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 talk to them?”
“Yah, I will brief the senior platoon sergeant on everything that we found. That way they have it, just in case.”
Navigating Traps
Senior Platoon Sgt. Ted Dreyer was ready to tear his hair out. Getting Lt. Marcos out of Einsville without bloodshed had been a major 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 turn 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.
Support and Logistics
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 was assembled from the dregs of available staff.
“This is a very important 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. 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 normal 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, then 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 established control over the base, taken 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 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 close 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.
Search and No Rescue
It had been six hours of frustrating search. No definitive sign of either group. 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, Sgt.?”
“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. 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 look 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 complaint. 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 further suggestion that they probably should go 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 expressions tended toward amusement.
Escalation
The camp ran flawlessly. Meals were flavorful, abundant and on time. Request 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 be forced into admitting his error, he 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 Sgt. Dreyer and several soldiers, the general interaction of the platoon 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 supervised the serving of the meals. It became a general topic of discussion in the fractured base.
Comments about the inappropriateness of females and the disabled in an ImpMEC base peppered mealtime conversations. Sgt. Dreyer tried to stifle some of the comments but found it difficult since the other platoon sergeant and corporals appeared to share the consensus. He kept an eye on the cook when the grousing and commentary became too thick. Interestingly enough, no expression of anger or insulted hurt ever crossed her face. She remained pleasant and efficient, ensuring that the platoon had far better food than they had ever eaten before.
The situation escalated when one of the squads encountered a group of the mercenaries. The sounds of weapon fire brought the entire encampment to alert. Snapping orders at his men, Lt. Marcos dispatched a message to his commander while ordering the base to further lockdown. He was about to instruct the logistics group on appropriate behavior when he noticed that the support buildings were closed, window shuttered, and the motor pool emptied. It was somewhat of a surreal situation when everything that he would have ordered was already done. He spared a brief thought on how civilians would know what to do in the situation before turning his attention back to the remainder of his command.
The tension in the camp raised as sporadic battle sounds were heard for another 10 minutes. When the tightened expectation had reached a climax, a terse comm from the scou
ting squad came in. “Took fire at 0324-4871, four WIA. 12 enemy confirmed, no known enemy casualties. Current disposition is not in contact, RTB.”
It took another 30 minutes for the squad to return to base. Their sudden appearance out of the woods kicked off a flurry of activity as the wounded were moved to the medical area and Lt. Marcos demanded a briefing.
Cpl. Martinez gave his report while sitting down. The man looked exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, the bloodied bandage across his head emphasizing how much the situation had changed.
“We were surprised on the edge of a ravine by the charge of 10 or 11 of the Centrax looking creatures. They are armed with what looks like long-range weapons that managed to damage some of our armor. Anderson and Nandu were our scouts at that time, and they took injuries immediately. We went to ground and return fire.”
Lt. Marcos grimaced and asked, “What else can you tell me about their fighting methods?”
“Not much, sir. They engaged briefly almost as if they were testing us and then retreated into the woods. We advanced cautiously, but it was as if they disappeared.”
The lieutenant pulled out his area map, rolling it out and weighting it down with rocks and available coffee cups. He and the noncoms bent over the map pointing and discussing options for investigation.
A gentle hand on Cpl. Martinez’s arm drew his attention to the female medic standing next to him. Gesturing wordlessly, she drew him up and helped him get to the medical center for treatment. Gratefully, he leaned on her as his vision blurred and the blood continued to drip down his face.
Teased and Taunted
It had not been a good three days for Lt. Marcos. His attempts to locate the enemy force had been frustrated multiple times by their ability to appear and disappear. They had sent out a squad in full battle armor two more times. The first time, they found no sign of the enemy on their outward spiral but were ambushed two-thirds the way back to base from a rocky overhang. The Centrax had taken the high ground, firing down onto the squad. Only the available cover enabled Sgt. Dreyer to prevent additional casualties. Three more of the soldiers had acquired minor wounds, but this did not seem to be a significant problem.
The Expanding Universe Page 46
