Carter was a decorated officer. He had led men in battle. He had gone deep into the jungle, had killed enemy soldiers, had held his dying friends in his arms. He was a scarred, battle-hardened warrior. But right now, his eyes dampened, and pain stabbed his chest like a dagger.
He saluted. "Sir."
He turned to leave.
As he was stepping through the door, General Ward spoke again. "Lieutenant?"
Carter froze. "Sir?"
"One more thing, Lieutenant." The general stared at him. "Don't come back here. Ever again."
Carter tightened his lips, fighting back the damn tears. He nodded, closed the door, and walked down the corridor with a cold, hard lump in his chest.
He left Little Earth. He returned to his base, and he rejoined his platoon.
Lizzy was there. The love of his life. The tall woman looked at him, her golden braid hanging across her shoulder, sadness in her eyes.
She knew what happened. She read it on his face. She understood.
I'm sorry, her eyes said, damp and full of love.
I love you, Lizzy, Carter thought. You're the only good thing in this whole damn galaxy.
She could read his thoughts. He saw that in her eyes, in her hint of a smile.
That silent communication lasted only a few seconds. Then Lizzy's face hardened. She pressed her heels together, saluted, and shouted, "Attention!"
The platoon snapped to attention.
Carter looked at them. Young privates and corporals. Green boys and girls from Earth. Jon. George. Etty. All the rest of them. They stood stiffly, rifles in hands, and he saw the fear in their eyes.
Tomorrow I will lead them to battle. Many of them will never come home.
A hollowness filled Carter. This war suddenly seemed so meaningless. His life—so purposeless.
But no.
There was still one task to complete on Bahay.
He had failed to connect with his father. But there was a more important goal.
I will find Ernesto. He clenched his fists, fury washing over him, hotter than ever. I will find the man who hurt Lizzy. And then my life will have meaning again.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Eyes in the Dark
After a week in Fort Miguel, Jon was almost grateful to be out in the jungle.
Almost.
His week at the Old Mig had passed slowly, full of quiet tension. It was easier than boot camp. There was less drilling, more free time. But with that time came worrying. Thinking. Missing home. Sometimes when nobody was watching, the tears would come, and a hard lump would fill his chest. By the week's end, Jon had been climbing the walls.
Having Clay in his squad didn't help matters.
And now, it had come. His first mission. A journey into the wilderness.
The platoon walked through the brush, rifles locked and loaded. In the green jungle, they wore navy blue battlesuits. Whoever had chosen this color deserved a court martial, if you asked Jon. To send troops in blue into a green jungle was a colossal blunder or, more likely, an act of supreme arrogance. Jon could imagine the generals chortling around a table somewhere on Earth.
Redesign our battlesuits that worked so well on Ganymede? Ah, hell, screw that. Who needs camouflage anyway when you're an apex predator? Hell, maybe we want the slits to see our boys! Strike terror into their wily little hearts!
Jon grumbled under his breath. Thankfully, the troops on the ground had improvised. They had covered their battlesuits with mud, leaves, and branches, creating crude camouflage. Where the high command blundered, the grunts adapted. This tradition went back throughout the history of warfare.
Still, Jon suspected the camouflage wouldn't fool too many Kennys. The troops' boots snapped every fallen branch and twig, and they were breathing like pigs. Greendeer watched them curiously from the trees, strange beings with luminous white antlers and leafy fur, while iridescent glimmerbirds fled from their advance. Braided serpents hung from branches, nearly indistinguishable from dangling strings of moss. Only their watchful eyes revealed their sentience. If there were any Kalayaan guerrillas among the branches, they were undoubtedly watching too.
"A Kenny!" George suddenly cried out, pointing at a tree.
At once, the platoon leaped for cover and aimed their guns. But it was only a mourning monk—a furry critter, apelike, its brown fur vaguely resembling a monk's habit. The animal watched them lazily. Clearly, it had never evolved fear of humans.
Clay shot it. It thumped down dead. It would have to evolve that instinct soon.
Clay smacked George on the back of his head. "Dumbass."
They were fifty soldiers in the Lions platoon. Some were fresh from Roma Station. Others had been on Bahay for a year or two now, were already battle-tested. Jon tried and failed to hide his nerves. Every hooting bird, every scuttling animal, every rustling leaf—it made Jon jump and aim his gun. The more experienced soldiers smirked.
One corporal patted Jon's helmet. "Nervous virgin."
Jon took a deep breath. He tried to calm down, to focus on the nature surrounding him.
Bahay was, despite being a war zone, beautiful.
Moss coated boulders and fallen logs, and rivulets streamed over particolored stones. Creatures filled the water, covered in scales of different colors, blending perfectly among the river stones whenever they froze. Curtains of ivy and lichen swayed, and mist hovered like ghosts.
The trees soared, taller than any trees on Earth, their boles like the columns of cathedrals. Branches intertwined overhead, forming vaulted ceilings rustling with countless leaves. Fangwoods sprouted millions of hungry leaves like Venus flytraps. Their branches moved, and their jaws snapped, capturing furry little insects. Jon loved those trees. The bugs on Bahay were a constant pain in his backside—sometimes literally. The buggers got everywhere, sneaking under armor and undergarments, and their bites hurt like hell. Sometimes they laid eggs under the skin. Extracting them involved big knives and searing iodine. Yes, Jon decided that bug-eating trees were his best friends on his planet. After the war, he vowed to personally plant a hundred more.
Some of the plants and animals on Bahay, mostly those found in local villages and army bases, had come from Earth. Rice. Fruit trees. Tarsiers. All familiar. But here in the jungle? Here was an alien ecosystem.
"It's beautiful here," Jon said. "Say what you like about Bahay, the nature is gorgeous."
George was waving bugs away. "It's awful."
"If you think this is beautiful, you should see the deserts of Israel," Etty said. "Rolling dunes, limestone mountains, sprawling plains of sand…"
"There she goes again," George said. "Blabbering on about sand."
Etty glowered. "Sand is beautiful!"
"Sand is what cats shit in," George said.
"George, I swear, I—"
"Soldiers!"
At the head of the column, Sergeant Lizzy looked back at them. She held a finger to her lips. They all shut up.
Jon needed a break from the bickering giant and girl. He walked ahead along the trail, leaving his fireteam, and passed by several squads. He reached the head of the platoon.
Lieutenant Carter was walking here, staring ahead, rifle in hand. He moved with the deadly grace of a prowling tiger. War paint covered his face, and leaves stuck out from his helmet, hiding the insignia of an officer. Ferns and trees rustled around them, insects buzzed, and the sun bathed the trail with searing yellow light.
"Sir," Jon said. "I was hoping to speak to you."
"You should address any concerns to your squad leader, Private," the officer said. "Don't go over his head."
Jon lowered his voice. "Sir, I had to come directly to you. It's about what we discussed." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Our secret mission on Bahay."
"All right," Carter said. "Talk to me."
Jon swallowed. "Back at camp, sir, you told us we need to secure a hilltop in the jungle. Sir, is that truly our mission? Or is there more to it?" He glanced behind him,
made sure nobody was listening, and looked back at Carter. "Are we still tracking Ernesto Santos?"
For a long time, Lieutenant Carter was silent. They walked on through the rainforest. Finally, Carter nodded.
Jon's heart hammered. "So we are tracking him. We are going to face him. The man who killed my brother. Sir, if we find him, I…" Jon hesitated, then the words spilled out. "I should be the one who does it, sir. I've never killed a man." His voice shook. "I never wanted to kill a man. But Paul was my brother, sir, and if we can find his killer, we—"
"Private Taylor?" Carter said.
Jon swallowed. "Sir?"
"Right now, I need you to return to your position in my platoon, and to obey orders without question, and not to get emotional. Is that understood?"
Jon nodded. "Yes, sir."
He fell back and rejoined his squad.
They walked all day. It began to rain, mist hovered, and mud flowed around their boots. The battlesuits made the heat even worse. Bugs kept biting their exposed necks and faces, thunder boomed, and shadows filled the forest. By evening, Jon wondered how he had ever found the rainforest beautiful.
There was nowhere good to make camp. They slept in the mud. The rain pounded their tents, leaking through to soak them. Rivulets flowed everywhere, ready to steal a man's boots or canteen with watery fingers. Leeches clung to any exposed skin, and some even wriggled under men's armor. Thunder boomed throughout the night. When it was Jon's turn to guard the camp, he felt useless. Blackness cloaked the trees. If there were enemies in the rainforest, they could sneak right up without Jon ever seeing.
You're out here somewhere, Ernesto, he thought, shivering in the darkness, rain pouring down his face. You're close. We're aliens here. We don't know the rainforest like you do. But we're strong. We're Earthlings. We're going to find you and kill you.
In the darkness, he saw Kaelyn's face. He heard her voice.
Come home pure.
Tears flowed down Jon's cheeks along with the rain.
"But I'm no longer pure, Kaelyn," Jon whispered. "I'm no longer that boy who wrote those songs for you. Something broke inside me when Paul died. The army broke whatever remained. I've never killed before. But I have a killer's heart. I was filled with music, but now I'm filled with hatred."
It scared him. It scared him more than ten thousand guerrillas in the shadows.
Morning dawned cold and wet, and the platoon kept traveling.
It kept raining all day. The bugs kept biting.
"I hate the rain," George said, soaking and miserable.
"I'm telling ya, buddy," Etty said. "The desert is where it's at."
"Fuck jungles, and fuck the desert, and fuck space, and fuck the army," George said. "I wish I was home."
Etty lowered her head. "I wish I had a home. I have nothing waiting for me back on Earth."
George opened his mouth, perhaps preparing a scathing retort. But then he placed his hand on Etty's shoulder. "You do, Etty. My home. Once we're back on Earth, you have a place to live. With me and my sister."
Etty leaned against him. The top of her helmet only came halfway up his chest. She looked like a child beside George.
"Thanks, Ginger Giant," she said, and she had to wipe away tears.
They walked all day, and still no sign of the enemy. Jon approached his officer again, but Carter remained tight-lipped. The lieutenant kept to himself, rarely even speaking to Lizzy, walking at the head of the troops. He drove them on at a punishing pace.
Walking through the brush, Jon looked at his lieutenant and sergeant. He couldn't help but shudder.
Ernesto hurt you too, Jon thought. He wiped out your last platoon, Carter. He brutalized and mutilated you, Lizzy. He hurt you even more than he hurt me.
It was no wonder the pair kept marching onward, even as everyone else was nearing exhaustion. This was not just a military mission, Jon knew. It was a personal vendetta.
* * * * *
Night fell again.
Jon lay down in the mud. He was so exhausted he fell asleep at once. But he slept fitfully. The rain kept pattering against him, and squirming creatures in the mud kept biting him. Everything hurt.
In his dreams, he lay in a filthy room, a shadowy girl in his arms. He remembered her. The girl he had seen during the warp jump aboard the Adiona. Warp engines bent spacetime. They said they could provide glimpses into the future. But Jon's glimpse was blurry at best, a mere hint of soft skin, moldy walls, a whispering voice.
"Wake up, dumbass."
A foot jabbed Jon. He opened his eyes, groaning, and found himself back in the mud.
"Up, Maestro!" Etty said. "Guard duty."
"For fuck's sake, Etty." Jon pushed her boot away. "Do you really have to kick me awake?"
"What were you expecting, a kiss and breakfast in bed? Get to guarding!" She yawned. "I'm exhausted. Time to crawl into my nice warm puddle of mud."
She was snoring by the time Jon rose and loaded his gun.
He stood in the darkness, guarding blind, staring at shadows. He had nothing but his flashlight, for all the good the damn thing did. He could barely see more than one leaf at a time.
After two days and nights in the jungle, with no sign of the enemy, boredom had begun to replace his fear. Jon swept his flashlight from side to side, drawing figure eights on the trees. He yawned, checked his watch, yawned again. In fifteen minutes, George would relieve him, and Jon could collapse again.
To stay awake, he kept moving his flashlight, drawing letters of light, spelling out his name. Finally he pretended to be a conductor, facing an orchestra performing his symphonies.
He was conducting a silent version of "Falling Like the Rain," which he felt appropriate given the weather, when his beam of light swept across two gleaming eyes.
Jon froze.
He moved the beam of light back.
The eyes were gone.
Jon's heart galloped. He forced a deep breath.
Only a mourning monk, he thought. Or a glimmerbird. He had begun to recognize some of the local wildlife.
He moved the beam again, side to side, seeking the eyes. The beam was trembling. The fear was back.
Nothing.
"Just a bird," he whispered to himself. "Just a stupid bird in the trees, and—"
His hackles rose.
Somebody was watching him. He could feel it.
He raised the flashlight, and—
A figure in the trees!
Somebody in the branches!
Time froze.
Jon couldn't breathe. Couldn't make a sound.
A bullet shrieked.
The flashlight exploded in Jon's hand. Shards of glass stung him.
He screamed, aimed his gun at the darkness, and opened fire.
"Kalayaan!" he shouted, squeezing his trigger.
And he realized that his gun wasn't even firing. He had forgotten to switch off the safety.
More bullets whistled around him.
He ran. Something seared his leg, and he ran another step, fell, leaped behind a log. His hands shook. He fumbled for the safety, cursing himself.
I trained for this. Don't fuck up now! Come on!
Bullets slammed into the log, ripping out chunks of wood, and moss flew, and—
George burst from the tent, howling, his assault rifle roaring at the trees.
"You leave him alone, you Kenny bastards!" the giant bellowed, his muzzle flaring, lighting the night.
Finally Jon managed to flick off the safety, aim his rifle, and fire. His muzzle burst with light, and he glimpsed figures among the branches, and—
Ringing.
Searing light.
His head exploded with pain and sound.
A bullet hit me, he thought. I'm shot, I'm shot—
But it had only grazed his helmet. He touched his head, felt no blood.
Etty burst from her tent too, gun firing, and more soldiers joined her, and soon the platoon was roaring and firing into the darkness, and gunf
ire lit the night.
"Fire in the sky!" somebody shouted.
Jon realized it was Lizzy. He glimpsed the sergeant hurling something at the trees, and—
An explosion roared across the jungle.
A grenade!
"Fire in the sky!" George howled and threw his own grenade.
Another boom rocked the trees.
"Die, slits!" Clay was shouting, laughing hysterically, firing on automatic.
"Jon!" George cried, running toward him. "Jon, are you okay? Are—"
A bullet slammed into his leg. The giant howled and fell.
"George!" Jon cried.
Not even hesitating, he leaped from cover and ran toward his friend. Bullets whistled around him. Jon ran through the fire.
"Jon, get back!" George shouted, lying on the forest floor. "Get to cover!"
Jon raced toward his friend as bullets flew everywhere, streaking through the night, slamming into trees.
A soldier fell beside him, clutching his chest. The bullets had cracked through his armored suit.
Another soldier fell, visor shattered, head blown open.
Etty was shouting somewhere behind, firing at the trees, and a grenade burst above.
Jon ran through it all, reached his fallen friend, and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Come on, George, get up!" he shouted, tugging the giant.
George was so much larger. Jon was not a small man, but George was twice his size. The giant tried to rise, winced, fell back down.
Etty ran up toward them, firing at the trees.
"Get to cover, assholes!" she howled.
Her gun clicked. A bullet scraped across her arm, and blood sprayed, but Etty loaded another magazine and kept firing.
With strength Jon had not known was in him, he lifted George.
He carried his friend across the forest. George's feet scraped across the ground. Jon strained under the weight, ground his teeth, and kept going.
Another soldier fell.
A tent burst into flame.
Everywhere in the night—blood and fire, and figures in the trees, and laughter.
"I see him!" Lizzy shouted. "It's him! It's Ernesto! He's in the trees!"
The Earthling (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 1) Page 26
