by J. A. Scorch
Porter laughed as he wiped down a weight station. "I didn't botch anything. Briggs lobbed me onto the deck. I had no power and no canopy."
"But here you are, alive and well."
"Apparently. This pounding headache of mine would say otherwise, but I can't complain."
She smiled as she grabbed a set of large weights. The lieutenant had a slender, yet lean frame she kept finely tuned. Every pilot did everything possible to stay in peak physical fitness. The fighters they flew demanded a lot from a pilot's body, especially when pulling a lot of g-forces during evasive maneuvers.
"Well, either way, it's great to know you're all right. I'd hate to have no steady competition out there."
Porter scoffed. "Don't tell me hunting the Zeal has become a mundane task for you?"
"Not exactly. I still get a sinking feeling in my stomach every single time I climb inside my fighter." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Let's just say I'd miss you a little."
Staring straight at Cannon as she opened her eyes again, he saw the light blue color of each iris striking him with a sharp blow as a smirk crept across her face. He recognized the look.
A few minutes later, he had Nicole up against the wall in the quarters he shared with Briggs. His wingman would be out running drills for the next few hours while Porter was supposed to be performing light training.
The two smacked lips like the end of time were fast approaching. For the life of a pilot, it was the only way to live. Each mission might be their last.
Porter matched Cannon's breathing as they tore their clothes off and headed for his single bed mounted on the wall. They spent the next twenty minutes relieving the overwhelming stress every aviator went through between missions. It was one thing to be out there facing death, but waiting for that moment to come was the real killer for most.
After a short nap, Cannon climbed out of bed. Porter loved watching her dress. She fit into her dark blue fatigues like a glove.
"Thanks for the workout," she said as she fastened a boot using the corner of his mattress. "Good to see you've still got it after the crash."
"I like to think of it as a controlled roll. And thank you. I needed that."
She went to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. They both acknowledged she could have broken his grip with ease, but she let him control her movements as part of the game they played.
"When will I see you next?"
She tutted at him. "Now come on. You know the rules. No falling for each other. This is strictly business, my friend. Besides, I need to finish my real workout."
Porter let her slip from his grip. More than anything he wanted to tell her his true feelings, but he remembered there was no point. Even if Cannon did love him, she could never let a relationship happen while the Zeal were killing off dozens of pilots per week.
"I'm kidding. I should get up, too. They want me to check in with the doctor one last time before I get back into a fighter."
"I think you proved to me you're capable of getting back in the air. Just tell the damn doctor to come talk to me."
Porter smiled as he turned away. Command frowned upon pilots sleeping with one another, but no one enforced the rule.
She leaned down and kissed him softly on the lips. "Anyway, I'll catch you out there. I'll be the one kicking your ass as always." She walked out of his room, probably knowing full well he was staring her up and down.
His door slid shut on its own to seal the room off from the rest of the vessel. Any section or room in the ship could be isolated. The thought always made him feel alone despite the thousands of personnel on board the carrier.
He fell back down on his bed, pulled down by the weight of the last few days. All he wanted to do was sleep, but thoughts of what was to come kept his eyes open. Once the fleet of carriers arrived, the planning for the recapture of Earth's orbit would begin.
The upcoming weeks would bring about the deaths of many MAF soldiers and pilots. Porter had already lost too many friends to mention. The coming battle would only add to the list of the fallen and add more guilt to his conscience if he survived. On the flip side, he had to do whatever he could to kick the Zeal out of his home world. Taking out their dominant fleet would be a decent start.
After almost an hour of tossing and turning, he fell asleep.
Chapter Nine
"How the hell are we supposed to capture a Zeal soldier?" Mish asked.
Teve stormed ahead of the specialist at a fast pace while Moreno tried to keep up. "Not here, Mish. General Miller made it pretty damn clear this wasn't to be discussed out in the open. We don't know who might be listening."
"Screw the general. No one would believe us, anyway. So, where are we going?"
"Hit your racks and get some shuteye. The hunt for Adams starts tomorrow straight after breakfast."
"Where are you going?"
Teve stopped. "Nowhere. Just need to take care of something. I'll be back in an hour. Get some sleep. Something tells me the next few days are going to be hell."
Mish went to speak, but Teve continued. He left the remains of his fire team with more questions than answers, answers he didn't have. Miller didn't reveal a lot of relevant information about the mission in his briefing. Why was Adams so significant? Soldiers of importance died every damn day fighting the Zeal. People from all walks of life fell into service within the UEF. Not out of choice, either.
The Earth's population had been devastated by the initial invasion, forcing the armies of the world to draft any person who could hold a rifle into the fold. Not everyone fought on the front lines, but most recruits got sent to where bodies were needed. The average greenhorn lasted a month in the field, falling victim to Zeal traps and tactics. It was a war of attrition, and the mechanical aliens managed to function twenty-four-seven with little to no effort.
Teve ventured past the long rows of soldiers and beyond the docking bay to the supply area of the base. He headed in the direction of the less populated zone, seeking out one person in particular.
Despite the hard times, despite the scarcity of supplies and luxury items left in the world, a soldier could obtain the things he craved. For Teve it was diazepam. The tranquilizing muscle-relaxant was better known to most as Valium. He didn't need the pills for an anxiety disorder or muscle spasm treatment; he needed the magic chemicals to achieve a simple task: sleep. When he got seven hours to hit the pillow and do nothing else but rest, his mind wouldn't shut down. For as long as he had been fighting the Zeal, he couldn't sustain sleep without taking a heavy dose of the drug.
Stepping over some scattered brickwork, Teve arrived in the darker part of the base that only a few lived in. Situated on the half-constructed side of the facility, the UEF kept non-essential supplies stored in the neglected area and allowed some of the less desirable members of Phoenix to exist without question. They were the men and women who never went up top to face the city but who were essential to the station functioning in an efficient matter. They were the drafted janitors, maintenance crews, and food servers who had long since abandoned hope of a different life, seeking out their own space to call home.
Private Oleg Izmailov stood from sorting through a mess of parts for the Humvees. Teve headed straight for him bypassing a group of mechanics rebuilding a damaged motorbike.
"Oleg," Teve called out ahead. "I need a word."
The private glanced up from his pile with a scowl. "You never need a word," he said with his Russo-American accent. "You only ever want one thing from me."
Teve moved closer to him and held up a single finger to his own mouth. "Keep a lid on it. I don't want anyone else knowing about out little arrangement."
"Please, soldier boy. Everybody down here knows why someone like you would ever step across the line. Only because you all want things. That's all you do is take, take—"
"You done?" Teve asked, remembering Oleg was putting on an act for his fellow mechanics. "I'm happy to take my business elsewhere."
"No need to overrea
ct. I am merely playing along to the role assigned to me. Come. This way." Oleg ushered Teve along. The two walked side-by-side to his makeshift quarters. He didn't have to live in the broken-down section of the base, but something told him the man preferred the dank, drafty environment.
"Do you have what I asked for?" Oleg whispered.
Teve unbutton his jacket and pulled out a piece of Zeal armor half destroyed by gunfire. The small section of a Stilt’z chest piece had taken a dozen direct hits and was still intact.
Oleg reached out for the piece, but Teve swiveled away. "Pills first."
The private threw up his hands in defense. "Just looking. You've got a nice one there."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I probably shot this one a few times myself."
Oleg nodded as he stared at the alien armor with absent eyes.
"So, the pills?"
"Ah, yes. Where are my manners?" He rifled through his backpack after setting it on the ground. "The usual. Fifty pills for the piece."
"Done." Teve pulled out the armor and handed the plating over as Oleg tossed him a bottle of diazepam. Teve cracked it open and inspected the tablets, they looked legit, with a chemical corporation stamp he recognized. "I don't understand how you find these things."
The obsessed private stopped listening as he ran his fingers over the alien tech.
"I'll be on my way now," Teve said.
"Right ... So, when will you be heading out next?"
Teve thought about the insane mission he had been assigned. He couldn't imagine what Oleg would do with an entire Zeal soldier. For some reason, Command didn't approve of any alien tech being brought back to base. They feared its possibilities. Teve didn't think a piece of armor was going to hurt anyone, and Oleg seemed to be obsessed with the stuff while being able to supply people with the drugs they sought. It was a simple relationship. One that Teve could maintain.
"Tomorrow."
"So soon? I won't be ready to acquire what you need in such a small turnaround."
"It's all right," Teve said. "If I make it back, I'll give you a few days to find me some more pills."
Without another word, Teve left a quiet Oleg behind with his alien tech. The man had no clue how serious Teve was about not making it back. The bottle of tablets would be his last.
Chapter Ten
Porter felt something pushing on his shoulder. He quickly reached for the sidearm by his bed and fumbled with the weapon as he attempted to aim the pistol at Briggs' face.
"Whoa, what the hell, man?"
Porter dropped the pistol on his bed and let his hands find his own face to rub his eyes. "Sorry, I ... I had a weird dream."
"Jesus, man. You need to chill out. You almost blew my face off. Think of how that would affect the ladies around here." Briggs slapped him on the shoulder and moved over to his side of the room.
"I'm sorry. Rough night."
"I'll say. She sure did a number on you."
Porter realized after a second who his wingman was talking about: Cannon. "Ah, yeah. That must be it. So, what are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" Briggs asked with a hand to his chest. "More like what are you doing here. I was running drills when the doctor came looking for you. You missed your appointment."
"Oh, shit."
Briggs nodded. "Command might ground your ass if you don't get a move on."
Porter rubbed his head. A headache was present, throbbing away like a jackhammer with every word spoken.
Briggs stood and threw over some clothing. "And don't leave your shit on my bed, by the way. I can't have anyone thinking I dress so poorly."
"We wear the same uniform, asshole."
"Yeah, but I wear it better," Briggs said with a grin. "Anyway, you should go. The doctor was serious about grounding you."
Porter slipped on his shirt and pants before lacing up his boots. "Where's the doctor stationed today?"
"Medical. No home visits, I'm afraid."
With his clothing neat and tucked in, Porter ran a hand over his wavy dark-brown hair.
"I wouldn't bother cleaning up. You look like crap."
Porter gave him a fake laugh in return. "Catch you later. You getting some shuteye?"
"Yes, sir. Need it, too. Things are crazy out there."
"Have you heard anything new?" he asked, one hand hovering over the door button.
"No, but something's in the air, and it's got everyone on edge. Just a matter of time before we find out more."
Porter nodded as he drifted away. Command always kept them in the dark until they issued a heavy order like the delivery runs. He figured it gave soldiers less time to think.
"Okay. I'm out of here."
"Later," Briggs said.
Porter slapped the door button. He half-jogged up the hall and made the trip to Medical, finding the doctor part way through an administrative procedure. He needed the all clear from the physician. If Command discovered the slightest issue, he would be reassigned to something more suited. The people at the top only cared about avoiding liability despite having bigger concerns to worry about.
After a fifteen-minute check-up, the doctor found no problems with Porter's overall health and declared him fit to fly. He left the med bay and headed down to one of the launch decks. The physician relayed orders for him to head back out in a fighter and run some endurance drills. When Porter arrived, he found Cannon shouting at some new pilots fresh from the academy. Command didn't waste time replenishing the ranks.
"Many of you will not survive your first week here," she said. "There are any number of ways you can die. A Triton shoots you down, your ship malfunctions, you crash during a landing." Cannon glanced at Porter and gave him a wink. A few of the pilots showed noticeable signs of the impact she was having on them. Wide eyes and open mouths filled the line.
"Of course, this will only happen if I don't do my job and find out who among you is worthy. Don't think for a second I will let any joystick jockey climb in and mess around with my ships. This is the Mars Armed Forces. We don't let morons represent us when we're out there fighting the Zeal."
Some of the recruits appeared almost relieved. Little did they realize Cannon's words were all an act. The truth was the MAF wanted asses in seats. There wasn't enough time to allow pilots to reach their peak. The Zeal simply killed too many of their people. The cadets needed to be the fodder for the enemy while the elite among them did the flying. Only the skilled personnel would survive.
Porter sat back as Cannon continued her speech. She got up in the recruits' faces and yelled at the top of her voice. She even grabbed one tall guy by the back of his head when he wouldn't wipe his grin away. It was the complete opposite person Porter knew in the bedroom.
"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Captain Deborah Garcia said as she stepped over to him. She nudged his side with a smile. "Glad to see you're still alive. For now, at least."
"Good to see you, ma’am," he said to the woman who trained him several years ago, on Mars. Garcia was one of the greatest pilots the MAF had ever produced. As fate would have it, she lost one of her legs in a training accident and had been grounded ever since. She spent her days commanding the pilots and coordinating the missions.
"I don't suppose you can let me in on what is happening around here?"
"You know I can't, Porter. Plus, I don't know enough to give you anything useful. My advice would be to keep listening to the rumor mill. It usually comes up with the right answers."
He smiled as he crossed his arms. "Didn't think you'd give me anything. I guess once they shove me inside a fighter and point me in the right direction, I'll know. Just would be helpful to understand what the plan is first."
Garcia scoffed. "Simple, really. Knock the Zeal out of the sky and secure a foothold on Earth. Then, we might stand a hope of sending those bastards back to hell."
Porter nodded as Cannon sent the recruits on a pointless jog around the deck. He wondered how many of them would be lost in the battle to
retake Earth's orbit while the elite pilots took the fight to the Zeal.
"So, the doctor wants me to run some endurance tests to make the all clear official."
"Smart," she said as she shifted her weight. Her cybernetic leg started below the knee and integrated itself into her system, compensating for every move she made.
"That reminds me. I've got some new drills to test, and it looks like I found myself the perfect guinea pig."
Porter gave her a sly smile from the corner of his mouth. "What did you have in mind?"
Chapter Eleven
Teve woke from his medicated slumber to the sound of his alarm on his wrist. The beeping vibrated and chimed away for several moments before his eyes cracked open. The three 5mg pills he swallowed six hours prior knocked him out cold. The worst part was coming back to reality from such a deep sleep.
Mish stood over him a few seconds later, dressed for the day. "Glad to see you're awake."
He rubbed his face a few times over, removing the gunk from his red, swollen eyes.
"Get Moreno up. We're leaving in ten."
"Already up, Sergeant," she said jabbing her thumb behind to Moreno. "We're waiting on you."
"All right," Teve muttered. He got up as quickly as he could. He had to stand slowly to allow his brain to fall back into place after a dark night of deep sleep.
"Where did you go before lights out yesterday?"
"Nowhere," he said as he grabbed his gear and weapons. "Just had to sort something out."
"You were getting more Valium, weren't you? Jesus, Teve. I thought you were done with that crap."
Grabbing Mish by her tanned arm he pulled aside. "I needed it, okay. I can't sleep without the stuff. Do you really think I want to be doping myself unconscious?"
"I don't give a shit if you can't sleep. Those pills are affecting your ability to lead."
"No, they're not. We lost Adams because I was following orders. We can't let—"
"Bullshit. You're the reason we're going on this suicide mission to rescue him in the first place." She stared up at him without breaking her focus.
