The Chronicles of Benjamin Jamison Mission 1: The Scarab Moons

by Thomas Wright

  "Yes ma'am, are you calling the match?"

  She didn’t answer right away, so I kept my hold. I wasn’t letting him up unless I was declared the winner.

  The captain spoke up. "Private Jamison, let the man up. I’m calling it a win for you."

  "Yes sir!" I released Meadows’ neck and unhooked my feet, pushing him off of me. I rolled away and stood up.

  Chapter 4

  I watched the captain and lieutenant have a short staring contest, then sat down next to Arrendondo.

  "So, how’s the pool coming along? You win a little?"

  "More than a little,” she answered. “We had some navy in the pool and they bet on marines they know who have been assigned to the ship."

  "So you think I’ve already pissed off the lieutenant?"

  "You snubbed her, but she’s fair. She’ll give you some shit details to work and get over it."

  The final two matches were over. I kept an eye on Meadows, who sat still, staring in the direction of the match but not watching it. The captain was inputting notes while we all sat talking softly and waiting. Staff Sergeant Phillips, our platoon sergeant, walked in and sat next to the lieutenant. They talked briefly, then he left.

  The captain stood up and began calling out names, some I knew and others I hadn’t met yet. I was called and so was Antolini, along with 53 and Arrendondo. It ended up that only seven were being picked. I surmised it didn’t matter if you won or lost, since some of the others were on the losing side also. The others were dismissed back to their duties.

  The captain instructed us to follow him as he led us through the ship to a conference room. He sat down and we did the same, not waiting to be told to.

  "We will start shortly,” the captain said. “I’m expecting a delivery. Corporal, how did the betting pool turn out?"

  Arrendondo looked a little sheepish.

  "It turned out fine for some, sir," she answered.

  "Did you know about PFC Jamison and Antolini's little scrap before all the betting started?"

  "Yes sir, it wasn’t a secret," Arrendondo answered.

  The captain smiled, looking around the table. "If I'm on board next time, I want in.

  The knock at the door halted the conversation and the captain yelled for them to come in. Meadows and two PFC's each had a shipping container, and the captain instructed them to put them against the wall. Meadows started to crack the seal on one when the captain yelled for him to stop.

  "Thank you Corporal, we can open them ourselves,” he said. “I'll let you know when you can pick up the containers. You're dismissed."

  Meadows stepped back from the container. "Yes sir." He spun on his heel and quickly left us.

  I got the feeling the lieutenant wanted to know anything she could find out about what the captain had in store for us.

  "PFC Jamison, would you check the corridor then lock the door please."

  "Yes sir." I got up, opened the door and looked up and down the corridor. I shut it and locked it.

  "Report, Private," the captain said.

  "Corporal Meadows and his two marines are down the corridor having a discussion. Naval personnel are going about their business, sir," I answered.

  The captain took out what looked like a communication device, but then he tapped the screen and a hologram appeared. It was a grid. He tapped the screen again and it beeped a sequence twice and shut off. He didn’t say anything as he took from his other pocket a similar item and tapped it, sliding it to the center of the table.

  "I’m going to ask you to hold off on your questions,” he told us. “I hope the briefing will answer most of them."

  I watched as a face appeared in the projection. A one-star general moved as if he was looking us all over. I had expected it would be a recording, but it was live.

  "Good morning everyone,” he said. “I am General Gray. We have been tasked to provide assistance to the local militia on moon 6401. As most of you should know, the planet of Scarab is uninhabitable, but two of its moons have been colonized for the last two hundred years."

  He continued. "You have all been picked because of your security clearance, prior training and hand-to-hand combat skills. Being the winner of the match-ups you just completed was not necessarily a prerequisite. Other than Corporal Arrendondo, you were matched closely on skill level but not necessarily size or years in service. In the end, there was no perfect scenario, just like what you may face will be a mystery until it happens.

  "Captain Braun will continue this briefing. I wish you success and a safe return."

  The general cut the connection and the captain gave us all a look.

  "Corporal Arrendondo will be my second. I have pictures of our targets, pass these around please. We will be impersonating a squad of militia peacekeepers, and any info you obtain we will pass along the chain of command. The militia is scared and trigger-happy, and the locals are pretty tight-lipped right now. There are a group of rebels who are using terrorism to keep the populace unnerved, as well as the militia. "We’re going to try and locate them. We are more focused, clear thinking and trained to find our enemies. PFC Showmaker, open container number three."

  53 took his knife and cut the seals, then unhooked the latches. Inside were weapons and sea bags.

  "Pass out the bags, please," the captain said.

  I was eyeballing the weapons. They weren’t marine issue, and they weren’t all the same, but one thing was for sure — they were all in pretty sad shape.

  "What's wrong, Private, don’t like what you're looking at?" the captain snapped at me. I hadn’t realized my concern was showing on my face.

  "Sir, I hope you didn’t pay much,” I said.” They all look really neglected."

  "We didn’t pay anything, and on top of them looking like shit, they are inoperable," the captain answered.

  He had my attention, as well as everyone else’s. We were all waiting for the punch line to the joke.

  "Open containers one and two, private."

  After the revelation about the weapons, I couldn’t wait to see what we had in store in the other two containers. Ah! Uniforms and boots, it was getting a little clearer now.

  The captain had the women go through the containers first, picking out things that would come close to fitting them. Then we had to try them on. We picked through the containers, trying not to stare at our mostly-naked female counterparts.

  "We need to blend in and look as much like the militia as possible. They do not have the same standards as we do, so a little sloppy is acceptable,” the captain explained.

  The rest of us found shirts and pants that would fit. All of the boots were used, which was a good thing. I hated breaking in new boots, let alone new boots that didn’t fit my feet properly.

  "There is a tag in each bag,” the captain continued. “Put your initials on it and attach it to the handle. Put everything in the bag and back in the container."

  "Captain, I noticed you didn’t take any uniforms or a duffle," I said.

  "I obtained civilian clothing and will be wearing it, shadowing you,” he answered, “We will work out of a militia compound. They have an area we can bunk in, and if we are watched we will be seen coming and going from a legitimate complex.” He paused. “I say we, but I mean you. I will be staying in the city at a hotel."

  For the next five hours we went over a map of the area where we would be working surveillance, the pictures of the known terrorists/rebels, and some code words and phrases. We had established rallying points where we would go in case we were separated. The captain had a list of known hangouts, mostly restaurants and coffee shops.

  Three hours later, we were done. Corporal Arrendondo had all the data that the captain would allow loaded on her holo-com. It all seemed pretty stupid to me, but these were games playing out at higher pay grades than mine.

  "You know you cannot discuss this with anyone, and if you are pressured to divulge anything you need to get me involved,” the captain said to conclude the day. “
I would like to see Corporal Arrendondo and Private Jamison. The rest of you are dismissed for the evening. Be in shuttle bay four at 0300 for departure."

  I stayed in my seat, glancing at Arrendondo while the captain read messages on his data-pad.

  "Jamison, move down here so I don’t have to talk down the table."

  "Yes sir," I said, getting up and sitting on his right.

  "How many black belts do you have, Private Jamison?" he asked.

  "Two, sir, the one I'm wearing and a dress belt."

  "Are you being a smart-ass, son? Do you think I care about the belt holding your pants? I’m talking about the obi you wear with your other uniform."

  I thought now I was out of my league. I knew that my martial arts background was only mentioned, skimmed over when I talked to the recruiter. The captain was either a good guesser or he knew.

  "Eight, sir," I said.

  I watched the captain. His eyebrows were the only thing to give away his thoughts.

  "Private, you stick with the corporal. If Antolini goes nuts, you stay put unless the corporal gives you an order to help. Private Showmaker is from your class, and he can help her."

  "Yes sir," we said in unison.

  He continued looking at me, then said, "You could have ended those matches in seconds instead of minutes."

  I felt my anger start simmering. "Yes sir, I could have, but then I wouldn’t be worthy of wearing my belts, any of them."

  "So you used textbook moves to be fair," he said.

  I breathed in and out slowly. "I did, sir. Maybe when our mission is over we can work out on the mat and I could satisfy your curiosity.

  He laughed at my offer. "Oh no, Private. I’m too old for that shit and there are a number of pretty girls on this ship I would rather not be shown up in front of."

  He was quick and smart. I just smiled and said, "Yes sir, there are."

  "You two are dismissed,” he said. “I will see you at 0300."

  We walked out. I held the door for Arrendondo and she smiled, rolling her eyes.

  "I just have good manners," I said.

  "What do you think about this mission?" she asked.

  "Two words,” I said.” Cannon fodder."

  Chapter 5

  Two men sat at a dimly lit table, their conversation spoken in low tones.

  "How soon ‘til we kill the kid and start running the operation ourselves?" Georgie asked, taking a long drink from his wine glass. The other man looked hard. A scar from the corner of his mouth to just below his ear never would darken, no matter how much sun he got. They called him Mr. Black.

  "Georgie,” he said, “how many times do I need to tell you? He isn’t the problem, or even the brains. Don’t get me wrong, we will kill him, but it’s his sister we need to watch for."

  "Sorry, Mr. Black,” Georgie answered. “Blowing up empty buildings is fun, but I don’t think we’re really scaring anyone too much."

  "The rebels are idealists, Georgie. They don’t really want to destroy anything or hurt anyone. You saw how long it took me to convince that whore to let us blow up that empty warehouse."

  "Yes sir, it took some slick talking," Georgie said.

  "Look, I’ll know when it’s time and I’ll let you shoot the brother, but the sister is mine,” Black said firmly. “Have I ever showed you the room under the house where I keep my playthings, Georgie?”

  "No sir, I think I would remember that."

  "Oh, you would. When I have her naked ass chained to the wall down there you can come by and party one night, how's that sound?"

  "I would like that a lot, Mr. Black. She won’t look at me, and when she does I can tell she thinks I'm stupid."

  "Georgie, I will let you have her all night and you can prove to her what a smart man you are."

  "Thank you, Mr. Black," Georgie grinned.

  "No problem,” he answered. “Now we got to work on how you drink wine, alright? You don’t gulp it down like a cold beer, my boy. This is the real thing. You need to hold it in your mouth and savor it."

  Georgie's eyes unfocused. It was clear he wasn’t going to have someone tell him how to drink something. The last person to start telling him how to do things was his dad, and he’d shot him in the head. He liked Mr. Black, though. The man let him do the things that Georgie dreamed about doing, so he wouldn’t kill him for trying to teach him something.

  ****

  Ruby sipped her coffee, looking over the rim of the cup at her brother.

  "Ruby, we have to step it up and take out something big,” Will said. “I know you don’t want to have anyone get hurt, so we can do it after hours when they are gone for the day."

  "Will, you sound like that creepy Mr. Black and his freaky sidekick. It won’t be long, and they’ll want to blow up something full of people and call them collateral damage. You know I'm right."

  "I don’t want to do that, sis, but a target — like maybe the bank. We could tip off the guard and give him a minute to get out. That would disrupt things enough to get their attention."

  "That’s just it, Will,” Ruby answered. “I think they’re taking us seriously. Have you noticed the team of militia they have patrolling our area? Tell me you’ve noticed they aren’t hiding from anyone. You haven’t noticed, have you?"

  "Yeah, I saw them, Ruby, but what of it? They’re just as stupid as all the others."

  "I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “We should keep an eye on them. Drink your coffee and let’s get going."

  ****

  We had been planet-side for two days. It had been quiet and the people seemed really happy to see us making the rounds; of course, they didn’t know who we were. We usually split into two groups, each working a side of the street.

  Terri got pissed from minute one because she wanted me in whatever group she was in, but I had orders to stick to Arrendondo and she wasn’t going to spend her time with Terri.

  We had a guy they called Phil, which was short for Phillipe. It soon became apparent to me that Phil had problems with authority. Pot, kettle, black, right? But my problems usually required someone being a dick first, while Phil was just a dick, period.

  We knew the captain was somewhere watching us, and for most of us that was a good reason to be on good behavior, but not Phil. I really wondered what he was doing with our group; there had to be better candidates than him. I thought it would be good to put Phil and Terri in a room and lock the door. I even told Arrendondo, but she was a good future NCO — she said no.

  We were supposed to be attentive and watching our surroundings as we walked, but Phil just stared down as we moved along.

  Arrendondo finally had to say something.

  "Private De La Cruz, I don’t think any of our targets are going to be in the cracks of the walkway. Eyes up and scanning."

  "Yeah, no problem,” he said. “How did you get in charge, anyways? You do something special for the captain?"

  The corporal's face turned red, and I could tell she wanted to unload on Phil, but it was pretty crowded and a scene was not the kind of attention we wanted. The look on his face really pissed me off. He could tell she wasn’t going to do anything.

  I pretended to look down the street, shading my eyes with my hands. We were standing next to a coffee house and it smelled so good.

  "Corporal, take a look down the street, would you?” I said quietly. “I thought I saw one of the targets standing by the corner of the building.” There was someone there, but not anyone we cared about. She turned and looked and I turned and punched Phil hard, the very same punch I had used on Arrendondo and Meadows. When he doubled over, I pushed his shoulders and knocked him into the side of the building. Then I grabbed him by the collar, holding him up.

  "Jamison, you’re seeing things," Arrendondo said, turning back around.

  "I think he’s having an allergic reaction to something,” I said quickly as she saw the situation. “He should be over it in a few minutes. If he’s lucky and smart, it won’t come back."r />
  She wasn’t buying it, which I knew, but I didn’t care. "Would it be alright if I step inside and get a coffee while he recovers from his fit?” I asked. “I’ll be right back."

  "Yeah, but hold on … She put her finger to her ear. Captain says he wants one, and he’ll meet us up the street to get it."

  I walked away, leaving De La Cruz dazed and irritated, went inside and got in line. The smell was wonderful. I scanned the patrons and two stuck out in my mind. They looked like the brother and sister we were searching for, William and Ruby. There was a table open next to them, and I hoped it would still be free by the time I got my coffee.

  It was a stroke of luck — the table was empty and the brother was getting up to leave. The sister looked like she was going to stay for a few minutes. Ruby was a looker. I could definitely see her collecting followers for an illegal movement against the government.

  Coffees in hand, I sat down and turned away from her, watching out the window like I was watching for someone.

  "Hello, are you waiting for someone?" She asked, sitting sideways in her chair to look at me.

  "Yes ma'am, my boss. Actually, I'm supposed to be meeting him, but my dogs are tired and I wanted to sit down."

  "Ma'am, really?” she smirked. “How old do you think I am? I would rather not get lumped into that crowd yet."

  "Sorry Ma- … I mean, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you."

  "You didn't, I know you were being respectful,” Ruby said.

  "Would you like to sit here so someone else can use that table, or I could move?" I asked, motioning with my hand at the chair.

  "I really need to be going. I’ve got things to do at home," she said quickly.

  "I guess I should get this coffee delivered. Which way are you going?” I asked. “I can walk you part of the way. You never know, with the terrorists on the loose, what might happen. I'm Ben, by the way." I held out my hand to shake.

  "I'm Rhonda," she answered with slight hesitation, not taking my hand.

  I picked up both coffees and headed for the door. "Nice to meet you, Rhonda," I said. I stopped to adjust a coffee so I could open the door.