Cracking the Sky

by Brenda Cooper

  Pebble looked thoughtful. “I wish Sacha could talk.”

  “He states facts and confirms orders. It’s not a conversation.”

  “I bet he can tell you if he’s hurt.”

  I nodded, hearing a painful truth in his voice.

  He stared at the dogs, already almost halfway. Both fast. “When are we going in?” he asked.

  “Rumor has it the day after tomorrow. Not like it’s my choice. Or yours.”

  We were both specialists. I could have had a higher rank, but if I allowed that I’d lose the ability to handle dogs.

  He would have had a mission briefing and know as much as me. This was a NorAM eco-peace mission into the wilds of British Columbia. A nest of property-rights protestors had decided to create a city in spite of the fact that the whole county had been turned into a nature preserve for black bears twenty years ago. “I hear they pissed off the Canadians by importing serious weaponry across the border.”

  “Not to mention that they’ve flattened a few miles of forest. We run spy drones over the place every day. They’re growing. Two bands of Rightsers joined up already, and there’s more rumored. The plan is to get in there before it’s too big to be a skirmish. Can’t have a full-on war inside Canada’s borders.”

  Buster was ahead, but not quite as far as I expected. They’d neared the shower building, neither animal looking much like it was about to slow. We watched as the dogs both stopped—barely—and turned. Buster’s turn wasn’t his best move. Sacha’s turn was invisible—from here it looked like he was going one way and then he was going the other. Liquid vs. metal. Even though Buster was still ahead and pulling away, Sacha was faster than I expected.

  “Is he enhanced?” I’d heard stories about GMO dogs.

  Pebble shook his head. “Just through years of breeding. His ancestry goes back to 2018 in the canine breeding program—he came from a line they bred for SEAL teams.” Pride swelled his voice even though Buster was skidding to a stop at my feet, and Sacha was at least five lengths behind.

  “Is Sacha trained to detect?”

  “Explosives and people.”

  “Can he beat Buster? Shall we try that next?”

  “I’ll bet on him.”

  Sacha won on human scent, and Buster took him on nitroglycerine, TNT, and two common training taggants. “That’s enough for now,” I said. Buster had proven himself, and besides, I could smell the grill. “Dinner?”

  “After I feed Sacha.”

  Buster drank sunlight. Even in the gray northwest there was plenty for him, and more stored in his batteries. He could operate in pitch dark for a week.

  The dog got his dinner, but Pebble and I had just filled our plates with soy burgers and salad when the loudspeakers in the mess tent went off.

  “All hands to the amphitheater.”

  Pebble started to set his plate down, but I leaned over and whispered, “A soldier never wastes calories.”

  We ate standing up while Captain Jules Thorne gave us our orders. He started with the attack teams—twelve Special Forces pairs with one dog each. “Send the dogs in first. We have spare parts for them but none for you.” He always said that, and we always pretended to laugh even though I hate the order. He looked at me. “Lawson. You’re leading Specialist Baxter and his dog, and taking Estrogen with you. Northern perimeter watch, starting at 19:00 hours.”

  I bit back a bitter reaction. We’d be out of the main attack, probably because of the green team with the real dog, maybe also because I was a woman. Captain Thorne told me it was because I was mouthy, but I didn’t think so.

  Pebble didn’t notice my mood, but instead he grinned at me. “Now we can test the dogs in the field. See who wins then.”

  So he really was stupid.

  “The field isn’t a test,” I told him as we waited in a small clearing for the other two members of our team.

  “It’s the best test ever.”

  “Being sidetracked might get us killed. How many field ops have you and Sacha done?”

  He looked proud of himself. “This is our third operation together. But Sacha’s been deployed for three whole tours.”

  Goddess save us all. I pursed my lips and stamped my feet against the growing chill. Buster and I had been together for two years, and I gave my dog a long appreciative glance. At the moment, he wore one of the smallest milbot dog bodies. When he sat in shadow he looked like flesh and blood. His limbs and head were black, his tail and body a burnished charcoal gray with silver toenails.

  Estrogen lumbered up and slapped me a high-five with his huge meaty hand. “Emilie. We will be taking Buster and kicking some ass.”

  I grinned and leapt up to plant a kiss on his blocky, rugged cheek. Inappropriate in the military, but there were no officers around, and Estrogen was as gay as they made them and so proud of it he’d picked up the nickname and made it sing for him. Besides, he was at least ten years younger than me. Which didn’t stop me from enjoying the rough feel of his skin and the slight hug he grabbed me into for the briefest moment. Besides, any risk that came with the kiss was worth it; Pebble looked stunned. I grinned.

  “Pebble—meet Estrogen.”

  “Es . . . Estrogen?” he managed to stammer.

  “Yep,” the big man said. “Did you meet Buster yet? Best dog ever.”

  “Essie . . . he’s a handler. Got his own dog.” I pointed at the edge of the little field, where Sacha and Buster sat together.

  Estrogen squinted. “That’s a real one.” He grinned ear to ear and headed off.

  Since I could speak through Buster’s speakers, I used them to say, “Fuck you.”

  Estrogen just waved.

  The captain had named me leader, so I gathered them up for a short pre-trip lecture. “We’ve spotted sentries out here three times in the last two days. New sightings from the sats will be beamed to our glasses. But don’t trust them—the sats miss a lot on these trees. The drones are better, but the main attack team will get those. I’ll send you Buster’s view of things from time to time.” I looked hard at Pebble. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ma’am my ass. I put Buster in front and let Sacha stay with Pebble for now. Wet cedars surrounded us, cutting off some of the light and some of the rain. The rich loamy dirt smelled like forest and our footsteps were nearly silent as we walked over the rotting carcasses of last year’s leaves.

  I traded out which dog was on point every half hour. This was Buster’s third turn, and neither of them had alerted for anything. I alternated between paying close attention to the darkening, dripping damp we were plowing through and watching the main attack team close in on the compound via my Virtual computerized glasses. They had a longer name, but I could never remember it. They were the most direct way for Buster and me to interact, and the whole camp used them for comms and cameras as well.

  Dusk started slipping pools of darkness under the trees, but Buster had excellent night vision we could all use if we wanted to see through his eyes. I didn’t overlay it yet since it made me slightly nauseous.

  We walked until the colors all grayed. Even clouded over, the night sky gave some light to the clear parts of the trail, but in most places the trees were thick enough to give the night an eerie, swaying blackness.

  Buster stopped dead in front of me and sat down. His silent signal made me put my hand back flat to signal the others to stop.

  They were quiet, even Sacha.

  I blinked at my glasses. At first nothing looked different, but then Buster’s view came alive in a small square on my right lens. I blinked twice to make it bigger. Just the path, sloping slightly uphill, and the long shadows of trees. Words scrolled along the bottom of the picture. “Two traps. People behind traps.”

  A red dot blinked on my right lens. A warning from Estrogen.

  More unfriendlies?

  An unmanned aerial vehicle popped up to my side, hovered. The size of my head, and close. It whirred softly, like a hummingbird.

/>   If I got a good look, I was probably dead.

  None of our intel said they had UAVs. Maybe the nasties had jail-broken some 3D printers.

  It targeted Estrogen with some kind of beam weapon.

  Estrogen turned toward it and a flash of light from the drone illuminated his wide eyes and stole some of my night vision. He raised his gun, but crumpled before he used it.

  “Get,” I told Buster.

  My dog leapt at the machine, six feet of angry milbot and a lot heavier than the insta-drone. He bore it to the ground and grabbed it with his teeth.

  Estrogen didn’t move.

  A woman screamed. Deductive reasoning suggested she had to be an enemy. I was the only woman on our little team.

  “We’re under attack,” I said to my glasses, and through them, to the captain. “Estrogen is down. Unknown number of enemies. We got a drone.”

  Buster bit down so hard on the drone it crunched.

  I looked for Pebble just in time to see him head off the path between two trees. Damn green soldier. Probably running after his flesh dog.

  I stayed in a low crouch and tried to assess the situation.

  Buster let out three warning sounds in quick succession, little yips with a high tone that flashed red onto my lenses. I ducked and rolled right. Pain exploded in my foot.

  “Attack,” I commanded Buster through clenched teeth.

  My legs curled into my belly of their own accord and I clutched my right foot. At least it was still there, although my fingers found a hole in my leather boot near the toes.

  Buster poured into the woods. He had the smarts to choose the best tactics given the information he had. Looked like he was following Pebble. Good thing—the fire in my foot made it hard to think.

  I glanced over at Estrogen. I wasn’t close enough to tell if he was breathing.

  I didn’t get closer; any enemy left watching would expect that.

  Rain poured onto the canopy of cedar above me and dripped down in thin streams.

  The screaming stopped.

  I listened to my own breathing, listened for Estrogen to move or call out.

  Rain fell. Cedars rustled and swayed in a light wind.

  A bird sang.

  Buster poked his blessed black nose out from between two trees and gave me an audible follow signal.

  He wouldn’t give an audible signal if there was anything really bad nearby.

  I barely managed not to cry out as I stood, even though I kept the weight off of my damaged foot, which throbbed as if it had its own beating heart.

  “Come,” I hissed at Buster. This body was so small there was no elegant way to ride him. I put my hurt foot sideways across his neck and tucked the other one up his back flank for balance. It was something he and I practiced. We managed. If I was lucky, he wouldn’t scrape me off on any trees.

  A hundred yards down the path, Sacha stood over a dead woman dressed in jeans and a tan shirt with two guns on her waist and a machete that had clearly fallen from her hand when the dog had taken her down.

  Sacha was messier with his kills than Buster.

  Pebble stood in front of a man he had shot. My glasses had dimmed to green and three hot spots of activity were leaving us. “Pebble,” I called. “We need to check on Estrogen.”

  He nodded, but stood still and pulled a camouflage-colored ball from his pocket, commencing a short game of fetch.

  “Do you have to do that now?”

  He pointed at the dead men. “He needs his reward.” He threw the ball for the dog three times, ruffling his fur and—to my utter surprise—almost crying.

  “Is that the first time he’s saved your life?” I asked him.

  He nodded.

  I patted Buster on the head, but then stopped, feeling foolish.

  “We’re ready now.”

  I nodded.

  Estrogen breathed shallowly. Thank god. But shaking him produced no effect. He was too big to ride Sacha, too big to carry, too heavy to drag. We tucked his glasses into his pocket and covered him with my space blanket and Pebble’s camo tarp.

  Pebble pointed to my foot. “Maybe you should stay and watch him?”

  “We both stay, for now. Our people know where we are.”

  We found a big cedar we could sit under and still see Estrogen. It sucked not to be able to do anything. But there wasn’t a medical quick-fix or handy serum for being stunned out like Estrogen.

  I didn’t want to pull my boot off, but blood leaked slowly though the hole.

  I stared at it for a while but then I needed to look away. “Where are you from?” I asked.

  “California. North of Shasta, little town called Weed.”

  “I’ve been there. I’ve got an “I Love Weed” shirt somewhere at home. If mMom hasn’t thrown it away.”

  He laughed. “You?”

  “Town named Concrete, in Washington.”

  “So we’re both from towns with weird-ass names,” he said. “How long have you been NorAm?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “You don’t look old enough for that.”

  I spit laughter. “Flattery doesn’t work out here.” Lights flashed to draw my attention to words flowing across my glasses. “They’re moving in now.”

  “Guess it will be a while before anyone has time for us.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What made you show up out here?” he asked.

  “Meaning since I’m a woman?”

  He grimaced. “Meaning at all.”

  I blinked a command to patrol our perimeter at Buster while thinking about what to tell him. “My family liked the services.”

  “Anybody else on active?”

  Buster took off. Sacha stayed, clearly only paying attention to his master.

  I hesitated, then said, “My dad was in for twenty. He’s a vegetable. Took a bad one in the Texas Rebellion. Pretty nasty.”

  “I bet he’s proud of you.”

  “He doesn’t know my name anymore. He doesn’t remember his own name. He’s drooling in a VA hospital in Charleston. Before it happened, he told me never to join up.”

  Sacha thumped his tail hard, twice. Pebble put his finger to his lips.

  I didn’t hear anything but the rain, which had started again. My glasses didn’t identify any threats near us. Attack stats scrolled along the bottom. I caught that our main force had engaged the enemy hand to hand, and two firefights had just started around the perimeter of the compound. I pinged Buster; he sent back an all-clear.

  “Sacha smells something,” Pebble whispered, barely over the decibel level of an out-breath. “A person.”

  I whispered, “Scare,” which meant just that, but allowed an attack if Buster determined he was in danger.

  Pebble glanced at me, and when I shook my head he gave Sacha a wait command. The Malinois lay down, fully alert, fully attentive. In spite of that, perhaps by the cock of an ear or the slight droop of his muzzle, Sacha managed to communicate his feelings about being left out of whatever Buster had been sent to do.

  Tough. We didn’t have spare parts for him.

  Buster’s screaming scare bark startled all of us to attention.

  A crashing through cedars, a thump, and then more footsteps convinced us Buster had scared the intruder away.

  “So we’re two for one,” Pebble said. “But Sacha has a kill.”

  Dumb green recruit. “We’re not competing with you out here.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t stop me from keeping score. Sacha saved me from the soldier, Buster saved you from the drone, and now he chased off a single undesirable. I’m ranking them about even since Sacha had to take on a human.”

  The drone Buster had killed was at least as dangerous as the human, but I managed not to say anything.

  My foot felt huge in my boot. I undid the laces. Some of the pressure came off, but pain sang up the back of my calf. “We’d best just wait in quiet,” I said.

  He nodded, although he looked a little concerned about me fussing
with my foot. Almost worried. Not what I needed.

  The clouds had thickened; the night was even darker. Watching the battle at the compound inside of my glasses kept me from going crazy with pain.

  The data was hard to read. But then, it’s truly impossible to fit a battle between thirty or so soldiers on our side and about twice that many rebels inside the frame of a pair of glasses. The clues were words and color, and red and green blended a bit before the colors faded more to red.

  Loss. Unimaginable. I tapped my glasses a few times as if that would change the lives back to green and turn the distant men and women back on.

  There were six left. I didn’t ask my glasses to tell me who. I’d learn soon enough.

  Sacha nosed up next to Pebble, as if he felt what Pebble must be feeling.

  Buster had no reaction, of course. All tactics, no feelings. He sat and watched out into the gloomy dark, patient.

  Pebble said, “Maybe nobody is coming for us.”

  “Maybe not.” I sat there for a moment, staring into the trees and into the flashes of the battle both at once. “Can you make a travois?”

  “A what?”

  “A stretcher that you can pull along the ground. Indians made them. You need two long fat sticks and then we’ll use the blankets.” That would leave us only Sacha free, which I didn’t much like. I messaged Jules that we’d get back to camp on our own. No answer. I pinged camp, and got a simple, “Good luck.”

  We started back down the trail with Sacha leading, Pebble pulling Estrogen awkwardly in the middle and me balanced badly on Buster in the rear. I must have looked as ridiculous as a full-sized person riding a miniature horse. But Buster was made to pack a hundred and fifty pounds, and I was twenty under that, so he could do it.

  Pebble struggled so hard he fell twice.

  Ten minutes in, Estrogen woke up, wide-eyed and disoriented. “It’s okay,” I lied to him. “We’re on our way back to camp and you’ll be as good as rain about the time we get there.” If we were lucky. Or maybe he’d still be a huge, disoriented soldier with a big heart. I managed to lean over and touch him on the arm once, but it almost over-balanced me right into the dirt.

  “Hey, mama, it’ll be okay. We got your dog with us. He’s always been good luck.”