by Black, Alan
"Negative" and "No, too many. H.E. takes them down a lot quicker. Plus, we don't have to be so careful in our aim and with H.E we can bounce around and stay out of their direct line of fire."
"Okay. Do it quick. We've still got more company coming."
"Papa, get to Ng as soon as you can," Misha ordered.
Papadoropoulis replied, "All done here, Deuce. The field is clear and I am heading toward Ng now. By the way, have you sent a sitrep to the boys upstairs?"
Misha would have slapped her forehead, except she wouldn't have felt a thing inside her helmet. She should have already sent a situation report to the AMSF for their information and for relay to APES Command.
"Dammit. I forgot," she said. "Uplinking now."
"No sweat, Deuce. We've been a bit busy," Papadoropoulis said.
"Thanks for the reminder, Papa. I am ammo'ed up. I've got six telltales showing APES down but still in their suits. I have marked them on our TACs. Get Ng back to the squad bay where you stashed the prisoners. Then help me check vitals on these guys. And Papa, they ain't pretty, so make sure they are sealed up and you stay sealed up too, hear?"
"Roger that."
"We may have a short breather before the third mass of Binders gets here, but don’t get too relaxed. Take on max reload. And everybody stay sealed up until we can get through decontamination. I have notified the AMSF to stay out of the atmosphere until we can get a decon team to clear the area."
"Oh, hefe," Juanito Rodriguez groaned in mock pain. "That could take days."
"I know. Listen, team, I don't know what we got hit with here, but we can't afford to spread something nasty to the rest of Allied space..."
Misha allowed Alpha's squad bay on the Kiirkegaard to swim back into focus as she took a deep breath. She stopped the memory playback, looked around, shook her head and rattled the living nightmare from her mind. She kicked her feet loose from the covers and swung her legs over the edge of her bunk.
She knew how she looked and didn't care. All the leadership manuals said you should occasionally show your people your human side. "Well," she thought. "You don't get any more human looking than this."
The flute music stopped and she looked down the squad bay. Ottiamig was peering around his bunk with a questioning look. He held up his flute and wiggled his hand back and forth from the wrist. It was the combat hand-signal for ‘okay?’.
In response, Misha smiled back, pumped her fist up and down and slid her flat hand ahead, the signal for ‘forward.’
Ottiamig's signaled back, ‘roger, will comply’. He smiled and ducked into his bunk. Soon the soothing sounds of his flute filled the room again.
Misha hung her head in her hands reflecting on the memory that forced her awake. She knew that once upon a time many combat veterans’ bad dreams were misdiagnosed as the result of post-traumatic stress disorder. That was spot-on accurate for a lot of combat veterans, but it was not always the case. Medicine, specifically combat medicine had since learned post-traumatic stress disorder wasn't what affected many veterans. Studies proved some individuals became addicted to combat, to the adrenaline rush, to the charge and challenge of war. Then, in times of peace or peacefulness, the body reacted to their addiction and the resultant lack of adrenaline to feed the veteran's addiction. In effect, the lack of combat stress induced adrenaline sent the veteran into a type of withdrawal.
Misha's little argument with Britaine had pushed her addiction to the edge, giving her a fitful sleep, an uneasy feeling something was wrong and most of all a sense of not fitting in with the world around her. But, she knew, as did many combat veterans, without her addiction she could never force herself to go back into combat. After all, what normal person would throw themselves into danger, seeking to kill or be killed time after time?
Medical science also progressed enough to develop a non-addictive synthetic substitute to ease days and nights like this one. All Misha had to do was push herself off her bunk and get a pill from the ditty bag stashed in her locker. Instead, Misha sat on her bunk in her squad bay aboard the AMSF Kiirkegaard holding her head in her hands and analyzed the events of Guinjundst, replaying it all in her head again trying to make sense of what went wrong.
She, Papa, and the two Rodriguezs made short work of the remaining group of Binders. They had trapped them in a high walled canyon and used their high-explosives to bury the Binders under tons of rock and rubble. An AMSF spacecraft picked up the squad bay with the injured and their prisoners. Only Ng and one other APE would survive. Misha was left on the planet with Papa and the two Rodriguez. It was a long week trapped inside a combat suit with nothing to do but carry the dead to the up point, until a decontamination team could finally clear them.
Misha shook her head at the memory. Pushing off the bunk she stood and stretched. She glanced down at her timepiece and decided since it was only a couple of hours until time to get up, she might as well stay up. Since she wasn't going back to bed, there was no reason to take a pill to ease her combat anxiety withdrawal. She might as go stir up trouble.
Chapter Thirteen
Marshal Sergeant Gan Forrester stood in the training bay watching the chaos around him. He was breathing heavily after barely surviving a dozen assaults in hand-to-hand combat training. Trey McPherson left him at the mercy of Charlie Squad's Second Takki-Homi.
Forrester had wanted to spend time with McPherson's squad. She interested him, but she explained that Second Takki-Homi’s squad was the most complete veteran team. They would be able to integrate him with the least disruption to their training schedule. He did not have a logical argument against her reasoning. He would just have to try to get her cornered at another time.
Second Takki-Homi tapped Forrester on the shoulder and said, "Watch Able Squad." He pointed to McPherson's squad.
"Watch what?" Forrester replied.
"Trey McPherson is setting up a free-for-all within her squad. It is a good way to evaluate both the martial arts and physical fitness levels of a team."
"Is she any good?" Forrester asked.
"I don't know. She looks more like a weight lifter than a fighter, but she moves like a cat. A big, angry cat, at that," Takki-Homi said.
"Yeah, I noticed that," Forrester said. "So, why do a free-for-all?"
"As you may know each APE comes to the service with a martial arts style of his own choosing. This type of evaluation pits each style against a bunch of other styles. It doesn't point out if one style is better than another; instead it shows who needs additional training," Takki-Homi explained.
"Okay. But, I always wanted to ask; why require a martial art form to join? It's not like you guys fight bare handed."
"True enough. But, we don't usually have years to train in the use of a combat suit. Mostly, we get stuffed in a real suit in a combat situation with only a few hours in a tri-wave simulator and just a couple of hour’s suit practice time that is little more than ambling up and down the training bay. Knowing a martial art form helps the recruits with their physical discipline and muscle control." Takki-Homi pointed to a squad who appeared to be resting in reclining loungers with helmets on. "They are using the tri-wave sim with specific integrated training modules. I am sure you used them in school and probably in your training for the Marshal's Service."
Forrester nodded, "Yeah, but all of them were individual modules, where we went through the live-action scenarios and came out learning the prescribed courses of learning. I have never been hooked into an integrated system. How does it work?"
Takki-Homi shrugged his shoulder, "Damfino. You might ask Trooper Ortiz. She is our squad's repair tech. All I know is that we go in, get linked, spend anywhere from a few days to a week or so in combat situations and I come out knowing more about my team, my suit and combat than I went in. Plus, after day’s session, I will somehow be able to read and write French. And just like magic it all takes place in about an hour. And you ask me how does it work? Damn, Gan, it could really be magic for all I care. It works. If i
t doesn't work, then I call Ortiz to fix it. What more do I need to know?"
Forrester said, "I get all that. I grew up on Heaven Three. Every school on the planet has the tri-wave sim. Of course, we learned things like math and science, instead of fun simulations. We always got dropped into some dry historical era, you know?"
Takki-Homi nodded, "I know."
"May I ask a personal question?" Forrester asked. "I get that combat simulations are standard, but the second part of a tri-wave is the download into the brain of some course of learning. Do you get to choose the course of learning that gets crammed into your head along with the live-action simulation? I mean, why not learn APE approved subject like suit maintenance or even how to repair the tri-wave simulator? I would think APES would want to learn something service related. Why would you come out knowing French?"
Takki-Homi laughed, "Reading French is service oriented. Didn't you know that I am Charlie Squad's cook? I have some French cookbooks that tomorrow I can read in their original. Today I can't. You’d be amazed at what I can do with APES standard rations."
Takki-Homi continued. "Okay, I think Able Squad is ready to set-to."
Forrester watched as one of the troopers in the squad shouted, "Go!" He expected an immediate clash, but the free-for-all began so small it was as if no one moved. Subtle movements showed here and there with the individuals moving around sizing up each other's skills before striking.
"Watch carefully," Takki-Homi said. "I am willing to bet the tall black kid makes the first contact."
Suddenly the young man lashed out with a foot aimed at a short Asian man's head. But, the man's head wasn't where it had been. The Asian whirled, grabbed the extended foot and drove the black man into the back of a skinny white woman. Bodies began to spin, strike, hiss, grunt and hit the deck. Once a person was knocked to the deck, they rolled to the side and stood, out of the contest.
A wild melee ensued. Forrester watched in fascination as McPherson deliberately leapt into groups and clusters of fighters; jabbing, punching and throwing bodies around with raging abandon. She seemed to lash out in all directions at once, without any apparent style or gracefulness. All too soon it was over. McPherson stood alone in the center of the group having defeated all comers.
"What kind of style is that?" Forrester asked. "It just looked like she was using wild street fighting."
"I've seen it a few times, but never done that well," Takki-Homi replied. "It is called Bào Dòng. That is old Earth One Mandarin for mayhem. Bào means explosive, huge and sudden. Dòng means movement and chaos. It is a word that actually used to be used for riots or melees. As a martial art, it doesn't have any such thing as belts, levels or ranks. It is a matter of win or lose, get better or keep getting beaten. No holds barred and no pulled punches. They use any object at hand as a weapon in offensive movement in all directions at all times. It also blatantly steals moves from all other known martial arts styles. No apparent grace or fluid movement, no ritual or fancy outfits, just all out wanton destruction and devastation until no enemy is left standing to oppose you."
"Damn," said Forrester.
"Damn indeed," replied Takki-Homi. "It works if you have the right attitude."
"I see it works for our Third McPherson."
The two men turned as a voice called out. "Yo, Taks, who is your new friend?"
"Second-Level Commander Race Jackson, Foxtrot Squad. This is Sergeant Gan Forrester of the Marshal Service," Takki-Homi said introducing the two men.
Jackson nodded at Forrester. "Training with the big boys today?"
Forrester smiled back, "No, just Taks' squad. It looks like your new commander is the big boy today."
"Damn straight," Jackson said. "You guys see her moves? She must be hell on wheels in a combat suit."
"Yeah, a hard act to follow," Takki-Homi said.
“Hard or easy, follow it is. With the hero of Guinjundst in the lead, it is payback time for those Binder bastards,” Second Jackson said.
"Hey, Deuce Taks, how did you know who would strike first in that free-for-all?" Forrester asked.
"Rookies always do. It's a guarantee if it is a confident rookie. And most of the time they end up on their butts. Now, Sergeant Forrester, it is time to put you on your butt."
Chapter Fourteen
Misha cursed under her breath. She knew deep down that she was in the tri-wave simulator and had been for less than an hour of real time. Every sensation was being fed into her brain through the connectors around the shaved part of her head. Electrical relays or not, everything felt real, smelled real, and even tasted real. She knew from the uncomfortable pressure across her midsection that the plumbing in a combat suit was uncomfortable and that she had been attached to the suit for too long. She had itches she hadn't scratched in what seemed like hours. It felt like three days sealed into the armor with the face shields in place. All she wanted was to brush her teeth. She could taste the scum build up. She swore if someone figured a way to improve dental hygiene in combat armor, then she would have their baby, whether it was man, woman or those weird Altan Thumbtaskers.
"What did you say, Trey?" DeLaPax asked.
"Nothing, Peace, I was just thinking out loud, I guess," Misha said.
"Must be thinking too loud, Third," Singletary said. "I agree this is a bitch. So, why do we have to stay sealed up? I mean, all the scans show clean air with no biological or chemical contaminates." Almost as an afterthought he added "sir."
"You are and you will stay sealed up until I say so. And we are doing it because I don't trust the Binders to use biological and chemical juices that our suits can detect. All suits received the new software upgrades after Guinjundst, but even that doesn't guarantee the Binders haven't come up with something new."
After a few more grumbles, Misha said, "All right, APES. That's enough. I have spent a week in a suit and it didn't kill me. This little outing won't kill you either, unless you get distracted. Our HUDs aren't showing enemy contact, but we know they are around here somewhere. Chill and get icy cold, people, we’ve got work to do. Slezak, take Ottiamig, use your skid plates and move to the ridge I have marked on your TAC maps. Keep a low profile."
"Roger that, Third," Trooper Aimee Slezak replied. "Come on, rookie. Let's move." The two slid along the ground like surfers on some unseen wave. Their skid plates were four-foot metallic discs sliding effortlessly through the air at grass top level.
"Park, you and Bear Cutler scoot to these points. Juarez and Metzler move to the points on your TAC maps. That should give us an open line of sight across all cardinal points. On the bounce troopers, as the quicker we locate the enemy the quicker we can go home and get out of these suits. Everyone, keep your skid plates low to the ground. Let’s avoid being spotted by the enemy."
Misha mentally ticked off her troops. She had just paired off three veterans: Trooper Six Aimee Slezak, Trooper Two Jem Li Park, and Trooper Five Miguel Juarez with rookies Trooper Eight Tuamma Ottiamig, Trooper Seven Bear Cutler, and Trooper Eleven Oouta Metzler. More importantly, she had split up those three veterans from Trooper One Singletary. The four seemed almost joined at the hip. She was sure they formed a core of one problem subset for the 1392nd. She did not like putting rookies with troublesome troopers, but she did not have any other choice.
Ottiamig might not want favoritism because of his family connections, but the tall man did come from a family with a deep history of service to the Allied Systems. He was probably a better trooper than the veteran Slezak. The only other veteran she had was Peace DeLaPax, a tall stunningly beautiful woman. DeLaPax always seemed to be smiling and was supremely confident. That left the rookies Trooper Nine Israel Steinman and Trooper Ten Tammie Qualls. Both APES were exceptionally weak, neither given to extending themselves beyond what was required.
Using the squad wide communication net Misha said, "Okay, APES. Everyone set your scans to the maximum passive range. Let's see if we can pick up some sign of where the enemy is hiding without giving o
ur position away."
Misha checked the tell-tales of her squad on her HUD. Everyone seemed to be dragging a bit, but not enough to order meds. Qualls was showing some dehydration. Misha knew some rookies took time adjusting to the fact that their water supply was usually recycled from their own waste and sweat.
Misha toggled her comms for one-on-one. "Tammie, you had better drink some more water. You need to get another three liters down before sunset." Misha heard the trooper sigh, but saw the water consumption level start to inch up.
Misha toggled her comms again. "Slezak, is that all the farther your passive scan can set? Crank it up, trooper. Max it out."
"Roger that, Third," Slezak replied.
Misha watched the comm channels. She did not want to become one of those commanders who listened in on personal chatter among her troops, but she did want to see the activity levels. A four-way comm between Singletary, Slezak, Park and Juarez had been going on way too long.
Misha said. "Okay, troopers. Let’s cut the chatter and-"
Before she could finish, Ottiamig interrupted on the squad channel. "I have hostile markers at the edge of the TAC, Charlie 16 by Whiskey 354. I have hot marks!"
Misha checked her TAC. Ottiamig updated the map with his scan data. It did indeed look like a large concentration of Binders, crawling up through the canyon between Slezak team and Park's teams.
"Good job, Tuamma," Misha broadcast. "We should be able to squeeze them together and take them in the canyon."
"Trey!" Ottiamig shouted in excitement. "They aren't moving like Binders. Look at this scan. They are bouncing forward. They are moving like humans in combat suits."
"What the hell is that?" Singletary asked. "Slezak, what kind of scam are you trying to pull?"
"I am not doing anything, honest. Check the scans, the kid is right," Slezak said.
"Okay, Third. What gives?" Singletary demanded. "Are we linking up with another squad? I thought we were the only APES here?"