Hades- the Diasapora

by Ernest Filak

  We sit there panting, leaning against each other, everybody keeping an eye on their sector.

  “What’s next?” she asks.

  “I’ll check the communications,” I say and click the WiFi button. Nothing. There is no response. The communications channel with the command is quiet. No text messages. “We’ve been left to our own devices.”

  I could ask Ingrid for help, but I’d rather not do that. She finds it too easy to break security locks and somebody could start investigating it. We are one of many sections facing this task.

  “According to the rules, one of us provides cover as the other one destroys the point of resistance,” I remind her of one of the textbook points.

  “Have you got a grenade?” she asks.

  “Got an incendiary,” I nod. “It should be enough for that cardboard that you’ve so nicely shot through.”

  “Go then,” she says. “I’ll shoot my ass off.”

  I hand an extra magazine to her.

  “Don’t shoot off mine,” I remark.

  “Are you scared?” she asks with a flirtatious smile.

  “You bet I am. It’s a while until the end of the day and I’m pretty attached to my behind.”

  “Well, it’s not nice at all,” she says giving it a scrutinizing look.

  I don’t even have the energy to protest. I’m facing a few rather stressful seconds.

  “Hey, doll, keep your sights on the target,” I growl maliciously.

  “I am focusing,” she says but keeps looking not where I would like her to. In the end she raises her eyes to the bunker. “All right. At three?”

  “Go ahead,” I get ready to jump.

  After counting to three she sends a controlled series. Again she shoots the poor cardboard all over the place. My foot slips. I clench my teeth, jump up and run to the right. She doesn’t stop and I almost spit out my lungs. A dozen more steps. I take a clump of artificial bushes to be my target. When the first response bullets fly my way I throw the oblong shape arching into the air. It lands between the remains of the cardboard figures of enemy soldiers. Puff! They all burst into flames. To be on the safe side I get up and get rid of the remaining needle bullets.

  “End of practice!” I hear the voice of training supervisor coming from the ceiling.

  We stop although I still feel my blood boiling in my veins. Martha comes up taking tired steps. She hands the empty mag to me. The people working in the range maintenance put out the fires and replace the cardboard soldiers with new dummies.

  “Have we passed?” the girl asks.

  “I guess we have. Nobody is shouting at us.”

  Just in case we step out of everybody’s way and leave through the exit door. They are already waiting for us, the rest of our training platoon with Angry Bear as the leader.

  “Are we the last ones?” I look around in the crowded room.

  “No, there’s one more team,” the Bear keeps track of everything.

  “This means we have a few minutes’ break,” Martha says happily.

  She immediately gets down to cleaning her weapon. I follow suit, not waiting for a fanatical instructor to arrive. The lucky guys who had passed the race first are snoozing along the walls. I envy them with all my heart. Instead of imitating them I take my rifle to pieces.

  The training I went through under the watchful eye of Corporal Kowalsky now pays off. Before Martha manages to disengage the butt with a built in magnetic field generator, I am already finishing oiling the metal and ceramic elements. The needle feeder mechanism need to be checked thoroughly but the corporal also had a tried and tested method for that. I pour a few drops of oil into the accelerator chamber, wait a few seconds and then using my thumb I send the feeder into a rotating motion. Centrifugal force makes the oil spread evenly. There is even a little bit too much of it. I squeeze all the elements into the ceramic trunk. The battery should be replaced but I guess that’s the storekeeper’s problem. The last thing I have to do is push the blockade latch into its place. I walk up to a wall and fire a few empty bullets. After each of them the mechanism remains in the rear position, which is normal as there are no needles in the magazine. Another pull of the trigger. Puff! The electromagnetic field initiates the shot. The excess oil lands on the wall. Six shots and the chamber is clean. The rifle can now be handed in for inspection.

  This is not exactly the method we had been taught. But the important thing is it works and is fast. I even manage to lie down against the wall and close my eyes. Despite my exhaustion I can’t switch off. I can hear Martha’s panting and moaning. I open one eye. She looks at me but doesn’t say anything. A tough cookie. She won’t ask for help. No, we are not a close-knit crew. Everybody takes care of themselves. The only person always ready to help is the Bear. Problem is with his huge hands he won’t be able to speed up the process.

  “Give it to me,” I stretch my hand.

  She hands the needle rifle to me relieved.

  “Sit here,” I point to a place next to me.

  One of ours smirks under his breath.

  “Shut your mouth,” I say to him. It helps. I show her the trick with rotating the feeder. She’s smart and quickly gets the hang of it.

  “It would be the best to shoot it though with a real steel needle,” I explain, “but since we don’t have a ramrod or time, you can do it this way. You have to take it apart and put it back together many times to make sure you can do it well. There’s no other way.”

  “Have you done this before?” she asks.

  Corporal Kowalsky blindfolded me, put all the parts behind my back and timed me. If I didn’t manage to do it in one minute I was fucked. To make it more difficult he would add extra elements that didn’t go with the set.

  “That’s none of your business,” I snarl back. Smart girl. She knows when to keep her mouth shut. Needle rifles were never part of the Star Troopers, Uroboros or revolutionary forces armament. I finished the job quickly and handed the gun back to her. I didn’t wait for her thanks. I leaned my head back and fell asleep instantly.

  I woke up as somebody was shaking my arm. The last section finished the race. Two exhausted people with madness in their eyes. The scratches on their armor showed that they didn’t find it easy to get the bunker. The poor guys didn’t even have a minute to sort themselves out.

  “Attention!” the Bear orders, seeing the drill instructor.

  Like wind-up toy soldiers we immediately formed two lines.

  “Weapons out for inspection.”

  The first line took one step forward presenting their needle rifles with their accelerator chambers opened. The instructor scrutinized each weapon. A recruit here and there heard a few unpleasant words followed with a punishment, such as an extra round on the obstacle course, cleaning and other things – here the drill instructors’ imagination was unlimited. When my turn came I acted like it said in the regulations. I didn’t really expect any surprises here and I was right. The instructor moved on. As could be expected, the last two were in trouble as they didn’t really have much time. They ended up with cleaning weapons in the storage room as a punishment. Actually, it was quite a good job, depending on who was on duty. There were smaller or bigger pains in the ass within the Marine breed. Generally speaking, the men who became store keepers were old hands who didn’t have long until the end of their contracts, but who for some reasons, mostly medical, couldn’t serve in the first line. The first few hours were really hard toil with the store keeper’s eye on your every move but sometimes, after a job well done, one could snooze off somewhere in a dark corner. And sometimes there was booze, too. Life could not be any better.

  “Platoon H2, the training is over,” the instructor finally announced what we so wished to hear. “Return your weapons to the storage room. Have lunch. In four hours report for uniform inspection.”

  It looked like this was the first time from the beginning of the course that we would have some free time. Well, it sounded wonderful but I had myself to scrub clea
n, check the uniform and polish every smallest chrome element. Just bliss.

  We handed in our rifles with a song on our lips. Then we trotted off to our deck. The H2 gate was already waiting fully open for us.

  “For fuck’s sake!” the first recruit who crossed the threshold swore loudly.

  “Those motherfuckers!” I could hear everywhere, words definitely referring to the drill instructors.

  The room looked like a hurricane had passed through it. Even the bunk beds were lying on the floor overthrown. We had the contents of our closets crunching under our feet. All the joy was gone.

  “All right,” Bear decided to introduce some order into his ranks, “You go to the canteen and check if they’re already serving lunch.”

  The recruit whizzed like a ghost. The rest began tidying the place.

  “What is this?” one of the girls took a blue rectangular magnetic card out of the pile.

  “Let me see,” Bear looked at the inscription. “Martha IbnIhib.”

  “That’s me,” the girl stood up.

  “That’s for you,” the giant handed the piece of plastic to her. “It’s a postcard.”

  All the recruits became very excited and they started looking around for blue cards. The lucky ones walked up to the projector. There was only one of those and it didn’t guarantee anonymity but nobody wanted to put it off for later. You never knew when the next opportunity would arise. In a moment people started laughing and also crying. Some of them got news about their loved ones, families, friends or lovers. Others were devastated by the news of missing or identified bodies. The few minutes of video messages brought us together closer than anything else.

  It was somehow easier to understand the biggest curmudgeon in the squad if you knew that from a huge family only his youngest sister survived. Another one, a totally inconspicuous guy, got a message from his girlfriend, who missed him so much that she sent him a close up of the contents of her bra. The guy had good taste.

  I didn’t expect any messages so I was really surprised when Bear gave me two postcards. An absolute record.

  “Lucky devil,” he said pushing me towards the projector.

  Since it already quieted down and my cards were lying at the bottom of the heap I didn’t have to wait in line. I pushed the card into the outlet.

  “Can I speak now?” an older blonde asked.

  “Yes, it’s recording,” the voice off screen assured her.

  “All right then,” the woman collected herself and stared into the eye of the camera. “Son, your mummy loves you very much.”

  I moaned in despair. That I didn’t really expect. Of course first I had to listen to a litany of complaints.

  “You don’t send us any messages, you don’t write and you are not interested in the only parents you have.” In the background I could hear the sea on the most magnificent of the Blue Paradise beaches and wondered where they got the money to go to the holiday planet.

  Of course a small crowd already gathered behind my back. Tourist planets were every teenager’s dream. Everybody had heard of them but nobody has ever been there.

  “The fortune teller was right. I have two children but only one of them will make it far. The other one is going to be the black sheep,” the words flew full stream now. “What have you gotten yourself into this time? The lawyer we know claims you have another sentence hanging over your head. And you used to be such a sweet child. But I knew it, I always told your father that you will never make it good. Instead of going to work you decided to go to technical school. Such whims. Your daddy cannot sleep at night because of you.”

  Seeing the topless waitresses walking in the background, I wasn’t in the least bit surprised. Being my father I couldn’t sleep either, given the circumstances.

  “Edward’s parents are asking if you know whatever happened to him? They are worried because he doesn’t feature on the survivors’ list. Listen to me at least once and call them. It’s a very respectable family. Send them a message at their expense.”

  Yeah, and what am I supposed to tell them? “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Witt, I regret to inform you that I shot your son in the head. I feel my actions are justified as he betrayed me before that and I only miraculously escaped death.” Let them fuck themselves. I’m not going to explain myself to anyone.

  “Finish already,” my dad hissed.

  “Finish? Why finish? You say something too,” she turned the camera towards her husband who was lying in a hammock.

  My old man as usual didn’t want to have any discussions.

  “Listen to your mother, she knows better,” he said and returned to his drink.

  “Can you hear what your daddy said?” She was content enough and let him off the hook. “Daddy knows what he’s saying. Come back home, as soon as possible. Your sister says she will find a job for you. She is very well connected now and has a lot of opportunities.” That’s the last thing I could ever do. I’d rather go to prison and do my time. “Listen, sonny, don’t bring shame on our family.”

  End of transmission. I could hear sympathizing voices from behind. It wasn’t easy. I totally didn’t feel like playing the other message. I pushed in the other card resigned.

  The image showed the inside of a transportation shuttle. I immediately realized the squad was coming from a mission. A few wounded had makeshift dressings. The others were resting, exchanging remarks. But my attention was drawn to two people in the foreground. The Marine privates that I had come to know so well.

  “What’s up, Pavel?” Olga asked. Gina, who was standing behind her, was sending me a sweet kiss. “They managed to save my leg. They replaced a bit of bone with an implant.”

  “I knew you would make it,” Gina said. “Kowalsky taught you well. He’s in the medical ward. During the last mission he came too close to a grenade, but the doctors say he’s going to make it. It’s nothing serious.”

  “We’re all good. From the team you knew everybody is all right,” Olga kept playing nervously with the dog tags around her neck. “Lieutenant Stone was promoted to captain.”

  “Stop this bullshit,” Gina interrupted the news. “Honey, at the bottom you can see out postal number. Write whenever you find a moment. Olga is totally nuts about you.”

  “That’s true,” the voices of the other soldiers confirmed the fact.

  “Shut up,” Olga tried to stop her friend from saying anything else but the other one wouldn’t be pushed away from the microphone.

  “She doesn’t want to do it with anyone, and only rubs one knee against the other,” Gina was brutally honest. Olga turned deep red. “You need to get together as soon as possible or the girl will wither and fall from longing.”

  “Gina, come on.”

  Suddenly I heard a command behind my back.

  “Attention!”

  I reacted automatically and stood upright. I didn’t manage to turn off the player. The group of three drill instructors approaching would be able to hear every word that followed on the recording.

  “Sergeant Louis found out that you got into the unitarian training,” Gina continued conspiratorially. The voice was being played at medium volume but in a quiet room you could hear every word she said. “The Sixth Fleet is made up of total wusses. After Paul Kowalsky you will make it good for sure. It would be a real shame if you ended up among those drunken slugs and biggest layabouts in the whole Corps.”

  I could hear every step of the instructors coming our way. I was too scared to even budge. Fuck. I should have turned off the recording. For a moment I thought that maybe it would be a better solution if I switched it off now, despite breaking the rules.

  “The sergeant said that hell will freeze sooner than she brings another big tits aficionado to her squad. You stepped on her toes, you know that? But don’t worry. We’ll get you out of this shithole. After the course you’ll get a monthly holiday. We’ll grab a few beers and have some fun, just like we did last time. What do you say?”

  The drill instructor removed
the postcard.

  Chapter XVIII

  Aircraft Carrier HES United. Conference Room. Thirty-second day in subspace.

  Admiral Gerald Williams wasn’t very happy at all. He gave his permission to organize this ceremony under huge pressure from his trusted colleagues. He didn’t remember the last time he took part in a wedding organized in subspace. He felt his favorite pipe in one of his pockets but in the end decided not to take it out. Despite everything he didn’t really want to spoil the ceremony.

  “Do you feel like smoking?” the Chief of Staff sitting next to him asked. “Maybe we could go outside. I’m craving one too.”

  The man in charge of the Sixth Fleet turned discreetly towards the exit. Of course his every move was being scrutinized by the crowds of officers sitting in the rows behind him. Many of them feared to be the focus of his attention for even a moment. The room was bursting at the seams.

  “Not a good idea. It’s about to begin,” he said.

  “Still ten more minutes, Sir,” his aide sitting on his other side assured.

  “Go make sure the banquet hall is ready.”

  The aide began squeezing his way through along the wall.

  “Tell me it was worth clinching this deal,” Gerald turned to the Chief of Staff.

  “It was, Admiral,” he heard a very ardent note in the confirmation, “the intelligence information we received compensates for all the necessary expenses.”

  “Do you know how expensive transportation in subspace is?”

  “It’s the Supplies that should be worrying about this,” he heard a laconic answer.