by J. N. Chaney
But that had been the tip of the iceberg. Far more had been uncovered during the normal interrogations of the freed people. Rev didn’t know how many, but planet-wide, it was rumored to be at least a million. The quislings in Sergeant Krill’s contact team were nowhere near the only ones like that in other cities.
It boggled Rev’s mind that anyone could follow—no, worship—the enemy. Doc Paul, a Second Class Petty Officer, the equivalent of a Marine sergeant and the team’s corpsman, thought they’d been brainwashed, but Rev didn’t care too much as to the why. He cared more about what was going to be done about it.
Even more disconcerting was how many local militia and ex-Navy and Marines were among them. Rev had seen several of them during the round-up, men and women who called out when they saw him, either to convert him or ask for leniency. There was a saying that there’s no such thing as an “ex-Marine,” but as far as Rev was concerned, that didn’t pertain to tin-ass worshippers.
Bundy came back carrying four pitchers and put them on the table. “I know you’re going to keep on me—”
“That’s because you’ve got that big sergeant paycheck,” Cricket said.
“None for him,” Bundy snapped back. “But, as I was saying, I know you’re going to keep hitting me up, so I’m doing it all now. Then my spigot’s turned off.”
Rev grabbed a pitcher and filled Tomiko, Fyr, and his steins. “Now that you’re recharged, what’s going to happen with the Angel shits,” he asked Tomiko again.
“Well, it sure ain’t gonna be shoved under the rug,” she said. “I mean, look at us now?”
“What do you mean?” Fyr asked.
“We just fought not only tin-asses, but humans. And what did they tell us when we embarked to come back home? That this was all top-secret and shit, right?”
“Well, yeah. But they told us today that it isn’t classified,” Rev said, not quite getting her point.
“They not only told us that what happened wasn’t classified, but they encouraged us to tell our families all about it.”
“Yeah, for morale,” Fyr said. “I mean, we’ve gotten our asses kicked before, and finally, we’ve got an easier win on our record.”
But that wasn’t her point, Rev knew.
“What are the newsies reporting on the battle?” he subvocalized.
Punch was now connected to the net again, and it would take nanoseconds for him to scan the public newscasts galaxy-wide.
That took him by surprise. Never in a million years would he have thought that anything he did would be seen by the masses of humanity.
“Do they say I recorded it?”
Rev’s fifteen minutes of fame vanished just like that, but with what Punch told him, what Tomiko was getting at clicked into place.
“They want us to talk about it, to make sure the public knows what the Angel shits are doing.”
“Bingo, Rev,” Tomiko said. “And . . .” she prompted.
“And they want the public to turn against them, so they can justify taking action. I mean, it’s one thing to fight the tin-asses, but a war against other humans? We haven’t had a real war, like against another nation, in thirty years. And there are . . .”
Punch didn’t wait for Rev to ask and said,
“. . . four-hundred million of the bastards. Not much, maybe, but enough to cause problems.”
“So, we’re going to act,” Fyr said as he took that in.
“We have to,” Tomiko said.
“Hey, you three, you’re too serious!” Orpheus shouted from across the table, tossing a wadded-up napkin that bounced off of Fyr’s chest. “Tonight’s for having fun, not talking shop!”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Rev said. “No more shop talk. Let’s drink!”
But as he took a long draught, his mind was wandering. They had to take action, he knew. But just what action?
They didn’t have long to wait to find out. The day after the ninety-six, the colonel put the base on complete lockdown. The regiment had done its duty in relating what had happened on Tenerife, and that had spread like wildfire across human space. Obvious Children of Angels were assaulted, arrested, and even lynched. And in one gruesome episode, one was nailed to the fence of a military cemetery where the suspect died, screaming, as people recorded the moment while hurling epithets and stones. But as a whole, no one thought anywhere close to all of them had been rounded up.
The colonel conducted an all-hands brief, telling the Marines and sailors that they had somewhere between a month and six weeks to prepare for a “major, galaxy-wide operation.”
A full twenty-five percent of humanity’s armed forces would be involved, and the Gryphons would be part of the Perseus Union’s contribution.
The colonel didn’t have to tell them who the target was. The regiment was going to war, but this time, against fellow humans.
12
“Have you checked out the gym yet?” Strap Gantz asked Rev as they filed into their assigned briefing space.
“Pretty sweet,” Rev answered. Everything about the Hobart Bay was sweet, from troop berthing to the galley, and yes, to the gym that put the regimental gym at Camp Nguyen to shame.
It was a full three months after they found out they were taking on the Angel shits, not the four-to-six weeks as they’d been told. There had been two major operations against the Centaurs: one in Friesian space, and one at the independent world of Berne. The Union Marines hadn’t been involved in either, but there had been a delay as all members of the Marine Corps, as well as every other military force, were screened for Children of Angels sympathies.
Rev had been upset at the effort, but that had been somewhat tempered when twenty-two Marines within the regiment had been removed from the deployment list. Rev knew one of them, Jojo Torser from Bravo Company. Torser had been in his DC class at bootcamp. Rev just couldn’t see him as a traitor, and maybe the brass didn’t, either. As of yesterday, none of the twenty-two had been arrested. They’d just been transferred to Headquarters Company and left behind while the regiment had embarked aboard the Hobart Bay early-dark-thirty this morning. Most of the day had been taken up with getting to the ship and their assigned berthing, but there’d been time to explore the spaces open to the Marines, and they were simply amazing.
There were five remaining Buenos Aires Class dreadnaughts in the Union Navy, each capable of carrying a heavy Marine expeditionary force, this one organized around three Marine regiments along with both a wing-sized air element and a support battalion. There used to be eight ships of the class, but three had been lost in battle to the Centaurs before the remaining ships were removed from combat operations. Designed to carry a fully self-contained force capable of sustained operations, it was the most expensive and powerful platform owned by the Union, and some say in all of humanity.
With a new foe, a human one without much in the way of naval assets, the Navy was chomping at the bit to prove the worth of their crown jewels. Rev didn’t care about the politics. This was one sweet ride, much better than the converted Amethyst in which he first rode into combat.
“Screw the gym,” Tomiko said as they took their seats. “I want to see what the galley puts out.”
Rev’s stomach took that moment to rumble. They hadn’t had a sit-down meal since their deployment meal the night before.
Tomiko laughed and said, “I guess you, too.”
Rev ignored her.
“How many people are going to be in here?” he asked Punch as he surveyed the space, one of many aboard the ship.
It amazed Rev, that on a ship, there were conference rooms that could hold two hundr
ed people. The flight deck could hold the entire ship’s company and embarked Marines, but this was an actual conference room, as if they were back at Camp Nguyen. And this wasn’t the only one. The upcoming brief would be given simultaneously to over nine thousand Marines.
“OK, sit down and shut your yaps,” First Sergeant Vance shouted.
Along with Captain Dajeerling, the two had taken over the company just before Tenerife. Rev had only met either one after that operation, and only perfunctorily, but the first sergeant had a reputation . . . and one not that favorable. The skipper was a mustang, brought in from the regular forces.
Rev hoped that both would stay out of the platoon’s hair. The lieutenant was a known entity, and he’d proven himself. Plus, they weren’t Swansea Marines like most of the regiment.
The holo platform hummed to life, and the space quieted down. They’d been given almost no information—for security had been the excuse—before they’d embarked, and now, each Marine and sailor hoped they’d find out what they faced.
A figure of a rear admiral appeared on the platform. She looked to her right and said, “Are we on?” before she turned and faced the holocam.
She was in her formal Navy whites and had an impressive rack on her left chest, topped by the gold anchor of command with five stars.
OK, she’s got experience, Rev almost grudgingly noted.
Five stars meant she’d commanded five ships. Which made sense. They were only going to give command of a dreadnaught to one of their best.
“Marines and sailors of Marine Expeditionary Brigade-46, welcome aboard the Big Hob. I’m Rear Admiral Fiona Knelte, and let me assure you, we’re glad you’re here.”
“I bet she is,” Tomiko whispered. “It must suck to command this monster of a ship and have to hide out.”
“You’ll be on board the Big Hob for two weeks while the force assembles, so we’ll have time for more detailed operations orders, but I wanted to take this opportunity to not only welcome you but to give you the scoop on where we’re going and who’s going with us.
Almost as one, most of those in the space leaned forward. This was what they wanted to know.
The admiral disappeared, to be replaced by a blue-green planet that was almost rendered into insignificance by the colors spread across space behind it. There was an audible gasp from the Marines and sailors.
A separate unnamed voice said, “This is Alafia, in the K-786. It is a Goldilocks planet with a native ecosystem. It is fully independent but with associate representation in the Council of Humanity.”
Rev frowned. He’d never heard of it, but Goldilocks planets, which didn’t need terraforming to support human life, were prized above all else.
“The planet is temperate but with large seasonal swings, ranging from minus twenty Fahrenheit to a hundred and twenty-five.”
Big range, but not unbearable. So, why haven’t I heard of it, and what the hell are those colors? Not an aurora.
“Life on the planet is polyphenic, widespread, and plentiful. It poses little threat to human life, but competition for vegetative forms is fierce.”
“Tell me what the hell polyphenic means after the brief.”
“Alafia was originally settled three hundred and twelve years ago. However, due to a lack of heavy metals and the difficulty in growing Earth-crops without extensive soil treatments, the planet never achieved large numbers of immigrants.”
“Something else was wrong,” Tomiko whispered. “Other planets succeeded.”
“The major factor that limited colonization was psychological. Behind the planet, you can see the Witches’ Broom Nebula. The outer reaches of the nebula are scheduled to reach the planet in a little over three years. There is no scientific data to suggest that this should have any effect on human life, but there has been a general exodus from the planet’s population over the last thirty years.”
The nebula was beautiful, and Rev couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to leave. It put New Hope’s night sky to shame.
“That is until approximately eighteen years ago, which coincides with—”
“When the tin-asses appeared,” Rev finished the sentence for the man.
“Immigration began to pick up, and a religious cult grew. You’ll be briefed in more detail about this cult later, but their main belief was that a superior life-form would arrive behind the nebula cloud to lead humanity to the next level.”
That didn’t make any sense to Rev. Sure, there were cults all over humanity’s section of the galaxy, but from the astral map, humans populated three of the four sides of the nebula. How could something be “coming up” from behind it? Besides, the Angel shits worshipped the Centaurs, and they were invading from a different direction.
“Approximately seven years ago, the Children of Angels arrived on the planet, and within nine months, they became the major population. That majority has only grown since then. Now close to eighty-million people call Alafia home. Current estimates are that sixty-five million are members of the Children of the Angels. An estimated three million have had military or law enforcement experience.”
That raised a hubbub, and the first sergeant had to shout for everyone to quiet down. Rev didn’t know if the unseen speaker had feedback from any of those being briefed or if he just knew this would cause a reaction, but he paused for a good fifteen seconds.
Both numbers were surprising. Sixty-five million Angel shits was more than he’d expected, particularly as the scuttlebutt had been that there were going to be simultaneous operations across human space. If that was true, then this planet wasn’t their only headquarters.
But the sixty-five million wasn’t the biggest surprise. It was the three million with military or law enforcement experience. Rev didn’t know yet how many were in the Task Force, but even with possibly more people—and almost assuredly better equipment—three million ex-soldiers was nothing to sneeze at.
The image of the planet expanded and started to rotate, and the voice announced major population centers, each one flashing brighter at its mention. The Marines started stirring. If the rest were like Rev, they were more interested in their objective and not a Wikilecture.
The speaker came to a close, and the image disappeared to be replaced by the admiral.
“Thank you, Commander Roberts. So, that is a broad picture of what we’re up against. But who exactly are we? What is our order of battle?”
Full attention regained.
“Captain Juego, if you would.”
The image flipped to a Navy Captain who introduced himself before immediately pulling up a wire diagram. Rev had to work his eyes hard to make much of it. Marines without the eye augments wouldn’t be able to make out anything.
Luckily, the captain knew that. He started at the top with the Task Eagle Claw commander, Admiral Wilson Sung. As he said the name, that section expanded so as to be seen. Below the admiral was another full Navy admiral as the Naval Forces commander and General Osirus Bellamy as the Ground Element commander. Rev knew of him by his reputation as a bulldog general much loved by the rank-and-file Marines.
Below them, the diagram started branching out further and further. Four Perseus Union Marine Expeditionary Forces, each led by a Major General, and three Manifest Destiny Sphere Force, each led by a right marshal, made up the ground forces. The Navy was formed into divisions with Rear Admiral Knelte dual-hatted as the division commander as well as the Hobart Bay’s CO.
The captain broke down the order of battle to the Marine Expeditionary level, of which Rev’s MEB-46 was just one of many. Rev asked Punch to record all of that in case he needed it, but what it boiled down to was that just under a million Marines and MDS soldiers made up the task force.
The captain went on for another ten minutes, followed by a Marine colonel who spoke for a short time about the operation itself. Unfortunately, she gave no specifics, saying they would come later.
The admiral followed up with a rah-rah speech, urgin
g all of them to do their duty and make their families proud. And then the brief was over. In some ways, not much real information was disseminated, but still, at least they knew where they were going and who they might face there.
“So, what do you think?” Tomiko asked as they started filing out to go to chow.
“A million against up to sixty-five million, with three mil being ex-military?”
“That’s a lot of Angel shits,” she said.
“Well, unless those three million are former Marines, I don’t think they stand a chance.”
13
PFC Tubba “Tulip” Badem stopped and held up an open hand as he peered ahead. Rev passed the sign to halt to the rest of the patrol but kept his eyes locked on Badem. The PFC seemed like he had the potential to be a good Marine, at least according to Sergeant Nix with whom he’d been paired on Tenerife.
A little arrogant, maybe, which explained his nickname. He’d arrived full of vim and vigor and, among other things, had declared his nickname to be “Terror.”
No. Just no.
Tomiko immediately christened him Tulip instead, and the name, much to his disgust, had stuck. He’d dutifully accepted it, and that got him back in the good graces of the rest of the team.
And there was no doubting his warcraft. If Badem thought he spotted something, Rev was going to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Badem signaled that there were two buildings at two-four-two degrees, three-hundred meters, and then followed that with the sign for movement.
Rev frowned and brought his map to the front of his display. There was nothing there.
“When was this updated?”
“Could the Angel shits have put something up that quickly? All the way out here?”
