He wondered for a moment if he’d made the right choice to come back to active duty. He could have taken the medical discharge, gone back to Earth. Been with his family. Sought out Sara for a life that might have been. RESIT would have found another squad leader to do his job.
The words of Father Bradley crept into his mind. God doesn’t provide what’s wanted. He provides what’s needed.
Maybe God needed Wyatt here.
He knew he had to go. Wyatt tried to put on a brave face that didn’t quite feel genuine and patted Carlos on the arm. “Think about the ones we didn’t lose. Izzy seems to be getting better after that coma. Gavin’s recovering. You’re recovering. Kenny’s solid. Laramie’s … Laramie.” He smiled. “We’ll be good.”
“Even you managed to just limp away with one fake leg, huh, LT?”
“I’d go for a matching set except for those calibration issues.”
“Did Doc get it figured out?”
“Yeah, maybe. She reconfigured a bunch of stuff. That heavy gravity gave me a lot of phantom pain. It was hard to shut out.”
“At least your pain was phantom.” The sergeant snickered, then contorted as his body protested the strain against his broken ribs.
Wyatt showed him a grin. “You really should stop that. I need you back, and every joke costs me another day of waiting for your insides to heal.”
Carlos managed to draw some slow, easy breaths. After a moment, he looked up at Wyatt with complete seriousness. “I know we’re short or manpower, sir. I’ll heal up as fast as I can. You won’t need to wrangle the replacements without me.”
“I know you will.” Wyatt stood up. Replacements was actually what his next meeting was about. “Get some rest, trooper.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Wyatt left the hospital behind and headed toward Major Beck’s quarters. His heart sped up when he realized he’d have to hurry. Beck was a stickler for punctuality, something he preached along with attention to detail as a set of critical spaceborne survival characteristics. Wyatt ducked around any number of troopers and crew on his way to the bridge section. Even though Vigorous maintained a manageable half gee under constant acceleration, Wyatt really didn’t want to climb multiple decks and show up panting and sweaty. He prayed he wouldn’t have to wait in a queue for the elevator.
He made it with twenty seconds to spare. The adjutant raised a disapproving eyebrow but didn’t say a word as he poked his head around the open hatch, fighting to slow his breathing.
“Sir, Lieutenant Wills reporting as ordered.”
“Come in.”
Wyatt stepped across the threshold to find that Beck wasn’t alone. A man wearing captain’s bars stood up from one of the small chairs and unfolded his arms. Yancey Chappelle. Wyatt’s boss.
“Captain. I didn’t realize you’d be here as well.”
“I am. Sorry we missed each other before your last mission. We were tied up downrange.”
“Yes, sir. I expected my squad to rejoin the team when I got back. It was quite a surprise when we didn’t.”
Chappelle and Beck glanced at each other, their eyes exchanging some silent message. “For me as well.”
“Have a seat, Lieutenant,” Beck said. He gestured at the chair next to the captain. “I think we still have a couple minutes before our guest arrives. I want to make sure that you’re sure about what you’re asking for.”
As Wyatt sat, his eyes fell on the peninsula desk extending from the far bulkhead. Every command officer’s quarters had one. But Wyatt found that the similarities ended there, with each work area reflecting the owner’s personality. He thought back to Acevedo’s desk on the Cromwell. Sparse, simple, big picture. Beck’s, on the other hand, provided a platform for a number of meticulously arranged trophies and knick-knacks.
“I’m positive, Major,” Wyatt said. “He’s an extremely capable individual. Even if we had a room full of senior noncoms, I’d take him in a heartbeat.”
Beck looked over at Chappelle.
“He’s not trained for RESIT,” the captain said. “I’m sure he’s a good fighter. But you know it takes more than that for a typical RESIT mission.”
“Sir, you’ve read my after-action report. We’ll have to go back down to Juliet. If our missions end up being more ground-pound, there’s no doubt in my mind he’d be a huge asset.”
Chappelle sighed. “There is in mine, Lieutenant. But let’s see what happens.”
“Sir?” the adjutant said outside the hatch. “Master Sergeant Thompson is here to see you.”
Wyatt and Captain Chappelle stood again as Chris entered. He barely recognized the Marine without his scraggly beard and the usual coating of dirt. Chris was clean-shaven, his hair trimmed, and he wore a borrowed set of RESIT utilities that clearly made him uncomfortable. Or maybe it was because of the brass in front of him.
Chris’s eyes scanned the people in the room and lingered on Wyatt for an extra beat before returning to Beck. “Major. Master Sergeant Christopher Thompson, U.S. Marines.”
Beck nodded. “Master Sergeant. Please, sit down. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Chris’s eyes flitted to Wyatt and back. He remained silent.
“Lieutenant Wills here seems to think very highly of your abilities. Your actions onboard the freighter likely saved the lives of everyone onboard.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The major watched him carefully. “Chris, we have a manpower problem. Getting individuals who know their way around a fight is of paramount importance right now. The fact that I had a shortage of trained personnel back at Proxima was hard enough. It’s worse now that I’ve committed my battle group to Alpha A.”
Chris stiffened. His eyes darted to Wyatt before he looked down and adjusted his sling.
Beck continued. “How long were you—”
“With respect, Major, I appreciate where I think you’re going. But you’ve got the keys to the puzzle already. Jack Bell. If there’s anyone that’s going to help you plan a successful operation, he’s the guy. I’m committed to a different path. My place is back with my people.”
Beck narrowed his eyes. “It sounds to me like your people were getting slowly killed off, Master Sergeant. Don’t you think the best chance to keep them safe would be to work with us?”
“You don’t want me, sir,” Chris said. He shook his head. “If you knew about my past, you’d be glad I left the service.”
“If I knew about your past?”
“Yes, sir. You don’t know me. Lots of baggage.”
Beck leaned back, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. His voice took on a rhetorical quality. “Master Sergeant Christopher Larson Thompson. Born 23 November 2236, Phoenix, Arizona. Enlisted in the US Marine Corps at age eighteen. Eleven combat deployments on Earth, including Mongolia, South China Sea, East Africa. Two combat deployments on Mars. Two Silver Stars. Navy Cross for your actions during the Tharsis Push.” He cocked his head. “I think I understand your baggage very well.”
Wyatt watched Chris turn several shades paler.
Beck leaned forward. “You are that Chris Thompson, correct?”
“Yes, sir, I am.” Chris stiffened in his chair. “And if you know my record, you know my reputation. Multiple disciplinary reviews. Demoted twice. ‘Reckless, with a difficulty in following orders,’ according to my last commanding officer.”
Beck and Chappelle traded glances.
“Yes. We’re aware,” Chappelle said. He gave Beck an I told you so look. “And why is it you have a problem with authority, Master Sergeant?”
“It’s not that, Captain. I’m just not onboard with stupid officers.”
Chappelle raised an eyebrow. “Rangamati, Bangladesh. December 2259. While in a forward area, you were tried and convicted of dueling another noncommissioned officer. So, instead of fighting the enemy, you sat in the brig. Quite a disservice to your unit, wouldn’t you say?”
“If you’re talking about Sergeant Rangel, that guy was an abusive ba
stard who unnecessarily put his men in harm’s way. Again and again. The brass wouldn’t listen. The rest of us noncoms decided to teach him a lesson before he got more guys killed. I just drew the lucky number.”
“So, you’re saying your justification was that he deserved it?”
“Yeah. He was an idiot.”
“August 2261,” Chappelle continued, glancing at Beck, “while sweeping the Boma region of South Sudan, you disobeyed a direct order to break contact with multiple hostile elements and pull back. Your actions resulted in six KIAs and four wounded.”
Chris was bristling now. “We had line of sight to the enemy observation post they were using to call in rocket strikes. We took ‘em out before they could fire. If we had pulled back, our entire unit would have been wiped out.”
“You ignored your lieutenant’s orders.”
“It was an unlawful order that would have gotten us all killed. The court-martial exonerated me.”
Chappelle turned more forceful. “You want some examples from back home? How about California, United States, 2264. During a wargames exercise, while playing the role of the opposition, you acted as a forward observer and called in a simulated artillery strike of white phosphorous against soft targets—a complete violation of both the Geneva Convention and the Oslo Accord.”
Chris tilted his head and glared at Captain Chappelle like he was crazy. “I was playing the role of the enemy. I can do whatever the hell I want.”
Wyatt sat and watched the whole thing in silence. He could tell Chappelle was getting a little hot. But a quick glance at Beck told him all he needed to know.
“I think that will do,” the major said. He picked up his tablet keyboard. “Master Sergeant Thompson, I’m reinstating you to active duty, effective immediately—”
Chris blinked. “What?”
“—and attaching you to Caustic Team, RESIT Command, per the authority of the Maritime and Spaceborne Emergency Powers Act—”
“You can’t do that!”
“You will be assigned to First Platoon, Captain Yancey Chappelle commanding.” He placed the tablet back down on the desk next to the little figurines in their orderly rows. “Lieutenant Wills can help with equipment and orientation.”
Chris’s jaw hung open as his head jerked back and forth. His eyes finally settled on Wyatt. “I helped you guys, Wyatt. Help me out! I’m not even supposed to be up here. I need to get back down to the surface—like, ASAP!”
“I’ll get you there, buddy,” Wyatt said. “It’s just going to have to be as part of RESIT.”
Wyatt’s sympathy was genuine, and he desperately hoped Chris could feel it. Sure, the master sergeant was in shock right now. But Wyatt had seen constriction firsthand. He had experienced the fear of those running from infection. His team had fought a paramilitary organization—one that exterminated with equal indiscretion.
Yes, they would be going back. In force.
Epilogue
Chris heard the footsteps hurrying in the corridor behind him before the voice betrayed their owner. “Wait up!”
He stopped abruptly. The burly trooper next to him grabbed his arm.
“Keep moving, Master Sergeant.”
“A minute. Just … a minute.”
Chris gave the trooper next to him a pleading look. Reluctantly, he nodded and stood aside.
A panting Finn rushed toward them. “How did it go? Your meeting?”
“It was the weirdest job interview I’ve ever had.”
“Huh?”
“Called back to active duty, Finn. Only somehow, they say I’m assigned to RESIT now.”
Finn gave him a blank look. “I hear these words coming out of your mouth, but they’re full of crazy talk.”
“I’m serious. Apparently, press gangs aren’t just a thing of the past. Major Beck said they have a manpower shortage. Same thing is happening to you, too.”
“Me t—he can’t do that. Can he?”
“That’s what I said. He seems to think he can.”
Alarm grew in Finn’s eyes. “No way. What did you tell him?”
“I expressed my displeasure.”
Finn waited expectantly.
A big sigh. “Beck’s desk was full of all these little knick-knacks. I guess he’s some kind of neat freak. I got really pissed and swept them all onto the deck.”
“That couldn’t have gone over well.”
“It could have been better, yeah.”
Finn shook his head. “Jeez. I gotta get my head around this. Want to hit the mess hall, talk it out?”
Chris felt a frown tightening on his face. “Later. I’m going to be a bit indisposed for a while.”
“Why?” Finn let out a laugh. “It’s not like Beck’s throwing you in the brig or something.”
Chris glanced at the trooper escorting him. It took a moment before Finn picked up that “something” was exactly right.
***
Annika stifled a yawn and tried to stay awake. The view through the porthole next to her hospital bed surpassed anything she could have imagined. Juliet hung like royalty against the dark sky, a wide crescent of blue and green, wisps of white looming in front of distant, twinkling jewels. To the left, a smaller crescent betrayed the presence of Romeo. Annika smiled. Two star-crossed lovers forever entangled in each other’s grasp, just like the stories her mother had told her. The chance to see them with her own eyes was something that she never wanted to end.
A noise drew her attention away from the outside. She saw Mister Jack rub his nose with a groggy hand before he returned to his slumber in the visitor’s chair. Annika wished she could talk. She wanted to thank him for staying with her. But it had been forever since she had made words, as if the knowledge of how to form the sounds had been cut out of her mind.
Where was Chris? She wanted to know where he’d gone, the one constant in her life since they had fled home. She hadn’t seen him since they boarded the big spaceship.
Wasn’t that the last time she saw him?
Why can’t I remember?
Her eyes wandered over to a burly man asleep in the next hospital bed. Big bandages covered his hands, smaller ones on his face. Annika thought she should remember him, too. But all she felt was guilt, like she had forgotten a birthday or something else important. Her mother would have been mortified at her poor manners. Where was her mother? Annika couldn’t picture her face, but she was certain she knew what her mom would have been thinking.
I should be able to remember my parents’ faces, shouldn’t I?
She looked down at her arm, at the plastic tube that led to a tiny bandage against her skin. When had that happened?
Perplexing, for sure. But she could figure it out later. Another yawn and Annika shifted in her bed. She stared out the porthole. Beautiful, sparkling Juliet. Home. All she wanted was to be able to go back.
***
The trooper barracks pulsed with activity, but to Laramie McCoy, the compartment felt empty.
Carlos would recover. It would take some time, but she felt good about that. Gavin, she wasn’t so sure. His Viper had exploded in his hands when the drone shot it. Maybe he’d be back if he didn’t lose his fingers. The docs were fifty-fifty on whether the nerve therapy had been started in time.
At least Gav had a chance. Laramie closed the drawer under Maya’s bunk and cinched the drawstring on the duffel bag full of her belongings.
What a waste. An experienced trooper. Someone who went out of her way to help her teammates. Earnest. Laramie hardly knew anything about Maya’s family—parents, siblings, friends. Their time in the same squad had been too short. But Laramie knew she had liked her. And now, like so often happened in RESIT, a good person was lost to the hazards of the job. Only this time it was due to circumstances that never should have happened.
Fighting an assault drone. Absurd.
Laramie had never seen one in action. Drones were a measure of last resort, a desperate option to eliminate an enemy crew before opening fire
with laser cannons.
Now, in the span of a month, she had witnessed two illegal deployments.
She didn’t believe the crew driving Razor was RESIT. Something bad had happened. Beck would surely get to the bottom of it. But even then, Vigorous was just one troop carrier. Dagger Team had a lot of assets that could be thrown into the fight.
And with so many replacements, more RESIT troopers would surely die.
Laramie stood up and threw Maya’s duffel over her shoulder. This was the worst part of being a squad sergeant, and she wanted to get it done. Tomorrow, she’d sit down with each of her people and make sure they were processing everything okay. Depression and detachment were common symptoms of losing a brother or sister. She turned to exit the barracks when she spied that very thing over by the viewport.
“Izzy.”
Corporal Isi Watanabe turned away from a brilliant view of the sunrise creeping over Juliet. His eyes seemed distant and unfocused. Haunted.
A staff sergeant knew well the face of post-traumatic stress. Laramie walked over to the young trooper and put her hand on his shoulder.
“You okay?”
Izzy furrowed his eyebrows. He seemed to be thinking about the question, uncertain around how to answer. A few moments went by before he simply nodded.
“Get some rest,” Laramie told him. “We’ve all been through a lot. I’ll be around to talk when you’re ready. Okay?”
Another delay, another nod. Izzy’s absent eyes returned to the window.
Laramie wheeled around and marched toward the exit. She wanted to get some rest herself—plus a shower, and most importantly, food. Lots of hot food to replace the seven kilos she’d dropped since the start of their mission. While she felt powerful in the lower gees of Vigorous, she knew as soon as she put boots back downrange that the heavy gravity would quickly dispel that notion if she didn’t build herself back up.
As she stepped through the hatch, she looked back at Izzy one last time. His hand pressed against the glass, as if he too wanted nothing more than to return to Juliet.
Escape Velocity (The Quantum War Book 1) Page 28
