Corporal Mick glanced back at Tomi and nodded. "Ain't no innocents here, we'll corrupt you soon enough, LT!"
Lieutenant Torori barely looked up from his slate. He focused on reading the small screen and ignored the rest of the idle chatter.
The group broke into conversation about the attack on Lishun Delta. Everyone had an opinion of what would happen next. They all assumed they'd be cannon fodder soon enough.
Hans stepped away and held his ear. He spoke in a low voice.
Tomi sat in silence and remembered what Tomi had told him. Keep your mouth shut. He wanted to fit into the squad, to show that he wasn't just some useless son of a bitch. Instead he highlighted the fact that not only was he a civilian, but a dumb one, a spoiled one. He thought back to that night and wished he could go back and change it.
Now he settled on the new reality and pushed the old behind him. He decided he'd make a name for himself here, in a good way. The past was the past, and what he did then made no matter. All of the other troops accepted the punishment , why not me? Just a dumb rockhound. I'll eat, follow my orders, and be a grunt. And, he thought, I'll keep my mouth shut. I'll just fit in like the rest. Another Private.
"Tomi Morgan?" Lieutenant Torori said.
Tomi stood at a rough approximation of attention. "Sir?"
"You're riding back on the chow truck," Lieutenant Torori said.
The silence of the squad bored into Tomi's back. Waslinski glared at Tomi with a tone that could chill a bonfire.
"And uh, Barros, you too, special training for both of you."
"Will I be leaving the squad, sir?" Tomi asked. The only person he could count as friendly was Mick. He didn't want to leave, this little bit of camaraderie he'd developed was precious.
"Nope, but Barros, you'll be reassigned," Lieutenant Totori said.
"Line up! Chow time!" Hans said.
The squad lined up and marched down the rough hill toward the smells of a hot lunch.
Tomi stumbled down, sore and tired, and felt his appetite drop. Whatever special training was ahead, he had a feeling he wouldn't like it. But as long as he was coming back to his few friends, he'd do it. Not like he had much choice.
#
Chapter Nineteen
Vasilov Prime - Planetary Customs and Control
Customs Officer Willis von Sauden stomped out of the customs complex and stared up into the misty sky.
Night had barely fallen and the clouds still glowed with last hints of the day. Lights shimmered in the sky. Somewhere, far above, a Lokeen freighter hovered.
He'd had a fine chess game going with a Corporal and a flask of brandy was waiting... "Tell 'em to hurry up! It's going to rain soon. They're early! Get on the horn and get someone here to pick this shit up," he said into his headset.
The tower acknowledged and the massive landing lights blasted into the sky. They looked like great white pillars that supported the sky.
"It's going to rain," a customs inspector said.
"Of course it is!" Willis said. "It's Vasilov, it always rains. What are you, some Visla nancy boy?"
The inspector said nothing and stared at his slate.
Willis snorted. "What are the fuzzies bringing today?"
"Pardon, sir?"
Willis rolled his eyes. "Fuzzies, you know, the Lokeen?"
The inspector wore a blank look.
"What's in the freighter?" Willis snapped.
The inspector tapped the slick screen a few times. "Scrap metal, rolling stock, genetic baselines, and a whole bunch of consumer goods."
"Genetics, eh? Tariffs on that." Willis thought of the consumer goods. He'd been needing a new oven.
The gray mist parted over the landing complex and orange lights suddenly appeared. The freighter, a blocky structure of steel and titanium, rippled in the sky. Sheets of moisture rolled off the sheer plating. It was massive, a construct that was simple and basic, yet almost graceful in its ugliness.
It crawled down out of the mist and was strangely silent. The currents drifted around it until it finally dropped completely out of the clouds. The air felt heavy underneath and the crew on the ground scattered as the full bulk of the freighter came into view. Automated cargo haulers darted back into the customs buildings.
"Control is asking for confirmation to land."
Willis stared up in awe and barely mouthed an answer. "Affirmative." It was one of the largest he'd ever seen.
The puddles on the stained concrete landing pad drifted to the side like a great wind pushed against them, but there was no breeze.
Landing gear dropped out of the base, short stubby things. The pads unfolded and sheets of ice dropped down. Then it settled and groaned on the concrete. The main cargo hatch popped open and folded up while a loading ramp dropped down. Already a line of automated haulers waited on the edge.
The rain started a moment later.
Willis rushed ahead with a pack of customs Officers close behind.
A group of Lokeen stepped out from the inside of the hold but didn't leave the cover of the cargo hatch.
"Permission to come aboard this vessel!" Willis wiped the rain off his face and wished he was back inside with his flask.
"Granted."
The Vasilov custom officials climbed up the hefty ramp. Willis saluted to the group and held out his data slate. "Signature, please. Also, there is an issue of tariffs on the genetic baselines."
The Lokeen's fur shimmered in the mist. The high humidity made the fur poof out and they seemed more menacing than they really were. Three of the Lokeen turned and walked back into the hold.
"Indeed. I am Sevel, where are the consignees? I must deliver the rolling stock to a Colonel Clarke, the genetic baselines to the Cour De Beer livestock company and the scrap metal to the Amatin estate."
"You're early, Master Sevel," Willis said.
"Early. Any other culture would applaud me for my arrival, and you, you people, are upset because I navigated so well." He shook his head and the collected mist fell. "I cannot wait because your procedures are faulty. This is a Vasilov matter, not mine."
"But—"
The Lokeen held up his massive paw and shook his head. "I'm not listening. It's all getting unloaded and I'm leaving. Unless you're going to stop me?"
Willis leaned in closer and cleared his throat. "I see there are consumer goods onboard?"
The Lokeen crossed his arms and cracked a strange looking smile. "A negotiator you are? Well, shall we go and 'inspect' some of the goods? I'd hate for a little thing like consumer goods to get in the way."
The group walked off the freighter and spoke of tariffs, consumer goods, and the difficulties of interstellar negotiation. Cargo haulers towed down a line of armored vehicles. They carried great cases of consumer goods. They lugged out great heaps of scrap and then they were done. No one bothered to inspect anything except for the consumer goods.
Buried deep inside one of the containers was a mix of crushed nickel alloys, lead plates, and a curious canister. It was a type not seen anywhere within a dozen light-years.
It sensed the change in gravity. A single molecule expanded out and latched onto another. Then another, and another. It started out as a biological and grew using the rich materials around it. As it passed a certain mass, it changed and the mechanical took shape. It now weighed less than a gram, but the internal AI, a simple thing, came to life. And it grew even more.
Outside the customs Officers were satisfied. A simple bribe was paid. The Lokeen freighter sat idle and no one knew that an Emflife assassination bot was growing.
It ruminated on a sheet of titanium and was patient. Another couple of weeks and it would be ready.
#
Chapter Twenty
Lishun Delta - Mackinof Front
"Show me your feet," Karl said. He rocked back and forth and swung his arms tight across his body. He shivered, but that wasn't new, he hadn't stopped shivering in days. The shivers got to be so bad at night that his teeth ache
d.
"Sergeant, now?" Private Sedan said. She looked to the ground and shook her head. The white gray rings of frostbite had grown on her cheeks.
"Yah, now." Karl waited and hoped her feet were better than the others. Not that there was much he could do. The medical ward, or what was left of it, was filled with the horribly wounded.
Sedan peeled the boot off her foot and slammed it against the side of the trench. Chunks of ice and frozen mud dropped off in chunks. She glanced up at Karl and took a deep breath. He nodded and she peeled the sock off. White toes, shrunk like water soaked raisins poked out. Her toenails were black, while one was missing. She yanked the sock back on and fought with the frozen bindings of the boot.
"Want the other one, too?"
"No," Karl said. "Finish your watch, then head downstairs."
Sedan said nothing and huddled close to the wall with her rifle clutched tight.
"You hear me?" Karl said.
"Yes, Sergeant," Sedan said.
Karl looked down the trench. Only the sentries kept an eye above the edge of the line with those on duty huddled like broken wrecks on the floor of the trench. The off watch was down below in the frigid darkness gathering what sleep they could. He envied them until he was down in the icy cold chambers. To him they felt like a tomb.
He'd lost command briefly when a Lieutenant came in from off planet. A survivor of one of the supply ops. Vasilov Prime lost as many as made it through. The Kadan assaulted the moment the stargate latched on.
The Lieutenant hadn't lasted long, he stood up when he should have crouched and took a round to the throat. A Captain came by that Karl didn't know and took the body back with him.
Karl's radio crackled and he held his ear. A garbled tone sounded followed by fragments of words. Still scrambled. He swore, he hated not having comms, everything was done by runner or voice. An artillery response could take ten minutes.
"Sergeant!" a voice called out at the edge of the trench.
Karl winced and hobbled down the trench. The bayonet wound hadn't healed much. Nothing seemed to heal in the frigid dry air. He swung his arms to stay warm. "What?"
"Colonel wants a report," a hollow-faced Private said. Both of his hands were balled underneath bandages.
"Now?"
The Private nodded.
Karl cursed under his breath. "Ivanov! You got the line."
Corporal Ivanov raised an arm at the end of the trench.
Karl set off through the trenches. He climbed over collapsed sections and waited silently through a probing barrage. He counted each of the booms and waited until each of the rounds laid down.
He worked through the trenches until he came to a rough rise marked by a red sign. Someone had scribbled "CAUTION" on the front. The indiscriminate bombings had gone away, now it was probing strikes to find the gaps between the umbrellas.
Karl stopped and listened. This was one of those gaps and he had no desire to get caught in the middle. The wind whipped and tossed the snow and grit across the scrabbled land. Here we go, he thought, and scrambled with his head low.
He halted for a moment behind a concrete slab with a smiley face scratched onto it. He scanned toward the Kadan lines and saw nothing but snow and craters. Just as he was about to leave, the wind howled.
The wind gusted and blasted the snow. It was a total whiteout.
He snapped up his facemask and tucked his body tight against the concrete slab. The shivering halted as the adrenaline raged. He knew enough that to run now was suicide, he had to wait it out. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped.
There, all around, the sky was miraculously clear.
Karl gasped and stared up. He'd heard stories of how the sky could clear, a perfect weather pattern would purge the sky. And there, for a moment, the heavens were laid bare.
On one side, the barren ground slid out to the horizon with a slight smudge where the Kadan positions lay. On either side of the Vasilov line rose massive stone walls. Brilliant blue fields of ice hung on the jagged stone. The walls rose up nearly sixteen kilometers. At the base lay a heap of ice and crushed stone. Directly behind was the Mackinof pass and the steppes that would lead, eventually, to Lishun Delta Command. The Mackinof line was the one, and only, defensible spot until LISCOM.
He hated this place, hated it deep, hated the enemy, the snow, the weather, but for the briefest of seconds he saw a distinct beauty to it. Not in the shell holes, but in mountains, the glacial blue ice fields, the way the sky looked so clean.
A roar of artillery echoed on the horizon.
Karl hobbled out from his cover and dove into the nearest trench. The artillery landed in another area. He panted and rubbed his wound and felt foolish for admiring the scenery.
He made his way through the lines of unfamiliar soldiers. They all, for the most part, looked the same. Only the planetary variances in uniform showed any difference. The line used to be grouped by planet, now it was a mix of every Vasilov planet. He missed the old way, it made the place feel a bit more interesting.
Karl entered the command bunker and walked across the angled floor. He wedged through the crowds coming and going.
The air was a hair warmer, an old style power cell chugged in the corner with cables snaking out and into data consoles. An Officer sat at a comm station and cursed at the machine. Near him stood a Colonel in a cloak of burgundy that marked him as a noble.
"Shit," Karl mumbled.
A major grasped onto Karl's elbow. "What's your section, Sergeant?"
"Trench Delta, wing seven."
The major checked off something on his dataslate. "Continue to hold position. Regardless of what the Baron says."
Karl raised an eyebrow and glanced at the overweight Baron. He never had good experience with any nobles, but he contributed it to the fact that he wasn't a noble. A fact he'd been working hard to remedy while still keeping his hide intact. He preferred to remain a breathing commoner rather than a dead noble. "Yes sir."
"Once we get a proper resupply, your line will be relieved. Also get me a full inventory. Now, what do you need?"
"Warm food, sleeping bags, hot pads. We're running into some serious frostbite, sir. Grenades, more grenades, deployable gun mounts too." Karl thought for a second and glanced down at the slate. The only thing written on it was grenades. "That'll do, sir."
The Major tucked the slate away. "Warm up a few, I'll send for you when the Baron is ready."
Karl caught the sound of disgust in the Major's voice. He waited by the comms station—ironically, it was the quietest spot. He studied those that came and went and enjoyed the slight bit of warmth. Tired, god I'm tired, he thought. He stretched his arms and leaned his back against the comm station.
"Jammed," the Comms Officer mumbled. "Like nothing I've ever seen. They're taking our comms, encrypting it, then letting us have it back."
Karl said nothing in reply. He missed the reassuring command chatter from his commset.
"Sergeant Sigorski?"
Karl marched and stood at attention, as best he could, in front of the Baron. He saluted. "Sergeant Sigorski reporting."
The Baron smiled back and nodded. His eyes glittered in the cold air and a touch of perspiration rode on his brow. His heavy fur hat sat at an odd angle on his head. He had the look of an old feudal lord. "Relax Sergeant, how's your line? Have you reclaimed the summer trenches?"
Karl coughed for a second and felt the weight of the Barons warm smile on him. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. "No sir. The summer lines are quite distant."
The Baron nodded and the smile disappeared. "If we don't make advances we have no hope of securing our positions. If you have an opportunity," the Baron said, and stabbed a finger out, "strike!"
"Yes, sir."
"Major Knezevic has your orders," the Baron said.
Vasilov artillery rumbled to life and the bunker shook. Voices called from outside. "Inbound Trench Beta!"
Karl saluted the distracted Baron and found Major Kne
zevic. The Major gave him a beat up data slate, a supply requisition for grenades and a single box of chemical hot pads.
"Just hold your line." Major Knezevic sighed and rubbed his face with his gloves. "Don't attack, don't worry about the summer lines. We don't have the troops to hold them. If you see a gate from Vasilov, don't secure it with your troops to hold them. Send a runner and cover it, got it?"
"Yes sir," Karl replied. He didn't like this, not one single bit. "What happened to Colonel Bell?"
"He died two days ago. Baron-Colonel Radic is now in command." Major Knezevic spat on the floor.
A Captain rushed in and pushed past Karl. Karl stepped away, gave a dull salute to the Major, and stepped back outside. The cold air smashed into him and he tucked his chin tight to his chest. What little warmth he had blasted away.
He'd hoped things would look up. That whoever was in command was doing the right thing. At least with Colonel Bell things seemed under control.
A Captain emerged from the bunker, the same one who'd rushed inside. "Bloody mess, eh Sergeant?"
"If you say so, sir," Karl replied diplomatically.
The Captain pulled up his facemask but Karl could see the grin underneath. "A damned bloody mess."
#
Chapter Twenty-One
Vasilov Prime - County of Essen, Artillery Range D1
They crouched in the bottom of the shell hole like a pack of feral pigs. Gunfire rattled above the hole with the echo of explosives rippling the water. Clouds whipped above the artillery range and the air smelled of cut grass.
"First team crests, second and third fires. We drop, roll, and push into the next hole. Keep low!" Lieutenant Torori said. He clamped his wrist slate shut and checked the action on his rifle.
Tomi clenched the rifle tight and double checked that the safety was on. Live ammunition. Three days in and live ammunition. Almost live, the usual armor piercing explosive round was replaced with a foam gel bullet.
At first he thought it'd be easy. You'll be a driver, they said. You'll like it, they said. Now the armor was caught up in customs and he was back out in the mud.
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