A Hero

by Stephen Arseneault

  I said, "I've been telling everyone you were a hopper. Didn't mean it literally."

  Sheila smiled as she helped me to my feet. "Strong legs. I was a long jumper in high school. Been chasing men ever since."

  We hustled up the last flight of stairs and came out on the remains of the fourth floor. The nearby sounds of whumps and rumbles from plasma rounds being fired and exploding gave us the noise cover we needed. The smell of battle then hit me hard. A dozen dead humans, still smoldering as the fat in their bodies burned, were in a stack just behind the two Togmal. The warriors were lying on their bellies, looking through spotting devices.

  Sheila attacked first, diving and jamming her knife's blade into the center of the nearest warrior's back. When my blade came down, the Togmal blocked it with his arm. I rolled on the deck with the enemy fighter as we each tried to gain the advantage. In an instant, Lieutenant Rascoe pulled my opponent from atop me and punched him hard in the chest. Hayden was just behind the falling warrior. He scooped him up and tossed him over the side of the building, finishing by firing a plasma round into his crumpled body on the ground below.

  The lieutenant waved a hand for us to take firing positions. "See the team along that wall? Take them out first. They're about to charge."

  The deed was done in seconds. We identified a second group of targets on the ground and blasted them before a third group began returning fire. Without fully exposing themselves to the Marines they were holding back, they had nowhere to hide. We eliminated seven more fighters in less than a minute.

  With a hundred-meter-wide gap in the line opened, our Marines on the other side rushed forward. A comm then came in from our other spotting team. A company of Togmal was approaching our downed ship. The lieutenant ordered us to the other side of the building where we used suppressing fire to pin them down. Platoon two used the opportunity to take a defensive stance.

  As the other Marines charged into the voided line, they turned to their flanks, catching the Togmal warriors to either side in vulnerable positions. Within minutes the entire Togmal defense collapsed, sending their fighters in retreat. We hustled down to the ground in pursuit, forcing the remains of the enemy company, who was heading toward our transport, to turn and flee. Two hours later, we had won. The fight in the city was over as our gunships once again crowded the skies.

  We had come to a stop. We were all breathing hard, having chased the enemy for most of that two-hour time. Rascoe ordered us back to our transport to assist with the injured.

  When we arrived, the news was grim. Nearly half of Marine Company JT065 were casualties. Twenty-six had succumbed to their injuries while another forty-eight had broken bones of varying degrees.

  Hayden shook his head. "We sure are hard on companies."

  Max nodded. "Ain't that the truth. Sometimes I feel like I'm just along for the ride to the cemetery."

  Sheila wiped her knife blade on the uniform of a dead Togmal. "Crap, nicked my blade." She spat. "I think their blood is corrosive."

  Hayden chuckled. "Corrosive? It's blood. Looks a lot like ours."

  Sheila held up her knife. "Explain this then?"

  Hayden tilted his head before examining his own knife. "Huh. Mine looks the same."

  Max inspected the blades and then looked over his own. "This isn't even all steel."

  Sheila scowled. "What?"

  "The discoloration. We used to see that with cheap cooking utensils. And look at the base... AC... Aarlis Corporation. Ray? Your buddy makes these?"

  "He only does mining. The defense company belongs to his father."

  "Well they are selling us cheap junk."

  The lieutenant came up. "Bad news. Gunny Marcos is among the casualties. Broken back. Initial scan looks like a crushed vertebra. He will probably receive a medical discharge because of it. But he should still have the use of his legs."

  The loss put our group in a funk. The ground fighting on Exeter halted the following day when a new Togmal fleet was spotted coming our way. The order came down to evacuate.

  Twenty minutes later, we were on our way back to Haven. The fleet that secured our retreat paid a heavy price. We lost six destroyers and three light cruisers. Another three destroyers took heavy damage. At the time, the Togmal didn't pursue. Shortly after we found out why.

  The intel reports told us the Togmal were building structures on Exeter. Command undertook plans for a new invasion fleet. But that fleet was not expected to be ready for an assault for another three months.

  Meanwhile, back on Haven, the new base was about to be completed. In addition, our company received a new round of recruits, bringing us back to full strength.

  For his efforts on Exeter, Lieutenant Rascoe received a promotion to captain. With that promotion he took charge of four platoons and two lieutenants. Our new lieutenant was Chatham Davis. He was another Earther, born and bred.

  After an introduction to the platoons by Davis, he called me into his office.

  "Corporal Jackson. I've heard nothing but good things."

  "Just trying to do as I'm told, sir."

  "Well, you seem to be doing things right. And while I don't have a lot of time in service, three years, I don't recall seeing anyone promoted twice within a few months."

  "Promoted, sir?"

  The lieutenant held out a hand. "Congratulations, Sergeant Jackson."

  "Sergeant? I can't think I've earned that, Lieutenant. The others in my squad have fought just as hard."

  "They have. And I'm happy to say PFCs Roth, Garvin, and Getz have all earned their corporal stripes."

  It was something I was happy to hear. The others on my team had fought as hard and taken as many risks as I had. They deserved the promotions.

  While I had the lieutenant's ear, I raised the issue about our combat knives. They had seen heavy use, that was a given, but the construction was shoddy, not high-quality stainless steel. Sheila was dismayed after finding rust on hers. Hayden's had a slight bend to it. Considering the force he could apply, I wondered how the blade hadn't already snapped off. The lieutenant said he would look into it. I took him at his word.

  For three months the Togmal did not attack any other colony. They were busy. And our command was busy planning out a raid to take back the colony of Exeter.

  Our shipyards were slow to ramp up production. A destroyer was projected to take six months to construct. At the pace we were losing them, and given the limited size of our fleets, the admiralty worried we might run out of ships in as few as three years. The politicians scoffed at the thought but folded to pressure and issued new contracts. I was certain TC's father would soon be the wealthiest individual in the Union, if he wasn't already.

  I heard TC's ventures on Echelon were coming into their own with the rapid opening of four new shafts. I checked the job postings. It had never been a better time to be seeking work. Hiring bonuses were being offered, even for common laborer positions. I wondered what I would have been working on had I remained there with TC.

  As our fleet was preparing to embark on a quest to regain control of Exeter, the Togmal were opening a new front. The Richland Colony, a colony inhabited by over five million citizens, was under threat. Orders had just come through, changing our deployment.

  — Chapter 21 —

  * * *

  I stuffed the last of my gear into my pack. Sheila came over to sit beside me. "What's your take on Richland? Shouldn't they be evacuating those people?"

  "Don't ask me what goes through the mind of a politician. We lost Exeter, including all one hundred fifty thousand citizens, because they weren't prepared to make the hard decisions. Had they committed the ships we could have protected that colony. Instead, they sit parked in orbit over the major colonies... who aren't under any threat."

  Sheila shook her head. "If I lived on any of these outer worlds, I would buy a ticket to somewhere deep in the Union. The lack of positive action shows how much we matter out here."

  "You get your new knife?"

>   Sheila pulled the blade from its pouch, twisting it in the air as she admired its shiny surface. "I did. This is what they should look like all the time. Can't believe mine rusted."

  I glanced around our barracks. "I can't believe how cheap a lot of this stuff is made. It's like they expect it to be looked at but never used."

  "The corporations have the politicians in their pockets."

  I chuckled. "Nothing new there. Been like that for a thousand years."

  Sheila returned the blade to its sheath. "Well, I guess you have to play the hand they dealt you. If I have to stick a Togmal with a rusty blade, then so be it."

  Hayden came over. "You still complaining about that."

  Sheila leaned close to Hayden. "You still want me?"

  Hayden returned a nod. "You know I do."

  "I thought so." Sheila stood and walked to her bunk.

  Hayden sighed. "That should make me mad, but for some reason it just turns me on."

  Lieutenant Davis walked up. "Well, turn it off. Grab your gear. We assemble outside in five."

  I asked, "Do we know what's ahead for us on Richland?"

  "Command gave us the town of Bigguns to defend."

  Hayden chuckled. "Bigguns? Someone seriously named a town Bigguns?"

  "Population of six thousand. I'm told the name came from two nearby mountains. The town mines gypsum and turns it into sheet-rock. And yes, there is still a market for the stuff. Especially so in the outer colonies where monies are tight."

  Davis looked toward a window in thought. "I bought polymite panels for a renovation I was doing at home. They've gotten expensive, and the locals don't give you a choice but to use them. Building codes out here aren't as restrictive.

  "Funny, my old man worked with a lobbying firm the last four years. They were trying to force the same building standards out here as elsewhere. The corporations are paying big money for that effort."

  After reaching the colony town of Bigguns, we walked down the transport's ramp and onto the gray-colored ground. The townsfolk gave us the use of a warehouse as a temporary shelter. The area saw rain showers one out of three days. It was humid, this being the summer months, which meant it was often sweltering, almost unbearably so. Sweat was forming on my brow after only a few minutes.

  We marched into the warehouse where the first order of business was for us to clean. Dust was everywhere... as were the local rodents. The lieutenant gave Hayden and Sheila the job of rat control. I found it funny how the furry little menaces had spread to every colony of the Union. I knew they would one day inhabit the entire galaxy—them and the cockroaches—likely their master plan.

  Every leftover piece of equipment or material we moved caused a hundred of the small, furry menaces to skitter about. Hayden and Sheila turned the hunt into more of a game. It was a good tension breaker for our company.

  After discovering a giant air pump, I took the end of a vacuum hose. I went over every inch of the warehouse, sending a nasty cloud of dust into the air surrounding the building. I felt lucky to be one of the few who remained inside.

  As our platoon worked at cleaning our new headquarters, Captain Rascoe took the others into town to scout the area for defense. He gave a sector to each platoon. After reviewing their reports, each would swap sectors with another unit. This happened three times. The lieutenant was adamant he would be getting a full understanding of the area.

  Several hours later, Rascoe and the others returned. He told us the six thousand official inhabitants were closer to four. The others had gone to the larger cities and were looking for transportation elsewhere. Those who remained cowered in their homes. They asked when the government was coming to ferry them to safety. We were the bringers of bad news. That rescue would not be happening.

  After night had fallen, we sat around in the warehouse as Rascoe developed his defensive strategy. "These two streets are key. Given the steep hills on the east and west side, any attack will have to come from north or south. We use these two roads to funnel them into the town square. We'll be using these storefronts as our fortifications. After removing any glass, we'll weld steel panels in place. It's low-tech but should be effective."

  One lieutenant raised a hand. "Sir, what if they send in gunships?"

  "We have a dozen of the skink missiles available. They were effective on Exeter. But this is important, we only have that dozen. I'm not expecting a resupply coming our way. So, use them only when you're certain you have a kill shot. What else?"

  A sergeant raised a hand. "Sir, do we know what troop strength we can expect?"

  "No idea, Sergeant. What we know is the fleet they spotted had thirty transports with it. If the numbers hold up, that would possibly be thirty companies on the ground. Triple what we have at the moment. We are digging in, taking defensive advantage."

  I asked, "What do we do with the civilians?"

  Rascoe frowned. "I'm told we do nothing. Our mission is to defeat whatever force the Togmal may put on the ground. We have been ordered not to spend effort defending these people other than to defeat the Togmal. If a civilian comes your way, begging for help, direct them to stay behind you, nothing more."

  It was a shocking admission of how little our government was willing to do.

  Rascoe continued, "I'll be sending runners out in the morning to spread the word. Most will have already received this instruction from their government officials. I know all this sounds callous, but it's the situation here on the ground. We cannot defend them unless we defend ourselves first. Got it?"

  It was a harsh reality. Each of the squad sergeants nodded.

  "Good. Now, get your meals squared away and get yourselves some rest. Dawn on this planet will be here in nine hours. We're on eighteen-hour days."

  One sergeant raised a hand. "Sir, why aren't we working on the defenses tonight?"

  "I don't expect that effort to take us more than half a day, Sergeant. They told us we will have at least twenty-four-hours warning should that fleet head this way. At the moment they are just sitting there."

  Hayden asked, "Why isn't our fleet attacking them, sir?"

  "Good question, Corporal. Unfortunately, my rank doesn't come with answers. You have your orders, so get some grub and shuteye."

  I sat on an empty bucket I had flipped over. I squeezed a nutrilog out of its package, almost swallowing it whole. I remembered the first time seeing one and how disgusted I was. But hunger had a way of helping you get past that revulsion.

  Sheila complained, "Don't think I'll ever get used to these."

  It wasn't a bad meal. Not much taste, but it filled your belly in under a minute. We were told it provided all the nutritional supplements of a home-cooked meal—I had my doubts. I next drank my required half liter of water.

  When I turned to toss the package, I notice the little AC stamped in the corner. The Aarlis Corporation had their hands in almost every aspect of the war. Our food, our gear, our weapons, and even our warships came from AC. I wasn't certain, but I had a sneaky feeling the temporary bases we had seen being constructed were being built by a subsidiary.

  As I laid my head down on my bedroll, I couldn't help but to think about Denise and Pea. It had been over nine months since their deaths. In my mind it still felt like it happened yesterday.

  Max disturbed my thoughts. "Sarge. I can't say why, but I have a bad feeling about this mission."

  "Yeah, can't say I'm liking it much either. Too many unknowns. Such as, why are we limited in the number of skink missiles we have? There must be thousands of those sitting in warehouses on the main colonies. Are our supply lines that bad?"

  Max shrugged. "I heard most of the supply was out of date. The Beacher Corporation makes those, and the news-feeds had a spokesman on saying they were ramping up production, but it would take time to right the shortage. Almost makes you wonder if they do that on purpose."

  "They?"

  "The defense contractors. The more of this stuff they slow roll the harder these outer coloni
es get hit. Puts those contractors in a sweet bargaining position."

  I chuckled. "Well, aren't you the conspiracy theorist."

  "Just saying. You know, they already make everything we consume. And when have you ever noticed their pricing on anything to be fair? Everyone I know spends almost their entire income every month."

  I shook my head. "They charge what they know the market will bear. I would say most of these people you are referring to are hooked on all the conveniences they enjoy. Back in school, I used to wonder how much I could save if I lived off the grid. And then I considered giving up my stuff. Not that I had much, but I liked what I had."

  Max sat up. "I never asked you this. You went to college and got a degree. Why didn't you join as an officer?"

  I was silent for several seconds. "Didn't want the responsibility. I seriously just wanted to kill Togmal."

  "And now?"

  "Same. I just wish we had more competent officers. Rascoe seems good. But he's taking his orders from someone who's never seen combat. I picture most of those people as having been in a nice, chummy club until now. What used to matter, all the politicking, is now a detriment to making sound judgments. But that's a blanket statement that doesn't apply to everyone. Now lie down and get some zees. Tomorrow is coming fast."

  Just before dawn, a lieutenant was banging on the side of the warehouse and yelling. "Up and at 'em maggots! Stuff your gullets and form up in ten! We have a big day ahead of us!"

  I downed another nutrilog and a half liter of liquid before joining about forty others out by the side of the building. We were pissing into a freshly-dug trench. Further down were the squatters. Having managed that effort the evening before, I was quickly back in formation with my gear on my back.

  One of the lieutenants stopped in front of me. "Sergeant? There a reason you're toting that pack?"