by Smith, Glenn
He fastened his boots, then stood up, tucked in his black tee shirt and fastened his green battle fatigue trousers, then picked his mug up off the nightstand and stepped over to one of the bedroom windows to stare out at her while he sipped his coffee. She was just standing there, leaning against the deck railing with the breeze blowing gently through her auburn hair and the early morning sun shining through her thin white nightgown, silhouetting her athletic body. She was a vision of beauty—a vision that served to remind him of what it was that had attracted him to her in the first place.
The bitterness in his heart began to languish. He was funny that way. No matter how much headache and aggravation she caused him, he always seemed to be able to easily let go of his anger, if given a little time. He liked to think that he had mastered a uniquely high level of self-control, but he knew that it was more likely just a subconscious response to the undeniable likelihood that her moodiness wasn’t always completely her fault.
He finished his coffee and set his mug down on the bureau, then stepped out onto the deck and approached her from behind. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist and gently pressed against her as he kissed the nape of her neck. “Good morning,” he said as warmly and pleasantly as he could. To his surprise she responded in kind, resting her hands on his and welcoming his loving touch. But when he kissed her again, she grasped his wrists and gently freed herself, then ruined the moment completely by opening her mouth.
“Don’t get carried away,” she said as she stepped away from him. “Just because we had a nice dinner and I let you fuck me last night, doesn’t mean I’m not still upset.”
Dylan let out a long, silent breath, but held his tongue. How discouraging was that? He’d thought, somewhat naively perhaps, that he and Carolyn had gone a long way last night toward finally starting to heal their ailing relationship, and he’d prepared himself to break things off with Marissa immediately, difficult though it would be to hurt her like that. And he’d decided that no matter what, he was not going to say good-bye with another argument this morning.
“Besides,” she continued, staring down at the garden. “You don’t have time for that. You have to go.”
“I still have a few minutes,” he said, glancing at his watch.
“You don’t want to be late.”
“I’m not going to be late!” he told her, much more harshly than he’d intended. Perhaps the bitterness that had been festering in his heart for so long hadn’t completely languished after all. His self-imposed patience was obviously wearing thin, and he could only shake his head in disgust at himself for having been naive enough—no ‘perhaps’ about it—to think that last night’s truce might actually carry over into this morning.
“Don’t you yell at me!” she snapped back, glaring at him. “I’m not one of your little tin soldiers you can scold whenever you want to!” Then she turned her back on him and said, as if to dismiss him from her world completely, “See you when you get back.” She actually sounded disappointed at the prospect.
Dylan thought about trying to kiss her good-bye, but only for a moment. Why he’d even bothered to consider it, he couldn’t guess. Instead, he just shook his head in disgust again, waved her off, and went back inside without another word. How the two of them could share a nice dinner and conversation and even make love afterwards, then turn right around and not be able to talk to each other the next morning without tempers flaring was beyond him.
He huffed at his own stupidity. At least he’d thought at the time that they were making love. She obviously had her own way of looking at it.
He grabbed his shirt and his beret off the back of his chair and headed out.
Minutes later, as he tore down the road in his sleek red sports car on his way to the base, he glanced at the bright gold band on his left ring finger and made a mental note to take it off and secure it in his locker when he arrived at the barracks.
He sighed. Despite their problems, he’d never taken his wedding ring off before. Come to think of it, he’d never even thought about taking it off—at least not seriously. Not even in combat, when he probably should have. Did the fact that he’d decided to do so now necessarily mean anything significant? Had he also decided, perhaps, without even realizing it until this very moment, that Carolyn just wasn’t worth the effort anymore? Was his rocky marriage finally coming to an end after almost eight years?
Chapter 26
“All right, listen up, people,” the lieutenant called out, grabbing the brand new perfectly shaped black beret off of his clean-shaven head as he marched into the briefing room, already dressed in his black battle fatigues. A recent academy graduate, he’d only joined the unit three weeks ago, but he wasn’t soft and unseasoned like most other rookie second lieutenants—the kind who often hoped to start their careers sitting in an office at some rear echelon jumpstation somewhere, assigned to one of the more technical specialties. Not at all. This man was hard-core and tough, a real Marine through and through, and he had the strength of mind and body to back up the attitude. He’d gone through the same Sea-Air-Land-Space combat training as the rest of the Rangers, and then some. Dylan had no sooner met the man than he’d learned to admire and respect him, despite the fact that he hadn’t proven himself in actual combat yet.
“You may continue to attack that lame excuse for coffee and those incredibly fattening donuts,” he added as he marched to the front of the room, “but I want your otherwise undivided attention on me.” He looked around to make sure he had it, then began his briefing.
“Okay. Here’s the reason you’ve all been so graciously invited back so soon. The Crown Prince of the Eastern Republics and his Royal Consort have been missing for three days. They are now known to have been abducted by members of the Caldanran Unity Front. The C-U-F has openly claimed responsibility and has threatened to execute the royal couple unless the Cirran government meets a whole laundry list of political and economic demands. Number one on that list is their insistence that the Coalition pull all Solfleet forces off planet and out of this system for good. Needless to say, that is not going to happen.”
“Hell, no,” someone commented. “We haven’t been here long enough for the Veshtonn stink to clear out yet.”
“That’s not coming from here,” someone else added. “It’s floating through space from the next system over.”
“Odors can’t float through space, dipshit.”
“All right, stow the nonsense!” the lieutenant barked.
“Why don’t we just leave this system like they want us to?” someone asked.
The lieutenant looked over the small sea of disbelieving expressions, then asked with obvious disdain, “Who the hell said that?”
“I did, sir,” one of the replacements responded, raising his hand. Disappointed struck Dylan straight through the heart when he saw that it was one of his new fire team leaders—a brand new buck sergeant.
“On your feet, Ranger,” the lieutenant ordered. The young sergeant practically leapt out of his chair and stood at attention. “What’s your name?”
“Sergeant Allen Matrewski, sir.”
“Matrewski. You’re one of Squad Sergeant Graves’ new men, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant Graves.”
Dylan stood up and came to attention as well. “Sir,” he answered, clearly not pleased.
“At ease, Sergeant.” Dylan relaxed. “Has this man been given his newcomer’s orientation briefing yet?”
“No, sir,” Dylan answered, glaring at Matrewski, “he just arrived on planet last night.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Sergeant Matrewski, if I were you I’d ask my squad sergeant why we don’t leave this system. But save it for after this briefing. Do not interrupt me again.”
“Yes, sir,” Matrewski answered.
“Take your seats.”
The lieutenant glanced up at the ceiling for a couple of seconds as the sergeants sat down, then continued. “Our current big brother
up there,” he said, referring to the Solfleet starcruiser watching over the planet from orbit, “has detected an artificial energy source on a large, remote island that was completely uninhabited just two months ago. The power levels are such that Intel has determined they’re leaking through a rather inefficient cammo-screen. High intensity scans through that screen have provided us with a layout of everything it’s hiding. From all appearances, what it’s hiding is a small, hastily but fairly well built C-U-F compound, manned by at least seventy-two enemy soldiers—if you can actually call that gang of self-interested, murderous terrorists ‘soldiers’. We believe that’s where the royal couple is currently being held. Our mission is to go in quietly and get them out, gather all the intelligence we can, and take the terrorist commander and as many of his troops as possible into custody.
“As always, the Sulaini government has officially condemned this latest act of C-U-F aggression. However, not surprisingly, the Cirran Council of Nations still believes that C-U-F actions are secretly and routinely sanctioned by the Sulaini government, and a quick end to their patient temperance seems to be fast approaching.” He paused, then sidestepped to his left and faced the spot he’d just been standing in.
“What do you mean by ‘a quick end to their patient temperance’, L-T?” he asked the empty air.
He sidestepped back to his original position, faced back to the spot he’d just abandoned, and answered, “I’m glad you asked, Lieutenant. The Cirran government has refused to rule out the possibility of total nuclear retaliation against Sulain.”
Dispensing with his ad-hoc comedy routine as murmurs of both disbelief and disapproval resonated through the room—along with a few snickers that no doubt pleased him—he addressed the troops directly again. “Therefore, this is not just another simple rescue mission, and it’s much more than a simple favor to the Cirran government. If we fail to recover the hostages unharmed, this one incident will likely plunge these two worlds back into full-scale civil war, Coalition or no Coalition.”
One of the troops asked, “How do we know the Crown Prince and his little whore are there, sir? For that matter, how do we know they’re still on the planet at all?”
The lieutenant looked at the young man with fire in his eyes. “His little whore? Ranger, you’re stationed here as a guest of the royal government of the Unified Cirran Republics. You will not...I repeat, will not speak of its leadership in such a disrespectful manner. Your words reflect on the whole platoon. Therefore they reflect directly on me, not to mention the rest of the Ranger Regiment, my beloved Marine Corps, and the entirety of Solfleet itself. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the troop answered, sufficiently humbled.
“Good. Now as to your question, no extra-planetary flights have lifted off since the last known sighting of the royal couple prior to their abduction.” Keeping track of all such flights was a matter of Solfleet routine in situations such as the one that existed in the Caldanra system. “If there had been any flights, our people up there would have boarded and searched the vessels from bow to stern. They haven’t had to do that, so we know the couple is still here. Any more questions?”
There were none.
“All right then. We’ll form up at nineteen-hundred and move out after dark. Until then, as usual, you’re all restricted to the base and ordered to keep everything that’s been discussed in this room to yourselves. I suggest you get some rest, too. You’re going to need it.” With that, and with a quick glance at Matrewski, the lieutenant left the enlisted men and women to finish off the coffee and donuts, or to do whatever else they might want to do for the rest of the day.
“Sergeant Matrewski,” Dylan called out as the troops stood and started moving about. The rest of the briefing room fell into a dead silence.
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“I need to see you in the training office.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
No one uttered a single word as the two men made their way toward the exit. They might have been heading for the training office, but they weren’t going there to discuss the squad’s training schedule, and everyone knew it. The Training NCO was on leave and his office was currently unoccupied. Matrewski was in for one very unpleasant experience.
* * *
Dylan closed and locked the office door behind them. Matrewski assumed the position of attention and, judging from his expression, prepared himself to receive the ass-chewing of a lifetime...or worse. But rather than lash out Dylan kept his cool, relaxed his posture a little, and calmly asked, “What in the galaxy ever possessed you to ask the lieutenant why we won’t pull out of this system?”
“Sorry about that, Squad Sergeant,” Matrewski replied. “I guess I should’ve waited for my orientation briefing.”
“That would have been the smarter thing to do, yes.”
Dylan paused, then told Matrewski, “Stand at ease.” The younger sergeant let out an impatient sigh as he relaxed, but Dylan chose to give the guy a break and ignore it. “At the very least you should have waited and asked me, after the briefing.”
“Agreed. It’s just that...well...I’m not all that clear on what we’re doing in this system. I read Stinson’s new book during the trip out here, and...”
“Stinson’s books are about as radical and uninformed a series of works as you’ll ever have the misfortune to read,” Dylan pointed out. “You do know he’s the leader of that Earth Isolationist Movement that’s sprouting up back home, don’t you?”
“I’m aware of that, yes.”
“Then you should know better than to waste your time reading that trash.”
“I read to be informed, Sergeant Graves,” Matrewski said in his defense. “That doesn’t mean I agree with everything he writes.”
“Yet you question our presence here.”
“Yes I do, but not just because he...”
“Or is it more than that?”
Matrewski hesitated a moment, then asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean...do you simply not understand what we’re doing here, or do you honestly believe that we shouldn’t be here at all—that we should just pull out and go home?”
“All right, you tell me, Sergeant. Why shouldn’t we just pull out? Why don’t we just leave this system and let the Cirrans and the Sulaini fight it out to the bitter end? It’s their star system and it’s their civil war. Our war—our real war—is against the damned lizards. They’re the whole reason Earth joined the Coalition in the first place.”
“Lesson one, Sergeant Matrewski. Know your enemy. Those lizards as you call them are not really lizards at all. The Kree-Veshtonn—the purebloods—are classified as something totally alien to the way we categorize life forms. They’re actually some kind of semi-humanoid reptilian insect, or some such thing.
“Lesson two, and more to the point, the Veshtonn occupied this entire system until we finally pushed them out four years ago. We only accomplished that little miracle of modern warfare because we had the help of Cirran and Sulaini underground resistance movements that were able to work together. Without that cooperation between them we might never have liberated this system at all. But now that we have liberated it, someone has to keep things peaceful between the natives. Otherwise our position here will be weakened, and the Veshtonn might find a way to exploit that weakness.”
“But why us? Why not one of the other member races? Why does Solfleet have to station troops here?”
“Because this system falls within our sector of responsibility.”
“As the Coalition defines it.”
“That’s right. Aside from the Rosha’Kana system, which has already fallen to the enemy, ours is the closest member system to this one and as such is the one most endangered by the Veshtonn presence here. So it falls to us to defend our own interests by defending this system. It’s exactly that simple.”
Matrewski thought it over, then said, “I guess I just don’t see the strategic value, Sergeant. We could defend our own int
erests just as effectively from home. Maybe even more effectively. And I should think that you of all people would rather kill Veshtonn warriors than babysit the Cirrans. After all, the Excalibur...”
Dylan stepped up into Matrewski’s face so fast he almost bumped the younger sergeant’s nose with his own before he could stop. “My father’s ship has nothing to do with it, Sergeant, and I will thank you to never bring it up again. Is that understood?”
Matrewski swallowed noisily. “Yes, Sergeant.”
“Good.” Dylan glared at him for another second or two, then stepped back to a more comfortable and appropriate distance. “The responsibility of assessing this system’s strategic value lies with the top brass at Solfleet Central Command. Whether or not you happen to recognize that value is completely irrelevant.”
“I understand that, Sergeant. But I still think we should let the locals handle their own internal affairs without any interference from us.”
“Their own internal affairs?”
“That’s right.”
Dylan turned and started pacing slowly back and forth in front of Matrewski, much like one of the Social Sciences teachers he’d had in high school had often done when he lectured the class. “Sergeant Matrewski, how much of your high school history class did you actually stay awake for?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you remember learning about the Iraqi dictator of the latter twentieth century using chemical weapons on the Kurdish and Shiite populations of his own country while the United States and the rest of the free world stood by and watched, not wanting to interfere in an ‘internal affair’?”
“They didn’t just stand by after Iraq invaded Kuwait,” Matrewski pointed out.
“It wasn’t an internal affair anymore at that point, was it?”
“No, but...”
“What about the terrorist-friendly Taliban government of Afghanistan around the same time period, or the aggressive Communist regime of North Korea, or the Somali warlord who finally seized control of that country around the middle of the last century?”
