The Soldier

by Terrance Mulloy

  Matt could see Mace’s nerves had been raked hard over this. He stood there waiting for his cue to leave the room but was unable to find it.

  As if sensing his unease, Mace moved in closer again, pointing at Matt like an annoyed teacher scolding a wayward student. “Only thing you need to know about me - is that after we finish this op, I’m going to bag the Wraith motherfuckers who killed my brothers and sisters. If that means breaking every rule of engagement and point of procedure, then consider them fucking broke.” Satisfied Matt had gotten the message, Mace took a deep breath and backed away, affording himself a few moments to calm down before continuing. “Yesterday I had a Lieutenant General inform me I was crazy and reckless for wanting to go back out there without any additional support. Maybe I am. I don’t know. Then again, maybe I think their lives are worth a little more than some folded flags and a rifle salute… but that’s just me... what about you?”

  “How do you mean, sir?”

  “Why ship out here to fight this war? Cops still go down daily back home. Sometimes they even die bad. What makes Private Matthew Reeves the exception?”

  Matt’s eyes drifted away from Mace as he thought about that before responding. “I don’t know, sir.”

  “You don’t know?” Mace snickered. “Just something to do, huh?”

  “I think I came out here for the same reasons you did, sir.”

  Mace grinned with amusement, his black sense of humor surfacing in the form of a massive belly laugh. But instead, he staunched it, allowing the room to get quiet again. Then, he glanced down at his wristwatch and gave Matt a glib nod. “Is your gear ready, greenie?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re not authorized to use any of the equipment we’re packing today, so head out back and wait for me in the deployment yard. I’ll intro you to my crew.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Mace watched as Matt turned and hastily exited the room.

  Eighteen

  Carrying his haversack and assault rifle, Matt made his way back out to the compound yard, passing some civilian truckers who were bartering with Arab troops through a fence.

  The troops appeared to be hawking contraband that consisted of holosticks and tobacco pouches. Matt figured the sticks were either loaded with porn or replays of major sporting events. Possibly both. He had no idea how they had managed to sneak by the heavily armed checkpoints, but judging by the nervous looks on their faces, they seemed to know the risk involved. There was also a possibility the COs stationed in this facility willfully turned a blind eye to this stuff.

  The yard was in full swing as Matt approached the two gigantic rigs that were being loaded with supplies for convoy travel. Large fuel trailers were wheeled up to the back of the vehicles, ready to be coupled.

  The two designated truck drivers stood nearby, ready and waiting with their duffel bags and bladders of freshwater. They both appeared to be American men who were in their mid-to-late forties. These truckers were gristly porterhouses with nothing to prove except to survive long enough to make money.

  One of them sipped nitro-chilled coffee from a stainless-steel flask, calmly watching the support staff hustle around him, readying his rig. Matt noticed both drivers had ballistic vests strapped over their civilian clothes. The one with the prosthetic hand and Dodgers cap even had a small sidearm holstered to his left leg. The other wore mirrored aviator glasses that seemed almost as big as his face.

  Everything taking place here was the down-and-dirty of getting ready to roll. Drills frantically buzzed, power cables hissed, and heavy metal clanked as large coupling rods and pins were locked into place. Matt still could not get over how massive the wheels of these rigs were.

  He turned to see Mace standing next to a female civilian dispatcher on a small mezzanine in the distance, chatting as they oversaw the procedures taking place below.

  Behind them was a large wooden board with the words The Wall of Pain etched across it. From what he could see, it was filled with posters of wanted Dupes, schematics of alien IEDs, along with sections of map labeled, The Gore Barrel, and Bloodshot Alley. This was the very thing USC recruitment departments did not want greenies to ever see.

  And here Matt was, still wet behind the ears from his atmo-drop, watching it all unfold. He had to smile at the macabre irony attached to that.

  Engines chugged and black smoke swirled across the yard as the two TAVs inched alongside the rigs, temporarily being rolled into position by support staff. These two armored beasts were nothing but scarred hunks of brutish metal, with rows of sandbags slung over reinforced plating. They also bristled with long-range antennae and powerful headlights. The two main areas on each TAV were the primary turret basket, which was a big cylindrical cage that spun with the turret, and the bow, which was the front cab of the vehicle where the driver and troops sat. These were big filthy war machines for big filthy soldiers.

  When Matt saw Mace and his two teams begin to huddle up behind the TAVs, he quickly made his way over to them.

  Mace turned to see Matt approaching and clicked his fingers. “OK, let’s do a quick intro before we roll. Private Reeves, this is here is Spear Tip 1-7. They will be riding point today.” Mace motioned to the five Praetorians readying themselves to board the first TAV.

  They all turned to face Matt, unimpressed with the idea of polite introductions.

  “Sanchez, raise your hand.”

  “Why, sir?” he asked jokingly.

  “Because if the shit hits the fan, this greenie will know who to hide behind.”

  They all laughed as Sanchez raised his hand and waved at Matt like he was trying to get the attention of a child. Matt recognized him from the briefing earlier. He gave Sanchez a neutral nod in return.

  “Patel, don’t be shy.”

  An Indian soldier named Singh Patel then raised his hand. While his face was an expressionless mask, he still looked dark and deadly. He was slowly sharpening his M-38 saber – with a small, handheld grindstone. Sabers were a thermal-heated military blade that each Praetorian was equipped with. Matt thought they looked like neon-colored Katana swords from some distant future.

  “Tomblin? Where you at, baby girl?”

  Amanda Tomblin walked out from behind the TAV and raised her arm before splitting a wad of phlegm at the ground. She was a freckle-faced bruiser who looked like she could have been an MMA fighter in another life. In this life, she was a stone-cold operator that relished in the violence she had been ordered to unleash on mankind’s greatest enemy.

  “Stewman.”

  Without looking up, Brian Stewman raised his hand while adjusting his rifle’s collapsible buttstock. He was a hulking man of African descent, with an intelligent gleam to his eyes that made him appear even more dangerous than he already was.

  “And finally, Doeber.”

  Without looking up, Broderick Doeber lifted his hand before inserting a fresh ammo cartridge into his huge sniper rifle. He slapped it in with a loud clack, then gave Matt a lazy nod. The word Swamp Skunk was painted on the side of it, indicating to Matt he was possibly from Louisiana or Florida somewhere.

  Mace then swung to the other Praetorians behind him, leaning against the second TAV. “This is Doom Rider 1-9. You’ll be riding with us, greenie.”

  Matt looked at the huge, armored transport vehicle and nodded.

  “Tractor, care to say hi?”

  Tractor gave Matt a taut nod. Matt returned it, recognizing him from the earlier briefing.

  “Mr. Bruhl here is our designated gunny. You will only ever refer to him as Lord Gunny.”

  Lord Gunny raised his hand. He was a thirty-something headbanger turned soldier, who joined the USC after his crop-dusting father lost his job to automated drones. The ominous slogan of, The Power of Black Metal Compels You, was scrawled across his dented chest armor with a giant Demonic skull behind it. By the way he was grinning at Matt, it gave the impression he was an over-zealous ball of energy who loved his job. This was
a man who couldn’t believe he got paid good money to go kill things in outer space.

  Mace then turned to the twenty-something Japanese American woman standing in front of him and feigned a polite bow. She returned it with a shy chuckle. But as she did so, raised her middle finger. They both smiled. This was some private joke between them Matt was not privy to. “Greenie, this is Yuna Akari. You will know her only as WarBarbie.”

  Matt was uncertain if giving her a friendly nod was a good idea, especially after she abruptly shouldered him out of the way only moments earlier. So instead, he raised his hand.

  WarBarbie responded by arching her bleach-blond eyebrows at him in a curious manner. Her shaved head did a wonderful job at framing her beautiful features, but there was also a deadly calmness to her. Despite her hot-pink nails, hot-pink lipstick, and hot-pink body armor, everything about her appeared formidable and battle-ready. The crude wire necklace draped over her chest plate displayed various kill trophies. These were linked medals and insignia patches she had acquired from Wraith commanders in the field. There was even something Matt thought looked like a severed ear. Unlike the other Praetorians, her saber scabbard was not located on her back but attached to her waist instead, making her look even more like a Cyberpunk Assassin from some neon-drenched dystopian future. Matt figured that was the whole idea.

  Mace then turned and waved to the two truck drivers in the distance. “Our drivers today are Casper and Marcus Axe. Better known as the Tarzan Twins. Two good old Asphalt Cowboys from Alabama. These guys could drive through a hurricane and come out the other end with an intact supply load. You name it, they’ve driven through it. Nothing like this, though. Right fellas?”

  The two truck drivers gave a loose wave and went back to watching support personnel finish setting up their rigs. When Marcus turned, Matt saw the words, Hey Girl, Talk Trucker to Me scrawled on the back of his vest. Casper had, Keep Calm, it’s not Monday Yet, written on the back of his.

  With the introductions over, Mace then gave the twirly hand signal to bug out. “OK, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Everyone immediately sprang into action. The Praetorians assigned to Spear Tip 1-7 all began mounting the TAV, climbing up a stepladder that was fixed to the side of the front cab. Sanchez was the first to reach the top as the others began passing their weapons and gear up to him.

  Without speaking a word, Marcus and Casper wished each other luck by bumping fists, then climbed up into the driver cabs of their respective rigs. This was a small ritual these two brothers had performed countless times before.

  Like dominoes falling, huge engines grumbled to life like waking monsters. Hydraulic pistons and brakes hissed with pressurized air as the first truck began to crawl towards the gate of the compound, its enormous tire treads crunching gravel into dust. Smokestacks mounted along the trailers of each truck belched black soot, reminding everyone that even in the late 21st century, some machines of war still needed to guzzle gas in order to move. This was some serious heavy metal in play. The convoy was coming to life.

  Matt waited in line as Mace crawled up the side of Doom Rider 1-9 like a well-trained monkey, disappearing inside the forward cab.

  Tractor was next up, hauling weapons and gear along with him as he climbed.

  WarBarbie watched with disgust as Lord Gunny quickly poured a satchel of instant coffee crystals onto his tongue, then followed that up by sucking on a tube of toothpaste. He turned to her while gleefully chewing the godawful mess. “Christ, Gunny,” she grimaced. “That is some nasty-ass stuff.”

  Lord Gunny smiled back at her; his teeth caked in brown sludge. “Tractor showed me this yesterday. He calls it a Hillbilly Latte’.”

  Matt was next in line. He stepped onto the first rung and climbed up into the cab of Doom Rider 1-9. Inside, Mace was busy stowing gear away in some overhead bins while Tractor secured his rifle in its respective wall mount next to his troop chair. He dropped into his chair and started strapping himself in with thick harnesses and buckles.

  WarBarbie slid in behind Matt next as Mace climbed into the driver’s pod and started flipping switches on the dash console. He punched the starter button next to some steering levers. The engine rumbled but did not catch. “She must still be a little thirsty from her last run. Come on, baby…” He tried it again. The engine sputtered then died.

  Head ducked, Matt slipped his haversack off his shoulders and made his way along the aisle of jump seats behind the driver’s cab, carrying his rifle with his other hand.

  “No, you sit here, greenie,” WarBarbie ordered, pointing to the seat across from hers.

  Matt obeyed and shoved his gear into an overhead cabin, then secured his rifle into a wall bracket before sliding into his chair, fumbling with the thick straps and buckles.

  “You need to take a piss, there’s a bunch of empty water bottles in that crate over there.” She then turned to Tractor and pointed at him with a smirk. “You need to take a dump; you ask Tractor about his clamping technique. He’s like the Turd Wizard of Epsilon. Can hold one in for days.”

  Matt looked up at her while fastening the X-shaped harness across his chest, unsure how to even respond to that. He decided the best thing was not to. He’d only known WarBarbie for less than twenty minutes and was slightly bewildered by her crudeness. For such a beautiful Asian woman, she spoke worse than a roughneck on an oil rig. There was no filter whatsoever. In some ways, he found it rather refreshing, and if he were being completely honest, a bit of a turn-on.

  Lord Gunny slithered into the cab and kept making his way down into the turret basket.

  “Hey, Gunny!” Tractor yelled.

  As Lord Gunny turned, he caught a packet of melted Jolly Ranchers Tractor had tossed over to him.

  “Consider it penance. I’ll get you another one when we get back. Sanchez can wait.”

  Lord Gunny gave him a mock salute, tucked the candy into a pouch on his armored vest, then turned and kept on going towards the turret basket.

  WarBarbie watched him shimmy into the basket and scoffed. “Gunny, you ever gonna use the damn hatch in the turret? Why you gotta use this one all the time?”

  “Bad omen,” he replied. “I don’t trust it. Don’t like the look of it.”

  Back up front, Mace opened the choke again. The engine rumbled and spluttered in protest before roaring to life with a throaty growl. Mace’s face flooded with relief, despite it being unbelievably loud in here now. “Must’ve still had some dust on the plugs. Moving out!”

  The TAV lurched forward as Mace shifted into gear. The convoy was on the move.

  Matt turned to see Lord Gunny now strapped into his gunner’s chair like a fighter pilot, rotating the huge turret basket with his faceplate. It was linked to the holographic gunsights and HUD displays that orbited his cockpit.

  The business end of the turret was twice as large as a Phalanx CIWS system one might find on a conventional aircraft carrier. The HP-Z rounds it fired were capable of chewing through solid rock like melted butter. Matt couldn’t help but feel a little safer just by looking at it.

  Now secured in his chair, Matt turned to face forward and raised his faceplate, taking a deep breath. He knew he had to try and relax for the long drive ahead.

  Mace sharply turned the vehicle with the two steering levers, veering around the serpentine layout of blast barriers before whipping onto the road that led to the compound gates. As he upshifted into gear, the TAV began to build speed. Considering how big it was, this thing was moving surprisingly fast once it rumbled past the gates the guards had already opened for them.

  “You know, I was thinking…” WarBarbie pondered while strapping herself into her chair.

  “About what?” Tractor asked, fidgeting with his forearm console.

  “You ever gonna let me try those Memphis ribs you keep harping on about?”

  “Next time the old lady sends me a new vacuum-sealed batch, I’ll let you know.”

  “Gonna take a whole year to get
them out here. Hope we survive that long.”

  Tractor looked up at her and cracked a wry grin. “Got no choice there. Already promised her we’d open a rib joint when I get back.”

  “Seriously, is there ever a time when you’re not thinking about food, WarBarbie?” Lord Gunny quipped, overhearing them from the turret basket.

  “Nope,” she replied assertively. “You still drinking those kale shakes every morning, Gunny?” Tractor shared a knowing look with her and chuckled. She winked at him back.

  “Of course, I am,” Lord Gunny replied, seemingly unaware of the swipe she had just taken at him. “I have to.”

  “Uh, why? Stuff tastes illegal,” added Tractor. “Should be classified as contraband.”

  “Fit mind, fit body. That’s why. It was a conscious decision. When I came out here, I decided to start treating my body like a temple.”

  “WarBarbie snorted with a laugh. “That’s nice. I treat mine like a whorehouse above a liquor store.”

  Still configuring his weapon interface, Lord Gunny shook his head. “Oh, you’re so hilarious.”

  “Dude, you were literally eating toothpaste a moment ago.” WarBarbie looked at Tractor and slowly shook her head.

  “Not to forget the Jolly Ranchers I just gave him,” Tractor added.

  “You guys can fuck off.”

  “Aw, you need a tissue, Gunny?” chided Tractor.

  Tapping his HUD, Lord Gunny decided to play their game too. “Hey Tractor, how’s the pool construction going?”

  Now it was WarBarbie’s turn to chuckle. “Ooh, sick burn.”

  Tractor looked at WarBarbie, feigning shock at her betrayal, then turned to Lord Gunny. “You’re giving me shit for building a pool, Gunny? Really?”

  “No, I’m just asking how it’s going.”

  “Last I heard it was going good. Hey, at least I own one.”

  “Yeah, because nothing says I made it halfway to the American Dream like an above-ground pool.”

  WarBarbie tilted her head to the ceiling and roared laughing.

  Tractor did not appreciate her reaction. “Not sure why you’re laughing. Didn’t your brother just marry a stripper?”