by Peter Telep
"That's a common frustration of all commanders. The reason you earn command is because you possess a level of leadership skills, self-motivation, and fortitude that others have not yet achieved. Right now, they can't give as much as you."
"So what do you do?" Shane sank in her chair. "I don't know, sometimes I feel like I'm losing them, like why am I bothering?"
"Your job is to make each individual under your command realize his or her potential. The benchmarks you're creating for them won't work." He set down his fork and turned in his chair to face her. "Word has come to me. Not from anyone in the five-eight, but it's come up the pipe. You're on a hardwired march. Why is that, Captain?"
She folded her arms over her chest. "I don't know."
"Tell you what I know. Your next goal in life is to come up with the answer to that question." He stood. "And that's what being in the Corps is all about. Discovering things we never knew about ourselves."
"I'm not sure I wanna know about this one," Shane said.
"Maybe you don't have a choice." He started off, quite dignified looking, then tripped over an empty chair, almost went down but recovered his footing like an Olympic ski jumper desperate for a medal. He doubletimed out of the tavern
Shane spent the next hour listening to old songs and eating ice cream cake and smiling politely at Wang's or Nathan's or Damphousse's jokes. She really did appreciate what they were trying to do, but even after all of it, she still felt the weight of exhaustion.
The bunk room lights flickered on automatically at 0520. Shane rose immediately since she had, ironically, barely slept. She showered and dressed before any of the others even crawled out of their bunks. She went to Cooper, who lay on his back with an arm draped over his eyes. Leaning over him, she spoke softly in his ear, "Feeling a little bleak, Mr. G.I. Geequed? One too many shots?" She stood erect, "GET UP! NOW!"
"Sergeant, sir, sorry, sir!" Cooper screamed, apparently going in and out of a boot camp flashback. Then his eyes opened, and he looked at Shane. "You could kill somebody like that!" He threw his pillow at her, but she knocked it away.
"Hey, Coop," Wang called. "Why don't you try that approach on a sleeping Chig. It works, and you'll probably at least make it into the ship's newsletter. Maybe even into the Corps'." He yawned through his grin.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen. The party is literally over. Stow your hangovers and shag it. We haven't been sloppy around the edges, and we're not gonna start today. No one will be late to the briefing. No one."
And though Shane knew they would talk about her after she left, she also knew that they wouldn't dare be late to the briefing. And they weren't. At 0557, they appeared, crisp though a little crimson-eyed, and took their seats.
The colonel, carrying a file and a pair of micro-CDs, entered the orientation room.
"Ten-hut!" Nathan said.
"Good morning. As you were."
Shane slipped back into her chair, but not before noticing the colonel's glassy eyes and pasty complexion. McQueen's appearance bothered her because he was supposed to set the ultimate example. He had been a pilot in the 127th Attack Wing, the Angry Angels, the best pilots the Corps had ever produced. He was entitled to romancing a bottle once in a while, but then again maybe he wasn't. Was she being too hard on him? Maybe. Why?
"Sir? Question, sir," Wang said.
McQueen's brow rose. "I haven't even begun, and you have questions already?"
"I just wanted to know if we're shipping out right after this 'cause I kinda got up late and didn't make it to chow."
"You sure that food is what you need, Wang, and not a couple swigs of the pink stuff?"
"Did that already, sir. I'm ready for chow."
"I hear you. And to answer your question, no. You won't be shipping out immediately."
While the others breathed a collective sigh of relief, Shane stiffened. She was ready to rock. What was the delay? She hoped the colonel would explain.
McQueen inserted one of the micro-CDs into the tower unit of the big screen. A fuzzy image of two mountains appeared. Spanning the gap between the two mountains was a long conduit. "Last month, a long-range reconnaissance patrol discovered and digitally photographed a huge aqueduct on the planet JGL751, code-named Bulldog's Belly. The Imagery Interpretation people viewed stacks of pictures, including the one you see behind me, and they concluded that the Chigs are extracting a highly volatile liquid from the planet. Intelligence correctly identified Jewelgo 177 as a distribution point for the liquid, which we now believe to be a food source for the aliens."
Wang nudged Shane. "It wouldn't surprise me if they drink nitro."
"Wasn't Aerotech terraforming JGL751 before the war?" Damphousse asked.
McQueen nodded. He turned to the big screen's control panel and inserted his other CD. "The air's breathable, but the terrain makes some parts of Nepal look pleasant."
"So what's the Op?" Nathan asked. "Bombing run?"
The colonel snickered. "Were it that simple." He thumbed a switch and brought up another image, this one a computer-animated globe of JGL751 that included the orbits of enemy sentry satellites.
Frowning, Shane leaned forward in her chair, wondering if the number of satellites was correct. "Sir? You sure there isn't a glitch in the disc? There must be five hundred sentries orbiting that rock."
"Good guess, but a little conservative. There are over a thousand. And the web they create is so dense that even an ejected Hammerhead cockpit couldn't make it through." He eyed Nathan. "We can't get our planes in to bomb it."
"Why don't we just nuke it from orbit?" Damphousse asked.
"The Chig sentries got all kinds of sensing equipment," Wang said. "So no matter how small the missile, its contents would trigger them. At least that's what I read in a reverse engineering report once."
"You're correct, Lieutenant," McQueen said.
"So there's no way to get on planet?" Shane asked. "I don't believe that. There's always a weakness in every defense."
McQueen brought up another image on the big screen, a schematic of what appeared to be a missile. "This is an Aerotech Personal Insertion Vehicle. We call 'em AP-Vs, but the Navy people call 'em torpedoes."
"I don't like where this is going," Cooper said. "I ain't gettin' in no torpedo."
"The AP-Vs are swift, reliable, and capable of evading the enemy's sentries via their maneuverability and size. They have only one problem." McQueen turned to Wang. "You read about it?"
Wang slowly nodded. "One-way ticket."
"Wait a minute. Wait a minute. We insert on planet, blow the aqueduct, and then what?" Nathan asked. "We can't get an ISSTV down there and the AP-Vs aren't reusable. Sounds like a kamikaze run."
"There's an airfield adjacent to the aqueduct. Chigs are using it to ship out the liquid. Their tankers are always accompanied by fighter escorts. Now then. Mission Alpha Zulu Bravo Niner is thus: You blow the aqueduct, you get to the airfield, you steal a Chig fighter. and you fly her home. We'll issue you an IDB so we don't take you out of our sky."
"We've trained to fly a Chig bomber, not a fighter," Shane reminded the colonel.
"You'll be spending some time on the training ship Haldeman. There, you'll receive AP-V and enemy fighter piloting instruction as well as crash refresher courses in rock climbing and cold weather survival skills."
"Question about the AP-Vs," Damphousse began. "How can we be so sure they'll evade the sentries?"
"They've done it once before," McQueen answered.
"We sent a drone down there? Wouldn't that alert the enemy?" she asked.
McQueen switched off the big screen, then he crossed to the center of the room. "If one of the sentry satellites is triggered, it may or may not alert the Chigs. Solar disturbances and an as-of-yet unidentified chemical in the upper atmosphere make communications, both ours and the enemy's, unreliable."
"So we did send in a drone?" Wang asked.
McQueen dragged his palms across his face, rubbed the bridge of his no
se, then answered, "We sent in the twenty-first squadron from the USS Arkansas."
Shane felt a chill rise up her spine. "They dead?"
McQueen drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "You see, people, while you were disrupting the distribution operation on Jewelgo 177, the two-one was supposed to be taking out the aqueduct. They inserted on planet two standard weeks ago, and four days afterward we lost contact. Three recons weren't able to photograph anything since a storm was raging near their drop zone. Bottom line: Lieutenant General Osborne wants us to go back in and finish the job."
"That's right, Colonel," Commodore Ross said, entering the orientation room. The stocky black man's eyes were wide as he came to a stop before the squadron and placed his hands on his hips. "And this time we'll be sending in the right people."
Shane stood. "Permission to speak candidly, sir."
The commodore nodded.
"Sir, I don't want to sound pessimistic, but how the hell are we supposed to pull this one off? The terrain's hostile, we've never run a demolition operation this large, and we're supposed to steal our own getaway car."
The commodore stepped up to Shane and looked her squarely in the eyes. "You're too critical of yourself and the five-eight, Captain. What happened to your spirit?"
"Sir, I don't know, sir."
"I suggest you find it." He stepped back and paced in front of the group. "We've tried to anticipate what you'll need to successfully complete this operation. Equipment, training, and, by the lieutenant general's request, a demolitions expert from Aerotech." He looked to the door. "Mister LR 404, would you come in, please?"
A tall, muscular man with a blond crewcut entered. Something about him bothered Shane, a feeling she had, a familiarity she couldn't quite identify until the man got closer.
Then she saw the distinctive crosshairs in his eyes that identified him as an A.I., a silicate, a rebel.
A murderer.
Wang shot to his feet. "Sir? Is this man, I mean thing, going to be part of our team?"
"By orders of the lieutenant general," the commodore said.
Shane balled her hands into fists, clenched her teeth, and tried to decide what she was going to say. "Sir. Request permission for reassignment."
"Negative."
"What about me, sir?" Wang asked. "I'd like to be reassigned."
The silicate moved next to the commodore. "If I may, sir?" Ross nodded, and the android continued. "I'm Teddy. And Colonel McQueen told me that you would have a problem working with me, that lieutenant Wang and Captain Vansen have an especial hatred for silicates. Well, I can tell you this." The thing looked at Wang. "Paul, I can't take back the torture that Elroy model inflicted upon you, but neither can I be blamed for it." Then the A.I. regarded Shane. "Your parents are dead, killed by other silicates, not by me."
Forgetting her superiors were in the room, Shane spoke freely and harshly, fighting back the urgent desire to rip the bastard's head off. "Don't try to tell me you're not to blame. You're all linked to a central CPU, and that makes you just as responsible as the units who killed my parents."
"If it's any consolation, I'm not linked to the CPU anymore. I operate independently, and my software was completely deleted and reinstalled by Aerotech. Before the A.I. rebellion, they tell me I was an assistant lifeguard. I worked in Fort Lauderdale. They also said that I never took a human life during the rebellion."
Shane narrowed her gaze. "You sound really smooth. But there isn't a word in this universe that's gonna make me believe you." She faced the commodore. "Sir, of all the X-Rays in the Corps, of all the X-Rays in Aerotech, why him?"
"I'm not privy to that information. But Mister LR 404 has been through the proper loyalty testing, and he checks out," the commodore said. "You'd better get used to the fact that he's working with you, Captain." He glanced at Wang. "And you, too, Lieutenant. I trust you'll both come to depend on him once on planet. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir," Shane said.
Wang repeated the same.
The commodore gestured to the pilots' seats. "Mister LR 404, you may join your fellow squad members."
Damphousse grimaced as the silicate took a chair next to hers.
"Sorry for the interruption, Colonel," the commodore said, then he headed for the door.
Colonel McQueen cleared his throat. "You'll report to docking bay four by 0900 to board ISSTV for transport to the Haldeman. You'll be there for approximately seventy-two hours of training so pack accordingly. Upon your return to the Saratoga, you'll receive your gear and insertion time. Now. I'm almost afraid to ask, but are there any questions?"
Shane raised her hand. Then she looked down the line and saw four other hands in the air.
two
During the briefing, Cooper Hawkes had wanted to ask Colonel McQueen for permission to take a snowboard to Bulldog's Belly. Cooper could already boast of the fact that he had surfed on an alien planet, and streaking down snow-covered mountains atop a piece of polished fiberglass seemed the appropriate next challenge.
But Cooper hadn't asked McQueen about taking the board because he knew he would have been called a wiseass (it wouldn't have been the first time) and because Shane had created a really serious tone to the whole meeting. That was one thing Cooper was learning about human behavior: how, when, and when not to joke. But now that the meeting was over, and he was in the bunk room, packing along with the rest of the squadron, he figured he'd lighten the mood. "Hey, West. When we gear up for Bulldog, don't forget to take along your electronic jock warmer."
Nathan shut his locker door and with a straight face replied, "Mine's broken. Can I borrow yours?"
"Then what am I gonna do?"
Wang, who was folding a T-shirt on his bunk, looked up and said, "Hey, Coop. I heard you don't need one."
"Who told you that?"
Wang lifted his brow. "That's compartmentalized."
"It must be another one of those In Vitro things," Damphousse said, looking up from her rucksack, which lay next to her bunk. "What am I saying? I'm actually dignifying this conversation." She pursed her lips and shook her head. "You know, I wish you guys wouldn't always regress into a bunch of apes with tape measures."
"Hey, I kneel here, innocently folding my shirt," Wang said. "Not guilty of starting this conversation." He turned, and with a flourish, he extended his arm and pointed his index finger at Cooper. "But lo, there stands a man of wicked tongue whose very words have cast a shadow upon this fine group of Marines."
Nathan applauded. "Bravo, Paul. You been reading old William S. again?"
"No, but once you read him a few times there's no getting him out of you. What I'd like to read now is a technical manual for one of those AP-Vs."
"When you get one, let me know if a snowboard will fit in there with me," Cooper said. "I got this vision of screaming down a hill, and the Chigs are shooting at me from the woods on both sides, but I'm fast, and I'm delivering 'em little Christmas presents of smart grenades."
"I'd rather get one of your smart grenades for Christmas than the rum-laced fruitcake my great-aunt Barbara sent me. She told my mom she was worried about mailing me homemade cookies because of the time delay. She said she knew the fruitcake would last, but she also knew they weren't very popular with young people. You ever taste one of those?"
"No, but it sounds like a perfect military desert: tastes like crap and lasts forever," Cooper said.
"Nathan, isn't that the fruitcake you left on Pegasus 4840?" Wang asked.
"Yeah. I like to think of it as a time capsule. Maybe when I'm an old man, I'll go back there and visit that cake. The thing'll probably look the same." His smiled faded. "I feel guilty about leaving it, though, because my great-aunt wrote me and asked if I liked it."
Damphousse raised her brow. "What did you tell her?"
"I haven't written back yet. It's kinda weird thinkin' about it. There's some old lady in Hartford who decides to mail me a fruitcake which travels millions of miles through space to wi
nd up in a foxhole on an alien planet. There's some kind of poetry or irony there. I don't know. Wang, you figure it out."
Wang shrugged.
Cooper glanced at Shane, who thus far had been silently filling a duffel bag with uniforms, off-duty clothes, and toiletries she drew from her locker. "What do you think, Shane?" he asked.
She looked up at him, and he couldn't be sure about it, but there seemed to be a haze in her eyes. "What?"
"The poetry, the irony," Cooper repeated.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't listening."
"Well, I was telling Wang about this vision I got—"
"Coop," Damphousse interrupted. "She doesn't wanna hear it."
He didn't know exactly why, but he felt hurt. Why did Vanessa cut him off? "Is that right?" he asked Shane.
"I just..." She rubbed her eyes. "Let's leave it there. Got a lot on my mind."
Cooper stared at her, trying to figure out what her problem was. "I don't know, Shane. You've always been tough, but you knew how to have fun. Wish I knew how to get that back in you."
"Sometimes I wish I knew, too," she said under her breath. Then she crossed from her lockers to the table, set her duffel in a chair, and checked her watch phone. "Three minutes, people."
"Hey, I don't remember. Did McQueen say if the A.I. guy's gonna train with us?" Nathan asked.
"I thought we agreed not to talk about that," Damphousse said through gritted teeth.
"I don't think he is," Wang said bitterly. "All the training he needs comes through a wire. And 'Phousse, not talkin' about it is just denying it. I heard Commodore Ross loud and clear. I got a huge problem servin' with a silicate. But I got my priorities straight."
Shane stepped forward. "I wasn't going to say this, but I think you deserve to hear it. Once on planet, if that wirehead so much as blinks the wrong way, I'm dropping him. I don't care what kind of deal is going on between Aerotech and the Corps. I don't care how loyal they say he is. On planet we all got one order: survival. Mister 404 jeopardizes that, and he'll learn what it means to expect no mercy."