by John Bowers
Walker looked pained, but nodded.
“I’ve seen them. I hope Nick didn’t join up just for the uniform.”
“I didn’t,” Nick said. “That would be stupid and irresponsible.”
“Well, at least we agree on that.” Walker stood up and clutched his briefcase again.
“Dad…I know we have disagreements on a lot of things, but I don’t want to leave home under a cloud. I would really like your blessing on this.”
“Blessing. Interesting choice of words.”
“Okay, your acceptance, then.”
Walker stared at him a moment, then laid the briefcase down again.
“When you were born, it was my fervent hope that one day you would become a minister of the Gospel. This is pretty much the opposite of that.”
“I’m sorry to kill your dream, Dad, but you’ve known for three years that I would never become a minister. I’m just not wired the way you are.”
“I understand. It hasn’t been easy to accept, but I see that I can’t change it, so—”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Dad.” Nick felt his throat constrict as the words came out. A stinging in his eyes threatened tears. “I love you, but I have to find my own way.”
“Yes, you do. I know that, too, but it isn’t easy to watch.”
“You think I’m making a mistake.”
“I’m afraid you’re making a mistake. I could be wrong.”
“If it’s a mistake, I’ll find out for myself, but a bigger mistake would be wasting my life without ever taking any risks. I’ve spent most of my life right here in this valley, and I want to see something more. I need to see it.”
“I understand that, too. But, Nick—there are so many other ways to do it!”
Nick grimaced.
“Do I have your blessing? Or not?”
The Rev. Joseph Walker stared at his son for twenty seconds, conflict in his eyes. Finally he shook his head slowly.
“I can’t, Nick. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
The stinging in Nick’s eyes got worse, but he managed to bite his tongue before he said anything he might regret. He nodded, then turned away. He didn’t want his dad to see the tears that glittered in his eyes.
Wednesday, 16 May, 0435 (CC)
Firebase Oscar – Camarrel, Alpha Centauri 2
After a long, restless night plagued by disturbing dreams that seemed to loop around in his mind, Nick dragged himself to the mess hall for morning chow and then reported back to Lt. Danby’s bunker. The young chaplain met him with a gentle smile and seated him in front of the desk.
“Good morning, Private. Did you sleep well?”
“No, sir, not really.”
“Well, that isn’t too surprising. How do you feel now?”
“A little tired. Kind of numb.”
“To be expected. How do you evaluate yourself at the moment?”
“I need to be busy. I appreciate you giving me a quiet place to think about things, but I need to get back to my platoon. This whole thing is going to take some time to process, but I can’t sit still while it does.”
“How do you feel physically? Other than being a little tired?”
“Every bit as good as I did yesterday before we deployed.”
“Do you think you’re alert? I would hate to let you go back distracted. That could be dangerous.”
Nick shook his head. “No, sir, that isn’t going to happen.”
Danby gazed at him for a moment, then smiled.
“Okay, then. But promise me one thing…”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not as an officer, or even as a chaplain, but as someone who is concerned about you…promise you will contact me if you start to run into trouble, or if things stop making sense. Will you do that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, sir. I promise.”
“All right. In that case, go collect your gear. I will arrange for a sled to take you back.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Nick stood and saluted, but Danby extended his hand instead. Nick shook it.
“Be careful out there. Don’t make me regret this.”
“No, sir, I won’t.”
*
Forty-four minutes later, with his rifle slung and carrying his field pack, Nick Walker boarded the same command sled Danby had used the day before to bring him to Firebase Oscar. The same Infantry crew was on board, one of them manning a light tripod laser. Nick settled in on the starboard side—the sled carried a maximum of five—and strapped himself in. The pilot watched until he was done.
“All set, Private?”
“Ready. Do you know where we’re going?”
“The chaplain said to return you to your unit. They’re supposed to be a few miles west of Minkler by now. We’ll find them.”
Nick nodded and slumped down in his seat, the top of his helmet an inch below the gunwale. The sled’s engine wound up with a whine until it reached the desired rpm, then the pilot, Cpl. Farris, engaged his lifters. Nick swallowed down his stomach as the sled lifted to ten feet and began to move forward. It continued to rise until it cleared the firebase perimeter, then Farris engaged forward thrust and the sled began to surge ahead. Wind streamed over the occupants as the sled climbed to thirty feet and picked up speed.
Within minutes they had cleared Camarrel and streaked west toward Minkler. Nick closed his eyes and disengaged his mind from what was happening around him. He had assured Lt. Danby that he wouldn’t be distracted, but that wasn’t completely true—his father’s death weighed heavily upon him. He knew it would take time, maybe weeks, before he fully came to grips with it, but he had been right about one thing—he needed to keep busy, and as soon as he returned to Echo Company, he would be okay.
He was no stranger to sled travel. Star Marines drilled in sleds throughout training and he had spent dozens of hours riding in them, but never felt completely safe. Sleds sometimes went out of control, even rolling upside down, and the only thing holding a man in place was his harness. Roughly half of those killed in training were involved in sled accidents, and the danger was magnified in a combat setting. So…even though he and the crew were belted in, none of them was really safe.
Nick didn’t worry about it. Military life was, by definition, dangerous. The good news was that this would be a short ride—at eighty knots, the sled would reach its destination in minutes. He was, therefore, hardly prepared when Cpl. Farris banked hard to the left and then to the right. Nick’s eyes popped open and he gripped his harness as the sled continued to weave at a rapid rate, rising and falling at the same time. He locked his gear between his ankles to keep it from sliding about, not sure what was happening.
Then he saw the fire streaks rising from the starboard quarter, passing the sled on all sides.
“Where the hell are we?” he shouted, but if the others heard him, they didn’t respond.
Adrenaline surged through him. They hadn’t reached Minkler yet, and the terrain between Camarrel and Minkler was supposed to have been cleared. Who the hell was shooting at them? He desperately wanted to look over the side, but with those shells shooting past, he didn’t dare. He gulped and ducked his head even lower, hanging on for dear life as Farris did everything in his power to make the sled a smaller target. Now the shells seemed to be converging from two directions, both right and left, but the sled was skimming at maximum power and seemed to be pulling away…the streaks were now coming from behind them.
Just a few more seconds and they would be out of range…
…just a few seconds too late. In spite of Farris’s heroic piloting, two streams of what must have been at least 40mm shells converged at the same moment. Nick felt them hit the hull with stunning impact—maybe twelve or fourteen rounds—and explode. The impact was jarring, but Nick’s harness held him in place. But the sled began to shudder, and he saw Farris fighting the control yoke as smoke began to stream out behind them. Their speed began t
o drop, the bow dipped, and still moving at sixty knots or better, they arrowed toward the ground.
Oh, shit! Already?
Nick felt the cold, familiar grip of fear as, with expanded eyes, he watched his fate unfold before him. Farris was still fighting the yoke, but the smoke trail had thickened and the sled was shaking like a wet dog. At least one of the lifters was rattling like a desert snake and the other, as far as he could tell, had stopped turning. The sled plunged faster toward the ground.
“Hang on!” Farris shouted, and Nick heaved a deep breath, wondering if it might be his last. The ground was coming up fast, and though it looked like they were going to hit a plowed field, that hardly diminished the danger.
The other Infantryman, the gunner whose name Nick had never learned, disengaged himself from the tripod and grabbed a panic bar attached to the gunwale. At the same moment, for reasons he would never be able to explain later, Nick released his own harness. The sled would likely flip over, and he had no desire to be crushed under it.
With the wind screaming past and black smoke boiling out of the engine compartment, the sled hit at a forty-degree angle and might have bounced except the bow dug into soft ground. The sled flipped end over end, but Nick was already airborne, launched like a spring by the sudden stop. For two or three long seconds he sailed through the air, helpless and tumbling, his fear dimmed by the speed of what was happening. He hit the ground on his back and skidded to an abrupt stop in a cloud of dust.
Aching all over, he lay there a moment, amazed that he was still breathing. He waited for the pain—surely something must have broken—but it didn’t come. Slowly, trembling, he rolled onto his stomach and placed his hands on the ground. His next thought was for the sled crew, but the sled was thirty yards behind him, upside down, smoking like a burning petroleum well. He didn’t see the others—they had either been thrown clear or were still under the wreckage.
Nick got to his feet, breathing hard, and looked around. He saw his rifle a few yards away, lying in the dirt. He snatched it up and inspected it, but the barrel was clear; he worked the arming mechanism and everything seemed in order. It would require a thorough cleaning, but if he needed it before he had that opportunity, it would probably work.
Impeded by the plowed ground, he broke into a run.
The command sled, a third the size of the infantry sleds Nick was accustomed to, probably weighed a half ton. Topside down, it had buried itself three or four inches into the soft dirt. The black smoke had dissipated slightly, but only because the engine compartment was burning. It wasn’t a raging fire, more like a fireplace or campfire. Even so, Nick had to consider that the fuel tanks might ignite. They were located inside the hull, one under each gunwale, and flames were licking out of the lifter housing; if the tanks and fuel lines were still intact, he was probably safe to approach, but he had no way to determine the actual risk.
Heart pounding with dread, he walked around the sled looking for the crew. As he rounded the stern and looked on the other side, he saw a hand protruding from under the gunwale. He didn’t know which Infantryman the hand belonged to. It wasn’t moving, which suggested its owner was either unconscious or dead. The angle of the wrist also suggested the arm was badly broken. He knelt beside it, reached for the wrist, and felt for a pulse. He found none, but the gunwale could be cutting off the blood flow, so it proved nothing.
He walked around the front of the vehicle, but didn’t see the other crewman. He stood there in the heat of dual suns and stared at the wreckage, uncertain what to do next. A heavy smell of wreckage hung in the air, similar to that of a car accident—lubrication oils, scorched rubber, and tortured metal. He rubbed a hand over his face, felt something wet, and looked at his hand. A smear of blood. No surprise—he was lucky his head was still attached.
With a deep breath, he chinned his helmet comm.
“Any station, this is Private Walker, Echo Company, 33rd Star Marines. I’m declaring an emergency. Any station, come in.”
Helmet comms only carried a few hundred yards and he was probably several miles from the nearest Federation receiver, so he had little expectation of a reply, but sometimes—if the atmospherics were just right—
A crackle in his ear.
“This is Firebase Papa. Private Walker, what is your emergency?”
Relief surged over him. For just a moment he was too emotional to reply.
“This is Nick Walker, Echo Company. I was being transported from Firebase Oscar to my unit, somewhere west of Minkler. Our sled was shot down. As far as I can tell, I’m the only survivor, but we need assistance. I think the Infantry guys are dead and I have no idea exactly where I am.”
Dead silence followed his transmission. After twenty seconds he repeated it.
“Firebase Papa, do you copy?”
“This is Firebase Papa. Stand by, Walker.”
Nick blew out his breath. Stand by? What the hell did that mean?
He chinned his comm again.
“Standing by.”
Nearly a minute passed. Nick scanned the horizon in all directions with narrowed eyes. He was totally exposed in this field, and if the Freaks had been close enough to shoot down the sled, they might decide to investigate their handiwork. Fortunately, he saw nothing. The suns were heating up, but a breeze wafted across the flat countryside, cooling him a little.
His helmet comm crackled again. This time the voice was different. Older, more authoritative. An officer.
“Firebase Papa to Private Walker. You still there?”
“I’m here, Papa.”
“Describe your situation.”
Nick took thirty seconds to give as detailed a description as he was able. His body ached all over, blood was trickling down his left cheek, and his head was starting to hurt.
“What’s your serial number, Walker?”
“Zero zero five two three two three nine nine six zero.”
“What’s your hometown?” Firebase Papa asked.
“Chowchilla, CentCal, North America.”
“What is your date of enlistment?”
“January 15, Four Thirty-three.”
“Stand by.”
Stand by? Still? What the hell were they doing?
The same voice came back again, this time a little less brittle.
“Where are you, Walker? How far out?”
“I’m not sure, sir. We left Firebase Oscar about twenty minutes ago, but I don’t think we reached Minkler yet. I’m standing in an open field, completely exposed.”
“Can you see any landmarks?”
“A few trees on the horizon, but otherwise it’s all flat farmland.”
“Is there any sign of the enemy?”
“No, sir, not yet. But that could change any minute. You’d better send a corpsman. I think the Infantry crew are buried under the sled. Tell them to follow the smoke. The sled is on fire.”
“Leave your helmet comm on, we’ll home in on that. Hang tight, son, and keep alert. Help is on the way.”
“Roger that, sir. Walker out.”
Nick heaved another deep breath and turned in a slow circle, scanning the horizon again. He wondered how long it would take to scramble a rescue sled. Maybe five or ten minutes to brief the crew, then however long it would take them to get moving. He was probably looking at thirty minutes, minimum.
He unslung his rifle and checked it again. It was covered in dust, but it should work. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it down, then put the hanky away. His pulse had settled into something close to normal. He returned to the protruding hand and tried again for a pulse, but without success.
Five minutes crawled by. The breeze picked up slightly and he was dusted by flying grit. He lowered his head against it, then lifted his chin again. He heard something, an engine. That was quick! They must already have a sled in the area, to get here so quickly. He peered back toward Camarrel, shading his eyes with a hand. A dust cloud was approaching, something coming very fast. He wished
he had binoculars to identify it, but at least it was on the way, maybe one minute out. He began to breathe easier.
Then the dust cloud separated and he saw two rooster tails heading in his direction. He watched for another ten seconds, and his heart tripped into high gear.
Fuck!
The two dust clouds were growing wider apart, but still approaching. A flanking maneuver. He ducked behind the sled and dropped to one knee, his rifle ready. He could make them out now, more or less, and they didn’t look like any Federation sleds he’d ever seen. Rather, they were agricultural skimmers, the kind that farmers use to transport tools and light cargo. They were still too far away to make out much detail, but he could see a man standing upright in the center of each one, and a few seconds later, he saw tripods in front of them.
Neither sled came directly toward him; instead, they kept a couple of hundred yards away as they circled him, converging to his west and separating again as they circled back to the east. If he fired at one, the other would have the drop on him. He remained where he was, unmoving, hoping they only wanted to take him prisoner. Now he could see the white shirts and black hats that were so common among the rebels. Each skimmer carried two men, as far as he could tell, but they continued to circle and didn’t open fire. Fine, let them keep circling. If he fired at them, they would likely get him in a crossfire, but as long as they were uncertain, he might have an advantage, minor as it was.
The skimmers circled him three more times in opposite directions, keeping their distance. Nick sat where he was, unmoving, letting them decide whether he was a threat. Time dragged as he tried to guess how much longer it would take a Federation sled to reach him. A glance at his watch showed that only eleven minutes had passed since he signed off with Firebase Papa.
As scared as he was, he didn’t panic. He was a Star Marine, with better training than anyone in the galaxy, and if he kept his head, he could get out of this. He could feel his heart beating, his blood surging, but his breathing remained steady. The downed sled was his only cover, but only from one skimmer at a time. No matter which side he was on, one of the skimmers could see him. His best bet was to draw them in closer…or hope they just went away.
