The Soldier

by Terrance Mulloy

  A couple of Praetorians noticed Matt as he brushed past them. He could feel their eyes on him as he whisked his way to the back of the tent to take a seat. He knew exactly what they were thinking: who the hell is this guy?

  Sitting behind Matt in the last row of chairs were two intel officers around his same age. They barely noticed him as they were too busy whispering to each other.

  Once Matt was settled in his chair, he began to hear what they were talking about, and it was enough to cause concern.

  “…He’ll get more of them killed,” said the female officer. “The USC has already benched him twice. I mean, let’s be honest, is he really fit to lead? He’s been here since day one.”

  “Easy, Sarah,” cautioned the male officer. “He’s still got one of the best combat resumés this side of Epsilon.”

  “Active-duty or KIA? Because it’s getting harder to tell these days.”

  They both shared a grim chuckle as one of the Praetorians in front of Matt turned to his compatriot who had just entered the tent. “Hey, Neal! Where’s Duffey? Prick still owes me a pack of gum.”

  “Think he’s over by the ASOC tent.”

  “You find anything last night?”

  “Nope. Been humping dry holes for three days now,” Neal said as he took a seat. “Every site we’ve hit has been emptier than my ex-wife’s heart. Something tells me Wraith command bugged out of that area once we started pounding it with those H-42 blackjacks.”

  “I wish they would lead with those before we start moving down our priority lists. Damn pain in the ass. At least then we could stop chasing dust every time we go out. We’re also losing surveillance birds faster than we can launch them. Fuckers keep shooting them down.”

  “I hear you, brother. Hey, sorry about Emerson too - was a real shame. I didn’t know him all that well, but I heard he was a beast.”

  “Yeah, he was legit. We called him The Toadman. Funniest motherfucker you’d ever meet. Just loved to make people laugh. We’re sure gonna miss him, man.”

  When Mace abruptly entered without warning, the entire tent went silent and jumped to attention. If a pin had dropped, there would have been an echo. “At ease, Praetorians. How was your breakfast?”

  “Hooah!” the soldiers barked in unison, except for Matt.

  Mace casually glanced at the empty screen behind him, then turned his attention to the rest of the room. “Good. Good. You know the rules: any chicks or dicks not licking their plates clean after each meal, gets put into the next available cryo-pod and sent home. Then you’ll miss out on all the fun.”

  Hooah!” the soldiers replied, laughing as they all resumed their seats. This was the closest to humor as Mace ever got. It rarely occurred, but whenever it did, these Praetorians lapped it up.

  The overhead lights dimmed as Mace moved behind the podium and worked the console. The screen blinked to life, displaying a top-down infra-red satellite view of a desolate mountain range. “As most of you know, the origin of this mission started from a simple request. After a bloody, three-day siege, northeast of Maruka Ridge, a British Zulu Company outfit named Vanguard, inadvertently discovered something none of us saw coming: The Wraith now possesses the capability to boil away the USC’s entire water supply. They also just happened to be on the cusp of executing a planet-wide operation to do so, starting with our primary supply ships in orbit.”

  Mace waved his hand and the screen blinked to a top-down image of the British outpost that had come under attack. The image was clearly taken from space, which made it appear slightly grainy and pixelated. The base was no larger than a few, squat administrative buildings, surrounded by razor-wire, sandbags, and an open concrete courtyard that served as a vehicle apron. From what Matt could discern, apart from a handful of automated turrets, it appeared all their major defenses ringed around its outer perimeter had been destroyed, except for one.

  Mace continued. “After documenting and securing this vital intel, Vanguard fell back to Camp Suffield, as you can see from this orbital image. They suffered heavy losses along the way, with over two-thirds of their officers either captured or KIA. The Wraith did not want that intel compromised, and they were merciless in ensuring it did not stay in our possession long enough to reach high command. After fending off their pursuers, what remained of Vanguard managed to hold on to that intel while they made a desperate QRF request to the nearest FOB. That just happened to be us. We responded immediately, deploying a Wasp with a ten-man squad. We also launched two Recon Sentinel drones to assist them…” Mace paused, tensing his jaw before he continued. This was the part that really pissed him off. “As of this moment, we can confirm they never made it to their objective. No contact has been established and repeated attempts to locate them have come up empty. We can also confirm our birds were shot down approximately four clicks south of the base. As for the downed Wasp, satellite imagery shows nothing between here and the base. No wreckage. Nothing. It’s as if they just vanished without a trace. This leads me to conclude the enemy swooped in shortly after and cleaned up the crash site, taking any survivors with them. Assuming there were any.”

  There was thick silence in the room as Matt and the others studied the grim imagery.

  The screen behind Mace then switched to another top-down view of the region, except this one had overlayed waypoints snaking from one end to the other, indicating a ground route between Camp Rhino and Camp Suffield. “Operation Fast Eagle. This will be a standard Thunder Run. We can no longer enter that region by air or space, so we will drive there instead, using two TAVs. The main objective is to shadow a small supply convoy to that outpost and relieve our British friends. We are not just escorting trucks today; we are saving lives. Our two Sentinel drones will pass the ground vehicles once we reach this area and proceed to relay any forward vision or data to us.” Mace then used a virtual pointer to indicate a spot on the map. “They will fly low to avoid enemy scans, however, I think it’s safe to assume that will still put them in a small arms envelope. If they are spotted, the Wraith will bring them down quicker than you can blink. In that case, we’ll be on our own until we reach the base. I would expect this to happen as we will be edging within seven hundred miles of occupied territory. Once more, I want to iterate that if our birds go down, we will be alone out there. With limited mobility of assets in this region, Command has made it clear that any unsanctioned ops that fall outside of the designated HVT threshold will be left alone to operate by their own devices. That means there will be no QRF support, and no orbital strikes available to us. At least not until we reach the base and secure that intel with confirmation. If we’re lucky, maybe then they’ll send us a couple of Wasps for extraction, although, that will be highly unlikely.”

  Matt watched as the room bristled, trading uneasy looks before Mace continued.

  “Regardless, once we reach Camp Suffield, we will help unload the supplies, grab that intel and head straight back the way we came. This op won’t be over until we are all sitting back here in this room for our debriefing.” Mace paused once more for effect and turned to the room. “Help us. We are running on fumes here. Those were the exact words a Lieutenant Colonel said to me on comms last night. They were down to a few handfuls of men and women, with many officers either dead or gravely wounded. If the enemy decides to launch another attack, chances are they will not be able to hold out until we get there. We must reach that base at any cost. That is our mission.”

  Not that the room needed it, but Mace gave them another moment to let the weight of that sink in. Matt could feel the mix of tension and anticipation in the room now. It was thick.

  “As of 0300 this morning, orbital scans showed minimal activity to the north. We will pass some smaller settlements along the way – most likely either abandoned or populated with Dupes. While one can never rule it out entirely, there are no active HVTs known to be in that vicinity. Unfortunately, the Joint Priority Effects List is not in play here. How those enemy combatants make that list is still class
ified, even to us. But I can confirm, two USMSC recon elements have already flagged several sites throughout this area as suspicious, despite limited-to-zero activity. With all that said, we will still be moving through a potentially target-rich environment, so expect to be probed by Dupes on a regular basis. When we do make contact, we must continue to roll through that carbolic gap and push to our objective. Now, we are execution and exploitation. This is not a hunting expedition. This is not a capture or kill op. Again, our main objective is to get those supplies to that base. But if we do meet the enemy out there, which I am anticipating, you have my permission to chop them up. With every kill, I want you to send a clear message that we are coming for them. We will avenge our fallen in due course, and when we do, we will unleash the full wrath and fury of the United Space Command. Remember, two in the chest…” Mace waited for the soldiers to finish his line.

  “The face gets the rest!” they all chanted.

  Matt watched a few Praetorians lean over the aisle to pound fists.

  Mace waved his hand and the screen behind him blinked off. “For this mission, we are gonna tool-up and get our evil on. Standard combat load will be augmented with ionized tri-tips and tungsten penetrators for our 480-super-sevens. Our turret gunnies will double-up on belt-fed HP-Z tracer rounds. Everyone also gets M-38 thermal sabers, along with two tactical incendiaries. Double-armored shells too. No standard tac-vests for this one. That sexy enough for you?”

  Yessir!” the Praetorians replied.

  “Contrary to popular belief, you can still catch Sesame Seed in other areas of your body aside from your scalp and armpits, so watch your junk out there today. If you start feeling itchy, use those Hydrocortisone tubes. There’s a reason why our medics issue them to us. You get a bad case of jock rot while running ops, you’ll be in a whole new world of pain. Don’t forget to also set your faceplates to full-tint, and drink lots of electrolytes. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  “Remember, be aware, be vigilant, and be alert. Tractor, you plan on bringing your own Jolly Ranchers this time?”

  A thirty-five-year-old Praetorian named Rory Redmond, a pastor’s kid from Memphis who everyone called Tractor nodded with a cheeky grin. Despite being built like a heavy-weight boxer, he exuded the calm and serious demeanor of a heat-seeking operator at the apex of his career. “Sure did, cap. But I’m gonna need another deodorant stick if anyone can spot me. It was so hot yesterday, mine melted into a puddle. You believe that?”

  Another thirty-something Praetorian, Casper Sanchez, originally a Mexican gourmet butcher from Corpus Christi, craned his heavily tattooed head down the aisle to Tractor and scoffed. “Dude, you’ve already stolen two of mine. I’m down to my last stick, and the nearest Ralphs is several fucking light-years away. How ‘bout this time, you put a Jolly Rancher under each arm.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “So your horrible BO can smell like mountain berry.”

  The room chuckled as Tractor looked at Sanchez, feigning bewilderment. “Seriously, you buy your deodorant at Ralphs?”

  “No, I just assumed you did.”

  The others laughed and then turned back to Mace.

  “Any questions?” he asked them once more.

  When Matt gingerly raised his hand, the entire room turned to face him.

  “What is it, greenie?”

  “Sir, you mentioned Dupes. Any chance you could elaborate more on that?”

  There were a couple of soft snickers and groans as Mace subtlety shook his head. “Not in your how-to training manuals, huh?”

  Matt swallowed his embarrassment. “No, sir.”

  “Dupes. Duplicates. Wounded or discarded Infiltrators who are thrown back into circulation after some minor tinkering. Real Frankenstein shit. We’ve killed a lot of Infiltrators that resembled USC commanders, but there have been reports some of the wounded ones who survived are being reengineered to look like the parents of certain USC targets. Some soldiers are hesitating to open fire on them, thinking it’s their mommy and daddy standing in front of them. Big mistake. By the time they realize they’re Dupes, they’ve already been ambushed.”

  “Are these Dupes considered to be under Combine control like the rest of the Wraith?”

  “No idea, and quite frankly, who gives a shit? For the most part, they roam the badlands, forming their own militias and insurgency groups. Since the war, they have emerged almost as a separate caste of society – although, they don’t really form a single nation, or even a cohesive tribe, the Wraith still allow them to operate autonomously. With their rudimentary IED-making skills and guerilla tactics, they remain a credible threat to all ground forces. That’s a fact. And even though their main objective seems to be scavenging whatever resources they can find; they are as ruthless as any Wraith you would encounter in the field. So, I don’t care if you spot a hot lady Dupe with some nice titties, you smoke that abomination back to its maker the first chance you get. It’s either them or us. Think you can stomach that, greenie?”

  “Yes, sir. I believe I can.”

  Some of the Praetorians chuckled as Tractor raised his hand.

  “What is it, Tractor?”

  “Sir, who the fuck is this greenie, and why is he here?”

  Mace cracked a grin as the others laughed once more. “Private Reeves is on loan to us from Colonel Tapscott. After he popped his cherry and bagged a few Wraith on his first day, the good Colonel thought it would be a wonderful idea for him to accompany us on today’s mission. He must be something real special because whatever the Colonel sees, I do not. But I wouldn’t worry too much, Praetorians. Private Reeves here has assured me he’ll be so busy, he won’t have time to fuck up or be scared. Ain’t that right, greenie?”

  “Solid copy on that, sir.” When the others burst out laughing, Matt laughed along with them to brush off the snark. It didn’t work.

  Not all the Praetorians were laughing, though. Some were leveling very unfriendly and suspicious looks at him. It was evident not all were thrilled with the idea of a greenie accompanying them on such a critical and dangerous mission, even if the order did come from the top. To them, this was an unnecessary cog in an already well-oiled machine.

  “Any more questions?” Mace’s eyes burned as they scanned the room. There were none. “Get hot, people. We’re full battle-rattle in ten mikes. Dismissed.”

  Matt waited for the Praetorians in front of him to get up and exit the tent before he stood and made his way to the armory.

  As he was about to exit himself, a female Praetorian shouldered him out of the way from behind. “Praetorians before greenies, bitch.”

  Matt watched her walk off, sighing to himself. Gaining any respect or comradery with this elite team was going to be a hard nut to crack. Most likely impossible. All he could do was follow his orders and try not to get himself, or anyone else killed in the process.

  Seventeen

  The place was bursting with activity as Matt headed into the staging area to see his two Praetorian teams gearing up, running pre-combat checks, and sifting through supply crates.

  Everything in this tent was big money. Based on the high-tech weaponry and ammunition on display, this was where the USC’s funding dollars were really being spent.

  As he watched them, he thought some of the men and women almost looked comically out of place – like a motley guerrilla force made up of Californian surfers and metal heads. For some reason, they seemed at odds with the highly tactical and precise military environment they were entrenched in.

  Also bustling around the Praetorians were their support staff, along with military intel and various Alpha Corps technicians. Everyone was moving fast and wordlessly. This was a ritual they had all performed countless times before.

  Outside the tent, Matt could hear large engines grumbling to life as soldiers began loading gear and weapons into the back of their TAVs.

  “A quick word, greenie?”

  Matt turned to see Mace staring h
im down while holding the door open to a small supply room.

  “Yes, sir.” Matt stepped inside as Mace closed the door behind him.

  There was silence between them as Mace folded his arms and leaned against a gunmetal-grey cabinet. “Look, I don’t know you, so I’m not going to fuck around with you any longer than I have to. But I want you to know, this all smells like bullshit to me.”

  Matt leveled a blank stare at his superior. “Apologies, I’m not following.”

  “Which part?”

  “Sir?”

  “Did those armchair General fucks at CIDC set you up with this?”

  It took Matt a second to absorb what Mace was implying. “Sir— no, not at all.”

  Mace hardly appeared convinced by that response. “Ex-cop greenie, currently in favor with USC brass, looking to get back behind something? A new crusade perhaps? Maybe they thought you’d be the perfect candidate to take a run at me? They got data files six feet high on COs like me out here, just looking to bury because we might’ve done something, someone, somewhere didn’t like.”

  “Sir, that may be the case, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  Mace leaned in closer, drilling Matt with a suspicious look. “So you weren’t asked to keep tabs on me for any USC oversight body?”

  “No, I was not.”

  Mace kept his glare on Matt until he dropped his head and exhaled a frustrated sigh. He stepped away from Matt and began to pace the small confinement. “Let me tell you something, greenie. This is all politics now. It’s about brass appointments, it’s about neutering any referendums or overfunding inquiries, it’s about multi-national defense contracts worth trillions, and most importantly, it’s about squashing a growing anti-war movement that threatens all of the above. You think any of those USC assholes back home give two shits about us? We die out here, they won’t be able to forget about us fast enough.”