Earthling's War (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  "What's on it?" Jon asked.

  David gazed silently at the sky, smiling. A glimmerbird, its feathers like sapphires, was gliding overhead.

  "David?" Jon shook him. "David, buddy, you with me?"

  But David said no more. He had died smiling, watching the beautiful bird.

  Doc finally arrived, and George was with him, rifle in hands. But it was too late. All they could do was close David's eyes and mumble a prayer.

  * * * * *

  Jon sat in his tent.

  He sat alone.

  He held the codechip in his hand. Staring at it.

  Maria had sent this to Private Jon Taylor. But he was not the same man.

  The man you sent this to died, Maria, he thought.

  Private Jon Taylor had died along the road north. He died again in the basalt labyrinth of Basilica. He died in Fort Apollo, and he died in the inferno of Santa Rosa. Every battle, very massacre—another piece of his soul gone.

  Today I am Sergeant Jon Taylor, he thought, and I am not the man you fell in love with. Sergeant Jon Taylor is a killer.

  He was afraid.

  Afraid to find a message from her. Afraid to see the same beautiful girl he had fallen in love with. Afraid to realize he was a monster who could no longer love her, only devour her.

  But David had died to bring him this message. Jon would overcome his fear.

  He pulled out a dusty minicom, a little computer the size of a paperback novel. The soldiers sometimes used the minicom to play games and watch movies. With a deep breath, Jon plugged in the codechip.

  Maria appeared on the monitor.

  A video of her. Smiling.

  Jon's eyes dampened. He let out something halfway between sob and laugh.

  He had not seen Maria for half a year. And she was so beautiful. She wore her long black hair in a braid, her smile was so bright, and her eyes sparkled.

  The most beautiful girl in the world, he thought.

  "Hi, Jon!" She waved and smiled. "I miss you!"

  A tear flowed down Jon's cheek. It was just a recording. She could not see or hear him. But he caressed the monitor.

  "I miss you too," he whispered.

  Warmth flowed over him. His heart blazed with love. And he could not stand it. He wanted to grab her, hug her, kiss her. It felt so cruel that she should be so far! He wanted to burst out from the tent, defect from his unit, and run halfway down the planet to find her.

  In the video, Maria blew him a kiss. "I love you, Jon. I need to say that right off the bat, because it's urgent and can't wait. I love you! Forever and ever! I'm sending you a million kisses!"

  Jon laughed and wiped his eyes. Maria laughed too. But Jon saw that there was sadness in her eyes. That new ghosts haunted her soul. For a brief moment, recording this message, she found comfort in their love. But he could see the unbearable pain lurking beneath her joy, a murky swamp churning beneath blooming lotuses, full of serpents.

  Her smile faded. "Jon. My beloved husband. There's something I must tell you. It's not easy. And maybe you'll never forgive me. Just remember that I did this for my planet, my people, and yes—even for us." A tear fell. "This is what I did."

  For long moments, she spoke, and Jon listened.

  She spoke of getting a job at Little Earth, and of seducing General Ward.

  She spoke of becoming the general's mistress.

  She spoke of many nights in his presence, gaining his trust.

  With every word she spoke, Jon's heart shattered into smaller pieces.

  "I'm sorry, Jon." She wiped her eyes. "I know it hurts you. Please know that I always hated him. Every second with him was hell. And every second with you was heaven. I seduced him, Jon, not to hurt you, because I love you with all my heart, and I can't wait to see you again. I seduced him to get a confession. And I got one. A confession that can end this war."

  A grainy video appeared on the monitor, replacing Maria.

  It showed General Ward. The commander of the Human Defense Force on Bahay. The mastermind of this war.

  He spoke, his voice muffled due to the low quality recording equipment, but clear enough.

  "I ordered millions of Bahayan women and children killed. Do you know why? Because slits are nothing but vermin and whores, and it's my job to kill them and fuck them."

  Now Maria spoke in the recording; she was probably wearing the hidden camera. "You can't win this war."

  "You're right," the general said. "Earth can't win this war. We can bomb you and kill you until the cows come home. And we won't win. This is an unwinnable war. I know it. The president knows it. We've known it for years."

  The grainy video faded to black.

  Jon blinked in amazement. General Ward himself—confessing to the murders of innocents? And even more shockingly—confessing he could not win the war?

  This is a bombshell, Jon realized.

  This would do more than stain General Ward's legacy. It could bring down President Hale himself. Jon took a long shaky breath.

  "This can end this whole war," he whispered.

  Maria reappeared on screen, replacing the grainy video.

  "Jon, we need to show Earth this message. But I can't leak it from here. The military police are scanning every soldier, living or dead, who leaves Bahay. I've leaked information before, but those holes are now sealed. Jon, I need a wormhole generator. The military owns several. I need you to find one—and to broadcast General Ward's confession to Earth."

  Jon slumped. That was a tall order. Wormhole generators weren't exactly standard issue.

  "Jon, I know it will be hard," Maria continued. "I know it will test your soul. But you must do this. We have a chance to end this war. To save millions of lives. And to be together again." She smiled shakily. "When the war ends, we'll be united. We'll get married for real. And we'll live in a cute little house among trees. I can't wait, Jon. To see you again. To kiss you and hold you. I hope that day comes very soon. Goodbye for now. I love you."

  The video ended.

  Jon sat for a long moment, silent, eyes damp.

  He watched the video again.

  "Maria, I love you," he whispered. "But you ask me to betray my people. And I don't know what to do."

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A Hard Choice

  George leaned back and slowly exhaled.

  "Wow."

  Jon nodded. "Yep. Wow."

  They had just Maria's video. George began pacing the tent.

  "Do you realize what this means, Jon? General Ward—confessing that he can't win the war!"

  "I know, George."

  George tugged at his red hair. "This can cause a scandal to bring down President Hale! Jon, this can end the war!"

  "George, I know, I've already watched this video several times."

  The giant stopped pacing. He spun toward Jon and gasped. "Dammit, Jon, we don't have a wormhole generator. How are we going to send this to Earth?"

  Jon sighed. "George. I haven't even decided what to do yet. Maybe we should…" He winced. "Maybe we should bury this codechip."

  George's jaw dropped. "What? Are you insane?" He grabbed the codechip and held it overhead like some archaeological treasure. "We have here the biggest scoop in the history of scoops! And you want to bury it?"

  "George. This is highly classified information. However explosive it is, however cruel General Ward was, it's still classified. If we leak it, we'd be breaking the law. And worse—betraying our fellow soldiers."

  George's cheeks flushed. His lip twitched. "What about David, who died to bring us this news? What about him? What about Maria who suffered that scumbag Ward touching her to record this?" George clenched his enormous fists, each the size of a melon. "People suffered and died for this! And you're just gonna toss it out?"

  Jon had seen George angry several times before—but always at other people, at monsters like Clay. He had never been on the receiving end. The giant's wrath was terrifying.

  "George, I know," Jon said. "Tr
ust me, I know! They made incredible sacrifices to bring us this recording. And I don't want to betray them either. David seemed like a good man. And I love Maria, and I'd do anything for her. But how can I do this?"

  "Easy," George said. "We find a wormhole. We send it to Earth. It doesn't need to be more complex. Okay, it's not easy. But at least it's simple."

  Now it Jon's turn to pace the tent.

  "I wish Etty were here," he said. "She'd know what to do. She was always the smartest, most ethical member of our fireteam." He felt lost without her guidance.

  "But you know what she'd do," George said softly, his anger fading. "Etty would leak the information. Like she leaked the photos of the Santa Rosa massacre. How is this different?"

  "Because at Santa Rosa, we leaked information about specific monsters, about a specific crime. But this, George, this codechip… this is about the entire war. The entire army. This affects us all. Me, you, and all the soldiers we fight alongside. General Ward himself saying we can't win…" He took a shaky breath. "It would provide a massive boost of morale to the Luminous Army. Our enemies would feel emboldened, strike us hard. Thousands of Earthlings could die. Because of us."

  George's jaw unhinged. He pushed it shut. "I… I haven't thought of that."

  Jon nodded. "We took a vow, George. When we joined the army. We took a vow to honor the uniform we wear. At Santa Rosa, we saw men desecrate that uniform—so we spoke out."

  "And what of General Ward?" George said. "Didn't he desecrate the uniform?"

  Jon winced. He thought of the general undressing Maria. Touching her. Probably sleeping with her. The pain stabbed Jon like a bayonet. Yes, Maria had done this to end the war. So they could be together again. But it still felt like a betrayal.

  Betrayal upon betrayal, Jon thought. Maybe there is no morality in war. I fight with my gun, and Maria fights the way she can, and we've both done horrible things.

  "I wish this were simpler," Jon said. "I wish I could be like the heroes we read about growing up. Like the War Poet and the Golden Lioness and the rest of them. I wish we could just face evil aliens, shoot 'em up, and never have to worry about moral dilemmas. About betraying our fellow soldiers. But this war isn't simple. We're fighting fellow humans, George. Not slits, not gooks—humans. And I can end this war. I hold a codechip that can save countless lives. All I must do is betray my brothers and sisters. All I must do is shatter my soul."

  Maria had known this. She had warned him. She had understood.

  And she trusted him to make the right choice.

  "Jon." George placed a hand on his shoulder. "What if you bury it? What then?"

  Jon took a deep breath. He pulled open the tent flap and stared outside at the wilderness of Bahay. The jungles spread toward the distant battlefields. Toward villages bombed and poisoned. Toward a planet broken and doused in blood.

  "If I bury this codechip, and if I keep fighting this war, I'm an accomplice. I'm to blame for the millions who died here. The millions we killed. The millions who might still die." He turned back toward his friend. "I must be either a traitor or a murderer. All I ever wanted was to be a musician."

  George placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "No good men want to fight wars. And no good men fight wars with clean conscience. Yet they fight nonetheless. And in the hell of battle, they make the difficult decisions, even the ones that break their hearts. Because they know the truth. To avoid a hard choice is itself a choice. Often it's the worst choice."

  Jon smiled sadly. "You're a wise man, George."

  George snorted. "Me? I'm just a big dumb meathead. But Etty taught me a thing or two."

  "So I must make the hard choice," Jon said. "I know that you've decided already."

  George nodded. "I have. But I won't proceed without you."

  Jon took a deep breath. "I know that many people will hate me for this choice. I know that I'll be vilified. And maybe I am a villain. If I must choose between treason and murder, I choose treason. I hope that some will understand why I made this choice, and that they will forgive me. I know many will not. And I'll have to live with my own shame forever." He closed his hand around the codechip. "George, we're going to need a wormhole generator."

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  An Ill Attempt

  Jon winced. "God, I look like a character from an Ensign Earth propaganda reel."

  George raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean? You look like a Kalayaan Kenny. It's perfect."

  They huddled among the dark trees. Jon's flashlight shone on its lowest setting, casting eerie light. The rest of the Apollo Brigade camped nearby.

  Crude barbed wire and wooden stakes surrounded the camp. Jon and George hid just outside the fence, huddling among twisting trees. Behind Jon rose the sounds of the jungle: chirping insects, rustling leaves, a hooting bird. Ahead, he could hear the sounds of the camp. Somebody was humming old songs. Somebody was praying. Another soldier was weeping. Only two thousand troops remained of this once-proud brigade, the last survivors of brutal warfare. Everyone was shell-shocked. Everyone was wounded. Everyone missed home.

  Twigs creaked by the fence. A cigarette glowed like a tiny red Santelmo. Jon shut off his flashlight. He and George waited, frozen in place, not even daring to breathe. A guard walked by them, puffing on his cigarette. The smell of tobacco wafted, mixed with hintan, a local drug with a cinnamon scent. Jon recognized the guard: a private named Mario, a good lad, if a bit hotheaded. Hopefully the hintan would calm his notorious temper.

  After Mario walked by, Jon lit his flashlight again. He held up a small handheld mirror, one he used for shaving, and examined himself.

  Ridiculous, he thought. I look utterly ridiculous.

  He wore a simple tunic, the fabric woven of banana leaves, and a straw hat topped his head. His pistol hung from a rope belt. Using battle camouflage, he had applied a little paint to his eyes, trying to make them appear more Asian. It was not a convincing outfit. And to be honest, it was a bit offensive.

  "I look like a goddamn minstrel show," Jon said.

  George snorted. "Hey, better you than me. At my size, I'd never pass for a Bahayan."

  Jon sighed. "I don't look anything like a Bahayan. In the darkness and chaos, hopefully nobody notices. Do you have the sleeping gas?"

  George pulled two cannisters from his pack. "Here you go. Two premium sleeping gas cannisters, manufactured by the good people at Elemental Solutions Chemicals Corporation. You better make good use of them! Snagging these from the armory was scary stuff. I almost fainted I was so scared of getting caught. And I was the one guarding the armory that night!"

  Jon patted his friend on the shoulder. "See? And you were bitching about guard duty. Without your misfortune, this whole plan would be impossible."

  George grumbled. "Yeah, well, I still hate guarding the armory. If there's a battle, and it's hit, the whole place will blow sky high. And me with it." He shuddered. "Wanna review the plan again?"

  "I steal the brigade's wormhole generator, blame the Kalayaan, and you swear I was on guard duty with you the whole time. Simple."

  "It's a bit more complex than that," George said. "Let's review the escape routes, and I'll practice my alibi again, and—"

  "George." Jon patted his friend's shoulder and looked into his eyes. "We've reviewed this over and over. It's time."

  The giant took a shaky breath. "I'm scared."

  "Me too," Jon confessed. "I wish we didn't have to do this. But hey, our part is easy compared to what Maria endured." He pulled out the codechip, containing Ward's confession. "In an hour, George, this video will be playing across Earth."

  George nodded, his eyes dampened, and then he pulled Jon into a crushing embrace. "You be careful, Jon. All right? Don't do anything stupid."

  "You mean dressing up like a racist Ensign Earth villain? Bit too late for that."

  They shared a quick laugh, then stifled it, worried that a guard would hear.

  "Godspeed, Jon Taylor," George said, suddenly somber
. "Go save the world."

  "Two worlds, if I can," Jon said.

  * * * * *

  The two friends parted. George walked west in the darkness, heading toward his guard post. Later, he would swear Jon guarded the same post with him all night. Dressed as the enemy, Jon walked the other way. If anyone saw him like this, Jon knew, they'd shoot him on sight.

  He placed a hand on his pistol, seeking comfort, but he found none. He didn't want to shoot fellow soldiers. No more than he wanted them shooting him.

  There's gotta be a better way, Jon thought. But he could think of none, and it was too late to turn back now. He might never find his courage again.

  He stayed between the fangwoods, known as bibigpuno among the locals—a native species of thick, coiling trees with carnivorous leaves. A few of the leaves snapped their jaws at him, and one even bit Jon's arm. He flinched but didn't make a sound. Ignoring the leafy little blighters, he kept tiptoeing through the shadows. He didn't dare use his flashlight. He moved by whatever moonlight shone through the toothy canopy.

  Apollo Brigade kept its wormhole generator in the center of the camp. Isaac Wormholes, invented by Professor Noah Isaac last century, allowed faster-than-light communication. Here on Bahay, they gave the Human Defense Force a direct line to Earth. Isaac Wormhole Generators—known as IWGs, pronounced eyewigs—could create these tiny tunnels to Earth.

  Massive wormholes, like those starships flew through, were beyond human technology. To fly between star systems, Earth relied on infrastructure left over by great alien civilizations. But humans could open small wormholes, a few atoms wide, and talk through them. They consumed massive amounts of energy, so conversations were expensive and short. One call home used more energy than most battles.

  Jon figured this call was worth it.