by Jay Allan
“Here they come!” It was Sergeant Lassa, my squad leader. It was a few seconds before anything started to show on my scanner, and another few before I caught sight of enemy troops advancing through the spotty cloud cover. I took a breath and leveled my mag rifle. I had a pretty good shot on a small cluster of advancing troops, and I started firing short bursts on full auto. My first shots fired in combat were way off. I was a good marksman in training, but you just don’t realize what it’s like shooting at targets that are firing back until you experience it. It took me a few seconds to settle down, but once I did my fire got a lot more accurate.
It was hard to tell what we hit until they started coming out of the clouds but, when they did, the SAWs ripped into them. They were trying to advance along the lowest spots, crouching to maximize their cover, but they had to cross some open areas too, and they suffered heavily. They’d expected us to be hit harder by the heavy auto-cannons, but they’d fired too soon and ruined their ambush. We had the better cover now, and they had to come at us the hard way.
I was terrified, so scared I could hardly think. I wanted to run, to get away and go somewhere, anywhere that people weren’t shooting at me. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, feel it in my chest. My hands were sweaty, my legs weak. But I stayed focused and kept squeezing off shots, targeting the enemy troopers as they advanced. It was hard to tell if I hit anyone, but it looked like overall we’d taken out at least a dozen.
Our fire blunted their advance, and they stopped and took cover. There were cracks and fissures in the rocky ground, and the enemy troops scattered, occupying any spot that offered some protection. Our cover was heavier, but theirs was enough to offer significant protection, and they outgunned us, which compensated for our stronger position. The combat had turned into a protracted firefight, and both sides expended a lot of ordnance for very little return.
These were the kinds of fights where carelessness gets you killed. When the shooting goes on this long with no break you can lose focus. A Marine raises his head just a touch too far, trying to get a better shot. That’s all it takes to get killed, an instant’s lapse in judgment.
I was getting exhausted, mentally more than physically, and running low on ammunition. I was taking single shots now, saving the rounds I had left in case the enemy tried to assault our position. The corporal came on the com and told us to cut our ammo expenditures, but I had beaten him to it.
As a private, I wasn’t on the higher levels of the com line, so I had no idea what was happening outside my squad. I knew we were stuck here – we didn’t have enough strength to assault the enemy, and if we tried to retire we’d give up the cover of the ridgeline, and they would just move up and shoot us to pieces. I figured there were reinforcements heading to support us – I hoped, at least - but all I could do was guess.
It’s hard to separate what you thought years ago from your perceptions years later, but looking back, it was clear the enemy had the initiative. Their trap had failed, at least partially, but they still had numbers for a while. It was up to them to force the issue or to withdraw. We didn’t have the strength to attack, but we could put up a considerable defense. They could probably beat us, wipe us out…but they’d pay heavily. The enemy commander had to decide if he wanted a major fight there. His ambush had fizzled and he faced a bloody battle. He could have the day…if he was willing to pay the price.
It wasn’t long before we had an answer. The enemy troops started withdrawing, pulling back slowly from one piece of cover to the next. The auto-cannons kept up their fire, keeping our heads down so we couldn’t harass the retreating infantry. But that was unnecessary, because the lieutenant was on the line a few seconds after they started pulling back. “Cease fire.” His voice was as steady as ever, but I’d swear I could detect the slightest bit of relief. Maybe he was human too. “All units, cease fire. Hold positions.” We didn’t have ammo to waste shooting at retreating enemies, and if it turned out to be a ruse, the lieutenant wanted us to be armed and ready to deal with it.
But it wasn’t a ruse. The enemy didn’t want a big battle there. That would come later, and when it did we would know it.
Chapter 4
2243 AD
Camp Puller
North of New Houston
Texas, USA, Western Alliance
“Welcome back. Did you have a nice sleep?”
The voice was deep but friendly, and it was the first thing that came to me in the darkness. The light was next, hazy at first then brighter, clearer. My head felt like a mag train had run through it.
“Here, drink this.” I started to get an image of the room, small, with bare metal walls and a table with two chairs. I was sprawled out on a cot, and as I pulled myself up I got a first look at my companion. He was tall, dressed in a neatly-pressed gray uniform, and he was holding out a small metal cup. “Those stun guns give you quite a headache.” He smiled sympathetically. “This will help.”
I straightened myself out. I was still sitting, but at least I was halfway up. I took the cup and downed it in one gulp. If these guys wanted to harm me they’d had plenty of chances while I was out cold. I felt better almost immediately; it was like the fog in my head just cleared away.
“Welcome to Camp Puller.” I was about to say something, but he beat me to it. “I’m Captain Sam Jackson.” He paused and smiled. “And you are a very resourceful young man who, among other things, has nothing but a nasty scar where his implant was.”
I leaned back nervously. My first thought was, they will figure out who I am and send me back to the farm. For that matter, just removing the implant was a serious crime.
He must have read my mind, because he laughed softly. “Don’t worry; we’re really not interested in whatever you’ve done. You were stealing from us, and we’re willing to overlook that. We’re certainly not concerned with what you did to anyone else. Or the fact that you removed your implant.” After a brief pause: “We’re not cops.”
I looked up at him, feeling better but still groggy. “You’re a Marine?” I took a good look at him. I guessed he was about 35, though I wasn’t sure. He could have been younger or, with a rejuv treatment or two, quite a bit older. His hair was light brown, neatly trimmed, and his face was pleasant, relaxed. He certainly didn’t match my expectation of a Marine. The Corps had a reputation for producing savage fighters, but this guy looked like someone who spent his day in front of a workstation crunching numbers. I laugh when I look back – now I realize that Captain Jackson could have dropped me in half a second, despite the fact that he was ten centimeters shorter and at least 20 kilos lighter.
“Yes, I'm a Marine.” He could tell what I was thinking, and he smiled again. “Surprised I’m not three meters tall with weapons growing out of my arms?” He reached out and dragged one of the chairs closer to the cot. “We have a few things to discuss. Why don’t we start with your name?” He sat with the chair turned around, leaning against the back.
“Jax. Darius Jax.” I’d been thinking, I’m not going to tell this guy anything, but my mouth opened and my name came out. It’s not like they couldn’t find out anyway. I got my implant out, but I couldn’t change my DNA. I was in the main database just like anybody else. Besides, I had the strangest feeling he was trying to help me.
“Interesting name. I’ve seen a lot of guys come through here, but you’re the first Darius. Persian king, right?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. My education at the time was almost non-existent. The government didn’t waste resources educating Cogs and Croppers. I’d had an hour a day of online classes at the farm, but it was nothing but basics. I wasn’t entirely illiterate, but ancient history was well beyond my knowledge base. I didn’t even know what a Persian was. Years later, at the Academy, I was finally able to answer his question. Two famous Persian kings, actually, the second enjoying the dubious privilege of facing off against Alexander the Great.
When I didn’t answer he just continued. “Doesn’t matt
er. Let me get right to the point.” He straightened up slightly in the chair. “I’m here to offer you a chance to join the Corps.”
“What?” The word just blurted out. I hadn't been sure what he was going to say, but that was certainly not what I was expecting.
“You heard me, Darius.” There was a smile on his face – he was enjoying this, the SOB. “I’d like to make a Marine out of you.”
“Why would you want me?” About half a dozen responses came to my mind, but that’s the one that came out. I couldn't imagine why they'd be after me. The entire thing seemed ridiculous.
He let out a short breath. “Darius, the Corps is unlike any other military organization. We are looking for a certain type of recruit.” He stopped for a few seconds as he put together what he wanted to say. “Most of us have pasts like yours…” He looked me right in the eye. “…or worse.” He emphasized that last part and let it sink in before he continued. “Some a lot worse. I’m from the LA Metroplex myself. The Valley.”
The Valley was one of the most notorious slums in the U.S., a place where they carted away a new crop of bodies every morning. I didn’t know much about other places, but I’d heard of the Valley. If this guy grew up there it was no joke. “So you guys need a thief? What, did your budgets get cut and you're looking for new income?”
He smiled and snorted slightly, not quite a laugh. “No, Darius, we need independent thinkers. We need doers. Not easy to find.”
I laughed. “And you think that’s me? What makes you think I’m what you’re looking for?”
“Well, for one, you obviously cut out your own implant, which suggests that you have the toughness you will need to make it through our program. A sloppy surgeon to be sure, but it takes a certain grit to do what you did.”
“Big deal, you want tough you should head up to Louisville and hit up some of the Gangers there.”
He held in a small laugh. “I said tough, not crazy. We aren’t looking for psychopaths, Darius. Look at you…you are very measured in how you do things. You haven’t been terribly forthcoming with me, but you haven’t been overtly hostile either. Measured.”
“So the fact that I didn’t tell you to fuck off makes me Marine material?” The whole thing still seemed crazy to me.
“It’s more than what you say or don’t say. Look at how you ran your little gang. You robbed us three times – we were watching you after the first, by the way – but you didn’t kill or seriously injure anyone. You did what you needed to do to survive, but you didn’t escalate the situation past what was required. It is very clear you are deliberative, brave but cautious. Just what we want.”
Still on my mind: “You were watching us?” I hadn’t had a clue. “Why didn’t you stop us sooner?”
“Why do you think? He had an annoying smirk on his face. He clearly enjoyed these head games.
“My God, you’re fucking kidding me.” This was getting more and more bizarre. “You were watching to see if you wanted to recruit us?”
“Very good.” He leaned forward over the back of the chair. “You are starting to understand. It was pretty clear from your first robbery that you knew what you were doing. You even watched the convoys, and you hit the specific cargo that was easiest for you to move.” He paused slightly. "Unless that was a coincidence."
"It was no coincidence." I felt a little naked; they had us completely figured out. "I wasn't looking for the kind of attention stealing weapons or high tech stuff would bring."
"Look, Darius, trust me." His voice changed slightly, less casual, more serious. "You are the kind of recruit you're looking for. You’re clearly intelligent, despite your lack of education." He smiled again. "And your robberies displayed some first rate small unit tactics."
He let me think for a minute. Why would I want to be a Marine anyway? Just because they invited me? "Look, I appreciate the offer, but why would I want to join up anyway? So I can go get my ass shot off...what? In space?" He nodded. "You figure I'll join up so you don't turn me in. Because it's better to take your deal than end up getting sent to the lunar mines for stealing?"
"Or sentenced to gas by the megafarm magistrate back home?" He had a self-satisfied smile on his face. "Of course we know who you are, Darius. We're not imbeciles." He paused, clearly enjoying my dumbstruck silence. "But to answer your question, no, if you say no to us we won't turn you in. Not for your robberies and certainly not to the megacorp that runs that farm."
"You'll just let me go?" I looked at him quizzically. "Just walk out the door?"
"Yes. With a stern warning never to steal from us again." He looked at me and his eyes were deadly serious. "A very stern warning."
I was quiet for maybe half a minute, trying to process everything he said. Free to go? I could just walk out? "So if that's true, why would I ever agree to sign up? If you're not blackmailing me with prosecution why shouldn't I just leave now?"
He let out a deep breath. "Well, Darius, the first part of that answer is the fact that you're asking the question at all. I just told you that you could leave any time you want to. Why are you asking me questions at all?" He paused for an instant, but continued before I could answer. "It depends on what you really want, Darius. You're smart enough to get by as a thief for a while, at least until you step on someone else's toes and you end up mining meteor fragments on the moon. Or more likely dead."
He rolled up his sleeve. "You see this arm?" I looked at him, confused. "I got this blown off as a private. My first battle."
I thought to myself, this guy needs work on his sales pitch if that’s his idea of an inducement. But I kept listening anyway. I was curious where he was going with this.
"This is a new one. A perfect regeneration. You'd have to be a member of the Political Class here for that kind of medical priority. But in the Corps all you have to be is a Marine. What was your medical priority rating before you ran? Zero?"
I frowned. "So you're saying if you get my arm shot off you'll grow me a new one? You’re a lousy salesman."
"No." He looked at me with the first hint of impatience I'd seen from him. "I'm saying that the Corps is someplace that respects all of its members. We don't prioritize our people and throw most of them away because it's expedient. An injured Marine gets the care he needs, whatever that is. Private, general…it doesn’t matter. A Marine in trouble gets the support he needs." He stared right at me, his eyes boring into mine. "Haven't you ever wanted to belong somewhere? To be part of a team where everyone has your back?"
"So it's that simple? I say yes, and you make me part of this team you're talking about?" I had to admit to myself, the prospect of not feeling totally on my own every second was appealing. I also thought it had to be bullshit.
He laughed. "Far from. If you say yes, I will give you a chance to make it. If you sign on you will do six years of training." He paused, smiling wickedly at the blank expression on my face. "Yes, that's right. Six years. You'll get the education you never got before, and you'll learn how to really use that reasonably effective brain I think you have. You'll also work like a dog; like nothing you have ever experienced. You think they worked people hard on that farm?" The wicked grin widened, becoming downright maniacal. "You'll end up face down in the mud puking your guts out from physical training you can't imagine now. Our program is serious." He paused, and the grin slowly vanished. "It's dangerous too. People die in training. You may die in training."
"So you sell the Corps hard and then try to scare me away?" My head was spinning. I didn't know what to think. "So if I make it through your training, then what happens?"
"Then you’ll graduate as a private." His voice was serious now. All the earlier informality was gone. "And when you make your first drop you're one of us." Long pause. "For the rest of your life."
"After my first drop?"
"Graduating from training gives you the right to drop with a Marine unit. Completing the drop makes you a Marine. We're combat veterans, every one of us. You may end up being a mechanic o
r a computer tech in the Corps, but the first time out you're a private and a combat soldier. Even our medical staff starts out fighting."
"Everybody starts as a private?" I was intrigued. This was very different from the society I'd seen my whole life, where birth and connections were everything. It amused me to think of a Senator starting out as a field hand on the farm.
"Everybody. You may be a general someday, but until then you'll always know that whoever ordered you into battle has been there himself." He was exaggerating to make a point, but it turns out he was right...I would become a general one day, and I would never ever forget what it felt like to climb into that first lander.
"So fine, the Corps takes care of its own. That's all great, but it still sounds like going out there and getting all shot up for the politicians who sit behind desks and tell everyone else what to do. The Marines may have a different attitude, but they still fight for the system that worked my father to death on that farm."
"I knew you were smart." His grin was back. "Most recruits aren't this much of a pain in the ass. But the good ones usually are." He hesitated, as if he was trying to decide how to discuss delicate matters. "Darius, the system is what it is. I'm not here to defend it or even worry about it. But if you become one of us you will see a whole universe you can't imagine now. The colony worlds are nothing like Earth. I'm posted here, but this isn't my home anymore. When I retire it will be to Atlantia or Arcadia or one of the other frontier planets. Earth is dying, choking to death on corruption and repression, but mankind has another hope for the future. The future isn’t here; it’s out there." He pointed upwards.