by Taki Drake
The pilot’s voice came on again, gasping around pain, half sobbing in anguish. “We were shot out of the sky. Four-legged uniformed soldiers. Maybe 20. Jory dead, Tom too.”
His halting voice was interrupted by a harsh, demanding speech in a language totally unknown to any of the listeners. They heard the pilot attempt to talk to the speaker, “Please, why have you…” His disbelieving scream and the echo of a massive explosion were the last things they had heard before the transmission ended.
Chapter 2 – Marines Have Landed
The platoon initially landed in Einsville where Lt. Marcos had met with the mayor and council. It was apparent quite early in the meeting that the lieutenant had little respect for the civilian authorities. The young officer acted as if he was doing the colonists a favor by stopping and talking to them. Rather than listening, he spent most of his time telling them that there was no problem now that he was there to take care of the issues.
Considering that many of the colonists had a military background, the lieutenant’s patronizing attitude did not sit well with the Council. Being told that their problems would be solved by the platoon and not to worry by the young officer seemed pure platitude to the many people that had been living with the challenge of planetary settlement. This was compounded by the lieutenant’s refusal to even look at or acknowledge the information that had been gathered in the four days between Einsville’s call for help and the platoon’s landing.
The colonists had been busy during that time. Available arms had been distributed, the most remote of the farms had been closed down, and abandoned. Additional deployment of weather satellites had been used to increase the surveillance. Working round-the-clock with civilian equipment, pictures of a small group of soldiers had been winnowed from the monitoring records, collected and were ready to show the relieving force.
The attackers seem to be only a small group, numbering no more than 30 beings. Measuring against known flora, it was estimated that the four-legged creatures were about the size of a Morgan horse. It was clear that in addition to four legs that the aliens, nicknamed “Centrax,” also possessed two arms.
The imagery was too indistinct to determine the exact nature and form of their weapons. However, a demonstrated range of over 200 yards had been captured on the surveillance imagery. Since that definition was based on the massacre of multiple scientists at the site, none of the reviewers were unemotional on the subject. It had only been with a great deal of difficulty that the civilian authorities have been able to prevent parties of vengeful colonists from attacking in a disorganized fashion.
The tired and angry people reviewing the recordings were unable to agree on the exact number of soldiers. Instead, they were divided into three camps. The first insisted that there were only approximately 30 soldiers. They would disappear into densely wooded areas and then appear out of the woods in a different location periodically. While the distances were considerable, traveling that far on four legs was not impossible. The opinion of this camp was that a small mercenary group had somehow landed on the planet and was engaging in destruction and looting for an unknown reason.
The second group disagreed in that they believed there were more than 30 beings in the invasion force. They argued that the consistent distances would have overly tired the enemy forces and that there was no apparent reason for zigzagging back and forth between the remote locations. However, they agreed with the first camp’s opinion in that the soldiers were members of an unknown mercenary or pirate force.
Only two people made up the third viewpoint group. One was a retired Naval Intelligence Officer while the second was a former ImpMEC Master Sergeant. Neither Lt. Commander (ret.) Ryan Mueller, nor “Sarge” Hauser was satisfied with the estimates of force size or with the small mercenary group explanation. With little to go on but instincts, very few of the colonists paid the duo’s disquiet much attention.
Lt. Marcos’ attitude ensured that this unsupported opinion was not included in any discussion. The Council heard his platitudes and announcements and watched him leave without their information, the benefit of their local knowledge, or the wisdom of their experience.
The door had scarcely closed behind the abrasive younger man when the entire council turned to stare in disbelief at Sarge. Shrugging his shoulders, the grizzled veteran growled, “Young and stupid. Hopefully, his noncoms can rein him in.”
Ryan smiled briefly and asked, “You will talk to them?”
“Yah, I will brief the senior platoon sergeant on everything that we found. That way they have it, just in case.”
<<<>>>
Senior Platoon Sgt. Ted Dreyer was ready to tear his hair out. Getting Lt. Marcos out of Einsville without bloodshed had been a significant challenge. Every time he thought he got the lieutenant to focus, some other issue or item would catch the man’s attention, and he would abandon their top priority and go off chasing invisible squirrels. There were only so many ways to remind your officer that the number one priority should be the rescue and recovery of the group of scientists before the insubordination line would be crossed.
Ted had cringed inside when he heard the lieutenant talking to the Council. He could not meet the eyes of any of the men and women in that room, knowing that what the platoon officer was doing was not only disrespectful but a betrayal of how ImpMEC acted. Putting a stoical expression on his face, Ted had acknowledged the nonverbal demand for a meeting that the retired master sergeant had sent his way.
When the lieutenant had insisted on stopping by the spaceport office of the civilian logistics group that would be supplying personnel while they were on Corvus II, Ted had excused himself, citing a need to check with the other noncoms. He escaped the room and turned a corner to the left, only to be dragged into a small meeting room by the redoubtable Hauser.
Five minutes later, Ted was on his way again. His head was spinning from the rapid briefing and the challenge of how to actually use the data on the storage device in his pocket. He had no idea what to do, but he had a bad feeling they were going to need that information sooner rather than later.
<<<>>>
Lt. Marcos was fuming. It was ImpMEC’s policy to use civilian support and logistics contractors unless they were on a particular mission. When he had stopped in to get the details on his support crew, they had assembled a team of 12. According to the lieutenant, grousing to Sgt. Dreyer, the team consisted of the dregs of available staff.
“This is a critical mission, how dare they give me incompetent people!” complained the irate officer. “I am going to register a complaint with our commander and make sure that LogiconX never does business with ImpMEC again!”
Ted made responsive sounds, more to keep the lieutenant talking and focused than because he agreed or even understood the issues. Support logistics staff were ongoing challenges for the regular ImpMEC personnel. Only when there were concentrated operations, like establishing beachheads on new planets, were some of the specialized logistics teams assigned. And they were never assigned to support a mere platoon.
Finally, the platoon was headed toward the last known location of the scientific team. The shuttles came in high, watching carefully for the so-called mercenaries. There was no sign of foreign soldiers on the ground, but the destroyed research base was easily visible.
There had been six permanent buildings erected for the researchers. One of the two barracks-like buildings looked substantially intact, although the other appeared to have been set on fire. Only the charred skeleton of that building still existed, most of it lying in ruins. The other buildings had been dedicated to joint activities. There were signs of weapons fire on the exteriors of all of them, but none of them had been burned.
One shuttle maintained altitude, extending its sensors in an overwatch while the other landed. The Marines followed standard patterns in extending an arc of personnel, weapons ready, around the landing point. Two teams of three rapidly scouted the research base. That effort took very little time. Reporting back
in, they informed the lieutenant that there was no sign of life, although the bodies of three scientists had been found. There was no indication of the other force.
Whatever his failings at interaction with civilians, the lieutenant was a competent officer when it came to establishing position and applying his troops. In a surprisingly short amount of time, the Marines had taken control of the base, performed a general inventory, and deployed surveillance and defensive positions.
The lieutenant was assigning scouting patterns and duties to his Red Squad when the sound of another air shuttle broke the quiet. Charging out of the tent, Lt. Marcos started cursing, “Those stupid, incompetent, useless contractors didn’t even bother to follow protocol! If you weren’t a waste of ammunition, I would shoot them out of the sky!”
A worn and elderly air shuttle was landing just outside the encampment. It was clearly marked with the logo and name of the civilian contractor that supplied logistics staff to ImpMEC. The door opened, and large bags and boxes started to erupt, sailing through the air and crashing to the ground. The Marines stared in astonishment at the chaos.
After the pile of crates had grown taller than a man could reach, the flurry of unloading stopped. A group of 12 people filed out of the shuttle, led by a rotund and red-faced man. He zeroed in on Lt. Marcos and made his way directly to the speechless officer.
Glancing around dismissively, he demanded, “Where are our quarters? We need to get settled there, and that should give your muscle enough time to move the crates into our working area.” The man turned away and started to rejoin his group, when he paused briefly to say over his shoulder, “Oh, I’m Lavalley, the head of this group.”
Lt. Marcos was beyond speech. His mouth opened and closed multiple times, but no sound came out. Finally, he turned and marched back into the building that they had taken over as their platoon headquarters. Trailed by Sgt. Dreyer, the stunned man headed directly toward their communication set up.
“Get me the blasted contractor group!” was all that he said to the communications staffer.
“LogiconX is on, Sir.”
“This is Adrian Matthews, LogiconX Central. How may I help you Lt. Marcos?” said a disembodied, male tenor voice.
“You can get me a competent group of logistics support! The idiots that you sent dumped stuff on the ground and demanded that MARINES act as their mules! They didn’t even radio in and could’ve been shot out of the sky. ImpMEC expects better, and I damn well want it, now!” half-shouted the infuriated officer.
“I am truly sorry, Lt. Marcos, but that was the only team that we had available.”
“You find me a better team, or I will be bouncing this up to my command!”
The voice responded soothingly, “We will see what we can do.” The abrupt sound of a closed communication channel echoed within the room.
The lieutenant stared in shock at his communications staffer. “Did he just hang up on me?” A silent nod was his only response.
Muttering angrily to himself, Marcos left the room to get his soldiers ready for patrol. He would not forget what just happened.
Chapter 3 – Search and No Rescue
Blue Squad had been left to secure the base while Red Squad scouted for signs of the missing scientists and any indication of the mercenaries. Lt. Marcos had led the squad himself. He had no desire to be in camp with Lavalley and the so-called support group. Abandoning Sgt. Dreyer to deal with them was a relief. He was confident that the sergeant would be able to cope with the demanding civilian. Personally, he never wanted to see or speak with the support manager again.
It had been six hours of frustrating search. No definitive sign of either group could be found. Some of the scouts had reported trails of hooved creatures, but those trails had disappeared into the rocks of the hilly area. It was as if the mercenaries had teleported away.
As the scouts came back into camp, a change in atmosphere seeped into their weary heads. The pile of boxes and crates had disappeared. Where the obviously abandoned structures had looked lifeless and unwelcoming, a subtle change had morphed the environment into an ordered and vibrant site.
Lt. Marcos stopped in shock, looking around in bewilderment. Sgt. Dreyer approached the officer, stopping to salute briefly. “Welcome back, Sir! Cook has meals ready, and all base facilities are established and functional.”
“What the hell happened, Sergeant?”
“About an hour after you left, Sir, a different shuttle delivered a replacement logistics crew and removed the previous one. This team is much smaller but appears to be extremely capable. However, it may provide its own challenges.”
“I don’t care how small it is or what the other problems are if they know their job and don’t get in the way of ours.”
“Yes, Sir. The logistics lead is waiting to be introduced. You’ll find this group to be very different, Sir.”
The sergeant led the way to the smallest of the buildings. It had previously been used by the researchers for the small medical office, logistics, and supply. When the weary officer had last seen the building, it was a scene of massive disarray. Broken furniture, ripped furnishings, smashed equipment was strewn everywhere. There had been nothing in the area that was usable.
It looked like a different building. Not only had all of the debris been cleaned up, but the entire structure was spotlessly clean. There were desks with orderly in and out baskets, work chairs and guest seating, working monitors, printers and other devices. He could see through several open doors into what looked like a state-of-the-art medical clinic and a pristine supply room. The entire building screamed competent organization.
With a smile on his face, the lieutenant turned toward the person waiting to greet him. Opening his mouth to deliver a compliment, instead, he stuttered in shock, “You are a woman!”
“That was correct the last time I checked,” the grey-haired woman answered with a straight face. Taking pity on the stupefied officer, the woman continued, “We replaced the previous logistics and support group. I hope you will be pleased with our level of services. If I might, I would like to introduce you to the rest of our team. Is that acceptable?”
When the lieutenant nodded speechlessly, the woman continued, “I am Corda Devlin, and I head this logistics team. There are four others in our group. They are, starting on my right, Irene Franks, medic, and cook.” Corda indicated a comfortably rounded woman with long braided hair and a pristine apron wrapped around her waist.
“The third member of our crew is George Havelock. He is our purser and quartermaster.” The slightly built man to the left of the cook nodded his head in greeting, shifting slightly as he leaned on his cane.
“Our maintenance and repair member is Dorothy Coleman.”
“Howdy!” a deep, gravelly voice issued from the throat of the largest woman that the lieutenant had ever seen.
She must be almost 7 feet tall! he thought in shock. Numbed, he stammered out a greeting in return.
Corda continued, “Our last team member is responsible for general building set up, security and logistics.” She put her hand on the arm of the small woman standing next to her, finishing with, “I would like to introduce you to Alana Myers.”
The woman looked like a stiff wind would blow her over. She was tiny, her head not even reaching the lieutenant’s shoulder. Meeting her blue-eyed gaze, the man automatically straightened. Her piercing look seemed to go right through him, calmly evaluating him.
Feeling on the defensive somehow, Lt. Marcos finally found his voice to abruptly say, “How can you expect to support our group with only a small group of women and a crippled man?” Behind him, a look of absolute horror crossed Sgt. Dreyer’s face. He opened his mouth to try to intervene, but a small headshake from Corda stopped what he was about to say.
A steely and implacable tone entered Corda’s voice as she responded, “There is nothing in the contractual agreement with LogiconX that states required genders. Our functional support will cause no basis for co
mplaint. If your soldiers have problems with females in camp, I would expect you and your noncoms to enforce discipline. Agreed?”
The flustered lieutenant, aware that he had made a significant error, further compounded it by responding, “Just don’t expect my soldiers to be lifting and carrying for you!”
“Hah! They haven’t needed to, and we would not trust anyone else with our gear, anyway,” was Dorothy’s contribution to the discussion.
Before any further insults could be offered to the group, Sgt. Dreyer leaned over Lt. Marcos’ shoulder and reminded him that the mess was open. A tactful suggestion that they probably should go to eat allowed him to extract his senior officer before any more problems could be created.
Looking over his shoulder, Ted saw their support group huddled in conversation, a variety of expressions displayed on their faces. He was not sure if he was relieved, comforted, or worried that most of the apparent emotions tended toward amusement.
<<<>>>
The camp ran flawlessly. Meals were flavorful, abundant, and on time. Requests for supplies were fulfilled within minutes or hours. Lt. Marcos had no basis for complaint, but his embarrassment at his initial reaction to the support group continued to cause a strain in his interaction with Corda and her team. Rather than admitting his error, the young officer effectively shunned his infrastructure group. All of his requests, orders, and demands were funneled through one of his noncoms.
Their commanding officer’s treatment of the logistics group set the tone for the rest of the platoon. Except for Sgt. Dreyer and several soldiers, the general interaction of the soldiers and the support group was restricted to functional requests and strained platitudes.
The separation had escalated to the point that the support group no longer shared meals with the platoon. In fact, the soldiers never saw the women or the quartermaster in the mess, other than when the cook was supervising the serving of the meals. The rest of the support group tended to come and get their meals on trays and leave.