Battle On The Marathon

by John Thornton

  “Yes, sir!”

  The others chuckled and I somehow knew they were laughing at me. Then I recalled Lazlo’s comments about titles and rank. “I mean, yes, Lazlo, I was in Foreigner, but before that I came from Kansas in their militia.”

  “These are Prezsky, Kensington, and Ella, with you they make up our squad,” Lazlo said.

  “Is the LT our lieutenant?” I asked.

  “Better not let her hear you call her our lieutenant. It is not like we own her or something,” Ella said. She too was about the age of my parents. Her black hair was pulled back and tucked under her olive beret. It had the same red patch with the blue animal silhouette. Her smile was genuine, not at all like Colonel Caldwell’s, and her smile was reflected in her deep, brown eyes.

  “I apologize, I mean no disrespect,” I quickly said.

  “Lieutenant Harpy would understand,” Prezsky added with a chuckle.

  I wondered for a moment if the name was a joke, or real. “Lieutenant Harpy? As in the mythological monster?”

  A guffaw rolled across the room from everyone except me.

  “That comment, the LT might not understand too well, but after she picked you up off the floor, she would tell you her name really is Harpy. Bridget Harpy to be precise, but no one calls her Bridget. I do not even think her parents called her Bridget. Just stick with calling her LT and you will be safe. Welcome to the Blue Tigers.” Prezsky was about the same age as the others, and her light brown hair dangled around her shoulders in curly ringlets. The beret on her head was the same as the others. I was beginning to understand it was a mark of this new unit I was assigned to join. She reached over and shook my hand. “Pretty young, but you will do. So, did you see the aliens in Foreigner, or just turn tail and haul your butt out of there?”

  “Both, in a way…” I started to say, but Lazlo interrupted me.

  “This troop needs supplies, clothing, and weapons, and we need to cut the chitchat and head out,” Lazlo stated. His tone of voice was different, and I immediately saw how the others understood he was giving a command.

  “Battle armor coming right up,” Kensington stated. “Looks like a men’s medium ought to work, and you can grow into it.”

  “I will get him a transceiver, and then link it into the system,” Prezsky said and stepped to the back of the room.

  “Weapons coming right up!” Ella gave me a smile.

  “May I have a gimp?” I asked.

  Ella looked puzzled.

  I recalled my training. “A RSW Model G1MP, to be exact. In the militia, we called them our gimps. I am trained on other weapons too, but that one I am comfortable and proficient in using.”

  “A G1 it is, for a start,” Ella replied. “Although, gimp is a pretty good name for that basic sidearm. Hum…gimp, yup, good name.”

  “He has a name for the enemy too,” Lazlo stated while the others went about getting the gear. “Those scientists who scuttlebutt says actually talked to the aliens, well, Kalju here calls them Jellies, and he was with those scientists when they broke out of Foreigner.”

  “We got them out. The rest of the people on that island refused to come with us. How many of them were rescued?” I asked.

  None of the soldiers answered. They looked away.

  Finally, Lazlo said, “Few people came out of Foreigner. Like I said, you were lucky, or maybe it was skillful? I would bet on skillful.” His smile assured me he was not being sarcastic.

  I was issued the uniform—battle armor—which did not fit too well. It was bigger than needed, but as I was told, I would grow into it. It was fairly comfortable, after I made some adjustments, and the slots in the material where the body armor plates slid in were adjustable. I had to shorten all the straps and adjustments to make it work, but it did.

  Prezsky brought out the transceiver and showed me how it fit on, and how I could see the display.

  “So, it works like the wristwatch?” I asked.

  The others laughed a bit. Then Prezsky said, “Pretty much, but more voice activated, and linked in with our squad. Just flip it down here, to see the display. Wire it on, and you will be all set.”

  I nodded, and saw how easy it would be to use, even though it was mounted on my chest. Two thin wires led from the body of the transceiver to small patches which stuck onto my skin over the bone behind my ears. Through those patch, I could hear the others, and it sounded like they were right next to me. Also, alerts and warning signals were sent through those patches. Then I strapped the belt onto my waist, and connected the holster for the gimp. Extra speed-loaders with their rounds were connected into pouches on the belt.

  “And now for your bullpup,” Ella said to me as she handed over a black rifle just like the one she had on her back. “You are familiar with the MDF-14, correct?”

  I remembered the lectures from Mister Fisher and quickly recited, “The Marathon Defense Force Model 14 rifle is a gas operated, selective fire, including fully automatic, ambidextrous rifle. It is designed for use in all environments including vacuum. The selector toggle is this rotating disc located just in front of the trigger mechanism. The fire selector toggle secures the firearm against accidental discharge, thus protecting the user. The three modes are ‘N’ for non-firing, ‘1” for single shots, and ‘B” for bursts, lasting as long as the trigger is depressed and ammunition is available. The cocking handle is atop the receiver, and can be operated with either hand, or by depressing the single-handed button here. The cocking handle slot is fully sealed from the exterior. The barrel, hammers, and group pins, are permalloy while all other components are from carbon fiber composites. The shell of the rifle is made in a honeycombed pattern allowing the weapon to float in water. It is fed by box magazines, each with a fifty-round cartridge capacity using 4.5×45mm ammunition.”

  “You sound like the library. Now, show me how you would field-strip it,” Ella stated. “On the off chance it had a jam or feed problem.” I saw her wink at Lazlo, who nodded his head.

  Thirty seconds later the MDF-14 was in it component parts, and was as disassembled as would ever be needed, short of a compete rebuilding of the rifle. It had been a long while since Mister Fisher’s drills, yet it all came back to me. All but one thing. I asked, “Why do you call it a bullpup?”

  The others all laughed. Lazlo then said, “Well, finally, the Blue Tigers have a nickname for something. For a while, I thought only our newest private had all the cool names. It is called a bullpup because of its legacy. Back prior to the Great Event, some weapon designers decided to call this format, or configuration, with the rifle’s action behind the trigger, a bullpup. Not sure exactly why that first designer did that. Maybe he or she liked bulls or puppies? We just continued the tradition.”

  “Maybe those older styles, with their longer overall length, and less efficient design, were called cow-whelps?” Ella joked. “Or steer-kitties?”

  “Mister Fisher never called it a bullpup, but I like that name,” I added. I reassembled the weapon, holding it by the front handle and the handgrip near the trigger. It fit snugly in my arms. Little did I know them how much I would be using that bullpup.

  “He did not mention the grenade launcher, so we should give him a demerit,” Kensington stated, but with a smile.

  “I can tell you all about it, if that will remove the demerit,” I replied. “It is located right here, and consists…”

  Lazlo interrupted me. “The test is over, Kalju. You know your stuff. Now, to see if you can ever grow a beard! Do you even shave yet?” He turned to Prezsky. “Get his transceiver into our local batch for Eight-Squad, and then off we go to stop the enemies… wait… stop the Jellies from getting any further into the Marathon. Yes, Jellies is a good name for these beasts.”

  I was issued ten grenades—concussion and fragmentation—for the bullpup’s launcher, five magazines with fifty rounds in each, for the rifle, and slipped all of that into the compartments on my battle armor. It fit securely and the ammunition was easy to reach and acces
s. I patted my gimp, which in a way was my favorite, even though its style was old, and its firepower was limited.

  We hiked along, and stopped at a restaurant, well, that place was more like a cafeteria, where they had boxed meals set up for soldiers. I guess for us. Regular people were working there, with some older folks helping to distribute the meals. I was called various names; troop, soldier, marine, guard, and some others. I learned that the MDF forces were not well understood by the general public. I wondered at the lack of automacubes, as those would have been more efficient, at passing out the food, but none were in sight. We each grabbed two meals, loaded them into backpacks which were also sitting there, and kept going.

  Along the way, numerous times, I almost brought up my friends from the militia again. I knew someone, somewhere knew where they were, but I did not ask. I kept thinking of the friends whose bodies were in Foreigner, buried in a grave meant for dead whales. Then I thought of Kulm’s body. He had not died in Foreigner, or had he? I did not recall if we were carried out of Foreigner to the hospital for decontamination, or if I had spent some time in that habitat’s shell. I guess it did not matter to me, but I wondered if Kulm had a grave somewhere, or what had happened. I almost asked, but just did not. The other members of this squad were laughing and joking, and I was overwhelmed. “Where is the place of sorrow in battle?”

  After a few hours of walking we arrived.

  The location was clearly a military checkpoint. A banner with a silhouette of the blue tiger was hanging over the entryway. While the other corridors had looked pretty much standard, here I could see engineering work had been done. Thick plates of permalloy had been welded onto the walls. The new permalloy was brighter and less smoothly finished than the original permalloy of the Marathon. It looked like the location had once been a transport terminal or hub, but now was a reinforced bunker of sorts.

  “Our post,” Lazlo stated, and walked over to the soldier who was standing at the doorway.

  “Lieutenant Harpy, we are here as ordered.”

  That was my first look at her. “Adams,” I swore under my breath. Immediately, I thought of that other lieutenant, the one who had killed my dog. “Adams,” I muttered again, but then clamped my lips shut. For this officer was wearing a uniform like what he had worn. Instead of matching our uniform’s colors, her uniform was that mottled collage of greens, blues, whites, and browns. I could not get the memory out of my mind. Then I saw, that instead of a regular hat, this woman had an olive colored beret with the Blue Tiger emblem on it. Also, her shirt was unbuttoned a bit, and an undershirt was revealed. That was white with olive colored horizontal stripes. Only by looking at those two things, was I able to repress my disgust. I guess it still showed on my face.

  Lieutenant Harpy returned Lazlo’s salute, but then turned and marched over to me.

  “Private Kalju. Welcome to my squad,” she said. She was about a dozen years younger than the others, which put her at about the same age as Adams. “Something is troubling you. Spill it soldier.”

  “I am fine,” I grunted out.

  She slapped me with the back of her hand. It was not hard enough to knock me down, but it stung.

  “Let that be the last and only time you ever lie to me. I gave you an order, Private Kalju, and you will obey it.”

  “And if I refuse…” I got out, but then regretted it. I fully expected her to slap me again.

  She did not.

  Instead, she stepped up close to me. Her bright blue eyes were staring at me. She had a bit of a smirk on her face, and I noted that a few tendrils of light brown hair had slipped from beneath her beret. “If you refuse, that might set into motion a series of events where we all die.” Her voice was calm and collected. “For this unit, Eight-Squad, runs on trust and honesty. With the enemy we are facing, we cannot afford anything except trust and honesty. I promise you that I will lead us in what I see is our best efforts in all things. That means our best chance to survive and win each and every battle we enter. However, if you are a liar, and refuse to obey orders, then that puts us all at risk. You will not be sent anywhere else, for that is not my style. You are needed here. You are assigned here. I will do my best to lead you, but, if you refuse and are a liar, then you will be the weak link in our chain. Weak chains break. Hades on a hotplate, even strong chains can break. So, when that chain breaks, those alien misbegotten abominations will kill us, get through our lines, and kill others. Is that what you want?”

  I just looked back at her. My thoughts were a jumble. She was roughly ten years older than me, but the authority she carried, and the sincerity in her voice, pushed out my thoughts of Adams. Here was a different kind of leader. A true leader. A legitimate leader. She reminded me of a grown-up Bartlet, but then I knew Bartlet would never grow any older. My eyes got wet, but I held back the tears. Also, I did not want anyone else to die, and I felt guilty that maybe that would happen.

  “I ask you again, Private Kalju, what is the problem. Tell me the truth.” There was no screaming or yelling, just a very big push of her intensity.

  So, I responded, “You reminded me of Benton Adams. I hate him.”

  “You mean Major Benton Adams? Are you referring to the son of Captain Francine Adams?”

  A severe silence fell on all of those around us. It was a silence that was tangible, felt, thick.

  “It was Lieutenant Adams. I hate him. He killed my dog, for no reason. He also beat up my friends,” I snapped back. I consciously put as much disgust into the rank as I could. Just saying his rank and name was repugnant to me. “Lieutenant Adams is a belligerent buffoon.”

  The LT’s face changed remarkably. Her eyes softened, and her smirk vanished. “So, you knew him when he was a mere lieutenant. Must have been some time back, before the debacle.”

  There was a shudder from the other soldiers as they understood to what she was referring, but I ignore it.

  I spoke out. “Yes, it was a while back, before so many of my friends died in Foreigner. I was at Raven Academy, and he killed my dog, beat-up my friends, and is a maggot brain. I do hate him.”

  She looked closely at me. “Private Kalju, I apologize for slapping you. That was wrong. I was in officer training school with the very same Benton Adams, I emphasize with your feelings. You are not insulting him, you are accurately describing him, in ways that I appreciate. Let this incident be forgotten.” She stuck out her hand to me. “Welcome to the Blue Tigers, I am leader of Eight-Squad.”

  I hesitated only a moment and then shook her hand. “I should not have judged you by him. Sorry, LT. I am glad to be part of squad eight.”

  “Not squad eight, nor Eighth Squad, we are Eight-Squad.” She gave me a brief smile. “The Blue Tigers still have our twenty squads, but now, instead of each squad having twenty people, we are lucky to get five to seven troops per squad. I am also platoon leader over all of the Blue Tigers since the rest of our officers are gone, so Corporal Lazlo is the subleader here. Kalju, I know you have seen death in Foreigner, but we have seen it in Styx as well. Let us stop it here.” She turned to Lazlo. “You are to rotate with Nine-Squad and Ten-Squad on joint SNS-5. Head out there now. Those troops need relief.” Then she turned back to me, “Kalju, we need you. Stay sharp!”

  “Yes, LT.”

  Lazlo led us away.

  “The funicular system is still functional, and that will get us up to our position quicker than walking,” Lazlo said. “The tube transport is down everywhere.”

  We climbed several flights of stairs, and then reached a corridor that connected up to a very familiar looking door. I smiled as I called out, “A GAGS!”

  “The troop knows his stuff,” Ella affirmed and patted my back. “Beyond that is the funicular. Do you have a nickname for that too?”

  “No.”

  Entering a real Gravity Alteration Gimbaled Sphere, I felt more at home than I had for a long while. It was not exactly like the one we had practiced in so many times, but the differences were very minor. As
we rotated around, and got into proper alignment I could was still pondering our leader, the LT. She reminded me so much of Bartlet, who I so dearly missed. I wiped the wetness from my eyes before the other Blue Tigers saw me. Maybe they did see me, but no one said anything.

  The pressure door slid open after the chamber finished rotating, and we stepped out into another corridor. A sign pointed ahead and read, “To Funicular” in yellow lettering on the pale green wall.

  “Why is the LT younger than all of you?” I blurted out. I was trying to divert my mind away from Bartlet’s death, and the fact my still-living friends were missing. I wished I had asked the LT about them.