Pursuing Dreams (The Young Soldier Book 1)

by MK Clark

  “What are you babbling about?”

  The voice was cold, heartless, but it cleared his head a little. Don bit back his words but continued to rock on the bed. The image of her ruined face floating before him was forever burned into his mind’s eye.

  “Make it go away,” he pleaded, head still clutched between his hands.

  “I can only give you a sedative, nothing more.”

  “Do it.”

  “I need to―”

  “Do it!”

  Chapter 31

  November 13, 627 T.A.

  After his release from the infirmary, Don had headed straight to Third Platoon’s common room. Tyson stopped him almost before he was through the door, but Don could tell him nothing. Officially, no one knew why he and the other pilots had become ill. Don knew this was a lie, but he was in no mood to speculate about it. Tyson caught on quickly and let him be.

  A few days later, Third Platoon was sent out. Don participated in Tyson’s fire team. No one had seen the Wasps since he and his comrades had delivered them. By the time his third skirmish came and passed, Don stopped wondering what had become of them.

  It didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered to him anymore. The dream had left him empty. Or perhaps he simply took shelter in being numb and the escape it provided, because no matter how hard he tried to forget, he remembered everything, every detail, with unerring clarity.

  “O’Hara, you with me?” Tyson was looking at him, waiting expectantly.

  “Sorry, sarge, what?”

  Tyson rapped his helmet impatiently. “Where’s your head, soldier? This isn’t a game.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You do that around my men, and I’m reporting you unfit for duty. I don’t care how well you perform. Now, we’re going to drop down over this ledge. You reach the bottom, you find cover. The entrance is somewhere down there.”

  Don nodded. He knew the plan. He’d memorized it the first time. He pulled out his piton and stabbed it into the ground, locking it into place. Tyson followed suit, then waited. Don counted the seconds, forcing himself to stay focused

  “Ready,” Tyson warned.

  He gripped his assault rifle tighter and scooted closer to the edge. Corvettes flew over them, hatches already emptying their loads. The ground bucked beneath them, and he heard Tyson shout, “Mark!”

  Don levered himself over the side. The rappelling line hissed as he dropped to the crater floor. Dust and clouds billowed up to give them cover. He looked down the side of the wall. The rest of the platoon were falling beside him.

  He landed hard, but it didn’t faze him. He detached the rappelling line with ease and crouched in the nearest alcove. He switched his helmet to infrared and watched the rest of the platoon orient themselves.

  “You better have your asses covered,” Tyson shouted over the radio. “Here comes the second round.” No sooner had he finished than the explosions started. Don tensed. The moment he heard the signal, he ran forward, disappearing into the mess before him.

  What used to be a smooth slope now made for a treacherous descent, ravaged by the pounding it had just received. He strained to hear the sounds of resistance, but none came. He broke through the cloud and took aim, but saw nothing.

  He glanced to the side. Other SCARs stood or crouched, muzzles forward, as the dust settled around them. No one moved. Either they were also dumbfounded, or they knew something he didn’t.

  Tyson was not far behind. He paused when he reached them and took in the scene and his men. Then he took a few steps forward and scanned their surroundings. “What the hell is going on here? Jonny, get on the command frequency and report in. See what they have to say. First squad, on me. We’re gonna have ourselves a look. Second squad, dig in and cover us.”

  Don fell in behind Tyson as he moved forward. They were joined quickly by the rest of the squad. No one spoke, and though Don knew the squad had to be jumpy, they hid it well. It did not take Tyson long to find the entrance. It was unguarded and open.

  Someone swore. Don didn’t recognize who, but it seemed to sum up everyone’s feelings. Tyson made a cutting motion with his hand, attention still focused ahead. Don wasn’t sure what he was searching for. The tunnel was empty, disappearing down into darkness.

  “Jonny, what have you got?”

  “They’re sending in a penetration team. We’ve orders to make a preliminary search and then hand over command to them when they get here.” Tyson turned to face them. “Okay, boys, you heard the man.”

  “You can’t be serious, sarge!”

  “It’s a trap; you know it. Damn turds will jump us the moment we get in there!”

  “That’s enough!” Tyson roared, and the squad fell silent.

  Don found himself observing with a kind of indifferent curiosity. This was the first time he’d seen anyone in the Third Platoon question Tyson.

  “We’ve got our orders. We’re going to follow them.”

  “Sergeant, technically we’ve done a preliminary search. We’ve located the entrance.”

  The mere fact that someone dared to protest again spoke volumes for their unease. It left Don wondering what they had been through in the past.

  He scanned the squad. No matter how well they hid it in their stances, the readings from their suits didn’t lie. Each one showed numbers indicating severe stress. Tyson hadn’t replied yet, and he knew it was because Tyson was seeing exactly what Don had.

  Finally, he pointed to the area around the entrance. “Roco, Bernette, station your men there. Hughes, your fire team is with mine. Let’s move.”

  There was no more opposition. The men moved as they were directed. Tyson nodded approvingly. Don followed close on his heels as he made for the entrance. He knew the men’s anxiety should have affected him, but it hadn’t.

  As the light faded, he switched to night vision. The tunnel opened into a circular room with more tunnels branching off from it. Tyson motioned Don forward and held a hand up to the others. They strung out down the hall, assault rifles ready. Don and Tyson stepped into the room simultaneously, their backs nearly touching.

  “Clear!” he called after a moment and he heard Tyson repeat him. The two fire teams filed slowly into the room behind them, the last in line slamming a marker into the wall. Tyson took an immediate left. The floor began to slope downward once more, and although the walls were reinforced in places with metal struts and plates, the planet mostly had been carved away and left alone.

  Don glanced upward, searching for some kind of system of lighting. The ceiling was much higher than he had expected, and he could see no evidence of what he was looking for. Strangely, this unnerved him a bit. He noted absently that this was the first thing that had.

  Rooms branched off from the halls. Each one was open and vacant. They pushed farther in. It was the same everywhere. There was no trace that anyone had inhabited this place.

  “Sarge,” someone ventured, “I think they knew we were coming.”

  It was a long time before there was any sign that Tyson had heard. “No, they didn’t know. It’s too clean. This is something else.” He waved them around. “I don’t like this. We’re heading out. The penetration team can have the rest.”

  There were no objections. Don could see eagerness in their movement as they retreated. Even so, they continued to check each room once more as they passed. Don barely spared them a glance, certain the others had missed nothing. Then something glinted in the corner of his eye. It was so small, he hardly saw it. Still, it made him stop. Nothing down here had reflective qualities. Tyson did an awkward hop-skip to avoid him.

  “What the hell?”

  “I saw something.”

  The entire column froze at this.

  Don squinted into the corner of the room, trying to find what could possibly have glinted. A fixture partially blocked his view, but he ignored it. What he’d seen was higher. He moved his head from one side to the other to locate it.

  “What did it look like?” />
  “I dunno. I barely saw it; it just kinda’ caught my attention.” He shifted to the side one more time. Nothing. Don checked his MAG-G42 and then took a step into the room. Very slowly, he neared the fixture. He knew without looking that Tyson was behind him, and others after that. His heartbeat quickened as he rounded the corner.

  Empty, like the rest.

  Only, there— the floor glinted a little. He knelt to get a closer look.

  “O’Hara, what are you doing?”

  Don could hear tension in his voice. “I don’t think this was here before,” he answered.

  “What?” Tyson demanded.

  Don reached out slowly, touching it. It was liquid. He pulled his hand away, and the substance came with him, stretching from the floor to his fingers.

  “It’s like a slime.”

  “A slime?”

  Don heard him take a step closer, and then a panicked voice interrupted them.

  “Sergeant, get out of there! That’s Spitter slime.”

  “The outpost must have been infested.”

  “If that’s from a Spitter, it won’t be far away.”

  Someone approached Tyson. “Sarge, the boys are right.”

  “I know,” Tyson snapped. “Who has a solvent?”

  Don looked from Tyson to the others, unsure what was going on. He stood and felt the slime pull taut. He looked down. “Oh, that can’t be good.”

  The fingers of his SCAR were now encased in the slime, and the other end was still secured to the ground, holding him prisoner.

  “No shit,” Tyson muttered as he and another soldier began taking apart the casings of some ammunition.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This will dissolve what’s on your suit so we can get out of here.”

  Don nodded his understanding, but something still bothered him. The slime explained what he saw now, but not where he’d seen it. He turned his attention to the wall; there was no slime there. Where, then? He certainly couldn’t have seen this puddle from behind the fixture.

  Like a light turning on, he understood. A pool of dread formed in the pit of his stomach, and he lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Twenty feet above him, a nearly perfect circle had been carved out. He switched to infrared. He could barely see it, but there was definitely something there, and it was coming closer.

  “Not to panic anyone, but do you think you could hurry with that?”

  There was a moment where everyone turned to look at him, then followed his gaze to the ceiling.

  “It’s coming, isn’t it?” someone asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Tyson’s movements sped up, but Don could tell he wouldn’t make it. He swung his assault rifle toward the ceiling and opened fire.

  “That’s not going to do anything!”

  Don stopped firing, but kept the muzzle pointed at the ceiling. “So, what, I’m just supposed to stand here and―?”

  He never finished. Instead, he found himself crushed against the floor. There was a crunching sound in his ear, and he felt his head twist to the side.

  Chaos ensued. Don could no longer hear the shouts of the squad, but their presence was evident. The Spitter jumped backward, carrying Don with it, his helmet still caught in the monster’s mouth. He could feel that his right hand was free from its imprisonment and reached up instinctively to try to pry the Spitter’s mouth open. It was a futile gesture.

  Suddenly, there was an explosion. Don and his captor were thrown against a wall. Even with the protection of his SCAR, the shock left him paralyzed. As he dangled in the air, a shiver of fear ran down his spine. What would happen to him if he couldn’t move? Bullets ricocheted off the Spitter’s skin. Don knew they were being fired merely as a distraction. Fire enveloped him, he didn’t know from what. The Spitter rose on its back legs, infuriated by the flames. Don watched as it swept three soldiers up against the wall, six-inch claws digging furrows into their armor.

  Slowly, he began to feel the paralysis leave his limbs. Don scrabbled with his fingers; they found their prize. He shoved the barrel of his sidearm between the Spitter’s jaws and fired.

  It screamed, but Don kept firing. Even as he fell, he fired. He hit the ground hard, but he hit it free. The Spitter slammed down beside him. Don gave a shout and kicked out, propelling himself backward. The Spitter remained motionless.

  He could feel his whole body shaking within the suit. The fear that filled him was like a crack in a dam growing larger and larger until the dam began to crumble away. He could feel a crack somewhere inside him, getting stronger as it gathered days and months of pent-up emotion.

  Something fell upon his shoulder. Don jerked away before realizing it was a comrade. Tyson carefully placed a hand on the barrel of Don’s pistol, lowering it. Only then did he realize he was still repeatedly squeezing the trigger.

  After a moment, Tyson tapped the helmet of his SCAR with a finger. It was a question.

  Don shook his head: no, he couldn’t hear anything.

  Tyson nodded and held out a hand. Don took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. He was amazed to find he could even stand. Someone pressed his lost MAG-G42 into his hands.

  He let himself be steered out of the room and up to the surface. At the moment, his brain seemed to be functioning on only one speed: slow. The penetration team was grouping together when the platoon emerged. Tyson quickly ordered them all onto the waiting transports.

  By the time they got back to base, most of the raw emotion in Don had drained away. His hands were steady as he removed his helmet. He felt eyes trained on him, gauging his temperament, but he avoided them. He forced an unaffected air while he inspected the charred surface of his SCAR and the deep scoring marks along the outside of the helmet. The Spitter’s teeth had come very close to puncturing the sides.

  A pair of feet entered his realm of vision. “We’re going to have to send your SCAR for repairs,” Tyson told him.

  Don nodded dutifully.

  “Specialist,” Tyson said, demanding his attention.

  Don looked up. The moment their eyes met, Tyson’s mouth snapped closed. Don looked away and continued to rack his suit.

  When he’d finished, Tyson grabbed his arm. They split from the line headed toward the showers and ended up in the mess hall. Tyson shoved him into a seat and plopped down beside him.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Now, I know you had a scare today, but this thing you’ve got going on, it’s not from that. I’ve given you your space for days, but enough is enough.”

  Don fought the urge to lash out at his friend. Anger flared up suddenly within him, taking him by surprise. He clenched his hands into fists and turned away.

  “Look at yourself!” Tyson kept on. “You’re dangerous to be around. You’re all extremes. I can’t trust you. I don’t trust you. I won’t stand for this, O’Hara! Not on my team.”

  Don refused to look at Tyson. He knew his friend was right, but it made no difference.

  “You have two choices. You talk to me, or I will send you back to the infirmary. I’ll tell them you’re psychologically unfit for duty and they shouldn’t have cleared you in the first place.”

  “I can’t!” Don finally snarled.

  “Bullshit! Don’t tell me this is about some classified crap. There’s more to it than that. You were a mess when you got here, but you’re worse now. Something happened in that Wasp.”

  From the corner of his eye, Don saw Tyson reach over. Don shifted, seizing his friend’s wrist in an iron grasp. He didn’t want to be touched. He didn’t want to be comforted, to be calmed down.

  Tyson paid no attention to Don’s bruising grip but held his gaze with unwavering certainty. “Trust me. You obviously can’t handle this alone, so trust me. Let me help.”

  Don threw the arm away from him, disgusted with himself as much as everything else. “What makes you so certain? You don’t know anything.”

  “Have I failed you yet?”

  Unbidden, part of his dr
eam resurfaced in his thoughts. How am I supposed to help you if you don’t talk? You got to open up, man. You can’t fight this by yourself.

  He furiously shoved the memory away. He didn’t want to open up. He didn’t want to give voice to his suspicions. Confirming them with words would feel like carving them into stone, making them real. Part of him still wanted to believe he was making it all up. Tyson was still waiting patiently. He was right; he had never failed Don yet.

  “Fine,” he finally surrendered. “What do you want to know?”

  “Start with what happened in those Wasps. They messed you guys up.”

  Don closed his eyes. He couldn’t simply start there. Tyson wouldn’t understand. He had to start before that. There were things he had to explain, such as his amnesia, but he’d have to be careful, or he’d put Tyson in danger.

  He took a deep breath and stood. “This is going to take a while,” he informed Tyson. “We should get some food.”

  He headed for the line and began as they waited. Tyson did not speak again until Don had finished.

  When he did, his words were tinged with astonishment. “That explains a lot.”

  Don could not hold back a bitter laugh. What he’d told was just barely the tip of the iceberg.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about your mum?”

  “I couldn’t,” he answered simply. “Besides, it happened twelve years ago. What was I supposed to say? 'My mum died twelve years ago, leave me alone so I can grieve'?”

  “O’Hara, you idiot! Maybe it was twelve years ago, but where I’m sitting, your mother was shot just the other day. That’s a big deal!”

  Don tuned him out as he continued. He didn’t need to be reminded. Eventually he realized his friend was no longer talking. He looked up to see Tyson waiting for an answer. “Sorry, what?”

  “You certain you don’t remember anything else?”

  Don gave a slight shake of his head, the sound in the mess hall nearly drowning out Tyson’s words. It was the perfect environment for their conversation.

  “Do you know why you remembered what you did?”