by Scott Moon
“Sure I can.”
“What are we doing in the street? Why isn’t Aefel back from his mission?”
Cindy stopped. She didn’t have time for the way huge freaks like Paul flirted. His emotions were up and down tonight, just like every other heavy gunner she’d gotten involved with. “This is why you shouldn’t drink.”
“Why isn’t Aefel back from the surface?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know, big guy. Smashing pubs and pool halls won’t bring him back any sooner,” she said. “I really thought he was being tested for the Strongarms.”
“Bullocks.”
Cindy laughed both genuinely and nervously. “Move out, soldier. We’ve got miles to go before we sleep.”
“Ooja,” Paul said.
“Ooja.” Cindy thought about Aefel as she walked three strides ahead of Paul, watching for Commonwealth Military Police patrols and muggers. Crime was exceptionally high on the Grendel support station. She found this odd since it had only recently been brought back online and most of the residents were military personnel or contractors.
How had the slums popped up so rapidly? She’d never seen so many brothels and drinking establishments.
“Cindy, there are SLRD Turds up ahead. I think they’re looking for us in the wrong place,” Paul said.
She saw the men Paul was talking about — Seventh Light-infantry Reconnaissance Division, five of them. The SLRDs preferred two teams of four, each with a team leader. Add a squad leader and it overloaded their eleven-soldier squads with noncoms compared to standard ESC squads. The setup allowed them to break into sniper-observer pairs as needed with supervisors to coordinate the micro-units.
The concept wasn’t new but had fallen out of favor in the ESC Military long ago. Only Recon units used it.
Which meant there were five or six more SLRDs out there that she hadn’t spotted.
Cindy smiled as she walked up behind the five birds-in-hand. It wasn’t every day she could get the jump on SLRDs. “You boys must think we’re moving faster than we are. You’re looking the wrong way.”
The sergeant in half off-duty clothing and gear looked startled as he faced her. “We’re looking for a place to get laid, not for a couple of grunts.”
“Right. Yeah, sure.” She studied the spacing of the men along the narrow street. Each of them had a fresh tattoo — stylized letters that might be NGO… she wasn’t sure in the poor lighting. “That’s disturbing. Looks like you were about to jump someone. Is that how you boys get laid?”
The SLRD leader stepped toward her. “What the hell are you trying to say?”
Paul thumped his palm on the man’s chest and sent him flying backward.
“Were you trying to spy on us?” Cindy asked.
The SLRD leader stood and dusted himself off as his squad surrounded Paul. “You snuck up on us, remember.”
“I do.” She moved to Paul’s right side, since he was left handed. Rolling her neck as she clenched and unclenched her fists, she took a ready stance. “So before you give us any trouble, think about what Reaver payback looks like.”
The SLRD squad leader communicated to his team with a chin thrust toward the end of the street, then faced Cindy. “Like I said, we’re just out for a good time. Don’t worry, little sister, you aren’t my type.”
She watched them leave and noticed how most touched their tattoos unconsciously, just like grunts did after too much alcohol led them to getting too much ink. Problem was, none of them were drunk.
The leader turned back, presented his middle finger, and blew her a kiss. “G’night, little sister.”
“You might have to hold me back, Paul,” Cindy muttered.
“Okay, little sister.”
She punched him in the gut. “Let’s go.”
Paul gazed toward the end of the street. The night was darker than normal for a space station. Far above them was a ceiling designed to show the stars; it was outdated technology and looked like a sparkly oil slick. The central generator stored solar power for the bulk of the usable electricity, but it was being refitted and the output was strictly rationed.
Every third streetlight was on, struggling weakly against the industrial gloom of the place.
“What do you see?” Cindy asked. Something had perked the big gunner’s interest. He sobered with each ponderous stride.
He held up a hand for her to hang back. A moment later, he stepped into an access alley with her. “I thought it was the other half of the SLRD squad you’re so cozy with, and it was, but it was also a rifle squad.”
“Are they geared up?” Her heart thumped in her throat. No matter how many battles she survived, the adrenaline always came too fast and hot at the beginning. She didn’t understand why they would be fitted out for a gunfight.
“I didn’t get a good look. Can we go another way?”
Cindy looked around. “We can go back. There should be something that direction.” She examined a group of the newcomers as they climbed a fire escape. “Damn it, Paul. Those aren’t SLRDs.”
She watched as the lightly armed SLRD soldiers retreated from the area. They might have been following her and Paul, but they didn’t want anything to do with this new group. Paul’s sharp eyes and decision to get off the street might have just saved them both a lot of grief.
“Those are Sixth Armored-infantry, Lightning Division grunts, SALDs,” Cindy said, never looking away from the soldiers who were definitely on duty.
“I liked those guys on Remington,” Paul said, watching them closely.
“Yeah, sure. They were great. A bunch of real swinging dicks that didn’t slow us down. But do I like them here is what I am trying to decide.”
“Maybe they ran off the SLRDs to help us,” Paul said.
“This isn’t Remington. All the rules changed when Aefel disappeared. For now, I only trust FALD Reavers.”
From this distance, she couldn’t make out details. Chewing her lip and placing her fists on her hips, she wondered if the SALDs were also getting new tattoos tonight.
“What are you thinking, Cind?” Paul asked.
She hesitated. “Random thoughts.”
2
THE LIEUTENANT
REMMINGTON WORLD 0102001: CONTESTED ZONE
MISSION CLOCK: 99:99:99
“WELCOME to Remington World, you Reaver dogs,” First Sergeant Cindy-Loren said as she moved from soldier to soldier. Each man or woman adjusted weapons and armor before dragging the remains of drop suits into the shadow of an escarpment. “Capital Trading Company Forces are dug in and Park Rangers are well established in the area.”
She strutted past Paul, Red Brave, and Chip. It felt good to be planetside. She was completely free of injuries for the first time in eighteen months and ready to kick butt. Her Lightning Class body armor was so well tuned to her body that she felt naked.
In a good way.
“The Park Rangers ain’t gonna do nothin’,” Chip said. “You lookin’ good, Smashface.”
“Thanks, jerk,” she replied.
“She has a cute face,” Paul said as he connected his multi-barreled chain gun to his armor.
Chip and the others laughed.
For some reason, Paul’s comment annoyed her more than Chip’s jibe about her face. Not long ago, during a boring liberty compounded with too much alcohol, she admitted her insecurity about her face. Big mistake. FALD Reavers didn’t forget something like that. Paul’s reassurance was, well, just awkward.
The Lightning Class armor allowed the temperature of the environment to touch the skin based on the theory of better sensory perception. It also kept a soldier from going into shock if he or she were suddenly forced to shed the armor.
Remington World was cold and damp. Deciduous trees shed blood-red leaves and sprinkles of gold as the wind gusted. Clouds raced between the pale yellow sun and the first wave of the First Armored-infantry Lightning Division invasion.
“Cindy, get Alpha Squad on point. Once the perimeter is secure, eve
ryone gets five minutes to flush suits and consume calories,” Aefel said as he moved across the landing zone. “Tony and Zach, Bravo and Charlie squads have the perimeter and will fall in to form a staggered column as soon as we move. Kodiak...”
“I have the rear guard with Delta. Yes, I remember this from the briefing.”
Cindy guided her squad into position and double checked the other assignments. Kodias 69845 looked cool and confident as always, despite being the newest sergeant in the platoon. The kid was a fourth-generation grunt. Each member of his family had served with distinction. Despite the serious reputation, Kodias, aka Kodiak, defied expectations.
The young man was short, slender, and intellectual. He was also good at his job.
So far.
“Status report,” Aefel said across the comlink.
“Nothing to see here, Lt. Just a walk in the park,” Cindy said. “Looks like the orbital bombardment did the job this time.” She saw smoke on the horizon and wondered what the Capital Trading Company Forces had planned. Would they bunker down? Sally forth? Run?
“Don’t count on it. The CTC assholes aren’t stupid enough to be above ground when the navy drops meteors.” Aefel moved forward to walk beside Cindy. He popped his visor and spoke with his radio off. It wasn’t private — nothing was during an operation — but no one was actively listening. “Did you talk to Kodiak about his girlfriend?”
“Turns out she isn’t his girlfriend. First cousin, his mother’s side,” Cindy said with her radio off and one hand over the boom mic just to be sure.
Aefel laughed.
“There was an awkward silence after that. Then he asked if I wanted to meet her for a date,” Cindy said.
“Do you?”
“You know me better than that.”
“It would be weird if what we suspected was true. Them being cousins.” Aefel looked back long enough to check the positions of his other squad leaders.
A blinking light inside of Cindy’s helmet caught her attention. She yelled at Aefel before she was finished reading the alert. “Shut your visor, boss. I just picked up a Carosn Device warning.”
Aefel flipped his visor in place with a crisp but unhurried motion. “Do you think armor will help?”
“Protocol, sir.”
A moment passed. “Fine, sergeant. Take us to the top of that escarpment and look for shelter. I will contact HQ.” He put a hand on the shoulder of her armor. “There shouldn’t be a CD on Remington. This is a recreation planet, not a Regenison world.”
“And the Regenison Uprising fell to the might of the 1-6-7 Battle Group.” Cindy didn’t like the coincidence. The 1-6-7 hadn’t shared an operation since the worst pre-Crises conflict on record. Now here they were, the Earth System Commonwealth 1st, 6th, and 7th Divisions. “We should reach the rally point in fifteen minutes.”
“Ooja, Reaver. Take that escarpment.” Aefel turned smartly and went to each of his squad leaders for a face to face.
Sweat ran into Cindy’s eyes. She did double duty, watching her team and checking her Internals for sign of a Carosn Device. Aefel hadn’t received a warning, which meant it was a false reading or it was a legitimate reading and she was going to die first after gouging the eyes out of her squad mates.
Securing the escarpment as a rally point happened quickly. One minute she was giving orders, the next she was guarding the position as Aefel and the rest of 1st Platoon climbed the steep backtrail.
Aefel checked everyone’s gear per protocol. He didn’t attempt to lighten the mood. That would have been a waste of time. By the time he was contacting HQ with his findings, the entire unit was tense but calm.
The single Carosn Device warning Cindy’s armor had registered faded away and never returned. No other sensors alerted to danger, real or imagined. HQ sent supersonic drones to check the quadrant, then gave the all clear.
By the end of the day, the First Armored-infantry Lightning Division was bivouacked with the Sixth Armored-infantry Lightning Division and elements of the Seventh Light-infantry Reconnaissance Division. At sunset, the mood was almost festive. Less than a day’s worth of maneuvering would bring them into contact with the CTC.
Around midnight, there was a parley attempt by elements of the Remington Local Security Force, or Park Rangers as both the ESC and CTC soldiers called them. General Galveston 50273 sent them away politely but firmly.
Morning came with forceful glory as the sun climbed over the immense valley between gentle mountain ranges.
“Now I understand why the Remington Corporation purchased this world,” Cindy said.
“Too bad we are about to tear the shit out of this place,” Red Brave said.
Technically, his name was Redus 71000. Like most new humans of Earth descent, his racial and ethnic heritage were difficult to identify without DNA scans. He claimed to be a Sioux of pre-Crises North America.
Maybe he was.
“Listen up, people.” Aefel’s voice came over the radio as though he had been awake for hours and knew exactly what the rest of the day held. “The Park Rangers finally got the ear of someone more important than the 1-6-7 Battle Group Commander. Apparently, there is a safari that had been planned for over two years. Don’t ask me who’s in it. Just be satisfied that they have enough clout to put a war on hold for nine days.”
“Christ,” Cindy said. “The CTC could invest our position if we sit here for nine days.”
“We won’t be sitting around for that. For the next nine standard days, the FALD Reavers will lead the way in reverse, then around to a yet to-be-determined tactical position.”
Standing next to Cindy, but without keying his radio link, Red Brave grunted. “Ooja, Reavers.”
“We should join the safari,” Chip said. “Look at that.”
Sunlight warmed the frost-covered panorama as winter grass swayed and sparkled. Cindy adjusted the tint of her visor and faced the morning glare. Bison were not indigenous to Remington, but the company had secured a waiver on genetic manipulation of sport animals and populated the high plains with monstrous creatures of power and beauty.
The herd moved toward the horizon. Thousands of the animals ignored the 1-6-7 Battle Group on one side and the CTC Forces on the other. Antelope imported from Commonwealth menageries and native animals mingled with the slow migration.
“I don’t see the hunters,” Chip said.
Red Brave stared at the herd. Dust rose into the winter air.
“They won’t show their faces until they are certain of the ceasefire,” Cindy said. She watched Red Brave carefully. He was a solid soldier, FALD Reaver through and through, but she had never seen him this quiet and this intense at the same time.
THE following days went badly for the First Armored-infantry Lightning Division. Twenty-seven standard hours of forced marching brought them around the off-limits hunting area well ahead of the main body of the 1-6-7. The Capital Trading Company mercenaries had the same idea and less distance to cover.
Lieutenant Aefel 70391 outmaneuvered his enemies, only to find his support units lagging behind, forcing him into a defensive battle of attrition he could not win.
“We are going to sally from this position,” Aefel said.
“I don’t like that idea. Every soldier in my squad is wounded. We’re low on ammunition.” Cindy searched for a sign that her lieutenant had finally cracked but saw only confidence and resolution. There was a light in his eyes that promised a miracle.
Aefel turned, looked down on her, and met her gaze. “General Toptop wants the 1st to be the first. So we are going to break out right now. If the 6th is as fast as they claim to be, then we should have reinforcements right about the time we need them.”
“Ooja,” said the other sergeants.
“We need them now.” Cindy stared at Aefel, wanting to be angry at him, but feeling the powerful reassurance of his presence like a magic spell. “See you in the charnel house, Lt.”
Aefel didn’t respond. She thought he heard and decide
d not to participate in the normal banter.
“Alpha Squad, let’s move out,” she said.
“CHIP get your ass back here!” Cindy wanted to drop behind the blasted redoubt but had to stand to see where Chip went down. You were right behind me. Why couldn’t you keep up? She settled for crouching and praying as she cursed the corporal. “Come on, Chip. Move it!”
“Can’t do it, Smashface. I’m missing a leg and losing power to my armor.” He laughed hysterically. “My Internal is instructing me to seek total rest and caloric intake!”
Cindy ran, shuffled, and ducked-walked through the barrage of supersonic projectiles pounding the once beautiful terrain. Snatching his drag-handle, she pulled him toward safety. Her eyes locked on the leg they were leaving behind and the gooey red liquid connecting the organic artifact to Chip’s ruined armor.
A bullet ricocheted from her helmet, cranking her neck and forcing her to stumble.
Another shot thumped heavily into Chip.
His radio quit broadcasting his screams.
She heaved him over the hastily dug earthworks and dropped low. The sound of static was louder than the chaos of battle to her ears. Incoming enemy fire seemed meaningless compared to Chip’s silence.
Red Brave pulled her away from Chip’s body and methodically checked her for injuries.
“He was such an asshole,” Cindy said.
Red Brave finished examining her, then climbed to his assigned position and began shooting.
AEFEL ignored the order to fall back as a platoon from the Sixth Armored-infantry Lightning Division surged toward the objective.
Cindy laughed so loudly that her volume suppression software distorted the sound of her voice inside of her helmet. “It is just you and me now. What are we going to do if we get to the CTC Headquarters first?”
“Seize it and wait for reinforcements,” Aefel said. He didn’t seem winded or worried. Driving a modern suit of powered armor was intensely physical. At this stage of development, the units were designed to be plodders, not cross-country sprinters. In the event of a power failure, the complex system of gears and hydraulics augmented human strength so that the expensive war-fighting gear could be walked back to base for repair. What this meant for soldiers like Aefel and Cindy was that they could add their own strength to the armor’s locomotion. Like the rest of the FALD Reavers, they hauled ass.
