by James Rosone
The flight to Firebase Oteren didn’t take very long. The Osprey flew over the base and settled down on the flight line a second later. The pilot shut the engines down, and everyone got out.
Another sergeant was there to greet them and guided them over to a reception tent. Once inside, he went over everyone’s name. If they were a new soldier to the battalion, he assigned them to a company and told them to hang tight.
As Pauli listened to the sergeant call out their names and assign them to a company, he realized most of these soldiers were being assigned to his company: Alpha Company, 1st OAB. When the sergeant got to Pauli, he apparently realized he had just gotten back from the Comfort. “Report to the battalion commander’s office and then go to supply to get a new set of combat gear,” the sergeant directed.
Pauli wasn’t sure why he was being summoned to the battalion commander’s office, but if Major Monsoor wanted to see him, he wasn’t going to keep him waiting.
As Pauli walked across the firebase, he could see they’d made a lot of progress in building it. His unit had been in the field since they arrived in the state of Oteren. He knew the brigade was building a base around the state capital, but he had no idea it had grown to be this big.
When he found Major Monsoor’s tent, Pauli approached cautiously. A sergeant walked out of the tent and immediately recognized him. “Corporal Smith, I thought I saw your name on the list of new arrivals this afternoon. Welcome back! Come on in. The major wanted to speak with you personally once you arrived.”
Pauli wasn’t sure what all this was about, but he was glad it appeared to be something good.
The two of them walked into the tent and made their way over to a field table the major was sitting at. The sergeant announced their presence to the commander.
Monsoor smiled when he saw Pauli’s name tape. “Ah, Corporal Paul Smith. I’m glad we found you. How was the Comfort? Did the fleet take good care of you?”
The man seemed genuinely concerned. That was a big reason why a lot of the soldiers in the battalion liked Major Monsoor—no matter how low someone was on the totem pole, the major always checked in on them. He was well liked by the enlisted and junior officers.
Monsoor must have seen the confusion on Pauli’s face. “Take a seat, Corporal. I called you in here to tell you Lieutenant Atkins put you in for the Silver Star for your actions during the battle of Two Pines a few weeks back.”
Pauli was shocked. “Oh, wow. Thank you, sir, but I was just doing my job—trying to stay alive and keep the soldiers in my squad and platoon alive.”
Major Monsoor put a hand on Pauli’s shoulder. “I know, Corporal. You did a great job; you went above and beyond in organizing the defense of that line and keeping those Zodarks from overrunning your position. That was incredible if you ask me. The medal is well earned, and so are these.”
The major turned and grabbed something off his desk, handing it to Pauli. It was a set of chevron stripes. “Your lieutenant recommended we promote you to sergeant. You’ll be taking over command of your old squad when you return back to your unit.”
Pauli raised his left eyebrow at the mention of his old squad. “What happened to Sergeant Sanders?” he pressed. “Is Yogi all right?”
“Yes, Sergeant Sanders is doing fine,” said Monsoor jovially. “He moved over to take charge of Third Squad. You’ll be in charge of First Squad, unless Lieutenant Atkins or Master Sergeant Dunham has made changes. As a matter of fact, your company should be arriving back on base tomorrow morning. I’m rotating your company back to the FOB for the next month—you all have been in the field since we arrived on the planet and seen more than enough combat. It’s time to give you a break and get your unit back up to one hundred percent again,” the major went on to explain.
Pauli nodded and smiled at the news. He was glad his unit was going to get a reprieve soon; they’d all earned it.
“In three days, we’re going to have an awards ceremony for your unit,” Major Monsoor added. “You, along with a few others, will receive your awards then. In the meantime, enjoy the rest of the day and evening off. Grab some hot chow from the new dining facility and chill out. The coming weeks may get busy. I hear we may have a new mission coming down from Division.”
When Pauli left to walk to the new dining facility, he paused just long enough to affix his new rank to his uniform. It felt good to be a sergeant. Lieutenant Atkins had told him if it hadn’t been for the reorg, chances were he already would have made sergeant or even staff sergeant—but here he was, finally a sergeant. The added pay bump wouldn’t hurt either.
Military pay after the reorg actually wasn’t all that bad. Because of the reduced number of ranks and the elimination of overseas and danger pay, a private’s salary was now 52,000 Republic dollars or RDs. A corporal made 62,000 RD, a sergeant 73,000 RD, a master sergeant 85,000 RD, and lastly, a sergeant major received 100,000 RD.
The typical enlistment was six years. If a soldier reenlisted, they automatically received a 5,000 RD bump in pay, regardless of their paygrade. No one would really get rich off military pay, but it wasn’t all that bad either. When Pauli factored in the other military perks like thirty days of paid vacation, housing, and various schooling or educational benefits, he felt that it was a good career field.
The more Pauli thought about it, the more he realized he should try to make the jump to being an officer if he was going to stay for the full fifty years to collect a pension. Officer pay was ridiculous—take the enlisted pay and add thirty percent, and you essentially had officer pay.
Pauli walked into the tent areas where his unit was going to be staying, and he saw Yogi. “Whoa. Hey, how’s it going, Yogi? I thought you weren’t coming in until tomorrow.”
Yogi grinned broadly. “That was the plan. Captain Hiro was apparently able to get us a ride on a couple of transports, so they brought us in early. The rest of the company went to the chow hall. But, hey—how are you, Pauli? They get you all patched up?”
Pauli dropped his gear and the few personal items he had next to an empty bunk. “Right as rain, my friend. That ship is amazing. They pump your body full of some new advanced medical nanites and let them go to work on you for a few days. Honestly, I feel physically and mentally better now than I have in years.”
Yogi laughed. “That’s great, Pauli. Maybe I should get shot or blown up so I can have them pump my body full of advanced nanites,” he said, poking his friend in the shoulder. “My body is killing me. Nearly two months in the bush has beaten me the hell up.”
“Did we lose any more people after I left?” Pauli asked.
Yogi shook his head. “Thankfully, no. But we did lose a lot of people in that attack. Half the platoon was wiped out. After you left, we consolidated the platoon with Third Platoon. We’re supposed to get a bunch of replacements while we’re here on the FOB, so we’ll see.”
Pauli nodded as he took in the information. “When I flew in, the Osprey I was on was full of replacements. I’ll bet most of them are probably coming to our platoon then.”
Yogi shrugged. “Well, let’s go get something to eat, my friend. We can catch up.”
*******
Three days later, the company was standing in formation as Major Monsoor read off a list of soldiers receiving various medals and awards. It was a long list. Roughly half the medals being awarded were posthumous, a sad testament to the brutality and intensity of the last couple months of combat. Ironically, the first two days of the invasion had gone smoothly—they hadn’t been involved in any combat. The last two months, however, the company had suffered a thirty-two percent casualty rate.
When the major stood in front of Pauli, he attached a Silver Star on his breast pocket, then he added a Purple Heart, an Army Commendation medal, an Intus Service Medal, an Orbital Assault Medal, a Primord Liberation Medal, and lastly, an Empire Primord Campaign Medal. Pauli had no idea he was being awarded seven medals. The last four were completely new—he’d never even heard of these meda
ls.
When the major was done with the award ceremony, he told them about the last four medals. “Each time a soldier participates in an orbital assault, they will receive an Orbital Assault Medal,” he explained. “The Prim Liberation Medal is given for liberating one of their worlds or colonies, the Intus Service Medal was for service on the planet Intus, and the Empire Campaign Medal, well, those are for participating in an Empire campaign.”
As far as Pauli was concerned, it was just more junk to clutter up your uniform. He was sure some real-echelon pukes were probably excited as hell to receive them, but the only medals that meant anything to Pauli were the Purple Heart and the valor medals. Those medals meant he’d been in the thick of it—proof he was a real badass.
Once the major was done with his speech telling them how proud he was of them all, he announced that a special dinner was being prepared for them. Somehow, someway, he’d managed to find them a couple kegs of beer and some steaks. They were going to eat like kings and party like it was 2099 tonight. It was a nice gesture and something the soldiers appreciated. The major was all right in their eyes.
*******
Two weeks had gone by with the platoon pulling FOBBIT duty—they mostly pulled guard duty along the perimeter of the base. Once a week, they went out on a twelve-hour patrol outside the perimeter, but that was about it. They were soaking in the light duty after a rough couple of months.
Then the world changed again. Three hundred and fifty thousand human soldiers and nearly twice that number of C100s showed up from Earth. The population of human soldiers on Intus had more than doubled.
The veterans knew this meant one thing—the brass was gearing up for another campaign. The big question was who was staying on Intus, and who was going? Granted, there was still some fighting happening on the planet, but most of it was isolated to a handful of pockets of resistance. It was mostly a mop-up operation, being dealt with by the Prim troops. At this point, the human soldiers were pulling garrison duty all over the planet.
Finally, word officially came down that the human soldiers would be invading another planet—not a Prim planet, but a Zodark colony. The resistance to this operation was expected to be stiff. The day after the announcement, the entire brigade was going to begin practicing orbital assaults. The dropships would arrive, and they’d load all their gear and equipment back up and return to the RNS Tripoli, a beast of an orbital assault ship the Altairians had helped them build. The ship could hold the entire battalion and deliver them to any planet in the galaxy with sustained operations for up to three months.
When Pauli heard the news, he shook his head. He was getting short on time. He only had ten months left on his enlistment. The last thing he wanted to do was be a part of a new invasion mere months away from the end of his tour in the military. When he got to the Tripoli, he’d make an inquiry with personnel and see if he could still apply for Delta school or maybe get a softer assignment to ride his time out.
Chapter Nine
Kita Shipyard
Kita, Primord Core System
RNS George Washington
“Would you look at the size of this place?” one of the bridge officers said to no one in particular.
“Helm, bring us into the slip our guests provided,” McKee’s XO directed.
The George Washington moved slowly towards the massive shipyard. The facility was bigger than anything they had ever seen, housing more than two hundred slips. Most of them were either full of new ships under construction or repairing the battle damage of others. It was an astronomical operation.
“Captain, we’re receiving a message from the station manager,” the coms officer announced. “They said to inform you that once your ship docks, a boarding party will come aboard to meet with you. They’re requesting that you keep all our people on the ship for now.”
McKee acknowledged the request and returned to her seat. She reviewed the laundry list of items that needed to be repaired. She was glad they were able to pull into a shipyard to get fixed up and ready for the next campaign she was sure was already being cooked up.
Once the ship docked, a detail of Prims came aboard and made their way up to her boardroom, where McKee was waiting for them along with her chief of engineering and most of her department chiefs. Bringing them into the loop of what was about to happen was the easiest way to disseminate information.
As the Prims walked in, McKee rose from her seat to greet them. She had to remember, the Prims didn’t shake hands like humans, and they didn’t do a slight bow like the Altairians. The Prims would raise a hand as their form of greeting. It was awkward and odd, and it kind of reminded McKee of a Nazi salute from two centuries ago.
“Captain Fran McKee, I am Admiral Stavanger. This is Mr. Hanseatic; he is in charge of the shipyard facility. We would both like to welcome the people of Earth to Kita. It is a real honor and pleasure to meet such fearsome warriors. My people have regaled us with tales of your ferociousness in battle on Intus,” the Prim admiral said in an almost reverent tone.
“Thank you, Admiral Stavanger. It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you,” McKee replied. “My people cannot thank you enough for allowing us to bring some of our critically wounded soldiers to your medical facilities, and for your offer to repair our ships. We are very excited to be working more closely with the Primords and to learn more about your people.” She motioned with a hand for the group of five Prims to take a seat.
As the group sat, Mr. Hanseatic spoke. “I was told you would have a list of critical systems that need to be repaired. If you have this list ready, I’d like to send it over to my repair manager. He’ll give me the precise time it’ll take to complete the repairs of your ships.”
McKee nodded toward her chief engineer. He handed over a tablet that contained the detailed list. Using Altairian language translation tech, they had converted their request to the Prims’ native language.
The shipyard manager took the tablet and smiled when he saw it was already in his native tongue. He synced it with his tablet and sent it on to his own people.
The Prim admiral spoke again. “Captain McKee, if you move your injured people to the docking port, our medical technicians will transport them to our infirmary. I was also told by your Admiral Chester Bailey that you would like a more detailed tour of our industrial and military facilities. As allies, we will honor this request and do our best to help answer your questions. Perhaps some of your soldiers can tell us what makes your own soldiers so fearsome in battle. We’ve been fighting the Zodarks now for three hundred years. It has been a long war that has seen the front lines change many times. Everyone in the Galactic Empire is hopeful that humans will become a deciding factor in turning the tide of the war in our favor.”
McKee did her best to hide her shock that the Prims been fighting their own war with the Zodarks for three hundred years—a war that essentially never ended wasn’t something she had signed up for. She wondered if the Chancellor had known this was going to become the new reality for humans when they’d joined the Empire.
She smiled, putting an optimistic tone forward. “That would be great, Admiral. As a matter of fact, I have a contingent of our Special Forces with me. I am sure they would be able to provide your military leaders with a lot of information about how our ground forces fight. My officers and I are spacers. We fight starships, so our knowledge and understanding of ground warfare are very limited. We are eager to learn from your officers how to fight our ships better and how to integrate more advanced technologies into our ships and their capabilities.”
The rest of the meeting went by quickly as the admiral and the shipyard manager went over a brief schedule of the next ten days. Mr. Hanseatic said it would take his people eight days to complete the needed repairs. “With your permission, we’ll also provide an update to the repair Synths on the human ships that will allow them to know how to carry out some of these more advanced-level repairs,” he offered.
For the next six days, McKee’s S
pecial Forces contingent would tour a couple of Prim military bases and spend some time learning about their military and how it fought. They’d also work on explaining to them the differences between the Deltas and the regular Army soldiers, and how the two groups worked together but also had distinctly different missions and skill sets.
*******
Five days later, McKee was sitting in her office as one of the stewards prepared a small table with some fine china, silver cutlery, a pair of wineglasses, and food. When they had finished, they left to allow her and the Prim admiral the chance to talk privately.
The food had been specially prepared to make sure it was acceptable and safe for a Primord to eat. McKee was doing her best to impress him with some specialty dishes from Earth and some California merlot.
When it was just the two of them, they ate and enjoyed the fine wine in private. The conversation remained mostly neutral. Captain McKee was doing her best to get to know and understand Admiral Bvork Stavanger, his history and personality. She planned to write up her personal assessment of the man later that evening while the information was still fresh.
The more they talked, the more fascinated she was by him. He was an astonishing three hundred and sixty-two years old and had been in the Primord military now for three hundred and twenty of those years.
McKee just shook her head in amazement at how long he’d lived. She couldn’t imagine what he must have seen over the years. To live to be so old. He’d been married twice; each marriage had lasted for more than a hundred years. He had had six children with his first wife and eight children with his second wife. He had an astounding eighty-four grandchildren, and more than five hundred great-grandchildren.
At first, she thought this was preposterous, but the more she thought about it, the more she came to realize that if she lived to be as old as he had, this could be her own story. She was only forty-two and still single, but heck—who knew what could happen over the next three hundred years?
