a huge heavy garage style hatch that was rolled up out of the way, giving any combat suited APE access through the tall double wide hatches leading to their dirt drop chutes, to their equipment warehouse or to their special training bay. The surprise on her face turned to glaring anger as she looked at the command buildings. The prefab, mobile buildings were dropped into the area without regard to traditional order and certainly not neatly lined up. There were jagged gaps and odd angles between each of structures.

  APES rental space on a ship of this size should be able to hold all of their equipment and gear if the prefab units were aligned properly. With this jumbled mess, their extra gear and supplies must be stored in another warehouse space somewhere on the ship. She hoped their secondary space was close by and had external hatches to dump their equipment with them on a dirt drop. She would hate to have to either get by without their gear or hump it into place prior to the drop.

  The first room inside the hatch was the unit commander’s office and day room. It was slightly off kilter and she had to slide between the ship’s bulkhead and the office’s steel wall to get to the hatch. Beaudry tried to beat her to the hatch switch, but she slapped it open before he could reach around her.

  “Frakking crap on a crutch,” she sputtered. The stench of the toilet in the back wafted out the open hatchway wrapping her in its foul cloak. The odor was unmistakable, yet it was mixed with touches of alcoholic vomit and stale month-old sweat socks. Litter, half-empty meal packs and assorted refuse was scattered about the office reaching knee high in the corners allowing only for a small path to what might have been a desk under a pile of rubbish where the path forked. One path led to the toilet area and one path blazed a trail to the sofa where a cushion lay bare. It was adorned with a small pile of human excrement in the middle.

  Safely stacked in a small hastily cleared area near the hatch was her baggage. It weighted as much as she did, yet she hefted it easily with one hand. She pointed her other hand at Beaudry and then back at the commander’s day office. “Clean it and don’t come out until it is done. You may call for volunteers to help you as necessary and good luck with that.”

  She spun on her heel leaving the distraught trooper behind her. Fortunately, Alpha Squad’s bay was right next to the office. It was not fortunate because of the heavy luggage as that was easy for her to manage. It was fortunate because Misha’s rage was rising to a boil. She knew if she ran into any mess as nasty as her new office, she would slide into combat mode and someone or something would get broken. There was little chance of finding such a mess in the short distance between the office and her squad bay.

  Misha slapped open the hatch to Alpha Squad’s bay. It was a combination barracks, classroom, weapons locker, combat suit storage area, dining area, shower facility and when grounded on a planet during a dirt drop, it became a combination bunker and tank.

  She sighed. It was clean and the air smelled fresh. No one noticed her entrance, they were all busy cleaning, scrubbing and making bunks. It was obvious they had heard she was on the way and were frantically cleaning before the arrival of their new commander.

  Tossing her bags on the first bunk inside the hatch, she gave a low whistle to get everyone’s attention. A large trooper moved from the back towards her as everyone else stopped working and turned in her direction. She did not expect or even want anyone to call the squad to attention. That was just not the way APES did things.

  She held up her hand to stall the trooper before he spoke. She knew who he was, just as she knew every APE in her squad. Their files had been required and interesting reading since she received her assignment orders. Misha kept her voice quiet and well modulated. It was the inside voice her mother taught her to use as a child. Still, it echoed from the steel walls of the huge room. “Mr. Singletary, I am sorry if my baggage is crowding whoever’s gear is on this bunk. I expect to maintain traditional bunk spacing, so the existing gear will need to be shuffled to the appropriate owner’s bunk.” She could feel her anger at Beaudry and the state of her office beginning to cause her muscles to clench, so she took a deep breath and told herself to remain calm. Using her best after Sunday School voice she said, “Mr. Singletary, as you know, by tradition the squad leader regardless of rank is first out the hatch, first in combat, first to fight, and logically takes the first bunk. And you, as Trooper One by tradition ride drag bringing up the rear to watch over any new troopers, stragglers or walking wounded. Is that clear?”

  She did a quick turn without waiting for an answer. A few steps brought her to a large wall locker that should have been hers. It was unlocked, so she slapped the panel and opened the door. She did not expect anything to be in the locker, since it was traditionally the one used by the squad commander. She did not expect it to be spotless considering the state the last commander had left his office. However, she certainly did not expect to see it stuffed full of drugs, alcohol and pornography.

  Slamming the locker door closed with a bang, turning her back to the locker, she leaned against it. She could feel the heat rising in her face and spreading down her neck to disappear under her collar. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. She believed that what an APE did off duty was nobody’s business but theirs as long as it did not affect their combat readiness. She was fuming. This was illegal and illicit contraband. It was not just on board ship and not just in APE country, but in her locker. Someone brought this crap into her house, right in the middle of her bedroom. She bellowed, spun on her heels, locked her arms around the locker and heaved.

  A screech of metal wailed through the bay as she ripped the locker from the steel wall. Without consideration of who was nearby, she slammed the locker onto the deck. The unlocked door flew open and the contents spilled across the deck. She shook the locker dumping all of the remaining contents onto the deck. Heaving the locker over her head, she slammed it down repeatedly on the jumbled pile. Tossing the locker to the side, she stomped through the broken bottles and vials to what should have been her bunk. The bunk was snuggled into a box-type arrangement. When the blast shutters were in place, the bunk became a self-contained escape pod. A bunk with the shutters dropped gave its occupant a modicum of privacy and afforded a number of small spaces for an APE to store a few special personal items.

  Misha pounded open the first small storage space inside the hatch. She reached a meaty hand in, dragged out and crushed what appeared to be someone’s personal pornography stash. She yanked the blanket and sheets off the bed, realizing the sheets underneath were filthy and had not been changed in weeks. She wanted to gag, but it only made her angrier.

  Troopers scattered as she tore through the bay, tossing out this and that, throwing gambling paraphernalia, boxes of tobacco, bags of drugs and even old-fashioned nudie photos on the deck. She yanked open lockers, locked or not, stripped bedding from bunks, and threw unopened bottles of tile cleaner into the shower area, splashing odd colored liquids into places that were previously virgin to their touch.

  Without seeing who belonged to what, she yanked open a locker and grabbed a double handful of contents. She squeezed and shook the contents, feeling something delicate snap between her fingers. She threw the contents onto a pile on the deck with everything else.

  She stopped. Misha realized the locker she had just torn into had been neat and orderly. An eye for care and precision arranged everything. Glancing at the pile on the deck, she saw a silver-colored flute twisted and broken in the mangled mess. The name Ottiamig was neatly stenciled on the locker hatch along with the number 8.

  She looked around and spotted Trooper One Singletary. “Get this place cleaned up. Do it beyond inspection standard. Dot the I’s and cross the T’s, Trooper. Do it now and do it fast.”

  Chapter Five

  Trooper Bennett Beaudry jabbed the scrub brush around the toilet bowl and muttered, “Bitch! She got no right to put me on punishment detail. She isn't even t
he commanding third yet. Bitch still doesn't even officially take over until tomorrow.”

  He looked around at the single-seater latrine and through the open hatch into the empty APE commander’s day office. He damned the rest of his squad for not responding to his request for help.

  It was not the first time Beaudry had been in the command office. Third-Level Commander Hamilton Cans, now retired, had often called in Beaudry, but not for disciplinary action. Beaudry had a particular talent for reciting lewd jokes and limericks that amused the commander when he was drinking, which even Beaudry would admit, was much of the time this past year. Beaudry had been fond of Trey Cans and not just because Cans hadn’t ever put him on punishment detail. Cans did not put anyone on punishment detail. He was fond of Trey Cans in the same way a dog sometimes returns to its own vomit.

  Beaudry turned back to the toilet bowl. “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!” he said as he jabbed the brush around the bowl with each invective. The toilet was self-cleaning, but the cleaning solution tank was bone dry and seemed to have stopped working. He had to get the toilet clean before the toilet could keep itself that way and he would probably have to get a new series of gaskets to replace the old dried-out ones for the solution tank. “And damn Cans, too! Least he coulda’ cleaned up his own pigsty before he left.”

  Third Cans had retired in the saddle a year before actually taking his leave of the service. He filled the commander’s slot on the organizational chart, but did as little as possible to get by. He left the day-to-day operation of the unit to the seconds below him. He neither oversaw any work nor cared about its completion, unless it might affect his retirement pay. He left the day office in utter disarray, leaving personal items and official document packs scattered among the discarded half-eaten meal packs, bottles and general debris of the drunk and slovenly.

  Beaudry hadn’t minded the mess when he was sitting in it, drinking with Cans. But, he could not understand how it had gotten this bad, this fast. After all, they had only been deployed on the Kiirkegaard for a month. The office had not looked near this bad when they had power-jacked its mobility pallet base into the spacecraft’s locking deck plates.

  It was the same office Cans inherited upon his promotion to third in command of the 1392nd. All APE equipment was designed to move with the unit. Every barracks, office and storage area was completely self-contained and built on a powered combat specification skid plate. The skid plate was shaped specifically to the office and designed to clamp into dozens of different AMSF spacecraft deck configurations.

  Like the office, the entire 1392nd was completely self-contained. The design and build of each prefab barracks, storage shed, weapons locker, repair shop and even their mini-hospital for sick call was for rapid deployment on mobility pallets with their own power skid plates, armor and weapons compliments. APES units went into combat fully outfitted with everything necessary for a quick dirt drop. They touchdown on a planet prepared for any type of hostile action or when long-term deployment if the need arises. Someone had coined the phrase ‘dirt drop’ years before in describing how APES units appeared to poop out the back end of a spacecraft for the drop into planetary atmosphere. The name stuck.

  During Cans’ last thirty days of service, he retreated into his office and only came out once for his own retirement ceremony. Sixteen other APES had put in their time and retired along with Cans. Six of the sixteen were second-level commanders, leaving the unit drastically short of experienced seconds and drying up their pool of long time veterans.

  Trooper Beaudry would have joined them if he could, but he only had forty-four years in the APES. Those years plus his four years in the AMSF still left him two years short of a full pension. He was beginning to regret not taking a reduced stipend for retirement. A few troopers voluntary quit the APES because of Can’s command. Many other troopers opted for transfer to other units.

  “Damn it, Cans! It’s your fault I gotta clean up your mess,” Beaudry growled to himself. “But that bitch is gonna pay for putting me here. It’s her office now. She should clean up her own space. Yeah, she’s gonna pay…”

  Chapter Six

  Trooper One Singletary watched Trooper Four Peace DeLaPax poke a long tapered black finger into the ragged hole of the barrack's steel wall. DeLaPax shook her head in wonder. “Did you see the size of her arms when she ripped that locker out of the wall? Whooeee! She stripped the screws out, heads and all.”

  “Yeah? So what?” asked Trooper Two Jem Li Park from across the barracks. “So she’s got muscles. She doesn’t scare me any." He dumped a dustpan of broken glass into the trash chute. “Besides,” he continued, “we had it good before she got here. Trey Cans left us alone. Hell, we were his squad and he didn’t even come into the bay anymore.”

  DeLaPax said, “True enough, Jemmy Li. But, the good times are over. Don’t mess with this one. She isn’t like Trey Cans ever was.” DeLaPax shook her head.

  Singletary was in Cans' squad for almost twenty years. He did not think Cans had ever been strong enough to rip a locker off the wall. For that matter, he didn’t know anyone able to do it.

  DeLaPax motioned for a couple of other troopers to help her move the locker back into place. She grunted with the effort; a small trickle of sweat slipped down from her black kinky hair and slid along her smooth skin that was only a shade lighter than her hair.

  She said, “Jemmy Li, you may be sierra hotel with that old-style Korean Karate, but I don’t think you want to tangle with our new squad leader.”

  Before Park could reply, Singletary said, “All right, knock it off. We don’t have that much time to get this barracks back into inspection order. And we gotta do it right this time.” He motioned to DeLaPax, “Peace, you take the new guy, what's his name, Ottiamig?" He glanced at the tall man. “Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout you, numb-nuts.” He pointed a finger at DeLaPax, “Peace, you take oh-my-gods with you to the repair shack. Get a hand welder and put that locker up permanently. Bring back a vacuum cleaner, too. We gotta get all of this glass up off the deck. No more half measures got me? Cans is gone. We got a new boss and we do it her way." To himself he added, “For now.”

  Singletary looked around at the barracks mess. It looked shredded from one end to the other, like a small whirlwind had blown through. Personal effects, uniforms, and bedding were scattered every which way. Six Able Squad troopers were picking their way through the mess. Four members of the squad were still missing, presumably dockside, having either not heard or ignored Second Takki-Homi’s first call or Aardrmicksdottir’s second broadcast recall.

  When Third McPherson’s gear had arrived earlier, Singletary as trooper one of Able Squad sent it to the day office. He hoped she would take the hint from Third Cans example and move in there. Singletary heard she had been escorted directly to her office upon boarding the Kiirkegaard. Instead, she carried her gear from the office and threw it on the first bunk inside the hatch. It was the only bunk not double stacked. That had been his bunk, since Cans moved out. McPherson had burst into the room just when the squad had almost succeeded in making it somewhat presentable. It was obvious she was angry before she blew in through the front hatch. She reminded him politely that the last bunk was his. She explained quietly and very politely she expected traditional bunk arrangements.

  Traditional meant trooper two would get a bunk in the next stack down the line from hers. Since she was a third-level commander, there was no trooper three in Alpha Squad. Just as in a squad commanded by a second there was no trooper two or in a squad commanded by a fifth there was no trooper five. In McPherson’s squad, trooper four took the bunk above trooper two, and so on down the line. All the bunks were aligned down one steel wall, interspersed with their combat suit racks. Lockers, showers, and toilet stalls lined the opposite wall mixed with tables and reader ports. That left Singletary at the tail end of the barracks. He was stuck bunking in the back with the FNG, newbies and tranferees. FNGs and newbies always screwed-up because they did not know any better. Tran
sferees were always screw-ups because they were screw-ups to begin with and someone was dumping them from their squad to get rid of a problem. After twenty years in this squad, Singletary much preferred to bunk near the veterans. Some of these men and women had been with him for much of his 1392nd Alpha Squad tenure. Some were close friends, like Park. Some, like DeLaPax were not friends, but she was a veteran and he trusted her to watch his back in combat, both in bars and on dirt drops. He did not trust any frakking new guy.

  He blanched at the memory of McPherson losing all semblance of politeness when she opened the door to what should have been her locker. Inside she found his stash of alcohol, drugs, gambling paraphernalia and pornography. When she tore the locker from the steel wall and sent it sailing across the deck scattering disks, bottles, vials and pills, she wiped out almost a year’s worth of inventory. That would put a severe dent in his special pension plan. His Apes and vacuum-breather customers were either going to go dry for this trip or they would abandon him if they found other suppliers.

  McPherson’s inspection of the squad barracks left nothing uncovered. Fortunately, she hadn’t bothered to ask who owned what contraband. He wasn’t going to volunteer that information. Everyone else in the squad knew the stuff was his and if they knew what was good for them, they wouldn’t say a word. She slowed down only when she had accidentally smashed Ottiamig’s flute. She stormed out ordering everyone to clean the barracks to the jot and tittle.

  Chapter Seven

  Misha stood in the middle of the APES training bay. She could not believe her senses. The huge open bay area was a jumble of mobility pallets, shipping containers and scattered litter. After the clean planetary air of Heaven or even the filtered air of Heaven’s Gate Station, the training bay smell was almost enough to make her wretch. It smelled of stale sweat, moldy cheese, flat beer and a few really strange and unidentifiable odors.