Though the Stars Fall (United Humanity Marine Corps Book 1)

by Bill Roberts

  CHAPTER 10

  Wings

  The tactical display remains quiet. Damn. I thought for sure I would find him in this gulley. Despite the climate control of the Kodiak I am sweating profusely and I feel a bead trickle down my face along the edge of my comm helmet. I put the Kodiak into motion heading south. As I do so I keep a watchful eye on the terrain around me. My opponent is capable and powerful. If I do not get the drop on him, I will most likely lose.

  I fiddle with the control sticks to dodge the Kodiak around a large boulder. The gully is sandy and filled with large rocks that have dropped from the mountains to my left. There is little vegetation in this place. Just some low scrub I have never seen before struggling in the sun and sand. I look around. The gully has steep walls on my left and a low ridge on my right. I could probably climb the ridge anywhere, but if I pick a bad spot I will be too much of a target. I decide to stick with the gully for now.

  The mission started about a half an hour ago. I have spent these thirty minutes moving through one kind of difficult terrain after another. The area of operations nestles against a large mountain range. It is filled with cliffs, craggy hills, and rock strewn gullies. I can avoid the rougher parts of the terrain. However, with this enemy, sticking to the easier more open ground will be suicide. So I am spending the half-hour moving from the roughest spot to the roughest spot hoping to hide from my opponent while giving me the opportunity to get the drop on him.

  The Kodiak and I make good time through the gully. The soft sand and large rocks provide no hindrance to our movement. The Kodiak’s huge clawed feet easily keep their hold and the machine is so nimble I can go around anything I cannot simply go over. It has been long enough now I almost take the Kodiak’s mobility for granted. It would have taken hours to go through this gully in a tank, if it even could have done it at all.

  The amount of time that has passed begins to worry me. I do not know how to describe it. But, after years of fighting and training a person develops a subconscious feel for timing in combat. It is a self-preservation sort of thing. Right now that sense of timing is shrieking at me. Too long. This has taken too long. I have poked around in these rocks and ridges for far too long to not have spotted the enemy. My enemy is up to something. Something I have not figured out. Not knowing what your enemy is up to is a really bad thing. Well worse than that actually. This enemy is too good for this to merely be really bad. It is more like stupendously bad or wrath of the gods bad.

  I slow down. I think about what I know of this enemy. Intelligent, quick, and knows me far too well. He has got to be up in these ridges with me. He has probably figured out my plan and is around here looking for me. I see a bend in the gully to my front. The ridgeline to my right no longer concerns me. I cautiously head for the bend. I pilot the machine around the bend. An alarm shrieks at me and my display flashes an alert. I thought so. My enemy has chosen his ground well. He probably spotted me earlier and has set up a nice little ambush. I put the Kodiak in to a full run angling left. Anything to make a tougher target. Facing south I see the enemy heading up the gully towards me. Of course he is. I start tracking the reticle for the main gun on my Kodiak’s left arm towards him. Just as I center it and begin to pull the trigger everything goes black. Son of a bitch.

  I crawl out of the simulator. Even with the nanites and my newfound youth I am exhausted. As I crawl out I look over at the simulator next to mine. Lance is already outside and through his weariness he is grinning at me. I sigh. He is going to be insufferable. I crawl down the ladder, carefully, I really am spent - from the cockpit to the floor and head to the classroom for our debriefing. I grab a seat and wait for the inevitable.

  Lance plops down next to me and with excruciating smugness states: “You know you were almost close to beating me this time.”

  Three months. Three months since we arrived in Wonderland. Three months of working out new controls and learning how to pilot the Kodiaks. We have both come a long way. But Lance outdoes me every time. This last exercise had been a one on one duel. Obviously, he crushed me. I try to rally. “You just got lucky. Everybody knows simulator two is faster than the rest.”

  He grins and punches me in the shoulder. “You keep telling yourself that. Maybe next time I will fight one handed. You might beat me then.” He pauses for a moment looking thoughtful. “Actually I don’t think even that will help you.”

  The new controls are much better than the old set up. But, they definitely require both hands. Smug bastard can not really beat me one handed. That does not really matter. His ribbing is valid enough. He is just plain better than me. “If you keep grinning at me like that I’m going to punch you in the face.”

  This comment is greeted with good natured laughter from Lance. “You’re starting to sound like Langsdorf,” he replies.

  Thankfully our debriefers arrive from the simulator control station. One of them is Art Murray. Despite how hard we make him work he seems quite fond of us. An engineer down to his toenails he derives great pleasure from the hours we work together on the new controls. The other debriefer is Chief Warrant Officer Mike Malloy. Tall, with a face framed with brown hair and brown eyes, he looks like a textbook drawing of an Army Aviator. Before coming to Wonderland he had flown gunships for the Army for over twenty years. He fires up the flatscreen TV and turns to face us.

  “I tried to put ten bucks on you, Major Benson sir, but Art stopped taking those bets a long time ago. I even gave him ten to one odds,” he says cheerfully, curse him.

  I scowl theatrically. Maybe I am turning into Langsdorf. “Ha ha. Your wit fails to impress me Chief.”

  Art, God bless him, comes to my defense: “Actually I have been running the numbers. Major Benson you have hit something of a plateau while Major Morris’ numbers keep going up. I calculate that within a week or two Major Morris is going to be giving you a run for your money.”

  “That makes sense,” I say. “Lance is of limited intelligence, whereas, I am a genius.”

  Without missing a beat Lance replies: “You keep telling yourself that Shawn.” He pauses for a moment then continues: “Remind me who won the last twenty-one, oh wait … pardon me, twenty-two competitions.”

  With the mood properly set Malloy and Art begin debriefing our simulator run. I listen attentively. The debriefing is professional and concise. It should be Harkins or Dvoracek debriefing us. But, when we clashed over the control modifications both of those Marines had steadily stopped having anything to do with Lance and me. This suits all parties concerned to perfection.

  The duel is our last run for the day. It had been a short run so the debriefing takes little time. After Malloy and Art wrap it up I stand and stretch mightily. I look at the clock, it says eighteen hundred. I say: “Chow time. Who’s with me?” Malloy and Lance agree to join me, but Art informs me that he is going to stay a bit longer and run some numbers.

  We leave the simulator room and head for the chow hall. I keep to myself. Lance and Malloy carry on a conversation that I pay little attention to. I think about what Art said. Despite Lance outdoing me all the time my confidence in my piloting abilities grows daily. I now have a couple hundred hours in the simulator and about twenty hours piloting a real Kodiak in the plains outside the Rabbit Hole. The Kodiak is truly a fantastic machine. Its speed and power thrill me. Despite the long hours and the politics, despite missing my family like crazy, I am really enjoying being a part of Heavy Combat Systems.

  We enter the chow hall and grab some food. I look around for a place to sit. I see Roberts sitting at a table with the two Air Force lieutenant colonels. I head over to their table and join them. Lance sits across from Roberts and Malloy and I sit down across from the Air Force guys. Roberts smiles brightly at Lance and asks: “How many times did you beat Major Morris today?” I stifle another sigh. I better beat the punk soon or I am never going to live this down.

  Lance replies cockily: “Oh the usu
al … every time.” The look Roberts and Lance share as he says this makes me suspect Langsdorf owes me ten bucks.

  Smiles and chuckles surround the table. I start eating and pay vague attention to the conversations going on around me. In our three months in Wonderland Lance and I have affected something of a sea change in Heavy Combat Systems. Harkins and Dvoracek are still colossal pricks, but most people have embraced the change. A new energy seems to suffuse the place. Almost everybody works a little harder. New ideas about how to use and organize the Kodiaks are proposed and tested. Most people treat Langsdorf better. However, the biggest change is in the atmosphere. People smiled a lot more. People bantered and joked, they played pranks on one another. In short Heavy Combat Systems is a hell of a lot more fun.

  Somebody sits down at the table next to me. I look over and see Langsdorf giving me his lopsided grin. “I hear Lance is still whipping your butt Shawn,” he says.

  “You may smile all you want, Sir.” I go on the offensive. “However, you owe me ten bucks.”

  “What?” His grin temporarily disappears.

  I surreptitiously point to Lance and Roberts making eyes at each other at the far end of the table. Langsdorf watches them for a moment then scowls at me. I rub it in. “I would prefer that in two fives.”

  One of the Air Force guys looks at us. Lieutenant Colonel Juan Ramirez. He is short, as fighter pilots tend to be, with thick black hair, dark eyes and lots of muscle. He asks: “What’s Shawn talking about.”

  “Nothing,” I reply. “Just another example of how much smarter I am than the boss.”

  Through his scowl Langsdorf shoots back: “You are not smarter than me, as demonstrated by your foolishness in insulting your superior officer. Besides,” he leans over and looks down the table, “you just got lucky.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it,” I lie smoothly. I hold out my hand expectantly.

  Ramirez follows Langsdorf’s gaze. He looks back at us and I see realization hit him. He says: “Who would be dumb enough to bet against that?”

  “Our esteemed and fearless leader,” I reply hand still held out.

  Langsdorf’s scowl takes on epic proportions. “I should just fire all of you,” he says.

  Not to be denied I reply: “Go right ahead. Just pay me my ten bucks first … Sir.”

  Langsdorf reaches inside his flight suit and brings out his wallet. He pulls out two fives with the solemnity of a priest. “I hope you realize this will never happen again,” he intones.

  As he places the fives in my hand I cheerfully respond: “Of course it will.”

  Ramirez bumps his elbow against Lieutenant Colonel Stan Thurgood, the Air Force pilot sitting next to him. Thurgood is also short, as fighter pilots tend to be, but has ash blonde hair, blue eyes, and not so much muscle. As Thurgood turns to face us Ramirez says: “You feel like a bet?”

  On what?” Thurgood asks.

  “On whether or not Shawn wins another bet against Colonel Langsdorf,” Ramirez says.

  “Shawn won a bet against Langsdorf?” As Thurgood asks this he takes in the scene of me slowly pocketing Langsdorf’s money.

  “Of course I did. It is common knowledge that I am a true and certain genius,” I reply.

  “Right.” Thurgood says it slowly drawing out the ‘eye’ sound. He looks at Ramirez and continues: “I got ten on Langsdorf. No way Shawn beats him again.”

  “Deal,” Ramirez replies. They shake hands.

  Langsdorf regains control of the situation by asking: “You all ready for the nineteen hundred?”

  As Ramirez and Thurgood give their assent I wonder what the hell Langsdorf is talking about. I just want to go to bed. Nobody had told me anything about something going on at nineteen hundred today. I decide he cannot be talking to me. As soon as dinner is over I am heading for my room.

  This plan lasts for about five seconds. Langsdorf looks over at me and says: “I was asking you too, Major Morris.”

  I decide to go for honesty. “Sir, I have no idea what in the hell you are talking about.”

  This earns me another scowl. “Of course you don’t. But you are a Marine Officer. You are supposed to be prepared for anything at any time. The proper answer to any question from your superior officer is ‘Yes sir, of course, sir.’”

  Fine. “Yes sir, of course, sir. But I still have no idea what in the hell you are talking about,” I reply.

  The two Air Force officers look at Langsdorf expectantly. Three months ago they probably would have been uncomfortable with the familiarity I showed Langsdorf. While not precisely un-military, it is not all that common. With Harkins and Dvoracek calling the shots it never would have happened. However, this is just another part of the changes Lance and I have wrought. As long as you are competent, work hard, and know when not to push it, Langsdorf thrived in this sort of environment. So do Lance and I, truth be told.

  “If you were supposed to have any idea you would. Just be in the conference room for a nineteen hundred meeting.” Langsdorf says this with a balanced seasoning of sarcasm and direction.

  “Aye Aye, Sir,” I respond resignedly. I notice that Thurgood and Ramirez have knowing smiles on their faces. Hmm. Whatever Langsdorf is up to cannot be that bad. If this meeting had anything to do with real work the Air Force guys would not be smiling. So I decide to just cheer up about the whole thing and see what happens when I get there.

  Langsdorf talks loudly down the table. “Benson.” Lance breaks off his conversation with Roberts and looks over at Langsdorf. “Nineteen hundred, conference room, be there.” Lance’s face falls a bit. I bet he is looking forward to some alone time with Roberts. Langsdorf grins his lopsided grin and continues: “Don’t worry Roberts has to be there too. You will have plenty of time to carry on, what is, I’m sure, you’re entirely platonic conversation.”

  The entire table bursts out in good natured laughter. Roberts blushes slightly and Lance looks chagrined. Lance replies with a humble “Aye Aye, Sir.”

  With about twenty-five minutes until the meeting the table settles down as people finish their meals and wrap up their conversations. As I eat (fried chicken, God I love my nanites) my mind sort of goes blank. I just meander through various thoughts. After a long day of concentration I am just taking the time to reset my brain so I can pay close attention to whatever is going to happen in the conference room later. I finish my meal, get up, and nod to everyone still at the table as I head for the door.

  The hallway is mildly crowded as people head for the nineteen hundred meeting. Looks like it will be an all hands meeting. I reach the conference room, enter, and head for my normal seat. I see that most of the enlisted personnel are already here. The enlisted Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines take care of all the myriad of things that keep Heavy combat systems going. Sadly, with my busy schedule learning how to pilot the Kodiak I have not had the opportunity to get to know any of them. I nod politely to various people as I head for my seat in the pilot’s section. They nod politely back. I take my seat, look up, and see Harkins and Dvoracek enter. They virtually ignore me as they sit at the front of the section.

  The room slowly fills up. Lance is one of the last to arrive. His chair squeaks slightly as he sits down next to me. I look over at him and he asks: “Any idea what this is about?”

  “None,” I reply. “But, it looks like everyone is here. So I’m betting it is some sort of announcement.”

  “I wonder what the announcement will be.” Lance pauses thoughtfully then continues, pitching his voice so only I can hear: “You think it might be about our expected visitors?”

  Fear temporarily crashes through me. I often thought about the Synti. I also often cursed Langsdorf for letting Lance and I in on that secret. I have been so busy learning how to pilot the Kodiak and changing the atmosphere around here that I can manage to not think about it all the time. However, the terror is alway
s lurking in the background. I have become accustomed to dealing with it so I easily bring the fear under control. I am doing everything I can to prepare. Worrying about the Synti will only detract from that. My little spike of fear reminds me of why I think so few people are in on the secret. I do not think Langsdorf will tell everyone else about the Synti. People are working hard and making things happen. Fear will just detract from that. I suspect that he will tell the others. Eventually. But this does not feel like the right time. So, I respond quietly: “This is not the time to bring everyone else in on that secret. No.” I raise my voice back to normal speaking levels, “This is probably about safety,” I look sideways at Lance, “or sexual harassment or something.”

  Lance rolls his eyes. “Ha Ha,” he responds. After a moment he continues: “I guess we haven’t exactly been subtle lately.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Hell, I didn’t even figure it out till today. Up to this point I figured she was just more entertained than interested,” I reply.

  “Thanks for not giving me a hard time about it.” Lance looks relieved as he says this.

  “Why would I do that?” I punch him lightly in the shoulder and continue: “I am just happy you have more to do around here than pilot Kodiaks and go to meetings.” I grin and continue: “Although, truth be told, I have no idea what she sees in you.” I honestly did think the world of Lance. Of course Roberts liked him. I just cannot be too nice to Lance, would not be right.

  Lance knows this as well as I do. He snorts and replies: “I often ask myself the same question about you and Liz.”

  I laugh quietly, but quickly fall silent as Langsdorf enters the room, right on time. The room falls silent with me while he takes his position in the front of the amphitheater. Having everyone’s attention he speaks: “Tradition. For thousands of years warriors have bound themselves together with many different kinds. Sometimes they create new traditions. Sometimes they modify older traditions. Tonight we are taking a couple of older traditions and mashing them together into a new one.” He pauses for a moment. The room is absolutely still. “We here at Heavy Combat Systems are fielding brand new weapons. Although the weapons are new, what they do has been done by warriors for thousands of years.” He holds up a couple sets of spurs. “These spurs represent our connection with the men and women who fulfilled the roll of the Kodiak and the Cougar from the back of a horse.” He then holds up a pair of leather patches. I notice they have Kodiak pilot’s wings on them. “When the first aviators took to wearing wings the wings provided a representation of skill and courage. Similarly, the Kodiak and Cougar require skill and courage to pilot them.” He pauses again then loudly states: “Attention to orders.” Everyone comes to attention. “Majors Morris and Benson front and center.”