Chapter 14
It was morning at Central Station on Society 437, "Waygone." The sun was not far above the horizon, its rays filtered through the fronds of the ferns that were the dominant vegetation in the vicinity of the human station. As soon as the Marines cleared them, the three Dragons maneuvered into a wagon-spoke formation, fronts facing outward. If an attack came, at least one, probably two, of the Dragons would immediately be able to add its cannon fire to the blaster fire put out by the Marines. The Marines were belly down on rocky ground covered with something like lichen, peering through and over the low-lying, spiny bushes that grew between the fernlike trees. One man in each fire team looked at the landscape through his infra screen, the others used their eyes.
Insects with tubular bodies flitted about on multiple sets of wings that never stopped flapping, even when they lit on something. Some of the tube bodies were tiny, only as long as a fingernail was wide; some were longer than a man's forearm. Other insectoids wafted about on graceful, colorful, nearly translucent disk or fanlike wings that seemed to move only enough to catch eddies of air. Insectoids of varying shapes and sizes crawled, skittered, or inched along the ground. Subsonic croaks that were almost felt rather than heard were the only indications of animals other than insects.
The forty or so buildings of Central Station squatted two hundred meters away, partly shielded from the elements by a tight loop of hills so low and regular that they looked like mounds or industrial slag heaps. The plans showed that the ones on the outer rim of the settlement were apartment blocks. Closer in were the common buildings—mess hall, theater, shops. And the innermost buildings, closest to the arch of the hill loop, were the scientific and technical labs and shops. The control center, a domed circular building, sat just below the crest of the highest hill. Antennas of various types studded the hilltop. The buildings' exteriors were an earthy tan, like something one would expect to find in a desert environment. Most of them were trimmed in pastel hues, though a few had splashes of primary colors. Nothing was visible moving among the buildings other than some of the larger insects. There was not even the minor debris one might find on the streets of a human settlement.
"Raise the Fairfax," Bass said to third platoon's communications man, Lance Corporal Dupont, as soon as the squad leaders reported everyone in position and everything quiet. "Platoon Sergeant, deploy sensors."
Dupont held out the handset of his satellite radio as Hyakowa snapped the orders for the squads to deploy the various sensing devices they'd trained with on the trip to Waygone.
"Already got 'em," Dupont said. "The Skipper's on the horn himself." As soon as Bass took the radio handset, Dupont set up the control panel for the remote-piloted vehicle and launched it. For this mission the RPV was camouflaged to look like the granddaddy of the flying tube insects.
Bass said into the handset, "Skyhawk, this is Lander Six Actual. The objective is in clear sight. It doesn't look like anybody's at home. Over."
"Lander Six Actual, this is Skyhawk Actual," Captain Tuit replied. "Can you see any sign of what happened?"
"Negative, Skyhawk. From here it looks like they all went out on a picnic and didn't leave anybody behind to catch the phone. We're receiving data from our sensors now, and have launched the bug."
"Proceed with your investigation, Lander. We will monitor your transmissions. Med-sci is in its first orbit and will commence landing maneuvers as soon as you report LZ secure. Skyhawk out."
Bass gave the handset back to Dupont. He flicked on his helmet comm unit's all-hands circuit.
"Squad leaders and Dragons, receive on all-hands circuit, transmit on squad or command circuit. Everyone else, be on your squad circuit." That was the broadest level of communications the platoon could have without causing confusion from the babel of thirty-three voices trying to talk on one frequency. The squad leaders and Dragon chiefs acknowledged the order.
Bass turned his attention to the display board Dupont had just set up. The motion detectors showed nothing larger than an enormous insect within their one kilometer range. The infrared scanners found nothing warm-blooded anywhere in their line-of-sight range—which didn't mean there wasn't anyone or anything warm-blooded hiding out of sight in a hollow or behind foliage dense enough to block infrared rays. Or waiting in the buildings.
"Doesn't seem to be anybody around," Dupont said.
Bass grunted, then looked for Lieutenant Snodgrass. The navy officer was sitting against the stem of a tree fern ten meters away. Bass decided to leave him undisturbed for the time being and began issuing orders to his squads.
"First squad, shift left fifty meters, up fifty. Second squad shift right fifty meters, up fifty. Guns, keep together, assign one gun to give priority support to each squad. Dragons, hold position, keep alert. All hands, report anything suspicious or potentially hostile. Do it!" He dropped his infra screen into place to watch the movement of the squads. The chameleoned Marines, virtually invisible to the naked eye, appeared in his view as man-shaped red blobs. The two blaster squads rushed, but didn't run. In little more than a minute they were both in their new positions, spread out and closer to the settlement.
"Second squad, assign a fire team to make a recon, then put them on the command circuit so I can tell them what I want them to do."
"Roger," Sergeant Bladon replied. Bass heard him say, "Second fire team, you've got a recon. Stand by for instructions from the boss." There was a brief pause, then Bass heard an acknowledgment from Corporal Kerr over the command circuit. Bladon said, "Lander Six, recon is on command circuit. Over to you."
"Recon," Bass said, "we don't know who or what is in the settlement. Maybe nobody. Maybe somebody well-armed and equipped with infras and motion detectors. Get as close as you can while remaining unobserved. I want you to work your way around the right side of the settlement. Have all of your sensors up. Report everything you see, hear, or detect. Do not, I say again, do not enter the settlement. Maintain visual and audio contact with the platoon at all times. When you get as far around the right side as you can go without losing visual contact with the platoon, return. Understand?"
"Understood."
"Do it." Three red blobs detached themselves from second squad's area and withdrew back into the trees. Good beginning, Bass thought. Get totally out of sight before maneuvering closer. Kerr doesn't seem to have lost anything. He toggled on the circuit that allowed him to speak privately to the second squad leader.
"Good choice, Tam."
"Thought you'd like it, boss. Kerr needs the confidence builder."
He did need it. Bass suspected the big man's confidence was badly shaken. He needed some live action, not more training, to regain his self-confidence. The recon was low-risk, and Kerr was unlikely to run into anything that would severely test him, any mistakes he made probably wouldn't endanger his men. And it would give Claypoole and MacIlargie a chance to see their fire team leader in live action and gain confidence in his leadership. Unless there was someone or something in the settlement that neither the Fairfax County nor the Marines had been able to detect. If there was, the entire platoon might be in severe danger. Well, that was a major reason for sending a recon, to see if they could find some danger the ship and sensors missed. Bass put on the override circuit so he and the squad leaders could listen in on all transmissions from the recon.
Lieutenant Snodgrass suddenly appeared at Bass's side and demanded, "What are you doing, why are we just sitting here?"
Bass slowly turned his head toward the navy officer and raised his infra screen. "Mr. Snodgrass," he said in a deceptively slow and calm voice, "we are finding out what's here. Now go back to your tree and keep quiet" He didn't flinch from the vomitus stink wafting from the lieutenant's uniform.
"We know what's here," Snodgrass insisted. "Nothing. As senior officer present, I order you to move the platoon into the settlement to find out what happened."
"With all due respect, Mr. Snodgrass, as commander of the landing force, I order
you to shut up and get down. I'll decide when to move the platoon into the settlement."
"There might be people in there who need our help. We have to get to them, we can't waste time out here."
Bass cocked an eyebrow at the sudden change in Snodgrass's assessment of what might be in the settlement but didn't comment on it. "If any people are in there, they're dead. Another half hour or so won't change that."
"Maybe they're hiding."
"If they're hiding, we better find out what they're hiding from before it gets to us, don't you think?"
Snodgrass raised his left hand, palm inward, to display the Naval Academy ring he wore, then tapped the gold orb on his collar. "I think I outrank you, Gunnery Sergeant. I think I'm taking command of this landing party."
Bass shook his head. A trace of annoyance sounded in his voice when he spoke. "Mr. Snodgrass, you're out of line. I wouldn't dream of taking command of anything from a sailor aboard ship. I don't know how things work on a ship. We're planetside now. This is my element, not yours. Now listen up, and listen up good. You embarrassed yourself during the drop from orbit. Shut up, sit down, and stay out of the way before you embarrass yourself again." He dropped the infra screen back into place and looked toward the ferns where Kerr's fire team had gone.
Kerr led Claypoole and MacIlargie far enough into the trees that the settlement was visible as only an occasional flash between the fronds. He dropped to one knee and signaled his men close.
"Mac," he said, using the comm unit even though the others were close enough for unaided voice, "everyone tells me you're good at evasive movement. That right?" On the command circuit he heard someone, probably Bladon or Ratliff, snicker. He ignored it.
MacIlargie grinned. "Yeah. Sergeant Bladon tells me I'm up to chapter two of the book he wrote when he was a PFC."
Kerr smiled wanly. Tam Bladon had been good, maybe the best he'd ever seen. He gave his head a sharp shake. Bladon probably still was that good. It was he himself who "used to be," Kerr thought. It remained to be seen if he still was. "You heard Gunny Bass's instructions."
MacIlargie nodded.
"Remember the dorm building with the bright red and blue corners?"
"Yeah, I saw it."
"Do you know where we are relative to it?"
MacIlargie peered intently through the trees, as if he could spot the building if he looked hard enough. He nodded. "Approximately. If that's where you want to go, I can bring us out close to it."
"That's where I want us to go. Get as close as you can without anybody inside seeing us."
"Who's going to see us?"
"Probably no one. But if there is, I want to see him before he sees us."
"Right. We see him first. Good idea."
Claypoole, quiet until now, snorted. "Corporal Kerr, Mac's sort of slow on the uptake, but he catches on eventually."
"Let's go."
MacIlargie led off in a crouch. Kerr glanced at Claypoole, dropped his sleeve so he could see his gesture to stick close behind, and followed the red blob that was MacIlargie.
The fern trees weren't close together, they were spread out almost as much as the oaks and elms of a wooded park, but their fronds began spreading at or just above ground level, so they were more difficult to see through than similarly spaced deciduous trees. Spiny bushes, fern bushes, and fern-tree seedlings grew on the ground between the trees, making vision even more difficult. The rocky ground was covered with a lichenlike growth, so everywhere the eye looked was green. Even the sunlight that filtered down through the six-meter-high treetops was tinged green. The whole effect was almost like walking along the bottom of a kelp forest in a clear, green sea. Then, suddenly, vision cleared near the edge of the fern forest, and the hillocks of color-splashed buff buildings poked above the ground in front of them.
Momentarily, Kerr felt the way he had on his first combat operation. No, he realized, this isn't the way I felt then. Then, he'd been a new Marine, twenty-three years old, full of the training he'd undergone to earn the Eagle, Globe, and Starstream on his uniform emblems, cocky with the confidence the Marine Corps loaded him with. Then, he wasn't in charge, responsible for others—he was barely responsible for himself. Then, he'd never seen an enemy crumple, flamed by a bolt from the blaster he'd only fired at targets, things that didn't scream and die. Then, he'd never seen another Marine shed blood, become crippled or horribly dead. Then, he'd never nearly died himself. Then, he had no understanding of his own mortality.
Now he was experienced, with a dozen operations and campaigns behind him, well-aware of the hazards of going in harm's way. Now he was in charge, responsible for himself, his men, and his mission. Now he knew the meaning of combat; to kill men and keep killing them until the survivors gave up in terror. Now he'd lost count of the friends he'd lost, crippled or dead. Now he'd been wounded so severely he should have died himself. Now he was so acutely aware of his own mortality he didn't know why he was there or willing to go in harm's way once more.
In fact, part of him wasn't willing to go in harm's way. Part of him screamed out for release, for escape. Part of him gibbered in terror. Part of him wanted to run in panic back to the Dragons, to board one, to force the Essay to land and take him aboard, fly him back to orbit, so he could huddle in the safest place on the Fairfax County until it left that place of unknown, unimaginable danger. Part of him wanted to flee all the way back to Dominion, back to the farm where he was born and grew up. Part of him sent a torrent of fear surging up his spine to radiate outward to paralyze him. That part grew and threatened to take over.
No! Corporal Kerr was a Marine noncommissioned officer, a leader of men. He was a veteran of innumerable firefights, he knew how to handle himself and his men when fire rained. He'd been shot at and missed, he'd been shot at and nearly killed. He was alive! He was alive and wanted to stay that way. His men were alive and he wanted to keep them alive. He had a job to do. If he didn't want to do that job, if he was too afraid to do that job, he could have said so when he was in the hospital or undergoing therapy. He didn't have to be there, he could have chosen to get out of the Marine Corps, chosen to return to that farm on Dominion, to live out his life in peace. But he chose to return to active duty. He had requested a return to his old unit, knowing that 34th FIST was very active. He knew in advance he'd go once more, many times more, into harm's way.
If the gods of war wanted to kill Corporal Tim Kerr, well, they'd had their chance on Elneal. They gave him their best shot and he survived to come back for more. If he hadn't been killed on Elneal, if he could sustain those injuries, heal from them, and come back for more, no little operation on some minor backwater that didn't even have a permanent settlement was going to kill him!
With one powerful effort of will, Kerr got hold of the part of himself that wanted to run, wrestled it down, pinned it, and locked it into that compartment buried deep within his psyche where men in combat stick the terrors and horrors so they don't freeze them up, make them lay down and die.
He raised his infra screen. "Mac," he ordered in a voice that betrayed nothing of what he'd just felt, "use your infras, let me know if you see anything. Rock, run a cover-all pattern on the place with the sounder." With infrared and audio sensors in action, Kerr pointed his motion detector at the settlement and began sweeping it. He kept flicking his eyes back and forth between the motion detector's display and where he was pointing it. The detector picked up the largest insects as they flitted about, and a few withered fronds as gusts of wind rattled them, but that was all.
"Rock, Mac, anything?"
"Sounds just like a ghost town I saw in a trid," Claypoole replied, "you know the one, Rim Station."
Kerr knew that trid, he'd seen it while he was convalescing. In the trid, a colonization ship arrived at a world that had been declared fit for human occupation, only to find the scientific station—a station not unlike the one here on Waygone—abandoned. It turned out that a space-faring alien species also had a research station on th
e world, which had somehow gone undetected. The aliens attacked the colonists and nearly wiped them out before a Marine FIST arrived to rescue the humans and kill all the aliens. Kerr shook his head. The trid hadn't been very realistic. It would have been impossible for an alien research station to remain undetected for three or more years of planetwide observation—and there was no way a message could have made its way back to Earth and a FIST dispatched in time to make the rescue. Nor was it realistic to assume that the first intelligent alien species humans encountered would be so automatically hostile.
But that was a trid, a fiction. This was a live reconnaissance patrol. He shook himself back to reality. Rim Station had nothing to do with the reality of where he was, what he and his men were doing. The part of him he'd just buried would have picked up on the vid and believed it, but he didn't.
"I don't see anything that doesn't look like a building or a bug," MacIlargie reported.
"Let's move. Back into the trees, circle another fifty meters, then close up again. Go." Kerr was feeling his old self again, a confident, capable Marine noncommissioned officer.
The three Marines melted back into the trees and approached the settlement at a different point. They repeated the maneuver three more times. Each time they neared the settlement they observed it with their sensors, but never detected any life bigger than the larger flying insects.
"Come on back," Bass finally ordered Kerr. The array of more powerful sensors the platoon deployed when it landed hadn't detected any nearby life-forms larger than the flying insects either. The meter-long amphibians they'd heard when they first landed had moved away, and none were closer than half a kilometer. The RPV had spotted a few of them before Bass redirected it to the swampy area southwest of Central Station, where the Fairfax County's string-of-pearls had detected larger amphibians. But the RPV was flying over that area and its sensors weren't picking up anything as large as the ship's had.
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