by Tripp Ellis
34
Zack and his squad breached the entrance and cleared the hallway with technical precision. They leapfrogged through the hallways to one of the stairwells. Zack quietly pushed through the steel door, careful not to let it squeak. There was no doubt in his mind a guard would be standing at the 40th floor landing, protecting the roof access point.
The stairwell was black as midnight. The structure had no power. None of the buildings did. Zack flicked on his night vision, and the stairwell illuminated. Modern night vision goggles weren't anything like the old monochromatic green displays of the past. They were full-color, and amplified any available light to such a degree that it almost looked like daylight.
The rest of the squad followed Zack into the stairwell. The squad climbed the metal steps without making a sound. They moved like special forces operators, one behind the other, hugging the outside wall and keeping their weapons in the firing position.
It didn’t take long for Zack's quads to burn. His heart raced. By the time he hit the 30th floor, his lungs were on fire. As they drew closer to the 40th floor, Zack peered over the railing and looked above. He could see a member of Foxtrot Platoon pacing back and forth on the landing.
Zack lined him up in his sights and sniped him. Two quick shots dropped him to the landing.
The squad filed up the stairs. At the top, there was a metal ladder that led to a hatch, which opened to the roof.
“What are we going to do now?" Isaac asked. “We're at a serious disadvantage attacking from this position."
Zack looked over the uniform of the fallen member of Foxtrot Platoon. The name tape on his chest, and stenciled across the back of his helmet, read Murphy. Zack climbed up the ladder, and surveyed the construction of the hatch. “This may, or may not work."
He pushed open the hatch. It angled on its hinges, obscuring Zack from the view of the members of Foxtrot Platoon on the roof. “Don't shoot! It's just me, Murphy. I'm coming up."
“What the hell, Murphy?” one of them yelled. “You just went down there."
“I know, but I gotta piss,” Zack said.
“Piss in the stairwell.”
“Then I’ll have to smell it for the next hour.”
“You're such a pansy.”
Zack angled his weapon around the hatch and fired at the two guards. One dropped, then the other. Zack climbed the rest of the way out of the hatch onto the roof. Clark and Isaac followed.
The roof was covered in piping, HVAC units, and industrial fans that had long since stopped working. In the middle of the roof was a small orb about the size of a soccer ball. It had a display panel that was illuminated green, with a switch on top.
Zack advanced across the roof, grabbed the device, and pressed the switch. The display turned red. Zack had an ear to ear grin on his face. “Mission accomplished, boys."
Clark and Isaac cheered. Their screams of joy echoed over the desolate landscape.
Stone’s voice crackled in Zack's ear. “Nice work, son. Looks like we've got a new platoon leader.”
Zack smiled. "Thank you, sir."
“Gather your platoon and head back to base.”
“Aye-aye, sir.” Zack couldn't stop grinning, and he shouted with joy.
All the commotion had roused the guard in the other stairwell. He pushed through the hatch and opened fire on Zack and the others, unaware the exercise was over. The blast zipped past Zack. He watched it scream by, barreling straight toward Isaac.
It wouldn’t normally have been a big deal. But the stun bolt had just enough energy to knock Isaac backwards. He tripped over a horizontal piece of conduit. The energy bolt caused his muscles to go limp, and he couldn't brace his fall. Isaac crashed down to the roof, landing on a vertical pipe vent that skewered the back of his neck. It was a one-in-a-million freak accident. It stabbed him in the narrow space between his helmet and his back plate armor. The pipe burst through his trachea, protruding through the front of his neck, erupting blood like a volcano.
Isaac gurgled as his lungs filled with fluid. His body twitched for several moments, and finally went limp.
Zack's face contorted and he screamed. He raced across the roof to Isaac’s body, but there was nothing he could do. Isaac was dead by the time Zack reached him.
Zack's eyes brimmed, and tears rolled down his cheeks. He sobbed over Isaac's body, and a wave of guilt rushed through him.
35
"This is all my fault, sir,” Zack said. He could barely choke out the words. His eyes were red and puffy, and still brimming. It took everything he had to fight back tears as he stood at attention in the duty office.
“Son, this is not your fault,” Sergeant Stone said. “The incident has been officially reviewed, and it has been deemed a no-fault accident.”
The statement did little to comfort Zack.
“I know you two were close. And I'm deeply sorry for your loss. This is a dangerous job we do. And it won't be the last time you lose someone close to you."
“He never would have joined the Marine Corps if it wasn't for me. He was supposed to go to college. He had a full scholarship.”
Sergeant Stone frowned. As much of a hard ass as he was, he genuinely cared about his men.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this, sir. I want to DOR.”
“I think you're an excellent leader. You demonstrated that during this exercise."
“I was too preoccupied with victory. I let my guard down. Had that been an actual combat situation, more people could have died. I should've secured the remaining guard."
Stone took a solemn pause for a moment. "I know it may be hard to believe, but I was once a young corporal. It was my first deployment to Velicuas Minor. We were on patrol in the Mik’aar Valley. The platoon was ambushed by insurgents. Our 2nd Lieutenant and NCO were killed. Command of the platoon fell to me. I had very little combat experience at the time. I had to decide between two very bad options. 3 Marines, out of a platoon of 43 men, walked out of that valley. Not a day goes by that I don't second-guess the decisions I made. When I close my eyes I can see their faces and hear their screams. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night absolutely sure that I'm back in that valley. And for an instant, I think I can save a few more of my men. But then I realize I can't. The only thing I can do is keep moving forward. On the battlefield we make decisions in a split second that will haunt us for the rest of our lives. If you ask those two men who walked out of the Mik’aar Valley with me, they'll tell you I saved their life.”
“It was a training exercise, sir. No one should've lost their life."
“Agreed. But you need to look at today's event in the broader context. Each and every Marine on this base has the potential to save lives. Not just on the battlefield, but back home. Our Federation is preserved because young Marines put themselves in situations that most people would rather avoid. They make the tough decisions, they make mistakes, and they keep moving on.” Stone took a deep breath. “If you want to leave the program, I'll put in the paperwork and have you transferred to the Recruit Separation Platoon. I won't even yell at you. But if you decide to do that, I think you'd be doing yourself, and the Federation, a disservice. Take a day. Think about it. If you still want to drop, come see me in the morning."
Zack left the duty hut and entered the squad bay. There was a somber tone in the room, and all eyes fell on him as he entered. Some of the recruits gave him nods of sympathy as he strolled to his rack.
Darrell Vaughn was waiting for him at his footlocker. Zack's body tensed, and he approached with caution. The last thing he needed right now was attitude from Vaughn. He didn't think Darrell was dumb enough to start anything in the squad bay after the previous incident. But Zack anticipated the worst.
Darrell stared at him for a long moment, then stammered, “Hey, I'm sorry about Isaac.” He looked uncomfortable expressing any type of emotion.
Zack was shocked. “Thanks.”
“The dude had a lot of heart. I'll miss the little
guy."
Zack couldn't believe what he was hearing. Darrell had hardly said two words to Isaac during their entire time at boot camp. Zack wasn't sure if Darrell was just saying that, or if it was a genuine expression of sympathy. Either way, the gesture was appreciated.
It was personal time for the rest of the platoon, and many of them were writing messages on their PDUs, or watching one of the approved military network channels.
Staff Sergeant Hawkins, a junior drill instructor, marched into the squad bay. “Vaughn, Salvator… Time for your daily IT.”
Zack grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do after a day like this was a series of never-ending calisthenics. But maybe it would take his mind off things for a little bit.
Hawkins ran them through his standard methods of torture—sit ups, push-ups, scissor kicks, jumping jacks, burpees. They pounded out the exercises on the quarterdeck. Hawkins’s ragged voice screeched at them the entire time.
After they were sufficiently abused, Hawkins let them return to the squad bay. A commotion was brewing among the platoon.
“Hey, Salvator, aren't you from Crylos 9?” Clark asked.
Zack nodded.
“You might want to have a look at this." Clark handed him his PDU.
Zack’s face went pale as he watched the live news feed. His knees went weak and he felt like he had been punched in the gut.
36
It was stacking up to be the worst day of Zack's life. The Tarvaax had invaded Crylos. The Federation News Network cycled through images of destruction and chaos, while a reporter commented. First responders carried bloodied and broken bodies from the piles of devastation. Buildings were in ruin. The roadways were pocked and scarred from bomb blasts. Terrified civilians ran for cover.
The Tarvaax Navy dominated the space around the planet. Ground forces were attacking the major cities. Communication was spotty. Most of the satellite relays had been destroyed, and the Tarvaax were jamming the communication devices that remained.
Zack tried to contact his mother, but he couldn't get through. A call to Honor failed as well. He sent them both electronic messages from Clark's PDU, but they bounced back within a few moments—server unavailable.
Anger swelled within Zack. Any ideas of quitting the Marine Corps evaporated. He was going to complete his training, and do his part to exact revenge. He couldn't get through boot camp fast enough. He was ready to hop on the next transport and join the fray.
He handed Clark back the PDU as Sergeant Stone marched into the squad bay.
“By now you've heard of the most recent attack. For those of you who have family and friends on Crylos 9, I know what a difficult time this is for you. I’ve tasked Corporal Harper with tracking down your family members. We will keep you advised of their status as soon as we hear anything. Now, more than ever, you must maintain focus on your training. You will be the next generation of Marines, and you have a job to do.”
37
Over the next few weeks, the recruits honed their skills to perfection. They became a tight, cohesive unit. All of the small personality conflicts faded. They became unified of purpose—to become Marines, and to defeat the enemy.
The Gauntlet was the final test. It was a grueling 4 day trial that would forge the recruits into Marines. With little food and little sleep, they completed obstacles and combat simulations that could only be overcome through teamwork. The event was the culmination of everything they had learned. Zack was given 2 MREs (meals ready to eat). Those rations would have to last him for the entire four days. Over the course of events, the recruits would march over 70 miles, humping 50 pounds of gear.
The Gauntlet was designed to break the recruits, and see who had what it took to make it. There were ammo resupply missions, casualty evacuations, martial arts challenges, night infiltrations, leadership tests, core values training. On one of the casualty evacuation drills, Zack was paired up with Darrell. He had to carry Darrell on his back for 2 miles. By the end of it, Zack’s lower back was killing him. It seared with pain. He felt like an 80-year-old man who couldn't stand up straight. Darrell carried Zack on the return, and it gave him a little time to recover. It was a helluva way to start out the four days of torment that was the Gauntlet.
One of the more technically challenging evolutions was a ship to ship invasion, conducted in the Combat Space Simulator. The CSS was a massive enclosure that simulated a zero gravity environment. It was about the size of a baseball stadium. In the center was a mockup of a small warship. The recruits would load into an AAV (armored assault vehicle) and storm the warship. It was one of the most common scenarios that Marines would encounter during actual combat.
The AAVs would latch onto enemy warships like barnacles. The mouth of the craft would form a magnetic hard-seal, and plasma torches would cut through the hull. The recruits would then storm through the corridors of the enemy craft, seeking to assume control.
The recruits practiced these drills both with and without gravity, and with and without the use of magnetic boots. There were some alien ships made of composite materials that weren’t magnetic, and the recruits needed to know how to handle these situations.
The use of self-contained, pressurized battle suits, like the War-Tek T9000, were beyond the scope of boot camp. Those recruits with an infantry MOS (military occupational skill) would learn the intricacies of the T9000 in Advanced Infantry Training.
A 15 mile uphill march capped off the torturous four day event. When they reached their destination, the recruits were awarded the Eagle, Galaxy, and Anchor—the emblem of the Space Corps. They were now officially Marines.
“Congratulations, Salvator. You earned it,” Sergeant Stone said, shaking his hand. “I’m glad you stuck it out. The Space Corps needs more men like you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Zack's chest swelled with pride as he clutched the emblem in his palm. But it was a bittersweet moment. He couldn't help but think of Isaac.
The recruits once again took the oath of enlistment, then they were rewarded with the Warrior’s Breakfast. The newly minted Marines flooded into the chow hall where they could eat all they wanted. Every conceivable dish was available. Steak, chicken, turkey, hamburgers, pizza, bacon, eggs, hash browns, biscuits & gravy, pancakes, waffles, toast and jam. All of it was real. Nothing came from a fabricator. After three months of less than stellar options, it was a meal to end all meals. Zack loaded up several trays, stuffing his face with a little bit of everything that was offered. It was the most delectable meal he had ever tasted. At least, that's what it seemed like. He was so hungry, anything would've tasted good.
His stomach had been churning in knots for the last four days. He had lost 10 pounds during the event, and he didn't have it to lose. He was dehydrated, weak, and shaking. There were times during the march where he felt like he was going to pass out. But he kept going. He wasn't about to stop so close to the finish.
By the time he finished breakfast, he had gained most of the 10 pounds back. He felt like he was going to burst at the seams. He had eaten too much, and his belly ached for several hours afterward. But it was worth it.
He was so amped up from lack of sleep and adrenaline that he was practically shaking. When he finally got into his rack, it felt like heaven. He was fast asleep the instant the lights went out in the squad bay. Morning reveille came all too soon. He felt like he had just closed his eyes. His body was sore and achy. It would take a few days to recover from the brutality of the Gauntlet. But it was over, and he would never have to go through it again.
Graduation somehow seemed anti-climactic without the presence of his mother and Honor. He had no one to share the moment with. He didn't even have time to speak with Matt before he shipped out for Mech School.
Since Zack came in as a contract E2, was Platoon Guide, and named Company Honorman because of his academics and field performance, he was pinned an E3 upon graduation. He left boot camp as a Lance Corporal.
Zack said his goodbyes to the platoon. And oddly eno
ugh, he and Darrell Vaughn had acquired a mutual respect for one another. Especially during the Gauntlet. Zack wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, but they weren’t enemies. This ragtag group of strangers from all corners of the Federation had become brothers. It was a bond that would last a lifetime.
MCRD was behind him now. He had earned the title of Marine. But Zack knew that the road ahead of him was going to be much worse than anything boot camp had to offer.
38
“Sir, Lance Corporal Zack Salvator reporting for duty." He shouted over the noise. Zack saluted and stood at attention on the tarmac.
The Raptor that had dropped him off was already floating into the air behind him. Its massive Hughes & Kessler engines rumbled, and the air beneath the thrusters rippled with heat distortion.
“You can cut the sir crap. I'm Staff Sergeant Paxton Willoughby. Welcome to Camp Creighton on Avlaar 7.”
“Thank you, sir. I mean, Sergeant."
Willoughby gave him the eye. “Relax. This isn’t boot camp.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Willoughby took a deep breath and shook his head. It was going to take a little while for Zack to break the habit. Willoughby was calm and cool. He had one of those faces that always looked like he was smiling. He was easy-going, and you couldn't help but like the guy. He had brown hair and blue eyes and a gentle disposition. He was the complete opposite of the drill instructors at boot camp.
“Follow me, I'll show you to the barracks."
There were rows and rows of MAVs on the tarmac. They stood about 2.5 stories tall. Imposing figures. Thick and bulky, they looked like metallic green-grey guerrillas. Walking tanks. Plasma cannons were mounted under each forearm. Rocket launchers on each shoulder. Their legs were thick and beefy, with hydraulics and shock absorbers. Wide feet stabilize the anthropomorphic vehicles. The skull emblem of the platoon was emblazoned on one side of the cockpit, and a pinup queen on the other. They each had phrases written across the chest. Kill them all, let God sort them out was written on one of them.