Earthling's War (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  Jon smiled sadly. "You're wiser than you let on, Bucky."

  She smiled too—a beautiful smile that broke through the dirt and blood and despair across her face. "You mean, a gawky girl with huge glasses, frizzy hair, and buckteeth doesn't look wise?"

  Jon laughed. "Hey, next to my ugly mug, you're downright adorable."

  A jeep rolled up beside them. Colonel Pascal leaned out the side, his armored plates straining against his belly. Dust and blood caked his hair.

  "Soldiers," the colonel said. "Report to Supply Tent B. Grab body bags. And begin cleaning this battlefield. Everyone's helping. Me too."

  Jon and Bucky lost their smiles. They nodded.

  More troops gathered around them. Everyone wore dented, scratched armor. Dust, blood, and ash covered them. Some soldiers bristled with shrapnel and bullets that jutted from their armor like spikes on the backs of some primordial reptiles.

  They began their work. They moved through the battlefield, collecting corpses into body bags.

  A few people cracked jokes.

  "Hey, this battle was a blast!"

  "Looks like this soldier had good luck. He didn't just break a leg, he lost one!"

  "This corporal lost his head. Literally!"

  But Jon saw the pain in their eyes. The tears on their cheeks. Their shaking hands. And soon the jokes ended, and everyone worked in dour silence, broken only by the odd sob or sound of vomiting.

  The grisly work took hours. Sometimes Jon pulled bodies into bags. Sometimes just body parts. Sometimes just goo. Sometimes he found somebody who had to be dead, had to be—they were just burned or mangled too badly. Yet sometimes even these mockeries of humanity were whispering, or begging, or sometimes just blinking and looking around as their lifeblood flowed away.

  George worked at his side, pale, lips tight, tears on his cheeks. Bucky pulled a severed foot into a bag, then turned aside, knelt, and vomited.

  Jon looked at a few soldiers scraping a corpse from the ground.

  Well, there's an appealing fellow, Jon thought. In fact, they're a-peeling him off the ground!

  The thought came to him unbidden, some gruesome joke he had heard long ago. And amazingly, shocking him, Jon guffawed.

  A few soldiers looked at him, faces pale, eyes sunken.

  Jon looked back, and they seemed so miserable, so glum, that he couldn't help it.

  He guffawed again.

  His laughter seized him, snorted through his nostrils, brought tears to his eyes. He couldn't breathe. He fell to his knees in blood, laughing madly.

  "Jon!" George grabbed him. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

  Jon looked up at his friend. "He's appealing. An appealing fellow. A… I can't breathe." He was laughing so hard now, and tears flowed down his cheeks. "I can't breathe."

  He began gasping for air—huge, shuddering sobs—and then he was weeping. His vision narrowed into a black tunnel. Panic and grief claimed him.

  George knelt beside him, pulled him into his giant arms. The two friends embraced, crying together, as the dead and wounded spread around them in a red sea.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Diamond Collar

  "Get up, get up, you lazy useless cows!" Buddy stormed through the room, pounding the walls with his cane and stamping his feet. "Up, up!"

  Maria opened her eyes and groaned. It was five in the morning. She had barely slept.

  Her cheeks flushed when she remembered last night. Entering the General's home. Seeing him undress. Pleasuring him. She couldn't help but shudder. She had seduced him, hoping to spy on him, the commander of Earth's forces. But now, with the dangerous magic of the night retreating from the dawn, shame filled her.

  I cheated on you, Jon.

  "Up, dammit!" Buddy smacked her with his cane. "All of you—up! I don't pay you to sleep late like the pigs that you are."

  Maria groaned and shoved his cane away. "You know, I'm a farm girl. My family owned a pig. Pigs wake up early and never complain."

  He smacked her again. "Then you're even worse than a pig!" He turned toward another girl. "You, Sunny! You too, Joyce! Up, up! All of you."

  Maria sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes, and looked around her. When she had stumbled into the room late last night, she had barely noticed the other staff members. They had been deep in slumber. Now, in the dawn's rising light, Maria saw several Bahayan women waking up in the bunk beds.

  They began to dress in their maid uniforms. They ranged from young girls, probably just teenagers like Maria, to elderly women. Buddy treated them all with equal contempt.

  "Good morning, ladies," Maria said. "I didn't have time to introduce myself last night. I'm Mari—" She flinched when Buddy raised his cane. "I mean—I'm Candy. Candy Cane." She made up the last name on the spot. "Nice to meet you!"

  Nobody shook her hand. One woman, a heavyset grandmother, huffed and muttered something under her breath. A young maid whispered something to her friend, and both girls giggled.

  "Stop gossiping and get to work, dammit!" Buddy said. "Joyce—there's grout in all the bathroom tiles that needs scrubbing. Jean—you better iron the tablecloths properly today. You, Candy—go, go! To the dining hall! Set the tables, it's almost breakfast time!" He swung his cane around, smacking a few girls. "Move, dammit! You are so lazy."

  Maria mumbled under her breath, mimicking him in baritone, "You know, I had to work hard to be a maitre 'd."

  One girl, who was pulling on a cocktail dress, looked at Maria and laughed. Her name tag read Girlie. She had a perfectly round face with plump cheeks. Maria liked her smile.

  Buddy was still droning on. "… and if you ever want to accomplish anything in this life, you must be willing to put in a fair day's work. Look at me. Do you think I was born this way? No! I used elbow grease! When I was a bus boy, I woke up at four, and…"

  Maria hurried out the room, and Girlie quickly followed. They rushed downstairs, giggling.

  "Perfect impression, Candy!" Girlie whispered.

  "I worked hard on it, ever since I was a little boy," Maria said in baritone, "I woke up at four to practice every morning."

  Girlie tittered.

  They spent the day working. Setting tables. Serving breakfast to colonels and brigadiers. They served some meals in the dining hall, but they delivered others directly to the bedrooms of officers. Several times, Maria had to avert her eyes from naked Earthlings and the Bahayan girls in their beds.

  "Cream in your coffee, sir?" she asked an elderly, mustached brigadier. She poured the cream as he rustled his newspaper. A naked Bahayan girl—probably even younger than Maria—slept against his chest.

  "Shall I butter your toast, sir?" she asked an obese colonel. She forced herself to smile as he made a rude joke, as he squeezed her bottom. She giggled, blushed, and playfully slapped him when he invited her to join the whore in his bed.

  As she moved from house to house, from dining hall to poolside, serving these powerful men, she understood why they had come to Bahay. It wasn't to liberate this planet from the Red Cardinal. It wasn't even for conquest or glory.

  It was for the spoils of war. For a tropical getaway. For palm trees and sunny weather. For exotic women in their beds, petite and docile and many light-years away from jealous Earthling wives. It was for Maria giggling and buttering their toast as they squeezed her flesh.

  Grunts like Jon, George, and Etty are dying on the battlefields, Maria thought. Villages like mine are being wiped off the map. And these generals dine, drink, and whore in the shade of palm trees. The death of innocents is their payment for an exotic vacation.

  Later in the day, she was sent to serve coffee and tea in a boardroom. Majors, colonels, and brigadiers sat at a long wooden table, reviewing maps. Maria doubted they were talking about anything too classified. After all, she had no security clearance, and she was allowed inside. But as she poured coffee and tea, mixed cream and milk and sugar, she listened. She observed.

  "The damn Red Cardinal's getting saucy, i
sn't he?" said a colonel with a red mustache and barrel chest. "Well, bully for him. If the bastard thinks of crossing the equator, we'll show him what's what."

  Another colonel—a thin, dapper man with a pencil mustache—sipped his tea. He winced and held it out to Maria. "More honey, darling." He looked at his burly companion. "Don't worry, Bernard, the Apollo Brigade's taking good care of that cardinal fellow. Bloody Catholics. Even here on this barbaric planet, they're causing trouble." He sipped the tea again. "Ah, perfect! Thank you, sweetheart. No, not you, Bernard! I mean the girl."

  As Maria fluttered around the conference room in her maid's outfit, she sought out General Ward. But he wasn't here. Nor had he ordered breakfast. She thought again about last night, and her cheeks heated.

  A lieutenant colonel with a fleshy red nose stared at a map on the wall. He looked back at the others. "My word, are you sure Apollo Brigade is up to the task? They're taking a beating up there, the poor sods."

  "Ah!" A brigadier waved his hand dismissively. "They're good lads. They can handle the slit bastards. If they get in too much trouble, we'll send more men their way. We've got a new shipment coming in from Earth tomorrow morning. They're a bit green, but they'll learn fast."

  Maria glanced at the map. Blue pins were stuck in a few locations, perhaps symbolizing Earth forces, surrounded by red pins, perhaps symbolizing the Red Cardinal's units.

  Jon is there, she thought. Fighting with the Apollo Brigade.

  She couldn't help herself. Tray of drinks in hand, she looked at the officers.

  "Sirs, do you know if Cronus Company is okay? It's part of the Apollo Brigade. Do you know if Cronus survived?"

  Cronus Company. Jon's company.

  The officers all stared at her. Silence filled the room.

  "What the devil are you talking about, girl!" boomed Bernard, the portly ginger colonel.

  The thin, dapper colonel with the pencil mustache put down his cup of tea. "My word, the waitresses are getting rather saucy lately, wouldn't you say?"

  Bernard rose to his feet, his gut hanging over the table. He clenched a pudgy fist. "I'll have you flogged for this, girl."

  The dapper colonel sipped his tea, pinky thrust out. "Might not be the best idea, Bernard, old chap. She's the girl what spent last night in the general's bed." He looked at Maria appraisingly. "Pretty little crumpet, she is."

  Bernard gulped. He sat down, fumbled with his teacup, and spilled tea on himself. "The general's girl? I, um…" He cleared his throat and dabbed his soiled lap with a napkin. "Never mind. Never mind that now! I… I say, Percival, um… Quite good tea, yes?" He wiped sweat off his brow.

  Maria smiled thinly. "Shall I fetch you another cup, sir? And perhaps more napkins?"

  "Yes, yes, splendid." The portly colonel nodded.

  Maria spent the rest of the day worrying as she worked. She served lunch, and she thought of Jon in the north. She washed dishes, and she thought of dead bodies strewn across the jungle. She peeled dirty tablecloths off tables, carried them to be washed, and remembered Jon's embraces and kisses.

  I miss you, Jon. I love you. Come back to me. Our child needs a father.

  And suddenly, right there in the laundry room, her tears began flowing.

  I can't stand this life. I can't be a slave and whore any longer. I want to be your wife, Jon. To live with you in a little house among the trees. But not like the girls here. Not like a bargirl. Not this mockery of peace on a planet of war. I want to be a true wife and mother, and to live far from this nightmare. And mostly, Jon, I just want to hold and kiss you again. I miss you.

  "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

  It was Girlie who spoke, the little maid with the plump cheeks. She dried Maria's tears with a handkerchief.

  "I'm all right." Maria sniffed. "It's just…" She looked around at the laundry room. "Everything."

  Girlie nodded. "There's a lot of dirty laundry in this world. Some is covered in blood. Other is covered in shit. Every day, the Earthlings stain the linens. And every day, it's we who must clean it."

  Maria smiled softly. "You're not just talking about laundry, are you?"

  But Girlie did not smile. She placed a hand on Maria's cheek, and she stared steadily into her eyes. "Maria, be careful."

  Maria blinked. "My name is Candy."

  "No." Girlie shook her head. "You are Maria. I know. We all know. We have ways of knowing. Do not forget your true name. Maria de la Cruz. And he is General Ward, and he is a dangerous man."

  "I know—" Maria began.

  "You do not!" Girlie leaned closer, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "There were girls before you, Maria. Waitresses. They vanished. Some say the general moved them into luxury apartments in downtown Mindao. But others whisper that they're buried under his front porch."

  Maria shuddered. "I can look after myself."

  "He's a killer, Maria," Girlie said. "He's killed millions. The blood of Bahay is on his hands. More than anyone else, Ward carries the guilt for our destruction."

  Maria's upper lip twitched. "Then he's just the man I want."

  Girlie's eyes widened. She gasped. "You're not…" She glanced around, then whispered into Maria's ear, "Kalayaan?"

  "No!" Maria shuddered. "Not anymore, at least." She gave a crooked smile. "Girlie, have you ever heard of the Bargirl Bureau?"

  "Every waitress, maid, and whore in Bahay has heard of the Bargirl Bureau." Girlie gasped. "It's you, isn't? The leader. The one they call Holy Maria, saint of the slums. Of course."

  Maria gripped Girlie's arms. She leaned forward, staring down at the shorter girl. "Keep it secret. Do not pass this through your waitress network like you passed around my name. You may join me. But if you ever betray me, I will plunge a knife into your heart."

  Girlie smiled and licked her lips. "You're ruthless. I like it. I'm in."

  Maria sighed inwardly. I can't even wash a damn tablecloth without fomenting rebellion.

  * * * * *

  As evening approached, Maria wondered what to do. General Ward had requested her at his table tonight. Should she show up as a waitress, a menu in her hands? Or had he wanted her as his date?

  The answer came soon enough. Maria was in her room, changing into her cocktail dress. The other waitresses were changing too—pulling on pantyhose, high heels, and tiny skirts, adorning themselves with makeup and little bows in their hair. Soon they—who had spent the past few hours scrubbing laundry and floors—appeared like coy little dolls, ready for a night of flirting.

  Maria had finally squeezed into her dress—it felt even tighter today—when Buddy barged inside.

  "Hey, we told you not to peek inside when we're changing!" Girlie said, pulling her dress higher. "You almost saw my dibdibs this time."

  Buddy swung his cane at her. "I come and go as I please! This is my club, girl."

  Girlie snorted. "You're not the owner. The putes are. You're just the maitre d'."

  Buddy bristled. "First of all, don't call them putes. That's a slur. The Earthlings are a fine race! They gave me a chance when I was just a young, hardworking bus boy. And I worked my way up, you know, I—"

  All the girls groaned.

  Buddy sighed, shook his head in disgust, and tossed a package at Maria. "Here, Candy. These are your clothes for tonight. Pull off that cocktail dress, dammit. It doesn't fit you anyway. Your stomach is so fat like a pig. Put this on instead. General Ward sent it especially for you."

  All the girls oohed and aahed.

  "He must like you!" said one, grinning.

  Another waitress clasped her hands over her heart. She sighed wistfully. "It's so romantic!"

  Girlie wrinkled her nose and nudged her friend. "Don't be disgusting, Joyce! He's like sixty years old."

  Joyce shrugged. "So what? So is my man. He's a major you know. He looks after me."

  Girlie groaned. "He's a sergeant-major, not a major! That's totally different and not even an officer, so stop bragging."

  "It's still a high ra
nk!" Joyce pouted and crossed her arms. "Besides, you don't even have a boyfriend, so you're just jealous. And if you did he'd probably just be some squatter from the slums."

  "You were a squatter from the slums just last year!" Girlie countered.

  Joyce spoke in deep baritone and swung around an imaginary cane. "Yes, but I worked hard, and I worked my way up, and the lovely Earthlings gave me a chance, because they are a wonderful race you know."

  Everyone laughed at the perfect impersonation.

  Everyone but Maria. She was unwrapping the package, and a shudder ran through her.

  I guess I'm his date, not his waitress, she thought.

  Inside the package was a gown. It was a simple gown. Plain black fabric without any frills. But the fabric flowed like liquid between her fingers, and when the light caught it, it gleamed like a million stars.

  A piece of jewelry came in the package too—a black choker with a large diamond in its center. Maria's eyes widened. She had never seen a diamond this large. It was the size and shape of an almond. Surely it was fake.

  All the girls hushed and stared.

  "I recognize that diamond!" Joyce whispered. "It's famous. It was found on Bahay centuries ago. It's called Mother Mary's Tear. It used to shine in the Basalt Cathedral, embedded into a statue of Mother Mary, a beacon for our world. It shone on her cheek like a teardrop." Joyce reached out, touched the black dress, then pulled her hand back as if bitten. "And that's Orionite silk! Only the giant silkworms of Orion can weave it. They say it's woven of the night itself. Maria, this fabric, this diamond… they're priceless."

  "They must be imitations," Maria said. "You know, like the fake Rolex watches and cashmere sweaters they sell at Merkado Bayan."

  But she knew they were not. The general would not send her knockoffs from some rundown kiosk. This was actual Orion silk, the costliest fabric in the galaxy.