“How do you know? Plenty of potential for danger, no matter where you go. Not just the human variety, either.”
“Yeah, well … the circumstances aren’t as dire this time around. We’re not trying to beat the clock. We can take our time, be more diligent without worrying that everyone in Harmony is sitting on death row. Right?”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”
Rachel squeezed him and kissed his neck. “How’s Mulligan doing?”
Andrews pursed his lips. Rachel and Mulligan had a complicated history since her parents had died during the command sergeant major’s mad dash to try to save his family. She’d held that against him for years, and even after he’d finally deigned to detail the circumstances behind their deaths, she was no fan of his. Andrews didn’t know how he felt about that. While Rachel was well within her rights to hate the guy forever, Peter and CJ Lopez had declined Mulligan’s invitations to disembark from One Truck even though nuclear birds were leaving their roosts and trailing bright fire across the sky. They’d decided to throw in with Mulligan and help him save his family in a desperate race against time, knowing full well the risks and doubtless aware that their daughter was still in Harmony, completely oblivious to what was transpiring on the planet’s surface.
Andrews thought that said a lot about the Lopezes. They were strong, compassionate people who’d come up short in the end, just like millions of others who had lost their lives in the Sixty-Minute War. Rachel didn’t quite see it that way. She still saw Mulligan as being complicit in their deaths. Andrews had come to know the sergeant major fairly well after the happenings in San Jose, and he knew the older man was as honorable as they came. And he had suffered a double tragedy—losing his family and losing two of his friends at the same time.
Just the same, Mulligan’s confession to Rachel in the Commons Area had served to make her a little less brittle and smoothed out her edges a bit. Before, there’d always been a vaguely frantic element to her. That had disappeared in the months after her conversation with Mulligan. She had mellowed a bit. Though she would likely be unable to finally forgive the sergeant major for what happened to her parents, she had finally learned to live with it.
“Mulligan’s holding up,” Andrews said. “He got to bury his family. Got to say his final goodbyes. He’s doing it all his own way, but he’s able to function and carry on.”
“Should he be going with you?”
“There’s no reason he shouldn’t. Doc Pia checked him out, and so did Renner.” Renner was the base psychologist, a major with a perennially long face and dour disposition, a direct counterpoint to the more stentorian but animated Lieutenant Colonel Pia, Harmony’s chief surgeon. “Plus, he was pretty handy to have around last time. I have to give props where they’re due.”
Rachel didn’t say anything, and Andrews couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or not. She ran her hand over his chest for a few moments, and he turned toward her and kissed her forehead.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Nothing. You’ll be gone for two months, and Mulligan will be with you—on the same crew, even. It seems like whenever he goes out into the field, people come back dead. My parents. Spencer. Choi. Even if it’s not what he intended, people around him tend to die.”
“That’s not very fair, babe. Mulligan saved us in San Jose. Twice. And he saved us after Four had been hit by leading the rescue team our way. I know you don’t like him, and you have some good reasons for that. But he’s just a man, not a curse.”
“I know.” Her voice was very soft. “Just the same ... be careful. Two months out. Anything could happen. Anything.”
“We’ll be fine, hon. Everyone will be fine.”
“Sure.”
CHAPTER THREE
“All right, let’s get this show on the road!” Jim Laird bellowed as he boarded SCEV Four, dragging along a heavy rucksack.
Kelly Jordello followed him, lugging her gear as well. He pushed his broad-shouldered figure into the rig’s second compartment and swung out of his ruck, careful not to hit KC as she leaned forward against the engineering station across from the airlock.
“Whoa, sir—easy there!” KC said.
“Not to worry, kid. You’re fine.” Laird smiled broadly. Despite his build and a somewhat aggressive cast to his face, the commander of the former SCEV Five was a sweetheart—until you got on his bad side, that was.
“Make yourself at home, Jim,” Andrews called from the cockpit. “You guys go ahead and stow your shit, all right? I don’t want you swinging packs around when Mulligan starts bringing stuff aboard. He probably has bombs and shit.”
“Once a Green Beret, always a Green Beret,” Laird said as he headed toward one of the storage lockers. They were all over the rig, in virtually every compartment. Finding one big enough for Laird’s and Jordello’s rucksacks would be a challenge. Laird flipped up the cushions of the dining settee and found the spaces beneath were already full. With a frown, he cast about the larger lockers until he found one that might work. It was mostly empty, as it had been assigned to one of Andrews’s crewmembers who wouldn’t be on the trip. He dropped his ruck to the deck and began rearranging the locker’s current contents.
“Big enough for mine too?” Kelly asked.
“Hell, no. Find your own, Lieutenant!” Laird said, his dark face broken by his customary sunburst grin.
“Bastard,” Kelly responded.
“Bastard, sir.” He turned and opened another locker. “Yeah, here you go. This one should do fine by you.”
As Laird and Kelly set about filling their lockers, Andrews shut out their banter and went back to the preliminary system checks. While the SCEVs had been engineered to be fairly simple to operate—as simple as a multiton vehicle could be—they still had a multitude of systems to oversee. Leona was outside, finishing the second walk-around to confirm the rig’s operational status, and would join him momentarily. The entire mission route had been logged into the rig’s electronic navigation system, so Andrews spent a couple of moments reviewing the initial departure leg. It didn’t involve much beyond turning right to radial three hundred upon lift egress, but paying attention now meant not having to sweat his balls off later—not that something wouldn’t come up. The trip was going to be a long recon, and everyone’s friend Murphy would have plenty of opportunity to lay down his special law.
***
Mulligan had just stepped out of the lift leading to the SCEV bay when he almost ran into Colonel—now Brigadier General—Corrine Baxter. She looked up at him and smiled. Mulligan eased into attention, though it wasn’t required. Baxter had just been promoted from O-6 to O-7, something that should have happened years earlier, but according to the Harmony Telegraph, she had refused the elevation. As Harmony was a standalone installation and they’d seen no indication that the US Army had continued to function in any capacity after the Sixty-Minute War, promotions could be handled internally at the pleasure of the commanding officer. Word was that Benchley had wanted to promote Baxter as soon as it became apparent that the previous deputy commanding general was a casualty—he’d been in Washington when the war started—but Baxter had declined for some reason or another. Recently, she had changed her mind. Mulligan was certain the bad news Benchley presented her had been the catalyst, so Baxter accepted the promotion and rose from executive officer to DCG. The eagle insignia on her uniform had been replaced with a single star, and Mulligan thought it looked pretty good on her.
“General,” he greeted her.
“Sergeant Major, ready for your trip?”
“Always up for field time these days, ma’am. Besides, these kids need some hands-on adult supervision.”
Baxter’s smile deepened. “Hey, you trained them, guy. That’s all on you.”
Mulligan snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe they’ll do better this time out.”
“Are you telling me they screwed the pooch last time, Mulligan? Because if I recall correctly, you were center formation to
make sure that didn’t happen.”
He snorted again. “I underestimated the fluidity of the situation, ma’am. As in, our opponent had off-the-scale mental powers I’d never encountered before. I went through all the field manuals concerning infantry, vehicle, and Special Forces operations, and there was no chapter devoted to dealing with some crazy fucker who had telepathy. I made it all up as I went along, and Choi and Spencer paid for that.”
Baxter nodded then looked around Mulligan, examining his big rucksack. Her eyes fixed on the rifle slung across his chest. “Is that a seven-six-two?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Bit more kinetic power than the standard five-five-six loadout. I usually wouldn’t bother, but this time I’m looking for a little more kill capability in case things go sideways. I didn’t pull any of the other weapons from the rig’s arms locker, so this will be an addition.”
“You expect you’ll be doing some shooting, Sarmajor?”
“Didn’t expect to do any shooting last time, and look what happened.”
Baxter nodded again, but the motion was slow, almost pensive. She looked up at Mulligan intently. The sudden inspection made him feel uncomfortable. While he’d known her for more than a decade, Mulligan had never had any meaningful interaction with the new DCG. Their relationship had consisted solely of a lot of “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am,” so to have her take a sudden interest in him made Mulligan’s guard go up.
“How’re you doing, Scott?” she asked finally.
“Ma’am?”
“How are you doing?”
“Well, I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking.”
Baxter cocked her head to one side. “Sarmajor, don’t think that I don’t know you’re trying to evade my question.”
“What would you like me to say, ma’am?”
“The truth,” she said. “We haven’t exactly had a lot of face time in the past. I know you’re competent and a forward thinker. But I just want to know if you’re doing all right, because I’m not sure I could do what you did so recently and have my shit together.”
Mulligan shifted on his feet uneasily. “I’m not really sure what to tell you, ma’am. I knew what I’d have to do, and I went out and did it. It wasn’t pleasant, and I didn’t enjoy a second of it. But it had to be done, because I just couldn’t bear to leave them out there any longer.” He paused. “So why the sudden interest?”
Baxter looked at him for a while then sighed. “You were always on my mind, Scott. I’ve always been interested in how you were getting along. But I never badgered you about anything like that because I knew you needed time.” She spread her hands. “A day late and a dollar short, right? Don’t hold it against a girl from Charleston, South Carolina.”
Mulligan chuckled. “Hell, no, ma’am.”
“I guess I just want to make sure you’re good to go.” Baxter stepped toward him. “And if you’re not, you tell me what you need. I’m sorry I never reached out to you earlier. But I’m here now ... if that makes a difference.”
Mulligan considered that for a good ten seconds, looking directly into her eyes. He could see Baxter’s guilt over having held herself separate for so long, and that mattered. She hadn’t written him off—she just didn’t have a clue how to get through the wall he’d built around himself after the bombs had fallen and life had changed irrevocably for everyone inside Harmony Base.
“Corrine, I’m fine,” he said finally. “And I thank you for checking up on me. But I’m a hundred percent good to go, ma’am. You can count on that.” Mulligan made a show of checking his watch. “Now, unless there’s anything else, General, I really do need to get aboard the rig.”
“I know. I don’t want to keep you. I just ...” Baxter shrugged. “We’re from the same era. I probably should have made more time for you, but I really didn’t know how to do that. You were ... a very different person before you went on the run to San Jose.”
Mulligan didn’t know what to say to that, so he just shuffled his feet again. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically quiet, even to him. “Uh, well, listen, ma’am. It was all on me, right? I hid for ten years until the earthquake, then Benchley tossed my ass out into the field. To be honest, that shit woke me up in a big way. Laying my family to rest a few days ago was just the capstone. I’m probably still getting through it, but if you’re asking because you think I might be a risk for the mission ... think again, ma’am.”
“That’s not why I asked, Scott.”
Baxter’s eyes told the truth, and Mulligan suddenly felt stupid for thinking that was his easiest way out of the conversation. Baxter wasn’t the kind of officer you could shout hooah! at and walk away from. She was a deeper leader, just like her boss.
“Though the question came up numerous times in the command staff meetings. The votes weren’t evenly split, though. You always won the majority.”
“Great. Thanks for letting me know. It, um, it does mean something.” Mulligan pointed at his chest. “In here. I’m not sure I can tell you exactly what, but it does make an old dog feel good that people still think he’s worth something.”
Baxter stepped toward him suddenly and reached out and touched his arm. “You take care of yourself out there, Sarmajor. I’m a bit late in reaching out to you, and I’m sorry if it seems as maudlin as hell now. But”—she nodded toward the waiting hulk of SCEV Four—“those kids need you to take care of them and to keep them on track. Like you said—you’re the designated adult.”
Mulligan smiled in spite of himself. “You can count on that, ma’am.”
“See you when you get back.”
“Yes, Corrine. You certainly will.” When she smiled at the familiarity, his smile grew even wider. They were members of the Old Guard. They could break with the traditions they fostered, and no one had any right to question the double standard. They were relics of the past, after all.
Baxter slapped his shoulder then seemed to think better of it. She drew him in for a hug, its strength and power counterbalanced only by its brevity. Mulligan was so surprised that he couldn’t immediately process it. After all, even in the good old days, a general officer never hugged a senior NCO. But it ended an instant later, and Baxter immediately turned and headed for the elevator.
Mulligan looked after her for a moment then shifted his ruck and strode toward the SCEV. His boots clanked across the bay’s deck, the soundtrack to his purposeful march. Maintenance personnel moved this way and that, some of them slowing a bit when they saw the big NCO and his rifle filing across the chamber. Mulligan ignored them. Leona stood at the rear of the vehicle, completing her secondary walk-around. She gave him a small smile, but that was all the recognition he received. Mulligan nodded to her and climbed into the rig. Inside, he found Laird, Jordello, and the new crew chief in the second compartment. Mulligan shrugged out of his rucksack and dropped it to the deck.
“Locker four is mine,” he said to Laird and Jordello. “Just in case you can’t read the name on the tape.”
“Yeah, yeah, we saw it, Sarmajor. We didn’t touch it,” Laird said. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, sir. Fine.”
“Glad to hear it. And honestly, it’s good to be crewing with you again,” Laird replied.
Mulligan snorted. “Uh-huh. Excuse me, please.”
Laird and Kelly parted, and Mulligan pushed past them to stow his ruck in his locker.
Andrews called out to him from the cockpit. “Mulligan, you’ll be right seat for departure.”
“Roger that, sir. Be right up.” Mulligan stowed his gear then pushed toward the front of the rig.
As he passed the airlock, two younger men entered the rig, carrying their own rucks. They stopped short when they saw Mulligan, and he scowled down at them.
“Well, well. Sergeants Cobar and Slattery. Thanks for coming over, ladies. Kickoff was ten minutes ago. I see you’re both fashionably late, as always.”
“Sarmajor, we were assisting Lieutenant Eklund.” Cobar was dark
and lean, with thick black hair. When he spoke, his accent still had a touch of Honduran, though he’d left the country as a child long before the war.
“Oh, really. And what did the lieutenant need help with, Cobar?”
“Forward skid plate and lighting package,” Slattery said. He stood right behind Cobar and was tall and fair-haired, with a slightly pimply face and pale-blue eyes.
Both men were crew chiefs. Cobar had been crewing with Laird for a few years, and Mulligan knew him to be a fairly competent mechanic. Slattery was relief crew, not assigned to any specific rig but available for appointment in the event a departing rig needed crew rotation. Of the two, Mulligan judged Slattery was the bigger shirker.
“She needed assistance with the skid plate and lights? That’s interesting, as all those elements are directly visible from the front of the SCEV. Are you sure you guys weren’t playing grab-ass in an elevator somewhere?”
“Leave my crew alone, Mulligan,” Laird said. “I need these guys, so don’t start playing with their heads. All right?”
Mulligan shrugged but kept his eyes rooted on the two soldiers before him. “Get your shit squared away.”
The two soldiers nodded, and Mulligan pressed on to the cockpit. He found Andrews strapped into the left seat, already engrossed in the departure checklist. Mulligan lowered himself into the copilot’s seat and buckled up his harness. He glanced out the viewports and saw Leona finishing her walk-around. She looked up at the cockpit and shot the two men a thumbs-up, indicating the rig was ready for transit. Mulligan gave her a quick salute, and her only response was a sly smile before heading for the airlock’s open outer door.
“Okay, Lee’s coming aboard,” Andrews said. “Let’s get this pig started up. It’s gonna be a long trip.”
“Roger that, sir.”
Andrews dithered over the checklist for a moment. “Uh, you saw the duty roster, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know I need to keep you and Eklund on separate shifts ...”
Earthfall (Book 2): Earthfall 2 [The Mission Continues] Page 2
