They had found no civilians in this city. Only a few last Luminous Army soldiers, hunkering in tunnels and abandoned buildings. But even a handful of the enemy here was wreaking devastation upon the Human Defense Force. The Bahayans had inferior firepower and smaller numbers. But they knew their city. They knew every brick and cobblestone. Every shadow to hide in. Every manhole cover and tunnel. They knew this labyrinth of blackened magma like they knew the jungle. And they fought hard for every stone.
Part of Jon wanted to keep going. To reach the mountain tonight. To win this city. Maybe even kill the Red Cardinal and win this war.
But he was also exhausted.
Everyone was. Jon looked at his platoon, which filled a brick alleyway. They looked like beaten cats. They looked like roadkill. They looked like soldiers throughout the ages. George was hunched over, wheezing. Etty sat in a corner, knees pulled to her chest, rocking gently. A few soldiers were praying, and others were weeping. One soldier kept whispering that he wanted to go home, that he wanted his mother, and his tears flowed. Only Clay Hagen seemed content. The brute sat on the cobblestones, smirking. He was busy stringing a fresh severed ear onto his grisly chain of trophies.
"Come, soldiers!" Carter said. "It's every platoon for itself tonight. Let's find a hideaway to sleep. Jon, scout us a place."
Jon nodded. "Yes, sir."
He walked up the block, encountered a wire, and paused. He pointed it out. Unfortunately, the battalion had lost its bomb disposal robots on the road north. The platoon sapper rushed forward instead. She wore thick padding over her battlesuit, but she kept her visor raised, so she could keep puffing on her cigarette. She said it calmed her down. Her hands steady, the sapper dismantled the explosive.
"No boom for you, bitch." She cut the hairline cable and stomped out her cigarette.
If detonated, it would have killed us all, Jon knew.
He walked to the end of the block, turned a corner, and found a tall dark building. A doorway loomed. The place looked imposing, like a mausoleum. But when Jon peered through a window, he saw rows of tables and chairs. Blackboards. Propaganda posters on the walls.
"A school." Jon turned around, beckoning the others. "This is a safe place."
They set three soldiers to guard the first shift. The rest settled down in a classroom to spend the night. There were no children here. Jon had seen countless children in Mindao, but none here in Basilica. They must have evacuated before the HDF could arrive, for which Jon was grateful. Basilica had become a city for killers and the dead. For demons and ghosts.
Jon sat in a corner. He leaned against the wall, legs sprawled out, and took slow deep breaths. He would have given the world for a hot shower, a hot meal, an actual bathroom, a clean uniform, a night in a real bed. They were little things. But even in a war zone, a place where death lurked around every corner, Jon missed his creature comforts. Even with thousands dying around him, the smallest things—a nourishing meal, a hot shower, clean socks—became as important as a soldier's gun. Acquiring them sometimes felt as difficult as conquering a world.
It's not only my body that's hurting, he thought. This war is cutting my soul again and again. Carving off one piece at a time until nothing is left.
George and Etty flopped down beside him.
"I'm so exhausted I could hibernate all winter." George yawned.
Etty poked his belly. "Well you already look like a big hairy ginger bear."
He growled. "Watch out or this bear will savage you, tarsier."
"Nah, you're just a big teddy." She leaned against him.
Delicately, more like a mother bear than a deadly grizzly, George wrapped his arms around the petite girl. Both closed their eyes. Both whispered soft nothings. And within moments, they were asleep.
Across the dark classroom, other soldiers were lying down. A few prayed. Others wept. One soldier was mumbling incessantly about demons in the dark. One soldier had lost his hand. He cradled the bandaged stump, crying for his mother. Finally they all slept.
All but Jon.
Weary as he was, Jon could not sleep. He lay there, leaning against the wall, eyes open in the darkness.
And suddenly he missed battle. Because in night, the fear filled him, sour like poison. It flowed through him. Curdled his belly. Stung his eyes. Fear of death. But also guilt. He could see them in the shadows. The faces of the people he had killed. They had been soldiers, yes. But were they truly different from him?
Yes, they were different, he decided. They were defending their home. And I killed them. And I'm dead inside.
He noticed a figure sitting apart from the others. A man by the window, staring outside.
Giving up on sleep, Jon approached. It was Carter. The lieutenant was sitting very still, gazing at the dark street. A corpse still lay outside, trapped in a beam of moonlight like a mummified fly in a web.
Carter did not turn his head, did not look at Jon. But he spoke softly.
"It's a strange thing, isn't it?" Carter kept staring at the corpse on the street. "Back home, you kill a man, you end up in prison. Here you kill a man and you get promoted."
Jon stared at the dead man outside. "Sir, I think he was one of ours."
"They all look the same in death," Carter said. "Earthlings and Bahayans. Who can tell? Peel back the skin, and we're the same inside. The same bones. The same hearts. The same red, red blood. Here on the battlefield, that's all we are. Bones and blood." He finally turned toward Jon. "Have you ever seen a dead man? Before the war."
"Yes. My grandfather's service was open casket. I… I never saw Paul's body. His casket was closed."
"Soldiers' caskets usually are. Now you know why."
Jon cringed. He didn't want to imagine Paul like one of the mutilated corpses throughout this city.
"Sir, maybe we should sleep," Jon said.
"Have you ever killed a man, Jon? Back home on Earth, I mean. Did you ever kill a man in anger?"
Jon frowned. "Not on Earth, sir."
But I've killed so many here, he added silently.
"I grew up not far from you." Carter gazed outside again, but now he seemed to be seeing a distant world. "On the rough streets of New York City. Just across the river from your town. But it might as well have been across the galaxy. It wasn't quite as rough as Basilica or Mindao. But it was rough enough. My mother tried to raise me. Mostly it was gangs who raised me."
Jon wasn't sure what to say. So he only said, "I'm sorry, sir. That must have been hard. I grew up spoiled, I guess. Two parents who loved me. An older brother who was my best friend. A house at the end of a cul-de-sac, surrounded by trees. A comfortable home in a middle class town." He sighed. "I had to come to Bahay to see poverty. What I saw in Mindao shocked me."
"We're not so different, Jon," Carter said. "I lost a sibling too. A younger half-sister."
"Sir, I'm sorry. I had no idea."
Jon didn't know why the man was opening up like this. Carter was a lieutenant, a commissioned officer. Jon was one of his soldiers. There should be distance between them, even in a war. But perhaps it was lonely, being the platoon's sole commander. Perhaps Carter was missing Lizzy who was recovering back on Earth. Perhaps he just needed a listening ear in a dark, quiet place.
And perhaps he's gone mad, Jon thought. Perhaps we've all gone mad. Bahay is an insane asylum the size of a planet, and we're the inmates.
"She was a sweet girl," Carter said. "I loved her with all my heart. One day she was walking home from school. A man grabbed her. Pulled her into an alley. Raped and murdered her."
"God," Jon whispered.
"You know why he did that, Jon? Mistaken identity. That was all. That bastard, rapist, murdering son of a bitch—he thought she was another girl. The daughter of an enemy from another gang. I found out who did it. His name was Richard Saxon. A scumbag from a white supremacist gang that ruled a nearby neighborhood. The scum saw a little black girl and to him, they all looked the same."
"That's horrible." Jo
n didn't know what else to say.
"For months, I tried to find him. It consumed me. I hung a photo of him in my bathroom mirror. Every time I stepped inside. To piss. To shave. To shower. I saw him there. Staring back at me. Richard Saxon. And I vowed to find him. Finally I tracked him down, Jon. And I put a bullet in his head."
"Jesus," Jon whispered.
"He survived." Carter sighed. "He currently lives in an infirmary, a vegetable. I suppose that's a fate worse than death. I was only sixteen at the time. The judge took pity on me. I only spent a few months in prison. And when I got out, Jon, I could find no rest in my neighborhood. My life was shattered. My sister was gone. So I studied hard. I studied with the same insane passion that drove me to find Saxon. And I got admitted to Julius Military Academy. The first person from my family to become an officer. Aside from my estranged father—and he's no family to me."
"That's an inspiring story," Jon said. "But sir, I can't help but notice the parallels. You were obsessed with hunting down Saxon. Now you're hunting again. Now you're hunting Ernesto, a man who hurt Lizzy, a woman you love. And sir, if I may be so bold—you seem obsessed again. Maybe, for your own peace of mind, you need to let go."
Carter leaned against the wall. He gazed up at the dark ceiling. His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"I can't let go, Jon. Not after what Ernesto did. I must hunt him. I must hunt him until he's dead. I hunted him through the jungle, and I hunted through the neon canyons of Mindao, and I hunt him now in Basilica, and I'll hunt him through the depths of hell before I give him up. This is why I'm here, Jon. This is why you're here. Why I brought you here, brought all of you. To hunt Ernesto across this cursed planet, and we'll hunt him until his body lies at our feet."
"You sound like a certain captain obsessed with a whale," Jon said. "That did not end well."
"It ended with the whale's death."
"And the captain's!"
Carter turned to look at him. A haunting look of endless shadow. "I would gladly give my life to take his."
"Would Lizzy want you to?" Jon said. "Sir, he killed my brother. He threatened my wife. I have every reason to hate Ernesto. But what I see in your eyes, sir, how you're talking, I—"
A gunshot sounded outside.
A man screamed, then fell silent.
Not a second later, men burst into the classroom, screaming and firing guns.
Bahayans!
Everything happened so fast.
A bullet slammed into a sleeping soldier. Then another.
A few soldiers woke up, dazed, only for bullets to pound into them.
Jon scrambled for his rifle. It was hanging at his side. Not even loaded. He had removed the magazine before bed. He managed to lift the rifle, to aim it, but had to paw for a magazine, and a Bahayan came running at him, pistol drawn, and Jon knew he wouldn't make it.
Carter leaped.
He slammed into Jon, shoving him back.
The Bahayan's pistol rang out.
Carter screamed, and blood sprayed from his side.
The lieutenant crashed to the ground, and Jon finally pulled his trigger. He fired on automatic, mowing down the incoming enemy. Within seconds, George and Etty were at his side, firing too.
The Bahayans fell.
Four men. All dead and leaking over the classroom floor.
Jon looked down at his lieutenant. Carter moaned, clutching his side. The platoon's medic ran toward him.
"I'm fine, Doc!" Carter said, waving him away. "Tend to the others. Save them."
But it was too late for some. Three soldiers were killed in the attack.
And I almost died with them, Jon thought.
He knelt by Carter, rummaged through his pack, and pulled out a medical kit. He pulled up Carter's shirt, revealing the wound.
"A bullet grazed your side," Jon said. "Right between two ribs. Only took out some muscle and skin. I'm no medic, sir, but I think you were lucky."
He held a thick bandage to the wound. Blood soaked it.
Carter coughed weakly. "Good. A flesh wound. A drink of medicine, and I'll be all right." His voice was raspy, his eyes sunken. "They couldn't even hit any organs. The bastards couldn't take me down."
"Sir, you saved my life," Jon said. "You took a bullet for me."
With a bloody hand, Carter gripped Jon's arm. "I failed to protect my sister, Jon. I failed to protect Lizzy. But I will always protect my soldiers. You are my soldier, Jon, and so you are my brother. Always."
Jon nodded, eyes stinging. "Always."
No one slept any more that night. They all kept their guns loaded and clutched in their hands. Finally dawn broke, red and ashy. They emerged from the school like dazed prisoners, seeking sunlight after an eternity in hell. But there was no sunlight here. Only whatever the pall of smoke let through. The city had become a crimson wasteland.
A heavyset man with thick white hair stomped toward the platoon. He had three stars on each shoulder. A colonel. It was rare to see such high ranking officers up close. Everyone stood at attention and saluted. Even Carter, bullet wound and all.
Jon recognized the white-haired man. He had spoken to him back at the Old Mig, their southern base. Here came Colonel Joe "Crazy Horse" Pascal. Lizzy's father.
"You part of Horus Battalion?" the beefy colonel barked.
"Yes, Colonel Pascal, sir!" Carter said. "Lions Platoon, Cronus Company, Horus Battalion. That's us."
The colonel turned toward him, and his face split in a smile. "Lieutenant Michael Carter! I didn't recognize you with all the blood and shit covering you."
Carter managed a smile. "It's me, Joe. I'm not that easy to kill."
The colonel embraced the lieutenant. They seemed overly familiar to Jon. But he suspected there was a long history there.
Carter is dating his daughter, Jon reminded himself. And maybe Carter, rejected by his own father, sees the colonel as a father figure.
The colonel looked around him, then back at Carter. "You're in the wrong goddamn neighborhood, son. You should be on the eastern slope."
"I know it, sir," Carter said. "I'll reconnect with the battalion and—" He flinched and clutched his wounded side.
Colonel Pascal frowned at the lieutenant's bloodstained bandage. "What the hell happened to you, son?"
"Bit of a war going on, sir," Carter said.
Jon stepped forward. "Colonel Pascal, sir! He took a bullet for me, sir. Saved my life."
"It's all right," Carter began. "The bullet just grazed me. Didn't even need a medic."
"Sir, he deserves credit!" Jon said. "An enemy was aiming his pistol at me. I was distracted. Too slow. Lieutenant Carter jumped in front of me. He's a hero, sir."
"Is that so?" The colonel raised his bushy eyebrows.
"Yes, sir!" Etty ran up. "I saw it! Lieutenant Carter saved Jon's life, sir. Ask anyone here."
Colonel Pascal clasped Carter's shoulder. "Good work, son, and congratulations. You're promoted to captain."
Carter tightened his lips. He saluted. "Sir! Thank you, sir."
"You deserve it. And not just because you're dating my daughter." The colonel winked. "We need more captains. Too many are dying. Including the captain of your own company. In fact, I'm not just promoting you, son. I'm assigning you command of Cronus Company. Are you well enough to carry out your duties? Or do you want to withdraw behind the front line?"
"I'll continue to fight, sir." Carter raised his chin. "It's an honor."
The beefy colonel nodded. "Good. Good! Excellent." He looked at the privates who were gathering around. "And you lot. You're all corporals now. You've seen enough blood and guts to earn a little promotion yourselves. Now get back to your battalion! We still have the rest of this city to win."
"Yes, sir!" they all said.
They headed along the street. Bloodied. Haunted. Exhausted and shell shocked. They traveled through the labyrinthine streets toward the cathedral on the mountaintop. Toward death or victory. The hunt continued.
Chapter Nineteen
Goodbye Kisses
"So what do we do now?" Charlie said, puffing on her cigarette. "You never told us, Maria, how we're to get these videos to Earth."
They sat in the Jolly Joy Chicken, Mindao's most popular fast food chain. It was a strange place. The walls were bright red, the stools were yellow, and the plastic trays were blue. Even the menu, which hung on the wall, was all garish bright colors.
It looks like a jeepney threw up in here, Maria thought.
During her homeless days, Maria had eaten from trash bins outside Jolly Joy Chickens. She was still broke. But today the other bargirls pitched in, and they bought her a meal. Two pieces of fried chicken, the batter crunchy. A scoop of mashed potatoes. A scoop of peas. The menu bragged that it was Earth fare, and indeed, most of the clientele were Earthling soldiers.
Beefy soldiers walked back and forth, carrying trays laden with chicken. They were huge men who ate huge meals. It seemed that an Earthling could eat an entire bucket of fried chicken, all in one sitting, while Maria was struggling with just her two pieces. The soldiers devoured their food, licked their fingers, and guzzled down sickly sweet black liquid. They belched, blasted Earth music on their radios, and bragged of their victories in battle.
"Why did you want to come into this place?" Pippi nibbled on her chicken, winced and put it down. "This is pute food. Where are the noodles? Where is the rice? Where is my lechon or adobo?" She sniffed her mashed potatoes, then pushed her tray away. "It's bad enough I have to fuck the putes for money, I don't have to spend that money on their food."
"I wanted to come here," Maria said. "This is an Earth restaurant. I wanted to try it."
Pippi snorted. "Well, after Mister Jon takes you to Earth, this is all you'll eat." She took another bite of chicken, her freckled face scrunched up, and she forced the bite down. "Oh, Maria, we need to move with you to Earth, so we can open a real restaurant and show the putes how to cook."
Charlie slammed down her cup of fizzy pop. "Will somebody answer me? I am, you know, the oldest of the bargirls, and the prettiest, and the smartest, making me your leader. And you all ignore me. All the time."
Earthlings (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 2) Page 14