The Soldier

by Terrance Mulloy

  The driver panicked and fired again, but the round glanced off her armored shoulder. It was not enough to cancel her momentum, which was now headed towards the Dupe like a runaway train.

  With an almost mechanical clumsiness to her kamikaze run, WarBarbie dove headfirst into the hatch before the driver had a chance to scramble back and close it on her. They both tumbled down into the cockpit, limbs flailing as they hit the ground with a bone-shattering thud.

  Neither had time to recover when the grenade detonated.

  Matt had just managed to straighten the rig, shifting it into drive when the air was suddenly ripped by a massive explosion.

  Mace stared in horror as gouts of flame mushroomed skyward. “Oh, god… no!” As he sat there watching, he knew deep in his bones WarBarbie was not coming back. In a final act of selflessness, she had given all to them. Mace suddenly lashed out and punched the dashboard in a fit of rage. “Goddamn it, WarBarbie! Fuck!” He was now struggling to hold back tears.

  Matt also sat there behind the wheel, slack-jawed as the billowing flames roiled the air with heat and shrapnel. Through distant swirls of fire, he could see the Stalker was now a buckled heap of steel. Hoping he would see her figure miraculously emerge from the wreckage, he knew there was simply no way she could have survived that.

  WarBarbie was gone.

  Mace swallowed his grief and anger, turning to refocus his attention on the path ahead of them. They still faced a long and treacherous drive before they could reach their destination. They owed it to the men and women they had lost today to reach it. “Let’s go, greenie. Move.”

  Struggling to peel his eyes away from the inferno, Matt accelerated.

  As they passed the flaming wreckage and drove off into the night, Matt felt everything had suddenly gone deathly quiet, as if all sound had somehow been drained from this alien world.

  Twenty-Eight

  Mace sat in somber silence while Matt drove, carefully threading the battered vehicle through a towering gorge, the rig’s headlights casting insidious shadows over the rockfaces.

  After exiting the gorge, they were greeted with a vast tundra of sulfur deposits, immediately conjuring memories of California’s Badwater Basin. If only it was that. This was a geographical oddity unlike anything back home; a strange, endorheic basin dotted with wind-blasted spires that protruded out of the ground like lopsided totems.

  “There it is,” Mace said exhaustedly, pointing at their two o’clock.

  Matt saw where he was pointing and carefully steered the rig slightly to their right.

  Out there, just beyond the limits of visibility, a small clutch of lights twinkled in the haze.

  They were now two miles from USC Camp Suffield. Or, more aptly, what remained of it.

  The morning sun was still under the horizon, but as they drew closer to the base, familiar shapes began to appear in the gloomy light.

  Perched behind formations of Hessian sandbags and Jersey barriers, a chain-link fence topped with spirals of razor wire surrounded the perimeter. There was also evidence of a heavy firefight, with black scorching across the base’s concrete facades.

  Above the main gate’s USC seal, a tattered flag depicting a Union Jack bulldog flapped aimlessly in the wind. Aside from a few brush fires that crackled around the vicinity, the base’s interior looked completely deserted.

  “I hope there’s someone still left in there,” Matt said as he began to slow down, the rig’s huge airbrake system hissing into the night. “Looks empty, sir.”

  “Yeah. Maybe it’s meant to.”

  Suddenly, hear heavy rock music began pounding from somewhere inside the base. It sounded as if it were being played through the base’s loudspeaker PA system.

  Mace drew his sidearm and readied himself to get out. “Stop here.” Before opening his door, he turned to Matt. “Keep her running. I’m not back in five, you turn around and hotfoot it outta here. Should be enough fuel in the reserve tanks to get you halfway back to Rhino.”

  “Copy that.” Matt gave a nod as Mace hopped down and shut the cab door.

  The rig’s headlights acted as a guide while Mace cautiously approached the main gate, the music throbbing louder and angrier with every step. If this wasn’t an active warzone on an alien planet, he could have easily been walking towards the gates of a live rock concert back on Earth.

  He slowed his pace, the muzzle of his sidearm sweeping the unmanned guard posts above. He could see the intimidating shapes of gimbaled plasma cannons mounted behind sandbagged emplacements; their barrels aimed downward. But from his angle of approach, no visible crews were manning these weapons. They appeared to have been abandoned.

  The checkpoint boom gates were also down, and every defensive barricade around the gate seemed to have been erected in haste, including the wire fencing. That caused Mace’s concerns to deepen as he drew even closer, picking out more detail in the crater-pocked walls.

  The last firefight that took place here had been fierce, and judging by the fresh smell of plasma scorching, quite recent. Perhaps only a day old.

  Mace took a passing glance at the bodies that now littered his path, but due to the petrification and charring, he was unable to determine if they were human or not. Oddly, he also could not locate any fallen weapons either. He paused for a moment, taking in his surroundings, trying to think over the relentless throb of rock music. It seemed, the closer he got to the base, the more bodies materialized out of the murk. In fact, the base’s entire perimeter was riddled with them. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light beyond the rig’s headlights, he realized he was wading through a killing field. There was death here on an epic scale.

  Maybe there was no one left, he thought with increasing dread, now convinced they had arrived too late to help their fellow soldiers.

  But before Mace had any more time to dwell on that thought, the music suddenly cut off. Deafening silence flooded his ears to the point where it was almost disorientating.

  “Oi, don’t move! Not another step!” yelled a rough male voice that was distinctly working-class-British.

  Mace froze, looking up at the overhead emplacement to see three young officers now aiming assault rifles at him, their exhausted faces visible in the powerful high beams of Matt’s rig. They looked half-starved and frail like they were struggling to even hold up their rifles.

  “Turn those lights off or I’ll shoot ‘em out!” The wiry officer that appeared to be in charge looked to be an Infantry Cadet in his early twenties.

  Mace turned to Matt and made a gesture with his arm to switch them off.

  He did, plunging the base’s main entrance into darkness.

  Mace then turned around, the three officers now cutting a stark silhouette against the pre-dawn light. “Vanguard, Zulu Company? he queried.

  “Now drop your weapon!” the same voice commanded, ignoring Mace’s question.

  Mace tossed it in front of him and slowly raised his one good hand.

  “The other one!”

  “I can’t. I have a gunshot wound to my right shoulder.”

  “I don’t give a toss about your shoulder, mate. The order was to raise both hands.”

  “Something tells me you’re not the one who gives the orders around here, son.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, get me the officer who does.” Mace’s patience with this kid was now wafer-thin.

  “Who are you?”

  “Captain Todd Mace, Alpha Corps. I’m part of Operation Fast Eagle.”

  Upon saying that, Mace heard some audible groans and snickers from these men.

  “Operation Slow Eagle more like it, mate,” the young officer scoffed. “I thought you Praetorians were supposed to be elite. My arse! We’ve been waitin’ days for you lot to show up.”

  Under normal circumstances, Mace would have torn this low-ranking officer a new asshole after such a blatant display of disrespect. But he figured all military decorum at this base had gone out the window, long ago. There wa
s also a chance no one was in charge - and even if there were, who would bother disciplining them? There were much bigger fish to fry. Mace held his glare on the young officer, allowing the mockery to pass by him. “I’m well aware of that, soldier.”

  “Where’s the rest of you?”

  Mace gestured to himself, then the rig behind him with Matt sitting behind the wheel. “You’re looking at it.”

  There was silence as the three officers traded uneasy looks.

  Mace was now done with the small talk. “Where’s your Lieutenant Colonel?”

  “Dead.”

  “Then who’s your commanding officer?”

  “Hang on, mate. How do we know you’re not a fuckin’ Dupe or something?”

  “How do I know you’re not one?”

  “You don’t.”

  Mace sighed with frustration and lifted his faceplate. “This conversation isn’t going anywhere fast, kid. So, I’m just gonna turn around and drive back to where I came from. I’ll let you explain to your CO why you decided not to let those supplies in.”

  Mace let the implications of that hang there for a few more seconds until the young officer turned to someone behind him. “Open the gate! Let ‘em through!”

  As the boom lifted and the metal gate began to slide open, Mace snatched his sidearm off the ground, turned, then headed back to the waiting rig.

  Once the rig was parked in the open courtyard, the young officer led them through what remained of Camp Suffield, passing the damaged administrative and storage areas.

  Mace caught a group of officers rushing across the courtyard to inspect the rig. They looked desperate. He knew time was a factor here, but he needed to speak with whoever was in charge first. These officers had waited days for them to arrive. They could wait a few more minutes.

  As they pushed deeper into the base, Mace began to regret that decision, now confronted with the hopelessness surrounding them. Male and female officers sat huddled together, some dug shallow foxholes and cleaned their weapons, preparing for their last stand. Others sat around playing video games on their entertainment consoles, waiting for orders that never came. Some ate coffee grounds straight from camouflage packs to fend off their fatigue. But many just slept under makeshift tents that had been crudely constructed out of spare uniforms. A few Medics tended to the wounded, doing their best to comfort the gravely injured with nothing more than a held hand. Everyone looked haggard and tired. There was little food left and even less water.

  The main barracks and mess tents had all been destroyed, along with technical spaces and mission-prep areas. Thick columns of black smoke still billowed from the rubble, choking the air with a horrid stench. There was no military aircraft visible anywhere on the base, and aside from two intact TAVs parked in a far corner of the base, all armored personnel carriers and utility vehicles had been destroyed. With the base now offering little in the way of cover, most officers were exposed to both the unforgiving elements and an unforgiving enemy. They truly were running on fumes out here.

  They passed a long row of cumbersome shapes covered by green tarpaulins, Matt’s eyes taking in the grim sight. When the corner of one tarp was lifted by a gust of hot wind, three blackened corpses were revealed. They were definitely USC. The one closest to Matt had been nearly decapitated by plasma fire. It was a gruesome sight, even for a man who was now accustomed to the horrors of combat.

  The young officer veered around a small pile of rubble, entering the narrow mouth of a hastily dug trench that had been cored out of dirt and rock. It was little more than a temporary berm. A group of male officers sat slumped along its walls, dirty and unshaven. They looked up and gave Mace respectful nods but stared incredulously at Matt while he passed by. Matt knew exactly what they were thinking.

  “Lieutenant Hollsworth,” the young officer announced, motioning to the well-built British-Caribbean man in his mid-thirties, studying a holographic surveillance image with his Second Lieutenant; a twenty-something female with thoughtful eyes set above caramel cheeks. Aside from their grimy uniforms, both officers looked burned-out, neither having slept or eaten much in days.

  Hollsworth was the first to look up and spot the Americans approaching, relief flooding into his eyes. But before they could reach him, heavy rock music began blasting again from the loudspeakers above. It sounded like incoming mortar fire.

  “Don’t worry, you get used to it,” Hollsworth yelled to them, tapping his forearm console to shrink the map he’d been studying. Despite his lower rank and disheveled appearance, he came off well-spoken, portraying the confidence of a veteran.

  Although, given the condition of the base and its personnel, Mace wondered if that was merely an act to project some semblance of leadership. “You trying to let every Dupe on this planet know where you are?” Mace yelled in reply over the deafening music, looking around to take in the squalor of the trench.

  “It keeps them away. They hate it. Can’t stand the sound.”

  “I don’t blame them; I can’t stand it either. You mind turning that shit off, please.”

  A flash of surprise rippled across Hollsworth’s brown eyes before he signaled to one of his officers to turn it off. Mace’s tone was a direct challenge to his newly acquired authority, but he also knew he was now dealing with a Praetorian. The dark epaulet of a Roman centurion’s helmet and sword branded on the armored plate of Mace’s left shoulder made him feel small. It was designed to. “I’m Lieutenant Anton Hollsworth, this is Second Lieutenant Zara Roberts.” Hollsworth held out his calloused hand for Mace to shake.

  Even though Mace outranked both officers, Great Britain’s ASIF emblem of authority operated under a different ranking system to their American counterparts. So despite also being USC officers, by military law, they were not required to salute him. However, Mace could assume command of this facility if he chose to do so, and judging by his prickly demeanor towards them, Hollsworth and Roberts figured he had already made that decision.

  Mace gave Hollsworth a neutral nod then shook his hand. “Captain Todd Mace, Alpha Corps.” He then shook Roberts’ hand before turning his gaze back to Hollsworth. “I spotted two parked TAVs on the way over here. Why haven’t you sent for relief?”

  “Sir, you are the relief.”

  “You didn’t think it was a good idea to try and find some more?”

  “We were ordered by our commanding officer before he was killed to hold this base until you arrived. That’s what we did. He also told us you’d be here within a day.”

  Mace noted the comment, knowing the heavy casualties they had taken while waiting for their arrival. “Believe me, Lieutenant, if we could have gotten here faster, we would have.”

  “How many supply rigs did you bring, sir?” asked Roberts.

  “One.”

  “I believe Lieutenant Colonel Ellis asked for two.”

  Mace snapped to the young female officer with an intense glare. “Eight Praetorians and two civilians died so we could get here. That’s not including the ten Praetorians that died earlier trying to reach you. You’re lucky you’ve got one.”

  Roberts’s expression soured, realizing she had unintentionally come off as ungrateful. “Sir— uh—I didn’t mean it like that, I—"

  “Private Reeves,” Mace said, abruptly cutting her off. He ran his fingers along his forearm console, bringing up an encrypted holographic file. He tapped it and the file shrunk, morphing into a small ball of floating light.

  Matt snapped to attention. “Sir.”

  “Why don’t you go and open that trailer up. Second Lieutenant Roberts can give you a hand. There’s a lot of soldiers here in need of our supplies.” He tossed the small ball of light over to Matt, his forearm console now chiming from the new data it had just received. “That’s my access code. Use that to open it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Matt turned and gave Roberts a respectful nod.

  Saying nothing and keeping her head low, she returned it and followed Matt out, feeling even more like sh
it.

  Hollsworth then spun to the young officer that led them in from the gate and clicked his fingers. “Peters, go with them. Audit detail. I want every crate coming out of that trailer logged.”

  “Rog on that, sir.” Peters headed off to join Matt and Roberts.

  Mace watched them all climb out of the trench and disappear.

  “Captain, you’ll have to forgive my Second Lieutenant. She’s lost a lot of people close to her these past few days. We all have.”

  “Trust me, I know the feeling. She seems like a good soldier.”

  “She is. One of the best.” Hollsworth paused thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “I’m sorry about the Praetorian unit that was sent from Rhino. They were inbound, only a few klicks out when we lost them on radar. Lieutenant Colonel Ellis sent a small retrieval unit to go search for them.”

  “What’d they find?”

  “I don’t know, sir. They never returned.”

  Mace looked at Hollsworth, his expression darkening. “Whole fuckin’ war is a mess.”

  “It sure is.”

  Mace’s flinty eyes ticked over the young Lieutenant. “Do you still have the intel?”

  Hollsworth nodded, pulling out a small data chip from a supply pouch and held it up. “There’s several terabytes here. Most of it is still encrypted and will need deciphering. We simply don’t have the facilities to do that here.” He then held it out for Mace to take.

  Mace took it and slipped it into one of his pouches. “Rhino will. We’ve got Analysts and Intercept Teams that do this type of stuff.”

  “Just so you know, Lieutenant Colonel Ellis never received any confirmation from British Command about releasing that data to U.S. Special Forces. After two separate requests, I still haven’t either.”

  “I wish I was surprised to hear that.”

  “He was furious so many of his officers had to die to keep that data from falling into enemy hands. He would have been relieved to know you made here in one piece.”