Peace Army

by Steven L. Hawk

  The incoming ships were less than five kilometers away when he felt confident of his assessment.

  He slapped the communication switch and received an immediate reply.

  “Druk, this is Chor,” he spoke calmly and quietly. His superior might be an idiot, but he had no desire to raise the idiot’s ire. “Can you come down here and look at this?”

  The ships were now four kilometers from the base.

  * * *

  The carriers passed quickly through the bitter cold of the sunless side of Telgora. The brutal winds they had been warned to expect tossed Grant and the other soldiers roughly about. Without the benefit of seat belts, they were left to hold tightly to their seats, and all strained against the forces beating at the carrier. The bitter cold gave way to cool, which gave way to warm. In turn, the warm turned hot as the carrier passed across the twilit band of the planet’s equator. They were now fully ensconced by the brightness of the sunny, southern side of the planet.

  Grant waited for the inevitable change in their flight pattern. He did not have long to wait. Their progress slowed and the carrier began a steep, rapid descent. The buffeting of the wind nearly vanished as the carrier landed upon the open, rocky plain.

  It would be a brief, but important, stop.

  The Minith mining base sat less than a kilometer north of the equator. The plan called for their ground forces to halt at the equator while the fighters went at the base and began their work.

  “Get ready. Check your weapons and your gear,” he commanded to the troops in his carrier. They were clearly ready, but it never hurt to have everyone perform a final check. The rough ride could have loosened a strap or dislodged a weapon or an important piece of gear. Grant opened communications with the other carriers in his force. He passed along a similar order, then checked his own weapons and gear.

  Like the other soldiers in his carrier, he was dressed in the olive jumpsuits that had become their standard uniform. The Kevlar helmet he had been required by regulations to wear in his previous life had been replaced by a simple billed cap. The loss of protection provided by a helmet was a trade-off for comfort, visibility, and minimal weight. The Minith’s reliance on energy-based weapons versus projectile weapons made the helmets almost useless anyway. Kevlar might stop a bullet, but it would not stop an energy pulse—which was why his forces also did not wear any type of body armor, except for knee pads.

  Like the men around him, Grant carried one of the rifles Tane had created for the ground forces. He also carried an improved version of a pulse handgun, two separate knives—one on his fighting harness and another, smaller blade tucked into his right boot—and an assortment of small, but powerful, grenades. The fighting harness held an array of other gear and equipment he wanted at hand when the fighting started.

  One of the great things about being the only warrior on a planet was the ability to decide what gear was useful and what was not. No decrees or edicts rolled down from desk-bound superiors on what he could and could not carry into battle. Similarly, he was careful to instruct his forces on what primary loads—a rifle, a knife, and ammunition—had to be carried. As for their secondary gear, he trained them on each piece so they understood its use and why it was important, but, with few exceptions, he allowed them to adjust their secondary loads as they saw fit. In every instance where he checked—and he checked often—he had never been disappointed in the choices his men and women made.

  Satisfied that his gear was in order, he visually inspected the others in the carrier. They seemed in order. The nausea that had passed through the group earlier seemed to have disappeared.

  He heard the first communication from the advance fighters fill the carrier.

  “Flight Alpha has target in sight. No hostile fire outbound.”

  That was good. The vehicles were in range of the Minith, but the aliens were not firing. Yet.

  “Flight Bravo. Same.”

  The two flight groups each consisted of six fighters. Each fighter was armed with four missiles. Their goal was to advance to the mining base, select the targets that looked the most promising, and fire their missiles at those targets. Without specific information on what existed behind those walls, it was the best plan Grant could produce.

  Two more flights of carriers—Flights Charlie and Delta—were sixty seconds behind. They would have the benefit of receiving intelligence from the two flight groups before starting their attacks.

  Each group would make two passes at the base before pulling out and providing cover for Grant and the ground forces to enter the fray.

  Grant’s right leg shook with nervous anticipation. These were his forces heading into harm’s way. They were men and women he had come to know and respect over the past few years. They had spouses, mothers, fathers, and children waiting on Earth. Despite all the training he had given them, they had been raised on a diet of Peace for most of their lives. They were as green as green could get.

  Grant was not. He understood the rules of war. He knew that each soldier, regardless of whether they lived or died in the moments ahead, would be damaged by this battle.

  War causes injury to all its participants. It does so on a sliding scale. If you are fortunate, the injury is invisible—a mental scar that can be hidden from friends and loved ones. If you are less fortunate, the invisible scars are joined by visible ones—slashes, stumps and holes that mar the human form. On the far right of the scale are the least fortunate. They suffer injuries from which no scars form—except, perhaps, in loved ones left behind.

  The first salvo was fired by Flight Alpha.

  Grant’s leg stopped shaking. It was time to move out.

  * * *

  Chor was still waiting for the idiot to arrive when he was tossed from his chair.

  He landed awkwardly on his right shoulder and heard a crunch. The crunch was followed by an intense, stabbing pain.

  Broken!

  He had little time to think about the injury, though. The initial tremors that filled the room increased tenfold as the first explosion turned into a succession of explosions.

  Chor fought both the shaking ground and the pain in his shoulder and dragged himself under the table that held his equipment.

  Although he was several levels underground, the rock above and around him trembled like a tent in a windstorm as the explosions continued.

  After what seemed like hours, but could have only been minutes, the shaking stopped. Chor raised his head and took stock of his surroundings. The room was filled with a grayish haze of dust and dirt. The light overhead flickered noticeably. The table he was under had shifted several feet and rested near the center of the small room.

  His ears, which had been closed for the entire episode, were ringing loudly. His hearing would not be normal for a long time.

  And his shoulder. Without the danger of the explosions to distract his mind, the pain throbbed fully into his consciousness. It felt as if someone had driven a knife into his shoulder and was merrily twisting it around. And around. And around.

  Something is definitely broken.

  Chor cradled his shoulder as best he could and scooted out from under the table. Once clear, he rolled to his knees. The pain pounded his entire body, begging for submission, but he refused to lie back down. His vision blurred and wavered.

  After a couple of moments, the desire to collapse passed, and his vision returned.

  That’s when he noticed the strangest thing.

  The vid screen on the table no longer showed the group of Minith soldiers preparing to leave the base. Instead, it showed a group of strange-looking vehicles landing among the scattered wreckage and body parts.

  * * *

  Grant rushed from the carrier and waved the team forward into defensive positions. As he moved with them, he watched the first wave of soldiers move toward the dozen or so entrances that led into the thick walls of the mining base. The Minith soldiers and mining personnel—at least, those not currently inside the mine—would be hous
ed within and beneath the walls. The single free-standing building that sat in the middle of the square and marked the entrance to the mine was demolished.

  The fighter carriers did a remarkable job clearing the few defenders from the walls and from the open spaces inside the walls. The entrances that were built into the interior walls were heavily damaged. For all their efforts, only two of the fighter craft had taken fire from the Minith inside the base and neither was seriously damaged.

  But aircraft could only do so much. It was now time for the foot soldiers—the earthies, as Mouse called them—to finish the job.

  The twenty troop carriers Grant had at his disposal could easily fit within the confines of the walls. In fact, all the vehicles they brought from Earth could fit, but Grant did not want to concentrate all his forces inside the walls at once. It would needlessly expose them to an unknown weapon or tactic that could potentially wipe out his entire contingent of earthies. Instead, he decided on landing a few at a time.

  A landing order had been established in advance. Four carriers would swoop into the base, offload their wave of soldiers, then leave to be replaced by the next four carriers. The first group set up defensive positions while the second group landed. When the second group landed, the first group moved out to the entrances that led into the walls of the base. When the third wave landed, the second group would move out in support of the first. In that fashion, each arriving group could observe the group in front and plan their approach before being relieved by the follow-on group. If things went as planned, it would take less than five minutes for all twenty carriers to deposit their load of troops.

  Grant landed with the second wave. He would have preferred to be in the first, but understood his role in the new Peace Army. He was no longer a foot soldier. He was now the commander.

  While unusual for a general to lead forces into battle, it is an instinctual act for a seasoned sergeant, and Grant felt the pull like a siren’s song. Within seconds of stepping out of the carrier, he felt an overwhelming need to abandon his better judgment in favor of his desire to lead his soldiers. He fought the emotion and stoically held his place with the second wave.

  When the third landed, he still held his ground.

  Finally, when the fourth landed and took up their defensive positions, Grant joined the rush of soldiers moving for the entrances that dotted the walls of the base. The first wave of eighty earthies had already entered the doorways into the walls. The second was preparing to follow them.

  Grant was debating which entrance to approach when he heard the first sounds of weapons being fired. Within seconds, the initial blasts had spread to the entire facility. The sound of fighting was coming from nearly all the doorways. He identified an entrance where the fighting appeared most intense and joined the team of six soldiers heading toward it.

  “I’m with you guys,” Grant announced. He hefted his weapon and checked that the safety was off. He then realized that six of the eight were female. “Er, I mean I’m with you soldiers.”

  He received a tip of the hat and a grin from the soldier in the lead, a tough-looking woman with a buzz-cut showing under her cap. He remembered her from the mothership and, before that, as a leader in several of the unit runs in which he had taken part. She always seemed to be in front of the crowd, leading the way for others.

  “Don’t worry about it, General,” she said. “We don’t offend easily. Right, troops?”

  The group kept moving, but provided an assortment of positive responses. The men and women, Grant noticed, appeared ready, willing, and able to take on anything they might find within the doorway they had selected.

  “You’re Conway, correct?” Grant asked. He had to shout to be heard over the rising cacophony of battle being waged within the walls of the mining base.

  “Yes, sir,” she shouted back. “First name is Becka, but Conway works.”

  “You got it, soldier! Conway it is.”

  They arrived at the entrance and held up just outside. The sound of Minith pulse weapons and Earth rifles rang out from inside. Soldiers or Minith, or both, were dying inside.

  Conway gave a last look at the soldiers with her, nodded, and dashed into the darkened interior. Grant hung back as the other troops entered after their leader.

  The comm bug in his ear buzzed with reports from the major unit leaders, and Grant held up. He looked back at the open square behind him and saw that the fifth and final wave had landed. The fourth wave was heading toward the walls of the base. Before they reached their assigned doorways, they were met by scores of soldiers heading out of many of those entrances. The unexpected meeting of the two groups caused sudden confusion as fourth-wave soldiers stopped their advance. No one was rushing out of the door where Grant waited, so he scooted to the next closest door to learn what was going on.

  Retreat was not an option.

  He reached the closest group of milling soldiers in seconds and grabbed the gear of a sergeant exiting the doorway. He noticed flecks of purple on the man’s uniform and recognized it for what it was. Minith blood.

  “Sergeant, what’s going on?” he asked. The look of confusion on the other soldier’s face was clear.

  “This doorway leads to a barracks, General,” the sergeant shouted. “All clear inside.”

  Grant understood. The troops were leaving their assigned doors because there was nothing more to fight inside.

  “No exits from the room?”

  “The only exits go up to the top of the wall, General,” the noncom answered. “And it’s all clear.”

  Grant released the man’s gear and nodded. “Good job, Sergeant.”

  Grant spun and scanned the walls. It was hard to see much with a couple hundred confused soldiers milling about, wondering what to do, but the sound of battle and the lack of confusion in front of several doorways pointed the way.

  “Sergeant,” he said, “gather your troops and the rest of these soldiers here. Take them into that doorway.”

  Grant pointed to the entrance where Conway had taken her team. It was clear of soldiers and the sounds of battle could be heard coming from inside. It had to lead into the lower levels.

  The sergeant jumped to it. Grant looked around the square, identified the other doorways—three in all, one in each wall—that appeared clear of confused humans. At one of the doorways, someone else had recognized what was happening and was taking the initiative to drive a group of fighters onward. That left two more that needed his attention, and he sprinted for the closest one, shouting orders and gathering soldiers as he went.

  * * *

  Titan and Gee watched the battle from the command center of the mothership. Live feeds from the circling fighters above the battle captured the action on the ground clearly.

  Gee immediately recognized the confusion that engulfed the soldiers within the open space of the mining base, but he had no way to communicate it to Grant. Fortunately, Grant quickly understood the problem and acted.

  Within minutes, the ancient warrior had the chaos sorted. His forces were again in attack mode and fully concentrated on the four “live” doorways.

  “He’s good,” Gee said.

  Titan had been staring at the screens in morose silence. He had said less than a dozen words since the carrier vehicles left the mothership. The large Violent was still fuming that Grant had refused to allow him to join in the attack. The reasoning behind Grant’s decision made perfect sense to Gee. These soldiers had been training for this battle for years. Titan was, in Grant’s words, a “civilian.”

  The heavyset engineer had zero desire to be where Grant was. He was glad to be a civilian and to watch the battle from the comfort of the mothership. He did not understand Titan’s inane desire to be with the attacking forces.

  “Yeah, he is good,” Titan finally agreed with a sigh. Gee knew it pained his friend to admit it.

  * * *

  Patahbay had grown bored in his room. Joining the Family again had restored his mental, emotional, and
spiritual confidence. He was anxious to be off the ship and, despite the pleas of the humans to wait until after their attack, he could wait no longer. He left his room to search for the ones called Titan and Gee and found them in the center room of the alien vessel.

  Before he could announce his presence, Patahbay observed the moving pictures set into the far wall. It took him a few seconds to understand what he was seeing, but reality soon settled upon him. And he was amazed. The general and his people were inside the enemy’s walls!

  Patahbay’s vision and sense of wonder was shared with the Family. He also shared his single thought.

  The general is great.

  Across the planet, the Family began to nod.

  In less than a minute, shiale was achieved.

  * * *

  Chor watched in pained silence. Those were humans he saw on his monitor. Humans!

  Humans were not fighters. They were the most timid sheep the Minith had ever enslaved. Everyone knew it. Everyone laughed over it, except those unfortunate enough to be posted to Earth.

  Chor had heard the soldiers in the food hall argue many times about the worst assignments in the Empire. Telgora was a terrible assignment, everyone agreed. Some said posting to Sh’al was worse, while others heartily railed against that assertion. But there was one thing all the soldiers agreed on. Earth was the worst assignment possible. The timidity of the population and the distance of the planet from the home world made it a terrible place to spend a posting.

  But the humans Chor watched on the monitor appeared far from timid. They had obviously leveled the exterior defenses and destroyed everything within the four walls that sat aboveground. The large mining facility that normally dominated the center of the base was a pile of rubble. As Chor watched, the humans approached the doorways that led to all levels of the base, including the underground levels.