Pursuing Dreams (The Young Soldier Book 1)

by MK Clark

  Don gave Tyson a wry smile. “We like to think we’re not the average graduates. And hey, you’ve survived, haven’t you?”

  Tyson scowled and pointed at a door. “This is the one you want. I’m coming with you. I’m gonna see if I can get you in with me. I’m due for some new recruits, and they’ve messed with you enough as it is.” He glared at Don, daring him to argue.

  Don didn’t; he merely nodded. “Thanks, Ty, but don’t get your hopes up. I understand how much is wrong with this, I do, but there’s a reason. Not a good one, but it’s there.”

  “Well, you neglected to mention it in all your tales of woe.”

  “There’s a reason for that, as well.”

  “I see,” Tyson answered. Then, with a grim look, he turned and knocked.

  The officer inside barely had time to acknowledge them before Tyson commandeered the conversation. The officer listened in resignation. Don could see this was obviously not his first confrontation with Tyson.

  After a few minutes, the officer had had enough. “Sergeant, I am not going to assign you men whenever you feel like it. Even if I liked you, I wouldn’t do it. There are platoons out there worse off than yours. You’ll get men when you are assigned them, and not before.”

  “Sir, all due respect, I need him. If I don’t get a replacement soon, my platoon won’t have enough soldiers to be able to function.”

  The officer pinched the bridge of his nose as Tyson argued, his work laid aside and forgotten. “You are not listening, Namm. This is not something I can pull strings on and get done. He’s already been assigned; he just doesn’t know where.”

  His words had no effect on Tyson, who continued as if the man had not spoken. “If you put him in any other platoon, nobody gonna watch his back. I know him from Basic. I’ll take care of him, and you need him in one piece. Why else would you bring a pilot down here?”

  “He’s not a pilot,” the officer retorted. His eyes flickered to Don, who had stood quietly in the background since entering.

  “Pardon me sir. He may have been transferred, but he’s still a pilot. You can tell just by looking at him. He nearly got jumped on his way to your office. I’m the best chance you’ve got at keeping him alive.”

  Don shifted a little under the officer’s suspicious gaze. It was enough.

  The man sat forward in his chair, ignoring Tyson. “Have you told Sergeant Namm your mission, specialist?”

  “No, sir,” Don answered, carefully avoiding Tyson’s questioning eyes.

  The officer looked between the two of them before surrendering with a small shrug. “You must have told him something. That, however, must stay between the two of you. I don’t want to know; it will just cause more trouble for me.” He pulled his discarded tablet back in front of him and continued. “Sergeant Namm, your friend has been brought here to participate in what has so far been a secret mission. What that mission is will soon become public, but more than that, I cannot tell you. This being said, I must assign Specialist O’Hara to his platoon. I trust that you will direct him there.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tyson answered slowly. Don felt a queasy feeling in his stomach at the look on his friend’s face.

  “Here we are.” The officer’s lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Looks like you’re in luck, specialist. You’ll be with Third Platoon.” He nodded over at Tyson. “That’d be his.”

  They stood frozen in a mixture of surprise and confusion as the officer returned to his attention to his tablet. Finally, Tyson stirred, grabbing Don’s arm and jerking his head toward the door. They were obviously dismissed.

  They were almost out when the officer turned them back. “Oh, and boys, I trust I don’t have to tell you this is still classified.”

  “Yes, sir,” they answered in unison and hastily retreated from the room. Tyson rounded on him as soon as they had turned a corner in the hall.

  “Classified?” he hissed at Don.

  “Aye,” Don answered miserably.

  “Well, shit, O’Hara! You might have mentioned that earlier.”

  “What do you think classified means, Ty?”

  Tyson let out a growl of frustration. “What the hell is going on here? They didn’t tell me anything about this.”

  “Wouldn’t that undermine the point of it being classified?”

  “Not funny, O’Hara. How am I supposed to work with you if I don’t know what it is you’re doing in my platoon?”

  “Ty, I…” He trailed off and looked away. “There’s nothing I can say.”

  His friend scowled in answer, and Don felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Neither one of them spoke for a long time. Then Tyson let out a low sigh. “Seems like there’s a lot you can’t talk about.”

  Don’s head shot up. “What do you mean?”

  “That look on your face,” Tyson answered with a shrug. “You had it almost the whole time you were talking to me earlier.”

  He knew he should say something to deny it, but Tyson was sharp. Up until now, Don had forgotten how sharp. He could feel his friend’s eyes studying him, taking in everything, but not pushing too hard. He tried to respond, but each time he stopped himself. It would give too much away. There were too many things, classified or not, that he couldn’t tell. It would be dangerous.

  “It’s all right,” Tyson finally said when Don remained silent. “I won’t ask, but damn, you in some deep shit.”

  Don gave him the slightest of nods. It was enough. Tyson let it be and continued walking. “So,” he said after a few minutes, “a specialist, huh?”

  “Yeah. What, exactly, does that mean here? I know what it means where I come from.”

  “Well, you’re just above a private.”

  “Oh, fantastic,” Don sighed. “Not the same at all, then.”

  “Ouch. Did you get a pay cut with that drop?”

  “Don’t know; didn’t check. I’ve had other things on my mind. What about you?” he asked, changing the topic. “Leading a platoon?”

  Tyson turned and gave him a big grin. “That’s me; I’m a natural.” He waved to the door beside them. “Here it is: home, sweet home.”

  “Home, sweet home? Somehow that doesn’t fit into my picture of you.”

  “You’ll get over it.”

  Don snorted and waited patiently for Tyson to lead the way. What he expected in the way of noise and confusion when the door opened was very different from the quiet order that greeted him. Unfazed, Tyson strode through. Don’s hesitation earned him more than a few quizzical looks.

  “This is the commons,” Tyson informed him. “We bunk in the surrounding rooms.”

  He nodded his understanding, still taking in the room and its occupants. The wariness he’d felt before had returned, paralyzing his tongue.

  It started slowly, but like a ripple moving throughout, the soldiers all realized something unknown had entered into their territory. They eyed him with looks Don couldn’t read. Then, without a word, they returned to their activities.

  “Yo, O’Hara,” Tyson said, getting his attention. “You still with me?”

  “Aye, I’m coming.” He pulled his bag a little higher up on his shoulder and moved on. “This is your platoon, huh?” he asked under his breath.

  Tyson gave him a confused look. “Yeah?”

  “Just not what I expected,” Don answered with a shrug.

  His friend chuckled. “Well, just wait till we on the battlefield.” He led Don into a small room off the side. “Hey, Leech,” he called.

  “Yeah, Sarge?” A head poked out from one of the bunks.

  “Got any issues with Roco’s men?”

  “Naw, we cool.”

  “Then get your stuff,” Tyson ordered. “You’ll be running with them now. I’ll let Roco know later.”

  Don felt the curious look thrown his way but did his best to avoid meeting the other’s gaze.

  “New guy, Sarge?”

  “Yup, an’ I wanna keep an eye on him.”

  In less time that he
could have imagined, Leech had packed up and vacated the room. Don let out a low whistle. “The efficiency here is impressive.”

  This time Tyson laughed for real. “I’m impatient, and they know it.”

  Don set his bag down next to the recently emptied bunk. “You want to keep an eye on me, huh? Expecting me to cause trouble?” he asked, attempting to keep up the light conversation, but his words fell flat. Tyson heard it and didn’t answer.

  Don sank down on the bunk, suddenly and completely overwhelmed. After a moment, he laughed and held up a hand for Tyson to see. It was shaking. “You’ve inherited a mess, sergeant,” he said dully and clenched his hand to hide the visible signs of his shot nerves.

  “I see that.”

  Don looked up to see the same face he’d seen when Tyson had rescued him. He was a problem, and Tyson had to solve it. “I’ll be all right,” he mumbled, trying to reassure himself as much as his friend. “In a moment, I’ll be all right.”

  “Will you?”

  “Aye,” he answered, and Tyson’s frown deepened.

  “What?”

  “You have got to stop saying that.”

  “Saying what? Aye?”

  Tyson nodded. “Yeah, man. We don’t say that. Every time you use that word, you asking for trouble.”

  “Perfect,” he snapped bitterly. “I’ll just paint a target on my chest to match the one on my back.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” Tyson replied quickly. “I said you were asking for trouble, not that you’d get it. You with me now, and none of my men will touch you. They’ll look after you. It would just be better if you, you know, tried to blend in.”

  Don nodded. He felt like a scolded child. “Sorry, Ty. It’s been a long day.”

  “More than one, I’m sure.” Tyson said, acknowledging Don’s poor attempt at an apology. “One day, you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.”

  Don’s whole body tensed at his friend’s words.

  “Not now,” he assured Don quickly. “When you’re ready, we’ll talk away from prying ears.”

  Don made no move to answer. He couldn’t.

  Tyson seemed to expect this and did not push the subject any further. Instead, he changed topics completely. “Now I want you to sleep. That’s an order. When you wake up, you’d better be in good spirits. No mouthing off to me in front of the men, and it’s sir, not Ty. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Don said and let the corners of his lips turn up just a little.

  Tyson saw and gave an approving nod before opening the door and exiting.

  Chapter 29

  October 24, 627 T.A.

  Don woke with a start. Tyson’s face came slowly into focus above him. “Not a dream?” he asked, although it sounded more like Nah uh drem?

  “Time to get up, soldier!” Tyson ordered sharply. “We’ve got a mission, and it’s hot.”

  Don rolled quickly off the bed. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but it didn’t matter. The weariness that he had felt before, in mind and body, was gone with Tyson’s words. He was a soldier, and he was trained. When it came down to the wire, he would perform.

  His feet were already moving, following Tyson out into the commons where the rest of the Third Platoon were at various stages of leaving. Tyson shouted something at them, and they moved faster.

  “You with me, soldier?” Tyson asked him.

  “Yes, sir” Don answered, his eyes zeroing back to his friend.

  “I haven’t had time to train you, but you’re running with me, so just stick close.”

  “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged and then continued, “Are we going to be briefed?”

  Tyson nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. The last of his men exited the room, and Tyson waved Don through.

  They jogged through the halls; Don memorized the route as they went. When they arrived at the briefing room, Don found himself a little in awe. It was huge. Tyson ushered him into a seat near the edge and stood behind him.

  A much older man entered, with a few others strung out behind. “Ten-hut!” someone shouted, and they all stood, saluting crisply.

  “As you were,” came the gravelly reply, and Don heard a few scattered mutters as they took their seats once more. This man’s appearance was unexpected.

  “Hell’s Angels,” he began, commanding their attention, “I understand this briefing is irregular and that all four platoons have not been called out simultaneously in a long while. However, you have been summoned here for a mission of grave importance. We want every one of you to have a clear understanding of the proceedings.” He waved a hand, and the lights dimmed, leaving only the screen behind him lit up. He suddenly showed an overview of what Don assumed was part of the planet.

  “On entry into the planet’s atmosphere, one of our convoys was attacked and downed. The ships are reported to have crashed in this area here.” He circled part of the map. “They carried level-one cargo. It is imperative that this be retrieved. There will be no need to carry the cargo out, since it will be flown out. However, the cargo must first be activated. The Hell’s Angels are to hold off the Zarwean offensive until then.

  “As it is, you are projected to arrive only a short time before enemy forces, which have already been sighted on their way to the various crash sites. They will most likely approach from the southwest. You will have heavy artillery at your disposal. The cargo must not fall into enemy hands. If you should fail in your mission, we will destroy the cargo and anything else within three hundred meters.”

  He paused only long enough for his words to sink in before continuing. “The cargo will be activated by four pre-determined individuals. The safety of these soldiers is the utmost priority. If they fall, the mission has failed.”

  He checked his list. “It is my understanding that Specialists Finch, Green, O’Hara, and York are in this room.”

  Don stood automatically, as he knew his comrades would also do.

  The man gave them a cursory look. “Very good. You four will be activating the cargo. Come forward, please. The master sergeant will instruct you further.”

  Don was now completely mystified. Tyson raised an eyebrow questioningly as he passed. Don shrugged and hurried down. He gave his comrades a nod, but there was no time for any other greeting.

  The master sergeant drew them to a corner and activated the tablet in his hand. “Specialists, I trust you understand at least a little what this mission is about.”

  “It must have something to do with the Wasps,” Don said with a shrug. “Beyond that, I’m a bit confused. We never had to activate anything before.”

  The man nodded. “Right, most likely because no one thought it would ever need to be done. However, we haven’t much time. The cargo aboard these ships is four Wasps. Because they were en route, they have not yet been connected to any remote bunker.”

  “Meaning they can’t be flown out of the ships’ wreckage,” Finch interrupted.

  “Not until they’ve been activated,” the master sergeant corrected. “That will be your job. You will each activate one Wasp before the enemy arrives. If it looks as if you will not succeed, or if one of the Wasp cannot be flown because of damage from the crash, it will be your job to trigger the self-destruct sequence.”

  Green held up a hand. When the man acknowledged him, he asked, “Is that what the officer meant when he said it would be destroyed?”

  “His name is Sergeant Major Maesson, and yes, although we have a back-up plan if you should fail.”

  Green shook his head, and Don could see mutiny in York’s eyes. He knew what they were thinking. No ship was worth sacrificing themselves, sacrificing the lives of an entire company. Unless, his mind wandered, it is. If that were the case, then they had not been told everything about these Wasps.

  “Right,” Don said, with more enthusiasm than he felt. “Then we just won’t fail, will we, boys?”

  They gave him grim looks but nodded. The master sergeant pretended not to n
otice their hesitance.

  “Now,” Don continued, “how do we activate the Wasps and connect them to a bunker? Is someone going to be on standby to fly them out?”

  “There won’t be time to configure them.”

  “Master sergeant, these ships were not intended to be flown from within.”

  “However, I understand they can be,” the man said.

  Finch’s eyes narrowed. “Supposedly, although we have no experience in that area.”

  “But you are the ranking specialists, are you not?”

  “Yes,” Green admitted,and then his face transformed as the full weight of the man’s words hit him. “You’re not suggesting―”

  “No,” the master sergeant interrupted, “I’m not suggesting. Upon activation of the spacecraft, your orders are to pilot the Wasps out of the area. Do not wait for anyone or anything. Your own Wasp is your priority. You will fly them back here and wait for further instruction. Do not let anyone near your Wasp, even at the base. Understood?”

  Their reply came in unison, though their hearts were not in it.

  “Once more, sir,” Don asked before the man could continue. “How do we activate them?”

  The man handed them each a tablet. “I do not have time to instruct you. Transfer the data from these to your suits and read the instructions on your way to the crash site. Do not discard the tablets. You will need them, along with these,” he said, handing them each two connectors. “Do you have your APRILs?”

  They nodded.

  “Good, then you are dismissed.”

  They exchanged quick handshakes with each other.

  “Okay, boys,” Don said, “let’s go make our brothers in the sky proud.” Then they separated.

  The rest of the company was already filing out. Tyson grabbed his arm, pulling him up short. “What’s going on?”

  Don’s mind raced. He glanced down at the tablet in his hands and then along the line of curious faces behind Tyson. Faces he did not yet know. “The short version? We have to go rescue my fighter.”

  “Your fighter?”

  “Aye,” Don said, forgetting to watch his words as he rushed to explain. “Remember that mission I and the others are here for?”