by Mark Barber
“Don’t know,” Rall shrugged, “I’ve seen troopers come back from some pretty incredible stuff. If not, there’s always a chance that his back-up consciousness can be successfully ported into a clone body. But whether or not we’ll see him again? Don’t know. C3 knows what is best. If the best is for Weste to rejoin us and the activation of his clone is successful, we’ll see him in a couple of weeks. He won’t remember you because the last time we all checked in for a consciousness save point was about six months ago; so if we get him back, his clone will only remember everything up to the save point. I’ve even known C3 to decide a guy’s no longer fit for military service and so sends his clone back home with no memory of his war time.”
“Or there’s option three,” Gant shrugged, “C3 decides that population control of the Concord takes priority and just leaves him dead. That seems to be happening a lot more these days. Seven out of our last ten dead, isn’t it?”
“You stow that subversive crap!” Rall spat, his narrowed eyes darting from soldier to soldier in accusation. “If the system wants a guy to stay dead, then there’s a good reason! Population control, c’mon! There’s easier ways to do that then starting wars, so forget your conspiracy theory crap! We’re part of something bigger here, and you guys aren’t sitting around crying about how unfair life is, not while I’m calling the shots! Now dry your eyes and get it together because there’s an entire jungle to the north which needs patrolling, and we’ll be part of that, soon.”
Shaking his head, Rall turned his back on his soldiers and walked back toward the command post. He had only taken a few paces when Sessetti and Clythe caught up with him.
“Lead? I just wanted to say sorry for…”
Rall had felt Clythe’s disappointment and embarrassment through the shard already. Similar emotions were feeding back from Sessetti. He held a hand up to stop both of them from speaking as he continued to walk away from the rest of the squad.
“You were already topped out on shard mental assistance, which is pretty normal for a trooper’s first time in combat,” Rall explained, his tone almost soft, “but your suit was ripped to shreds by that explosion. That’s what stopped your intravenous injection flow and that’s what left you next to a mate with no head and no drugs to control how you felt. That’s why you froze. Don’t feel bad, Clythe, learn from it. Battlesuits get damaged and break down, now you know what happens and next time you’ll do better. Just think about those poor sods we’re facing who have to deal with this every day. No battlesuits, no shard mental assistance, no combat drugs, and if we kill these guys, they stay dead. Don’t let Gant and Jemmel get you down, those guys just need a proper break and it’s showing. You did alright.”
“I didn’t even fire my carbine, Lead,” Sessetti exhaled. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t run away, so you did better than me first time out,” Rall said as he forced a smile. “Cheer up. It’s sunny and we’re not being shot at. Life ain’t so bad.”
“Lead?” Gant called from a few paces behind. “Senior’s here.”
Rall drew a breath before turning around again to stomp through the sand back over to his squad. Van Noor, the company senior strike leader and second-in-command after the boss, was crouched down amid Rall’s troopers. Nobody had asked Van Noor how long he had been soldiering for, but it certainly preceded any member of the company. The veteran trooper’s blonde hair was beginning to grow back through after a long period of shaving his head, but it was the wrinkles around his eyes which spoke volumes about his time served. Most of the temporary, citizen soldiers would only serve for three, perhaps four years before being released from military duty. Career soldiers, far rarer, would last longer; but in an era where dying of old age would happen after perhaps two hundred fifty years, all soldiers looked young. Those grey temples and handful of wrinkles put Van Noor at at least one hundred years old; and with his experience of soldiering, Rall wouldn’t be surprised if most of his life had been in the military.
“Weste was a good guy,” Van Noor nodded slowly as Rall, Clythe, and Sessetti approached, his tone soft. “We’ve just gotta hope that C3 wants him back with us and that his clone activation goes smoothly. I’m sorry you guys lost one today, it never gets easier.”
“Thanks, Senior,” Gant nodded slowly, his sentiments echoed by the other members of the squad.
“Any more news?” Rall asked as he approached.
“’Bout what?” Van Noor stood up.
“Why we’re getting bombarded from orbital platforms by cavemen whose technology shouldn’t be giving us problems.”
“Intelligence is looking into it. As soon as I know, you’ll know. In the meantime, we learn from this and we don’t underestimate these guys. They’re not cavemen, they’re determined fighters defending their homes. They don’t realize what we’re bringing to them, they see us as a threat to their way of life rather than the future coming to embrace them. We’ve seen it before, and we’ve had surprises like this before. Don’t let it throw you off your game. Anyhow, it’s you I’m here to see, Feon. Let’s go for a walk.”
Feeling his brow furrow, Rall walked away from his squad to catch up with Van Noor. Ahead of them, engineer drones were digging underneath a shelf of rock, already making way for what would most likely be the accommodation area.
“You’ve been with these guys for a while,” Van Noor began.
“They’re good,” Rall said. “Gant should have got that last slot as strike leader. The two new boys seem okay so far.”
“I’ve recommended to the boss that it’s time to rotate you round to a new squad. He agrees with me.”
“Why?” Rall demanded, stopping in his tracks. “What’s the problem? We’re at the front, getting stuck in every time! I’m looking after them, our casualty rate is no higher than anybody else’s! There’s nothing I can do to stop an orbital…”
“It’s not about that, Feon,” Van Noor said softly, “it’s about the effects of your personality on the squad shard, and through it, what’s being projected onto every one of those guys and girls over there. You’re what the boss calls a ‘polarized character’. Most strike leaders can stay in place, but people like you, you achieve a hell of a lot in combat but your drive and grit can have real effects on your people.”
Van Noor paused, his piercing eyes fixed on Rall’s, as if waiting for a reaction. Rall met his gaze evenly but bit back a response.
“Listen to them!” Van Noor continued. “They’re angry, pissed off, outspoken – they’re like you. We need leaders like you front and center, but occasionally our people need a change or we lose variety in our ranks, and with it we lose flexibility.”
“That’s all just management buzz-word crap,” Rall shook his head. “You’re fobbing me off with psychology. If the boss agrees with this, why isn’t he down here telling me himself?”
“Because it was my idea, and I said I’d talk to you,” Van Noor’s tone was a little less amiable. “If you’re not up to acknowledging my authority as senior strike leader of this company, we can go see the boss right now.”
Rall froze. The strike captain was an approachable and fair man, but he had seen what he was capable of. Worse, he had heard rumors, stories about the boss before he joined the military.
“That won’t be necessary,” Rall took a breath. “I’ll tell my squad that I’ll be moving on, and I’ll be ready to follow your direction as soon as you have a new squad for me.”
“Good man,” Van Noor smiled, slamming an armored palm against Rall’s shoulder. “It’s not a criticism, just routine. I’ll give you a shout as soon as we know who you’re swapping with.”
***
The din of construction continued to recede as the engineering drones moved further underground to work on the accommodation block. The gentle sound of the waves lapping against the smooth sand was accompanied by the cawing of large, almost skeletal thin sea birds with vibrant coats of red and green feathers. A gentle onshore breeze rustled th
e scattered, spikey patches of blue vegetation that sprouted up from amid the rocks which occasionally punctuated the long stretch of sand.
“How about ‘call’,” Clythe offered, “that should be easy enough to work in.”
The two sat alone on their stretch of beach, looking out to sea as Sessetti prodded half-heartedly at the datapad that lay across his lap.
“I dunno, Bo,” Sessetti winced. “I can see that end up a bit… contrived.”
“What you guys up to?”
Sessetti looked up to see Ila Rae, another relatively new trooper from their squad, walk over to sit down next to them. Rae had been the squad’s most junior trooper until he had arrived with Clythe. A young woman of average height with mousy brown hair, she had mainly kept herself to herself. Nonetheless, Sessetti was not entirely sure he wanted to pour out his heart and soul to a woman he barely knew, so he opened his mouth to come up with a convincing lie to respond to her question. Clythe blurted out a response before he could.
“We’re writing song lyrics. We were in a band back home before we were called up. Today was a pretty big day, so I guess it’s been kind of… thought provoking.”
“A band?” Rae exclaimed as Sessetti sighed and shot a look at Clythe, “Wow! This must be quite a change of pace, being out here. You guys okay after this morning? I know the shard helps a lot, but seeing your first dead squadmate, there’s only so much that can be repressed by those friendly brain waves they send to us. Before we go on leave, they’ll wean us off the external assistance and the drugs and give us proper therapy, and we can talk it through then.”
“Yeah, I’m feeling a bit better,” Clythe nodded.
“I thought we’d lost you, too!” Rae blinked. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks,” Clythe shrugged uncomfortably, pausing for a moment before continuing. “So… what did you do before all this?”
“I was a junior fashion designer, believe it or not, which was something I really loved. Not much to say about it, really.” Rae raised her brow and exhaled, as if disappointed in the lack of a response from her statement, before turning her head and nodding back in the direction of the base. “Anyway, here come the rest of the guys.”
Sessetti looked over his shoulder as Gant, Jemmel, and Qan made their way over from where they had stopped to talk to the members of Squad Teal. As was standard away from combat, all three troopers had removed their helmets and replaced them with the black beret of the 44th Strike Formation.
“Hey, did you know these guys are in a band back home?” Rae announced as the three approached.
Sessetti bit his lip and looked angrily across at Clythe. The shorter man shrugged in confusion.
“What kind of music?” Jemmel asked as she flopped down on a small rock next to them.
“We started off doing the same heavy strings stuff everybody does in their teens,” Clythe answered, “but dance stuff was more popular, so we ditched the angst and went across to keys.”
“Nevermind,” Jemmel narrowed her eyes in disapproval, “you can always reverse that rather unwise decision with a bit more maturity.”
“Oh, wind your neck in!” Gant snapped. “The dude is telling you about his art form, and you’re just going looking to pick holes! We’ve all got different tastes and there’s nothing laid down that says you’re right and he’s wrong.”
“Alright!” Jemmel held both hands up. “It was a joke!”
“Well to me, some things are sacred,” Gant said seriously, “and I don’t joke about things back home.”
“Have you heard the good news?” Qan remarked dryly. “We ain’t getting catering out here. We’re on food capsules for the foreseeable.”
“Things could be worse,” Rae pondered. “I mean, look at the view.”
The six troopers sat in silence for a few moments as the suns continued their slow dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in horizontal bands of oranges and purples. The onshore breeze picked up just a little more.
“Who d’you think we’re getting as our new strike leader?” Jemmel asked as she scratched the back of her shaven head. “Can’t say I’m too bothered to see the back of Rall.”
“Any chance we’ll get Van Noor?” Sessetti asked. “He seems like a good guy to work for.”
“No, doesn’t work like that,” Gant replied. “As senior strike leader, he always works in the command squad, with the boss. Rotating him back here with us would effectively be a demotion.”
“I reckon it’ll be Heide,” Qan said, making an unsuccessful attempt to skim a flat stone across the glistening water. “He’s a good egg.”
“Any chance we’ll get that hottie from Squad Jai?” Clythe asked excitedly. “She is literally the perfect woman.”
“Good to see equality is still alive and well where you’re from,” Rae murmured under her breath.
“Rhona?” Jemmel spat. “The least experienced strike leader in the entire Concord? Yeah, good choice.”
“He’s right though,” Qan mused as he failed to skim another stone, “she’s the hottest woman ever.”
Sessetti found himself glaring at Clythe, his old school friend, wondering how he had managed to lower himself to overtly blurting out sexist comments. It seemed to Sessetti to be one of many disadvantages of living life within the C3 military shard; some darker elements of panhuman nature were allowed, even encouraged to move to the fore. Comments such as these would have been stamped out before the brain had engaged the mouth back in the Concord civilian shard.
“It’ll be Yavn from Squad Teal,” Gant declared. “It’s the most logical choice. Half of you have barely fired a shot – no offense guys – and Yavn’s one of the most experienced strike leaders we’ve got.”
“No such luck,” Jemmel rolled her eyes before nodding at a point further up the beach. “Speak of the devil.”
Sessetti turned to see Van Noor walking across to them with a second trooper accompanying him. The senior strike leader turned to face the shorter trooper and exchanged words for a few moments before giving her an encouraging shove to one shoulder and a thumbs up. The squad’s new strike leader walked away from Van Noor and over to the six troopers on the beach. She stopped by the squad and flashed a lazy smile, her black hair falling over a tatty purple bandana tied around her forehead.
“You guys are with me now,” Katya Rhona beamed. “Y’all make sure you get a good night’s sleep. We’ve got first patrol tomorrow morning.”
Chapter Two
Benin Province
Equatorial Region
Markov’s Prize
L-Day plus 2
Beams of early morning sunshine cut through the gaps in the thick, orange striped leaves above the stream which wound through the jungle. The trickle of water was accompanied by the persistent rattle of insects and occasionally punctuated by the now familiar shriek of a colorful bird. Up ahead, Gant stepped carefully out of the stream and up onto dusty earth, his body language speaking of a man focused and ready. Behind him was Jemmel, always recognizable even in full armor as the shortest trooper in the company, her plasma lance tucked into her shoulder. A large, lizard like creature with purple and gold scales and feeble wings suddenly shot across the ground in front of them. Jemmel tracked it with her plasma lance and watched it disappear back into the blue undergrowth.
Both troopers were highlighted by blue diamonds on Rhona’s helmet array; the visual indication of their status as friendly forces was further reinforced by their armor appearing in its default white and green color scheme. In actual fact, to the naked eye, their armor was constantly changing appearance as it cycled through vivid blues, greens, and yellows to accompany its current surroundings, a function of the reactive color coating each battlesuit was covered with. A series of white arrows was also projected on the ground ahead, showing the recommended route for the squad’s patrol from the perspective of their spotter drone, which hovered a little way off to the left, leading up to the squad’s objective some two hundred yan ah
ead – Hill 512.
“Squad Wen, this is Command,” Rhona heard a voice through the shard. She held up a clenched fist; every member of her squad immediately stopped in position and dropped to one knee, their weapons held ready.
“Go for Wen,” Rhona replied.
A low, menacing hiss sounded from a tree to Rhona’s right. She glanced across and shuddered as she saw a huge, legless serpent wrap itself around an insect the size of her head and devour it.
“Wen from Command,” the strike captain’s calm voice transmitted. “We have you at one-ninety yan south of Objective Delta. Send your sitrep.”
“Command, Wen, my position tallies. All quiet, nothing to report,” Rhona replied, her eyes scanning the surrounding trees for any sign of a threat.
“Wen, Command, copied, stay sharp.”
Rhona switched her communication frequency to her squad.
“Just the boss after a sitrep, guys,” she relayed. “Check your fluid levels and then let’s push on.”
Rhona mentally activated her battlesuit system readout and noted her power levels and vitals were reading green – all good. Nonetheless, she unclipped her helmet from the junction on the back of her neck and rolled it forward off her head, blinking as the unfiltered sunlight hit her eyes. The air seemed close and dense, yet somehow less claustrophobic without the constant and sometimes intrusive flow of data from her viewscreen. She tightened her father’s bandana around her forehead and took a swig of real water from the canteen on her utility belt to augment her battlesuit’s intravenous fluid flow.
Qan dropped to one knee beside her and brought his faceplate up to the top of his head so that he could talk to her face to face.
“You all good, Lead?”
“I’m just dandy,” Rhona grinned. “Let’s go walk up this hill.”
She replaced her helmet and stood again, taking a second to absorb her artificial visual display as it replaced her genuine visual indications.