by Nick Cole
“No mem drive? Then Strange goes to Plan B and we just take another ship ourselves. She can wave off our original transport if the deal goes south. But odds ain’t real good on that route and the situation is already a Pan Fire Drill with blindfolds. We got three elements in three places trying to coordinate a bank heist, an infiltration and ship capture, with as much sniper overwatch as Ghost can provide. In other words, Dog, it’s run and gun for the bank. Breach and clear. Loot. Then withdraw to the LZ and set up perimeter security. You’ll have indirect from Sar’nt Chungo atop the mobile crawler. Sniper support from Ghost for the street fight. Once you’re in the bank, they’re to shift to cover the airfield from this broadcast array tower here northeast of the field. Dog will hold the entrances onto the LZ with machine-gun teams and explosives.”
“Who’s gonna do the infil to get to the ship?” asked Chief Cook, who was the main Voodoo rep for briefings. Stinkeye couldn’t be bothered because there was most likely a card game going on somewhere. And Nether bothered everyone too much with the surrealism of his incorporeal presence to attend.
I had a pretty good idea who was gonna do the infil. It rhymed with deeper.
“Reaper. Captain’ll be takin’ ’em in on this one,” barked the First Sergeant proudly like he was handing us a real plum assignment. “They gotta get a move on fast once we top off with the special weapons the captain is out getting. He and the Monarch will be taking Reaper in through the Crash itself. They gotta retrieve something else deep inside the wreck just for the Monarch. Part of the deal and everyone does their part. That’s how the company works.”
Amarcus muttered something about my platoon being barely capable of being errand boys.
“What’s that, Sergeant Hannibal?” asked the First Sergeant, knowing full well the story of bad blood between his two platoon sergeants.
“Nothing, First Sergeant.”
The old NCO shook his head in barely concealed contempt.
“Whatever it is… we ain’t got time for it on this one. I’ll tell ya, kids. This is about as close as it gets. I been in some tight spots before and if this ain’t one I don’t know what is. So keep it tight out there and remember we’re all Strange Company. We get our boys off this one, then you two can go at each other with knives and I’ll sell tickets for everyone to watch.”
The mention of knives reminded me my index finger was in the ring of my karambit. It always goes there when Amarcus is around. It’s always ready. I’m always ready. We have a date whether the First Sergeant likes it or not.
Whether I want it that way or not ain’t important. That’s the way it is. And it’s just best to be ready about it. File that under being honest about things.
Funny, I thought to myself. How it does that. My finger through the ring of the karambit. I didn’t look at my enemy as the First Sergeant scolded us. Just reminded myself that when it went down between Amarcus and me it would go down fast and I needed to make it real quick. Amarcus Hannibal was a brutal brawler. He’d pop my skull and gouge out my eyeballs with his thumbs if he got the chance. I had no doubt about that. Half of one even.
I had my moves down pat to kill him as fast as possible with a sharp knife. Because that’s all I was gonna get. I had no doubt about that either.
The hatch to the crawler opened and let in a blast of hot orange light, gusting wind, and sand. It closed and there was the captain and the Monarch.
“I’ve given them the basics, sir,” announced the First Sergeant in his usual grand fashion. “They know what they gotta do and they’re gonna do it.”
The captain looked around at us with his perpetually cruel and tired face. Cruel because an injury had made it that way. Tired because command never stopped. Never took a break. Never didn’t need some fire to be put out with too little retardant and a lot more boot leather than was on hand.
He shrugged out of the ancient leather trench coat that always wrapped his spartan frame, a thing I could never remember seeing him do. He was always wrapped in it like he was always cold and dying of some bone-deep plague. Dead blue eyes watched us all. The scar that ran down his face was livid and almost the same color of his iron-gray hair.
Then he gave us the order. The actual op order. Breaking it all down how it was gonna go. How we were gonna do everyone who stood in our way and get off-world. From situation, to mission, to execution. Then command and signal.
Everyone had it tough. That couldn’t be disputed.
I wouldn’t have wanted what Amarcus and Dog Platoon was gonna face, for sure. Basically, an attack in force through fortified streets pacing just ahead of the crawler. Amarcus would have all the indirect and sniper fire he could do, allocated for priority tasking. So that told me the captain and the First Sergeant expected it to be real rough for Dog in there. The First Sergeant was going forward with that team. Dog and Ghost. Ghost on overwatch. Fighting a running battle to take the bank.
“We have to recover the contents of Box 88, Sergeant Hannibal. SOP. Everyone knows the mission. That is the mission. You buy it on the way in, or afterwards, I need one of yours to link up with me for those contents. That is not an option. I’m dead, give it direct to the next in command.”
I noticed he was looking at our Monarch as he said this last bit. Letting her know he was making sure the terms of the deal would be abided by. No matter what. She’d get her prize. We’d get off-world.
Freedom. This wasn’t about that. This smelled like her getting something that would give her an advantage over someone else. That’s all this was. Lies. And more lies.
“Reaper…” The Old Man was looking at me. “We’re going in through the Crash. We have some new weapons and munitions. I dropped those with your ASL when I came in, Sergeant Orion. He’s distributing now. High-power AP for the rifles.”
Uhhhhh, I thought. High-power AP was very expensive. And… it was for a specific reason.
“Getting into the Crash itself,” continued the captain as though reading my thoughts, “is going to require that level of violence. Recon by stealth to enter. Once we’re in there, there’re enough sensors left by the science team’s security forces for them to know we’re in. We have to find something called the Node. It’s a science station, one of several set up inside the portions of the wreck that have been explored and excavated. We won’t have that info until we’re in and we’ve hacked their system. We hit the Node. Retrieve a piece of equipment. And then we get into the science labs that were set up to study the ship. From there we commandeer a high-speed rail car and make it to the airfield via tube line. It’s a direct. One-way. Again, heavy resistance is expected. Most local defenses will be reacting to Dog’s attack on the bank. That should draw some focus as events develop. Our target ship, an armored security transport coming down direct from the bank ship now currently in stationary orbit above the capital, will set down at sixteen forty-five local. We emerge from the transport tube station here…”
He showed us a picture of the LZ. Three hundred meters from tube station to target landing pad.
“… at sixteen forty if the engines have powered down. Sweep the field. Snipers are on standby to penetrate the command canopy with high-impact munitions if the crew attempts an emergency departure. Reaper secures the transport and Dog and Ghost pull in.”
He looked at Sergeant Biggs. “We’re leaving the crawler.”
Our supply sergeant, a corpulent man who was always either eating salami or chewing a cigar, shrugged like it wasn’t a loss that would bother him much.
“Once we have the head count it’s throttle up and we try to reach the Spider by seventeen thirty rendezvous one hundred thousand over the surface.”
“Who’s flying the bird?” asked Chief Cook.
“Our employer has that handled. She’s a rated star pilot.”
Chief Cook nodded. Arms folded. Stance wide.
“Okay, sir. What do you want Vo
odoo to do, sir?”
“Chiefs Nether and Stinkeye, move with Amarcus’s people. Do what you guys do best. Interface with Chungo on indirect so you don’t get caught where you shouldn’t be.”
Cook nodded.
“And myself and the Little Girl?” he asked.
“You’re with assault team Reaper. I don’t know what you can do, Chief Cook, but I have a feeling we’re gonna need her friend down inside that alien wreck. You’re her wrangler. So that’s where I need you, Chief. Keep her safe in case we need her.”
“Copy that, sir.”
He stepped back into the shadows of the brief, indicating he was done with questions that pertained to him. Voodoo had their missions.
I raised my hand. “Sir…”
The Old Man looked straight at me and indicated I should speak.
“The high-power AP. Last time I checked, those are very expensive munitions reserved for infantry teams going up against field mechs. Is that what we’re expecting inside the Crash, sir?”
“Negative, Sergeant Orion.” He lowered his head and studied his battle board. “Intel informs us there is some kind of predator ape that can be found all throughout the area we need to go through to access the ship. Large, powerful, and extremely violent. They hunt in packs. We’ll be going down Lost Road Canyon until we dismount. From there on in we should expect these predators until we get into the ship. Treat them as vicious and deadly. Apparently the munitions will put them down.”
I nodded.
“And, last thing, sir. What’s an ape?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
We were thirty minutes into the dismount and approaching the target area when we spotted the first one. The ape. An ape.
It moved fast, up high above the massive cracked and broken boulders we were crossing under as we threaded the narrow canyon closing in on our objective to enter the Crash site and recover a high-value item deep within the wreckage.
I thought of Ol’ Amos and the last recorded image that captured him. After that he’d gone into the wreckage we were heading toward. Never to be seen again.
“Some kinda scout maybe,” muttered Punch, drawing a bead with his Bastard as he watched the swift-moving rock ape, finger hovering over the trigger and ready to squeeze off a few rounds and end its acrobat’s progress above us, focus intent through the ranged scope he’d flipped over to on his rifle for this part of the approach. Walking point, he needed to see them before they saw us.
Above the ape and the rock, the boiling black volcanic smoke constantly emitting from the crash fissure raced away into the sky and high into the atmo. At least a hundred and ten thousand up. Just as it had when Ol’ Amos first found this world over two hundred years ago. And then disappeared forever. We were following the approach marked as Lost Canyon Road on our maps. A twisting crack winding its way in closer to the wreck.
“Why is it shifting colors to match the rock?” wondered Choker not far behind Punch, frozen near a boulder as we tried to remain unseen. We were all halted in the crouch. Covering in the shadows of the big rocks, or behind them if we were lucky enough to have been moving near them when Punch’s hand signal to halt suddenly shot up as he spotted the ape.
Even though Punch had whispered it over the comm at the same time. “Tango. Up high. Two o’clock.”
I always made sure Reaper used both. Hand and low whisper over comm. You don’t always have good electronic comm. But hand signals… you don’t have those, you got real problems. It’s always best to be in practice with the original patrol operating system. Good habits make good soldiers, as some NCO once barked at me. I can’t remember which. But maybe that’s because I’m tired. Even though I’m telling myself I’m not. There’s no room in the ruck for fatigue on this one. Just do this, I keep telling myself. And then you can sleep for twenty-five long years.
I checked our column as we closed with the objective. Only the light tread of our boots making any sound over the crush and broken rock all across this canyon. A canyon ruined by a falling starship. The Old Man and the Monarch were just behind me by about five meters. Then Chief Cook and the Little Girl. The gun team of Hoser and Hustle came up next. Heads on swivels and looking for something to light up.
“Could use a cigar right about now,” Hoser had grunted a few clicks back. No one answered. Patrol SOP was no smokes. Combat, smoke as much as you want if you got the time. But I’d found it was best to keep your hands working every weapon you had and not lighting a cigarette like you were cooler than Juan of Mars.
That didn’t mean you couldn’t want one though.
Nothing in the SOP about that.
“Know what you mean,” said Punch after a minute. “Feels like oh-get-it-on-thirty.” Then he looked at me. “I can feel it, Sarge. It’s comin’. Bet on it for sure.”
That was about two minutes before we spotted the first ape.
I nodded that I felt it too and swallowed hard. Mumbling one of those prayers you pray even when you don’t believe. I was tired of getting my people killed. I’d like to prevent that going forward. That was my prayer. The prayer of all good NCOs. Even the ones who don’t believe in anything.
I turned and caught the Monarch shifting away from her sector and making eye contact with me. Like she’d read my thoughts. On believing.
I looked away fast. Checking our intervals and not needing to tell anyone to tighten up.
Hauser and Jacks came along next with the Kid forming a second team to the rear. Team Two. I’d broken what was left of Reaper, once a forty-man platoon, into two rough teams. I’d use Team Two to either support us in an assault, or as a QRF to take advantage of anything we ran into with a flanking attack.
Then we spotted the first one.
Right now, watching the creepy ape-thing move like liquid and lightning high up on the rocks of the narrow canyon walls we were threading—it was near invisible due to its shifting color and the light—I felt like pulling both teams in tighter. I had a real bad feeling about this. But then again, I don’t need anyone to tell me I always do.
The Monarch had explained to all of us what an ape was. A large simian native to Earth. They could be incredibly powerful and ferocious. Some of the bigger ones could pull your arms right out of your sockets. Others rip the flesh right off your face. They were tribal and known to use rudimentary tools. There were a number of “ape” type species to be found throughout the discovered universe, but unless you were heavy into xenozoology and understood animal genus families, you wouldn’t know about Earth’s apes. Unless you’d been raised on Earth. And no one you ever met had, unless you met a Monarch, which no normal person ever did.
Unless you were Strange Company and one just joined your company in the middle of a planetary Ultra invasion. Which didn’t happen every day. Or ever, statistically speaking.
“The crugo on Tauri are related…” she continued as she listed off a few galactic species. I’d heard of one or two. And I had seen a crugo once in a zoo. They looked more like large bats than apes. But apparently, they were related.
“Flying monkeys is da least strange thing you gonna see inside o’ the wreck, Little King,” Stinkeye warned me later after the “ape” portion of the briefing. “If that ship is what I think it is…” hissed the drunk Voodoo chief as he got close to me and whispered what he didn’t want anyone else in the company to hear, “then you gonna see some real pillar o’ da universe stuff in there. I done given dat rubberhead Chief Cook something to help yaz in dere if tings get rough enough to do yaz. An’ if I don’t see you on da other side o’ this one, Little King, then it ’cause of da stupid. Either it et yaz up… or it et me. But it’s out there. So best to hose everything and make sure it’s real good and dead twice over.”
Then he stuck one long index finger under his watery eye and pulled it down. Which is Stinkeye for take me serious on this one.
After that he wa
s gone. Weaving off to join the crawler as it pulled away into the dusty early-morning darkness with the team that was going to hit the bank. His chest rig flopping in the night wind. His totem flask the only weapon he carried.
I was shocked. But I didn’t know what more by. The fact that Stinkeye said he might know something about one of the universe’s great mysteries, The Crash, which he’d told nothing about to anyone the entire time we’d been planetside… or the fact that he’d actually given Chief Cook, his mortal and sworn enemy, something to help us survive. And by default, help Chief Cook survive.
Maybe it was poison, and he was cool with collateral damage just to get the job done and declare himself the winner in their never-ending battle of Voodoo chiefs.
The universe is a very strange place. Best not to ask too many questions. Front sight forward and you’ll do mostly fine. Get it on time was coming in the space of the day that was just hours away. I could feel it then as we worked through the night to get ourselves ready to hit our objectives. Whichever way it went in the morning and through the long day everything was promising it would be, however it went down, I’d made up my mind I was going to get it done. Yeah, I was tired. We all were. But there was every chance we were gonna end up on the Spider tonight. In our own spaces. With a couple of weeks to get sorted and then hit the coffins for twenty-five years of rest during the long haul to Blackrock.
