by Lee Stephen
There was a cluster of empty chairs at the back of the seating area, and the four soldiers were quick to stake their claim. As they took their seats and listened, they could overhear parts of conversations taking place around them—introductions, comments on the size of the hangar and the taste of the cafeteria food, all small-talk. It was familiar conversation to the four, and Becan was the first to point out why. Everyone in the hangar was an alpha private.
At that point, a new sound presented itself—the sound of footsteps. The steps were no louder than any of the conversation in the hangar and no more unusual. They stood out because of their perfect synchronicity—three pairs of feet, one unified sound. A glance toward the hangar entrance explained why, as three men made their approach.
The man in the forefront was older, with cropped silver-gray hair. As he neared, there was no doubt as to his level of authority. He carried himself like a commanding officer. The second man was younger, taller, and steel-faced. His posture was perfectly erect, and he walked in total harmony with the older man in front of him. Of the three, he was the only one with a folder in hand. The last man was the shortest and sported a mop of short, curly brown hair. It was easy to identify the status of these men—they were all officers. Immediately, every operative in the seating area snapped up and rose their hands to their foreheads in attention. A cloud of anticipation could be sensed rising from the floor.
The older man continued his purposed march past the soldiers until he came to the podium in front of the seating area. When he placed his palms at its edges, it wobbled back and forth. He grimaced. “Get this piece of dung out of my sight.”
The curly-haired officer nodded, took the podium aside, and returned.
The older man cleared his throat and settled his eyes on the throng of alpha privates. “At ease, everyone,” he said. “I am Colonel Brent Lilan. To my right is Major John Tacker, and the other officer with us is Lieutenant Alan Henrick.
“The three of us make up the command staff of Falcon Platoon. If you haven’t put it together yet, we are your new commanding officers. As you may have noticed already, you are all alpha privates. You’re all fresh out of Philadelphia. That’s not typical for a unit of this caliber.” Scott exchanged a glance with David as Lilan spoke on. “In order to fully explain the special situation we’re in, I must first briefly explain a bit of the history behind this platoon.
“Falcon Platoon is one of the oldest platoons at Richmond. It’s been here since the base’s establishment, and I have been her commanding officer for just as long. We have had a long and outstanding tradition of experience and leadership, and we’re one of the most respected units at this base.
“Unfortunately, change has been forced upon us. Several days ago, the whole of Falcon was lost in Cleveland, Ohio. This loss was not due to failure on the part of Falcon, but due to a combination of events that could best be summed up as bad luck. As you’ll learn, those things happen. Unfortunately, you can’t hit rewind and change it. You can only hope to better prepare for the future.
“Richmond is the smallest EDEN facility on Earth. We don’t receive nearly the number of new operatives as other stations do. In short…this facility is undermanned, and you are all we have to fill the shoes of those lost in battle.”
The words were inspirational murder. The eager expressions on the alphas fell. The cloud of anticipation evaporated.
“That’s why you’re here now. That’s not what you want to hear, it’s not what I want to see. But that’s how it is. Now, you can handle this in two ways. You can tuck your tails between your legs and prove my gut right, because my gut tells me that everything this unit’s worked toward has just come crashing down. Or you can prove me wrong. I hope, for all of our sakes, that you prove me wrong. Because, if you don’t…this is a sad day for the state of EDEN.”
Tacker frowned as Lilan continued.
“This isn’t a traditional war we’ve been faced with. This is a war unlike any we’ve ever seen. It’s a war in which we can’t choose the battlegrounds we fight on. It’s a war in which we don’t have the luxury of going on the offensive. An attack can happen anywhere on the planet, at any time. It’s impossible to form coherent battle plans, since we never know what the battlefield will look like until we step off the transport. You can go from asleep in your beds to the middle of a firefight in minutes.
“Deaths are inevitable. My job as your commanding officer is to make sure your chance of dying by your own mistakes is diminished, and it’s your job as my operatives to help me reach that goal by paying attention, following orders, and working as a team.”
Scott laughed beneath his breath. Nice way to motivate a unit.
“I won’t say what I look forward to,” Lilan continued, “because it’s not a very long list. I will say this, however. Five, six, maybe seven of you will impress me. I look forward to finding out who they are.”
If a feather would have fallen, everyone in the hangar would have heard it. Silence hung in the air until Lilan’s voice once again subdued it.
“I will now turn this over to Major Tacker.”
All attention shifted to Tacker as he took Lilan’s place. He offered the alphas a faint smile as he cleared his throat.
“Good afternoon, Falcons. As the colonel stated, my name is John Tacker and I am the executive officer of this platoon. I will be directly leading Charlie Squad, and Lieutenant Henrick right here behind me will be in charge of Delta Squad. Despite the fact that we’re all one platoon, a majority of your work will be with your assigned squad. I have the squad rosters right here.” He opened a manila folder.
“When I call your name, please stand and step to the far right. I’ll meet you there shortly. This is for Charlie Squad.” His eyes lowered to the folder. “Bell, Carter, Jurgen, Mathis, McCrae, Remington, Rhodes, Timmons, Valer, Zigler.”
Scott grinned as he, David, Becan, and Jayden made their way to the side. So they had been right yesterday. They weren’t only in the same platoon, they were in the same squad. Despite the severity of Lilan’s opening welcome, Scott felt a sense of anticipation.
“The rest of you, the majority, have been assigned to Commander Henrick. He’ll speak with you now.” Tacker nodded to the curly-haired Henrick, who took his place in front of the seating area. As Henrick began to speak, Tacker stepped away from him and joined the operatives assigned to Charlie Squad.
“You all will be directly under my supervision so long as you’re a part of Charlie,” he said to them, capturing their full attention. “Charlie’s always been a bit more specialized than Delta, which is why they have more than we do. You’re rookies, but you won’t be held to a rookie standard…though I’m sure the colonel’s already made that clear.” Tacker smiled. “I’m a bit more patient than the colonel. I was where you are—so was he, even though he’ll never admit it. Contrary to popular belief, he actually wasn’t born in an EDEN uniform.”
Scott chuckled, as did several others around him.
“I do expect great things. I demand great things. There’s a learning curve and I understand that, but the Bakma don’t and the Ceratopians don’t. Not even the Ithini. They don’t care if you’ve been with the organization for twenty years or twenty minutes, they still won’t hesitate to shoot you in the back of the head if they get the chance.
“It’s vital to our survival as a squad that we communicate. Communication is the deciding factor in combat. A lot of that comes with familiarity. That said, I’d like to take a few minutes for each of us to introduce ourselves. We can do that since we’re a relatively small group. Be brief, as brief as possible, but give us something to remember you by. But before we do that, does anyone have any questions?”
A lanky, blond-haired soldier raised his hand.
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you, sir. I was just wondering why we were chosen for Charlie instead of Delta, sir?”
Scott wondered the same thing. It was a legitimate question.
Tacker sm
iled. “Your Academy records have all shown you to have more potential than most. That means a variety of different things, from physical skill, willingness to follow orders, examination scores…all those factor in. The goal is to have enough variety in a squad to cover all bases without letting one area slip. Academy scores mean nothing compared to true combat experience, but it gives us a sort of best guess. Hopefully, we evaluated correctly. If we were wrong in our evaluations, you will be removed. Any other questions?”
No hands were raised.
“Very good. As I mentioned before, I’d like each of us to give a brief introduction. Give us something to identify you with other than your name. I’ll go ahead and go first—that’s only fair. My full name is John Noah Tacker. I entered EDEN a sniper, and I’ve been one ever since. I’m a six-year veteran of the organization. I was a tertiary officer for Falcon Platoon before Cleveland, I was promoted to major today, actually. This is my first command assignment.
“That’s all I want from you. Let’s go ahead and start to the left and work our way right until everyone is done. Go ahead.”
The first person to Tacker’s left was a petite black woman. Her hair was tied back in a delicate bun, and she offered warm brown eyes and a smile to the group. “Hi everyone, my name is Sasha Rhodes and I’m a combat medic. I’m twenty-two, and…I’m very glad you’re our commanding officer, sir.” The group laughed. Scott couldn’t help but grin. Compared to the bitter greeting of Colonel Lilan, Major Tacker’s laid back persona was a relief to everyone.
Tacker smiled and shook his head. “Thank you, Ms. Rhodes. I’m sure you are.”
The next operative down was the only other woman in the group. Her fiery red hair was pinned back in a bushy ponytail, and her striking green eyes glinted at Tacker. “My name is Natasha Valer, and I’m also a combat medic. I’m not sure if this is something to remember me by, but I was actually from Philadelphia. The city, I mean. I literally lived about a fifteen-minute drive from the Academy.”
Tacker smiled. “So our two medics are Sasha and Natasha…that’s wonderful.” The group chuckled again. “As you can all see, we don’t have any veteran medics in this squad. That’s not a typical situation, but as you know, Falcon Platoon isn’t in a typical situation. I expect a lot out of you two.”
Scott restrained a frown and made a mental note not to get shot.
The next man down the row was tall and broad-shouldered. His height was rivaled only by David’s and surpassed only by a giant black man farther down the line. He had piercing green eyes beneath a jet-black crew cut. “I’m Michael Carter, and I’m a soldier. I used to bounce in Urban Rodeo…I don’t know if anyone’s familiar with it, but it’s a club in Oakland.”
The black man farther down grinned. “Aw man, I been there once. Place is heavy.”
Michael’s face remained stoic. “You can’t even imagine, man. I’ve had to bust out so many people, I’m talking on a nightly basis. Just stupid people, they can’t behave.”
“I believe it.”
Silence prevailed, and Scott cleared his throat. “Scott Remington, I’m twenty-three and a soldier. I used to QB for Michigan before I joined EDEN.” David, who was next in line, raised his brow and stared at him. “Yeah, I was a Bobcat. I only had four starts. I was second-string most of my time there.”
“How did you do?” David asked.
“I went two and two.” And it should have been three and one. Poor receivers were the banes of decent quarterbacks. It was funny how Scott’s mind could go back so easily. He remembered every drop back as if he just returned to the huddle.
David stepped forward. “David Jurgen, I spent fourteen years with the NYPD before this. Married man, wife and two great kids.” He nodded toward Sasha and Natasha. “Sorry, ladies, I’m taken.” Sasha laughed; Natasha offered him a coy smile.
Tacker canted his head and hesitated. “How old are you, Jurgen?”
Scott tried and failed to restrain his smile. Poor David. He was never going to get away from his age here.
“Forty, sir,” David answered.
“Fourteen years in the NYPD and forty years old? Why didn’t you come in as a gamma private?”
“Wasn’t offered, sir.”
“Philadelphia never opted you into that?”
“No sir. I asked about it. They said no. They told me that defending a city and defending the planet were two different things altogether.”
Tacker sighed and glanced across the squad. “Ladies and gentlemen, that is what happens when stupid people get to make decisions.” He returned to David. “We’ll get you where you belong as quickly as we can.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Becan was the next to step forward. His impish smile was still plastered across his face. Scott couldn’t help but laugh silently. Becan reminded him of the kind of mischievous troublemaker that people actually wanted to be around. “Becan McCrae, from Broadford, Ireland! As class as it’d be for me to fancy up somethin’ to remember me by, I think me accent’ll do well enough! An’ if tha’ doesn’t work for yeh, wait till yeh see me dance.”
Scott closed his eyes and laughed along with the group. Becan was something else.
Jayden was the next man in line. Only after the group fell silent for several moments did he conjure up his words. “My name is Jayden Timmons and I’m twenty-two. I’m from Blue Creek, Texas, and I’m a sniper.”
And that was it. Scott couldn’t help but smile.
“Congratulations,” Tacker said. “Snipers are the most important men on the battlefield.” He cracked a smile. “And of course, I’m not biased at all.”
Jayden allowed a shy grin. “Thank you, sir.”
Only three more men remained: the lanky blond-haired man who had raised his hand earlier, the titan of a black man, and a smaller-framed individual with spiky black hair. The blond one cleared his throat.
“My name is Henry Mathis and I’m twenty-five. Before I joined EDEN, I spent four years as a talk-seller.”
Scott’s stomach twisted. A talk-seller. The most irritating kind of person on the planet. It didn’t matter where you were, when you saw a talk-seller, you turned and walked the other way. Their name said it all—they talked until they sold. Or until whoever they talked to told them off and ran. But that posed the question…what on Earth was a talk-seller doing in EDEN?
No comments were made to Henry. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, the giant black man drew a breath. “I’m Donald Bell, I’m a demolitionist. Ain’t nothin’ else I can think to say. I’m the only big black man here…y’all probably gonna remember that fine.”
It was true enough.
“I played football too, though,” Donald said, glancing at Scott. “O-Line. I blocked for my cousin in high school.”
Scott smiled. “You’re my new best friend.” Donald chuckled.
The last man, though small, was well-defined. His blue eyes iced over the rest of Charlie Squad. Scott recognized the expression right away. Superiority.
“David Zigler, I’m a soldier, and I’ve been involved in military training my entire life.”
He said nothing else, despite the unfinished silence that lingered around him. Tacker finally spoke and re-established control.
“Good job, everyone, that’s all I wanted from you. I can’t stress how important it is that all of you bond, and quickly. If I didn’t think it was important, I wouldn’t have bothered with this. Friendship, as silly and cliched as it might sound, could be the only thing that keeps you alive. It’s amazing what you can do when you know someone’s got your back.
“Now…I’m going to dismiss you, because I’m sure some of you still need to get acclimated to the base. This is a different world from the Academy, so take some time to get used to it.”
A sporadic chorus of “yes sir” answered him. He continued.
“There’s a box by the hangar door you came through. In that box, you’ll find your personal comms. Find the one with your name on it. These
are to follow you wherever you go. Sleep with it, eat with it, shower with it…do everything with it. When those comms go off, it’s time to do your job.
“We have a five-minute rule in Falcon Platoon. When your comm goes off, you have five minutes to get from wherever you are, into uniform and in the hangar ready to go. The transport Charlie uses is Vulture-7—it’s right over there.” He motioned toward one of the transports in the hangar. The number seven was clearly visible on its dorsal fin.
“You were all fitted for personal combat armor in the Academy. That gear, along with your weaponry, will be housed in Vulture-7. There’s a locker for each of you in it, you’ll typically get suited up en route to your destination.
“Five minutes, people. Never longer. Understood?” They acknowledged, and Tacker snapped a stern command of attention. After a moment of stillness, he nodded a final time. “You’re dismissed.”
As Tacker returned to Lilan’s side, the operatives retrieved their comms and began to file out of the hangar. Henrick continued to speak with Delta as Lilan and Tacker observed in silence. Lilan shifted his attention to the operatives of Charlie Squad as they departed. “So what do you think of them?”
Tacker hesitated. “I hope they know what this is about. I don’t know what I can think at this point.”
Lilan half-frowned. “Did you open informally?”
“Yes sir.”
“You know I hate that.”
Tacker gave Lilan a sidelong glance. “I know…but it’s so important that they bond quickly. That might be the only thing that saves them when the fighting starts. I mean, they sent us a talk-seller, for crying out loud.” The last of the Charlie Squad operatives left the hangar.
“Who do you think has potential?” Lilan asked.
Tacker’s gaze narrowed. “I think Jurgen will do well…he should have come in as a beta at lowest. Bell, Carter, Zigler maybe…I’m anxious to see what Timmons can do. There are a few that have potential, I think.”
